March, 2015 – After many days of hiking and photography during our visit to Big Bend National Park in Texas, we took a wonderful excursion to the little town of Terlingua, just few miles west on Route 170 outside the west end of the park.
This is a historical mining ghost town that has been brought back to life with a hippie vibe. When we arrived we saw a group of folks —all skeletons — having a party in a big ol’ bus heading for Miami Beach.
A Hippie Bus of skeletons heads for Miami Beach from the Great Beyond…
As we drove further into town, we looked over and saw the masts of a ship. What?? We backed up and looked again. Yup! Apparently someone was dreaming of the sea when they built their home in Terlingua!
Wait, is that a ship?! Yes, it is — and it’s Passing Wind.
The town has its origins in the 1880’s when cinnabar was discovered. Cinnabar, we found out, is not a candy bar version of the cinnabun. It’s a metal from which mercury is extracted. The Chisos Mining Company set up shop shortly after the discovery, and immigrant miners from Mexico soon began working the mine. We found it fascinating to wander around the old cemetery. All of the deceased had been Mexicans, it seems, and the style of the cemetery was distinctly Mexican.
Terlingua has a wonderful ghost town cemetery.
The style of the graves was distinctly Mexican.
There are all kinds of headstones and graves in the cemetery. Many graves are marked with a simple wooden cross. But some are quite elaborate. Many of them have a small stone shrine that shelters trinkets of various kinds.
A shrine in the ghost town cemetery
We heard that the Mexican “Day of the Dead” celebration (the day after Halloween) is quite an event here in the Terlingua Ghost Town Cemetery!
I would love to see the Day of the Dead celebration here!
Nearby there are ruins of the homes the miners lived in. We felt like explorers as we prowled around some of the different buildings. There are lots and lots of buildings, and they are in various stages of decline.
Some of the ruins are in better shape than others, but all make great photo ops!
None of them have windows or doorways that are intact, but there were some pretty views from where the buildings were situated.
The homes might have been small but they had great views.
What stories could these walls tell?
The Chisos mine was at its heyday in the early part of the last century, because Mercury was in high demand during WWI. However, even though there were hopes that there would be another boom cycle for mercury during WWII, it never materialized. So in 1946 the mine was abandoned.
Remnants of bygone times.
Today, people have moved back in and started making use of the ruins, breathing life back into them and incorporating the ruins into their homes and businesses.
New homes and business rise up among the ruins.
There is a sense of history all around town.
The old movie theater is now a restaurant and bar with the rusting relic of an antique car out front.
The movie theater was called the “Chisos Theater” in the 30’s. Now it is a restaurant and bar.
Nearby is the jail, with antique handcuffs hanging from the bars!!
Tools to keep the town tame!
This is a town that is just a little offbeat, and a local artist has created some intriguing metal sculptures. One is a very large flying bug!
Buzzzzz…
There are several places to get a bite to eat sitting outside on a deck. The Boathouse looked like an intriguing place but wasn’t open…
Next time…
But a little B&B, called La Posada, had wonderful Mexican food and four rooms to rent. A pair of long distance cyclists were staying there, and they were poring over maps.
This seemed to be the place the locals liked to come and hang out in the mornings, and we met a man in his 80’s who walked 3 miles each way from his home to get a coffee and chat with his friends here every morning! He wore a crisply pressed shirt and jeans with a big cowboy belt buckle and cowboy hat, and he said he just loved living in Terlingua.
La Posada is a cute place for a meal or an overnight, and it’s where the locals hang out over coffee.
If you are heading to Big Bend, and you’ve gotten your fill of nature in the National Park, a side trip to Terlingua can make for a really fun change of pace!
February, 2015 – Big Bend National Park in Texas has a really varied landscape. It is possible to go from a river habitat to a desert habitat to a mountain habitat without ever leaving the park! There are lots of hiking options in each of these terrains, and we enjoyed sampling the different locales, sticking to lower elevation hikes on cold days and higher elevation hikes on hot days.
The heart of the park is the Chisos Mountains, a range that juts up from the desert floor (down around 1,800 feet elevation), and soars to heights of over 7,800 feet. A quick walk out to an overlook gave us some beautiful views.
An overlook in the Chisos Mountains.
We hiked the Window Trail one day, an easy 5.6 mile round trip hike from the central lodge. Because of the huge variations in elevation in this park, any mountain hike like this one is good for a warmer day.
Beginning the Window Trail hike.
We expected to find a “window” somewhere along this hike. Descending a scenic dirt path, we were amazed when we suddenly found ourselves in a fun little canyon that was lined with large, flat and smooth rock that had been worn down over the ages by Oak Creek. The rangers have carved some really neat stairways through this part to make the hiking super easy.
Stairs make this hike even easier!
We were still on the lookout for that “window” as we made our way across the cool, shaded rocks. What we found, however, was not a window so much as vast opening in the canyon walls that peeked out at the desert floor in the distance. It was very dramatic — but quite slick too. Our intrepid RVing friend, Amanda, braved the slippery slope and went out for a closer look.
At last… a glimpse of the “window.”
The Santa Elena hike is down at the desert floor level of the park at the southwest end, and it follows the Rio Grande river into another stunning canyon. The scenic drive to get there warmed up our camera shutter fingers, and when we arrived at Santa Elena we found people out enjoying the warm sunshine on the banks of the river. Farmilies played on the edge of the water, and other folks kicked back for a little relaxation in the sun.
This 1.7 mile hike involves a lot of climbing, twisting and turning through a series of switchbacks at the beginning. At one switchback I noticed a beautiful glow coming from behind the rocks out on a ledge. I left the trail to go see what I could see, and soon found myself precariously tip-toeing along a steep rock face with the Rio Grande twinkling up at me from many feet below. I managed to get past the spooky part and found a huge rock overhang that was beautifully lit in the late afternoon light.
Santa Elena Canyon has a beach in front of it!
A nice place to kick back and get some sun.
Views at the beginning of the hike
Late afternoon light glowing behind a rock overhang lures me off the trail.
Once I got back on the trail, I realized I had totally lost track of Mark (and we’d forgotten to bring our trusty two-way radios…darn!). I kept asking hikers that were on the return trip if they had seen a guy in a gray shirt taking lots of photos. I got plenty of reassurances that he was ahead of me — and that all the climbing was well worth the views at the end!
Hikers returning down the trail ahead of me.
We had chosen to do this hike in the afternoon, and that turned out to be a great time to go, as the sun had finally penetrated the depths of the canyon. Photographers who were there in the morning said the light hadn’t been great — but the shade would be a welcome respite at a hotter time of year!
When I finally caught up with Mark, the trail was empty, and we were the only ones in the wonderful big open area at the end of the trail. Huge boulders begged to be climbed on, and a fabulous view between the lofty canyon walls opened up to the sunset-lit cliffs beyond.
The Rio Grande laps boulders on its way out the canyon.
Santa Elena Canyon
After enjoying the cool rock walls carved by creeks and canyons that we saw on the Window Trail and Santa Elena hikes, we then sampled a true desert hike out in abundant sunshine: the Grapevine Hills hike. This hike was at the desert floor altitude, but instead of finding ourselves surrounded by sheer rock cliffs that had been formed by a flowing river or stream, we passed through a wide open area that was rimmed with wonderful rock hoodoos.
The further we went on the trail, the more fun this hike became, as it twisted and turned its way into the rock hoodoos. This was like a kid’s playground. We scampered all over the rocks, feeling very much like kids, and at the end of the hike we found the signature rock formation — a balancing rock.
The Balancing Rock at the end of the Grapevine Hills Hike.
