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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We headed up to Redington Pass the other day. It is an easy access and with the climbing, it is such a more well-rounded exercise, more than just walking a path. It is also, traditionally, a nude area and trail with nude use signs posted. So, on this day, we needed a nice quick hike; one which we could be freely nude without being bothered to cover up for weekend and holiday crowds. We park and then have to legally cover our bodies long enough to walk from the parking lot to the other side of the road and then sufficiently away from the road. There, from the “nudity ahead” sign, it is liberation. The minimal coverings are tucked away into a backpack, or under a shoulder strap. There is no need of them, no matter who we encounter.
This day, we decide take the high route, so as to descend further upstream.
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We’re taking a back road off of a dirt road that travels along the Pima County line’s north side. It should lead us to a mountain bike trail that heads into the Tortolita Mountain County Park.
It is familiar, it used to be in what I considered my back yard, a big backyard. I have taken this trail from the south many times, it is easy to find, a shot just past the windmill landmark.
This time we’re coming in from the north, through a foothills of misleading dry flood washes. It is not clearly marked. The last time, I misread the landmarks and ended up in an entirely different area.
During that hike, we looked and looked for possibilities for the trailhead, or the correct wash as seen from a satellite photo. We thought that we found it as the sun set. Now, I hope to find it again.
To continue, you’ll probably have to go down to the button labeled page #2, until I can get “Classic Editor to work again.
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.
It’s time to gather provisions and gas. We’ll be heading up the road that cuts right in-between the Bear’s Ears, on top of its head and then onto its back. We’ll be lounging and exploring in the Manti-La Sal National Forest for a week or so.
In Blanding, Utah, I spend too much time for my liking. I’m stuck shoring up home insurance issues over the phone and checking internet texts and messages, after several days of no service. It has been a pleasure to be out of electronic contact, but this is the price. That process of waiting takes us to the visitor center, where I am able to spend some good time with a new hostess. She once lived up in those hills with her mother. I shamelessly grill her for insider’s information.
Just before we leave to backtrack to where we were this morning, which is 45 miles of carnuding. I pull off of the road at that sign that says ominously “Next services 121 Miles.” We strip, stuff away our clothing and resume down the now familiar road, to out west. For now, the wind blows through partly opened windows and the vent, circling, sensuously dancing all over naked bodies.
We find the road that will take us into the mountains. It is soon dirt. After a pickup truck passes, I get out to switching into 4×4 for stability. We are alone here at the base of this mountain. I turn off the motor. Now in silence, I look up into the steep walls before me. They circle around us. The vast Canyonlands are behind us now. This is the beginning of an entirely new terrain and set of unknowns to set off into, naked. There is a sense of adventure, a new beginning and freedom.
Sometimes, there are too many photos of a wonderful fun place to choose from and perhaps too many for the text. Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words, as they say. This will be one of those stories.
In a perfectly lovely morning, the juniper tree blocks the direct sun on our open net topped tent. From this, we have a less abrupt wake-up call, and cool comfort pervades. After laying relaxed, looking up at the sky, encouraged by the day’s agenda, I roll into breaking camp mode. DF prepares a breakfast of chopped bananas in the delicious ground almond porridge stuff that she often brings from home.
Heading down the road that we came in on, up the eroded steep sandy hill, we find the turn off which goes to an obvious double arch off of the main road.
The turn off looks like an obscure and rough side-road, judging from the map. There is more road and open space to see out here, but we have other plans and prefer to beat the heat in the shade of some intriguing geology. We’re going to investigate an unusual form, a double natural arch.
The Free Range Naturist 