Fairyland Trail – Bryce National Park

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

In the quiet cold of a crisp, clear morning alone near the trailhead of the Fairyland trail in Bryce National Park, we hear echoes of The Continental as he greets us with a hearty “Wowie-wow-wow-wow!” Oh, is that cowbell in the distance? Well, this beautiful sight doesn’t require more cowbell, though I suppose a little wouldn’t hurt either. Time to get Walken and make our way into our day on the trail.

Note – Caroline, upon reading the above just moments after I wrote it, wondered if we’ll remember the references when we are older. Hey Caroline, we are already old, and if we don’t know what this is pointing at, we probably have dementia or some other brain ailment. With that in mind, I’m including this link to the Saturday Night Live skit with Christopher Walken playing The Continental.

I closed Friday’s post, chronicling our drive north to be right here on this early Saturday morning, by writing about the role of love in these adventures. That was how I had planned to start today’s post, too, but being goofy was part of the beginning of this day as well, so that is that. Finding profundity even in the shadow of these photographic reminders is not always easy, though, in the back of my mind, I always hope to find some exalted eloquence to bring Caroline and me back to the sense of grandeur we were experiencing on these days out in the American wilderness.

Awe is a well-worn word that likely shows up on half of all of our travel posts. I should probably mix it up and occasionally write of our veneration or admiration, but awe comes closest to gob-smacked without sounding so heavy-handed and cliched, so I’ll stick with awe. Now join me in looking in awe upon the hoodoos of our wildest imagination because this is no CG rendering of a fantasy landscape; it is the reality of the Fairyland Trail.

In the run-up to this visit to Bryce, I was looking for trails we’d not traversed previously, and that are of a particular length so we could spend the majority of our day out in the middle of things. Having been here before, I considered that there is the rim, it goes down to the basin, and along the way, we marvel at the hoodoos. As I’ve mentioned these “hoodoo” things a couple of times already, I should share just what they are. According to Wikipedia, “A hoodoo is a tall, thin spire of rock, usually formed by erosional processes. Hoodoos typically consist of relatively soft rock topped by harder, less easily eroded stone that protects each column from the elements. They generally form within sedimentary rock and volcanic rock formations.”

What we are learning on this trail that I missed doing my research is that there is exposure here. I have acrophobia, or extreme fear of heights, and that’s what I had to deal with very early on the trail. I can only hope we don’t encounter more of that nonsense. At this point in our hike, we didn’t yet know that the trail was also rated as strenuous, but we’ll fully recognize that during the last few agonizing miles. Being up here at around 8,000 feet of elevation might also contribute to the extra exertion our hike requires.

Like the imperceptible speed of erosion, Caroline and I move along like glaciers scraping over the earth in such a way that only time is allowed to witness our movement. In our mastery of ninja-snail skills, we require millennia to make progress down the path. This is a quality we are constantly refining so we might graduate to spending many millennia or maybe someday a myriad to move from here to there. And what do we see while lingering on the trail into our world? The understanding that reality is different than desire. We wish to observe a molecule of growth emerge from a filament of lichen, to watch a photon be absorbed by the leaf as it uses the sun’s energy to convert carbon dioxide and water into sugar, to be present in the mind of the bird as its instinct to fly is first relayed from its brain to its wing. Those are desires, wishes, dreams, and flights of fantasy that, under the circumstances of being on a hike, are all equally impossible to realize. Instead, reality dictates that we are only allowed to absorb but a fraction of the infinity flowing into our eyes, and so we go slow, hoping that more of more remains in memories that seem to be tossed off all too easily following these encounters with the amazing.

Now, look back to where you’ve been. Was this there before, or has it been altered by a shift in perception? Why wasn’t our brain tuned to see it in all lights and angles? Is there a method of grading this in our minds that would allow a higher prioritization in the hierarchy of memories? How sad the tragedy that we have evolved to better recognize faces, even of those we might wish to forget; seriously, why do any of us carry the image of Hitler, Freddy Kruger, or even the mask of Darth Vader better than we can recall the image of things out of nature aside from the most iconic monuments? Just then, the answer jumps into my head: mountains, beaches, trees, and flowers rarely kill people; other people kill people, so knowing which faces are dangerous is a survival strategy.

Scroll back and then return here. Am I sharing a different aspect of something already seen, or is this a wholly new view? Had I written this in situ, I might be able to answer that question but it’s now a week later. It takes a good amount of time to parse 815 photos to find the 70ish or so that I’m posting, and so my brain, while not wiped clean, is looking at these images and wondering, is this something I’ve already shared? If I were to extend that thinking, I’d give up writing the words dropping in on this page, as where else have I shared these exact thoughts?

Trees struggle to hold on to the loose, ever-shifting earth; bushes cling low to the surface to establish a foothold lest strong winds send them off to other places, while rocks and sand continue to fall from above. Rain and snow work between the unseen spaces, ensuring there will always be less to see here than the time before, and there is nothing we can do to freeze this treasure in time, guaranteeing that anyone, even just tomorrow, will ever see Bryce Canyon in just the same way we have. An hour from now, our footsteps may disappear under the stride of someone else who passes through, a leaf might sprout, or a larger rock let’s go, and the path forward will be unpassable until those who care for these trails take it upon themselves to remedy the blockage so we can continue experiencing such sights.

If Arvo Pärt were up for it, he’d be my first choice to compose the soundtrack for Bryce, next up Max Richter, and I suppose even Hans Zimmer might craft something appropriately elegant; instead, I’ll have to make do with the sound of the wind, birds, our steps in the sand, and the silence that emerges from between the hoodoos as although they may take on the visual characteristics of organ pipes, they do not bellow in lush tones though they appear as if they could serenade us with the most beautiful music.

Sure, we are looking at the camera, but we’re so well practiced with this act of taking selfies that we understand that we are looking at each other, searching for the mirror of each other’s happiness, and as days pass until we look once again at these faces captured during this moment, we’ll know full well that we are gazing at love. Those two faces were engineered by the hidden hand of the universe to know the matching snuggly places where things just fit and find reassurance that the feelings and scents belong together just as the nature and shape of the surface of the earth are perfectly matched to the atmosphere that embraces everything underneath it. In this sense, I am Caroline’s tree and earth, and she is my oxygen and universe.

Every word I share here should be part of a love letter, and the fact is, even in lament, I’m in love, if in no other sense than the potential that things don’t have to be the way they are when they fail. Our human systems might fail our fellow men and women, but on occasion, we execute things perfectly, such as when the initiative has been undertaken to carve a trail through a mess of chaos that allows us to scale places we’d otherwise not be able to tread. I have no idea who mapped this trail, who paid for it, or who toiled to reshape the earth, so however many years later, we’d be here on a perfect day taking a stroll through a national park among alien rock formations as though it were the most normal thing ever.