Looking through the balancing rock.
Having fun crawling around on the boulders.
Nature in balance.
The wonderful thing about Big Bend National Park is that you can pick your destinations within the park to suit the climate of the day. We saw both hot, dry weather and freezing cold, wet weather during our two week stay, and we were grateful that during the heat we could play outside in the mountains and during the cold spells we could hang out at the lower elevations.
We also saw a very unexpected weather pattern that we’ve never experienced before: a thermal inversion between the desert floor and the mountains. For quite a few days it was 15 degrees warmer in the Chisos Mountains than it was at the lower elevation parts of the park thousands of feet below!
Ascending the Lost Mine Trail.
Another very popular hike is the Lost Mine trail. This 5.1 mile hike took us on a steady climb through woods and trees, opening up after a while to huge views. We did the hike in the afternoon, so the mountains that filled our views as we hiked were shaded and not as dramatic as they could be.
As we approached the summit, the trail took a turn, and the golden light of late afternoon lit up the distant mountains in spectacular color. Like the other hikes, this end point was a true playground, with boulders to climb on and spots to perch and enjoy a snack with a view.
The summit opens up dramatic views in the late afternoon sun.
I just LOVE that tree!!
Big Bend is a hiker’s paradise, and many people we met were embarking on multi-day backpacking hikes across the park. We stuck to short day hikes, but found them all very fulfilling.
Goodnight, Big Bend!!
Backpacking is great, but there is something about having a warm, soft bed and no twigs or rocks in your back at night that we really like, especially when you have a beautiful view!! (Here are some details about boondocking and RV camping in Big Bend).
February, 2015 – The first thing we noticed about Big Bend National Park is the sheer size of the park. Everything is bigger in Texas, of course, and this park is no exception. Simply driving from one area to another covers many many miles. But the great thing about these drives is that they pass some wonderful scenery!
Sweeping views in Big Bend National Park!
Don’t worry, RVs fit through this tunnel!
The Sierra del Carmen mountains peek from behind a ridge.
The terrain is really varied in Big Bend National Park, and that is one of the magical things about this place. There’s the Rio Grande river that snakes along the south end of the park, the Chisos Mountains that tower at great heights in the middle, and the desert lands in between.
The Sierra del Carmen mountains at the far eastern edge of the park form a dramatic landmark that is easily visible from 21 miles away in the center of the park. These mountains sport horizontal stripes, and they turn gorgeous shades of pink at sunset. They also mark the location of Boquillas, the tiny Mexican village that sits on the other side of the Rio Grande.
The imposing Sierra del Carmen mountains can easily be seen from miles away.
These are at the east end of the park by Rio Grande Village and the Mexican town of Boquillas.
One of the loveliest drives is the Ross Maxwell Scenic drive that goes from the center of the park to the southwest corner. This drive winds up and down through craggy mountains that made us feel like we were back in Arizona. In the late afternoon, on our return, the mountains lit up bright orange.
The Chisos Mountains tower over the center of the park
Returning on the Ross Maxwell Scenic drive in late afternoon…
We were there in late February, and spring was already in the air. The Texas state flower is the lovely bluebonnet, and they were in full bloom everywhere. They love the roadsides, and all over the park we passed areas that were blanketed with them.
Spring arrives in February, heralded by abundant bluebonnet flowers.
When we rounded one corner, we found a natural rock garden that was littered with a wonderful combination of bluebonnets and yellow flowers that looked absolutly vibrant against the jagged rocks.
After a swoopy turn on the Ross Maxwell Scenic drive, we found a huge bluebonnet rock garden planted by Mother Nature.
Birds sang in the trees, and we even saw a bird’s nest in a cactus. This seemed like a precarious place to put a home, but I guess it works! Cactus of all types are prolific in Big Bend National Park, especially prickly pear cactus. We saw many varieties. Some have no thorns, and some have very long sharp ones.
This little guy kept an eye on me.
Not far away was a well protected nest.
Prickly pear LOVE Big Bend and come in many varieties.
Big Bend can deliver all kinds of crazy weather, and we saw it all during our two week stay. When we first arrived the temps were warm and the air was dry and clear. It was perfect. But Texas is one of those places where if you don’t like the weather (or even if you do!), just wait a minute, and it will change.
All of a sudden one night the temps plummeted into the 20’s, and we woke up to a winter wonderland of ice covering all the desert plants. If the scenic drive up to the Chisos Mountains was pretty before, now it was absolutely stunning.
Texas can deliver some crazy weather, and Big Bend is no exception.
The ice on the century plants was very cool.
Ice in the desert!
The drive into the Chisos Mountains was even more thrilling with all the lower elevation plants laced in ice.
Luckily, this round of ice melted quickly and we were able to enjoy a few hikes which I’ll cover in the next post!
February, 2015 – Roswell, New Mexico, was the site of some extra-terrestrial activity way back when, and a few aliens seem to have escaped and set up housekeeping in town. When we arrived in Roswell, we found the place was absolutely overrun with little green monsters.
Welcome to Roswell!
As we drove down the main drag, we noticed all the aliens immediately. They were out welcoming us in front of every business in town. Even the Super 8 motel had a little alien doorman standing in front holding a “Welcome” sign.
Super 8 has a special greeter..
All of these aliens are unique. Some are tall, some are short, some are cute and smiling and others seem distant and a little forlorn. But almost all of them are bright green with big heads and skinny bodies, and they all have large black almond shaped eyes.
This guy looks a little lost!
Some of them still live in their flying saucer spaceships.
An authentic alien spacecraft.
Even the local credit union pays tribute to Roswell’s unusual visitors.
Look what showed up at the credit union.
A few aliens have gotten into the loan sharking business, doing taxes on the side.
These aliens have money to loan…and they do taxes too.
A very Japanese looking alient has opened a sushi restaurant called “Galactic Sushi.”
Japanese aliens serve up yummy sushi.
Down at the local Arby’s, management has figured out that Roswell is now completely overrun with aliens, and they know there is only one thing to do: welcome the aliens with open arms (and provide signage with alien translations)!
Meanwhile, the town leaders have hired a whole slew of aliens to become patriotic lightposts. These obedient aliens are all lined up in a row along the town streets, and they proudly hold the flag of their adopted country.
Arby’s welcomes aliens — and provides signage in their language!
Some aliens carry American flags and light up the night.
The cutest aliens are all hanging out at the local Walmart. We saw them grinning and waving through the window as we went in to go shopping.
The aliens are having party down at Walmart!
It was all quite overwhelming. We’ve never been surrounded by aliens quite like that before. It made us almost feel like aliens ourselves! We caught our reflection next to an alien in a store window that announced: “We’re Here!!!”
We’ve landed…in Roswell!!
How did Roswell, New Mexico, become the alien capital of the world? A spaceship crashed here back in July, 1947. A local rancher was out with his grandson one afternoon, and they noticed some unusual debris scattered around. They returned later to inspect what seemed to be the bits and pieces of a flying saucer, and then the word got out — Roswell had been visited by a UFO.
Artwork on the side of a building tells the story: The origins of the aliens-in-Roswell phenomenon was the crash landing of a UFO in 1947
A local media frenzy caught the imagination of the whole country, while little green aliens scampered all around Roswell behind the scenes.
From the UFO Museum – an original local newspaper from July 3, 1947.
Over the years, local artists have gone to town in this town, and now every sign and every building sports the image of an alien or a flying saucer. The artwork is stylish and captivating!
The alien artwork on the buildings is fabulous.
