Little Bob and the Lollipops

Reflections

Lily, Descanso Gardens

Most deluded fools who consider themselves artists, a class I occasionally inhabit, fall victim to the same failing, which is principally an inability to self edit.

Red fox in sunlight, Yellowstone

You see, we fall victim to a siren's call which tickles our narcissistic funny bone and cries out to us the deluded message that everything we do is, well, good. Which it simply, isn't.

Soul surfer, Swamis

I had an art teacher in college who could sense this sort of excessive self love for our pet artistic creations a mile away. Jim Hulbert would say "Fine, it's okay, draw me 200 alternative thumbnails by tomorrow morning." This was a major pain in the ass and also a lifelong lesson which taught me not to fall too deeply in love with my own output.

Snake River Overlook

Having said that, with well over 100k images currently on my hard drive, you miss stuff sometimes that was decent on your first or second cull. The truth is that I have not ever looked at a significant percentage of my photographs.

fungus, San Juan Island

My brother had a cardiac incident of some kind after his kidney transplant last night. I think he is okay but I don't have a lot of information. I will be worthless today.

Sandhill Cranes, Bosque

So I decided to look back at some of the wonderful photographic opportunities of the last twelve months and look around for something I may have missed.

The question is, it it safe to trust your first instinct? Is anything of the second or third gleaning up to the level of the first? Maybe, sometimes it is better, sometimes worse. Depends if the editor was conscious in the first place, I suppose.

In any case, think good thoughts for Buzz and hopefully enjoy some of the photographs of the last year. None of these have been ever processed before, although you may have seen their siblings.

Oncoming, Seligman

The waterfall was taken at Jemez Falls on a road trip with Steve Saylor last year.

Never looked at it until this morning.

Never noticed the woman of the pool before.

I am thankful for having the opportunity to take and share pictures from so many wonderful places this year.

Tree, La Jolla

THE HOLLIES I Can't Let Go

Thinking good thoughts

My brother Buzz just called to tell me that he is getting a new kidney today. I am so happy for him, he has waited so long! Buzz lives in Toronto. He has suffered from a pernicious kidney disease called FSGS for many years and has been on the transplant list for a very long time. I am so grateful that he is getting a new organ. Please wish him well!

Light sculptor

Leslie and I had the pleasure of dinner at the mountain top Fallbrook home of Michael and D.N. Evans on Saturday.

Michael is a visionary artist, his wife D.N., a world class couturier, whose establishment in Laguna Beach was known far and wide.

She has dressed a major celebrity clientele in her time.

Michael is a brilliant sculptor and painter and once designed geodesic space toys for the Smithsonian. A veteran and Chicago native, you can check out his amazing work at michealrevans dot com.

The setting and table was right out of Sunset Magazine. He is not only a talented artist he is also a very fine chef. Michael's light sculptures adorned the patio and we had a beautiful view of acres of avocado trees and succulents, with the Pacific Ocean shining to our west.

However the real fun starts after dark, when Michael fires up the smoke and lasers and starts sending beams of light through the crystal sculptures.

Positively lysergic.

Walls of Fire

This is a tiff file, I accidentally shot 8 bit tiff for a day. Still an awfully big file. But it doesn't look great on the computer screen after export. The walls to your right are simply on fire with color and light when seen natively. Stupid Tiff.

The original happens to look incredible and will make an amazing print I think at full resolution. Keeping my fingers crossed. Haven't been printing lately but I think I have a few cool candidates.

Got confirmation on Italy the day before yesterday. Yippee!

Koko Taylor - I Got What It Takes

Logan

Livestock waterer, Green River

I kind of like this, was trying over and over to fiddle with it but it just wanted to be left alone. This shot is untouched, straight out of the can. Kind of reminds me of that stuff we used to shoot called film, this is what you got, grainy, weird exposure, lack of color. Before we could break it down to the minute pixel and recreate everything in post production and all that.

You saw it and you clicked and you got stuff that sort of looked like this. Shapes and value.

You don't impose on Billy the Kid.