Consider this precariously balanced top-heavy spire just waiting until the day we arrived; for us, this could be the most normal thing ever because these forms are what shape this park, right? Wrong, this is not normal; this is treasure and experience beyond all monetary value as my mind nor my imagination is able to assign memories to the idea of money but intriguing beauty fits like a glove to deliver something akin to ecstasy.

John Wise on the Fairyland Trail in Bryce National Park, Utah

At the opposite end of ecstasy is terror, and that’s where I was standing before crossing this narrow razor’s edge of near-certain death. I gave two seconds of serious consideration to turning around, but back there at the trailhead was the first time I was launched into a bout of anxiety regarding my horror of hovering next to an abyss. Turning around would be defeat, though knee-buckling fear wrenched my stomach into a convulsion that initiated a conversation with my lower intestine, specifically my rectum, that pinched off in ways that drilled at my confidence. Before I can turn into a quivering wreck of adventure-canceling jello, I ask Caroline not to say a word of encouragement to me, don’t start after me before I reach the other side, just wait in silence.

I forgot to share with you that on the way to the park, the temperatures dipped as low as 25 degrees (-4c), though, at the trailhead, it had already warmed to a toasty 28 degrees (-2c). Add to this, I was wearing shorts because why would I need pants when we’d already seen temperatures in the upper 90s (35c’ish) down in Phoenix? Well, at least I had my long-sleeve wool shirt and a fleece, but by this time in our hike, we’d moved beyond needing a sweater, so I’d tied that around my waste. The gusty winds we were promised for Sunday were practicing for tomorrow’s performance, and while admittedly relatively light, they felt as though they would pick up at any second to whip over the ridge over which I’m about to struggle while wearing a sail around my waist. Oh, holy expletives, just go, John, and so I did, talking to myself out loud to remind my feet to find the trail with a tunnel vision that should blind me to the monsters from below trying to draw me into the void.

My atheist inner voice started talking to me after I turned around to watch Caroline cross, pleading with my non-existent god not to allow another inch of exposure to encroach on my well-being. Begging didn’t help as there was more to come, but nothing as precarious as this fine line dividing life and death.

Writing about my fear sure was a lot easier than living through the moment, but these unfolding views demanded I continue, that and my pride that I should accomplish our 8-mile hike we would turn into a 10-mile journey. How the extra 4400 steps were clocked is lost in mystery.

Yeah, it looks just like that thing we won’t mention here.

Here, in my parallel universe, exactly one week after we were hiking these trails, I’m immersed all over again in Bryce Canyon, except now I have the luxury of channeling all of my attention towards interpreting the experience. I’ve been writing since 7:30 in the morning; it is now 5:00 in the afternoon, and I’m not yet halfway through my task. When I call this opportunity a luxury, I’m not exaggerating, as how many people have the wherewithal to sit down with their thoughts, recollections, and inspiration before trying to bring back those impressions to feed my wife’s and my memories while possibly inspiring someone else to dream of visiting some of the places we’ve gone? What a gift that rises to equal the very act of traveling, including this travel within myself a week later.

Like the trail, like the day, like our love, I just keep going forward, searching for whatever surprises might be around the corner.

The Fairyland Trail could easily be renamed the Fairytale Trail and live up to that new name. If one arrives equipped with an adequate supply of imagination in their mental backpack, they will quickly consider that this basin is not only host to the potential of fairies but is a place where a narrative of enchantment can unfold into a fantastical story that will travel with them the rest of their lives.

Should you doubt my claim above or fail to find the magic of astonishment in environments that plant the mythical seeds of the profound within us, maybe you will be fortunate enough to be visited by a creature sent to whisper the secrets of how to peer into unseen universes and embrace the impossible. Maybe part of the key to these moments is to exude such an extraordinary amount of love that creatures, trees, the sky, and mountains become aware of your presence and open the window to that hidden dimension.

But what if that dimension is not hidden at all but simply unknowable to those without the vocabulary and love to embrace potential and opportunities? Could the inability to give sense to the unfathomably profound be part of the reason there are so few people out here? Maybe the peeking in from the rim of the canyon both here at Bryce and down south at the Grand Canyon is all that fragile, inexperienced minds are able to tolerate as they make baby steps into exploring the depths of places too overwhelming during their first encounters?

We gain a footing in the mysteries of our world as we bridge the way forward, crossing over the fears that travel with us. I’d like to suggest that those fears are actually tools that propel our uncertainty and challenge us to work harder at overcoming them if we are to continue growing. On the other hand, there will always be those afraid to step over the shadows of the unknown while sadly spending lifetimes insulating themselves from exploring the breadth of potential happiness. I believe that confidence and, subsequently, happiness arrive with conquering the irrational, the fear, and the thoughts that we might only learn a mere fraction of things from the vastness of potential knowledge and experience. For example, overcoming the terror I experienced walking next to the ledge gives me the reward of being on the other side of that anxiety. On this other side, I find a new world I was reluctant to step into, but I am now able to discover the ecstatic joy of new things so beautiful that they defy easy description.

If I were a poet, I could focus my writing on trying to send aloft these images with a descriptive narrative allowing the blind to understand what was captured and what it is that is elevating my aesthetic sense of inspiration. Even with my creativity crippled, I’m driven to continue trying to unravel a flow of experience on these pages. But I’m sadly aware that I’m lost in a linguistic poverty that continuously fails in the conveyance of the magnitude of emotion I float through when my best friend and I are under the spell of such moments.

And so I just continue to write, searching for what’s out there. In the same vein, I hope that as I discover sights new to me, I might find a new sequence of words in my writing that will transform my brain allowing me the expression I’m looking for. Without constant practice, I’ll certainly end all possibility of obtaining that revelation. Oh, is that it over on the right? Probably not; I better keep foraging both in nature and in the expanse of a mind not afraid to fail.

I have to laugh out loud as I scrolled down to this photo and thought, “This is my brain, an expanse of clouded blue and a barren landscape with just three words barely clinging to life I must choose from what will reveal intrinsic values that transcend my mortality.”

The trail has started its ascent towards the rim with the end of the heavy lifting in sight. After having been out here for hours there’s a bittersweet sense that our time among the hoodoos is coming to an end.

Are you thinking what I am? These formations surely do look a lot like candy nut clusters made of some sort of milk chocolate nougat.

