Note- I really can't control where the pictures end up within this post. I would love to make them correspond with the subject they illustrate, but my formatting is limited with a free blog. The lists each day will help you identify the pictures, even though they are in random places.

Day 1- Angel's Landing.

Well, actually, today is technically day two of the Vacation, since we left last night. But it is our bonus day, because we were supposed to wait till this morning to leave. By leaving after work last night, we got a good three hundred miles behind us by bedtime, slept in a cheap, stinky motel in Green River, Utah, and hit the road by seven o'clock this morning after a breakfast of apples and mangoes from our lunchbox. At noon, we rolled into Springdale, the gateway town to Zion National Park, located a campsite and paid for it, and found our way into the park.

Last year, while soaking in a motel hot tub in Moab, we struck up a conversation with two hikers who had just come from here, who highly recommended Angel's landing as a worthwhile day hike. now, I don't know how many of my faithful few blog-readers have hiked in Zion, specifically Angel's Landing, but all i can say is, it is by far the coolest hike I have ever done. I can only hope the pictures I will post to this blog will pretend to do it justice. The first two miles are fairly easy, a steady climb, but on a wide, paved trail winding into a canyon, then climbing it's wall. But then, oh, yes. Then. the paved trail ends in a flat, sandy area, wide enough to accomodate about a dozen milling hikers, before it picks back up, this time in singletrack, a chain leading the way over the rocks. It is not for the faint of heart, nor the flat of foot. It dips, winds, and climbs, all the while edging closer to the edges of the massive slickrock fin it sits on, either side dropping a thousand feet to the valley floor. Ominous signs warn that hikers can and have died on this trail, or rather by slipping off of it, so to not leave the trail, stay away from the edges, and use the chain provided as a handhold. We went up, we went down, we climbed and clambered over rocks with hand and footholds chisled out of them, until we stood fifteen hundred feet over nothing but rocks and air, the wind tugging at us, daring us to peer over the edge. The view was amazing, as I hope the pictures can show those of you who will never be able to make the hike, but the star of the day was the trail itself. Jelly knees quivered a time or two, but the whole day was pure fun, climbing on top of the world, sun and lizards and chipmunks, sunbaked earth, damp canyon bottoms, cactus flowers and toe-blisters. Ok, so the toe blisters not so much, but it's all part of the game I suppose. I was rather beside myself with happiness over the challenge, although BBD's only concession to the query about his feeling about it all was, If you're happy, I'm happy. Better enjoy it, cause we aint doin it again. But he did quite well.

We dined at the Pizza and Pasta Co. in Springdale, and found our way back to the campground. BBD got a back rub, since he was so game all day, we both had eight-minute showers (all our tokens would allow us) and now, as I type, the tent is up, the bedding is down, and all around me, the campground is settling in. As is the norm around our great country's national parks, conversations in German, Russian, or Polish or Czech (at least, those seem to be the main ones, when one bothers to ask) are being held loudly in neighboring tent sites. It is good to be tenting again, the first time since the Scott Park last fall. We have our routine down, and with the bedding we have, the awesomely soft roll-up backbacking bed pads, we are quite comfortable in our green and purple Coleman tent that Uncle Leroy and Aunt Mary gave me when I was 14. Hardly any gift could keep giving as that Coleman tent has. (So if you read this, L and M, thanks again. It has blown across a pasture, gotten wrapped up in a barbed wire fence, taken us honeymooning, weekends at the lake, been an extra bedroom when the house was too full, kept off the rain, withstood the wind, had bird droppings and insects of unusual size, and even a person or two rolled up in it, and it is far from done. It will see many more of the best times of our lives before it is ready to be retired.)
(Pictures- 1. the last half-mile of the Angel's landing trail. The trail goes straight up the spine of the rock wall in the left half of the picture.
2. BBD taking a break on the trail. That's an eight-hundred foot drop, by the way, just below him.
3. A typical portion of the trail. Thank goodness for the chain!
4. Me at the top. The view is so worth the hike. Hey, just the hike is worth the hike!
5. The view I am facing in the previous pic.

