Echo Cliffs, Route 89, Arizona.
Lake Powell, Arizona
Glen Canyon Dam, Arizona.
Vermilion Cliffs
Cool cave nearby.
Scenic Utah.
Mammoth Cave entrance.
Inside required a flashlight.
Looking out of Mammoth Cave.
Bowers Cave entrance.
Mark climbs in.
Lava flow.
Dirty snow in the Ice Cave.
Navajo Lake.
Wizened old guy,
2,000 years old.
Bristlecone Pine Tree.
Bristlecone branches
resemble bottle brushes.
Bristlecone pine cone.
Views on Cascade Falls hike.
The trail follows the canyon's edge.
Stairs make it accessible
for everyone.
Don't move or it might collapse!
Trail snaking along the edge of the cliffs.
Cascade Falls.
Horses and riders greet us on our
return to the trailhead.
Dixie National Forest, Utah: Deep Caves and Spectacular Hikes
Mid-August, 2011 - We left
Monument in Flagstaff, Arizona,
aiming for southern Utah and red
rock country. We got our first
glimpse as we passed Echo Cliffs
where we jumped out of the truck
for a few minutes and ran around
taking photos.
The climate in this desert area is
dictated by altitude, and we
watched the temperature rise
from 75 degrees in Flagstaff at 7000' to 100 degrees in Page, Arizona where we had
dropped to just 3,000' elevation. So our visit to Glen Canyon Dam and sighting of Lake
Powell were limited to viewings from the truck window as we drove by in the blazing heat.
Approaching Kanab, Utah we watched
the Vermilion Cliffs begin to loom on
our right, and once past, we set up
camp and started exploring an
unusual cave near our campsite. This
cave was just a drainage culvert
under a road, but it had cool patterns
in the red and white sandstone. Little
did we know that cave exploration
would become the theme of the next
few days.
We continued up the road to spend some time in the cool pines in Dixie National Forest where the altitude is 8,500'. We had
seen a little marker on the map, "Mammoth Cave," and were curious what was there. Like Sunset Crater in Flagstaff, this is
volcano country, and eons ago lava flowed as the volcanoes erupted. When the lava began to cool, in certain places the molten
lava on the inside drained out from the cooling, hardening rock around it, creating a cave or lava tube. Mammoth Cave is one
of these lava tubes.
From the outside it just looks like a big hole in the ground, but once
you are inside the cave the tube extends about 1/4 mile.
Bats live inside, using the cave for hibernation during winter. Because
lots of folks visit the caves in the wintertime, the bats get woken up
again and again with each intrusion, depriving them of the rest and
energy conservation they rely on to survive the harsh winters. So the National Forest Service has placed a grate over the main
tube entrance with a little dog door-like opening for people to crawl through during the summer months. That way, by closing
and locking the "dog door" in the winter, they can prevent winter visitors from entering the cave and bothering the bats.
After watching a family ahead of us shake their heads and leave as
they decided they didn't need to explore the cave badly enough to
crawl through a dog door-like opening, we crawled into the yawning
darkness. Instantly I was really grateful that I travel with a man who
likes to be prepared. Mark whipped out a much needed flashlight and
then pulled a second one out of his pocket for me. For some reason
"cave exploration" and "flashlight" hadn't connected in my mind ahead
of time. I guess I was expecting lighted tunnels!
As we walked, the tube angled slightly, the bright light of the opening
disappeared, and suddenly everything was pitch dark. I mean, inky
blackness surrounded us and I couldn't see my hands in front of my
face. Mark's flashlight got a little dim and he teased me that it might
go out and then we'd be relying on my flashlight… and what if mine
went out too? I stumbled at that thought, because you could get disoriented so easily in there. I sure didn't want to look away
from the little circle of light I was casting ahead of me as I walked. It was really eerie.
Eventually we reached the end and turned back. Only afterwards, when we saw the
photos we took, did we really get a sense of what the inside of the tube looked like.
Other parts of the cave are
shorter in distance and
shorter in height too!
Leaving the cave I noticed
some really exotic patterns
on the roof. Finally we
crawled back out into
daylight.
We were in a quiet and remote
part of Dixie National Forest,
having driven down several small
dirt roads to make our way to
Mammoth Cave. As we left we started checking out what was down some of the other dirt
roads. There were boondocking spots galore, and lots of people with ATVs and
toyhaulers were set up for a few days of fun.
Suddenly we saw a tiny sign that said,
"Bowers Cave." Mark spotted the cave
opening -- a small hole in the ground. Like
Mammoth Cave, this is a lava tube that
was formed ages ago. Someone had put a
tree trunk down into the hole to make it
easier to crawl down in. A National Forest
Service sign outside the entrance said,
"Bowers cave is an undeveloped 'wild'
cave." The sign went on to explain that
caving is a risky activity for those who
aren't knowledgeable or prepared.
Mark shimmied down into the darkness while I watched from a safe distance above ground, deciding I was neither
knowledgeable nor prepared. He yelled up reports of what he saw. He said it was a good sized room but he couldn't find the
tube leading out. Apparently it travels some 950' but he returned to daylight without finding the path. That was fine by me.
In the era when the volcanoes were active, flowing lava didn't leave
just vacant tubes behind, it also left enormous piles of sharp, jagged
black rock. This stuff is razor-edged, and climbing on it is extremely
difficult. We passed a large lava flow on our way out to see our last
cave: the Ice Cave.
Like the other caves, the Ice Cave appears to be just a dark hole in the
ground on the outside, and you have to do a bit of scrambling to get in.
Here on August 19th we found there was still a large pile of dirty snow
leftover from last winter.
Granted, we had been told
that winter didn't really end
here until mid-July this year,
but still, a snow pile in August
is impressive. Something about the
orientation, elevation and thickness of the rock
above keeps this cave very cold so the snow
doesn't melt. A ranger told us that the man
who owned the land before it was acquired by
the National Forest Service had used the ice
cave to keep food cold over the summer
months, like a huge refrigerator.
After all this cave exploration we had had
enough of underground tunneling and were
ready for some above-ground activities. We
drove past the scenic Navajo Lake overlook on
our way to the trailhead for the Bristlecone
Pine Trail.
This mile-long trail wanders through some
wonderful woods on a soft dirt path, and we
breathed deeply, filling our lungs with the rich
pine scent. The Bristlecone Pine Tree is
considered to be the oldest living thing on the
planet, and we couldn't wait to see what it
looked like.
It turned out that there were quite a few of these
ancient trees on this trail, and the oldest ones
were about 2,000 years old. The bristlecone
pine grows only in Utah and Nevada on high,
barren windswept slopes. You'd think that the oldest
living thing in Nature (some trees in Nevada have
been measured at over 5,000 years old) would prefer
a fairly cushy existence, like a comfy retirement home.
But perhaps achieving that kind of extreme old age
requires a kind of gritty toughness that scoffs at any
but the most rugged lifestyles.
What makes the bristlecone pine tree able to live as
many as 60 human lifetimes is its ability to stop
growing all together when things get ugly. When the
going gets tough -- drought, wildfire, etc. -- this old
tree just stops. Maybe there is some wisdom in
that strategy.
What I liked about these guys is that they have a
fantastically wizened appearance, bent and twisted
into gnarled shapes. Most of the tree is dead
wood, the heart of the tree seemingly laid bare to
the elements, the grain of the barkless wood clearly
visible in striated colors. But a thin thread of life
snakes through the tree along a vein just under the
dead wood, and branches that resemble bottle
brushes hang in clusters from the living parts.
The Bristlecone Trail Hike had been one of two that a
forest ranger had recommended to us, and a day later we
tried his other suggestion, the Cascade Falls Hike. "It has
a nice view and a waterfall at the end." Hmmm… it might
be okay, but it didn't sound all that unusual.
When we took our first footsteps at the trailhead our
hearts leaped. What an incredible view! It turns out this
spectacular 1.6 mile roundtrip trail meanders along the
edge of a stunning red rock canyon. You are positioned
about halfway up the cliffs, wandering along the contours
of the red rocks on a perfectly groomed gravel trail.
Our cameras clicked along at full speed. Every
view in every direction was gorgeous. A little
brother and sister, about 3 or 4 years old, walked
along with me for a while. They couldn't wait to
get to the waterfall, but all along the way they
were saying "Wow, look at this! Look at that!"
I felt the same way. The
whole trail was a feast for
the eyes.
Forest rangers have
installed really solid stairs in
certain places, so people
young and old can enjoy this
rare hike. From the little kid
on dad's shoulders to the
oldest grandma with a
hesitant step, everyone on
the trail wore a grin from ear
to ear.
Utah's canyon country is full of surprises like this. This area would no doubt
be a national park if it were located in any other state. But Utah is so
overloaded with national parks that a little gem like this is just that, a special
gem to be enjoyed by the public without the fees, hype, extensive literature,
crowds, "do's and don'ts" lists and the roaming rangers that are so often a
part of the national park experience.
It was a Saturday afternoon, so Dixie
National Forest was teeming with Las
Vegans escaping the heat for a few
days. But the trail, although busy and
loved, was not overcrowded.
We turned a corner and suddenly the
sound of rushing water filled our ears. It was crashing down
the rocks through the lush greenery far below us. A few
more twists and turns along the canyon walls and suddenly
there it was, Cascade Falls, in front of us.
The little boy I had seen earlier was
standing on the viewing platform
staring at the falls. "Look at that!" he
said to me.
"Wow, that's awesome!" was the only
response I could come up with.
We hiked back out vowing not to take any more
pictures. But the cameras wouldn't quit. Even at
the parking lot at the trailhead the cameras kept
going as two horses and riders showed up at the
edge of the woods.
We had come to this neck of the woods to see
Cedar Breaks National Monument, but we'd
already spent a week in the neighborhood without getting there yet!
Cedar Breaks National Monument in Utah – Better Than Bryce?
Sweeping views at Cedar Breaks.
Fluffy clouds drifted above us.
Happy campers.
Red rock hoodoos with arches.
The trail winds through lush
greenery.
Columbines.
Indian paintbrush.
A chipmunk nibbles bluebells.
"Place where the rocks are sliding
down all the time."
Spectra Point.
1,600 year old bristlecone pine tree.
Gnarled old fellas.
A young fawn looks up as we pass.
Chessmen Overlook.
North View Lookout.
Cedar Breaks is known for
wildflowers.
Redrocks through the trees.
Millions of years old, the canyon weathers all.
Thick green carpet on the Alpine Pond
Loop Trail.
Alpine Pond.
Nature's graffiti.