One artist channeled Da Vinci in a huge mural on the side of a building that depicts an alien’s hand reaching down to touch a human one. In the background, the UFO Museum sports a sign with an alien spaceship on it.
A divine, no, an ALIEN connection…
Even the local coffee shops have gotten in on the act. They don’t sell regular coffee. They have Stellar Coffee!
This coffee is truly stellar.
Not too far away, the King’s Treasure House sign sports a 3D coffee cup and offers inspirational books that are not of this world.
Roswell… not of this world!
We really enjoyed this artsy side of Roswell, New Mexico. The aliens made us feel welcome, and the graffiti and artwork is fun. Roswell is a town that is not only not of this world, it is truly out of this world!
February, 2015 – The first thing we noticed when we arrived at White Sands National Monument in New Mexico, was the beautiful patterns in the sand. The wind leaves ripples across the sand, the way the ocean does at the beach, and the patterns wriggled away from us in semi-parallel lines as far as we could see.
We saw beautiful patterns in the sand everywhere.
When we first were driving towards the National Monument, we wondered where the sand was, becauase all we could see was vast brown landscapes all around us. But as soon as we got onto the Dunes Drive inside the park, the white sand enveloped us on all sides.
The landscape at White Sands is vast.
The sand was virgin in most places, filled with patterns that Mother Nature chose. But in some spots we saw the tracks of little creatures and the footprints of people, some wearing shoes and many running barefoot!
Ripples weave across the desert floor.
Animals and people left tracks here and there.
There are hundreds of square miles of brilliant white sand in this area, and White Sand National Monument encloses 223 of those square miles. The sand is a crystallized form of gypsum that usually dissolves in the rain before being washed away. But this area is in a basin that doesn’t drain, which leaves beautiful dunes and “beaches” on the earth’s surface.
This is a unique landscape!
There are many different kinds of dunes, and sand piles, and flat open expanses of sand. Desert plants poke up through the sand here and there, and the light and shadows play with each other on the dune faces as the sun travels across the sky.
Plant and shadow…
Desert plants
We were enchanted by the patterns we found everywhere. In some places the sand makes crisp little ridges, and in others the sand undulated in large, soft waves.
Some of the dunes undulate in large, soft waves.
It was nearly Valentine’s Day, and Mark got inspired, drawing hearts and writing “Sweety” and my name in the sand. We played with making shadow puppets and made two wonderful hearts as we stood side by side. As we looked down at our perfect shadows on the ground, we both said simultaneously, “Now all we need is someone to take our picture!” Oh well, no one was around so we got just one heart shadow instead of two.
We got into the Valentine’s spirit…
…but with double-heart shadow-play, who takes the photo?
We were both drawn to the beauty in totally different ways, and we ran off in different directions to try to capture it. I turned around at one point and saw Mark lying down in the sand! Luckily, the sand brushes off really easily. His little bit of lolling around on this desert beach yielded some beautiful photos from sand level!
Mark gets low for a shot from sand level…
Nice!!!!
White Sands National Monument is a really FUN park. We watched kids making snow angels in the sand and families sledding down hills on flying saucers they’d rented at the visitors center. The beauty of this crazy sand paradise is that whenever the wind blows, the tracks left by people are erased, and the sand palette is wiped clean.
Like an old fashioned Etch-A-Sketch, or a sand castle made at low tide, you can leave your mark here, but only for a short while.
The road that goes through the park isn’t paved. Instead, the National Park Service seems to use a snowplow to clear the sand to the sides! Some people bring their RVs down the Dunes Drive, but it looked like their wheel wells got pretty sandy.
The Dunes Drive is a plowed road through the sand!!
Our visit was way too brief, and we didn’t get to see the magic hours of sunrise and sunset. Oh well — next time!!!
We had a wonderful introduction to this magical place, and we’ll be back for sure!!
February, 2015 – The Chiricahua Mountains are a big mountain range that rises up from southeastern Arizona’s desert floor. They are one of many “Sky Islands” in the area that are filled with high altitude flora and fauna.
You can get to them from both the west, in Arizona, and the east, via New Mexico. The west side is home to Chiricahua National Monument, a fabulous area full of exotic rock hoodoos and hikes that climb straight up to grand views and plunge straight down to cool caverns among the roots of very tall trees. The east side is an extremely popular birding area, and birders from around the world walk the forest roads and prowl through the thick vegetation in search of unusual species.
On the road into the Eastern Chiricahua Mountains
We have been to both sides, but on this trip we came in from the east. What a dramatic view greeted us as we turned onto Portal Road and began to drive towards the mountain range.
The beautiful Visitors Center building.
The Chiricahuas hold a special place in our hearts, because we enjoyed many camping trips here with our popup tent trailer a decade or so ago, before we started RVing full-time.
Cave Creek is at the heart of the Chiricahuas on the eastern side.
Every time we visited the eastern Chiricahuas in those days, the area was absolutely teeming with campers, hikers, scientists and birders. The region is very woodsy, and several absolutely charming little campgrounds are tucked between babbling Cave Creek and the soaring, sheer faces of towering cliffs.
We had been looking forward to a return trip to the Chiricahuas for a long time.
When we used to drive the one road that leads into the heart of these mountains, we could always spot little trailers and tents between the trees, and we could always hear the voices of people camping and enjoying the area. Sunny Flat was our favorite campground, and even though our current RV would never fit into a site there, we were looking forward to taking a memory-filled stroll around the picturesque campground loop.
The river is tame and mellow…
…the rock formations are majestic and striking.
What a surprise it was to stop in at the only store in the tiny village of Portal, Arizona, on the edge of this magical woodland, and discover that all the campgrounds on the eastern side of the Chiricahuas were closed. We were told it was because of the recent floods.
It had rained a lot a few days ago…had that caused huge flooding? The storekeeper was a little unclear. But when we drove in, we found the woods were deathly silent and the road over the stream to our beloved little campground had been gated since November, 2014. The sign made it clear that it was illegal even to set foot on the other side of the fence!
The road into Sunny Flat campground is closed.
What a shame! We drove up and down this once beautiful road, and there wasn’t a soul to be seen. The campers were gone, the hiking trails and forest roads were all closed, and there wasn’t a birder to be found.
Mild mannered Cave Creek, we discovered, can have a terrible temper…
Most shocking for us to learn us, however, as we were stopping at viewpoints and clambering over wobbly river rocks towards the little stream, was that the very tame looking Cave Creek had become a raging ocean of currents last September, and had cut a wide swath into the woods on both sides.
Downed trees were everywhere, and the more we walked along the river banks, picking our way between the uneven rocks, the more we realized the size and scale of the devastation.
We found (and created) beauty in spots between the destruction.
Bulldozers had piled rocks high in places, and they had dumped loads of trees and root balls in various spots too. The whole place was a total mess. There was still beauty here and there, and we enjoyed many hours of photography on the riverbanks, but the mood was somber, and we didn’t hear any birds.
Cathedral Vista is a stunning overlook and easy hike.
Fortunately, the dramatic rock formations are unscathed, and Cathedral Vista was as magnificent as ever. We climbed up to enjoy that overlook several times!
The origin of all this devastation was a 350 square mile forest fire back in 2011. The loss of all that living vegetation destabilized the hillsides, and big rains this past October (2014) swelled Cave Creek beyond recognition. The rushing water in the river and torrential rainfall on the mountainsides caused massive erosion, toppling trees and cutting huge gouges in the riverbanks.
Who would guess this glittering brook could be so violent!
We were told that water covered the campgrounds completely, rising to knee height in the bathrooms and nearly sweeping them away. It’s not clear when the forest roads, hiking trails or campgrounds will reopen.
