We walk off and away from camp, down the raspy forest service road, attempting to stay off on the side to avoid the dust puffs. They are little clouds at each step of our feet. Just a few strides and our shoe’s colors blend into the surroundings. DF hangs back as my puffs head her way, traveling in front of her. It’s not sandy here. This is dried soil churned by vehicles. It turns to thick gooey mud when it rains and it then washes away, exposing the local rocks more and more. This is good for us. It makes a terrible trail, fit only for thick tires, 4×4 and destructive ATV’s. The latter churns up the soil deeper, making more dust, but this creates the solitude. Few people come this way and they move slowly, with caution.
We’re camped in the White Mountains. We’ve returned to our favorite spot, where we spent a month glamping in the big top tent, back in 2023. It is 11am. It’s Dry, with a capital “D”. We are returning to Arizona from Utah in anticipation of the monsoon rains, but the “Monsoon Season” is still languishing down in Mexico. Late yesterday afternoon, we pulled in and the dust that we made while parking made a foggy cloud that just hung there. It finally floated off, as the aspen leaves began to quake.
The Color of Utah
Familiar with the whole area, from years of wonderful explorations, we are noticing change. Back at camp we see that the small tree that we used to hang dishes to dry has fallen over, perhaps the snow cover from winter, or perhaps a large elk callously used it. Our aspens that we saved by placing our tent just so and using them to decorate our tent’s patio, remain and have kept growing. Nobody has come by to chew of the leaves, or rip them out of the ground. We take measurements for the first time. Perhaps, we’ll see how these saplings do as the years go by in this harsh environment.
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After so much time in the outback, arriving in Blanding, Utah had been the shock of civilization. The quiet little town was quite a contrast to the solitude and elbowroom of the uninhabited mountains. It felt hectic to go from store to store, preparing for the next leg of our journey, get a camp set up, shower, pay bills and hear the news on the phone and internet. Civilization, with all of its convenience, by comparison, seemed stressful.
Today, we no longer awaken under the call of birds breaking the silence, the peace, or the pleasant smell of a forest. We’re in a trailer park, amongst monstrous vehicles, with the footsteps and chatter of elderly anonymous tourists, our friendly neighbors. They are moving in less than perfect health, but content, leashed to their small dogs, smiling with waves to fellow assumed Good Sams. I pack up our sleeping quarters and compliment the owner on the tidy grounds, as we leave.
We travel south, through the increasingly more desolate and surreal lands. The last vestiges of civilization are crammed into the thin canyons with the highway.
In iconic rock faced valleys are monuments to “Indians” and offers a stay in conical teepees within a luxury resort.
Along the way are a restaurant and a local cross between a convenience store and a very small general goods outlet. I make sure that I slip out to pump the last available gas, probably for a long long time.
It seems that here, people need to make a buck with what they have available, or they’re retired.
Two hours down this road, ancient Canyon de Chelly sits. It is a bigger, more complex grouping of ruins, which were a part of systems of a very different civilization.
We are understandably traveling every bit of naturally naked, save the walls of the SUV.
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All the while, as we lumbered along the thin winding graded roads that traverse the Manti-La Sal National Forest and from the canyon lands of the south, Blue Mountain was an imposing landmark. Today, it has been a goal to be met…or maybe not….
The ancient mammoth formed out of volcanic magma has been a home, hunting ground, and water source. Its height has collected seasonal rains and snow, producing springs around the base for millennia. It has been called sacred by peoples. It looks likely to harbor camping sites under the cover of trees. Still dark clouds threaten.
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Reluctantly, after a few days, we leave our retreat in the mountains. We have decided to cross the Manti-La Sal National Forest in one day, but having the option to stop off in any paradise that attracts us. The trip was 36 miles here and there will be 36 more miles, maybe more. This time, all of the roads are winding, graded dirt roads, marked with small signs with numbers in an unknown wilderness.
There is something, that is very much here, on top of the bear. Amongst the miles of the forest of trees, hills and mountain tops, there are views across the canyon lands below. We investigate a few trailheads, which lead down into even more remote canyons with their ruins and surprises and sense of adventure. There are other places we note for a possible camp, if we feel like it, sometime. There is that wonderful exploratory sense of the mystery around the next bend and one bend leads to another.
We drive out to the road and then it meets the actual main route, which is one of many that web their way through these mountains. A series of these links will have us on the other side of the mountain range in the Blue Mountain area.
