needles district

March 29, 2014 No Comments

[mm-insert-title]

canyonlands, utah

Perched on a giant rock overlooking a desert sunset, all red and purples and blues, I realised how content I was. Content might sound a dull word, but how many can claim it? Happy happens in a burst and burns out, but content is the smile that plays across your face for days. Living simply, drifting where the wind takes us, a tent, a backpack and someone to share it with, it’s amazing how little we need and how the accumulation of stuff drags us down into dissatisfaction. When you carry your life on your back you cut out the clutter and are able to enjoy the journey.

We’d walked over 20 miles that day down into Elephant Canyon, challenged our fears passing through a cave that was more a fissure in a rock that kept on going down, stuffed with wobbly logs to prevent us slipping down and getting stuck and had some great conversations with hikers we’d met on the path. Despite the hike, recovery was much more swift than the exhaustion of a desk job, spirits were high. Campfire risotto and rosemary damper filled out bellies until bursting and the nights were getting milder.

Tomorrow the road again, off to Grand Junction to catch the train to California, goodbye desert and hello spring.

Travel

Canyonlands

March 28, 2014 2 Comments

[mm-insert-title]

Needles District, Utah

Welcome to the land of Looney Toon perfect fluffy clouds, red rocks and distant snowcapped mountains. The world stretches for miles layering the horizon with blues and purples. Grey green plants stretch out across the plains like a sea lapping against cliffs. Soft red sand trails, reminding us what a world without asphalt would feel like, smooth rocks to explore like ants, childlike as we scramble and whoop and jump from ledge to ledge.

One trail lead to an ancient Native American ruin, a granary store of stacked stones, a reminder of the souls who lived and worked this land long before the campgrounds and the 4WD tracks. The bluebirds that I had been stalking since Arizona for the perfect picture were so tame around the camp that we had to guard our bag of pistachios from the soon familiar chip chip of a beak. Chipmunks too nibbled nearby and preened, beady little eyes always searching for errant crumbs.

It was a relief to be able to set up the tent during the day and leave it filled with sleeping bags and sundry for two nights, no racing the clock and cold fingered mornings packing to go to some unknown. Another run as sun faded to the Lost Canyon, creeks lined by stacked sheets of sedimentary rock, water reflecting the blue, blue sky. We ran the sand trails jumping rocks, logs up and down following the piles of rocks called cairns – a merry game, eyes darting feet treading soft, knees bending for impact. When earned, breaks were endorphin fueled euphoria, gazing about in wonder at this glorious land we were so luck to be specks amongst it. Ladders down the rocks added to the fun and views that went on in all directions including up and down.

Our first campfire crackled back at the campsite under Dylan’s loving care. The sunset on a pair of lucky backpackers under a blanket of foreign stars.

Travel

The Great Sand Dunes

March 17, 2014 2 Comments

[mm-insert-title]

The Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado

As we crossed into Colorado the snow began to fall as we cruised past Elk the sky began to disappear, we didn’t even realise the land was crowned with mountains, the lines on the road had vanished under white. At 3 minutes past six the Great Sand Dunes National Park entry was unmaned and the visitor’s centre closed, we decided in this empty white space we would risk some stealth camping. The spot we chose was sheltered, there was an air of comedy about the whole situation, three hikers in the snow setting up tents on a stage with an ampitheatre of wooden benches rising before us, perhaps there would be an audience of squirrels and black bears watching us slumber. Our tiny tent next to Sam’s enormous 6 maner with room for all to stand.

We cooked our meal down the path in a illuminated information booth wary of the black bear warning. Cocktails and beer from a growler kept us in a false warmth whilst Dylan cooked. I made my first snowman under Sam’s watchful American gaze, starting with a small snowball then rolling it around in powder, it grew and grew. When I was finished Sam christened my snowman unworthy, it was really snowing in earnest; I was too lazy to improve upon it.

We then fled to the truck to eat, passing Sam’s deflated tent on the way through, he would be sleeping in the car that night. The path was illuminated by little solar powered lights, glowing feebly under a layer of snow, our footfalls crunched and crackled.

We awoke to a new world, blue sky on trees we had not even known were feet in front of us. then i turned and saw the dunes, incongruous next to snow capped mountains. I felt lucky to see it at this time of year when few would have made the journey opting for a warmer season.

When we made the climb every footstep revealed a layer cake of sand and snow, wind blowing layer over layer. Scratching what appeared to be brownish sand revealed a gash of white. Hiking poles in hand we played like children writing messages and kicking powder in the air. There were less than a dozen of us on the dunes, the sun shone brilliantly and the wind only blew fearsly at the summit.

Once at the top we rolled and ran down the slope, taking it three times fast than up. We passed a whole convoy of dog’s and their owners on the way down, jackets done up snugly. Then a peanutbutter and “jelly” wrap at the picnic area before undertaking the massive drive to Denver.

)

Travel

the grampians

November 27, 2013 2 Comments

[mm-insert-title]

a world away

The wind was blowing fast; along the path patches of sunlight rolled enticingly towards us, accelerated and suddenly vanished just out of reach. We hurriedly hiked to escape the shadows, as we moved upwards trees gave way to low scrub and the view went from metres to miles. The hills rose and fell like a shaggy green pelt, rubbed raw in places to reveal craggy reddish rock. The parasitic trails of humans snailing through the shivering green.

Later in the valley we replaced the howl of the wind with the soft munching of furry jaws. The wallabies gently nibbled, while their coarser cousins spent the afternoon fully dedicated to a good scratch. Standing on hind legs, faces pinched in concentration, nails running over their bellies and backs – a little gang of hairy old men, inhibitions long lost, pot bellies out and proud.
I watched a wallaby with a low furry tum lop closer, then suddenly a tiny bright eyed face appeared behind her forefoot. A surge of pure joy jumped through me, delight is not lost with childhood, just harder to grasp.