By this point on the trail, I’m tired. This is the Chinese Wall as it’s known out there, and that’s about all I have to say about it. Regarding this sense of being tired, this is the second day of writing this post, and it’s already late in the afternoon as I try to finish. Rightfully so, too, as I’m approaching nearly 3,000 words that I’ve shared here.

Hallelujah, we are reaching level ground soon when we meet the Rim Trail for the walk back to the Fairyland Trailhead. Not long after this, we reached the elevation of nirvana and were savoring the ease we’d be traveling the next hour or so; we could see cars in the Sunrise Point parking lot and proper toilet facilities. Phew, easy going from here forward.

WTF, we are climbing? Those thoughts that the last miles would be a stroll in the park were misguided. I should have done better research regarding our hike today. Not only did we discover a couple of extra miles out here, but we were also contending with 4,619 feet of elevation change (1,408 meters), and of course, those pesky drop-offs and facts such as the trail being rated as strenuous, so why should the end of it treat us nicely?

Well, at least there’s this brilliant overlook where we can gain a different perspective of the Chinese Wall near the dead center of this photo.

We’re finally at the high point of our hike, and the view around us is spectacular. If I share the other directions surrounding us, I’d only pile on more writing obligations and all I want to do is both finish the hike and this hunt for something else, anything else I can share here that will pull you into our experience.

This must be it, the end, as that’s the beginning. Right out there, where the five lunatics are standing calmly at the edge. Just to the left is the trailhead where I first clenched at the thought of crossing that narrow strip of trail sliced into this 60 to 70-degree slope, as judged by my puckering backside. Lucky for me and for Caroline, as I don’t think she would have hiked this alone, there was nobody out there at 7:00 this morning that I had to pass because I wouldn’t have been able to. But now we are just minutes from our car, air-conditioning, a giant bag of popcorn from Costco, and rest for our weary, aching joints.

Caroline Wise becoming a Junior Ranger at Bryce National Park in Utah

Seeing how it was still early, we jumped over to the visitor center for Caroline to collect a Junior Ranger workbook in order to earn her ranger badge, the real reason we visit any national park or monument. As for me, I found a chair and did nothing, enjoying the fact that my wife had to answer every question and do every exercise because she’s not a kid; adults must suffer to earn these kinds of rewards.

Hmmm, it was still early, and although we were exhausted, we weren’t ready to find dinner or go crash at the hotel. We’ll go for a drive down to Rainbow Point. We didn’t get far before we pulled over at the Aqua Canyon Overlook to get a good look at the snow that’s still lingering in the park.

Where is MY FOOD, you meaningless, empty-handed land animals? My freshly minted Junior Ranger wife swore to uphold the rules and regulations of the national park, and that means not feeding this bird…like she “accidentally” might have done with that beautiful blue and black Steller’s jay pictured in so many photos above.

We are in no hurry to leave the view of Agua Canyon as that would mean working our legs back to the car and stepping off that crazy steep curb we parked in front of. So it was a normal curb, but our joints were screaming at us with an angrier voice than any raven might as they complained about any step that went downhill.

Caroline had the brilliant idea that we could relieve the growing discomfort by limbering up with a 1-mile trail rated as easy with a minor 200 feet of elevation change. Plus, it’s called the Bristlecone Loop Trail, so we’ll see some of those amazing trees we last saw years ago at the Great Basin National Park over in Nevada. What a damned stupid idea this was; why did I agree to this act approaching a kind of suicide for my poor knees? Since when can 2 degrees of descent make me want to cry? Please, invisible non-existent god, lift me off this trail and drop me at the nearest restaurant where I promise I won’t make a spectacle of my pitiful being by rubbing cheesecake on my knees as though somehow that might help.

The end credits start to roll right here. There are no funny outtakes. We made it back to the car and drove 15 miles down the park road to the Bryce Lodge dining room to have one of the worst buffet-style meals we’ve ever had to suffer through. Did we care that it was poor? Heck no, while we had almost zero energy left, we were still able to muster some tiny bit of something inside so we could smile at each other and bask in the awe that we earned bragging rights to having had such a great day. Life rocks.

North Out of Arizona – Trip 8

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline Wise and John Wise driving north in Arizona

It’s already been a fortnight since our last travels that took us south, down to Ajo, Arizona, on the Mexican border; today, we head north. For the trip before that weekend in Ajo, we headed to Los Angeles, and so, as a preview of our next outing two weeks after this, I hope you might already guess that we’ll be going east. Today’s adventure, however, will bring us to Bryce National Park in Utah, about 80 miles north of the Arizona border.

Late last year, I took our friend Brinn up to Bryce to get his head out of some difficulties he was dealing with and realized it was likely well over ten years since Caroline last visited. After checking all blog posts, I surmise it might actually be closer to 20 years. It’s unfathomable that it’s been that long as the images of the park are never very far from our memories. Another aspect of this being a shame is that we are a mere 420 miles from the park. On the other hand, we have to avoid the place in summer: too crowded, yet we likely won’t be hiking in the winter because of too much snow. And so we have late April through the end of May and late September to early November to spend quality time there.

While I would love to bring Caroline back to the trail we’ve hiked together before (the same one that Brinn and I were on last year), it’s time for the two of us to capture the park from different perspectives, and to that end, I have a 7.8-mile hike scheduled on Saturday and an 8.7-mile hike for Sunday. While we are prepared for chilly mornings, both days should be mostly sunny with highs in the mid-60s; sunrise won’t be until 6:30, while sunset doesn’t arrive until 8:15.

Well, enough of this small talk; I have a few things to finish before we depart in a short 2 hours, as in lunch…

…That was 10:00, and now it’s noon. We are packed, fed, and about to get on the road. Next stop, Flagstaff for coffee and gasoline.

We are now well north of the big cities and moving deeper into the quiet of a landscape we are in love with. Along the way, we pass dozens of Native American roadside vendor stands that often look as though they’ve been abandoned for years. I’ve likely shared this more than a few times, but we miss the old Chief Yellowhorse stop along the road up here as they really worked the cheesy signs welcoming drivers traveling along this dusty path. Occasionally, there’s a bit of art that adorns these plywood stands that somehow endures the harsh winds and blistering sun that wears down the surrounding mountains. Maybe I’m drawn to them due to a romantic notion of what these stands harken back to from a different age when innocence and naivety allowed people to enjoy simpler things that still felt exotic.

