Tag Archives: road trips

A visit to Arches National Park as it all fell down

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On Friday, March 6, Logan Airport was packed with travelers heading out on winter escapes. People crowded together, waiting to board with ski bags and backpacks. But in the bathroom, everyone was washing their hands with a furor I’d never seen before.  The virus was around, but everyone was still traveling. Why not? We’d heard about a few cases, popping up here and there, but the virus was a distant annoyance, not a threat.

Still, I wondered: was the virus closer than we thought?  The news about the virus in Italy was especially ominous, but Italy was an ocean away. At the ski resort of Park City, Utah, in the lift lines and in the crowded mountain cafeteria-style restaurants, people jostled against one another, conversing in many languages: French, German, Spanish — and Italian.

Although I enjoyed our reunion with old friends in Park City, I was ready to get away from the crowds, and head south and east to Moab, Utah, to explore Arches National Park before heading home to Maine and my students.

The Courthouse Towers greet visitors shortly after entering Arches National Park. We visited in early March, in the first days of “prime season.”  The park was busy but not mobbed, reminding me “off-peak” is the best time to many National Parks. It closed shortly after our visit because of COVID-19.

Arches is a relatively small national park of about 120 square miles. You could tuck it into a corner of Rhode Island, which is about 10 times larger. But the park terrain is rugged and often dangerously hot, which deterred exploration of its many nooks and crannies. When established as a National Monument in 1929, its 90 arches were cited as national treasures, and until 1970, Arches National Park still had 90 arches. But thanks to an ambitious documenting effort carried out by a handful of people over a thirty-year period, we know now that  the park has more than 2,000 arches.

The arches are constantly changing, with new ones forming over decades and centuries,  and old ones eroding, crumbling and even collapsing. In 2008, Wall Arch collapsed in the middle of the night. No one witnessed the collapse but campers at the Devils Garden Campground reported hearing thunder that night. The next day, park rangers found that the arch was gone, its tons of sandstone rubble strewn over the Devil’s Garden Trail. In September, 1991, a huge chunk of Landscape Arch, the longest known arch on the planet, broke off.

photo of Landscape Arch

Landscape Arch, on the Devil’s Garden Trail.  Prior to 1991, hikers could walk up to the arch, but after a huge chunk fell to the ground, the park built fences to keep hikers at a distance.  Several park visitors witnessed this event, including a man who videotaped it (see link to video at the end of this post).

Although Arches has plenty of backcountry terrain that can be explored with all-terrain vehicles, most visitors experience the park via the 18-mile scenic drive, with many trailheads for day hikes located off this road.

We began our visit by setting out for the end of the road, to the Devil’s Garden Trailhead, which would take us to Landscape Arch, and then to the Double O Arches.

As we hiked past Landscape Arch, the hikers thinned out, but plenty of people remained on the trail. On one side of the trail loomed the  hoodoos of the Devil’s Garden. Although the Devil’s Garden isn’t a massive area, it is easy to get disoriented among the sandstone formations, so hiking is allowed there only by guided ranger tour.

On the trail to Double O Arch, hikers scramble up and onto a sandstone fin that may some day become an arch. Hiking along the narrow fin, we weren’t really thinking of social distance, but of courteously maneuvering so that all hikers could pass back and forth safely.

 

The lower half of Double O Arch, with a a much larger second arch directly above it.

Back in Moab, news of the virus was circling, even if the virus not yet circulating. At dinner at the bustling Vietnamese-inspired 98 Central Restaurant, the owners provided  wipes to sanitize phones. At the Park Service Visitor Center, staff had tape had placed tape over the water bubblers, but we could still draw water for our bottles  from the hand-cranked pump outside. Posted signs reminded visitors to wash their hands.

image of north window arch

Exploring North Window Arch (and then its twin, South Window), located off a short side road from the main Park road.

Among the Arches, the idea of the virus seemed unreal. But then, everything started tumbling down. My daughter received an email from her college, telling her not to return. Who had ever heard of colleges closing down? In Boston and New York, the virus was exploding at exponential rates. For better or worse, it was easy to get phone service in the park, and I had to restrain myself from constantly checking on virus-related news.

On our second day, we decided to hike out to Delicate Arch, probably the most famous arch in the park, and well-visited, even though visiting requires a moderately strenuous 3-mile round-trip hike. The hike sets out from Wolfe Ranch, where 69-year-old Civil War veteran John Wesley Wolfe settled with his son Fred in 1898.  Wolfe, who hailed from Ohio, had suffered since the War from a nagging leg injury, and hoped that the drier climate might help his leg. Here, they grazed 1,000 head of cattle on 100 acres for about 10 years.

For several years, John Wesley Wolfe lived in this one-room cabin along with his son Fred, daughter Flora, her husband and their two children. This cabin, built in 1906 when Flora arrived, replaced a previous structure where John and Fred had lived for about 8 years, and which Flora deemed inhabitable (National Park Service photo).

The hike to Delicate Arch took us up along open sandstone slabs, easy on legs used to the steep trails of eastern mountains (but probably hot as hell on a summer day). In the distance, thunder rumbled, and we kept a close eye on a dark cloud to see where it was heading.

The arch and the surrounding landscape were dramatic, especially as dark clouds swept across the sky. But oddly, the experience was underwhelming. Partly because lots of people were there, and partly because my mind was cluttered up with news about the virus. Would I be returning to my classroom when I got home? Should I be concerned about my mom flying on an airplane on her return trip from Florida?

photo of delicate arch

Delicate Arch, one of the iconic sites at Arches National Park.

On Friday, we drove back to Salt Lake City to catch a midnight red-eye back to Boston.  At the airport, the crowds had thinned. I had purchased window seats for the three of us, so that we could doze against the cabin wall. Now, the middle seats were empty.

In the aisle seat of my row, an older gentleman from Wyoming, dressed in full cowboy regalia, was heading to Ireland for a long-planned trip of a lifetime. He seemed unaware of the virus, or that it might impact his plans. I wondered what would happen to him and continued to wonder, when, a few days later, flights from Europe were suspended (although I know Ireland andGreat Britain, were the last European countries for which flights were shut down).

After the Arches came the virus days. Many hours of sitting at the computer, working with students and administering at a distance. Lots of checking on the news. Later, I learned that Park City — along with Sun Valley, Idaho — had infection rates (but not case numbers) equivalent to New York City, mostly because travelers from hard-hit urban and international locations had unknowingly delivered the virus to the further reaches of the country. Now, I feel grateful — and lucky –that I did not pick up the virus, or spread it to someone else.

Someday, I’ll get back to Moab. I want see the sunset at Dead Horse State Park, and explore bike trails suitable for a mild mountain biker. But for now, armchair travel will take the place of planes and trains. My armchair sits next to the window, which offers a view to other dramas: bluebirds building nests, a flock of congregating turkeys, a small gang of foraging deer. I’ll take it, with gratitude.

Sources and resources

On September 1, 1991, park visitor Michael Muller captured the crumbling of Landscape Arch on video, exhibited at this National Park Service site.

For more information, visit the website for Arches National Park.

