Volunteer, geriatric, trail tester

Last week, with the paleontologist and volunteer coordinator, I went on a hike to plot GPS coordinates and test the interestingness of a proposed new trail. They wanted to see what an unbiased visitor would think of it, so they lost out on the unbiased condition but did get the geriatric viewpoint, a bonus.

As I'm getting to be more of a hiker I look for more challenging trails, and .3 miles just doesn't cut it. Even 1.5 miles are generally not enough unless there's some elevation change or ravines to leap over, or eroding paths with vertical chasms to fall into. This new trail, called the Red Basin trail, is going to be about 7 miles long and the test hike was great.

The Red Basin trail starts at a service road on the way to Blue Mesa. We wanted to get photos of what hikers will see along the way and while I wanted to keep the photos in chrono order, my processing software and Blogger are having issues. I do know, though, that this is the first photo taken after we parked and started walking.

 Yes, this is really the color of the petrified wood.

 Hoodoos.

Another piece of petrified wood, this time just a shard. Amazing color.

 There was a mixture of dry washes and mesas/buttes.

Does this look like a sphinx to you?

One of my favorite things to see: pedestals under pebbles and petrified wood. Those are big chunks in the background, of course, but the ones up front are just tiny pebbles.

The barbed wire fence marks what used to be the boundary of the park. In 2011 and 2013, more than 30,000 acres were added to the park, about 25% of the previously existing acreage. The land on the other side of the fence used to belong to the Bureau of Land Management. When the hike is up and running, there will be steps up and over the fence, but we had to crawl under it. It was not one of my more graceful moments.

We weren't on the other side of the fence thirty seconds before the paleontologist spotted this bottle just sitting on top of the earth. It was quite a find, in perfect condition, not a scratch or chip on it. Usually the rule is to leave things where they're found, but after a call to the archeologist and marking the exact spot with the GPS, the bottle was safely stored in a backpack. It was packed with dirt and some of it was left for testing; it's possible they'll be able to say where it came from.

I didn't have similar luck when I spotted this jar a little while later. It was gleaming so white, partially buried, that I thought it was modern plastic and was going to pocket it to throw away later. It turned out to be a partial glass jar that made me immediately think of Vicks. Sure enough, there were enough letters on the bottom to cipher out Mentholatum. I put it back where I found it.

This landscape of ball bearing pebbles came and went. They rest on packed earth and are just as slippery to walk on as their name implies.

The hike passes what's known as the Clam Beds. This is just a small part of a boulder made of the fossilized clam shells. I know it's not PC but I think if they were cut and polished they'd be gorgeous.

This formation looks just like what's found on the Blue Mesa trail. It probably is the same and if I paid better attention when the paleontologist is talking I'd be able to say so with certainty. They're such beautiful, rich colors.

This does not show as well as I'd like. What I'm trying to show is the mud pattern in the dry wash, and how, when the water was flowing, it gathered the pebbles into the compact, nearly-diamond-shaped pattern in the middle.

 Odd phenomena.

The boulders are conglomerates, sedimentary rock consisting of individual rounded fragments within a finer-grained matrix that has all become cemented together. We stopped for a loo break here and I swear I'm going to get one of those gadgets that lets women stand to pee.

Nothing to say other than I just like this photo.

The Sand Castle is the turning point on the hike. A hard left here leads to the Red Basin, but first,

 

















traversing Blue Mesa-style badlands.

Finally, into the slot canyon that marks the beginning of the Red Basin.

 This would be impossible to describe in a believable way.

I first thought that was petrified wood on the crown, but now think it's another rock layer.

 There's a lot of meandering through the basin.

 The view at the other end.

We climbed this hill to have lunch, which would have been great except someone told me the hike was four miles and I thought, "Piece of cake!" A piece of cake or a sandwich would have been nice, and my two companions offered me part of their lunch, but I offered it up for all the poor souls in Purgatory.

 A little more eye candy.

The paleontologist led us to a spot that's thick with fossils, including the next couple of photos. Once again I didn't pay attention and don't know what these are. He has job security, that's for sure. There are fossils like these in a layer all around the hill.

Bones or plates of something. I really have to start taking notes.

This one is exactly what it looks like and its fancy name is coprolite. There's a layer in the hills all around the spot we were standing that's 3 or four inches thick and is commonly known as The Poop Layer. 

One of the Law Enforcement Rangers met us a couple of miles from the end and saved us some steps. She and her truck were a welcome sight. We'd done a lot of backtracking to avoid taking hikers to archeological sites and probably hiked close to the seven miles the final trail will be.

One of her friends, another Ranger stationed at Canyon de Chelly, took our picture. I got his card so I could get a custom tour into the Canyon. I knew I'd be going back and that offer is too good to miss.

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Thought of the day:

Do not follow where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Backtracking to El Morro

After the brief detour to the top of Blue Mesa, let's get back on track to El Morro National Monument in New Mexico.