The Upper Loop wanders through a meadow.
Colorful wildflowers.
Wild strawberry.
Last glimpse of the red rocks.
Reflections on the Alpine Pond Trail.
Cedar Breaks National Monument, Utah
Mid-August, 2011 - Visiting Cedar Breaks National
Monument was the main reason we came to Dixie National
Forest but, sidetracked by caves and canyons, it took us a
while to get there. Vastly overshadowed by nearby Zion,
Bryce Canyon and Grand Canyon National Parks, a lot of
folks are like us and only hear about it from a ranger or
other traveler once they get to this area. Years ago we had
stopped by for an hour on a quickie drive-by. This time we
wanted to hike the two hikes and see the canyon up close.
Perched nearly in the clouds at 10,350' elevation, the wildflower-lined
winding road seemed to climb forever before we got to the park.
Intrigued by the sign for the Spectra Point overlook in the parking lot,
we went straight up that path when we arrived, not knowing we were
venturing out on a 2-mile round-trip hike.
WIthin minutes we were staring at a wonderland of red rock spires
and hoodoos. The puffy clouds floated by above us, casting
shadows across the red rock "amphitheater." Red, pink, white and
orange rocks in crazy shapes filled the view in all directions, and
bristly pine trees speckled the distant cliffs
The trail wanders along the rim of
the canyon, weaving in and out of
lush greenery. There are no railings
or gates to obstruct the view, and
we felt as though we were
suspended above an orange
fairytale town.
Wildflowers bloomed alongside the
trail: white columbines and red
indian paintbrush flowers begged to
be photographed.
A little chipmunk
sat contentedly in
a thicket of
bluebells and ate
them for lunch.
We made very little forward progress as we kept stopping to take in the views,
admire the colorful wildflowers and chat with other people on the trail.
Many people were at the canyon that day somewhat by
accident, as it hadn't been on their original itinerary. One
fellow had had car trouble while visiting Zion and Bryce and
had asked the mechanic how to keep his family entertained
while waiting for the several-day repairs to be completed.
"Go to Cedar Breaks!" He was so happy to have discovered
this park; his kids were running ahead of him down the path,
excited to get to the overlook.
A 1,600 year old
bristlecone pine
tree stands near the
end of Spectra
Point, thriving in a barren, windwhipped and
hopelessly exposed spot. The wood is striated
beautiful shades of orange and brown, and a few
scraggly branches prove to the world that the
seemingly lifeless giant is truly alive and well.
The sun felt warm on our skin as we walked,
but the brisk wind that swept across the
canyon was a sharp reminder of just how
cold this area can be. A ranger told us that
the park usually gets 15' of snow each winter,
but last winter was buried 30 feet deep.
On our way back we noticed a doe eating the flowers, and then
behind her we saw her fawn.
As we drove out of the park we stopped at Chessmen overlook
and the North View Lookout. Stunning. Amazing. It's impossible to find words to
describe the vastness, the vivid color, the exotic contours and shapes of this beautiful
land.
Earlier residents of this area were the Paiute Indians, and they named the canyon, "Place
where the rocks are sliding down all the time." After that the Spanish explorers
misidentified the juniper trees as cedars (much as they did on Isla Cedros off of Mexico's
Baja Pacific coast). The word "breaks" refers to the steep, eroded landscape.
Cedar Breaks is known as much for its glorious wildflower
displays as it is for its majestic red rock amphitheater.
We returned on another day to hike
the Alpine Pond Loop Trail, and
found ourselves snapping shots of
the many brilliant wildflowers before
we even got to the trailhead.
Lupines and daisies and a myriad of
other flowers lay thickly on the green
brush surrounding the trail. The hum
of bees and mosquitos was very loud
too, and the lush land seemed to be
teeming with life.
Oddly, the forest of tall pine trees shading the
wildflowers is largely dead. In past years the
energetic National Forest Service extinguished all
wildfires within hours of them starting. The result was
an unhealthy forest dominated by one species of tree.
Those trees provided the most awesome feast for the
bark beetles that like to eat them, and in the past
decade the beetles have munched their way through
the woods, transforming the living pine
canopy into a pin-cushion of dead trunks and
branches.
Between the dead branches you can glimpse
the red rock canyon, however. The spires,
nooks and crannies of that spectacular
landscape are utterly impervious to the
comings and goings of trees upon the
surface.
Eventually we arrived at the alpine
pond. It wasn't the crystal clear kind
of lake we have seen at Yosemite
and other places, but it had its
charm.
Some of the dead tree
trunks had been carved
by Nature's graffiti
artists -- little worms
made all kinds of
patterns in the wood.
We had started on
the Lower Trail
which is lush and
green and closed-
in feeling. We
returned on the
Upper Trail which
takes the hiker out
across a wide
meadow filled with
flowers. The peak of the wildflower
season in Cedar Breaks is the final weeks
of July and perhaps the first week of
August. We were a little behind the peak,
so the blanket wasn't quite as thick with
color. But it was plenty
beautiful enough for me.
Mark has a green thumb
and cultivated strawberries
at one time, so he instantly
recognized the shape of
wild strawberry leaves
among the other greens.
"Strawberries!" He cried,
and then he spotted a beautiful tiny red ripe one, about a half inch
across. We left it for whatever bird or bunny might come that way.
The trail gave us one final glimpse of the red
rocks of Cedar Breaks and then we were
back at the truck.
Mark's parting shot was the reflection he saw
in my sunglasses. He came up to me really
close and said, "Oh, that looks really cool!" I
thought he was sweeping in for a kiss, but
suddenly he stopped, put his camera up and
snapped a picture. I made a face at him,
and then, being a romantic, he swooped in
for a real kiss.
Looking for more red rock adventure and a slightly lower altitude, we wandered 30 miles or so north along the incomparably
scenic Route 89 to the Red Canyon area.
Parowan UT, Las Vegas NV, Williams AZ & Sycamore Canyon AZ – Wow!
Wildflowers in Parowan, Utah.
Yankee Meadows Lake,
Parowan, UT
Antique Tractor Show
Miss Iron County
and her attendants.
Ukele singers.
Over the top Las Vegas glam.
Fancy racing bikes at Interbike.
Mark Cavendish's winning ride.
Mark meets George Hincapie.
A big horn sheep in the Las Vegas suburbs.
Time passes more
slowly in Williams, AZ.
One tourist came to town in style.
Cruiser's Cafe 66 has live music in the afternoon.
Route 66 memorabilia is
everywhere.
A cheery gas station from yesteryear.
A mannequin greets patrons at the Red
Garter Inn.
American Flyer is a coffee shop for cyclists.
The road to Sycamore Canyon.
After 20 miles of dirt roads, we find Sycamore Canyon.
White Horse Lake
A dam holds the water back from Williams.
Williams, Arizona
September, 2011 - While exploring the hiking trails at Red Canyon our legs were still
itching to run, so we decided to put them to the test a little further south at Parowan, Utah's
Labor Day Iron County Fair 5K. We had done this race three years prior, and we toed the
start line alongside the local speedsters from the high
school track team, hoping to match our old times.
By some miracle we both bettered our times, and Mark
left his peers in the dust. But it was the 80-year-old
Paul Flanagan who completed the 6500' altitude race in
a brisk 25 minutes that really got our attention. Heck,
he was older than most of the tractors at the fair's
antique tractor show, and he was a whole lot faster.
The Labor Day parade
was much as we
remembered it, showing
off both the young beauty
queens and older ukelele
singers. The arts and
crafts show was filled with
blue ribbons for Best in
Show of everything from
quilts to apple pies to giant
backyard pumpkins. And
the ferris wheel was
loaded with people swinging their legs and
eating cotton candy while taking in the
mountain views.
We continued down I-15 on our way to Las
Vegas for the annual bicycle industry trade
show, Interbike. The glitz and glam of this
crazy, over-the-top city greeted us warmly,
and we were soon immersed in the world of
bikes and cycling. Vendors showed off the
latest in their lineup of snazzy looking racing
bikes, and crowds formed around Mark
Cavendish's multiple stage winning Tour de
France bike.
Cavendish wasn't on hand himself, but Lance
Armstrong's legendary lieutenant George
Hincapie showed up to add a little star power to
the crowd.
Las Vegas is an enormous spread of urban
sprawl that reaches out into a vast desert, but
sometimes there is a little blurring of the two
worlds at the edges. As we passed through
one of the Las Vegas suburbs on the interstate
we saw two big horn sheep standing at the
edge of the highway watching the cars go by.
The cars, of course, wanted to watch the
sheep just as much, and a huge traffic jam
soon formed as we stared at each other.
Our final destination for this all-too-brief season of
RVing was Williams, Arizona, about 50 miles south
of the Grand Canyon on I-40. It is one of the
showcase towns along the old historic Route 66, and
there are fanciful nods to mid-twentieth century car
travel on every corner.
There is a fun, quirky and festive air to this town,
and every afternoon you can hear live music playing
on the patio at Cruiser's Cafe 66 where the local
Grand Canyon Brewery beers are served.
An antique gas
station features a
vintage car sitting at
old fashioned gas
pumps. Inside there
are all kinds of Route
66 souvenirs and
memorabilia.
The Red Garter Inn
is adorned with a
woman hanging out
of an upstairs window luring
people to pay a visit.
The American Flyer coffee
shop is a bike-and-bean
bistro with creatively
designed coffee tables and
shelves, all made with
bicycle parts.
Williams sits on the edge of
Kaibab National Forest,
and it harbors a special
secret that I suspect many
tourists miss. Somewhere
in the fine print of a
Williams tourist brochure I
found a tantalizing
description of Sycamore
Canyon, Arizona's second
largest canyon (after the
Grand one). We had
never heard of it before
and definitely had to go check it out.
Getting to it requires a long
drive on dirt roads through the
woods. The directions said to
allow 3.5 hours for the trip but I
figured that was only for
slowpokes. Four hours later,
as we emerged from our
adventure, I realized that being
a slowpoke is the only way to
get through these woods.
The road
wound up and
down and
around, finally
bringing us to a
plateau where
we drove right
out to the edge
of a huge cliff.
The canyon is
rimmed by
gnarly old trees, and it's basin is
lined with a light smattering of
greenery and bushes that soften
its sharp, jagged edges.
Wandering back along the dirt roads through the woods we came
across White Horse Lake and then returned to Williams past a dam
that protects the town from deluge.