Interesting article in the New York Times yesterday about Billy the Kid. You will have to google it, it is titled An outlaw by any name: Billy the Kid.

Billy was the son of Irish immigrants fleeing the potato famine, born in Manhattan in 1859. His mother moved Billy and his brother to the New Mexico territory to deal with her tuberculosis. Billy's stepfather was evidently a real prick.

Billy's birth name was William Henry McCarty Jr. but he also was known as William H. Bonney and Henry Antrim in his short life.

Billy said that he killed twenty one people, history corroborates at least six, his obit says nineteen. Moot after a certain point, I guess, he was one bad hombre. Died at twenty one.

He started off his life as a hotel waiter in Silver City, then apprenticed to a cruel blacksmith and finally got hooked up in the middle of a range war between cattlemen.

The article linked to his original obit in the times from July 31, 1881. Interesting line in the obit: The blacksmith, who was inclined to drunkenness, and a bully by nature, undertook to impose upon Billy. The kid shot him through the heart.

I looked up the phrase "impose upon" wondering if it was a reference to a sexual impropriety but could not find a supporting definition. Not sure. But that may have been the archaic meaning of the term.

I read once that 75% of the violent criminals in California jails had been sexually molested in their youth. Messes with a kid's head.

Was that what precipitated Billy the Kid's killing rampage? A gross imposition?

I first visited the Billy the Kid Bar in Mesilla over fifty years ago. Now it's a gift shop. One of my favorite towns in New Mexico, Mesilla. Pretty much the same as it ever was.

Can't let go

Adoration of the enlightened Venus

seven12

Did you ever hear tales of the splendid Córdoban palace of Abd-ar-Rahman III al-Nasir? Rahman was the fabulous Umayyad Caliph of Córdoba and constructed his palace, the Medina Azahara, between the years 912 and 961, in our common era.

I'm not surprised you haven't, I only encountered word of it on a trip to Andalusia and the story of the grand palace has been mostly forgotten.

Rahman was the son of Prince Muhammad and a Frankish slave. He had blue eyes and blonde hair which he dyed black so as not to be taken for a Goth. He succeeded his grandfather Abd Allah as emir in 912. He quickly built his empire, sacking Pamplona in 926 and the Moroccan town of Melilla in 927 as a bulwark to hold off the rival Fatamids.

The Medina Azahara was known as the "Shining City" and its splendor was spoken of far and wide. It knew no peer, in Iberia, the desert kingdoms, the Levant, the entire world. In far off Germany, the Saxon nun Hroswitha referred to the city as the ornament of the world. Córdoba was the capital of Islamic Spain and the only close rival of its day was Constantinople.

At the time the land we now know as España was thought of as the northernmost country of Africa. Córdoba was known far and wide as a high place of medicine and learning, it served as a home for all three religions, its slopes were defined by the lazy river called the Guadalquivir. In ancient Roman days it had been home to both Senecas, the Younger and Elder. Later the great scholar Maimonides ( موسى بن ميمون) walked its narrow streets.

Sadly, we can now only visit its broken ruins and imagine its past power, glory and might. Alas, the shining city of yore lays prostrate in the dirt, largely forgotten, sacked in the bitter year of 1010. The Vizier al-Mansur burned all the books in 976 and its sad fate was perhaps cast as payment for his evil deed.

Accounts remain that speak with incredulity and wonder at the magnificence of its ancient walls and parapets, its grand mosque whose arches mimicked the sweep of the date palm, its gardens that were surpassed by no other in the entire known world, the vast knowledge of its enlightened inhabitants, who took pride in their cities fame as a place of cultural advancement.

I read once, in an old book, unfortunately now long discarded, that the temples of the Christian were oriented to the concept of a hereafter, to look towards another day that would come to be in the afterlife.

The palaces of the Mohammedan however, were designed for another purpose, to celebrate the now, the immediate moment, and to do so with all possible intensity.  They worshipped the eternal present and the magic and laughter and beauty in those brief years have never seen their equal.

