Hovenweep Road Disappears & Reappears Near Hovenweep National Monument - 2012

 

Hovenweep Road Disappears & Reappears Near Hovenweep National Monument

In late April 2012, I departed Moab, Utah, heading toward Hovenweep National Monument, 120 miles southeast. My first 89 miles were on U.S. Highway 191, transiting through Monticello and Blanding, Utah. Fifteen miles south of Blanding, my Magellan GPS directed me to turn east on Utah State Route 262.

Although Magellan was on course, I was not. Blanding rests at 6000 feet in elevation. As you descent into the desert, each hill begins to look like the last one. Near the bottom of the third long hill, I approached the UT-262 East the turn-off. Making that turn with my travel trailer in tow required unusual discretion. Carrying a speed of 55 MPH over the top of the hill meant that I was doing 65 MPH near the bottom, and all without touching the throttle. I applied the brakes and downshifted out of overdrive. Friction creates heat. With my truck and trailer brakes engaged, I hoped that the brakes on my rig would not fade.

With over five tons of metal accelerating downhill, I downshifted into third gear and let the engine roar. While applying my brakes, I dropped the shifter into Second and watched the engine rev up to 4200 RPM. Having had the good sense to preset my trailer brakes for highway speeds, I felt them work in unison with the big disk brakes on my 2006 Nissan Titan. My rolling rocket ship responded in kind, slowing to about 45 MPH.

The only problem was that I needed to be below 25 MPH in order to make the turn. At that point, it was “do or die”, so I applied the brakes even harder and hoped for the best. My “bail out” was to release the brakes and roll on past the intersection, but no one wants to hear Magellan say, “When possible, make a legal U-turn”. As I safely made the turn, the abundant skid marks and stray gravel on the road spoke to me. They said, “Jim, your successful outcome here and now is no cause for celebration”.

When I found myself facing east on UT-262, I took a deep breath and then looked for a place to pull over. This was at least the third time I had traveled from Moab to Hovenweep National Monument. Unbelievably, this was my best job yet negotiating that crucial left turn. Please remember that your perception of time, distance and vertical motion are different in the High Southwest. As Jim Morrison so aptly sang, “Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel”. Watch closely for the highway signs and keep your downhill speed below the posted speed limit. Otherwise, you too might miss your turn toward Hovenweep.

Soon, Utah Hwy. 262 began to show its age. Almost from the start, there were almost no shoulders on the sides of the road. For the first nine miles, the road was narrow, harsh and unforgiving. At that point, Highway UT-262 turned to the south, leaving me on old Hovenweep Road, which is also designated Indian Route 5099. Although my Magellan GPS had performed flawlessly until that point, its digital mainspring was about to uncoil.

Although Hovenweep National Monument is remote from any settlement larger than a trading post, it is a targeted destination for many motorists. With her database in full failure mode, Magellan’s siren-sweet voice tried to lead me astray. “Turn left at the next opportunity”, she declared. Such tactics may have lured Ulysses onto an ancient, rocky coastline, but not me. Her voice intended to deceive me. “Ha!” I said, “This is like déjà vu all over again”. This was my third trip to Hovenweep along this road. Had I learned anything?

Slowly, my thoughts came back to me. Long ago, in Navajo land I had learned to disbelieve Magellan’s driving directions. Just try to drive from Gallup, New Mexico to Chaco Canyon with only Magellan as your guide. Twice in the past, Magellan had failed me there. Smugly, I concluded that no one at Magellan or its database creators had ever traveled these roads. If they had, they would not suggest a shortcut that starts at the washout of Montezuma Creek and then winds for miles over rough terrain.

The first algorithmic rule for GPS databases should be, “If there is an alternative route over paved-roads, suggest it.” In order to do that, one must know firsthand if a road exists. If so, is paved or gravel? Only by placing the mapmakers’ eyes in the real world will such things ever change. Meanwhile, the Spirit of the Ancients sits around a celestial campfire, looking down at us and having a good laugh. Come on, mapmakers; none ever died wishing that they had spent more time in the office.