Despite the proximity of the interstate I-40 and the town of Williams, the woods in
this part of Kaibab National Forest feel very remote. One night we heard loud
animal noises, and in our sleepy state we thought we were hearing coyotes. The
next night the sound was right outside the trailer and we opened the windows to
listen carefully. It was a nearby elk bugling. He couldn't have been more than a
few hundred feet from the trailer, but in the moonless pitch dark we couldn't see
him. Sometimes in the distance we could hear another elk answering. The next
morning a small elk harem ran past our campsite. Six females charged by us
followed by a solitary male
in the rear.
It was really hard to say
goodbye to the magic of
summertime in the
ponderosa pine woods, but
the temperatures were
dropping fast and Groovy
was waiting patiently in San
Carlos, Mexico. We had some chaotic logistics ahead of us to put the
trailer to bed and re-awaken the boat, but we wanted to catch the warm
water in the Sea of Cortez before winter's chilly fingers took it in its grasp.
Wupatki Nat’l Monument – Ancient Indian Ruins & Great Camping in AZ!
Flagstaff's San Francisco peaks seen across the meadow outside Bonito Campground.
Coconino Forest's ponderosa pine woods.
Wildflowers at Bonito.
San Francisco peaks.
Bonito Campground.
The meadow that used to be filled with
sunflowers is now parched and cracked.
Some sunflowers line the road.
Sunset Crater just before a downpour.
Looking down at Nalakihu from Citadel Pueblo.
Nalakihu Pueblo.
Lomaki Box Canyon dwellings.
View from inside Wupatki Pueblo.
Lomaki Box Canyon dwellings.
Lomaki Pueblo.
Lomaki Pueblo.
Looking out at the high desert plains from Citadel Pueblo.
Wupatki Pueblo and its round Kiva (gathering place).
Wupatki Pueblo, home for about 100 people.
Mark plays with the blow hole's breezes.
Our picnic is cut short by looming black skies.
Lightning!
Bonito Campground & Wupatki Nat'l Monument, Flagstaff, AZ
August, 2011 - We crossed the Sea of Cortez from just north of Bahía Concepción on the Baja side of Mexico to San Carlos on
the mainland side in late June, a 75 mile jaunt. It was the very best sailing day in our entire seven months spent cruising the
Mexican coast: bright sunny skies, flat seas, and a sprightly wind drawing us along on a close reach. Our arrival in San Carlos was
the first step of our re-entry into civilization and the US, and each stage of re-entry was a shock.
Perhaps the most jarring
moment in this process was our
first trip to a Super Frys
supermarket in Phoenix. What a
staggering abundance of
gorgeous produce, so beautifully
presented and in such perfect
condition! Mark and I stood and
stared in amazement, mouths
open in awe. "Where's my
camera?" I cried. Our friends
thought we were nuts.
Getting to Phoenix from San
Carlos required an 11 hour bus ride,
and we then returned to San Carlos by
truck (a mere eight hour drive) to deliver
some things to the boat and relieve the
boat of other things
we didn't need any
more (winter
clothing!).
Then over the next
six weeks we
skidded from being
merely bone tired to
being utterly
exhausted as we ticked off the endless items on our "to do" list of
chores. We lived as perennial house guests, bouncing between
generous friends' homes.
The madness culminated with finding new tenants for our
townhouse. Sleeping on an air mattress in our empty
townhouse during a frantic week of repainting the interior, we
realized we had come full circle. Four years of traveling, with
only the briefest visits to Phoenix, and here we were back in
our townhouse again, surrounded by the same smells, the
same noises, the same sensations that had been the essence
of our old home. What had the last four years meant? Had we
grown or just taken a big detour through life? There was no
time to think about that; there were chores to do!
Once our
responsibilities were
behind us, we grabbed
the trailer out of
storage and dashed up
to Flagstaff as fast as
we could go. We made
a beeline for Bonito
Campground, our all-
time favorite
campground. Despite
being die-hard
boondockers, we splurged on a weeklong stay there while we re-familiarized
ourselves with the RV lifestyle and restocked the trailer with everything we had
pillaged from it for the boat.
Here at 7000' elevation we finally began to take stock and get some perspective on all
that we'd been through. When we left Phoenix in 2007, real estate was peaking at
astronomical prices. Now, on our return, there was a sea of homes in various stages
of financial distress and foreclosure. Few real estate signs were visible, however. The
panic was largely on paper and online, and too often was manifested in midnight
moves. Some of our once-wealthy friends were now scrambling to pick up the pieces
of their lives, while other less well-heeled friends were suddenly able to afford
gorgeous homes.
The city's everpresent, massive
expansion into the outlying pristine
desert was temporarily on hold while it adjusted to the new economy. Our
memories of Phoenix as it once was were overlaid onto Phoenix as it is today,
and there were areas where the images meshed, and areas where they were
like two different places.
Some of the changes were within ourselves as well. Our souls were the same,
but all this traveling had expanded our knowledge of the lands around us, and
we had come to know ourselves better too. These thoughts swirled around us
as we rested and strolled about Bonito's pretty grounds. Life aboard Groovy in
Mexico felt like a far distant dream.
The land surrounding Bonito Campground has changed too. Last year this part
of Coconino National Forest was devastated by the Schultz wildfire which wiped out some
15,000 acres, mostly on the area's mountain slopes. Campers at Bonito were evacuated
twice, first to escape the fire and later to avoid the erosion-caused floods. As a ranger
explained to us, the floods altered the landscape forever and
even moved floodplains. Many nearby homes were damaged
or lost, a young girl drowned, and the water rose to about 8' in
the campground's amphitheater, leaving the place buried in
sludge.
Knowing some of this before we arrived, it was with trepidation
that we approached the campground. The meadow that is
usually teeming with bright yellow sunflowers at this time of
year was devoid of blooms and parched and cracked in
places. But what a thrill it was to see and smell our beloved
ponderosa pine woods. Bonito's soul is the same, just singed
a bit here and there. The wildflowers still line the edges of the
roads and promise to return to the meadows. The
hummingbirds still buzz the campers looking for easy
meals in feeders. Some ponderosas have blackened
trunks, but the tops are green.
However, the Schultz fire was
nothing compared to the volcano
that erupted at next-door Sunset
Crater around 1050 AD. Spewing
marble-to-football sized chunks of
rock into the air for a few months
(or possibly several years), the
evacuation of the local farmers
lasted for generations. The
volcano layered the land for many
miles around in a thick blanket of
cinder. In its last moments it spat
out a final burst of cinder that was oxidized to a rust color. This gives the mountain a distinctive
orange-red top to this day, and the sun and shadows spend their days playing with the color.
We took a drive through the
nearby Indian ruins at Wupatki
National Monument. These
were built 50-100 years after
the eruption by the so-called
Sinagua people who returned
to the area to find that the
blanket of volcanic ash now
helped keep rare moisture in
the soil. They somehow eked out a farm life, living essentially
"sin agua" or "without water."
The ruins are like tiny dots on vast open plains, each located
several miles apart. The San Francisco mountains line the
horizon, but there are few trees or other protection between the open lands and the sky.
We opted to start at the far end of the drive, visiting the more remote
ruins first. These were built above small box canyons that are
essentially ditches in the ground bounded on two or three sides by 100'
rock cliffs. The cliffs provide the only weather protection in the area.
The Sinagua people understood real estate: location location location.
It was early
morning and utterly
silent. The
crunching of my
feet on the gravel paths made the cottontail
bunnies run, and lizards of all shapes and
sizes scurried for cover under rocks along
the trail. We were the only visitors at each
ruin, lending a sense of magic to each
place.
At the biggest ruin, Wupatki Pueblo,
Mark played with the natural
"blow hole" air vent. The
National Park Service has built
a structure around it, but the
blow-hole itself is the real deal,
blowing air out or sucking it in
depending on ambient
temperatures and air pressures.
As we returned to the
campground the sky turned
black, thunder rolled and
lightning streaked the sky. For
seven months on the boat in
Mexico we hadn't seen a single
drop of rain. The deluge that came now was fantastic.
We drove through it
laughing, barely able to
see the road ahead, and
we jumped back in the
trailer, glad to have real
shelter. It was so great to
be back in our RV lifestyle
again. The rain pummeled
our roof all afternoon, and
we fell asleep to the plink
plink plink of raindrops
overhead. Little did we
know the downpours
would continue for several days. The sun finally returned in full blaze
as we took off to head north to Dixie National Forest in Utah.
Other great RV camping areas:
- Lost Dutchman State Park: GORGEOUS scenery & RV campground!
- Windy Hill Campground + Tonto National Monument
- Lynx Lake, Arizona – Great RV Camping Near Prescott!
- Dead Horse Ranch State Park + Tuzigoot and Clarkdale
- Catalina State Park & Roosevelt Lake: RV Camping in AZ
- Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, New Mexico – A Dog’s Eye View!
- Lost Dutchman State Park Campground – Arizona Gold in the Superstitions
- Lake Pleasant & Canyon Lake – Waterfront Camping in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert
- Sand Hollow State Park, Utah – An Oasis in the Desert!
- RV Camping with the Rock Art Petroglyphs in Gila Bend, AZ
- City of Rocks State Park, NM – RV Camping in the Hoodoos!
- Boondocking at Big Bend National Park – Cheap & Scenic RV Camping
- Roosevelt Lake – Lakeside Camping in AZ
- Wupatki Nat’l Monument – Ancient Indian Ruins & Great Camping in AZ!
- Valley of Fire, NV – A Cauldron Cooled
- Zion NP, Kodachrome Basin & Snow Canyon, UT – Great Red Rocks!
- Goblin Valley, UT – Where the Ghosts Are
Our most recent posts:
- Buckskin Mountain State Park – Fun on the Colorado River! 01/31/26
- How to Install Starlink Gen 3 in an RV? Use the Speedmount! 08/07/25
- Escape to Paradise – Rocky Mountain Magic! 08/01/25
- Is Forest River a Good RV? Well Built? Here’s Our Experience 06/20/25
- Sunset Crater Nat’l Monument – Lava & Camels at Bonito CG! 06/06/25
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San Diego Anchorages – Glories of Glorietta Bay
Fog greeted us most mornings.
A megayacht crew forms a receiving line for the owners.
Leight Star - without its helicopter.
The Coronado Bridge.
Star of India's sails go up.
Brave crew members of the Star of India unfurl one
of the large square sails.
Downtown San Diego.
A harbor seal naps on a bouy.
A warship cruises down the channel.
A beach on Coronado Island.
Coronado Beach Company's "Tent City."
This could almost be a tropical isle.
Friends on Hunter 44DS "Marina Bella" anchored nearby.
Party time.
Woo Hoo!