36-hour Montana Road Trip: Driving into the Big Hole and the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway

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In 1905, Montana pioneer Joe Maurice experienced the worst possible losses. Although blind in one eye from a horse kick, the Belgium immigrant had persevered in eking out a living at the homestead he’d established on Gold Creek, supplementing cattle with gold prospecting.

But that winter, his wife died of diphtheria, which by 1905 was curable if you could get to a doctor with anti-diphtheria serum. In the spring — possibly before he had the chance to bury his wife in the frozen ground — his two young children died of typhoid fever.  Was Joe all alone? Or did neighbors help him to bury his family, or with the grim task of piling rocks on the fresh graves so that animals didn’t dig up his loved ones?

On our 36-hour Montana road trip, we stopped to visit these lonely graves, marked by blank wooden headstones, just off to the side of the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway (Route 73) in southwestern Montana’s Beaverhead County.

On this June day, we saw few cars. A hundred years ago, this valley was an even lonelier place. I wonder how diphtheria, a highly contagious disease, managed to invade Joe’s home. Had a passing traveler carried the bacteria (which can be transported by health “silent carriers”)?  Had Joe brought the diphtheria back from a trip to town?

Most of us would be crushed by these losses. I haven’t been able to find much additional information on Joe–if he married again, or had more children–but the Forest Service road sign told me that he Joe persevered. Having arrived in this valley in 1883, at age 13, Joe was determined to stay on, perhaps mining copper at the mine bearing his name on a nearby mountain flank. Joe lived at his homestead until 1963, when friends persuaded the 93-year-old pioneer to move to a rest home, where he died a few years later at age 97.

On Montana’s Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway in late June, alpine meadows and mountain “parks” bloom with lupine and yellow daisies– beauty that belies the challenges faced by those who tried — and are still trying — to make a living here.

Joe’s story is one of many that lie beneath the pavement of this route running between the Big Hole Valley and the hamlet of Wise River, Montana. Today, as in the past, cattle — along with elk, bear, and other animals — remain far more common than people.

Cows, cows, everywhere, as we encounter a ranch family escorting a herd of cattle to summer mountain pastures. Two pickup trucks and five people on horseback were herding the cattle along a five-mile stretch of the Byway.

On our 36-hour road trip, we aimed to discover new territory in the vast state of Montana. We were visiting a friend in Darby, in the scenic Bitterroot Valley, which is the Montana of travel brochures: snow-capped mountains and rivers teeming with trout. The Bitterroot is great for fishing, relaxing, and hiking, with miles of trails in the Bitterroot National Forest.  But we wanted to explore further afield.

With our borrowed 1999 Chevy Lumina and a full tank of gas, I knew I could cram a lot into 36 hours — a day, a night, and another full day — without feeling cramped. We left Darby after breakfast, heading south on Montana Route 93 to the Lost Trail Pass, near the Montana/Idaho border, and then up and over Chief Joseph Pass, on Route 43, into the Big Hole Valley.

Our first stop was Big Hole National Battlefield, where the Big Hole River meanders through a grassy meadow. In the summer of 1877, this meadow was the site of  a small but significant battle between the U.S. Cavalry, and a band of Nez Perce who were resisting forced removal onto reduced reservation lands in Idaho (the government seized the land  after prospectors discovered gold on the reservation).  Here, the Cavalry surprised the sleeping Nez Perce, with many women and children killed in their teepees. But the Nez Perce warriors rallied, counter-attacked, and ended up forcing the Cavalry to retreat, thus allowing the surviving band members to flee.

When we visited the Battlefield, rain was falling, so we didn’t walk out to the memorial site, but inside the small visitor center, we touched the howitzer cannon that the Nez Perce captured from the Cavalry. I’m thankful that the National Park Service permits visitors to touch this object, giving visitors a tangible connection to the Nez Perce fighting to preserve their way of life as well as the Cavalry soldiers who died that day.

Back in the car, we drove to the tiny town of Wisdom for lunch at the local café, a busy spot, with one waitress trying to cover 12 tables. Then we returned to the road, turning on t0 Route 278 and into the wide open heart of the Big Hole Valley.

Big Hole Valley, overlooking Hamilton Ranch.

Was this land truly a “valley”? Or something else, like a tableland, or a plain?  It was so wide and open, with green sagebrush stretching for miles in all directions, and mountains in the distance. I had never seen a landscape as vast as the Big Hole Valley (most of it ranch land, in private hands).

We continued on  Route 278, heading towards Bannack State Park, once the territorial capital of Montana and a thriving community of 3,000 souls. Today, Bannack is an official ghost town, full of abandoned buildings, rusty artifacts, and stories.

The old jail, with sod roof, at Bannack State Park. At its peak, after the 1862 gold discovery, Bannack was a thriving town of 3000 people. Although people began to leave by the turn of the century, the mining industry remained active through World War II.

Visitors can wander, at their own risk, through any unlocked building.  You have to watch your step on loose floorboards and creaking stairs, as Bannack is not prettied up for visitors.

Bannack’s main drag. The building with the cupola on top was built to serve as both a Masonic Lodge (second story) and the town’s schoolhouse (first floor).

Bannack’s one-room schoolhouse. At one point, the town had so many students that some attended classes in the Methodist Church and in the Masonic Lodge hall on the second floor.

 

Bellying up to the bar in Skinner’s Saloon, which served as the headquarters for the notorious criminal gang, Plummer’s Road Agents. After the gang’s demise, the saloon became a store.

As thunder clouds moved in, we returned to the Chevy and backtracked west to set off north on the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway, heading towards Elkhorn Hot Springs. We stopped first at the Grasshopper Inn, because its many roadside signs advertised gas for sale.

But the inn was out of gas. We knew we would be fine, but the empty gas tank signaled the struggle common to much of rural America: the slow depopulation and decline that perpetuates itself. If you can’t offer a necessary product like gasoline, then it’s even harder to attract people to come visit, never mind stay.

A few miles past the Grasshopper, we turned off to Elkhorn Hot Springs, which exactly met my expectations for rustic western hot springs: cabins with no running water, a restaurant/main lodge serving adequate food, and two hot spring pools that could benefit from a little love, but which were clean and relaxing.

The “cool” pool (96ish degrees) at Elkhorn Hot Springs. An adjacent pool is around 101 degrees, and a sauna in the building ranges from 104-106 degrees F.  The water is crystal clear and clean; the discoloration stems from the pool’s pitted concrete bottom. A room at the Lodge for one person goes for around $35 a night, including breakfast and the hot springs. Now that’s a bargain!

Elkhorn, it seems, is teetering on survival, as is Maverick Mountain, the ski area next door. The hot springs and the mountain are just too far away from large numbers of people.    Like so many places in rural America, Elkhorn Hot Springs needs a benefactor who could pour some money into the place without needing to worry about a return on investment.

The next day, after a morning soak in the hot springs, we headed north towards Crystal Park, a Forest Service area where visitors can dig for quartz (bring your own pick and shovel). Unfortunately, the Park was closed for a week of site improvements.

The meadow or “park” across from Crystal Park.

The mineral batholith stretches across the road and into the meadow. The Forest Service ranger told us we could dig there (usually off-limits), but we decided against it due to an onslaught of hungry mosquitoes.