The first short portion of the trail, about one-half mile, is devoted to Inscription Rock. The path stays level for a while, then begins a series of switchbacks that has an elevation gain of 200 feet, just like the Blue Mesa trail.

This is the most remarkable view. How does that split-off rock not crash to the ground? It looks heavy at the top and tapered at the base to the point of sure imbalance, but there it stays. I'd love to be in the neighborhood when this thing crashes. Wouldn't that be something to see and hear?

When I started to learn about photography I took classes via photo safaris in Washington, DC. The man leading the safaris offered specialized classes: night photography, taking photos in museums, in churches, and so on. One of the most valuable lessons I learned from him was to look behind me so now I frequently look over my shoulder or even walk backward, and the perspective can be radically different. The next photo is the same pinnacle as above but from an entirely different perspective. You'd never know it was the same formation. 

I stopped to talk for a few minutes to the man sitting on the trail below. The trail generally runs counter-clockwise but he was finishing it from the other direction and promised magnificent views on top of the mesa. 

One more look to the rear and the view changes again.

Magenta prickly pear cacti were thick on the ground in this section of the trail that's still ascending.

A few more steps (see the cacti in the lower left?) and the view opened to reveal a distant horizon and a box canyon in the middle of the mesa. Although some rainwater drains to the pool that attracted travelers for hundreds of years, most drainage is down the gentle, three degree slope on the backside of the cliff, eroding the box canyon. According to the geology brochure the Monument distributes, a weak area into which the water drained eroded into an indentation. More water means more erosion and the canyon grew - in fact, it continues to erode and is enlarging toward the cliff edge. At some point it will break and leave two standing fins of rock.

Here I am atop the mesa. I wondered at my bad physical shape when I had to stop, albeit briefly!!, to catch my breath on the way up, and later read that this place has an elevation of just over 7200 feet. OK! That made me feel less decrepit.

Do you recognize the back of the pinnacle rock on the left of the formation below? That's how much the trail rises.

Many trails are marked with cairns, rock piles, when the surface is bare rock and how else would you know which way to go? I followed a few trails marked that way in Utah on my way south last spring, and it is disconcerting, if not minor-panic-inducing, to wander off without checking the location of the next cairn before leaving the current one. El Morro uses cairns but in other spots also has literal marked trails. The Civilian Conservation Corps was here in the 1930s and chipped, gouged, or chiseled these parallel lines into the rock surface.

I wondered at these markings, first thinking it might be a fossil trace of burrowing insects or something. Now I wonder if it was one or a few guys sitting around after lunch with some time left before going back to work, idly chipping at the rock, or maybe it was a new guy practicing. Ancient hieroglyphics, fossil traces, passing the time; something that makes me stop for a longer look and a little speculation - to me, that's interesting.

Another view of the box canyon, showing the depth a little more.

 This is the opposite direction of the canyon, looking outward from the mesa.

 More CCC work that made navigation easier and safer.

Something about these solid waves of rock slowly descending the side of the mesa, with brave little trees seeking a foothold in any possible spot, appealed to me. It's a real-life example of "bloom where you are planted."

If you look straight up from the spire rising from the canyon floor you can see a railing. That's the trail I just came up, then swung to the right, around the end of the canyon.

 In the lower right are more parallel lines marking the trail.

This is fascinating to me. On the more or less smooth stone is all kinds of visual texture, the wearing away of layers, leaving patterns to engage your imagination.

 













How many footfalls has it taken to wear these dips in the stairs? Why is the top one the deepest?

One last look across the top. The wind was gusting to about 10-20 miles an hour up there and in several places I stopped moving until it died down again. It would have been easy to be blown the wrong way while taking a step.

At the very top is a pueblo ruin, occupied by the people formerly known as Anasazi; that is, until it was somehow determined that the term means enemy ancestors. Now the people are known as Ancestral Puebloan. The people lived here during the 12th and 13th centuries.

This site is known as the Atsinna Ruin Site. The name was given by the Zuni Indians working on the first excavation in 1954-1955, and it means "writing on the rocks." Which writing? Which rocks? I don't know.

This was quite a large settlement. The outside walls were about 200 by 300 feet and were three stories high on one side, tapering to one story on the other. The terraced side led to a central plaza, faced by about 500 rooms on the first level, 250 on the second, and 125 on the third, although some archeologists think there may have been as many as 1000 rooms. About 65 percent may have been occupied at any one time, with the remainder being used for storage (see, people are the same everywhere!) for a population of between 1000 and 1500.

 Right at the end of the trail was this conifer making a stand and winning.

It was a beautiful place and a great hike, another entry on the plus side for what's easily becoming my favorite part of the country.

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Thought of the day:

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. 

(Edward Abbey; preface for 1988 reprint of Desert Solitaire)