A raft up.
The Coronado Boat House.
The Hotel del Coronado.
An elegant chat outside an elegant villa.
Sand drawing on the pavement.
A perfect day for the beach.
Coronado Beach is a classic California beach.
McP's, Navy Seal hangout.
Navy Frogmen raise a pint at McP's. Painted by our
friend and anchorage neighbor, Pete the Pirate.
Quaint buildings line the streets on Coronado Island.
One dog power.
Waterfront kaleidoscope.
Glorietta Bay is surrounded
by shallow water.
San Diego Anchorages - Glorietta Bay
September, 2010 - We continued to shuffle between the various free San
Diego Anchorages, gaining new perspectives on the city with every stop.
Most mornings began with a cold damp fog that occasionally broke into
sunshine for a few hours on rare, lucky afternoons. By my reckoning,
summer began on August 16th, and after 10 stunning days of warm
sunshine and bright blue skies it promptly ended on August 26th. We
discovered that 2010 was the coldest summer in San Diego since 1933.
Brrr.
However, we thoroughly enjoyed the activity on the waterfront, regardless.
One of the joys of staying at the public Police Dock marina on Shelter
Island that is open to all boaters on a first-come, first-serve basis, was its
amazing variety of visitors. Long term cruisers heading north or south
would stop in, their boats laden with dinghies, liferafts, bicycles, solar
panels, wind generators and everything else necessary for a safe and comfortable nomadic life afloat. Next door to them would be
local liveaboards who were taking a break from their usual swinging spot on a mooring, using the convenience of the marina to
wash the boat, walk to the car, and luxuriate in hot, stationary showers in a space larger than a phone booth.
Right next door to the Police Dock is San Diego's ritziest megayacht
dock. So, while your transient Cop Dock neighbor tells you what a
steal he got on his ancient 25' sailboat (he just picked it up for $300,
and not only does it sleep four, making it a fine liveaboard home,
but it still floats), a few hundred feet behind him the seven person
uniformed crew of a megayacht stands in a formal receiving line to
greet the very old owner and his very young wife onto their palatial
yacht for the weekend. I can't think of too many land based
neighborhoods where the scruffiest scrappers and the most
supremely ultra-rich can practically reach out of their windows and
shake hands.
The megayacht Leight Star (140') made the news during our
stay because its very seasoned helicopter pilot crashed under
the Coronado bridge. Apparently he experienced a
mechanical failure shortly after taking off from the yacht, and
he didn't quite succeed in his attempted emergency landing on
the bridge. Fortunately, a rescue team just happened to be
nearby. They saved the 69-year-old pilot from the wreckage
and got him to the hospital right away.
Taking our dinghy across the bay to the Maritime Museum, we watched
the goings-on aboard the Star of India, a megayacht of sorts (205') from
another era. This beautiful ship is docked permanently along the
downtown waterfront, and it often sports a few flying sails. Way up in the
rigging we saw four daring crew members unfurling one of the square
sails.
Sadly, the Star of India had made the news just a month earlier as
well. A 68-year-old retired Naval officer who volunteered on the
ship fell 50' to his death while moving from a rope ladder to the
rigging on the forward mast of the ship. In a safety reminder to us
all, it turned out that his harness wasn't clipped in at the time.
As we wandered from anchorage to
anchorage we got to enjoy the stunning
skyline of San Diego's downtown district from
many angles.
The harbor seals didn't seem as impressed
by the view, and they lolled about, sleeping
soundly on the bay's bouys.
San Diego is a busy, active harbor, and more
often than not, while transiting the bay, a
warship will make an appearance. You can
hear these guys on the radio first, warning all
mariners that they are coming. When they finally slip by, their sheer size and intense
purposefulness makes them very intimidating.
Coronado Island is the bulb at the end of the peninsula that
essentially forms the outer arm of all of San Diego harbor. This
"island" is not to be confused with the four Coronado Islands that
lie offshore of San Diego just over the Mexican border. Ringed by
beaches -- both docile ones on the bay and surf-pounded ones on
the open ocean -- San Diego's Coronado Island is extremely
inviting.
We learned that back in the early 1900's the entire peninsula was
loaded with little beachside shanties. Initially the structures were
simple canvas tents clustered together to form "Tent City." A few
years later these little bungalows sprouted thatched roofs and
$1.50 per couple per night price
tags. You could get a deal if you
brought your family for four
months during the summer. It
seems that all of San Diego's
party crowd came out to Coronado Island for beach, sun and surf.
The Community Center park has a heartwarming outdoor display of photos, showing long
deceased revelers enjoying
this wonderful area when the
only roads were dirt. The
women wore long, lace
trimmed dresses at the turn
of the century and shifted to
flapper, tube-style dresses in
the 1920's. Every cheek-
by-jowl bungalow door
was framed by two camp
chairs. Today the area is
dominated by high-rises.
The Glorietta Bay anchorage is
tucked into a nook on the bay
side of the island. The sandy
beach is lined with palm trees,
making it look almost tropical.
Our friends on "Bella Marina," a
beautiful dark green Hunter
44DS anchored nearby, and the
two sisterships swung in unison for an
overnight, undoubtedly swapping stories
about their owners.
The clothing may have changed between
1900 and 2010, but the spirit of partying in the sun is just the same as it
ever was. San Diego erupted in warm sunshine and sparkling water for
the afternoons we were at Glorietta Bay, and the party boats just kept on
a-comin'.
Lots of beer and lots of skin brought the bay to life.
Behind us a group gathered in a seven boat raft-up. By tying the
boats to each other, with three boats dropping their anchors to
hold the group still, everyone could scamper from boat to boat,
enjoying a party aboard one boat on one night and on another
boat another night.
Coronado is soaked in history, and two old landmarks still
stand as reminders of the past. The Coronado Boat
House, built in 1887, perches on the edge of the bay.
Today it is home to a fine restaurant and a boat rental
business.
More dramatic, the Hotel del Coronado anchors a classic California beach. With red
turrets and lots of dormers, the hotel is a charming historic landmark. Walking along its
perimeter we came across two old ladies chatting in on a villa patio. They added to the
Hotel's "last century" air.
Offering more of a youthful
spirit, someone had created
sand swept images on the
sidewalk. Walking delicately
across a smiling sun face, it
seemed the artist was as happy
about this brief turn in the
weather as we were.
A little further on we found ourselves behind some beach-goers. What a
perfect day to take a beach chair, towel and book to the beach.
For me, Coronado Beach is what I always imagined a
California beach must be like, and the throng of Asian tourists
taking photos of each other with the beach and ocean in the
background confirmed that others must feel that way too.
Coronado Island has a busy main street where the boutique
shops and outdoor eateries spill out onto the sidewalk all the
way down the road. Everyone was out for a late Sunday
brunch as we strolled along, but we were ready for an early
pint at McP's. This is a special bar where the Navy Seals
hang out, and with a parental connection to the Navy we had
to check it out.
Also, our neighbor in
the A9 Cruisers'
Anchorage, former
Navy Seal "Pete the
Pirate" on the motor
yacht "Patriot Seal,"
painted the beer
hoisting frogs on the
wall of the bar.
Although originally
nicknamed "Tent City," Coronado was created by the
Coronado Beach Company as a master planned resort
community in the late 1880's, and the area remains very
upper crust today. Ornate business buildings and
carefully crafted shop buildings give the area a precious,
studied charm. We wandered through the back
neighborhoods, all very quiet, where each home is an
exquisite display of architectural flair.
Back on the boardwalk, returning to the boat, an old man
in a wheelchair gave us a huge smile. "One dog power,"
he said, pointing to his dog who was on his leash ahead
of him. Nearby, a trio of little girls clambered all over a
huge, colorful kaleidoscope.
When our weekend on Coronado
Island drew to a close, we motored
back to our home base at the A9
Cruisers' Anchorage off of Harbor
Island in the bay. Glorietta Bay is
flanked by shallows, and a hapless
ketch ran aground on the way in just
as we were leaving. The tide was still
falling as we passed them, giving them
few options until the tide came in again.
Meanwhile, on the radio, we heard the
Coast Guard simultaneously dealing with
two emergencies, a sailboat that had lost
power near the rocks of Point Loma and a
power boat that suddenly sank out from
beneath three older men. While the sailboat
dropped anchor and awaited a tow, the three
men in the water miraculously kept their
handheld radio dry and followed detailed
instructions from the calm Coast Guard lady on
the radio. As we went about our business
setting our anchor, we marveled that such a
tranquil morning in such a beautiful place could
yield three crises in a matter of minutes.
There is always a lot of action on the water.
Unfortunately, during the next few weeks, bad
weather and boat outfitting projects prevented us from further forays around
southern California, but on November 2nd we left San Diego permanently to sail
San Diego Anchorages – Boondocking on the Water
Isla Coronado Sur
Fishing boats rafted at the Coronado Islands.
A ketch anchored at La Playa Cove.
Beautiful mansions cover the hillside at La Playa
Cove anchorage.
We decided this was our favorite house.
The roses smelled so sweet too.
Mark changes the bulb for our
anchor light.
Folks of all kinds enjoyed La Playa Cove for
the weekend.
Hobie's slick trimaran sailing kayak.
Segways of the sea.
"Sure, I can squeeze through there."
A surfer gets a tow from a windsurfer.
Morning dawns at Southwestern Yacht Club.
Our kayak became our lifeline to shore.
A closed paddle-boat restaurant fills our view at the A9
cruisers' anchorage.
Those dirty towels sure pile up on a boat.
Sunsets from our cockpit were a little slice of heaven.
The full moon hovers over downtown, serenely
keeping an eye on the chaos of humanity below.
San Diego Anchorages
Late August, 2010 - We pulled out of Baja Naval marina in Ensenada,
Mexico after a flurry of paper chasing to get our exit documents together
in a form that was acceptable to the Port Captain. The position of Port
Captain carries a lot of prestige, and he or she holds ultimate power over
all boating activity in the port. Having checked into Mexico through Hotel
Coral & Marina, the Ensenada Port Captain told us we now needed our
exit crew list to be written on the letterhead of Baja Naval Marina, to show
our movement from one marina to the other during our stay. Good grief.
The cruising guide had indicated we could write up our exit crew list
ourselves. No such luck. Lots of boats leave Mexico without getting exit
papers, but because we plan to return in a few months it seemed wise to
follow the prescribed protocol, so we put a few miles on our shoe soles
that morning as we ultimately made three trips to visit the Port Captain.
