July 15-19 (and again August 21-26, 2008) - We left the cool pine woods
of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon in Arizona, and descended into
the flat, hot desert floor of Utah to the north. Kanab, Utah, is the only
town of any size (pop. 3,800) between several national parks: Grand
Canyon, Zion, Bryce Canyon and Grand Staircase Escalante.
It is a charming community tucked up against a row of red rock
mountains. At this time of year the town is loaded with rental RVs
and foreignors. Groups of Europeans were caravaning in their
rental RVs, hanging the flags of their homelands off their radio
antennas and in the back windows.
Our weeks in the woods at the North Rim had emptied our shelves
completely, so we stayed for a few days to replenish everything. We
were fortunate that the monsoons were still very active. Even though
Kanab is at 4,900 feet elevation, it was blazing hot in the sunshine. The
cloud cover and downpours in the afternoons kept us from sweltering.
Kanab's city park
features beautiful gardens and a brand
new huge swimming pool and water
slide that was packed to the gills with
happy kids all day. While we strolled
among the flowers, the park's longtime
caretaker described the boisterous
family fun of the Mormon Pioneer Days
that are celebrated with an enormous
city-wide barbecue in the park's
barbecue pit.
Hundred of kids and
families spread out on the grass on the July 24th weekend to
celebrate the unique heritage of the Mormons who settled
Utah with great purpose in the mid-1800's.
Behind the park, Squaw Trail climbs
up a canyon to heights way above the
city, passing steep red rock walls
along the way. We clambered up the
trail, shouting "hello" at the tops of our
lungs as the trail took us ever deeper
into the canyon. I have never heard
such a perfect echo with such a long
time delay. As we shouted, it was as
though the canyon walls were
shouting back at us, each word
enunciated with absolute clarity.
The bird's eye view of Kanab from the
top of the cliffs was worth the sweat
we lost getting there. We had often
hiked similar trails around Phoenix in
the olden days, but this trail was
unique because it
was utterly quiet.
We didn't pass one
other person on the
entire trail. From the top of the mountain we could hear the town's
internal workings below: a tractor in a distant field, a motorcycle
rumbling down the main street, kids playing ball in a back yard. The air
around us was perfectly still, and these quiet murmurs from the town's
streets drifted slowly up to us on sun-drenched air currents.
The rocks were every
shade of orange and red.
Some faces were
rainbow streaked, with
stripes formed over the ages, offering a full array of orange-hued swirls and bands.
As we climbed back down, we found furnace-hot rock faces were now baking the
spots where there had been cool shade during our ascent. The beauty filled our
senses, but this red rock desert environment is unforgivingly harsh in the sun.
The road leading north out of Kanab is stunning,
without being showy. Crowded in among tourists and
locals hurrying along this busy stretch of road, I caught
myself gaping at the exotic cliffs that lined its edges.
Over eons, the darker hues of some red rocks have dripped lazily down the
lighter colored cliffs, leaving dirbbled stains on the rock face like an old
paint can.
August 21, 2008 - We saw a small road on the map leading away from the
highway to a dot marked "Alton." Accepting this open invitation into the
hinterlands, we hoped no cars would want to share the one-lane road with
our behemoth truck and trailer as we approached the town. We arrived
unscathed, but found ourselves hopping out of the truck each time the
power lines crossed the road, worried that the buggy would snag its roof
on the low-hanging wires.
Tucked away,
far from anything, amid farmlands that stretch as far as the eye can
see, this picturesque tiny town charmed us with its "Whoa" stop signs
and warm welcome from people working in their yards.
We asked a man in a cowboy hat where we might find a place to
park for the night, and he suggested the town hall parking lot.
"Really?" we asked. "I'm the mayor, and it's okay with me!"
Another fellow, Paul, set his shovel aside for over an hour to chat
with us about the town and its history. He told us the mayor,
Claren Heaton, was the great-grandson of the town's founder,
and that the name of the town was drawn from a hat, back in
1908, by two-year-old Gwen Heaton, as the citizens of the new
town looked on.
He said it is not unusual to see a horse strolling down the street, and that
no one minds. With just 134 people in town, there's no such thing as a
strange face, human or equine. 100% of the citizens are Mormon, he
said, adding, "probably 80% are related to each other too."
As we talked, Paul's fifth cousin three times removed, Victor, pulled
up. He parked his truck in the middle of the road to join our
conversation. We were on the main drag, and Mark and I looked up
nervously when a truck approached in the distance. Paul and Victor
laughed and assured us there was no need to move: the truck
would go around us. We watched in amazement as the man in the
truck, marked "Sheriff," waved "hello" to our little group, and then
drove off the road into the dirt to get past.
We rode our bikes throughout the town, utterly delighted with
the prettiness and happiness of this little community. We
eagerly jumped off the bikes every few minutes to snap
pictures. Without being backward or old fashioned, this
miniscule hamlet seemed untouched by the rest of the world,
living in peace, and removed from time.
So we had to laugh when we discovered we had a wi-fi signal in the
trailer. But the joke was on us. Mark popped off an email to his cousin,
describing this wonderful town we'd discovered. Almost instantly, he
received a reply, complete with a link to the Alton, Utah, website
showing the long line of Claren Heatons' ancestors that had been
mayors of the town before him. Mark's cousin also included a link to
Alton's satellite photo on Google Earth, detailed enough to see the shed
next to where we were parked.
At peace, yes. Removed from time, perhaps. Out of touch, hardly!