Day 2- Weeping rock, Emerald pools, Lake Powell

(Pictures for this day- 1. Zion Lodge, in the heart of the park
2. the waterfall between Middle and Lower Emerald Pools
3.the path to the Emerald pools)

Ok, so word to the wise. If you plan to camp at Zion National Park, get there early. Like six o'clock am, so you can be the first through the gates. it's a good idea to get inside the gates early if you want to park you car at the visiters center, eliminating the need to ride the shuttle from springdale. The park has the capacity to park about a fifth (I'm guessing) of the visiters through it's gates. And those who park there will not be moving anytime soon- they are probably out hiking, making use of the shuttle that leaves every seven minutes. It is actually a really good thing to have the shuttle. It keeps the park quiet, the only activity being foot activity. It is readily accessible, stopping at every point of interest, coming and going, and if you are lucky, the driver will actually enjoy his/her job enough to give his/her passengers moer than the names of the stops, but will include fascinating bits of human and geological history. It did interest me how readily one could pick up on the religious beliefs of the individual drivers, since there were some who did not hesitate to rattle off the estimated age of the formations, and others only stated that the park was old- many thousands of years. (Let me just say, in regards to my own beliefs, that while I claim a very literal belief in the Bible, if not all things mainstream Christianity, the Earth's age is one thing about which I believe that God laughs at us, trying to determine from our meager amount of written history. For someone eternal, who was intimately involved in the history of the entire universe, not just this tiny pebble we live on, which is the center of our tiny consciousnesses... our quests for make-or-break facts that will then determine our belief in him just seems a little bit rediculous. I allow myself a belief that there is much about this earth that written history does not begin to cover, and I think that God is ok with that- because why should my awe of Him be limited by what I do not know?) But back to my word to the wise. If you do not get a spot at the quieter in-park campgrounds, there is always the Quality Inn motel, RV Park, and campground in springdale, just a mile or two away. All went well, all stayed warm except the part exposed- our heads. But as soon as a bit of pre-dawn gray began to show, the people next to us began packing up camp. Aparently they had a thing with keeping their car door locked, because every few minutes they hit their keyless entry, beep-beep-beep. Twice, they hit the panic button, and the horn blared for what seemed like minutes before they found the right botton to get it shut off. And finally, they had slammed all the doors, honked oll the horns, pushed all the air out of their air matresses, chattered and argued and packed as much as they could, and then they left, but not before letting their car idle with the headlights pointed right into our tent. I became irrationally convinced that with their total ineptitude, as they left they were gonna accidentally slip the car into drive instead of reverse and manage to actually run over us. I curled up into a ball, realizing how stupid that sounded, but half convinced it would happen, since they were obviously parked nosed up against us. They finally left, and we began to fall back asleep, when suddenly, not eight feet away, the rv parked with it's butt toward us started up, diesel engine rumbling, exhaust fining it's way inside. It idled, while we muttered. After it left, we lay awake, watching the tent walls grow gradually lighter, loath to get up and face the cold until the sun had actually climbed over the canyon walls, which it did about three hours later.


Every time I am in the canyon country, I am constantly looking around me, wanting nothing more than a degree in Geology, wanting to know how the layers got there in the first place. How they were exposed has a simple answer- wind and water. Even the trails but a few years old have begun to sink into the rocks, tiny pieces of sand carried out by millions of hiking boots and tennis shoes. But how they settled in the patterns they did, layers diving haphazardly into layers, angles askew, always merits some neck-cranng moments as one contemplates it all.