I read that the Azahara had its windows constructed of crystal so that rainbows would fall strategically though out the hall, chromatic lights glancing off the lustrous surface of the large pools of quicksilver.

The sunken Islamic garden was a jewel in itself, divided into four quadrants, peacocks proudly strolled at will and the residents were continually serenaded by the sweetest of songbird. Falcons stood on golden perches, tethered with stiff leather, awaiting their master's glove and sharp command. Tendrils of snake like sandalwood smoke wafted up from the braziers and gave the room a lovely scent and golden glow.

The Caliph was said to have named the Palace after his most prized concubine, her visage cast in stone over the keystone of the entrance to watch over the three terraces for eternity. Azahara. The place must have been one mad affair.

Jugglers vied with magicians, sword swallowers and contortionists plied their talents, black giants from Sheba performed unbelievable feats of strength, soft girls of the harem lingered seductively in the sheltered doorways. Mathematicians could be found arguing about questions of sums and geometry in the courtyard while the astronomers ruminated on the celestial heavens.

The sultan's library surpassed all save perhaps the one in Alexandria. A blind poet recited poems of forbidden love and desert winds, a misshapen minstrel played along seamlessly on his oud. Seers of all stripes cast runes and drew cards and divined the cracks of the desert tortoise.

Traders from Shem played games of chance with the Sultan's select and hand picked bodyguard from far off Ur. The larder was filled with the finest rations, pomegranates from Jaffa, oranges from Crete, dates from Fez and Riyadh, saffron from Tangiers, bacalao from Catalan, beef from Pamplona.

The Emir spared no expense on his palace. Cedar was delivered from Tyre and Sidon, steel from Damascus, cloth from far away on the Silk Road. The finest craftsmen from Toledo wrought the silver tazzas and tableware with heraldic figures, a task that took decades to complete. Life was at its highest possible apex.

Its richness was a thing of legend. From the New York Times:

Teeming with treasures that dazzled the most jaded traveler or world—weary aristocrat...Pools of mercury could be shaken to spray beams of reflected sunlight across marble walls and ceilings of gold... Doors carved of ivory and ebony led to sprawling gardens full of exotic animals and sculptures made of amber and pearls..."

It was said to be the most fantastic city in the world. Europe had nothing that could rival it. And then, in an instant, it was gone. A tale as old as life itself, a successor who could not hold the winnings of his father. A quick knife thrust, a coup, and a short civil war, the end came quickly. An architectural marvel like the world has never seen was no more.

Now it lies crumbled sadly into dust. Has there ever been a more wondrous and psychedelic place ever conceived and constructed, have we ever seen its match on this earth? And of course, to experience its joys today, one would need to time travel.

*

I had a strange dream when I came home from Utah. An early morning dream, one that I remembered vividly when I awoke and have thought about often the last few days.

I was in just such a place as I describe above, with old wooden coffers woven in the most magical intricate moroccan patterns on ceilings that rose a hundred feet in the air. The finest paintings, the most sumptuous silks.

Large bronze statues of the buddha and balinese dancers with knees and elbows akimbo mixed with wooden santos of Sts. Francis and George. Beautiful paintings of the missions adorned the walls.

Madras and velvet and ivory and oak. Gold and silver and frankincense and cedar. Mercury's twin snakes twined above a feathered heart on the mantle, the amber crystal heart made out of precious rutilated quartz.

Flowers adorned every table, lilies, delphinium and dahlias,  and the cavernous space was filled with the rich scent of tuberose, a smell that mixed nicely with the ever present bloom of orange blossoms.

There were new rooms of unmatched beauty and exquisite appointments to discover down each hall and passage and I swear they may have morphed into new shapes and colors in real time right before my very eyes.

And my tribe were all there, Lena and Lynn and Ricardo and Leslie and so many more of you. You know who you are.

All of the people that resonated on that one particular wave, that threw their lot together as friends and comrades so very long ago and never once broke their oaths of friendship. Who signed on to that particular ship through time and space that has curiously guided our movements like a veiled conductor on a passing train. Across the very centuries of time itself.