But, like with all things, there is no such thing as permanence. Everything under the sun fades away. With enough time, mountains are turned to dust, and maybe too quickly, people’s dreams turn to dust, too. We’ve passed this fin countless times and while its erosion is imperceptible to us, the erasing of human activity here appears accelerated. There are homes and families that exist right along this road that straddles an invisible Grand Canyon on our left that is just out of view, but opportunities to succeed are rare, and with fewer and fewer travelers interested in souvenirs from the exotic old west and the Indians that scrape by, what’s here that represents humanity, aside from the asphalt, will ultimately also turn to dust. So, you better gather your experiences and live your life out in the real while it still remains.

Just ahead and moving off to the northeast is the rapidly disappearing Colorado River. While the river remains flowing from its catchment basin further upstream, our demands on harnessing and wasting it tax the entire ecosystem so we can feed golf courses, fill swimming pools, water the grass at our homes in the surrounding deserts, and create entertaining fountains over in Las Vegas. In other words, we are idiots failing to understand any sense of balance. Is our disconnect from these environments poisoning our responsibility that we’ve offloaded to weak politicians, celebrities, and those who put financial gain above survival? It would appear that we are driving into an oblivion of nothingness.

A shadow mirror deep below the edge is the lifeblood of all living things; we call it water. A dozen years ago, Caroline and I grew wealthier than many people on earth as we were afforded the luxury of traveling this muddy liquid highway called the Colorado River. From above, we are on an old highway bridge turned pedestrian bridge from which we can look right into the Grand Canyon. It’s not the view everyone is familiar with, but 5 miles north is Lees Ferry and the official beginning of the Grand Canyon, where mile marker zero denotes the launch point for rafting adventure into the canyon containing this mighty river. A singular moment was required to make the decision to travel through the “Big Ditch” which turned into one of the best opportunities we’ve offered ourselves. Any and all sacrifices should be met to afford one’s self these once-in-a-lifetime experiences that change the fabric of who we are and how we see our place on this planet. We can no longer see the Colorado or the lakes that try to contain it and not consider the impacts we inflict upon all of life in the Southwest as society takes water for granted.

I’m well aware that many of my themes by now are well-worn and maybe even tired, but if there is any real connection to the beauty taken from these spectacular landscapes that resonate within me, then there must also be a deeper appreciation and desire to protect and respect these environments in such esteem where important words bear repeating. Speaking of repeating, this road has been driven countless times, not that I couldn’t figure out roughly just how many times, but I don’t want to as I enjoy the idea that I can no longer really know as it’s that familiar.

I know these sights, no I don’t. Well, not having a photographic memory, I can’t say I truly know them, but they must be somewhere in the recesses of my mind as I know for certain we’ve passed through here before. We are fortunate to have these imperfect recollections where if we are inclined to return to a place that brought us wonder, it can be new once again and inspire fresh awe.

Did we miss this monument on previous excursions through the area, or is this dedication to the Dominquez-Escalante Expedition of 1776-1777 been placed here recently? Who cares, we needed to stop to even figure out who he was. So, it wasn’t a he but them. They were Franciscan friars Atanasio Dominguez and Silvestre Velez de Escalante, who ventured into the wilderness to document what they found on their 2,000-mile 6-month exploration to California. They never made it to that territory due to the approach of winter, but their journal served to help Lewis & Clark with their expedition in 1803, and so, as you might guess, I’ll head over to Amazon to grab a copy of their document of what they found nearly 250 years ago before the indigenous cultures were forced to cede their identities to the wave of invaders that were at their doorstep.

While back on the Navajo Bridge, a man who’d taken his chair out on the bridge to watch condors told us of a rookery out near House Rock and that there were now over 100 condors in the area. To be honest, I was skeptical, but a sign for the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument with a map showed a condor viewing area up the road in House Rock Valley. Still, we were incredulous and didn’t believe there was any real chance we’d see condors if we made the detour. The turn-off is not well marked and requires a turnaround, but we thought, what does it matter if we get into Tropic, Utah, later than planned?

We might have been 4 miles up the gravel road before we spotted a pickup truck near a covered picnic table and two women, one with an antenna in her hands when we realized we were at the right spot. Caroline looked through a scope that is mounted here and immediately saw one of these giant California condors flying right above what turned out to be streaks of bird poop. While it may be difficult to spot in this lower-resolution photo, there are ten condors in the image above. Once again this year, we wonder out loud about these travels into nature, why we are failing to bring our binoculars and my 70-200mm lens?

We saw more than 4% of the entire population of surviving wild California condors that exist on Earth today. This giant scavenger nearly went extinct with only 22 birds still alive back in 1982, and they are still under threat due to states like Arizona that won’t ban hunters from using lead in the bullets they use for hunting. This then begs the question: I thought hunters were not doing this for sport as much as they were shooting animals for food. If condors are scavenging carcasses that are full of lead, then it can only be due to hunters shooting whatever the fuck they want and leaving the rotting corpse to be claimed by whatever comes along to dispose of the spoils of our war against wild animals.

Then, on the other hand, there are those of us who see our tax dollars at work maintaining these trails into our wildlands where average people can drive up to see things never seeable in our cities. Driving up to a view equipped with shade, seats, a toilet, and even a scope so the curious are offered this kind of experience that is nothing but luxury. Along the way, we’ll find food, gas, lodging, and random surprises that are only accessible due to the constant support of an infrastructure that allows these types of forays, even for the hunters, off-roaders, and those happy to inflict damage to an environment I’d prefer remained pristine. But we live in a world where compromise is supposed to be the rule, and I’m good with that, though we can still try to exist within parameters that best preserve things that are beneficial to people, land, and the various species with whom we share this world.

Do you see that? Can you feel what I’m trying to share? Have you seen the moments I captured over the course of our afternoon? All of this is love, love between the two of us experiencing our world, love of the opportunity to be present, love of the sights, and those who lend massive effort to our ability to have such times of life. Without the entirety of all things working in concert to allow these two people to be here in this precise instant, life might otherwise be a total chaos of randomness where order never finds an equilibrium. We must stop and harness our powers of observation and consideration to see that in the sunset, the condor, the river flowing through the canyon, and the two people tracing a path over our earth are all bringing the potential to recognize unraveling beauty, discover new love, reaffirm an engaging relationship to this brief moment in time where life happens on the most profound terms.

Our source of inner light shines for such a short time once you fall in love with all of this, but if you fail to see the horizon closing in on you, you will waste this precious resource called happiness. The phenomenon where our hearts are allowed to fill with awe, joy, surprise, and magnanimity towards ourselves and the world around us is a fleeting flash of potential that is only illuminated for the briefest of times with a prominence that will be witnessed by very few. Share this opportunity for love with yourself and get out of your way, out of your fear, out of your routine. Escape your cynicism and look for the profound in the tiniest of things, in your heart, mind, and soul.