A candy-striped sunset filled the sky one evening.
The eastern Chiricahuas are still a beautiful place, even if they are not as vibrant and alive as they once were. The sky took on pastel hues at sunset, and at one point I found myself standing right next to a deer on the totally vacant main road (blog post here).
Mark took some fantastic photos of a blue and white striped sky one morning, and we reveled in an incredible quiet that wouldn’t have been here otherwise.
The heavens were striped white and blue one morning.
If you are planning an RV trip to the Chiricahuas, the western side and the National Monument are still open. Friends who were just there tell us the hikes among the hoodoos are as exhilarating as we remember. The eastern side still needs time to recover, however, although we still enjoyed our brief visit very much.
We see a stunning view over our shoulders as we leave the Chiricahuas behind us.
February, 2015 – Every winter an amazing sandhill crane extravaganza takes place in southern Arizona and New Mexico. These big, raucous birds don’t mean to put themselves on display, but whenever 20,000 or so of any species show up in one place, whether its to witness a rock concert or just to loll about by the water’s edge, the sheer volume of identical creatures becomes an Event.
The sandhill cranes show up in November every year, and they hang around until March, and one of the best places to see them during those months is around Willcox, Arizona. When we woke up on our first morning there, it was the cries of sandhill cranes flying overhead that got us out of bed.
“It’s them!” I said to Mark excitedly as I whipped off the covers and flew out the door in my PJ’s. “They’re here!”
We look up and see wild zig-zag patterns of sandhill cranes in the sky.
“Huh?” He said, clambering out of bed behind me. “Who?”
“The birds!” I said with a grin. He quickly joined me outside the rig in the pre-dawn light, and we both stared at the sky in awe as hundreds of sandhill cranes flew right over our trailer, making scattered V-formations all across the sky.
This was their morning commute, and they were honking and jostling around in the sky just like motorists do on the freeways every morning on their way to the office. These guys were heading for their favorite foraging grounds, however. Once there, they would catch a bit of breakfast and then find a quiet spot for some mid-day frolicking or perhaps a nap. In the late afternoon they’d grab another quick bite to eat and then commute home to roost.
These guys are heading to breakfast out in the farm fields.
One of the best viewing areas is the roosting area at Whitewater Draw, a wide and shallow body of water about 6 miles south of the tiny town of Elfrida. As we drove down there in the middle of the day, we saw little pockets of sandhill cranes flying here and there, and we spotted little groups of them standing around in the farm fields. Their distinctive cries filled the air now and then as they called out to each other.
Great exhibitions often come with entertaining sideshows, and the sandhill crane exhibition at Whitewater Draw is no exception. A pair of great horned owls had taken up residence in a large lean-to building, living in the rafters and watching all the crazy bird people coming and going below them.
The “sideshow” at the sandhill crane extravaganza
Crazy bird people never miss a bird trick, though, and these birders had set up a row of seats right below the owls so everyone could have a good look at them. When we got there, only one owl was in the rafters, but he made some priceless faces for us as we set up our tripods and took portrait shots of him.
Throngs of birds line the shore
A little ways from this shelter is a paved walking path for people to stroll along the edges of the water and take in the exotic spectacle of thousands of large birds standing around. At midday, most of the flock was out in the farm fields, but a sizable number was still at the water’s edge here at Roost Central.
These guys were busy and oblivious to the people watching them from the walking paths nearby!
The noise of these guys conversing among themselves was a low, continuous hum.
Every so often a pair or trio would fly by.
Overhead we’d catch them flying by every so often. This was a lazy time of day for them, and they flew past in pairs and threes. Most of their social activities were taking place on the ground, though, and they strutted and flapped and preened and marched around on the far side of the pond. Every once in a while the noise of their cries would rise momentarily and a few birds would take to the air and fly to a new spot.
Hey! Wait for me!!!
As the sun began to set, we suddenly began to notice small flocks of cranes flying in. The din of squawking and flapping from the birds on the ground would swell slightly when a new flock was sighted in the distance.
As the sun began to sink in the sky, small flocks appeared on the horizon.
As the flock would get closer the cries from the crowd on the ground would increase. Then another flock would show up on the horizon and the squawks from the home team would grow a little louder.
More and more flocks began arriving.
Soon the arriving flocks were truly enormous. Literally thousands of birds were arriving at once, coming in from all directions and flying in massive V’s and W’s. The welcoming song from the birds on the ground grew ever louder, as if an orchestra conductor were leading them, waving his baton and flapping his arms and coaxing them to sing ever louder.
The noise of the excited birds on the ground and in the air calling to each other was deafening!!
The crescendo grew louder and louder until the sound was truly startling. It was as if the rock stars had arrived. The crowd on the ground surged as the arriving birds landed, and the noise of them all squawking at the tops of their lungs became a defeaning din.
For once, the people — the humans watcing all this — were all silent. Crazy birders, maniac photographers, and happy couples out for a stroll, all stared in stunned silence as the Arrival of the Cranes took place.
People watch the cranes arrive.
We all watched with silly, happy smiles too. For once, humanity was completely upstaged by Nature as this miraculous event unfolded before us, totally beyond our control.
And then, as if a light switch had been thrown, the vivid orange of sunset was gone, and delicious shades of pink and blue slowly blanketed the sky. The birds had all landed now, and the roar of excitement was gone from the air.
Peace reins once the birds have all found a spot by the water’s edge.
The birds didn’t completely settle down for hours, though, and we heard them long into the night. Little squabbles would break out now and then, and suddenly a bird or two would take to the air in a huff, squawking loudly as he flew.
First thing in the morning, about an hour before dawn, we crept down to the water’s edge, drawn by the rising sound of the sandhill cranes. When it was finally light enough to see across the pond, we noticed that the cranes had settled in the water overnight rather than on shore. No dry toes at bedtime for these guys. They like to stand knee deep in water when they sleep!
We creep down before sunrise and find the birds slept standing in the water overnight!
They shuffled around and, one by one, each bird’s head came out from under its wing as it shook the fuzzies and sleepies from its feathers. And then the low hum of crane squawks began to grow again. Soon the low rumble became a roar, rolling across the water like thunder, and then suddenly the pitch seemed to rise and the noise peaked, just as it had the night before.
The rock stars had taken flight, and they were off — and they were ushered off stage with a cacophony of beating wings and loud squawks. Thin ribbons of birds began to fill the sky, and they wove their jagged patterns from horizon to horizon as they set off to get breakfast.
In no time, the number of birds in the water had dwindled to just a small remaining few. The morning show was over, and the rush hour commute to the distant farm fields was well underway.
The raucous send-off is just as loud and wild as the welcome home was the night befor
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February, 2015 – Florence, Arizona, is a historic small town situated about halfway between Phoenix and Tucson. One of the prettiest old buildings in the center of this town is the old courthouse. Its steeple can be seen peeking above the rooftops on the streets of the historic district, and when I saw the full moon rising behind it, I feverishly ran around in front of the building to line up the perfect photo.
“Can we help you?” An old guy standing with his friend on the steps of the courthouse yelled out to me.
“Oh…no — It’s the moon — it’s gonna make a great picture — with the courthouse and the lights…” I yelled back, waving my arms and sounding like a crazy woman.
He looked at me like I was out of my mind and nodded slowly.
By the light of the moon – the courthouse in Florence Arizona
Just then, another crazed photo junkie came running out of the nowhere, his iPhone held high. He gestured towards the sky and the courthouse and yelled, “Are you doing what I’m doing?”