And the odd thing was that "our palace" in fact did exist outside of normal time, in an infinite now that would never age and always bloom in the advent of summer. Continually waxing, ripening, never ever going to seed.

And it was hard for me in this dream because I had one foot in this strange, mercurial place and one foot in the day to day world that we normally inhabit and well, it was like riding a gyroscope or trying not to fall off the mechanical bull, took a little bit of effort to keep it all straight. I could see that I would have to make a decision, a choice.

I believe that I was in fact undergoing some sort of initiation. I wish I could explain the process but it is now hidden in time, these things necessarily obscured by wise spell and gesture. But it was clear that there would be something gained but also something lost and it would be wise for me to spend a moment to consider the consequences of the trade and choice. A small price must always be paid when involved in these sorts of matters.

I woke up in somewhat pain at being forced to leave the wonderful place but I am planning on going back soon, in fact as soon as I can. I hope that you will consider joining me on this voyage. Leave a message at the usual place.

Geronimo's Cadillac

Pancho rides again...

Solar Tower, Mojave - Color version

Twin Stearman's off Torrey Pines

Lenticular homage to Charles Capps

Don't Do It

Dimming of the day

My old friend Roger Gunther has passed. I understand that there will be a memorial for him on the 16th. A great guy, wonderful father and a friend to all.

Richie Barrett - Some Other Guy (1962)

Vertical virgin view from my vantage

Utah Roadie

Virgin River, Zion National Park.

I have just returned from a serious five day road trip with my friend Ken Seals. We traveled to five or six National Parks, a few state parks and through a lot of incredibly beautiful connective tissue in between. We logged over two thousand miles in his new Rav 4 and took over a couple thousand good pictures a piece to duly document our travels.

We left with the usual platitudes about taking it easy and just having a good time but in the end were voraciously tearing up the miles like hungry wolves, capturing some of the most fantastic visuals I have ever seen and experienced in my whole life. Some that I will never forget. And had a thoroughly great time.

Unnamed bend in the Colorado River - Wilson Trail, Canyonlands

We visited Utah's Arches, Canyonlands, Capitol Reef, Goblin Valley, Bryce Canyon, Zion and the Escalante Grand Staircase. I guess that makes seven? Hiked, climbed, ate and took lots of photographs.

Shafer Trail View, Canyonlands

I think that when you visit the old Utah Territory and see its magnificent red monoliths you are feeling the actual bones of the American west. As spectacular as any place this side of Jupiter's moons.

Ancient Bones

It is going to take a little time to document this one so bear with me and check back in a few days and I will do my best. Just need to get my bearings back. Really amazing trip.

Bryce Canyon

This trip has sort of shot my springs. My car is now slightly broke, glasses busted, my computer won't work, the keyboard is acting up and I can't download a whole bunch of pictures. My body hurts too, feet and ankles and other places. Hitch in my giddyup. Put the old body through it. Sort of undergoing a slight cosmic correction, will fill you in on the ride. Thanks to a week being this close to what passes in these parts for heaven, my spirit is plainly soaring. Hope it don't wear off too quick.

Here goes,

Trip started out sort of strangely. Both Ken and I got cuts on identical places on our opposite forearms the day before we left. His got a little infected and we had to stop in Beaver for medical care and antibiotics. He's fine but it set us back. In fact our plans were subtly thwarted by the big cheese universal commander continually throughout this one. So we ended up playing it by ear. Can't fight the wind.

A guy a little younger than me, spry, bald headed fellow with a slight facial droop came over and gave us the quick once over. Strangers. Asked us where we were from in the ER. He was an affable guy, turned out to be the town judge. And school bus driver. Twenty two years on the bench, mostly petty stuff, marijuana, speeding, misdemeanors. Hmmm.

I asked the thirty something doctor about a vision problem I was experiencing and he said that these things were common when you get to my age. Say what?

I am told that the t-shirts from Beaver Liquor are in very short supply.

It was so nice to get away, to be away from the bad news and chatter, especially this week. Voice box is full, haven't done email or answered messages, no internet, it was a great week to cut off the nasty old world and be back in a unique place on the planet, one that has yet to be ruined or destroyed.