Not Much in Ajo nor Why

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

John Wise wearing new socks in Ajo, Arizona

The great luxury of new handmade socks inspires a wonderful sense of appreciation that these were made just for me, for my feet alone. As if such a gift could be graded, these have a special story that catapults them into their own category of impression. You see, this yarn from West Yorkshire Spinners in Britain was sent to Caroline just before Christmas by her friend Claudia, who lives in Germany. The first bit of yarn was cast on back in January, and I noted that she was working on them while we were at the Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades, California. The knitting continued on our subsequent trips to Death Valley, the Grand Canyon, Douglas, Arizona, Mexico City, and San Cristóbal, once again in Los Angeles, and now here in Ajo, Arizona, where they are being declared finished.

Arizona Route 85 leaving Ajo, Arizona

Indecision is the key to flexibility was the adage we learned from boatman Bruce Keller while rafting the Colorado River a dozen years ago, and as this trip south was packed with a lot of indecision, we are now practicing our flexibility by pointing the car northwards early in the morning instead of doing anything more down in a part of the state where there’s little to do, not in Ajo and not in Why.

Gila Bend, Arizona

Arizona Road 85 mostly passes through the Cabeza Prieta Wildlife Refuge and the Barry M. Goldwater Range used for bombing practice, with very little opportunity to take in the sites on the way to Gila Bend.

Gila Bend, Arizona

We were okay with that straight drive-through as we were on our way to getting a greasy breakfast, the kind we could only get on the way through the lesser populated areas of America. Sure, we could go to Denny’s, IHOP, or Waffle House in Phoenix and other big cities, but those options would kill us if they were part of our routine. We’ve passed the Space Age Lodge and Restaurant many a time but have never stopped; that all changed this morning. Breakfast was every bit of greasy we could have hoped for, with two weak-looking eggs, a small mound of hash brown potatoes, toast, and a side of bacon for me. Flavorless coffee rounded everything out, adding all the happiness to a day we needed.

Gila Bend, Arizona

Out behind the restaurant are train lines, and on one of the tracks, a bunch of cars are traveling west. In the distance, I could see another train traveling east right at me; this obviously demanded that we hang out and watch these giants pass.

Old U.S. Highway 80 north of Gila Bend, Arizona

This road was one of two options I’d entertained traveling on prior to our departure on Friday. One direction out of Ajo would take us west and then north for a visit to the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, and then there was Old Highway 80 out of Gila Bend, which was made nearly redundant after AZ-85 (mostly parallel to this old road) was opened in 1977.

Iron Cross Blister Beatle in Arizona off AZ-80

As we were out here looking at owls, hawks, and various other birds, we came across this mean-looking ant-like thing that Caroline thought was a crazy-looking ant, but on further examination, I was able to determine that this beast was an iron cross blister beetle. My wife got lucky regarding this encounter as she skipped picking it up (she, in fact, picks up a lot of creepy crawlies to get a closer look or better photo) because this particular insect will hurt people. It’s not only toxic to animals, but it’s toxic to us too, not that Caroline snacks on the bugs she picks up, but in this case, there’s a substance on their legs that causes our skin to blister…hence the blister beetle reference.

Old U.S. Highway 80 north of Gila Bend, Arizona

We don’t get a lot of rain in AZ, but apparently, we can pump enough groundwater that for one hundred years, we’ve been irrigating desert lands to grow corn, cotton, citrus, melons, and a bunch of other foodstuffs that allow for these beautiful contrasts between dark greens, the desert, and deep blue sky.

Fire near Gillespie Dam in Arlington, Arizona

What we thought was a wildfire turned out to be a controlled burn, a stinking, eye-irritating, scorching of some earth that is understood by some and lost on us…

Historic Gillespie Dam Bridge in Arlington, Arizona

Lost on us until we reach this Gillespie Dam Bridge and realize that the burnoff of surrounding brush works to protect this 95-year-old truss spanning the Gila River.

Gillespie Dam in Arlington, Arizona

“River” seems relative as the Gila kind of just stops here over on my right. I suppose that when monsoon season arrives, the waters likely move beyond the remnants of the broken Gillespie Dam and find their way to the spillway still remaining here at the section of the dam pictured below. As for the pooling waters, they are actively being pumped out and sent to irrigation canals.

Gillespie Dam in Arlington, Arizona

The ground behind Caroline on the left is still smoking from the fires that obviously burned earlier in the day. Not only is there water in front of us, but behind the wall and in those small coves is even deeper water, and it is back there that we are listening to fish splash about, as are a couple of nearby fishermen trying to entice them to join the party in their ice-chest sitting nearby.

Historic Gillespie Dam Bridge in Arlington, Arizona

While the dam failed back in January 1993 due to an extreme flooding event occurring in Arizona that year, the bridge, while damaged, survived and was subsequently repaired. Well, our day is turning out to be quite interesting.

Hassayampa River in Buckeye, Arizona

Strike another positive impression into our scorecard as here at a Hassayampa River crossing we are seeing water running over the desert. In our 27 years in Arizona, we can’t remember seeing water in the Hassayampa, though as I write this, I have this vague notion that we once saw water running through a broad expanse of the river bed where it passes underneath Interstate 10 west of Phoenix. [Note: The Hassayampa mostly flows underground. There are a few areas that have perennial surface flows, but they are upstream near Wickenburg. Water in this part of the riverbed is a seasonal occurrence. – Caroline]

Glossy Ibis roadside in Arlington, Arizona

As we passed a cattle farm near Arlington, there was a field being flooded, and at first glance, it looked like common blackbirds poking around for food in the water.

Glossy Ibis roadside in Arlington, Arizona

Of course, I failed to bring the long lens once again as we ventured into nature, and now I’m suffering by not being able to capture a close-up image of these birds. It turns out that they are Glossy Ibis. Look closely; they have a rainbow of hues shining off their feathers. They were first seen in Arizona just 19 years ago, so they are not common at all. Also seemingly not common within our own species is this ability to be easily entertained by such ventures into places of relative nothingness.

Down Around Ajo Way

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Sunrise in Ajo, Arizona

A slow day in the Desert Southwest started with the sun pouring into our east-facing window. Like an alarm clock hammering at our ears, the light of day insists that sleep is over. Into the morning we go.

After using those supplies of the hygienic type we secured last night, we started our journey south. Ajo, though it means garlic in Spanish, is no place for culinary delights by a long shot. Just getting breakfast is a chore. Likely due to the carnage of two years of pandemic, Google and the business listings of Ajo are out of sync. Luckily, we found Oasis Coffee at the main square, where we were able to get some decent coffee, a bagel for Caroline, and a bacon egg panini for me. Behind the wife was a gaggle of Brits that we learned were also heading down to the national monument; we were determined to beat the crowd, so it was time to drop the pen, go find some water, and point the car towards the trail. That was until Caroline thinks “bathroom” but finds half a dozen of those gray-haired people of English descent already in line ahead of her; she’ll just have to pull up a tree or cactus somewhere south of here.