“Yes!” I laughed, and for the next few minutes we had a merry old time taking pics of the stately courthouse as the moon silently made its course into the sky. When our shutter clicks finally slowed down, he began telling me all about the beautiful cactus sightings he’d had while cruising around the desert in his jeep that afternoon.
His girlfriend suddenly appeared, and started telling me how much she loved this courthouse. “It has so much character!” She said.
A saguaro cactus delicately holds the moon…
They sounded like such tourists. I just had to ask where they were from. I was sure it would be Minnesota or Alberta or some other cold place very far away up north.
“I was born and raised in Phoenix,” The fellow grinned at me. “But now I live in Florence.” He wrapped his arm around his girlfriend. “Brenda grew up here in Florence.”
And that’s what made me fall in love with this town during our weeklong stay. It’s not the history, even though almost every building in town has a historic plaque on it, and many buildings are very cool adobe with massively thick walls. And it’s not the quaint main street, because, in fact, the main street of historic Florence is frighteningly deserted and not at all quaint at the moment. Almost every storefront sports a “For Lease” sign, and only a tiny handful are actually open for business.
Main Street
Nope. It is the spirit of the folks that live there that make Florence unique. They just love their special corner of Arizona, and we had one surprise and fun encounter with the locals after another!
The old Florence Hotel building stands tall and proud on the main street of town. In one corner of the building there is a little fudge shop which looks like it would be a trendy coffee bistro in any other touristy American town. When I asked about the coffee, though, the gal behind the counter shook her head. “We don’t have fancy coffee. We just have plain coffee. It’s a dollar a cup.”
The historic district — the Florence Hotel is on the right
Well, the truth is, it is specially brewed one cup at a time, and it was one of the tastiest cups of coffee I’ve had in ages!
As we prowled around the old Florence Hotel building, we found some photos of the building as it looked in its heydey at the turn of the last century. Other than the clothes on the people and the cars parked out front, it didn’t really look all that different!
The Florence hotel in 1910
Late one afternoon we were out for a walk, and we heard live music coming from one of the town buildings. We heard a saxaphone and a little band playing “Summertime…and the livin’ is easy.” We walked closer and saw a big sign that said “Event.” Just inside a gate, we saw a cluster of people milling around along with three musicians making music on a porch, and there was a table covered with a table cloth where a woman was seling beer.
Aha!! This deserved an even closer look!
We passed a sign that said “McFarland State Historic Park,” and since this was a public place, we decided to go right on in! Beers in hand, we started mingling with the group, and we quickly discovered this was a monthly gathering for the community (held the first Thursday of every month). Someone handed us tickets for a raffle, and then suddenly everyone began standing up to introduce themselve and their businesses.
When our turn came, we exchanged surprised glances and then blurted out the truth — we were travelers visiting Florence for a while, and when we saw the beer and heard the music, we just had to check out the party! That got a laugh, but we were warmly welcomed, and everyone came up afterwards and wanted to make sure we knew about all the various fun things there were to do around their town.
All the town merchants were at this gathering, from the manager of the local McDonalds to the folks from the hair salon to a couple of realtors. The band member who had been playing the stand-up bass turned out to be from the local historical museum, and she invited us to come by the next day. What a lucky break that was. The museum is a bit south of town, not near the historic district, and we might have missed it otherwise!!
Tourists, boutiques and trendy bistros are rare in Florence but if you see this antique shop, do at least stop and feed the cat!
The museum has a huge array of intriguing artifacts, and the first things that caught our eye was the furniture made of saguaro cactus ribs. Those towering Arizona cacti that have their arms held eternally aloft are actually a melon-like material inside with a ribbed structure that gives the cactus its shape. This furniture turned out to be a very creative use of those ribs!
This furniture is made of saguaro cactus ribs!
Florence is home to the Arizona State Prison (Yuma’s Arizona Territorial Prison — the “Hell Hole of the West” — was moved to Florence from Yuma in 1908), and there is a grisly display of the various implements used to end the lives of the worst criminals over the years. A series of rope nooses fill a wall of glass cases, and inside each noose is the mug shot of a prisoner who was hanged.
Eventually, hangings gave way to death by gas, and in front of these nooses is the double chair that a pair of murderous brothers sat in when they were gassed. I wasn’t surprised that criminals were killed by gas in the 1930’s, but I was surprised to see that that method was used into the 1960’s.
Capital punishment: nooses and a gas chamber chair. There are grim instructions nearby for how to turn the gas valves on and off!
On a much lighter note, Florence was also home to the artist that penned the comic strip Gordo, and lots of comic books and mementos of his are on display.
We also saw a more benevolent use of gas in the form of an antique gas heater. I was amused that it was about the same size and shape as our little vent-free propane heater in our RV!
The creator of the comic strip “Gordo” lived in Florence
An antique gas heater — not so different than ours!
And if seeing the predecessor to our little gas heater weren’t enough, we also got a glimpse of the original 1-gallon wash-up technique that predated the 2-gallon showers we take in our RV today. Rather than a fancy shower wand and electrically pumped hot water, however, this early method consisted of a large ceramic pitcher and a basin.
Ahhhh the good old days!!
The original 1-gallon shower…
A church in Florence
So, if you are roaming around central Arizona in your RV looking for a place that has some heart and soul and some interesting history, check out Florence. Just don’t be fooled by the vacancies on Main Street. Looks are only skin deep!
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The RV Show in Quartzsite, Arizona, is one of the biggest and wackiest RV shows around. Selling everything from hydraulic leveling systems to Good Sam Club memberships to Watkins spices, it is the focal point for thousands of RVers who come from all corners of the continent to camp out in the desert for free and check out the latest and greatest in the RV industry’s offerings.
Quartzite itself is a totally funky and quirky place, full of interesting characters and odd sightings. We got a flavor of that from a few signs we saw outside business establishments on our way into the show.
Oh, darn!
Parking is at a premium during RV Show week in this tiny town, and traffic is a dusty, snarly nightmare on the dirt roads that run between the flea market tables around the outdoor edges of the show. We had to laugh when we saw one exasperated vendor had put up this sign on the edge of his outdoor booth:
People from all walks of life flock to Quartzsite in January, and everywhere you go around town vendors are peddling anything and everything they can. The tiny town’s streets are overloaded with folks hawking goodies off open air tables under makeshift tarps. From pizza to homemade ice cream, food vendors had it all, and a pair of street musicians set up shop just outside the show entrance.
Serenading show goers outside the show
There was good music inside the show too, and Johnny Goodrum, whose karaoke style crooning we remembered from our visit to the RV Show six years ago, kept the massive crowd happily entertained with his mellow karaoke style songs.
Music inside the show!
Did I mention the crowd was massive? It was shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip throngs of people as far as we could see down every aisle, both inside and outside the big RV show tent. We shuffled along at a snail’s pace, watching salespeople demo everything imaginable. One of the first booths we saw was selling induction cookware, a boon for RVers who don’t want to heat up the inside of their RV on hot summer nights. This electric cooking system uses the magic of electro-magnetism to heat food without making the burner itself hot. It is fantastic if you have electric hookups but might be tricky for boondocking, as it draws over 1,000 watts, a big drain on the batteries.
Induction cooking booth
The RV Show is as much a lifestyle show for the senior set as it is a show for RVers, and along with practical goodies for RVing, there were all kinds of anti-aging elixirs promising a sip from the fountain of youth. Lotions and potions and drops of snake oil were in abundance. They could make wrinkles disappear, stop snoring, and put an end to migraine headaches. Foot baths detoxified your body and massage chairs relaxed aching muscles.