We had hoped to hit Arches for sunset the first day but ended up in Green River. Took the frontage past the gun range and industrial facility, which I still want to photograph in the stars.

Green River is an odd little duck, bit gone to seed. Famous for the sweetness of the local melon, I think Fremont did something noteworthy near there once. Much of what was once quaint and ancient is now sadly beyond repair, throughout the west.

Motel Six but not in the top end of that chain, or the best sense of the word, kind of a funky one, a liability lawsuit just waiting to happen with the sizable chunks of aggregate missing from the stair treads. No bugs, a bed and a toilet, I'm in business. But come to think of it, no shampoo, tissue or breakfast either.

tunnel lights, Zion

We were baked in the hot afternoon sun. Unfortunately the large canyon was open directly to the west so there was little chance that our misery would lessen. The map said that the tanks were a mere 1.2 miles away but my aching legs and hiking partner thought that it was undoubtably much farther. I think that I can speak for both of us when I tell you that I was whipped. And so was he.

We were "mature" men, yes a little out of shape, but to our credit we were also lugging a lot of damn lot of camera gear, including heavy tripods and multiple lenses. But there was no doubt about it, this "easy hike" was kicking our asses.

The Water Pocket Fold had its nascent birth some 60 million years ago when a mountain was formed under the earth in a titanic event called the Laramide Orogeny. This created what is known as a monocline, in this case a fold in the earth some 100 mies long. The west side of the fold rose some 7000 feet about 20 million years ago, long before Jesus Christ ever rode with the indians.

The upper part of the fold is the area called Capital Reef, the very National Park in which we were hiking. Settled by both Fremont Indians, responsible for the beautiful petroglyphs we photographed and later by Mormons, the valley is lush and fertile, the greens of its apricot trees a counter to the large red monoliths. Beautiful barns constructed of rough sawn blanks dot the horizon.

The word Reef was chosen because this fold proved near impenetrable to lateral traffic, like a coral reef. The Capitol Wash was the only way across for the many settlers who moved west in the late 1870's and 80's. The road was operable until 1962 when the highway was completed. Pioneers would sign the wall as a record of their passing. I believe that the earliest inscription I saw dated from 1871.

This was the very passage we traveled. We walked up the rocky hill to see the tanks or depressions in the rocks that gave the Water Pocket Fold its name. I saw five of these tanks but I believe that there may be more. The water was brackish but probably a life saver to both settlers and wildlife and was now the home for a large resident tadpole.

We were both down to a last sip of water and were taking short tacks to shady spots and then trying to build up the energy to continue. It did not help our egos much to see young children merrily skipping along past us and I attribute their success to too much clean living and the lack of heavy stuff to carry.

We were quite happy to get back to the car. Capitol Reef is a hidden gem and I want to come back soon. Of course all of the parks are different, wonderful and special in their own right. Capitol Reef has the most extraordinary colors of purple and pink rock, quite unique place.

Cars navigating Capitol Wash - 1939 - NPS

Butch Cassidy had camped out in the next large wash over when he was on the lam and the Cassidy Arch there still bears his name.

We had stopped to take pictures at Balancing Rock when I asked Ken if I could drive down a nearby dirt road that looked like it led nowhere, my favorite kind. He readily assented and I tested the off road vehicle for the first time, heading onto the rocky and rather lonely road to Willow Springs.

After a while I got the urge to stop and take a look around and pulled the car up a grade to our right. We found an old waterhole or spring, with an adobe walled cistern behind it. I couldn't really ascertain the age but it could have been historic.

Later at Delicate Arch I asked a ranger about the spring. "Well, never been down there. Nobody hardly goes down there. But that is where the famous writer Edward Abbey lived, maybe he built it." Hmmm. 

Abbey was a ranger at Arches in 1956 and 57, the year I was born. I would have to do a little research and try to find out where he put his trailer. Later I learned that during the monkeywrencher's era Willow Springs was the principal road into the park.