Another view, just off the Byway.

Back in the car, we considered our options. Hike up to Coolidge, another ghost town, or aim for one of the high mountain lakes? We didn’t have many provisions, so we elected to continue on, eventually passing the Maurice family graveyard and the roaming cattle, and then landing in Wise River for a hearty lunch at the Wise River Club.

Skalkaho Falls, on the western side of the pass, heading towards the Bitterroot Valley.

Having come this far, we decided we would drive back to the Bitterroot via the Skalkaho Pass Road (Montana Highway 38), which travels through the Sapphire Mountains on a seasonal Forest Service road built upon a Native American trail.  After passing through more beautiful country, we spied the tall smokestack marking the former industrial town of Anaconda, and then detoured for tea and ice cream in Philipsburg, a small town known for its brewery, shops, and cool vibe.

I was nervous about the Skalkaho, since it is described as a “narrow winding road” on one of Montana’s “least travelled mountain roads,”  but I figured it couldn’t be any worse than the rough Forest Service roads we’d been taking to various hiking spots near Darby. Along the way, we stopped at the Gem Mountain Sapphire “Mine,” where visitors can buy buckets of gravel from a nearby mine and sift for sapphires (located just past mile marker 38 on the Skalkaho Pass Road, just before the paved road becomes gravel).

As it turned out, the Skalkaho was a breeze, especially since we were driving on the mountain side of the road, and not the edge. Also, because of some major spring washouts, the Forest Service had just finishing re-grading the road, making for smooth driving. Although the Skalhako isn’t exceptionally scenic, we enjoyed the ride up to the pass and through the forest, where anglers seek out certain fishing spots.  Not scary at all.

Skalkaho Road landed us just south of Hamilton, Montana.  Back in Darby, we finished off the road trip with a visit to Bandit Brewing Co., Montana’s smallest brewery, where beer is power.  Just ask the owner, a relative newcomer to town who recently become Darby’s mayor. We’d only been gone for 36 hours, but as we drank our beer, I realized that Darby was beginning to feel like home.  Fingers crossed, we’ll have another opportunity for a return visit and another 36-hour road trip.

Sources and resources

At the bottom of the post, see the hand-drawn map (on a Google map) covering our journey.

For more information on the Nez Perce, see the National Park Service website for the Big Hole National Battlefield.

See this Forest Service link for more detailed information on sights and stops along the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway.

Find more information on Skalkaho Pass Road here.

This is my amateur and approximate map of our road trip, including detours to Bannack State Park and Philipsburg. We began and ended in Darby, Montana, south of Hamilton. Skalkaho Pass Road, parts of the Pioneer Mountains Byway, and the back road we took to Anaconda are all closed in winter, which starts early. Check locally on road status if you are traveling October through early June.

The loneliest road in southern Utah

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As the road changed from pavement into dirt, and the canyon walls pressed in on both sides, it seemed that we were heading deep into a wilderness where we might be stranded by a broken axle or punctured tire. We hadn’t seen another car, or person, for miles.  My son wondered aloud, nervously, if we should continue as we bumped along the packed dirt road in our rental SUV. What would we find at the end?

Our rental car looks pretty lonely on the Scenic Drive towards Capitol Gorge.

In mid-February, our rental car looks pretty lonely on the Scenic Drive at Capitol Reef National Park in Utah.

I pulled out the map, which showed, at the end of the road, a parking lot icon. “It’ll be fine,” I said. “Look, there’s even restrooms.”

The walls of Capitol Gorge close in, at times less than 20 feet apart.

The walls of Capitol Gorge close in, at times less than 20 feet apart.  Capitol Reef National Park is part of the “Waterpocket Fold,” a 100-mile long north-south wrinkle in the earth’s surface.  The rough  terrain of the Fold presented a barrier to 19th century pioneers, who eventually discovered Capitol Gorge (above), a crack in the fold through which people, animals and wagons could travel through more easily.  Just beyond the Gorge, a small group of families settled at Fruita, along the Fremont River, with the last resident leaving in 1968.

And indeed, when we reached the parking lot, we found signs that sometimes, this place is full of people: picnic benches, rustic restrooms, a well-trodden path to the Pioneer Register. But on this day, no people, not even a park ranger’s vehicle. On this late afternoon in February, we might be the only visitors in Capitol Reef National Park.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration.  In these 378 square miles, at least three other people were exploring. Earlier, at a Highway 12 pullover, we had met a father and two sons traveling in a rugged camper with monster wheels, heading towards Cathedral Valley, the remote section of the park that gets few visitors, even in the summer. Then, I envied them, for the solitude, but now, here we were, alone, feeling like pioneers.

The sun was setting as  we drove back to Torrey, where we were staying at the Sky Ridge Inn  bed and breakfast.  On the Scenic Road, not a single car or hiker.  But as we approached the campground next to Fruita, an abandoned Mormon pioneer settlement, I spied a single vehicle and a tent. A small campfire burned in the twilight, making the scene a little less lonely. Or maybe more so.

I’m guessing that in the summer months, when the park gets most of its 668,000 annual visitors, solitude at Capitol Reef feels hard to come by, even if it nowhere nearly as crowded as Zion National Park (which gets 2.9 million visitors).  Families pick peaches, cherries, apples and pears in the orchards planted by the Mormon settlers. Everyone stops to look at the Fremont petroglyphs carved on a rock wall, and almost everyone completes the 2-mile round trip hike to Hickman Bridge.

Exploring at Hickman Bridge.

Exploring at Hickman Bridge, a popular destination on a one-mile hike from the road.  On this morning hike, we did meet one small party on the trail but otherwise had the place to ourselves.

However, even in peak season, Capitol Reef offers plenty of lightly travelled backcountry nooks and crannies, canyons and trails.  I can’t wait to explore them when I come back.  Even though our visit to Capitol Reef was short, the park was my favorite of the three we visited in southern Utah.  The landscape here feels so vast and grand, that it almost makes me feel like I might become a grander person just by spending time here.

Another view of Hickman Bridge.

Another view of Hickman Bridge.

Lots of fun nooks, crannies, rock formations and otherworldly geology on the Hickman Bridge Trail.

Lots of fun nooks, crannies, rock formations and otherworldly geology on the Hickman Bridge Trail.

Good-bye, Capitol Reef, I'll be back some day as a vagabond retiree in a souped-up camping van.

Good-bye, Capitol Reef, I’ll be back some day as a vagabond retiree in a souped-up camping van.

Winter wonderland: Among the hoodoos at Bryce Canyon

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When we stop to pull off jackets, I take in the snow-draped hoodoos towering above us. What was it like for Mormon pioneer Ebenezer Bryce to wander into this amphitheater for the first time back in the mid-1870s? Did he believe that he had found some version of God’s country? Or did he view the slots and twists created by the hoodoos as obstacles in which his livestock might get lost?  Undaunted, he made Bryce his workplace, and built a logging road into the heart of this place named for him.

Descending into the hoodoos on the Navajo Loop Trail. We brought microspikes in case the trail was icy but didn't need them.

Descending into the hoodoos on the Navajo Loop Trail. We brought microspikes in case the trail was icy but didn’t need them, as ice and snow had mostly melted off the trails.