“I can fix your pain” One vendor called out to me as I passed.
“But I don’t have any pain!” I laughed back.
Wrinkles be gone!
If a salve, or pill, or magic powder in a drink wasn’t to your liking, there was a hair salon booth that would happily give you a new do!
Get a new hairdo at the RV Show!
Lots of these booths had images of very happy older people looking quite young, but we were really taken aback when we saw a huge image of the svelte, bare mid-section of a young woman who was definitely not a card carrying AARP member just yet. Something about the almost provocative photography and the large amounts of skin showing on all the people kept my eye scanning the photos around this booth, and then I saw why. This was the booth for the American Association for Nude Recreation. And the salesman had a huge grin on his face!
Why is this man smiling?!
“You meet the nicest people at the nude RV parks,” he was telling me as my eyebrows shot up in my head. “It’s impossible to be a jerk when your naked.”
Is that so? Well, I imagine that must be true…!
He suggested we stop by one of their 260 affiliate resorts and try out their special brand of freedom — a nakation! He went on to say that the AANR has been encouraging folks to get in touch with their own naturism for 84 years, and they now have over 200,000 members!
When I got back to the rig, I just had to check out their online logo-wear clothing store… what exactly would they sell? Ummm… jewelry??
Triplets!
Buffs of going in the buff weren’t the only unusual attendees at this show. Dogs were in abundance. Most were wearing their natural furry birthday suits, but quite a few wore sporty jackets, and many of them never let their paws touch the ground. Dog lovers carried their pups in kangaroo pouches and other cuddly hugging sacks, and a huge number of adorable dogs were pushed and pulled around the grounds in strollers and wagons.
I knew the RV show was going to the dogs stood when I reached into a freebie candy dish at one booth and pulled out a dog treat!
Riding around the show in style
The most fashionable pampered pooches wore sunglasses!
“I’m cool…!”
For animal lovers that didn’t have room in their lives for a canine companion, perhaps the funniest and most endearing booth at the show was the Sugar Glider display. This wasn’t some kind of fancy lazy susan to pass the sugar around the RV dinner table. These were adorable little marsupials that come from the rainforests of Indonesia and Australia.
Ever heard of a sugar glider?
A sugar glider breeder, who clearly loved his pets and his job, was very busy capturing peoples’ hearts as he showed the way these unique animals snuggle in your shirt and leap great distances (like a flying squirrel) from person to person. He explained that they are ideal pets for many folks because they sleep all day and want to hang with (or on) their owners after work in the evenings.
I was amazed when he described his breeding facility. He has a dedicated 2,000 square foot building for 400 breeding pairs of sugar gliders. They are the size of a grain of rice when born, and they spend 11 weeks in mom’s pouch growing from a virtual embryo into a furry little animal. They can glide for 150′ between treetops in the rainforest canopy, and a skydiver even released one at 10,000′ and glided alongside it (just inches from his hand) until they both reached 1,000′ when he tucked him back into his pocket!
Sugar gliders make great pets!!
But between all these crazy booths, there were some things for RVers (and homeowners) that seemed really useful. One fellow was demonstrating the ShamWow towel. We have a few of those, but we discovered we had been using them wrong! Unlike a normal towel that you use dry to mop up wet things, the ShamWow has to be wet in order to work. You soak it, wring it out, and THEN place it on your puddle of spilled wine or coffee. Only then can the magic begin to happen. Who knew?
Another guy did a fabulous demo of a miracle doormat. He was wearing big rubber boots and had a pail of very muddy water that he swished his feet in. Then he’d take two steps across the mat onto a clean sheet of paper (without wiping his feet!), and there wouldn’t be a drop or hint of mud on the paper, not even an outline of a footprint!
I watched him do it several times and then tried it myself. I asked him how it would work with dust since that is our biggest nemesis in our trailer. He said it would work great. So out came $40 from our wallet for one of these doormats. How could we resist??!!
And does it work? Well, we just had three days of muddy, rainy, yuck in Arizona, and our floors are clean. The trick, though, is that this floor mat has to be washed first. We tried it when we first got it home, and it was okay, but not super effective. Once we ran it through the washer (letting it drip dry in the sun), it worked just like we saw at the show. Pretty darn cool!
One step on this doormat cleans the bottoms of those muddy boots!
Another nifty product we saw was a slick folding portable solar power kit. This would be ideal for RV weekenders and vacationers who want the freedom of solar power but don’t want the hassle of doing a permanent installation on their RV roof. The cool thing about it is that the two panels fold together into a hardshell suitcase that is easy to carry and has a built-in handle.
This clever foldaway system also protects the panels, so they won’t get damaged when you store them. When you set the panels up you can easily tilt them towards the sun with the built-in brackets so you can maximize their efficiency. Of course, this isn’t a huge full-timer’s solar power setup, as described here, but we would have absolutely loved having it when we traveled around on weekends and vacations with our popup tent trailer!
There were other fabulous booths, and we picked up memory foam pillows and fancy LED lights and other things we really didn’t need but just couldn’t resist when we saw them in action. There was one booth selling yellow brooms that everyone was buying. No matter where you turned, someone had a yellow broomstick in their hands. When we finally got down to their booth, however, the demos were over because they had sold out. Whatever those brooms can do, it must be really great! Oh well… next time!
Outside there were lots of new RVs lined up. We are partial to fifth wheel trailers, so we wandered in and out of a lot of them. One of the most interesting fivers was the Alfa Gold from Lifestyle RV. The innovative floorplan has a storage room on the driver’s side with a back door leading out to it and a big ramp door that opens to the ground. The model on display had a motorcycle ramp in this room.
How about a little garage or storage room off the side of your fifth wheel?!
Another model just has a storage room. You could keep bikes, a generator, the grill, camping chairs, patio mats, tables and all kinds of other big gear in this room. How clever!
What a cool idea!
So, those are some of the wild and crazy things we saw at the unusual Quartzsite Arizona RV Show. This RV and Home Show is a kind of three ring circus in the desert, and I don’t know what we liked most — the RV stuff or the quirky sideshows!
January 2015 – Our sailing cruise in Mexico introduced us to many wonderful people, and while we were traveling inland to visit the colorful city of Guanajuato, I had a chance to spend some time with my lifelong idol and mentor-in-spirit, figure skater Toller Cranston, at his amazing home in San Miguel de Allende.
This post is a departure from the normal fare found on this blog. However, it is a post I’ve wanted to write for a long time. I just couldn’t find the words. The shock of Toller Cranston’s death over this past weekend opened a floodgate of emotions for me when I learned about it yesterday, and suddenly the words were there. So here it is.
A street in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, Toller Cranston’s home for two decades
A street musician in San Miguel de Allende
San Miguel de Allende Cathedral — La Parroquia
Flowers and window boxes on a house in San Miguel de Allende
I spent my childhood and youth on the ice.
As a child and young teenager, figure skating dominated my life, and I competed at a high level. At the time, spending six to seven hours a day on the ice seemed perfectly normal, because all my skating friends and rivals were doing the same thing. You couldn’t stay competitive with anything less.
It was only decades later that I realized that from age 13 to 16 I had put in over 40 hours a week learning to master the ice, to skate with abandon and grace, and to perform. It was a huge effort, but I loved it. I treasured every minute of being a skater, especially when an unusual Canadian skater, Toller Cranston, showed up in the world class competitions and opened my eyes to the vast potential of the sport.
Competitive skating is very conservative and is largely made up of cute little girls in pink dresses and the dour middle aged judges in heavy coats and sweaters who rank them.