We rode all the way to the end of the shuttle route, marveling at the sheer height of Angel's Landing from the bottom, getting out at various stops. Our first hike was not really a hike, just a half- mile ramble up to weeping rock, a juncture where the water that seeped into the top layer 1,200 years ago and began working it's way down meets a much harder, impermeable layer and traveles horizontally, until it pours out of the face of the canyon and falls to it's floor, meeting a much dirtier world than it landed on. Plants grow on the vertical walls, and the mist chills the air, creating a cool, green world just a short hike from the baking valley floor. We got off the shuttle again at the Temple of Sinawava, the end of the shuttle route, and rambled along the river. The narrow slot canyon that contiued on from that point was closed since it is runoff season. I want to go through a slot canyon at some point. Problem is, they are dangerous places in the event of a flash flood, and fragile places, often closed to the public, reserved for guided tours only. Many of them require swimming. On the way back down the canyon, we disembarked at the Zion Lodge, where the trailhead to the emerald pools is located. I expected the Emerald Pools to be a bit more pool, and a bit more emerald, but hey. Who would actually hike to something called the Reddish-Brown Puddles?Three tiers of puddles, spilling over into each other. The bottom two were beatiful, supporting a fragile desert ecosystem between them as the water from the middle pool spilled into the bottom pool, wildflowers growing out of cracks in the walls, the trail hugging the canyon wall behind the thin sheet of falling water. The top one was a short, but hot hike higher, and could almost qualify as a pool. It was there we stopped and dug out the organic nuts and apples i have been carting along with me. I even remembered a bag for the aple cores, now that my backpack is all sticky inside from having to carry apple cores in it down from the top of Angel's landing.

We rode back from the lodge to the parking lot in a shuttle full of tired, crying kids and frazzled parents. Parents who are kids our age, still fit, still active, still not ready to settle for minivans and disney world. Still gonzo at heart, in spite of the fact that they have to do their hiking with a child or two balanced on a hip. Moms who stay home to take care of them, who spent every waking minute providing constant supervision, and dads who, on this vacation, are proving the rare treat of their constant presence. I watched one little tableau in front of me, how the little girl claimed the seat beside Daddy, and the little boy, sitting beside Mommy, began trying to squirm off the seat, out into the aisle, and began screaming when she would not let him. But then Daddy pulls him onto his lap, the screaming stops, and the kid's happy again. Mommy sits completely alone, and looks a little bit betrayed, and daddy reaches forward to rub her shoulder, to let her know he still likes her, even though the kids dont. It's a vacation for him, the kids love him because it's a novelty not having him at work, and for her, it's just an extension of the job she does all day, every day, only more stressful because nobody's in a familiar place and there is no naptime. It led into another "when do we have kids" discussion once we got back to our car. This seems to be a hot-button issue with people who already have or have had kids. When we talk like this to them, we are sublty or not so subtly accused of being selfish, of choosing to miss out on the blessings of parenthood, of being immature and irresponsible. We feel a bit isolated by it all, because while we know that a vacation like we are on now would still be possible with kids, it is certainly easier without them. Just give us a little time, so we can enjoy a few experiences that will be next to impossible for the next 18 to 25 years. From about four months after conception until high-school graduation, every moment will need to be planned around that child (or children), and at least give us credit that we are mature enough to realize that. Of course, we do not even know yet if children are possible for us...

Now that was a tangent. Sorry. We left the crying kids, their nearly in tears moms, and made our way out of the park the long way, following the original highway, through the mile- long tunnel built in the thirties for much smaller vehicles than we drive these days, and as I fell asleep, hit the open road for Lake Powell. It is wonderful being the passenger when Bobby is driving. I do not worry about him falling asleep. he takes each querry about his wakefulness as an insult, so I let my head loll and my eyes close and go ahead and "try to snore", as he tells me afterwards that I do.