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We’ve been in this lovely spot, just content. There is nobody around to impose on us. The weather is pleasant, blue skies are above the canopy of the local trees. No bramble, just grass and pine needles to walk comfortably upon with naked feet, no threats, no concerns. We are living with no clothing needs, not even shoes in camp, or to stroll down the two track trail that leads off to the main road. We call it the “main road,” but it is only a sometimes graded walkway that ultimately, in five days, we see only three cars drive by, once as they pass and once as they leave.
A walk seems right once or twice a day, sometimes short through the forest. Sometimes we’ll gather up a couple of bottles of water and walk further in our moccasin-like toe shoes. During the longer walks, we’ll have a cover-up tucked under a shoulder strap. The covering may or may not be wise, but just in case. It is just something for sun protection, to sit down upon, or the off chance, actually nil, that someone might drive by and be a problem. I could suppose in an emergency, it might be a warm covering, or a tourniquet. It might be something to distract, or armor against wild beast attack. It might be wetted to cool, or clean a wound, or brush off dust, or mud. It might be many things, but in all likelihood, being natural and vulnerable, naked in nature is none of those experiences and a piece of cloth can be done without.
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The Starship Enterprise has just landed on Earth in the year 2063, while chasing and destroying a Borg ship. Both have transferred back in time to get there. In a missile silo, they have contact with an old spaceship, one that Picard has seen at the Smithsonian centuries later. He places his hand upon the metal outer sheathing.
Data (the man made man): Sir, does tactile contact alter your perception of the Phoenix?
Captain Picard: For humans touch can connect you to an object in a very personal way, Make it seem more real.
Data gives touch a try in his usual curiosity.
(“Star Trek VIII: First Contact”)
Touch does make something real. There can even be a compulsion to reach out and touch someone. People get touched emotionally. People pinch themselves to make sure that they are not dreaming.
Touch is our nature and our birthright. When we touch and are touched by the world, the world feels more alive and real.
By just removing clothing, the entire experience of the planet becomes greater. To step into water nude, or to feel a gentle breeze across the entirety of the body, the heat of the sun, and to be entertained with all of the associations, the messages and knowledge of the moment through the body and sensitivity of the organ called the skin, we are more alive. Again, this is a birthright. To take this away is a wrong.
The holidays are making time difficult to find, so as to publish the stories of our journey through the Manti La Sal National Forest. Progress has been made, although slowed, but sure. The photo is from that drive. A passing cloud is felt, as well as seen.
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This morning, I lay in the tent watching fast clouds. A thought pops up. Ute, a tribe that I always associated as one of the plains tribes. This is Ute-ah, Utah! Duh! The evident finally occurs to me. There is a rich history of the Ute.
Another restful day, we find that the trail across the road from us is a road to another look out. We walk down it maybe halfway, just to enjoy the morning, carrying nothing, unrestricted, unscripted. Even the flip flop shoes come off at a point in the road. We’ve decided to walk it all…later.
We’re up here in Manti-La Sal National Forest, in the Bears ears National Monument. The morning has been casual, late rising, reading. We have a breakfast, then it is time for lunch.
A boy, a young buck scampers around, only about 50 feet away from camp. He decides to have a green snack and stops. This isn’t the female who directed us to this spot in the woods last evening. This guy is decorated with emerging antlers. We stand and watch, then, moving quietly, easily; we grab cameras. This gentleman is fearless.
We snap a few as we creep forward. He backs away eventually several feet to match our move. We know his boundaries.
Relaxed, after a restful afternoon, we decide to walk.
The animals around here in these mountains are not so jittery nervous. We first noticed the deer’s behavior as we found a great camping spot and her pal’s attitude as he browsed the through our campsite the next morning. They trust us and I feel like that is something to respect. We share this place, as a kind of fellowship.
This morning, as I sit at camp, a curious squirrel comes up the road, stopping maybe 20 feet from my chair. It sits up on hind legs. A fluffy mass of tail, seemingly as big as the rodents entire body, whisk in serpentine circles in and out. It looks as if curiously weighing the notion to see what the truck, stove and other objects are about. Around here, they look similar to the Arizona mountain squirrels, but the ears don’t have the comb-like flags at the tips. These critter’s triangle ears are tight symmetrical fur, arranged like a G.I. crewcut, square straight lines, lean. Its silver form takes off in a gallop from where it came from, playing with others down the road. I have been watching them comically gallivant there for a while.
The Free Range Naturist 