Occupation of Independence

  (Central Utah.)  I took the Little Cute One on an off-leash romp yesterday.   She howls when she sees a rabbit.  She acts like a little hound dog, instead of a miniature poodle mix.  It took a few minutes, but I realized we were walking around on a reef-wannabe or baby reef.  Reefs seem more interesting than most geologic structures. In contrast, think of sedimentary layers being deposited at the bottom of an ocean, unimaginably slowly.  It is hard to get interested in that.  We want geology to be a movie, not a "stasis." And maybe that is why reefs are so interesting:  extend your fingers on both hands, and ram the fingertips of both hands together.  The fingers crumple upwards.  That is how reefs formed.  Even if the reef is only 30 feet high, when you walk around on it, you imagine motion.

  It is funny how geographical gaps can get established in patterns of travel, even when travelers fancy themselves as having enormous freedom of choice.  And these gaps can stubbornly persist for years. One of the mistakes I tend to make every migration season is to try to visit every place along a certain seasonal loop.  But one spot is low, while the next spot down the road is 2000 feet higher.  This spring, I am going to switch to low-altitude spots only.   This will send me north earlier, of course.  

  How did I end up driving almost 400 miles yesterday?  Simple: once you enter the big 'rez' in northeastern Arizona, you are almost committed to driving all the way through it.  US-191 almost made me seasick. I thought I would stay just north of the San Juan River and enjoy looking at a distant view of Monument Valley.  But rain was predicted and the highway sign said "Roads Impassable When Wet".  And in Utah, when they say that, they mean it.  So I fled. Long-suffering readers will probably see right through me.  They suspect the 'wet road' excuse is just a cover for the real reason: anti-tourist snobbery.  But actually I am not anti-tourist.  I just can't get into the mood I want to be in, when surrounded by lots of scenery tourists.  Frustration, then, causes me to lash out at tourists, more than I should. Anyway, I drove toward higher altitudes and a more practical supply town.  I was still looking for camping near sunset when I threw the tourist play

 (Southwestern New Mexico.)  I seem to remember driving across this river last year, when it was completely dry!   "Are you sure about this, Pops?" "I ain't no water dog, and I ain't doin' it." We biked upland, away from the river.  The ground and grass seemed like ordinary NM ranch country.  It was harshly tawny -- mostly dry grass with a few stickery things.  But just under the surface was lava/basalt.   Then we rode by a surprisingly dramatic little canyon, with vertical rocky walls.  I'm not sure what the name is, or whether it even has one.  Did a stream carve this 100 foot deep slot through the basalt, or was there a crack in the basalt layer that the stream found an easy attack through? I had to bring the bike and the Little Cute One down to the edge of the gorge to see if the noise I heard was wind or flowing water.  It was water falling over a small waterfall.  I was looking down into a private micro-paradise, with a waterfall, sycamores, an