The morning was misty, and the sea created a smooth, undulating
blanket beneath us as we motored into the sunny haze. We planned to
stop at Las Islas Coronados for an overnight rather than do the entire 70
mile trip to San Diego in one shot. These islands are a few miles
offshore from Mexico, lying just below the US/Mexico border. We had
heard to steer clear of the fishing activity at the south end of the
southernmost island before turning in to the anchorage that lies at its
midpoint on the eastern shore. So we were very surprised to find that
fish pens and fishing boats occupied the entire eastern shoreline of the
island, effectively blocking us from turning towards our planned
anchorage until we got all the way to the northern tip.
Doubling back south and snaking our way along the shore, we eyed the
eight or so rows of three or four fish pens per row. A lone sailboat was
anchored amid 30 or so fishing boats, and we took a spot nearby. It is a
pretty little anchorage, and when morning came we didn't want to leave.
The gulls were calling each other, seals surfaced here and there around
the boat, and the rocks glowed orange in the sunrise. Facing the hustle
and bustle of San Diego did not seem appealing at all. Being anchored,
and free, after months of harnessing our boat in a slip, tying it down like a
horse penned in a stall, this brief whiff of pure freedom beckoned us. After
all, opening our souls to this world of nature is why we chose to get a boat
and go cruising.
However, our
truck was parked
in 72-hour on-
street parking on Shelter Island and it was now 96 hours since we'd
parked it. Duties and obligations reeled us in, and we sailed into the US
customs dock in San Diego and filled out more paperwork for more
uniformed officials to document our arrival back in the US.
Our arrival coincided with the arrival of summer in southern
California, despite it being August 17th. The sun shone from first
light every day for ten straight days, and it seemed like it must be
June.
We spent a few errand filled days tied up at the harbor's Police
Dock, taking advantage of having easy access to our truck and
stores from a slip in the heart of San Diego's sailing community.
We were in an intermediate phase now, without a permanent slip
for the boat, but not yet cruising full-time without wheels on land.
Our plan was to hop between anchorages until mid-October,
finishing our various outfitting projects on the boat and learning to
live on the hook, before setting sail for southern Mexico.
One delightful free anchorage is
available--weekends only--at La
Playa Cove behind Shelter Island. Tucked between the
San Diego Yacht Club docks and the Southwestern Yacht
Club docks, this pretty spot is hugged by a hillside
studded with multi-million dollar waterfront homes. As we
swung slowly from side to side at anchor, we admired
these beautiful glass-walled mansions, imagining what
that life must be like.
Shelter Island had unexpectedly become like a second
home to us after we spent October, 2008 and half of
January 2009 parked along the streets in our fifth wheel.
So we enjoyed getting to know its other side, soaking up
its unique warmth and familiarity from the water.
Our first anchoring experience at Isla Coronado Sur on the way to San Diego had revealed that
our anchor light bulb at the top of the mast needed changing. It took two sailors to change this
light bulb, one manning the winch (me) and one scurrying up the mast to change the
bulb (Mark). What crazy stuff this boating life gets you into.
Being the first truly
gorgeous, sunny, warm
weekend of the summer,
the cove was soon filled
with merry-makers of
every type. If you had
something that could
float, this was the
weekend to take it out.
We saw rubber dinghies,
sleek little sailboats, a
Hobie sailing trimaran
kayak, traditional
kayaks and even folks
who could walk on water.
These standing paddlers
are like Segway riders of
the sea.
Lots of hot shot sailors
came through the
anchorage in impossibly
large boats, weaving
between everyone under
sail power alone,
showing the world just what amazing sailing skills they
have. It was a little unnerving when a single guy showed up in a
ketch, a sailboat with two masts and three sails, all flying. For a
moment the bowsprit on his boat threatened to hole Groovy right
through the middle, but he turned just in the nick of time and anchored
perfectly, running his engine for less than three minutes as he
dropped the hook.
Big kids, little kids, kids who ride on boats -- all love La Playa Cove.
During this time we gradually adapted to our new life at anchor. No
longer able to simply step ashore and walk a few paces to our truck,
we now had to get ashore by boat. We used the kayak at first, as it is
just so much fun to run around in. Getting into the kayak from the
back of Groovy can be tricky, since both boats move, and not always
in a synchronized manner.
Ferrying family and friends
to the boat was a new
experience too. Since the
kayak is built for two, and
two only, each visitor had to
be brought aboard one at a
time. And a ride in the
kayak is never a dry affair. Wet butts, wet feet, and salty hands were the name of the
game, but it was all such a blast.
When the weekend ended Monday morning, the boats
slowly drained out of the anchorage and we headed
over to our new home base, the A9 anchorage off the
end of Harbor Island. This anchorage is free to all non-
San Diego County residents, and you can stay for up to
90 days, renewing your 30 day permit twice. Not quite as picturesque as
La Playa Cove, it is still a very pretty spot. Situated behind a now-closed
paddle boat restaurant and very upscale marina, it lies between the San
Diego airport and the Navy's airbase with a great view of downtown.
There is a constant stream of planes coming and going on either side,
and boats of all sizes ply the harbor's waters. Tankers, cruise ships,
Navy ships and sunset cruise boats come and go all day long, and
between them the pleasure boaters fly about at full speed in power boats
and at half speed in sleek sailboats.
We loved our new spot and continued to adjust to this new life on the hook. I did a load of laundry by hand, to alleviate the huge
pile-up of dirty clothes that would require a trip ashore by boat to get to a laundromat. We found little things that were trivial in the
fifth wheel or living at a marina, like getting groceries or disposing of garbage, now became Major Expeditions. Every trip on or off
the boat required a kayak ride and we got used to hugging our groceries and balancing bags of trash in our laps as our legs
pushed the pedals.
Mark continued working on the
various projects he'd tackled to get
ready for long term cruising in
Mexico. Access to the truck was
both a boon and a bust, as it needed
to be moved from Shelter Island to
Harbor Island, a distance of several
miles. Not a big deal for the truck,
but the kayak on the other hand...
Mark's legs were sore after soloing
the kayak against wind and current
while I drove the truck around to
meet him.
Late afternoons in the cockpit were
pure heaven. We would kick back
and watch the scene around us.
Jets arrived in regular one minute
intervals to our left, the coast guard
choppers hovered over their base
just a little further on, and the Navy
jets exploded into the skies across
the harbor on our right. It wasn't a
tranquil anchorage, but the hum of
human activity was intoxicating in
its own way.
What a surprise it was, as we sat
there one afternoon, to see the full
moon suddenly appear above the
city skyline right in front of us.
Mother Nature still sets the stage for
all human activities, even in our
biggest cities. It hovered and winked
over the glowing buildings, welcoming
us to our new life of boondocking on
the water. Happily, many more
enjoyable days in San Diego's
anchorages lay ahead of us.
Groovy – How We Came to Own a Sailboat
A cool boat pops up for sale in San Diego
It looks clean...
...and inviting
Leaving St. Vincent headed for St. Lucia
New Year's Eve on the conveyor belt at JFK airport
Sea trial of the cool boat...
...suspending it for a while...
...and having the surveyor tap the hull to check
out its integrity.
San Diego gives us a warm
welcome.
"Sea Dragon," one of San
Diego's Urban Trees, greets
us at Seaport Village.
A mom captures herself and
kiddies in a self-portrait
This fellow was balancing rocks
in impossible positions.
Hot Licks has every hot sauce
known to man.
A retired Navy officer shares
tales of war on the high seas
The Bob Hope commemorative statue park.
Segway lessons.
Back on the boat it was time to take delivery.
Offshore delivery involves proving that the boat
was signed over from seller to buyer "offshore"
The seller's captain signs off.
Groovy is officially ours... What did we just do??
Proud new owners
For two weeks we call Kona Kai marina home.
Surfin' community Ocean Beach
sports a lot of funk.
Surfin' hamburgers
A street musician entertains us
at Ocean Beach
Now that's a coffee kiosk!
Prepping for our sail to Mexico.
Our test sails are a blast.
A schooner slips past in the distance
The sun feels good. Hard to believe we
were in short sleeves a few days ago.
A happy family moment as the desert dwellers take to the sea.
A New Chapter: Groovy
January, 2010 - I have mentioned John Lennon's insight that "life is what
happens to you while you are busy making other plans" elsewhere on
these pages, and once again, while in Carriacou, those words proved so
true for us. I have long had a dream of going cruising in a sailboat and
have gradually lured Mark into this dream. His response has ranged from
all smiles to the rare bout of kicking and screaming, but he finally agreed
to purchase a boat a year ago.
The boat buying process left us so stressed out last May that we got into a
fender bender with the trailer in California and ended up touring Michigan
by car and motel for seven weeks while the trailer was repaired and while
we decompressed.
We returned to the
trailer determined to let the boat idea slide for a while, but found ourselves
glued to Yachtworld, the online MLS for boats. Every time we got online to
check for email, no matter where in the world we were, we did a quick check of
Yachtworld too.
When we went to the Caribbean for the winter we vowed not to look at
Yachtworld any more. But one afternoon, while sitting out on our balcony,
Mark slipped up and took a quick peak. "Wow! Look at this!" He jumped out of
his patio chair. A boat we had seen for sale almost a year earlier was back on
the market, but this time hugely discounted as a foreclosure. I shrugged it off.
It would be gone by the time we got back to the States. But over the next few
days, Mark wouldn't let it go. The bank had an online bid form, and one afternoon
Mark entered a bid. "Sweety, what do you think of this?" He asked as he went to take
a shower. Aw heck, that was much too high! I lowered his number by $10k and clicked Send. 30 minutes later we got an email
saying the bank had "respectfully" countered our offer by $1,500. Holy cow! Now what?? Dash away from paradise to the hurly
burly of buying our dream boat for an amazing price in the middle of winter, with the very real chance that things could go awry
and leave us empty-handed, or stay on swimming and walking and
mixing with the locals on the white sand beaches of the Caribbean?
While casting about for an answer, discussing our options, reasons,
hopes and fears endlessly, Mark woke up one day with Simon and
Garfunckle's song Feelin' Groovy running through his mind. He had
been coming up with prospective names for boats on a sometimes
hourly basis for the past two years, to the point where it became a
comical game for both of us, but none of the names ever stuck.
However, when he rolled over that morning and said, "We should name
the boat 'Groovy'," we both knew we would be owners of a new boat.