Catholic Church in Ajo, Arizona

Starting our drive south of Ajo, I was wondering why a place would be named after a herbaceous bulb related to the onion that doesn’t seem to be related to this town in any way. Wikipedia came to the rescue by informing us that Ajo might have gotten its name from the similar-sounding Tohono O’odham word for paint (oʼoho). As for Tohono O’odham, they are the original dwellers on these lands, and their name means Desert People.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

Search out the extraordinary and be prepared to be surprised. Here we are at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument down in a tiny corner of Southern Arizona, but that is deceiving as it turns out that this desert outpost with very few roads is more than 12 times bigger than Paris and almost 4.5 times bigger than Munich. Yep, it’s that big! There are about 101 miles (162km) of dirt roads through the monument; of those, we’ll only be able to visit 21 (34km) today.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

The one paved road through the park is an artery traveling between Mexico to the south and Why, Arizona, and points beyond to the north. Our first stop will be the visitor center to pick up the Junior Ranger booklet so Caroline can nab a badge from this park. As it turned out, my wife was going to have to step up to adulting as this national monument offers a “Desert Ranger” program for non-kids.

Cristate Cactus at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

The first question has Caroline wishing for the Junior Ranger booklet where she can draw cute pictures and write poetry because asking her to describe and diagram the genetic mutation that leads to cristate cactus formations has her stumped. That is until I offered her the explanation that this is a defect in the apical meristem and as far as the diagram was concerned, she was on her own.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

Our wish during this visit to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument was to make our way over the 41-mile-long Puerto Blanco Drive that would have brought us past Quitobaquito Springs (closed for restoration work), but the ranger informed us that there are sandy parts of the road and that at a certain point, we will be limited to one-way traffic so turning around becomes impossible should we hit a part of the road we’re not comfortable negotiating.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

Instead, we are heading up the popular Ajo Mountain Drive.

Caroline Wise at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

What was the lesson learned from visiting this particular organ pipe cactus that was a short walk away from the gravel road? For me, it was I should have worn my hiking boots as random unidentifiable cactus needles are able to penetrate the rubber soles of my walking shoes, and while I didn’t need pliers to remove them, it’s a rude moment when a needle meets flesh.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

I would like to imagine that nearly anyone looking at this image would be able to figure out the reference to organ pipes.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

After a good stretch of washboard dusty dirt road, we run into some paved sections that are always delightful as, for a couple of minutes, our car is turned into the greatest luxury ride ever.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

Guess how many cars have passed us at this point? Mind you that we’ve already been crawling around out here at a snail’s pace for a good hour. Well? The answer is NONE!

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

E-bike rentals here at the park would be ideal as the 21 miles of this road are too much to walk, but the car is allowing us to drive too fast. Being realistic, the argument against e-bikes could easily be made that most visitors are only interested in getting a glimpse of things the quickest way possible.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

The Desert Ranger booklet points out that standing right here should be the largest organ pipe cactus easily accessible to those driving by, but all we found were these whale-like looking skeletal remains of what once was the said cactus.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

The ocotillos are in bloom, and why it took me so many years to learn the details of this semi-succulent plant is beyond me. First of all, the name is Spanish for Little Torch, which should be obvious enough from the color and shape of the flowers. This plant that is able to live for nearly 60 years is related to the boojum tree. Finally, the fresh flowers are edible and can be used in salads; when dried, they can be used as herbal tea.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

We’ve reached Arch Canyon, and the one and only hike we’ll do out here today. Look closely at the big blue spot in the rocks, and just above that is a minuscule, fragile-looking second arch. I’ll just go ahead and tell you now: the trail that would have taken us up close and personal with the arches eventually would get too hairy for me, so this will be the best photo of it that I was able to take, but we wouldn’t know that until we got deeper into the canyon.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

So, we started our pleasant hike over a well-groomed trail thriving on the exquisite beauty and solitude out here.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

Looking back on the way we came.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

It was just around this corner where a steepish ascent up some slick rock marked by cairns would have taken us up the mountain for a more intimate encounter with the arches, but like I said…

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

As we turned around just beyond those signs, one of them warning us about immigrants and traffickers, I spotted the smallest arch I’d ever seen. About 25 feet overhead was this tiny opening I don’t believe a hand could have fit through.

Cristate Cactus at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

Another organ pipe cristate, also referred to as a crested cactus, was found, but the saguaro cristate described in the booklet couldn’t be found; maybe it is now gone.

Cristate Cactus at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

I can’t remember ever seeing this cristate mutation in the Phoenix area; I wonder if this is an environmental factor due to elevation, weather, or soil chemistry.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

Come to think about it, why don’t these organ pipe cacti call the desert up in Phoenix home? From Phoenix down to the Mexican border and beyond, these lands are all part of the Sonoran desert. As a matter of fact, the Sonoran desert extends 260 miles south to Guaymas, Mexico, and yet, saguaro cacti are only native to Arizona. Of course, the internet has all the right answers. It turns out that organ pipe cacti require predictable, warm-season rains and rocky soil, and the Phoenix area doesn’t meet those requirements.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

Flowering jumping cholla, also known as teddy bear cholla, is what’s leaving the needles on the ground I’m stepping on; this is my best guess.

Caroline Wise at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Ajo, Arizona

After nearly 5 hours in the monument and some serious noodling to figure out the physics, chemistry, biological function, and symbiotic relationships between various plants and creatures, it was time to turn in the 40-page questionnaire that tested Caroline’s knowledge that might allow her to become a Desert Ranger and as you can see for yourself at her swearing-in ceremony, she is now a fully qualified Desert Ranger with distinction. She earned this extra title for explaining how cycles of the moon influence the hydrological function of organ pipe cactus and the volume of water exchanged with the environment during these transitional times. Yep, she’s that smart…O estoy tan lleno de mierda.

Ajo, Arizona

So, from the visitors center, we were supposed to head down to Puerto Peñasco, Mexico, but things didn’t work out that way. The proverbial confluence of events conspired against our inner Schweinehunds, and we headed north instead of our dreamed-of Pollos Sinaloa El Angel for lunch near the ocean. Giving up that grilled chicken had us feeling defeated as that really was the only reason for driving hundreds of miles into the desert at the cusp of summer, that and the Carne Asada we enjoyed yesterday.