 

Up on the rim of the Bryce amphitheater, visitors gather to take in the spectacle of the Bryce Amphitheater.  At the major stops on the 18-mile scenic drive that winds towards Bryce Point, buses full of Chinese tourists, visiting during their New Year’s holiday, empty into otherwise empty parking lots.  But here on the floor, where Bryce once logged the pine trees, and less than mile from the rim, we are the only hikers on this warm February morning.

February view from the bottom of Bryce Canon, which isn't really a true canyon but a X. Two weeks earlier, a storm had dropped almost two feet of snow here, but it had mostly melted on the canyon floor. But there was still plenty of snow on the high plateau, and the Park Service offers a snowshoe hike to winter visitors.

February view from the bottom of Bryce Canon, which isn’t really a true canyon but an amphitheater formed by headward erosion (rather than erosion from a stream or river) . Two weeks earlier, a storm had dropped almost two feet of snow here. Snow still blanketed the top of the 9,000-foot plateau.  The Park Service offers a snowshoe hike to winter visitors.

 

The National Park Service worries a lot about visitors numbers. This being America, more is always better, especially because some bureaucrats in the Park Service believe that more visitation translates into political support that yields the increased appropriations needed to support more visitors.

National park visitation statistics are a complex beast. At some parks, declining visitor numbers cause concern while at others, increases in visitation create problems. In Utah’s five national parks, however, attendance is steadily rising, with visitation to Bryce Canyon almost doubling from 2006 to 2015, from about 890,000 in 2006 to 1,745,804 in 2015.

On the Navajo Loop Trail, just below Wall Street, where the hoodoos close in to form narrow passages. The passage through Wall Street was closed due to danger from falling rocks (the winter's warm-cold-warm cycles wreaking havoc), so we had to retrace our steps on the Navajo Loop.

On the Navajo Loop Trail, just below Wall Street, where the hoodoos close in to form narrow passages. The passage through Wall Street was closed due to danger from falling rocks (the winter’s warm-cold-warm cycles wreaking havoc), so we had to retrace our steps on the Navajo Loop.

 

If today was a summer day at Bryce Canyon, a wall of visitors would be crowding the rim, shooting pictures. Here on the Navaho Loop Trail, I would be confronting a small army of day hikers, backpackers, and walkers in flip-flops and sandals

Today, on this winter morning, our family of three wanders among the hoodoos, and wonders.

Winter sunrises in mid-February are a little chilly, but not really not that cold..

Winter sunrises in mid-February are a little chilly, but not really not that cold, with plenty of space to shooting photos.

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Morning view of Thor’s Hammer.

 

 

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More hoodoos and their relatives, eventually to become hoodoos, as erosion wears away the sandstone.

 

 

Sources and resources

For more information on Bryce, see the Bryce Canyon site at the National Park Service.

Bryce Canyon Lodge offers limited winter lodging in one building, while the Ruby’s Inn complex — a world unto itself — has plenty of lodging options, including an indoor swimming pool.

For more on the human history of Bryce Canyon, see the National Park Service’s  Bryce Canyon Historic Resource Study. Bryce Canyon is named for Ebenezer Bryce; he did not “discover” the canyon, but settled in the vicinity in the 1870s. and built his road.

We also visited busy (but not summer-busy) Zion National Park on this trip, and, after Bryce, experienced the wonder of being the only park visitors at Capitol Reef National Park, outside of Torrey, Utah.

 

Closing the door on Angel’s Landing

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This time, when I gave up on trying to climb to Angel’s Landing in Utah’s Zion National Park, I knew I wouldn’t be trying again. The third time won’t be a charm; I won’t cross the hike off my bucket list.

A view of the knife-edge abutment known as Angel's Landing (late-morning light). Yes, it is as skinny as it looks, at least in a few tricky spots.

A view of the knife-edge sandstone ridge known as Angel’s Landing (late-morning light). Yes, it is as skinny as it looks, at least in a few tricky spots.

Yes, I was disappointed as I descended the steep chained-covered sandstone to the line of hikers waiting to climb up. I knew that the view from  Angel’s Landing wasn’t 100% more magnificent than any other in the park.  But I had been primed to claim the hike as my own, after chickening out on a visit to Zion eight years earlier. And if I couldn’t do it now, eight years deeper into middle age, I never would.

The hike to Angel’s Landing is the most popular in Zion, despite being named by Outside magazine as one of the world’s most dangerous. The trail is a 1/2-mile long offshoot of the West Rim Trail (with a total distance of  2.5 miles from the bottom of Zion Canyon).

Climbing that last half-mile to the Landing requires scrambling up a steep sandstone face, using a set of chain ropes for support while navigating a constant stream of hikers coming and going. Once hikers surmount that first pitch, they move on to other challenges, including spots where the ridge narrows to a width of five feet, with 1,000-feet drop-offs on both sides.  Near the Landing, hikers step up a narrow stone staircase, where a chain railing offers the illusion of safety.

Eight years earlier, I’d known the risks and calculated them small – yes, five people (now six) had fallen to their deaths since 2004, but thousands made the trek each year. I had hiked steep trails all over the world. Piece of cake.

Looking down at the switchbacks known as Walter's Wiggles, first crafted by the Civilian Conservation Core in the 1930s. A bit of an incline, but pretty easy for seasoned hikers.

Looking down at the switchbacks known as Walter’s Wiggles, first crafted by the National Park Service in the 1920s.  A bit of an incline, but pretty easy for seasoned hikers.

On that end-of-March 2008 visit, the park was bustling with visitors eager to explore the canyon on the weekend before the road closed to cars for the season (from April to October, shuttle buses moves visitors in and out of Zion Canyon). My friends and I hiked towards Walter’s Wiggles in a stream of humanity, including several parents pushing strollers.

At Scouts Landing, where the Angel’s Landing trail shoots off from the West Rim Trail, my friend Natasha said she knew her limits; she was happy to relax on the rock slabs while three of us continued on.

Following behind my two friends, I began to scrabble up the sandstone slope, placing my feet in toeholds carved by thousands of hikers and grabbing the chains for support. About halfway up, I froze. This felt dangerous. If I slipped, I might tumble to my death, or severe injury. Yes, thousands had done it, and only a handful had died, but I was a mother. I had a young son waiting for me back at home. I couldn’t afford to die. I turned back.

Now, on this second attempt, the young son was a young man. Our family of three made it up the first pitch, but the climb was nerve-wracking and not much fun. When my husband announced, “I don’t need to do this,” my son agreed. After five seconds of thought, I concurred.

Carefully, we picked our way down the slope back to Scouts Landing, where a volunteer ranger was doing a talk on California Condors, whose numbers had once dwindled to fewer than 25. An active breeding-in-captivity program has resurrected the population, but these massive birds with a ten-foot wing span, the largest in North America, continue to die off, mostly due to lead poisoning from ingesting lead bullets. About 71 condors fly around Arizona and southern Utah, according to the U.S. Forest Service.