After Magellan suggested a hard left turn up a steep and curving gravel road, I stopped to consult my trusty DeLorme Utah Atlas & Gazetteer. Later, while looking at Google Maps, I could see why Magellan got it wrong. From Hatch Trading Post to Hovenweep on paved roads requires a roundabout tour to the south, via Reservation Road 2416 and San Juan County Road 413. Just south of Hatch Trading Post, that paved route crosses Montezuma Creek on a contemporary highway bridge. Just south of that bridge is where Magellan suggested a make a hard left turn.

Had I taken that route, it would have soon connected me with a graveled extension of “Hovenweep Road”, also called San Juan County Road 212. If one follows that gravel road, it is indeed the original and shorter route to Hovenweep National Monument. With its “Hovenweep Road” moniker, that gravel route is only ten miles long, but takes thirty-eight minutes. The paved route to the south is longer, but takes only twenty-nine minutes.

If you are familiar with Google Street View, you know that Google camera cars have traversed almost every paved road in America. Magellan, for its part, has outsourced its database to either the incompetent or the knowledgeable. The Navajo Nation is the largest Native American tribe in the U.S. Although their reservation abuts the Four Corners on three sides, Magellan treats it like a no-man’s land. Rich with cultural heritage, it behooves Magellan to provide accurate directions throughout the region. Magellan’s users need to know that they can follow paved roads to such treasures as Hovenweep National Monument.

Once I got past the Magellan database errors, I had a pleasant ride to Hovenweep. To the sides of the road I saw occasional Navajo dwellings. Whether any one of them was occupied or abandoned, I could not say. Were these empty houses awaiting their owner’s return or were they the abandoned relics of a time before the Dine’ (Navajo) moved to the cities. Other major features on the land consisted of natural gas wells and occasional water wells. The gas wells utilized propane fuel to spin their flywheels, while the water wells featured Aermotor windmill pumps. Although windmills usually indicate that cattle will be grazing nearby, the only wildlife in view that day consisted of wild horses.

Even in April, the desert was extremely dry. Little water ran in the major watercourses and there were no waterholes visible on the mesa. For the wild horses, finding sufficient forage and water defines their constant battle for life over death. Few of the horses looked well fed or well watered. In order to conserve energy or to beg a meal, many untamed horses stay close to the road. Although they were clearly wild, most of the horses barely moved when I stopped to photograph them.

One exception that day was a palomino stallion that I startled as he crossed the landscape. In order to photograph the horse, I had to make a U-turn and then stop on the gravel apron of a desolate crossroad. With all of the noise and commotion that I had caused, the palomino caught wind of me. As he galloped across an arroyo, I had time to capture only one image of the horse. As I later zoomed in on that image, I realized that his ribs were showing, indicating severe environmental stress. If I could rewind and redo my actions that day, I would not have pursued and further stressed that beautiful animal with my vehicle or on foot.

As I approached Little Ruin Canyon at Hovenweep National Monument, the grand Sleeping Ute Mountain appeared to the east. Although many of the place names throughout the High Southwest are fanciful in their origins, Sleeping Ute Mountain lives up to its name. With his head in the north and his feet in the south, the ancient spirit of the mountain appears to be at rest. As I approached the campground at Hovenweep National Monument near sundown, I held my breath, hoping to find an open campsite large enough to accommodate my rig.

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By James McGillis at 06:52 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

When is a Lake Not a Lake? When it is Ken's Lake, Moab, Utah - 2012

 

When is a Lake Not a Lake? When it is Ken's Lake, Moab, Utah

In 2012, a continuing drought on the Colorado Plateau created a meager spring snowpack in the Sierra La Sal. When I visited Ken’s Lake, near Moab, Utah in April 2012, I was encouraged by the volume of water that I saw behind the dam. Although I did not know it at the time, there was more water present than in any April for the past five years. As a casual observer, I saw what looked like a good water year for both irrigation and water sports on the lake.