New Year's Eve found us flying out of St. Vincent, staring down at the
turquoise sea dotted with little white sailboats, wondering if we would
truly be out there joining them soon or if we were totally out of our minds to be leaving. The long holiday weekend was a crazy one
for international travel, and especially for last minute ticket purchases. Starting with the hike from our Bequia apartment to the ferry
boat, then on to the St. Vincent bus ride across town to catch a small inter-island flight to St. Lucia, followed by an hour-and-a-half
taxi ride over that island's mountainous interior to its bigger airport, and finally hopping on three jet flights that bounced up the
Caribbean chain and across the US to San Diego, we were in transit for
a total of 33 hours.
Because a terrorist had tried to bomb a flight to Detroit on Christmas
day, security was extraordinary. Apparently St. Lucia is a "country of
interest," so not only were we patted down and each of our carry-on
bags hand-searched when we entered the St. Lucia terminal, but all
passengers were patted down and every pocket of every piece of
luggage searched a second time as we all boarded the plane. It took
two hours to get everyone aboard, and we, of course, were the last ones
on. The gazillion TSA agents were high-fiving each other as we left their
clutches, the final plane of the day. They were oh-so-ready to celebrate
New Year's Eve island style. We rang in the new year at New York's JFK
airport a few hours later, while standing in line at Customs. Back on
American soil, we snagged some blankets and pillows from the plane
and bedded down on a nice, comfy, secluded conveyor belt in the terminal to await our morning
flight to California.
Once we arrived in San Diego, we went
straight to the boat to check it out. It was
just as cool a boat as it looked in the
photos. It is a 2008 Hunter 44DS (44'
long), the last unit of that model ever built.
After crawling through many many boats
over the past four years, we had decided a
year ago that this was the exact make and
model we wanted.
What incredible good fortune.
Boat purchases involve a "sea trial" and "survey" which are something like a test
drive and home inspection, but you must reach a price agreement with the seller
before either can take place. For the survey, a professional examines the boat
very carefully, checking all the systems and hauling it out of the water for a look at
the bottom. Groggy from lack of sleep, jet lag, and still wondering if we were doing
the right thing, we were both ecstatic as we took turns at the helm on the way to the
boat yard. Our surveyor
studied every inch of the boat
for a full day, tapping the hull
with his hammer to check for
problems and making endless
notes on his clipboard. In the
end he declared it the cleanest
survey he had ever done.
Wow. Gorgeous weather greeted us and
our spirits rose higher and higher -- even
as fear gripped our souls because this was
such a big move for us. We were glad it
was shorts weather, as all we had with us
was tropical-wear and airport-wear.
Everything else was in Phoenix. We
stayed with our son and daughter-in-law and took some time
out to explore Seaport Village with them and catch our breath.
This area was as charming as we remembered it being a year
ago. Families were wandering through the boutique stores,
enjoying the last bit of the holiday break
together. We spotted a mom with her two kids
getting a picture of themselves with their cell
phone.
A little further on a man was demonstrating
rock balancing, placing rocks in impossible
positions on top of each other and
miraculously willing them not to fall down. He
claimed there were no tricks or gimmicks, but
how he could sense where the balance point
was of each rock was beyond me.
The boutiques were all well stocked with their
Christmas goods and the paths were
meticulously maintained. There is something
ever-friendly and ever-accessible about the
San Diego waterfront. We stopped at Hot
Licks, a store with a dizzying array of hot sauces lining every
shelf.
Down at the Midway Aircraft Carrier museum a retired Naval
officer told stories of various ships and their adventures on the
high seas long ago.
A group of statues nearby commemorates Bob Hope's many
USO performances, and a little girl wandered among the
statues, carefully checking out each one.
You never know what you'll find on the San Diego waterfront,
and as we strolled a little further we came across a group
Segway lesson. Those contraptions look like so much fun.
A few days later all the pieces were in place for us to close on the boat.
A mad dash to Phoenix had augmented our clothes collection so we
could handle the weather that was becoming increasingly cool and
damp. At the same time we had had to stand in the trailer and decide whether to take the kitchen tools, favorite books, bedding,
etc. or buy new things for the boat. Our plan was to split our time between RVing in the US/Canada and sailing in Mexico, hitting
the prime summer spots on land with the trailer during the southern Mexican hurricane season. So we didn't want to raid too much
from the trailer. But did this new move really mean stocking two homes? What about tools? Hoses? Holding tank chemicals?
Personal papers? We had planned to stay on the boat for the first twelve months before we started splitting our time between
RVing and sailing. So were we really saying goodbye to the trailer for a year? Yikes! We loaded the truck and sped back to San
Diego in time to sign all the paperwork, sticking with the tasks at hand to keep all
these wild emotions in check.
Since our intent was to use the boat outside of California (in Mexico), we
qualified for the state exemption from paying "use tax" (similar to sales tax) on
the purchase. However, California (like all other coastal states) has strict rules
that state precisely how a boat buyer demonstrates his/her intent to use the boat
predominantly outside of the state. One of these is to take the boat out of
California waters for the closing. This is just 3 miles offshore, but requires a
captain to sail the boat until the closing takes place, and then lots of photos
proving both the day's date and that the boat is at a GPS coordinate outside of
the state when the documents are signed. We had especially memorable
headlines on the newspaper that day, as an earthquake had just devastated
Haiti.
This was an exciting moment and was our first extended period of time out in the boat on the
water. It was great to be out there, but we both felt woefully inadequate to take charge of
this vessel all by ourselves. Our next trip out there would be no guiding hand, and we
wondered how we would fare.
Once back at the dock, we hung out in the cabin in a state of disbelief. We had done it.
Fourteen days from the time we left the islands, we were sitting on our own boat.
Were we out of our minds?
The seller was kind enough to pre-pay a two week stay at Kona
Marina in San Diego, one of the nicest marinas in the harbor.
We had spent many happy hours in the past sneaking onto this marina's docks and then wandering
around checking out all the boats and talking to the
owners. It was a strange and wonderful feeling to
have a card key to the gate and to walk onto the
docks as bona-fide boat owners.
We had signed our names on the closing
documents, but there was still a lot more to do.
The second part of California's requirement for
demonstrating intent to use your new boat outside
of California is to leave the state as soon as
possible after the closing and to stay out for at
least six months. We decided to sail to Ensenada,
Mexico, 65 miles south of San Diego.
Our to-do list to prepare for this international
voyage was several pages long. From a
small sail repair to testing the radar
to remembering how to sail and
navigate, we had a lot to do to
make this easy 65 mile trip a safe
one.
Taking a little time out, we explored
nearby Ocean Beach. This is a
surfing community that has a hippy
kind of air to it, and it's a place
where it seems that anything goes.
A little dog in a froo-froo dress fit
right in.
Surfing, hamburgers in paradise and cheap
beers at outdoor bars overlooking the beach
invite all tourists to partake of the classic
California beach scene for a while.
A street musician sang his heart out as we
strolled by.
Pirate's Cove Coffee is the most elaborate
coffee kiosk I have ever seen.
Back on the boat we were slowly getting used
to the idea of being boat owners, living on a
sailboat, and starting a new chapter in our lives.
Out on the water the weather got steadily cooler. Short sleeves gave way to hats and jackets
as we gradually remembered which lines on the boat do what, how sailboats work with the
wind, and what all those crazy markings on the charts are all about.
Then San Diego got one of the worst dousings of rain
in the last decade. In one week they got almost as much
rain as they had in the entire previous year. We
alternated between huddling inside and running endless
errands to the big box stores as the rain fell in torrents.
In a way, all that miserable weather was a blessing in
disguise, as it kept us ticking down our non-sailing to-do
lists. I read 150 pages of Chapman's Piloting's
navigation chapters to refresh my skills, and Mark read
the chartplotter and radar manual, engine manual and
Hunter's user manual. When the day finally arrived that
the sun came out, we were able to focus on sailing.
We had one brief family day aboard, taking our son Rory and his wife Colette out for a
day sail. It was a moment that Mark had long been waiting for, wanting to introduce his
son to the world of sailing. Rory caught on quickly, and we found it was so much easier
to sail with a strapping young
man on board who could handle
all the lines one-handed without a
winch. After a pleasant few
hours on the water, we hugged
them goodbye at the dock. Thirty
hours later we untied the lines at
Kona Marina for the last time,
and left San Diego in the morning
mist behind us as we headed for
first stop on the way to
Ensenada.
Phoenix Parks – Saguaros and Sisters
Our saguaro friends say "hi."
Holding the moon close.
Wearing a halo.
An early Cardinal travel trailer.
1940's vintage
Another vintage Cardinal.
Saguaro holding pen.
First glimpse of Bartlett Lake.
These saguars have looked down this hillside for
more than a hundred years.
View of Bartlett Lake.
Pretty roads wind through the park.
From high on a ridge.
Cholla cactus catches the rays.
Lakeside Camping
Yellow Cliffs
Every saguaro has its own
personality.
Campground Full.
Not !!!!
Stray kitty says hello.
She'll be the new station cat for the
hot-shot firefighting crew.
Bartlett Dam.
North end of the lake.
Another great kayak ride.
A blue heron stalks the
shore.
The Bicycle Haus team takes a break in their 85 mile ride.
Dirt roads wander through the desert.
Hallelulia
Swoopy saguaro
Warm (prickly)
embrace.
After old age.
White Tanks & Bartlett Lake, Arizona
Early November, 2009 - We left Havasu Springs Resort ready for an exciting
change of pace: White Tanks Regional Park on the west side of Phoenix. This is a
pretty park and campground set smack in the middle of some of the nicest Sonoran Desert
there is. We couldn't help but smile as the saguaro cactuses greeted us with arms held high.
The overall climate in central Arizona's Sonoran Desert
doesn't feel much different than the Mojave Desert of
Nevada, California and northwestern Arizona, but what a difference in vegetation. It is lush
and vibrant, filled with unusual plant life, singing birds and hopping bunnies.
The central figure in this desert is the saguaro cactus, and they give the area its charm. Each
one is unique, striking a pose with arms raised that suggests an almost reverent spirit. These
precious and protected plants define the landscape, and as we drove into the park we felt like
we were coming home.
We woke up the next morning to find that one
section of the campground had been taken over
by a raft of tiny, ancient trailers. Their owners, all
women, were gathered around a campfire,
and we learned that this was a rally of the
group "Sisters on the Fly."
Priscilla, one of the first members of the
group, invited me into her 1948 Pleasure
Craft trailer (unfortunately I never got a
photo). The woodwork was beautiful,
but it was the antique refrigerator with
its heavy external latch that caught my
eye. "That's what sold me on this
trailer," she said. "That and this stove
here." Both appliances were original,
and Priscilla was too. What a great
gathering of ladies and buggies.