South of Zion, at the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument in Arizona,  condors are released into the wild every year and monitored for movement, with attempts made later in the season to recapture the birds to test for lead poisoning. If wildlife biologists are able to catch lead poisoning early, they can treat it. But sadly, every season, they find too many magnificent dead birds.

After listening to the talk for a few minutes, my husband suggested continuing on the West Rim Trail. From Scout’s Landing, we hike for ten minutes or so to an overlook with a good view of Angel’s Landing. Instead of the crowds congregating below us, we were alone, although eventually an older couple joined us. The man had a pair of serious binoculars. With the binoculars, we could make out figures standing at the far edge of Angel’s Landing. We could see other scrambling up another steep pitch that looked very perpendicular.

“Now that how did that hiker get on that pinnacle?” the mans asked, pointing to a narrow pinnacle jutting up from the canyon floor.  “He must have needed ropes and gear to get up that.”

Squinting, I could see something – a figure perched on the pinnacle’s edge, possibly a hiker sitting and dangling his legs. My husband asked for the binoculars.

“That’s not a person,” he said. “That’s a bird.”

California Condor in flight, with tracking tags. Photo via Wikipedia and Creative Commons.

California Condor in flight, with tracking tags. Photo via Wikipedia and Creative Commons.

And then, liftoff: a massive California Condor spread its wings and dove into the shadow created by Angel’s Landing, then began to soar upwards in slow circles.

As its circles became wider, the condor drew closer to our view-point. When its wings tipped at an angle, the condor almost looked like a drone coming in for a landing. And then the condor swooped low to the ground, preparing to land, about 20 feet in front of us.

At the last second, the bird picked up a thermal and soared upwards. We watched its ballet for several minutes, until the condor soared downriver through Zion Canyon.

On Angel’s Landing, the hikers were intent on the sandstone slope, clutching the chains, making sure to plant three points of the body on the ground at all times.  They had to focus; they couldn’t afford to let their eyes and minds wander. That’s what I love about hiking–how it demands my full presence in the moment. But at Angel’s Landing, I couldn’t have the hike and the condor.  Something to remember the next time I have to give up or turn back. Where will I see my next condor?

Twlight view of The Watchman, a warm-up hike we did upon arriving at Zion, with the trailhead right behind the Visitor's Center. On this February visit, we saw one other party here at the party -- the advantage of visiting Zion off-season. However, being President's Day weekend, the park was busy, and on Sunday, we were "gated out" of Zion Canyon because the canyon had reached its car capacity (we did get in later that afternoon).

Twilight view of The Watchman, a warm-up hike we did upon arriving at Zion; the trailhead begins behind the Visitor’s Center. On this February visit, we saw one other party on this late-afternoon hike — the advantage of visiting Zion off-season. However, this being President’s Day weekend, the park was busy, and on Sunday, we were “gated out” of Zion Canyon because the canyon had reached its car capacity (we did get in later that afternoon).

 

IMG_1833

After being turned away from the Zion Canyon gate, we drove through the Zion Tunnel to the East Entrance and explored a bit of that side of the park, including the Canyon Overlook  hike (at the East Entrance gate). Although this scene suggests solitude, this short trail was busy with hikers, including many families and young children.

One advantage of a Zion lock-out is that it required us to explore other areas on the eastern side of the Zion Tunnel. Not an official trail here, just a fun spot for climbing around. We did try to get to Observation Point trail from Zion Mountain Ranch, but the dirt road you to take to get to the trailhead was muddy and rutted and/or snow-covered and too much for our rental.

Not an official trail here, just a fun spot for climbing around on the eastern side of the park. We attempted to get to the East Mesa Trail, the easy route to Observation Point which starts out as a dirt road at Zion Mountain Ranch, but the road was muddy, rutted, and/or snow-covered and too much for our rental SUV. The hike to Observation Point, whether from the canyon floor, or via the back route we scouted, is a great alternative to Angel’s Landing.

Sources and resources

“Frequently Asked Questions” for Zion National Park. National Park Service.  Note that more people have died at the bucolic Emerald Pool (typically from slipping and falling) than at Angel’s Landing. Also, a map of Zion hiking trails (most useful as an overview and NOT a trail map).

Outside Magazine‘s list of the world’s 20 most dangerous hikes. Note that New Hampshire’s Mount Washington is on the list along with Angel’s Landing.

 

When the cold fails, try the warmth

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Five things to do instead of skiing during New Mexico’s worst drought ever

I am probably the only person in the United States who was disappointed by snowfall totals this winter.  Specifically in New Mexico, where we made plans for a sunny ski trip in February (see here for more) .  When we arrived, the snowfall total from January to mid-February at Taos Ski Valley was a skimpy (by mountain standards) 39 inches. By contrast, average annual snowfall at TSV is 305 inches.  So we did a quick turnaround in our minds, from ski trip to road trip.  Here’s a sampler of the fun.

1. Visit Taos Pueblo

Although in a constant state of rebuilding, the pueblo at Taos Pueblo has been inhabited for more than 1000 years. Now that's history!

Although in a constant state of rebuilding, the mud brick pueblo at Taos Pueblo has been inhabited for more than 1000 years.  The Pueblo is considered the oldest continuously inhabited community in the U.S. Now that’s history!

Taos Pueblo, home of the Taos Pueblo people,  is one of the few UNESCO World Heritage historic/cultural sites that is also a living, breathing community, although the winter population drops in the Pueblo drops to about 100 people.  (Many more dwell in modern homes on the surrounding tribal land).

Although residents no longer enter and exit their homes through holes in the roofs (doors have been added), the Pueblo has neither electricity or running water. Water is hauled from the stream that runs through the Pueblo.

Residents no longer enter and exit their homes through holes in the roofs (doors have been added), but the Pueblo lacks both electricity or running water. Water is hauled from the stream that runs through the Pueblo. Living here is not for the faint of heart.

 

The church in the Pueblo was built in xxx, after the Spanish-built church was destroyed in XX.

The San Geronimo Church in the Pueblo was built in 1850, after U.S. Army destroyed the Spanish church that dated to 1706.  The Spanish built the first San Geronimo in 1619, but this original church was destroyed during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680.

Although the Pueblo welcomes visitors and everyone we met was friendly and hospitable, the Pueblo people guard their heritage. Visitors are welcome at rituals and ceremonies, but absolutely no photos are allowed during these events.  Brochures and other materials remind visitors not to interrupt ceremonies with questions or comments.

Today the Pueblo is striving for a balance between cultural tourism and community preservation, but for most of their history, what the Pueblo people most wanted was to be left alone. Although not warriors by tradition, they were definitely willing to fight for the right to self-government.

The Pueblo people were conquered by the Spanish around 1615, but revolted twice, in 1640, and then again during the 1680 Pueblo Revolt that spread through all of New Mexico’s pueblo communities. They held off the Spanish for 16 years before being defeated in 1696.  Later, in the 1770s, repeated attacks on the pueblo by the Comanche led the Pueblo people to seek Spanish protection.  The Comanches also scared the hell out of the Spanish and prevented expansion of their empire, but Spanish soldiers were able to protect Taos, a small island of Spain in a vast land ruled by the Comanche.  Lots of history happening out here in the West while the American Revolution was heating up in Boston.

