Reconnecting with nature and community in the inner city.
Luckily we stopped at the Newspaper Rock on route from Canyonlands to Grand Junction, so there is some bonus amazing history. So incredible how old these rock drawings are and so fascinating to see what was important in the ancient world of the Native Americans.
Anyway, I promise something extra pretty for tomorrow to make up for this half-hearted attempt at a post. And no more canyons for a while too!
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.
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.
Then we ran, up and down trails away from the tourists through the rocks, feeling free. It had been so long since I’d run the trails and it brought such light-hearted joy. I’m no mountain goat, I’ll be honest there were decent walk breaks involved, but happily (for me) Dylan was still sore from his race so we could run together, sometimes one falling behind, but always pulled back together by invisible strings.
The wind picked up and the tourists retreated, we took the primitive trails alone except for some specks of people on the horizon. Deep into the canyon, then we we took different paths, hearts beating hard until we finally converged again, we were not lost. Deep orange rocks, bright blue green soil and white crumbly sand. It was an alien world, but achingly beautiful, refreshing to be wild.
Is this how nature makes you feel?