With their sporty air of independence,
laced with a touch of sass, these gals
seemed to have a great weekend
together. I later checked out their
website, www.sistersonthefly.com, and thoroughly enjoyed their "Caravan Trailers"
link. It is a gallery of photos of their members' fantastic vintage trailers, many featuring
wonderful and humorous paint jobs. Started ten years by two sisters, the club has
grown to over 1000 members. What fun.
We left White Tanks to spend a little time at Bartlett Lake. On the
way out we passed the sad sight of what happens to saguaro
cactuses when developers do their thing. In order to build a new
library, something that will enhance the human community
immensely, the lovely Sonoran Desert abutting the park must be
cleared. In the process, the cholla cactus, mesquite, and creosote
bushes get mowed down without a thought. The saguaros,
however, are protected and endangered, so they get moved to a
holding pen for later transplanting. Seeing all these fun little
personalities standing in a jail cell, arms up, awaiting an unknown
fate, always makes my heart ache. It happens all over central
Arizona all the time, but that doesn't make it any easier to witness.
It is unfortunate that the most lush and gorgeous of our American
deserts has also turned out to be such a popular place to live. There are thousands of square miles of barren Mojave desert, but
the beautiful Sonoran desert that is unique to Arizona and northern Mexico has been systematically dismantled in Arizona for the
last century in order to make way for the urban sprawl of Phoenix and Tucson. If only those cities had been founded in a place that
didn't lose its unique beauty when bulldozed.
The road to Bartlett Lake is one of the area's most scenic. The
lake pops into view as you round a bend, and grows larger and
larger as you descend towards it.
Taking many bike rides along the roads that wind through this
part of the Tonto National Forest over the next few days, I kept
holding us both up by stopping to get photos.
This rich desert landscape is
otherworldly, although it is alive with
animal activity. The prickly plants of
all shapes and sizes ring out with the
unique calls and rustlings of the
Gambel's quails, curve-billed
thrashers, cactus wrens and gila
woodpeckers.
Teddy bear chollas look so cuddly I
always find myself stomping into the desert to get a closer
look, only to find myself sitting with a pair of pliers later,
yanking their long thick thorns out of the soles of my shoes.
There is dispersed camping along the lake's shores, and
because the lake was being drained to an unusually low
level during our visit, to allow for dam repairs, the choice of
campsites was immense.
We rode down to the Yellow
Cliffs and circled back to our
campsite. This area is layered in
memories for us, as we used to
ride our bikes out here
frequently to "get in some miles" and get away from the city, Mark
used to bring his kids here to swim, and we spent some happy
nights here in our popup as well.
Shortly after we pulled into our
campsite, we heard an incessant
meowing. A little black and white kitty
suddenly came over to us and started
rubbing herself on our legs. Where did
she come from? The nearest house is in a huge masterplanned
community of mansions 14 miles away. There was no way this
little cat had come that far. Her coat was still clean and she was
perfect coyote snacking size. We guessed she had been
abandoned or had snuck out of someone's car during a visit to
the lake in the last day or two.
We gave her some tuna,
and watched her lustily
chow down and lick the can
clean. She promptly
adopted our top front step
as her own and spent the
afternoon watching the
world through half-closed
eyes from that vantage
point. We couldn't keep her
and kept racking our brains
to come up with a friend in the area who might need
a cat these days. None came to mind.
But at that moment a US Forest Service truck pulled
up and two young fellows jumped out. They were
on the hot-shot forest fire crew for Tonto National
Forest and were busy trimming trees while waiting
for the next forest fire to break out. They took one
look at the little kitten and fell in love too. "Our
station cat was really old and he just died," one of
them said. "We need a new station cat!" How cool
is that. The guys said they still had a stack of cat
food back at the station too. The kitty hung out in
the shade near the fire fighters for the rest of the
day, and they whisked her off to the station once
their shift ended. Truly one of the best stray cat
stories I've ever seen.
We've been to Bartlett Lake
countless times but had never
explored its back roads that wind
behind the dam. After a steep
climb we got a great view of the
lake and then descended to the
river beyond the dam where there
are small campsites.
We even got out on the kayak and had
a chance to get up close and personal,
checking out the exposed shoreline. A blue heron was patiently
fishing nearby.
One Saturday morning we got a glimpse of our old lives as the
Bicycle Haus bike team arrived from Scottsdale, flying down the
final screaming descent towards the lake. We rode with
them back up to the ranger's station, some 14 miles from
the lake, and were glad we didn't have another 30 miles to
go after that to get to the starting point like they did.
Instead, we wandered along the roads at a slow pace, taking
leisurely photos of our dear friends, the saguaros.
In the backs of our minds we were mulling over what to do once
the winter weather started to arrive. We didn't know just yet, but
new and different kinds of adventures were in store for us on the
Caribbean island of Grenada.
Havasu Springs Resort, AZ – Lucky Break!
Lake Havasu.
View from the resort.
Lakeside vacation mobile homes.
Ready to launch.
Secluded cove.
Resting on the resort's beach.
Solitary fisherman.
Green grasses line the shore.
Deserted Island.
Clear green water at a private campsite.
Water pumping station.
Salt Cedar sapling takes root on a bouy.
Nesting site on stilts.
Lighthouse guides boaters in.
Houseboats at the marina.
Havasu Springs Resort, Arizona
Late October, 2009 - We left Laughlin, Nevada with a hankering to get the kayak out onto Lake Havasu, one of the manmade
lakes that have bubbled the Colorado River into a string of elongated beads as it runs south. Problem was, where to stay? We
pulled into a Love's gas station as we exited I-40 to take AZ-95 south, and a man in an old pickup engaged Mark in conversation.
"Where are you going?" He asked.
"South."
"Where are you staying?"
"I'm not sure."
"Can I interest you in a free 5-day, 4-night stay at Havasu Springs Resort?"
Mark's ears perked up. Sure! It turned out that one of the oldest RV
park timeshare membership programs, Colorado River Adventures,
was promoting their parks to the snowbirds as they migrated south.
We could choose from four different RV parks for the promo package,
but he told us Havasu Springs was the nicest. "You'll have to take a 90
minute tour, but it won't be any longer than that, I promise. You'll also
get a $100 Walmart gift card."
Score!! Going to timeshare presentations was something of a sport in
the Phoenix area in the late 1990's. The resorts were lovely, the
giveaways were lavish, and the presentations were usually not that long
or grueling. During coffee breaks on our group bike rides in those days
we'd sit around with our friends and compare notes on the different
timeshares we'd toured. Of course, it's a sport fraught with danger, as
almost everyone we knew had given in and purchased a timeshare
somewhere along the line. Nowadays our savvy friends buy them for pennies on the dollar on the internet.
We looked at the brochure the man in the pickup had handed us, saw the
pictures of the pretty beaches along the lake, and jumped at the chance.
Once there, while we were checking in, Mark noticed a poster on the wall
that offered two free dinners at the resort's restaurant if you took a tour of
the condos that were for sale. Within minutes we'd scheduled our condo
tour for later that day and our timeshare membership tour for the next
day. Ironically, we then accidentally took a self-guided half-hour tour of
the whole resort on our own, with our monster rig, as we got lost several
times looking for our campsite.
We were assigned
an appealing end site. Our rig filled the entire site, and we had to juggle our
position to get the slides out without hitting the electrical box or the tree, but
we gleefully plugged into electrical, water and sewer hookups for the first time
in 8 months. We planned to bask in four days of very very long showers and
we set the air conditioning so it would cycle on and off at will (this is not
possible when we run the a/c from the generator: when the a/c cycles on it
overloads the generator, shutting it off, so we simply run the a/c til we are cool
and then turn it off, effectively cycling it manually).
Our condo salesman was at our door
just as we removed the last bungee
cord from the cabinets. What fun to cruise through a fabulously decorated $800k condo
with views of the lake and mountains, envisioning ourselves hosting elegant parties that
spilled from the beautiful great-room out onto the sprawling deck. We found out we could
pick up this piece of paradise for less than $500k because of the stalled economy. What a
deal!
We politely declined, but the free
dinner at Springs that night was
wonderful. We had a pretty table
overlooking the marina, and we
toasted each other and our fine
meal while we were serenaded by a
wonderful female vocalist. The sun
set slowly behind the distant
mountains and we kept laughing
about what crazy good luck it was to
run into the guy in the pickup at the
gas station.
The biggest perk for us at this
resort was the chance to get out on
the lake with the kayak. Early the
next morning we snuck down to the
boat ramp and launched the boat.
It was promising to be a very
blustery day, and the water soon
kicked up as we pedaled and
paddled along.
The funny thing about this tandem
kayak is that the front person gets
drenched by waves slapping the bow. Mark thought it was all quite hilarious as wave after
wave splashed over the boat and all over me while he remained perfectly dry. I got the
last laugh, however, as the water that dripped off of me followed gravity
and made its way along the bottom edges of the boat to soak Mark's seat.
After a while he was sitting in quite a puddle. We cracked up when we
finally returned to the boat ramp and crawled out of the kayak, two wet
rats.
The timeshare presentation was later that afternoon, and we were
radiating grins when we arrived in our salesman's office after our morning
adventure. He took one look at us, heard Mark explain that we live off the
grid, and he said, "I know you're not going to buy, so I'll keep this short."
He gave us a brief synopsis of what the membership program was all
about (summarized under the "High End Membership Programs" on the
Fulltiming page, about 40% down the page). And before 45 minutes was
up, he was shaking our hands and wishing us safe travels. There had
been a mixup about the Walmart gift card, so
he handed Mark a check for $100. "I bet this
was the easiest $100 you ever made."
Absolutely!!
Soon afterwards we saw him in his golf cart
greeting some friends who had just moved into
a site behind us. Not only did he know we
weren't going to buy, but he had better things
to do with his time late on a Friday afternoon.
We hit the resort's bar for $1.50 steak tacos
and rode our bikes all over the place. It is an
expansive property with several hotels and
marinas, and we enjoyed roaming the grounds
so much we forgot to check out the swimming pool and hot tub. However, we met a couple who
had just completed 20 years of sailing in the Caribbean, and we enjoyed a lengthy conversation with
them about that lifestyle. They were now building a home base in Vancouver and had come south
in their RV to escape the cold for the winter.
They were happier cold weather creatures than
we were, however, as their long term plans
were to buy an old fishing trawler and explore
Alaska by boat.
The winds died down and we were gifted with
one glorious day on the water with the kayak.