*

I guess I should go back to the beginning, try to keep the narrative somewhat straight. We headed into Moab the first morning to get our rental jeep to take us into Canyonlands but found out we were a day early. No problem, we would visit Arches, we had nowhere we had to be.

Moab is an amazing town, it has morphed in the thirty years since I first visited to arguably be the number one action sports town in our country. Adventure outfits that offered climbing, ballooning, paddling, rafting, and a host of other services filled the main street. People were very fit and obviously into having a very good time. Wonderful town with a great brewery.

We made our short way to the park and saw what is now a continual theme, people needing to get their picture taken next to the national park sign. Saw it again and again, everywhere we went. Like dogs pissing on fire hydrants, marking where they had been. And lots of selfie sticks. A Chinese guy taking a picture near the sign with a selfie stick is the true trifecta these days.

I am learning that as a photographer sometimes you have to take what is given you. I had great plans for sunrise and sunset shots, astrophotography too, but they never panned out. Didn't always have optimal cloud structure or any at all at times. We were staying a little too far from the parks to hit the golden hours just right. But we still got plenty and I am pretty satisfied. Have to adapt to conditions, they sure aren't going to change for you.

Or maybe they will? Did you ever read the old book, Yoga, youth and reincarnation? I think it was written by a guy named Jess Stearns or something like that. Read it in the late sixties. Guy in the book claimed that he could will clouds to move with his mind. Hell of a trick. If I remember correctly he got the power by pushing big rocks around. Think he was from Massachusetts. I haven't learned that one.

Met some people from North Carolina there. I wanted to talk barbecue, he wanted to talk about Jesus. He asked if he could pray for me. I told him I would rather not. I didn't want to be an asshole but I didn't want him to waste it or anything.

After our trip to Arches Ken drove me down to the river and I spent an hour taking long exposures of the Colorado, with mixed success. I can see that I will need a higher quality filter to do this kind of work. But it was fun and I got into it. Have to learn, have to take some chances.

We stopped by the Jeep rental and secured our transportation for the next day. Had a beer and hummus plate at the brewery. Our server had a chemical diagram on his arm, he said it was adrenaline. Saw a different adrenaline tattoo on a remarkable double amputee's stomach at Landscape Arch. Guess it is the new rage.

Speaking of ink, I see that the nonpainted are becoming a rarer and rarer species these days. People will put near anything on their skin and wear it forever. I saw ogres and fly fishing scenes on pretty girls' epiderm, the golden gate bridge on the back of another guy's head. Further evidence that time is passing me by. Saw more than a few multigenerational gang banger families at the fast food joints, heavily inked and sporting what looked to be similarly knocked up and rather glum fifteen year olds.

I don't want to be a hater. I am clearly outnumbered. It is just that I am such an art snob and my tastes are so ephemeral. What if ogres are no longer in fashion and I need a steamship tattoo or a heart with mom's name on it? You only have so much skin you know.

The next day we rose early and headed off on the Shafer Trail down to the White Rim Road in Canyonlands. Simply the most insane road I have ever had the pleasure of driving down. Almost petrifying, fully satisfying. 

Steep and semi gnarly switchbacks. In its entirety it is 104 miles long. I drove it down to Musselman Arch. Exquisite, breathtaking beauty. Excellent aerial views of the Colorado River below.

A sheer delight, in the literal sense of the word. My favorite moments and experience in a week full of great experiences.

We headed back to the junction and decided to take the Potash Rd. on its 32 mile stretch out of the canyon. Good choice.

Glad I brought the Bower 14mm f2.8 wide angle lens along to capture what I have seen referred to as Island Mesa.

We drove down to the salt ponds near the potash plant. The color blue was so pure and synthetic it looked fake. Then we ran into a small clan of desert bighorn that didn't seem to be too bothered by our presence.

I had my very sharp Nikkor 70-200mm 2.8 vr II at the ready on the Nikon D7200.