The site of the 1706 San Geronimo Church. The church was destroyed during xxx by the U.S. Army during the second Pueblo revolt.

The site of the 1706 San Geronimo Church. In 1847, the U.S. Army destroyed the church, where women, children and elderly had taken shelter, in retaliation for the murder of New Mexico territorial Governor Charles Bent. Bent was killed by a group of townspeople and Native Americans during an attempted revolt against the U.S. government, which had just taken control of New Mexico during the Mexican-American War.

2. Check out the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge formerly known as New Mexico’s Bridge-to-Nowhere

View of the Gorge from the bridge.

View of the Rio Grande Gorge from the bridge, 650 feet above the river.

Just a few miles outside of Taos, the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge spans a narrow canyon carved by the river.  When the three-span steel continuous-deck-truss structure was completed in 1965, the feds ran out of funds to build a road, so until the 1970s, when U.S. Route 64 was rerouted through Taos, the bridge was called the Bridge to Nowhere.

The bridge definitely goes somewhere today–Route 64 ends at the Four Corners of New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah–but we didn’t follow that road.  We did take in the amazing views and hiked for a mile or so on the West Rim Trail that hugs the gorge for nine miles (18 miles RT).  It was great to be out hiking in the scrubland in mild temperatures.

After our visit to the Gorge Bridge, we traveled by car and foot to the bottom of the Gorge.

After our visit to the bridge, we traveled by car and foot to the bottom of the Gorge in search of hot springs.

3. Soak in natural hot springs

Not sure if I really want this photo of me in my bathing suit on the Internet, but the hot springs sure were nice. The springs are clothing-optional and most opt out, but teenagers and nude parents do not make a good match.

I’m not sure if I really want this photo of me in my bathing suit on the Internet, but Black Rock Hot Springs sure were nice. The springs are clothing-optional and most opt out, but teenagers and nude parents do not make a good match.

After our hike along the Gorge, we used a combination of local directions and iPhone GPS (never to be completely trusted in rural areas) to navigate our way on a rough dirt road to the John Dunn Bridge and the Black Rock Hot Springs.

Although not that far from the homes of Arroyo Hondo, the bottom of the Gorge felt very isolated and a little bit spooky.  I reminded myself that these hot springs are well-known to locals and likely to be populated by mellow bathers rather than Deliverance-style killers.

We did run into a few naked people, but they weren’t carrying spears, and were quite friendly and polite.  After they finished their soak (the pool was pretty full of people), we took our turn and enjoyed sitting in the 97 degree water while the Rio Grande flowed past us on its way to the Mexican-American border.  Eventually, a local mom and her four-year-old daughter joined us, thus quelling any lingering notions that a drug-addled maniac was about to burst forth from behind a rock.

Memories of Charles Manson mingled with those from the movie Easy Rider to fuel my paranoia.  The scene in which Dennis Hopper and Peter Hopper go skinny dipping with two girls from a hippie commune was filmed at nearby Stagecoach Springs Hot Springs (also called Manby Hot Springs).  Although nothing chilling occurs in that particular scene, the audience senses impending danger as the two men continue on their journey.  Fortunately, from our hot spring pool, we had a clear view of the trail to the parking spot and would at least spot the killers before they sprang upon us.

The commercial hot springs at Ojo Caliente also looked tempting and everyone recommended them, but we decided against more driving on a hot springs quest and opted for soaking in the hot tub at our rental.  Something to leave for the next visit.

4. Hike Devisadero Peak in the “off-season”

On the Deviserado Loop Trail (about five miles and fairly easy), we had great views of Wheeler Peak, New Mexico's highest at 13,159 feet. If we had been better prepared for hiking, we probably could have completed the trek up to Wheeler. Typically the mountain would be drenched in snow at this time of year.

On the Deviserado Loop Trail (about five miles and fairly easy), we had great views of Wheeler Peak, New Mexico’s highest at 13,159 feet. If we had been better prepared for hiking, we probably could have completed the trek up to Wheeler. Typically the mountain would be drenched in snow at this time of year.

Relaxing at the summit in a grove of pinon and juniper trees. Someone built these Adirondack chairs from rocks. The chairs were a bit chilly, but we didn't mind.

Relaxing at the summit in a grove of pinon and juniper trees. Someone built these Adirondack chairs from rocks. The chairs were a bit chilly, but we didn’t mind. Back in Maine, we call these temps “spring.”

“Devisadero” means “lookout point” or place. The Pueblo Indians once used the great views from the peak to stand guard against Apache raiders.

During the spring, summer, and fall, hikers and mountain bikers pack the trail, but only a few hardy hikers, bundled up in jackets, hats, and mittens, were out on the 40 degree-ish morning that we climbed the mountain. We had the 8,304-foot summit to ourselves.  It wasn’t really warm enough for shorts, but my son dons them whenever the temps top 40, hence his nickname, “The Seal.”

5. Find your way to Tent Rocks National Monument.

Some of the so-called "tent rocks." Millions of years ago, volcanic eruptions left a 1000-foot thick layer of pumice, ash and tuff deposits, which have gradually eroded to form these conical hoodoos and other formations.

Some of the so-called “tent rocks.” Millions of years ago, volcanic eruptions left a 1000-foot thick layer of pumice, ash and tuff deposits, which have gradually eroded to form these conical hoodoos and other intriguing formations.

On our last weekend in New Mexico, a late-arriving email tip sent me to the map to look for Tent Rocks National Monument.  I am soooo glad we found this surreal place, which had me looking for Hobbits and wondering if a dragon might slither around a corner.

Playing in the slot canyons of Tent Rocks. During a heavy rain, these canyons become raging streams.

Playing in the slot canyons of Tent Rocks. During a heavy rain, these canyons can become raging streams.

At Tent Rocks, we hiked along a sandy trail that led past hoodoos with rocks balanced on their points; slot canyons with walls that rose hundreds of feet; and an ancient cave where someone camped out hundreds of years ago.  Eventually we climbed to a high plateau for great views.

Tent Rocks is another “middle-of-nowhere” place, but only about 40 miles from Albuquerque, so it was quite busy with hikers of all stripes and ages when we visited.  Be sure to bring water on your trip (or fill up at the gas station/sub shop/store in the tiny town of Cochiti Lake), as no water is available at Tent Rocks.

 

Okay, my subtitle reads “five things to do,” but I need to highlight one more item for the list:  Relax.

Lounge around at the rental.  Watch sunsets.  Read books.  Surf on the internet and read more about the Southwest in Travels with The Blond Coyote, by New Mexico-based Mary Caperton Morton,who travels all over the United States living in a tiny TearDrop trailer.

Plan your next trip.  Forget the skis, remember the sunscreen.  Rinse, and repeat.

Pueblo cat, outside one of the small gift shops. Internet cats get lots of love, I've learned!

Pueblo cat, outside one of the small gift shops. Internet cats get lots of love, I’ve learned!

Sources and resources

Directions to natural hot springs in the Taos vicinity.

Trail maps for Deviserado Peak

More info on Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument (Take note: no dogs allowed).

Missing my (Wild)Cat: Skittering on New Mexico’s ski slopes

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Ready to skitter down the slope at Taos. Note blue skies, warm sun.