In August 2012, the Grand Water and Sewer Service Agency (GWSSA) issued its summer status report on Ken’s Lake. According to the document, the Ken’s Lake water level has dropped from April’s 101% of average to a mid-August thirty-five percent of average. Using the first two charts in the document, I was able to determine that Ken’s Lake currently held 1000 acre/feet less water than it did in a normal year.

Next, I looked down at the five-year storage chart. Again, the results were alarming. With just over 400 acre/feet of water currently impounded, Ken’s Lake was heading to its lowest August levels in the past five years. With that trend, it was obvious that Ken’s Lake was destined to become Ken’s Lake Puddle again this year.

Some will say, “So what? It is a human made water storage reservoir. If all of the water gets used up every year, then it is serving its purpose”. Although that may be true, Ken’s Lake is also the largest recreational lake in the Moab area. When the reservoir goes dry, there is nothing of consequence to attract campers, hikers or wildlife. The lake is also a bellwether for drought conditions throughout the Colorado Plateau. If the towering La Sal Range gets little snow and has a fast spring runoff, few other places will fare much better. The regional drought seems likely to expand and become more prevalent in the Four Corners region.

It behooves the stakeholders and managers of Ken’s Lake to act now and prevent it from becoming a permanent eyesore. The easiest way to save the lake is to stop allocating water for alfalfa farming and other water-intensive crops. If a farmer is actually growing fodder for his or her own livestock, the GWSSA could make an exception. Instead of alfalfa, if each stakeholder planted grapes or fruit trees, the Spanish Valley could rise again as a tree crop and viticulture area.

If Spanish Valley and Moab Valley Farmers and environmentalists work together, Ken’s Lake may well remain a beautiful body of water, enjoyed by all. If not, will the entitled stakeholders pretend that there is no problem, or will they accept responsibility for the outcome?

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Sonoran Desert Soul-Transit - 2009

 

Sonoran Desert Soul-Transit

On Monday, October 5, 2009, I awoke in Quartzsite, Arizona. By Noon, I was “on the road” toward Black Canyon City, AZ. Not wanting to pull my coach through Phoenix, AZ during rush hour, I avoided Interstate I-10. Instead, I “cut the corner” from Quartzsite to Black Canyon City on Highway U.S. 60, via Wickenburg.

 

If the reader is unfamiliar with the territory, U.S. 60 traverses a wide expanse of Sonoran desert. Along with occasional views of irrigated farm fields, one experiences such desert hotspots as Brenda, (named for an old girl friend), Hope (the eastbound and westbound departure signs both read, “You Are Now Beyond Hope”), Salome (Where she danced) and the lesser burgs of Harcuvar, Aguila and Gladden. After going beyond Hope, it was a relief to reach the cheerful sounding place named Gladden.

 

The previous day, the first cold front of the fall season had passed through the Arizona desert. Departing Quartzsite at midday, the temperature was only 63 f. degrees. Throughout the day, temperatures did not exceed 83 f. degrees. For me, a clear, temperate day in the Arizona desert is a rare treat.

 

As I motored along, the open landscape, clear blue sky and white clouds created a peaceful atmosphere. The desert transit allowed time for me to contemplate where I had been and where I was going in life. The old highway served as allegory to my lifelong transit.

 

How wonderful could a week’s vacation be? If you are like me, you spend the "week prior" preparing for the journey. You spend your vacation week living the vacation in real-time. Upon returning home, you spend the "week following" reliving your vacation. Using that formula, you get three weeks vacation for the price of one.

 

As I drove east, I realized that there were issues to address and challenges to overcome, but such is life. Beginning there in the desert, I concluded that I have no problems in my life. Inside me, something said, “Be on the lookout for anomalies in time. They are ready to escort you to your destiny. If you allow their help, you shall live your dreams sooner than you might otherwise imagine”.

 

Pushing our values on to another person no longer works. It is up to each individual to discover who he or she is. The final step in human ascension is to come to loving terms with self. For many humans, allowing self-love is not easy. The distractions of everyday life alone can separate us from our Source. Many of us live day-to-day, with a “here today and gone tomorrow” attitude. If we do not consciously connect with Mother Earth, our lives can become ephemeral, more dreamlike than visceral.