Mining Museum in Ajo, Arizona

Seriously though, we were warned that passing through Sonoyta on the border carried risks of police trying to fleece tourists passing through for any perceived infraction; one anecdotal story from the ranger at the park of having his phone stolen down in Rocky Point by armed men, and then the admonition to be very aware of the U.S. side of the border closing at 8:00 p.m. and the heavy traffic on holiday weekends. Sonoyta hotels often sell out due to travelers after waiting hours in line being turned away when the border closes. Too much hassle in our book, so we returned to Ajo, sat down for lunch followed by a coffee back at Oasis, and then drove across the way to visit the closed Ajo Historical Society Museum.

Mining Museum in Ajo, Arizona

The rusting hulk of a Kilbourne & Jacobs Automatic Air Dumping Car is a relic of the mining industry made by a company that was founded in 1881 and went bankrupt by 1923. I think this logo plate weighs more than the bumper on our Kia.

Mining Museum in Ajo, Arizona

This is the train car from just above.

Mining Museum in Ajo, Arizona

I was considering the effort to restore that decaying train car, heck we see people on YouTube restoring anvils, lanterns, knives, planes, cars, etc., well restoring that car would be interesting to me. This got me thinking of restoring the 100-year-old wood cart this broken wheel is attached to, so I researched the world of wooden wheels used for these types of projects, and it turns out there’s a market out there. I’d imagine it is a small one, but for between $300 and $1000 apiece, people are able to acquire wood wheels for their covered wagons, carriages, cannon wagons, and vending carts that require an old-world appeal.

Mining Museum in Ajo, Arizona

Ajo was the site of the first open-pit copper mine in Arizona, for what that’s worth.

Ghost Figure by Val Uschuk of Ajo, Arizona

The Ghost Figures of Ajo are sculptures distributed around town by Val Uschuk, who seems to spend her time between Durango, Colorado, and out here in the remote desert. The pieces are worth seeking out, and when we are in Durango in August, we’ll be sure to keep our eyes open for the ones that are installed there.

The Long Way Round – Trip 7

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

John Wise and Caroline Wise at King Coffee Roastery in Phoenix, Arizona

Happy Good Friday, and it is. I’d forgotten that Caroline would be off today, so last night, I was surprised for the second time to find out that we’d be able to leave for our weekend getaway whenever we chose. But this opened up a dilemma for which I wasn’t exactly ready. You see, all week, I’d been working on details regarding other trips by moving some days around, adding activities, deciding that we’d head out over the 4th of July into the Wasatch mountain range east of Salt Lake City, adding the Zuni reservation to the mix by nixing something else, and booking a night in a hogan in Monument Valley for the second time in 14 years. After juggling these hundreds of threads, I had to turn my attention to working out in greater detail just what we’d be doing this weekend.

We already knew that we were heading to Ajo, Arizona (garlic in Spanish) and then down to Organ Pipe National Monument for some hiking, but that was it. With a brain already fixated on travel plans, I brought up the map and knew almost immediately that we should simply go the wrong way. Instead of driving west, we’d go east. Ninety minutes east of Phoenix is Miami, and in Miami is Guayo’s El Rey, and at Guayo’s El Rey we’ll be stopping for lunch. A lunch of carne asada at my favorite place for just that.

After eating, will we backtrack? Heck no. We’ll drive another 10 miles east before turning south to make the long detour around Tucson before finally taking a quiet road to Ajo, where we are booked for the next two nights. But don’t go thinking that this was all I could come up with tomorrow; we’ll be having lunch at a grilled chicken stand in Puerto Peñasco, Mexico, on the Gulf of California, though those details and the rest of today will have to wait for us to get underway. At the moment, we are sitting at King Coffee Roastery down the street from home while I’m starting today’s post, and Caroline is knitting away to finish the new pair of socks that she’s promising I’ll be wearing before the weekend is out.

No, seriously, I typically hate any food photos I shoot; well, the donuts a couple of weeks ago turned out okay, but I have no eye for shooting meat. But then I thought, maybe this is like nature images where nothing I capture ever even remotely is as appealing as what we experienced with all of our senses tuned to wonder, and that years from now, when for one reason or other, I can no longer enjoy the worlds best carne asada, I’ll be able to look back at this one and remember the sense of yummy it offered me, though the image of it was less than appealing.

The signs around town mention the poppies, but had we ever been in Miami to see them in bloom? Had we simply overlooked them, or were we so uninspired that day that we couldn’t be bothered? I do have to admit no small amount of annoyance after driving the road between Superior and Miami as speeding lunkheads plow aggressively over the winding roads as they impatiently need to arrive somewhere that always seems to be dictated by some kind of emergency if their driving is any indicator. It’s hard to stop and smell the flowers when survival and stress are wearing you down.

Today, with the decision to let time be damned, we took the long way around by going well out of our way to turn a 2.5-hour drive into a nearly 8-hour tour east, south, west, and a little bit north just so we could get out and smell the nearly scentless wildflowers of the Arizona Desert on a spring day.

I’ve never seen a thistle I didn’t like, though the same cannot be said after touching one of these spiny plants.

We’re on Arizona road number 77, traveling south; the astute might notice I’m looking north for this photo.

Oh, more wildflowers, we must pull over, or how else will we use all that time between lunch and the setting sun to occupy ourselves when today’s destination doesn’t hold a ton of things to do?

The reminder that the drive wasn’t all about grand vistas and flowers but included a good deal of brown, tan, lifeless, dull dirt, leafless plants, and desert stuff that isn’t always amazing in its repetition. Hmmm, that sounds cynical and like the words of someone failing to appreciate the complexity of what a desert embodies. I should never give in and take the world around me for granted; I, better than most, have a pretty good idea of the formation of our planet, the upheaval, and the chemistry that has been working over millennia to form every bit of organic everythingness that must be here for me to begin to make even the smallest of observations. So let me reframe this: wow, just look at this spectacular dirt being eroded right next to the road for everyone who passes to witness just one more bit of nature at work on our behalf.

Then the Santa Catalina range of mountains screams at me, “You even care a lick about that little bit of dirt roadside when this kind of majesty is here to astound you?”

After negotiating our way through the chaos of Tucson (Little Phoenix in its boringness), we were on the quiet and scenic Arizona Route 86 for the rest of our drive southwest through Sells before turning northwest on our way to Ajo.

And this is why you turn a 127-mile (205km) trip into a 341-mile (558km) meander, a great lunch, colorful wildflowers, terrific mountains, and a fantastic sunset.