Ready to skitter down the slope at Taos. Note blue skies, warm sun. In the background, 12,481-foot Kachina Peak.

Here in New England, skiers are familiar with what I call the “skitter” – the combination of a clattering sound and a slipping movement a skier experiences when she is cruising down a slope and suddenly encounters a patch of hard-packed snow-ice.  The best skiers hardly notice the ice and continue flying straight down the hill.  Others dig their edges into the ice and carve a turn.

But on the skitter, I choke.  I try to ski uphill.  Or I slide sideways across the icy patch, and then try to slip down the slope inch by inch, all while praying that the slope angle levels out a bit.  Sometimes I stop dead in the middle of the ice and try not to cry.

I’ve been working on the “lean in and carve” technique, but I was really looking forward to skitter-free skiing in Taos, New Mexico, the fabled land of fluffy white powder.  Although I once spent New Year’s  skitter-skiing in the Lake Tahoe region (where conditions are often similar to New England’s), I had never skied in “real” Western ski country: the powdery mountains of Utah, Colorado, or Taos.  Taos Ski Valley has a reputation as an expert’s mountain, but the trail map showed plenty of blue and green trails.  We could also visit other nearby areas, like Red River and Angel  Fire.

I also wanted sun.  With 300 days of sunshine per year, Taos was sure to deliver.

We left Boston’s Logan Airport just in time to get out of the way of a snowstorm heading to New England–a storm that eventually dropped 15 inches of powder in the White Mountains.  Although the snow had been falling here in the Seacoast all winter, the storms were mostly coastal events.  Throughout January,  the mountains up north were pretty bare, with lots of skitter potential.  But the weather pattern changed in February.  The snow kept coming and coming.

Meanwhile, out in New Mexico, the land was and is bone dry.  The state is having its worst drought since record keeping began.  The mountains had some snow early in the winter, but it has barely rained or snowed in New Mexico all winter.   The result: The. Worst. Ski. Conditions. Ever.

I WAS ready to panic when I saw the double-black diamond trails in front of the main lodge.

I WAS ready to panic when I saw the double-black diamond trails in front of the main lodge.

The land surrounding Taos is rugged and beautiful, with mountains rising from scrubby plains.  But the conditions at Taos Ski Valley were abysmal.  Although the mountain does offer green and blue terrain, it definitely merits its reputation as a place for expert skiers. The experts like to hike up a steep ridge (after getting off a lift) so that they can  ski from 12,481-feet Kachina Peak down steep cliffs into a bowl full of soft powder.

This year, the bowl had only a thin lining of snow, but on our two visits to the mountain, plenty of hard-core skiers were hiking on the ridge to challenge themselves on the steep icy terrain.  Some even considered it fun.

I never intended to ski down from Kachina Peak, although my husband probably would have given it a go if the conditions were better.  But I was looking forward to cruising down blue trails under sunny skies.   We had the sun, but the blues were steeper than what I’m used to and very very icy.  Lots of skittering; one burst of crying and profanities.

The poor ski conditions couldn't take anything away from the charm of the Taos avalanche rescue dogs. The dogs continue their training, but haven't seen much action this year, which is probably a good thing.

The poor ski conditions couldn’t take anything away from the charm of the Taos avalanche rescue dogs. The dogs continue their training, but haven’t seen much action this year, which is probably a good thing.

The green trails mostly consisted of thin roadways linking various expert ledges and bowls, and were very very icy.  Although I felt confident negotiating these trails, the conditions were unnerving:  imagine sliding along ice on a flat narrow trail with steep double-black diamond drop-offs to one side.  As an intermediate skier, I felt like I had to be constantly vigilant, ready to dig in.  I couldn’t relax.  Oh well.  After the skiing, a hot tub awaited.

We stayed in a great little rental guesthouse in Arroyo Seco that once had been the three-car garage for actress Julia Roberts, before she sold the property to the current owners.   The views were wide and sweeping.  Just after dark, a million stars glowed in the sky.  Later at night, the moon rose and glowed above the mountains.

I loved watching the moonrise at sunset from the porch of our cozy rental in Arroyo Seco.

I loved watching the moonrise at sunset from the porch of our cozy rental in Arroyo Seco.

We did lots of other things during our stay in Taos (See my next blog post, Five things to do instead of skiing during New Mexico’s worst drought ever).

People who live in Taos can’t imagine living anywhere else.  As our host explained, after living for years in wide-open country with views of the mountains, she feels claustrophobic when she returns to the tree-shrouded East.

I too love those open views, the way the moonlight lights up the wide sky.  But after more than a week in New Mexico, I missed my woods, the coziness of being surrounded by hundreds of tree.  I missed my mountains, where the lifts take me to the summits for 360-degree views, and blue and green trails lead me to the bottom.

During our stay in New Mexico, the snow continued falling back East.  In Pinkham Notch, at Wildcat Mountain, the Polecat top-to-bottom trail was soft with new snow.  Skiers were sliding easily through the Wild Kitten tunnel.  The weather was probably bitterly cold and gray, and the visibility near zero, but it would feel like home.  The snow would make me brave enough to try the black diamonds.  If I skittered on upper Lynx, I could deal, because I know where the steep pitch levels out.

Lesson learned: If I am going to skitter-ski, I want to skitter on home territory–not only do I know the lay of the land, but the skittering is cheaper and more convenient.

Fortunately it hasn’t snowed since our return. The temperatures remain low, and the snow has been  hard-packed into concrete ice by all those skiers who enjoyed the February storms. I can hardly wait to get to the mountains.

P.S. As I was fine-tuning this post, we had a mid-March storm that dumped two feet of snow in the White Mountains.  Talk about crushing my soul!  How am I going to practice my carve and turn in these conditions?

No snow, no worries, not with sunny skies, great views, and a warm picnic table for lounging. Julia Roberts, who formerly owned this property, now owns a house at the end of ditch. No sitings during our stay in Arroyo Seco, but we weren't really looking for her.

No snow, no worries, not with sunny skies, great views, and a warm picnic table for lounging. Julia Roberts, who formerly owned this property, now owns a house at the end of ditch. No sitings during our stay in Arroyo Seco, but we weren’t really looking for her.

Drinking coffee and looking for aliens in Roswell, New Mexico

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In Roswell, in need of coffee and a bathroom, we stopped at McDonald’s.  I ordered a cup of Newman’s Own and opened out my wallet.

“Fifty-three cents please,” the cashier said.

Fifty-three cents?  Where in the United States does anyone sell coffee for 53 cents?  Back in 1978, in a nice restaurant, my grandfather loudly complained about paying 50 cents for his coffee.   He expected his cup to cost a dime, but the rest of the family understood that 50 cents was the going rate.

But that was 35 years ago.  Now, here in Roswell:  53 cents.

As I waited for my cup, another customer approached and placed some change on the counter.  “I’ll have the senior coffee,” he told the girl.

Senior coffee?  I looked down at my receipt.  Sure enough, the cashier had charged me the “senior” price for my coffee, with no ID required.  Roswell surely was a place of bizarre happenings.

The initial newspaper article told of a UFO, but the next day another military press release reported that a weather balloon had crashed.