Skaters pay their coaches big bucks to help them determine exactly what the judges want to see and then learn how to do it. The judges are not paid for their time but are reimbursed their expenses, and the skating we see on TV is a perfect reflection of what they have rewarded throughout skating’s ranks with good marks on their score sheets.
A little skater shows me her medals. I was like this nearly 50 years ago too!
If the judges want jumps with tight rotations, the skaters deliver. If it’s dizzying spins with many changes of position, they’ve got it. Fancy footwork — done.
Skaters learn very young not to let a single hair be out of place, and by age 12 the most elite among them are seasoned “professionals” that are well accustomed to being stars, signing autographs, dealing with fans, and receiving ovations.
Figure skating as an institution is slow to change, and it’s a world that is highly averse to rebellion. The judges can squelch any renegade with the flick of a pen. And they do.
So it was with total shock that this insular community witnessed Toller Cranston coming into his own in the mid-1970’s. He took on the Establishment in ways that the Hippies, who talked of such things, couldn’t possibly imagine. Brash, bold, outspoken and charismatic, Toller introduced drama and passion into skating to a degree that had never been seen before.
The judges call all the shots in skating. I was a judge at one time!
I was mesmerized. On the cusp of adulthood myself, I watched this man in awe as he battled for all he was worth to show the world his vision of what skating could be. He did moves no man had ever done, and no man would dream of doing at the time. Prancing on his toes, swooping his body into wildly rounded and angular shapes, and leaping into the air with total glee and nary a rotation, he was exotic, exciting, thrilling.
I don’t have any pics of Toller skating, but there are two wonderful pics here and here.
Competitive skating is a tiny world too, one where skaters know and “know of” each other even if they haven’t met. When my own skating career came to a screeching halt after I developed spondylolisthesis (probably from too many double axel attempts), Toller wrote me a letter of encouragement and sympathy.
We arrive at Toller Cranston’s imposing front gate.
At the time, he had started “The Ice Show,” a fabulous new style of skating entertainment, and in his unique hand-written scrawl, he said he wished I could have been part of the group. I was blown away, unbelievably touched and absolutely crushed at the same time. I was 17 by now, and living away from home in a new life at a unique high school trying to come to grips with giving up skating. If I could have, I would have run away to be a part of anything he was doing in a heartbeat.
That thoughtful letter and those few words have stayed with me throughout my life.
We follow Toller through his garden
Toller went on to take on far bigger worlds beyond skating, and I lost track of his many projects.
But the essence of what he did on the ice — his fearless pursuit of his passion, his daring moves that flew in the face of everything the skating world held dear, his steadfast commitment to doing what he believed in, and his utter whimsy and charm — continue stay with me to this day.
I’ve always wanted to live my life with a fervor and soul that is just as deep and just as free.
While our sailboat Groovy was anchored in Zihuatanejo, I became friends with Pamela Bendall who, at 57, was completing a 5-year solo voyage from Vancouver to Peru and back aboard her 47′ steel yacht, Precious Metal.
I discovered she was an Olympic alternate gymnast for Canada in the early 1970’s. We had a rare connection with each other as two women who had spent their girlhoods training to become top athletes, dreaming of perfectly executed tricks and polished performances under pressure.
As we sat on the bow of her boat eating potato chips together (an absolute no-no in our past lives), I casually mentioned that her countryman Toller Cranston had been my idol. What a surprise it was to find out that she grew up in the same town as he did.
“You know, he lives in San Miguel de Allende here in Mexico now,” she suddenly said.
Where? I’d never heard of the place. I made a mental note, but thought nothing of it since it was nowhere near the coast. A year later, however, Mark and I found ourselves exploring Guanajuato, just an hour away.
Former gymnast Pamela Bendall aboard her cruising sailboat Precious Metal
I checked the internet to see if Toller’s address might be somewhere online and discovered he had his house for sale. When we rang the doorbell at his estate’s imposing gate a few days later, a maid gave me a slip of paper to write my name on so she could give it to him before letting me in.
Then, suddenly, there he was at the gate, his hair slightly disheveled and his pants spattered with paint. We exchanged greetings, and he gestured for us to follow him. I asked if he remembered me. He turned back, with a theatrical swoosh, and looked at me pointedly. “I know all about you!” he said.
Mark was totally impressed, but I know drama when I see it, and this was obviously mostly for effect — and the effect was awesome.
Wonderful outdoor seating by the garden.
We followed him through a lush garden that was utterly overgrown and stuffed to the gills with outdoor art pieces. Once inside his home, we discovered we had arrived right in time for a big Sunday brunch he was hosting, and his guests began arriving. He invited us to stay and have brunch too, and in no time a large circular table was packed with about 10 guests.
We found ourselves in impressive company, including Nat King Cole’s daughter and the parents of a halfpipe snowboarding Olympian. Mark and I were speechless listening to a fast repartee between everyone about art, art collections, art collectors, art history, and other highbrow things we know little about.
There were paintings and artwork everywhere.
Suddenly, Toller announced to the table in a loud voice, “You know, Emily and I have a past…”
I froze as everyone turned to look at me.
“A skating past,” he went on with a sly smile.
I loved his sense of timing and flare — it was impeccable, even here at the breakfast table.
The conversation turned to skating, and more lightning quick conversation sailed over my head as they discussed skating champions of the last two decades that I don’t really know.
I stopped watching TV regularly in 1994, and have managed to catch only a rare glimpse of one skater or another since then, if I happened to be in a place with a TV when a skating event was on.
But when they turned back to discussing the skating greats of the 1970’s, I was right there with them, reminiscing about Janet Lynn‘s charm and John Misha Petkevich‘s soaring jumps.
Eventually, the brunch guests left, but Toller invited us to tour his estate and stick around a while.
He has made his living as an artist since his early teenage years when he attended art school, and every corner of his mansion was crammed with artwork, both his own and others’.
Our conversation turned to skating again, in bits and spurts of questions and answers, and slowly the quest I had been after when I first decided to knock on his door in San Miguel de Allende began to be answered.
Who was this unusual artist? How did he dare to be so free? What made him tick? What did he think about all day? And where had life taken him since he stood on the podium at the Olympics?
Every seat in the house was surrounded by art.
In a few short hours that day and the next, a heavy cloak of sadness slowly wrapped itself around my heart as I listened — between the words — to what it took for this man to change the direction of the institution of men’s figure skating.
Toller came into skating at a time when all the flamboyant beauty of free skating counted for only 40% of the overall score. The other 60% of the score came from circular etchings on the ice called “figures” (and which took 75% of my practice time and every one else’s).
Toller collected the pottery work of local artisans in Mexico
Wild passion and figures don’t mix well. Even worse, figures can’t be seen by anyone but the judges who walk around on them in rubber boots after the skater is done, as they study each tracing and take notes on a clipboard.
Toller developed a reputation for being “bad at figures,” although no one but he and his coach and the judges who saw them will ever know for sure. At the same time, he was up against a rival from England, John Curry, who, like him, sought to do more with free skating than merely jump and spin.
Rivalries drive us all to exceed our highest expectations, and the rivalry between these two men was a thrill to watch. John Curry was the ultimate technician, completing each trick with textbook precision, dead-pan expression, and exquisite grace. Toller Cranston was pure emotion in action, effortlessly grabbing the hearts of those who watched him. With every move in his many performances, he held a gasping audience in the palm of his hand.
Artwork, artwork everywhere!
In the end, John Curry took all the big trophies and Toller was lucky to get third spot on any major podium, something I didn’t remember at all until he shared his memories with me. To my surprise, regret hung heavy in the air around us as he talked about his past.