We finally made it back to Moab and decided to take one more crack at Arches. My pictures from the day before had mistakenly been saved in a less than optimal file format. Stopped first at Double Arch and then I hiked out to Landscape Arch. Tired, just wasted tired, feet aching but managed to catch the last rays of the sun and then back to the car.

We packed our gear from the sorry Motel 6 and hit the road early the next morning. I had to recode my room key every single day for some reason and it was a pain in the ass, considering the fact that I was carrying about 50 lbs. of photo gear up and down the stairs. I wasn't sorry to see the place in the rear view mirror.

KJ had suggested that I check out a place called Goblin Valley on our way to our next stop, Escalante. It is sort of a lonely Utah State Park off the 24 that not too many people know about.  It backs up to the San Rafael Reef and has a unique topography with really no geologic counterpart anywhere that I know of. Place is covered with thousands of gnomey, man sized hoodoos.

There were a bunch of extremely well behaved kids hidden amongst the toadstools, all quietly writing what I found out were letters to themselves in their notebooks. I talked to their counselors up top and it turns out they were all campers on a five week bus trip across America that happened to be from Leslie's old camp in Detroit, Tamarack. Leslie went in the early 70's before she went to Tamakwa. Coolness.

Any artistic type who fails to appreciate the aesthetic bounty at Goblin Valley should consider giving up his brush or camera and perhaps getting a seeing eye dog.

I can honestly see myself working with these forms and images for the next year at least. Unless of course, I get hit by a bus. puh, puh.

Cheech Wizard rocks out.

We left the stone goblins to their lonely fate and continued on the road. Caught a pronghorn in the scrub as we were leaving.

Our new destination was Capitol Reef, one of the unsung gems of the southwest. The colors start getting real psychedelic as you get near Capitol Reef.

A place where Mormon and Fremont Indian coexist peacefully in the same valley, albeit a thousand or so years apart.

Lots of neat pictographs there. Bighorns and families of space people and all sorts of stuff.

Definitely want to go back there to explore and to do some astrophotography. Its darkness is world renowned. And to pick some apricots and apples from its u-pick orchards.

It is certainly great to have a buddy like Ken. He has taught me a lot. A pilot, flight operations manager and long time photojournalist, I have benefitted greatly from his friendship, knowledge and mentorship. Good traveling companion. Generous, easy to get along with and a wealth of information.

We did the aforementioned hike to the tanks and got back on the road towards the next stop, a Bed and Breakfast in Escalante. We journeyed down the 12 towards the Grand Staircase, the million dollar highway built by the CCC in the 1930's. This magnificent road took us upwards of 9000' in elevation, out of the pines and into thick aspen forest.

Fantastic view of Bowns reservoir and finally the unbelievable road, with its 14% grade, which narrows to two slender lane widths that travel down the knife edge of a mountain ridge. We had initially planned on hiking to Calf Creek Falls but we were both a little too tired and beat up to attempt such a long hike. Will give it a go another time.

Escalante is a cool town, a mini, low key Moab. Lots of slot canyons to hopefully discover there in the future. Once had it snow on my in nearby Panguitch in July.

Ended up traveling to Bryce the next day. Got delayed in Cannonville while the 1300+ Bryce Half Marathon went through. We both needed to get home so we agreed to make Bryce a quick trip. After a pancake breakfast at Ruby's Inn we managed to find a parking spot at Bryce Point. It was a glorious morning.

pardon my rainbow!

Well we had managed to make it to Bryce, we might as well go for broke and hit Zion too. So we did. I think I have hiked every trail in the park, including a two day from Hop Valley but it will always be one of my favorites.

Stayed long enough to take the long exposure of the river and then we headed home. Saw a sun dog while gassing up at Costco. Hundred of miles of lenticular clouds. Very odd and wonderful day atmospherically. Will take it as a sign of deep portent.

Got back around 8:30. Think we killed it. Thanks for reading. Wink of an eye and it will be time for New Mexico.

Hey, you've hung in this long. Please do me one last favor and click on a picture. It will allow you to see everything bigger. Let me know which one's you like. Some respond better than others to magnification so my apologies to you pixel peepers out there. Later.