The initial newspaper report told of a UFO, but the next day another military press release reported that a weather balloon had crashed.

Roswell is famous as the town in the-middle-of-nowhere, New Mexico, where something happened in 1947, on an isolated ranch just outside of town.  Exactly what happened, no one knows, or at least no one is telling.  Many believed—and still believe—that a UFO with three or four aliens on board crashed and burned on the scrubby plains outside of town.  The official story from the U.S. military was a crashed weather balloon.  The “Roswell Incident” has made this small city, located 200 miles from anywhere else, an unlikely destination.  Like many others, we had come to Roswell to find out what happened back in 1947.  The senior coffee was—I guess—a bonus.

To get answers, we turned to Dennis Balthaser and his UFO Tour, which, as he informed us, is the #1 Attraction in Roswell on TripAdvisor.  He’s not so popular at Roswell’s International UFO Museum and Research Center, which has banned him from the premises.  I wasn’t surprised when Dennis told us of his banishment, as he struck me as a man of strong opinions.  Sometimes battles rage bigger and longer in small communities than large ones, because the combatants can’t disappear into a crowd.

Dennis was a congenial host in Roswell and full of information about the mysteries of the 1947 "Roswell Incident".

Dennis was a congenial host in Roswell and full of information about the mysteries of the 1947 “Roswell Incident”.

Dennis spent more than two hours driving us around Roswell and out to the former military base where the military might have packed some aliens off to another facility in Dayton, Ohio.

The Roswell Incident occurred on a July night in 1947 when something fell out of the sky. Rancher Mack Brazel found debris from the crash when he went out with his teenaged neighbor to check on his sheep.  He took some of the material back to his shed and then brought a few pieces to show his neighbors, the Proctors.  They suggested that the debris could be the remnants of a spacecraft and told him he should bring the material to the sheriff.

A strange series of events followed.  Major Jesse Marcel, an  intelligence officer for the 509th (Atomic) Bomb Group which was based at Roswell Army Air Field (RAAF), went out to the ranch to investigate.  The Roswell Daily Record, via a military press release, reported as  a flying saucer. But as higher ups got wind of the crash, the story changed.  The next day, the Air Force announced, in a second press release, that the saucer was  actually a weather balloon. To read the entire story of the incident, check out the UFO Museum’s description.

The flying saucer story was quashed and forgotten.  The citizens of Roswell didn’t want to make trouble.  World War II had just ended.  After pushing back Hitler, the military enjoyed unsurpassed support and respect.  Best not to ask too many questions.  Nine years earlier, Orson Welles’s radio broadcast, “The War of the Worlds,” had caused hysteria and panic, with many believing that the fictional drama was an authentic news report.  Why stir up that pot again?

But then came the 1960s, when everything was subject to questions.  In Roswell, residents began to share stories.  Mack Brazel had been warned not to talk, and didn’t.  But the radio station owner said he’d been told that his broadcasting license would be pulled if he reported on the incident.  The local mortician said that the Army had called to inquire about the availability of child-sized coffins.  The sheriff’s two daughters recalled hearing death threats made to their parents.  As the years went on, various military personnel sworn to secrecy began to talk about what they remembered, mostly fragments and bits of information.  Lots of secrecy. Boxes put on planes.  Heads without noses, and slits for mouths.  Shiny materials that could be crushed into a ball and then spring back into their original shape.

Dennis is a man obsessed with finding the truth.  Somebody knows something, but those somebodies won’t with be with us forever.  Many have already died, taking their Roswell secrets with them. Dennis encouraged us to go the Museum, take in more information, and make up our own minds. We shook hands and headed over to the museum on North Main Street.

On the February morning when we visited, the International UFO Museum in Roswell was bustling with people interested in learning more about the Roswell Incident.

On the February morning when we visited, the International UFO Museum in Roswell was bustling with people interested in learning more about the Roswell Incident.

The Roswell UFO Museum mostly consists some hokey alien figures (fun for photos) and  walls covered with newspaper clippings.  Much of the information echoed what Dennis had told us.  But at the Museum, I learned that 1947 had been the summer of UFOs.

On June 24, pilot Kenneth Arnold reported seeing some kind of disc flying at supersonic speeds in the vicinity of Washington’s Mount Rainier.   His report received widespread media coverage.  In the following three weeks, people reported hundreds of UFO sitings all over the country, including a report in Milton, Massachusetts, near my hometown of Weymouth.

These UFO sitings came on the heels of reports from wartime military pilots of seeing glowing orbs floating in the sky, phenomena that were dubbed “foo fighters.” Pilots initially believed that these “foo fighters” belonged to the Germans—that they were some kind of flare or secret weapon—but after the war, German pilots revealed that they too had spotted the orbs.

What were the foo fighters?  An official panel reported that they might have been electrostatic phenomenon, but they didn’t really know.  Was the Roswell Incident the culmination of a UFO hysteria that created a UFO out of thin air?  Did one story beget another until we arrived at a grand finale?  Or were the UFO sitings that summer—and the foo fighters–the explorations of extraterrestrials who had discovered Earth, and the Roswell crash their grand finale?

I don’t know if a UFO landed outside of Roswell.  But after my visit to this off-the-beaten track locale, I’m convinced that something happened in Roswell and that the military didn’t want the public to know exactly what.  Extraterrestrials?  Maybe.  Experimental weaponry or devices related to the atomic bomb, or which monitored Soviet activity? Possibly.  Could the alleged bodies have been human, disabled children or adults?  Sounds far-fetched–and I don’t want to start any rumors—but 1947 was the era of the Tuskegee Study, in which scientists knowingly allowed syphilis to progress unchecked in hundreds of black men so that they could study its effects over time.  Anything’s possible.

Then again, maybe it was a case of too much coffee.  At 53 cents a cup, it’s easy to keep on drinking.

Aliens in Roswell. Pictured here is my son, NOT my grandson. But now I wonder: should I try the senior coffee scam at home and see if I can get away with it? I do have an AARP card.

Aliens in Roswell. Pictured here is my son, NOT my grandson. But now I wonder: should I try the senior coffee scam at home and see if I can get away with it? I do have an AARP card.

Additional information:

According to this 2013 NBC News report, “After 66 years, the Roswell UFO Incident belongs to the ages,” the final report from the U.S. Air Force, in 1997, stated that the  wreckage came from balloon-borne experiments used to monitor Soviet nuclear blasts, and that the bodies were probably crash dummies used to judge the effect of high-altitude falls.  (Both Dennis and the UFO Museum, however, point out that such dummies weren’t invented or used until several years later).

Every July, Roswell hosts the Roswell UFO Festival, which packs this town of 50,000 people with 20,000 guests interested in everything from pure fun to serious research about UFOs.

Another UFO-related event is the Experiencers Speak conference, which is a gathering of people who believe they have been abducted by UFOs. In 2013, the conference was held in Portland, Maine (See Portland Phoenix article, “Alien abductees gather in Portland“).

Exeter, New Hampshire, the home of UFO abductees Betty and Barney Hill, is taking a page from Roswell and trying to develop its own UFO tradition, with the Exeter UFO Festival.