He recalled with horror how the first figure in the Olympics was a right forward outside rocker, a beautiful figure that involves two very cool twisting turns that tie three circles together. Bad luck struck as he pushed off on the first half circle. His eyes filled with tears and he couldn’t see a thing.
That’s like totaling your car on the first half lap of the Indy 500.
Every wall and surface held artwork
He had other tales of torment at the hands of ruthless, narrow minded judges, some of whom had judged me too. He wore a wry smile as he talked of a former skating star from the 1950’s who had visited him in San Miguel and had become openly emotional as he apologized for zealously and publicly slamming Toller’s skating vision and style when he was at his peak.
But did Toller know how much he was loved by his fans? I wondered.
Our conversation, which was really just stutters of comments thrown to the wind towards each other, turned to his art. We were flying through his mansion on this crazy whirlwind tour as we talked, seeing room after room after room. Huge canvasses and sculptures and unique decorations were everywhere.
Mark and I pause our tour of the art-filled estate to chat with Toller a bit.
We sat down in his living room to talk a little more in depth, and vignettes of his past gradually took shape before us as he talked.
“I paid for all my skating myself with my art.” He suddenly blurted.
My jaw dropped. That is unheard of. Not only is it nearly impossible to make a living from fine art, but Toller had done so as a young art school student, and he had funded an extraordinarily expensive skating career in the process.
What’s even more amazing is that, generally, every elite figure skater is sponsored. Even I had a sponsor, I told him, or I would have had to quit at age 12. His expression was haunted as he said, “No one ever sponsored me. I paid for it all myself.”
My respect for this man shot up a thousandfold.
As the hours passed, we resumed wandering through his many bedrooms, through the corners of his home where he liked to read and watch TV, and into his brilliantly lit studio that was lined from floor to ceiling with windows. My emotions became a blur of confusion as I listened to him and took in his life experiences and overlaid them on my own.
“The world only remembers the winners,” he said grimly at one point. “They only remember the names of the champions.”
I was completely taken aback. Didn’t he realize that he had single-handedly changed men’s figure skating forever, regardless of whether his name was etched on an Olympic trophy? Didn’t he know that the people who change the course of history are the ones that are remembered?
A sculpture he was working on.
We were walking through his past, and my past with it, and there was so much I wanted to say and to share, but the words just weren’t there, and I’m not sure he would have listened anyway. I was elated to have a chance to be with him at last, but so frustrated for not having more time and more peace.
The household was abuzz all day long. Maids and neighbors wandered in and out at will, art students and art assistants zoomed by us repeatedly, intent on their missions in and around the estate. I marveled that Toller could think straight in all this chaos. Perhaps he thrived on it, but I wasn’t sure.
He was intrigued by our travels and asked us a lot of questions about the places we’d been and where we were going next. At the time, Mark and I were wrapping up our sailing cruise, a nearly four year voyage that had opened our lives up in ways we never dreamed of.
We see room after room of fantasy artwork and even some elaborately decorated eggs.
We were just months from moving off our boat permanently and putting it up for sale. As we filed away precious memories of our voyage, we knew we were embarking on an exhilarating new phase of life as bigger, stronger and more experienced people.
Why had we started traveling full-time six years prior? Toller wanted to know. To change our lives and have an adventure was my quick reply.
“I need to change my life too,” he said wistfully. “I want to have an adventure.” He sounded eager. He talked of wanting to sell his estate and buy land nearby to build a new home.
Works in progress in the studio
Eventually he bade us goodbye from somewhere in the middle of the mansion, and we left his home on our own, wandering through the maze of gardens in a stunned stupor, and making several wrong turns in the process. The encounter stayed with me for weeks as we prepared our boat for its final 1,000 mile journey, the Baja Bash from Puerto Vallarta to San Diego.
I couldn’t help but feel that the cost of being a maverick, of striking out against tradition to do something bigger and better and more exotic than the norm, had been very high for him. Because of the sport’s rules in place at the time, and his fierce determination to pursue his own vision, Toller was never rewarded with the most important gold medals that are the badge of success and acceptance in sport.
Nevermind that many of the moves we see skaters doing today were his inventions. That doesn’t doesn’t put your name on the roster of history’s World Champions.
Glass doors to the garden from the studio
Yet, at the same time, I was bemused that a free spirit who turned his back on convention would have the slightest interest in being rewarded conventionally. Would the accolades of the Establishment, of judges who couldn’t see or accept his brilliance, really have meant something to him? Sadly, the pain of his losses in the highest levels of competition seemed as raw and as fresh to him now, in 2013, as they had been in the mid-1970’s.
It was agonizing to see that a man who had so bravely followed his own heart didn’t find the fulfillment of his vision to be satisfaction enough in itself, without the approval of the very people he scorned. I realized later that I had wanted my hero to have believed in his dream at all costs, no matter what, because heroes are larger than life and they don’t fall prey to the mortal foibles of things like wanting to be accepted and approved.
Elaborate glasswork decorated many charming corners of the garden.
Two days ago, we got the news that Toller died unexpectedly of a heart attack, at age 65, in his home in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. I was devastated. Of course, his timing was spot on once again. He died on the day of the men’s competition at the Canadian National Championships, which was also the rest day between two riveting performances by Jason Brown (who seems, for all the world, to be channeling Toller’s essence) at the men’s competition at the US National Championships.
Glass ornaments form an arch over the garden.
In pondering Toller’s life and death, I kept thinking of Steve Jobs’ quote about how we all have nothing to fear because we are already naked. I looked it up, and found it comes from the commencement speech he gave at Stanford in June, 2005, shortly after he learned he had pancreatic cancer:
Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
Paints and paint brushes ready for use on an egg decorating project.
I don’t think that when Toller opened his day planner for the week of January 18th, 2015, he skipped down to Saturday, January 24th, and penciled in “Exit This World.” But that is what happened. And I couldn’t help but think:
If you are nurturing a dream — to break whatever bonds hold you, to get a boat and go sailing, or to run off in an RV and explore for a while — go for it. You have nothing to lose, except time. Your dream is yours, and yours alone, no matter who applauds or condemns the idea. Give it wings with your own faith.
We share a past…
After we got the sad news about Toller’s death, we went out to do some errands. As I climbed into the truck and turned on the radio, my thoughts couldn’t leave Toller’s lively breakfast table in his home, his crazy art-filled estate, and his darkness as bits and pieces of the stories from his past escaped his lips, soaked in bitterness.
Suddenly the radio erupted with the bright, energetic sounds of Leonard Bernstein’s Candide Overture, the music I had skated to when Toller had had his greatest influence on me. It was the music that had carried me to Nationals forty years ago.
I sat back in shock. What a coincidence! I rarely hear that music on the radio. As my soul followed the high spirits of the piece, I felt chills running up and down my spine. I was covered in goose bumps. Without warning, tears suddenly began to stream down my face and I dropped my head in my hands.
I didn’t have a coherent thought in my mind, and I was overcome as I cried openly and the tears flowed freely down my cheeks. This music, thoughts of my mentor-in-sprit, Toller, and memories of that visit to his home that I been so fortunate to share with Mark all swirled around me in an overwhelming vortex.
In that moment, I have no doubt that Toller was reaching out to touch me — as he swung by on his way out.
Some clips from YouTube —
“Totally Toller” —
“I Pagliacci” (No one skated to Opera back then… good heavens!) —
Although I wrote this post in January, 2015, it fits into our June 2013 travels right between our visit to Guanajuato, Mexico, and our stay at Casa Maguey on Mexico’s Costalegre.
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