 

The way to achieve “grounding” is different for each person. If one offers, allows and accepts self-love, one instantly feels grounded. Whether its source is alternating or direct, the grounding of electricity through a wire is a one-way process. For all known living things, the Earth is our ground. Our personal electromagnetheric energy fields seek resolution there. The process is analogous to gravity forcing water to seek its own level. That all energy seeks resolution is universal law. As such, it is undeniable.

 

We no longer need opposing energies in our lives. When dualistic thinking is present, new energy travels to ground, disappearing before it can manifest. In human life, the best interactions are win-win. In the sport of fencing, each contestant might score a simultaneous touché to the other's heart. The result is grounding, from one to the other and out to the universe. Whenever two hearts touch, new energy manifests. As with any other grounding of energy, universal law applies. Put another way, "Thousands of candles may be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Love never decreases by being shared." - Buddha ...

 

As the desert rolled under my truck, my thoughts drifted to Jimmy, the boy I was, over fifty years ago. During that period, my inner child had turned inward, longing for the unchanging security of home and family. Despite my early unrealistic expectations about home, family and security, in my fifties I became a nomad. For two years, I lived on my sailboat, WindSong, laying in Marina del Rey, CA. Later I alternated living quarters between WindSong and my travel trailer. From Catalina Island, CA, to the Four Corners region and throughout the Western U.S., I traveled. If nothing else, it proved to me that my core beliefs about home, and security could change.

 

As I observed the scenery that day, I realized that a desert transit is a uniquely human experience. In my imagination, my inner child sat next to me in the passenger seat. Before sharing our thoughts about the scenery around us, we turned and smiled at each Other. Aloud, I said, “Can you imagine doing what I do for a living, and making money too?”

 

The twin subjects of shortage and abundance had entered my mind. A conceptual path toward monetizing my life’s work eluded me. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I realized that I did not need to know the details of my future funding sources. My contribution was to keep asking the universe for what I wanted, and then to align my energies with the receiving of what I had asked for.

 

A feeling of happiness and contentment washed over me. If ever there was a place where the universe listens to requests, it had to be the Sonoran desert. I spent that afternoon asking aloud for all of that which I desired. Looking as my inner child had imagined it so many years ago, the visual backdrop to my requests was the living desert.

 

In the late afternoon, I reached Black Canyon City, AZ. At the RV Park, I detached my coach, put on my running shorts and drove a mile to the High Desert Nature Park. After two year’s absence from the park, I ran a course made familiar during my two winters living in Black Canyon City. My running course included a desert-garden pathway, which loops around the seventy-five acre preserve. Other than drought, which blankets the Four Corners with its dust, little had changed in the park since I first visited there in March 2005. In defiance of drought, were the Saguaro cacti a bit bigger now?

 

At sunset, from atop that hill, I could feel cool Arctic air pushing south towards Mexico. I was happy to feel that Mother Nature's natural chiller still worked.

 

If our collective consciousness requests it, we may yet see glaciers return to the high country of our Rocky Mountains. Not so long ago, Glacier National Park, MT, had many active glaciers within its borders. If we request new glaciers, can group consciousness create them? Ultimately, the gloomy-doomers may win the day with their global warming scenarios, but I hereby request new glaciers.

 

That night, it was clear and cold in Black Canyon City. Later, I read that Grand Junction, CO had eclipsed by three degrees their low-temperature record for that date. In the Four Corners, autumn 2009 had started cold. Might it also be wet?

 

Events at our next stop, Navajo National Monument, AZ hinted at a possible answer to that question.