We honeymooned at Lake Powell, and this is the first time we have been back. It is interesting to see how our perceptions have changed since then. It is almost our sixth aniversary, after all. We are now far more interested in what the area has to offer. We still can't afford much, but we have gotten good at finding our way around places and doing the things we can do for little or no money. We lounged by the pool, not long enough to burn but long enough to create a tiny tan, to be added to incrementally before we hit the merciless Hawaii beaches in three days. I read an old Dean Koonts paperback, since just lying by the pool is akin to punishment for an activity junkie. I can devour a 500 page paperback in a day. I have a real problem bringing enough material along with me to keep myself entertained while BBD relaxes. What does he think about while he lies there for hours? Do his thoughts run in loops like mine do? Does he notice his skin heating up, every sweat pore opening, until he convinces himself he is miserable? Does he imagine bugs landing on him? Do his warm, wet swim trunks stick to him, making him feel like he peed himself? Is he worried about sunburning the bottoms of his feet? What would one do if one did that? That would be awful. Does he pass the time trying to itinerize the rest of the vacation, only to realize how rediculous that is? Does he start pondering imponderables? Does he get annoying songs stuck in his head? How is all of that relaxing? Maybe I am a strange child, but for me, if my body is relaxed, my mind is anything but. The best way to clear my head, rezero the whole wadded up mess up there, is by getting out where the breeze is cool, the view is nice, and the trails are long. I do my best thinking when I am forced to follow actual trains of thought to block out the pain of physical exercize, and it feels wonderful to let the worked, stretched muscles relax while I write, (can you tell I am being forced to sit at the moment?) read, or listen to music. Oh, dear. My mind and my body being on the same page is about as likely to happen as Bobby and Susan getting their timing right and actually wanting to do the same thing at the same time.

Poor man is out looking for someone to cut his hair. It is cold country hair, cute as can be, thick and about three inches long, sunbleached on the ends. He is ready for summer hair. Can't blame him. He has more hairs per square inch on his head than anyone I know.

So tomorrow, we have no plan. perhaps a rock beach in a canyon cove. Bobby wants so desperately to rent a boat, but we really can't afford it. The water's cold this time of year anyway.

Day 3- Sedona, Arizona

(pictures for this day-
1.View from our hotel toward lake Powell, over the Page Golf Course
2.BBD at glen Canyon Dam
3.The town of Sedona, as seen from the airport
4. Our campground in Oak Creek Canyon
5.Your favorite blogger, reporting on the day's activities
6.Grand Canyon country, after we left Page
This morning, we wondered aimlessly through the visitor's center at the Glen Canyon dam, shared a footlong at Subway (we can eat for $2.50 apiece now, with their now five dollar footlong promotion- we order a turkey sandwich with every veggie the little sandwich-builder can put on it, no cheese, then i pick off he turkey and give it to BBD.) Bobby got a haircut at wal-mart before we left town. I still experience a bit of shock looking at him. His head seems like it shrunk.

And with no further ado, we left town. I was sleeping soon thereafter, and really did not fully awake until we started into the mountains around Flagstaff. I hope I don't pay for that tonight. We streched our legs before heading into Oak Creek canyon, which opens into Sedona. As we wound our way through the snlight dappled by towering, leafy trees (which i wish i could identify for you, and i would try if I had the internet handy, but unfortunately this campground does not even have water, let alone wifi) and pine trees, we passed several campgrounds, and kept driving, thinking that we would surely find something closer to town. When we got to town and inquired, however, we discovered that no campgrounds are allowed within eight miles of town, only day use areas. Not sure why, unless it is to keep the plebian masses well out of sight. By the time we had puttered around the art district, driven to various viewpoints, snapped our pictures, scoured the town for an affordable meal (Quizno's- our second sub sandwich of the day), it was getting late, and the most promising campground had been filled. We drove up-canyon, until we found one perched above a stream, and nabbed a spot, even though the only spot left was one right next to the highway. Our lack of commitment has struck us in the rear again. But other than having cars whizzing by seventy feet away, it really is a beautiful, peaceful evening. We gathered wood from down by the stream (of course, I dropped a sturdy, jagged stick on my toe- the one who had roast beef- and mangled it beautifully, since I was wearing flip-flops at the time) and time will tell if we managed any brushes with the poison ivy growing down there. I am pretty sure i did not, but I am suspicious of BBD, since he never can identify the stuff. Makes me feel downright useful when he calls on my limited knowledge of native flora and fauna. And now, we are slapping at our first mosquitoes of the year. I hear it snowed five inches in Summit County last night. Man, it's good to be outa there.


Now, BBD is whining because he is bored. He's not even sure we want a fire, since we have nothing to roast in it. he's wondering around, pointing the camera at things, occasionally even taking pictures. Poor boy. Perhaps we shall have to just go to bed early, since there is nothing else to do. The line between relaxing and boring can be so thin sometimes.