But the sunset wasn’t over yet, with the shifting high clouds and the evolving glow of the horizon offering us a thousand beautiful views that changed with the curve of the road, the cactus in the foreground, and which part of the sky was capturing particular spectra of color.

Our motel is on the sketchy side, with the amenities not what they might have been at one time. With no soap or shampoo in the room, we had to track that down. Stepping back out of our room, we heard a commotion around the corner from the housekeeper and the girl from the front desk: they were dealing with a snake. It turned out to be a non-venomous western ground snake, a pretty reptile with its orange and black bands. It slithered away after we caught a glimpse of its snakeness, heading for a hiding place behind our room.

After we were done hunting snakes, we informed the ladies that we needed some supplies of the hygiene type and were offered the basics. What they couldn’t help with was the musty old smell of our room, but we don’t pay $77 a night on a weekend with high expectations anymore; after all, it’s no longer 2005.

With the A/C on and a window open, we took a walk out along the road under the full moon, the peaceful quiet of the desert broken by the sound of giant truck tires barreling down the road as the partiers were approaching the hour that the border into Mexico closes for the night. Trying to keep an eye open for snakes that might look for warmth out on the highway while being aware of speeding vehicles that might not see us, we strode along, enjoying the pleasant evening.

Back in our room, still too warm and funky, I turned to blog chores as Caroline tucked into the Kindle and her reread of Tracks by Robyn Davidson. None of this lasted very long, as we were tired following our marathon drive.

And so this was how trip number 7 of the year started out as we ventured into the desert for a mini-vacation close to home.

They Are Not “Just” Weekends!

JWise Thoughts, Travels

Caroline Wise and John Wise on the California State Line

Late last year and into this one, I had been sharing with people our ambition to take 25 vacations away from Phoenix in 2022. More than one person, on hearing this, asked for details and then said something that left me feeling that they had diminished the idea of vacations: “Oh, so you mean weekends away too.” Well, that’s obviously been nagging at me, hence this blog post.

Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades, California

What I’m doing is sharing one image from each day of those “weekend” trips that, to me, are vacations, albeit mini-vacations. The first photo, from January 7th, is of us crossing into California. The following image was taken at the Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades. After the museum, we headed to a botanical garden we’d never visited and then had a seafood dinner sitting next to the harbor in San Pedro.

La Brea Tar Pits & Museum in Los Angeles, California

We may have had to drive home to Phoenix on this day, but there was still time to tour the La Brea Tar Pits Museum and the Hammer Museum. We even had time to catch lunch (and ice cream!) in Little Persia.

Caroline Wise and John Wise at the Nevada Stateline

Two weeks later, on January 21st, we were on our way out of town again, this time passing through Nevada on our way to Death Valley National Park. Dinner was at the famous Crowbar Saloon in Shoshone, California, and we ended the night with a dip into the hot spring-fed pool near our hotel also in Shoshone, just outside the park.

Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

Today, Saturday, was all about the long drive out to Racetrack Playa to see for ourselves the sailing rocks that mysteriously move across a dry lakebed. We’d waited years for this opportunity. We also had time for a stop at Badwater Basin and another one at Ubehebe Crater.

Death Valley National Park, California

If you thought we needed to race back home, seeing it’s Sunday, you’d be wrong. We took a drive on the Twenty Mule Team Canyon Road, and Caroline got her Junior Ranger Badge for Death Valley. We walked out on the salt flat and even had time to visit Salt Creek, where we took our second long walk of the day. A late lunch was had with a bunch of donkeys in Beatty, Nevada.

Caroline Wise and John Wise at the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Another two weeks pass, and then, on February 4th, we find ourselves at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon National Park in time for sunset with a luxurious dinner at the El Tovar restaurant.

Caroline Wise at the Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Looking into the abyss after our picnic lunch on a remote corner. We walked 11 miles of trails today here at the Canyon, making for a perfect Saturday.

Navajo Point in the Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Breakfast at El Tovar, a five-mile walk out to the South Kaibab Trailhead, lunch back at El Tovar, and then we headed for the exit. This view is from Navajo Point at the eastern edge of the Grand Canyon, the last photo taken on this Sunday.

Art Cars in Douglas, Arizona

If it’s February 18th, this must be Douglas, Arizona, down on the Mexican border. After checking into our historic hotel, we went for dinner, and on the way back, not the same way we walked to the restaurant, we stumbled into Art Car World, where, although they had just finished hosting a private event, we were graciously invited in for a quick private tour.

Gadsden Hotel in Douglas, Arizona

It was a tough choice as to which photo I’d share for this Saturday, but the classic beauty of the Gadsden Hotel in Douglas just had to find a spot in this post. After a tour of sightseeing in town, we headed up a dirt road that brought us out to the Leslie Canyon National Wildlife Refuge and a hike to an old mining operation. From there, we mosied over to Whitewater Draw, where we gawked at 10’s of thousands of Sandhill cranes; they were an astonishing sight.

Willcox Playa in Willcox, Arizona

After breakfast at our hotel, we revisited Art Car World to get a closer look at the cars before heading north with the hope of seeing more Sandhill cranes. Our destination was the Willcox Playa, which you see Caroline walking towards. Sadly, this place was bone dry and may not have had a single bird of any kind, but the views out here made it all worthwhile.

Desert Center, California

This brings us to this past weekend, starting on April 1st. You might notice that skipped over our nearly two weeks down in Mexico, but this post is about weekends only. We stopped in the ghost town of Desert Center, California, and learned that it was the place where Kaiser Permanente effectively got its start. We are on our way to Los Angeles.

LACMA - Los Angeles County Museum of Art in Southern California

Saturday started with an amazing breakfast at La Republique on La Brea before we walked over to LACMA for some art browsing. Lunch was at Guelaguetza Oaxacan restaurant, followed by shopping at Mitsuwa Marketplace in Santa Monica, a twilight walk at Venice Beach, ending the night with us witnessing our first Sideshow/Takeover when the intersection in front of our hotel was illegally blocked so a bunch of young people could have a 15-minute party watching muscle cars performing donuts as bystanders jumped from danger and even courted it by gathering in the center of the intersection.

Huntington Library and Garden in San Marino, California

It’s Sunday, April 3rd, and the end of another weekend, but before we go home, we walked across the street from our hotel to the Sun Nong Dan Korean restaurant for breakfast and then drive out to San Marino to visit the Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens. Seeing that we were conveniently located in the north of Los Angeles, it was an easy drive east to Glendora for fresh strawberry donuts from the Donut Man before snagging lunch and coffee for the drive home to Phoenix, Arizona.

Four weekends, fifteen days, and a load of incredible experiences that sure seem to be the ingredients of great vacations in our book.