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By James McGillis at 03:46 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

Four Corners Region - The Colorado Plateau 2008

The Magic Gate - Part 2

Four Corners Region

The Colorado Plateau

Mesa Verde

 

From Durango, we ventured west on Highway 160 to the pre-Puebloan alcove and cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde National Park.  Mesa Verde contains the most famous of the Anasazi (or pre-Puebloan) sites in the Four Corners.  In 1965, the archeological sites appeared unchanged since their discovery in the 1870s.  With park rangers as our guides, we climbed traditional pole-ladders and peered into ancient living spaces and granaries.  On hands and knees, we squinted down into dark ceremonial chambers, known as kivas.  In contrast, today one views these ruins from behind fences, on well-marked trails.

 

In the 1960s, mystery pervaded the disappearance of the ancient cultures of the Four Corners.  Today, we know that those cultures experienced a combination of drought, overpopulation and internecine warfare.  To offer some perspective on their numbers, archeologists believe that in 1200 CE, the population of Colorado’s Montezuma Valley was 30,000, a number larger than its contemporary population.

 

For reasons both known and unknown, the society broke down, leading to the complete depopulation the Four Corners.  Later, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Navajo tribe, with ancestors traceable to Asia, Alaska and British Columbia, repopulated much of the area.

 

Returning to Durango that night in 1965, we saw live television reports of riots in South Los Angeles.  Large areas of Watts and the Central City were ablaze.  Not unlike the pressures experienced by the pre-Puebloan cultures of 1250 CE, summer heat, overpopulation and competition for resources had led to violence in LA.  Unlike the pre-Puebloan, who could simply migrate south in search of water and new farmland, there was nowhere for the residents of South Los Angeles to go.  In a metaphor to the actions of the ancients, some Los Angelenos sacked and burned their own commerce and cultural centers.

 

The Disappearance

 

Hundreds of archaeologists and other scientists have studied the pre-Puebloan disappearance phenomenon.  Not one of them that I know has hypothesized seismic activity as a contributing factor to the mass migrations of 1200 – 1400 CE.  Today, researchers assume that prior to their departure; the former residents burned and willfully destroyed many of their most important buildings.  The remaining destruction they attribute to the ravages of time. 

 

Rather than assuming that the pre-Puebloan tribes irrationally destroyed their own cultural landmarks, might we trace the initial cause of that destruction to large-scale seismic activity?  Even the largest earthquakes leave few long-term traces in the natural environment.  Toppled towers and caved-in kivas might be the best indicators we have that cataclysmic seismic activity provided impetus to the complete abandonment of the Four Corners area. 

 

Today, we find potsherds at many Four Corners sites.  Intact pottery is so rare that we find it only in museums and private collections.  Were the pre-Puebloan so careless as to destroy essentially all of their useful pottery or did seismic activity play a larger role than previously assumed?

 

The Reemergence

 

Today, the consensus is that the last pre-Puebloan migrated away from the Four Corners, later to “reemerge” as the Hopi, Zuni and other Pueblo tribes.  The Hopi creation myth centers on the “sipapu”, a hole in the earth from which their ancestors arose.  Every ceremonial kiva in the Four Corners includes a symbolic sipapu in its floor. 

 

The great kivas provided communal warmth and shelter to the pre-Puebloan.  Since an earthquake could collapse their roof timbers, kivas also carried the risk of unexpected and immediate death.  After a swarm of catastrophic earthquakes around 1250 CE, did the pre-Puebloan survivors reemerge from the metaphorical sipapu of their collapsed kivas, only then to leave the land that had caused them so much death and destruction?

 

Silverton

 

Leaving Durango, we traveled north on Highway 550, also known as The Million Dollar Highway.  Whether the road derived its name from its initial construction cost or from silver-bearing ore crushed into its asphalt mixture is still a subject of conjecture.  In 1965, its new surface reflected light like a million diamonds in the afternoon sunshine.

 

After negotiating the 10,910-foot Molas Divide, we descended into Silverton, Colorado, a former mining town now famous as the northern terminus of the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad.  Although winter sports are now a factor, the summer tourist trade generates most of the town’s revenue.  In late May 2008, a spring snowstorm closed Highway 550 near Silverton, forcing us to make a low-elevation detour in order to reach Moab, Utah. 

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By James McGillis at 12:10 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link