This time we both remained dry and we
explored much further north along the lake. It is
a huge lake, some 50 miles long, so there was no chance to get to the other
end where the famed London Bridge stands. However, we probably got about
4 or so miles out, and we passed countless boat-in BLM campsites along the
shore. These are charming little spots with private beaches, picnic tables and plenty
of room to spread out. Only one of these pretty campsites was occupied.
We stopped at one that was set in a private cove and wandered along the clear
green water. What a perfect place to take a young family for a weekend. The kids
could run free, and the adults could
unwind.
The Parker Dam, which creates Lake
Havasu, is a huge concrete structure.
This business of controlling the
Colorado River took a lot of
engineering to create, and evidence of
the will humankind has exerted upon
this river appears in the vast
unpopulated hillsides in the form of water pumping stations with huge pipes and
industrial buildings
Heading in the
opposite direction,
towards the Bill
Williams Marsh, we found a wildlife nesting preserve. Large tower
structures make inviting nest sites for birds. We didn't see any of
the occupants, but there was plenty of evidence they had been
there, with nests on every tower.
We followed the lighthouse's beacon to one of the resort's marinas
and meandered between the houseboats. There are all kinds of
ways to enjoy this corner of the world, staying at a resort hotel, in
an RV or a houseboat, or living in a condo or old mobile home
vacation house. It's a small community tucked into a corner of the
lake on a long stretch of deserted shoreline. It's one of those special little secrets that isn't necessarily advertised in bright lights
but we were fortunate enough to be lured in by a man in a pickup clutching a fist full of brochures. We were still shaking our heads
in disbelief at this quirky detour in our travels as we made our way towards friends and family in Phoenix.
Laughlin, NV – A Little Known Canyon, Petroglyphs & A Car Museum!
Stewart Point, Lake Mead
Overton Beach, Lake Mead. All the green grass used to be the lake.
Laughlin, Nevada grew out of the desert.
Northern visitors en-route to Arizona gather for cocktail hour
to socialize in the parking lots.
CSC_0545.JPG
Laughlin brings back
memories of the old Las
Vegas strip.
The Colorado Belle Casino lights up the night sky.
Joe's Crab Shack is a jumping joint along the
Laughlin riverwalk at night.
A family of raccoons stopped
by the restaurant to check for
scraps.
A skunk joined the raccoons on
the beach.
Opening to Grapevine Canyon.
Petroglyphs fill the rock faces on both sides of the entrance.
Geometric patterns dominate this art that has been
dated to 150-800 years ago.
Big horn sheep -- or other romping herd animals.
Were they trying to tell us about the water in the
canyon, or merely doodling?
Petroglyph. Put here as
part of a religious
ceremony or just a kid's
fantasy pecked out on
granite?
Looking back at the entrance to Grapevine Canyon.
Surrounded by grapevines in Grapevine Canyon.
Water-smoothed rock leading to a
balance rock.
Peaking under the balance rock at
the thick grapevine growth.
Cattails in Grapevine
Canyon.
A Cottonwood amid grapevines.
Vegetation grows along the canyon
floor.
A time for reflection.
Boats of all kinds offer excursions to Lake Havasu
downstream.
Fiesta Queen river boat.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
1907 REO Runabout.
The Black Princess ridden 460,000 miles around the
world by Emilio Scotto.
Laughlin, Nevada
Early-Mid October, 2009 - As the wind chased us out of the Valley of Fire,
we took a brief detour to Lake Mead. When we were here two years
earlier, we were told the lake was 105 feet below normal (three years
before that, in 2004, it had been 85 feet below normal). We were curious
how the lake level was doing now. At Stewart Point we found a lovely
beach. We were tempted to stay for a few days, but the high winds were
expected to continue and this is a very exposed area.
When we got to Overton Beach, we were in for quite a shock. Back in
2007, the lakefront community and facilities had been closed permanently
just before our visit because the lake level was so low. When we saw it
then, the boat ramp ended above the lake level, but the lake was still there.
Ducks and seagulls had paddled around the water's edge about 100 feet
below the end of the boat ramp. Now there was no lake in sight.
As far as the eye could see, for miles in
every direction, what had once been
water was now grass. What a travesty.
The beautiful, brand new visitors center
was closed; the enormous new boat ramp
that could support dozens of large boats
and trailers lay unused; the vast parking
lots were vacant; the RV park that had
been home to many RVers was
abandoned.
We heard later that all these National
Recreation Area facilities were built just a few years before the whole area was closed due to lack of water. It was hard to shake
the frustration of seeing such waste, and bewildering to think of how best to fix the problem from here. The mighty Colorado River,
unhappily harnessed to provide water and recreation for millions, now shows terrible signs of strain.
Downstream, however, Laughlin, Nevada is a
bustling riverside town. Sitting below the dam, it
receives regular flows of water released from
Lake Mead. Over the last forty-odd years,
Laughlin has grown out of a desert wasteland.
In high school, Don Laughlin discovered he
made more money from getting friends to play
his slot machine than he did working. A few slot
machines later, he made more money than his
teachers. After getting proper casino training in
Las Vegas, he bought a run-down motel on a
dusty road along the Colorado River in 1966. He introduced his
trusty slot machines to his motel business, and laid the foundation
for a mini Las Vegas, giving the burgeoning town his own name.
We planned to stay just a night or two, but before we knew it 16
days had passed. When we got there, we were one of just a
handful of RVs in town taking advantage of the free overnight
parking offered by several of the casinos. Gradually, snowbirds
began arriving from the northern states and Canada and the
parking lots filled up.
These crazy RVers happily set up their camp chairs in the parking
lots and cheerily compared notes on just how cold it was when they
left home a few days earlier. "Alberta is 100 degrees colder than
here right now," one fellow said brightly. Knowing that made the
unexpected mid-October 100-degree heat wave in Laughlin a little
more bearable. Soon the northern freeway floodgates opened, and
the flocks of snowbirds in Laughlin swelled.
Laughlin's casinos line the river front,
and a delightful boardwalk runs the
whole length of the casino strip. The
evenings were balmy and we lazily
strolled the boardwalk with the other
tourists.
Laughlin resembles the "old" Las
Vegas strip before its mega-casino
glamor days. As we walked the
boardwalk towards Joe's Crab Shack
one night, we saw lots of people
hanging over the railing taking photos
of something on the rocks below.
We looked down and saw seven raccoons waddling over the rocks. Every so often one would stop
and peer up at everyone with a hopeful expression. Just then a skunk appeared at the other end of
the beach and made his way towards the raccoon family. I don't think these guys scored any
scraps, but I have a hunch this little
restaurant stop is part of their regular
routine. None of the ducks or gulls in
the water seemed particularly surprised
to see them.
I had noticed the word "petroglyphs" nearby Laughlin on our atlas and wanted to check
them out. A few miles west of town there is a short hike into Grapevine Canyon, and this is where the petroglyphs are. A spring
flows in the back of the canyon, which has allowed some thick vegetation to take route in this otherwise barren landscape.
A deep wash used to run like a river out of the canyon much of the
time, but it has been dry for several years now. Walking along its
sandy banks towards the mouth of the canyon we discovered the
rocks at the entrance are covered with petroglyphs that have been
dated to 150-800 years ago. The rocks are is easy to spot and
most images are geometric patterns.
One image showed a group of big horned sheep, or other horned
animals. Looking closely, it seemed to me that four were original, looking
crisp, uniform, and neatly chiseled. It seemed to me the one farthest to
the left and the one underneath might have been added later by an
imitator with less skill.
Since the surrounding desert is hopelessly dry and barren, I would
imagine that some of these very congested drawings say something
about the presence of water.
Or is it just
doodling?
Certainly kids
draw strange
beings like this all
the time and no
one ever assigns
any deep
meaning to it.
The canyon is a nice rock
scramble along coarse
granite. We crawled up
and over and jumped down
and around. Then
suddenly we found
ourselves surrounded by
thick vegetation --
grapevines. As we
followed the
trail through
these vines, we
were shoulder-
high in
greenery.
The rock in the deepest
parts of the canyon is
very smooth from water
flowing over it. Most of
the rock is granite rather
than sandstone, so the
smooth stones don't
provide much traction.
There were even some cat tails growing
under a balanced rock. Just beyond, we
saw a huge, proud cottonwood.
Grapevines clung to its lower branches.
The view leading out of the canyon was
impressive, with dense plant life filling the
base of the canyon. The indians who once
walked these lands must have been very
grateful for this little patch of cool greenery and water.
Back in town we kept getting drawn back to the pretty boardwalk.
The days kind of melted into one another as we paused to reflect,
saying a last goodbye to our summer adventures while we began
to plan our winter ones.
The river gives this area it's rhythm and its life. Before the dams, the
river had a mind of its own, rushing and halting as the seasons in
Colorado cycled. Now, however, the water level in the river is
deliberately raised on weekends so the boaters can have some fun.
Jet skis appeared out of nowhere, flying at top speed towards
somewhere.
Watching the river rise and fall gives it a tidal feeling. However, we
learned that "units" of water are released on schedule depending on
demands downstream as well as recreational boating demands in
Laughlin. One morning a boat pilot told us three units were being
released at 8:00 a.m. and another two at 9:00 a.m. Sure enough, the
current swirled and the water rose, right on schedule.
We aren't gamblers, but we met quite a few. Legend has it that some
snowbirds are able to pay for their entire winter vacation in Arizona with a
well-played hand in Laughlin in October.
One day we
stopped by the
Riverside Casino
where there is an
ongoing indoor antique car
show. There are cars of all
types, from muscle cars to hot
rods to funny little buggies built
at the dawn of the auto age.
Most fascinating for me was
the motorcycle ridden around
the world by Emilio Scotto.
Leaving his home in Argentina
in April, 1985, he rode a 1980
Gold Wing 1100 on a journey
around the world through 280
countries covering 460,000
miles. He left with $300 in his
pocket and returned ten years later to enter the Guinness Book of World
Records. Not only was he named "King of the Road," but he was included
on an international list of the 40 greatest explorers in human history (along
with Columbus, Magellan and the rest). His bike, the Black Princess, is on
permanent display in this car show. Now that's a traveler!! His experiences
ranged from seeing some of the greatest beauty on this planet to being
imprisoned six times, witnessing a public beheading, being shot at in the
war in Somalia and almost dying of malaria in the Congo. Hmmm... now that's adventure!
As rare mid-October heat wave baked the area, we sweltered in 100+ degree heat. We were able to get temporary relief at the
hotel swimming pools around town, but our air conditioner sure gave the little generator a good workout every day. Finally, the
wind piped up and the heat broke and we headed a little further south to Havasu Springs Resort.