RETIREMENT TRIP #6

    DESERT STORM   

                          September 2015                      

Route #95 winds through rugged
and dry Utah country.

Route #95 west from Blanding cut through rugged country of sandstone bluffs and mesas.  Sweeps of cirrus clouds and huge puffs of cumulus clouds painted the sky, promising rain in the near future to southwestern Utah.  Not so good for travel, but the white puffs added contrast and interest to our early morning photographs.

“Where we’re going at Lake Powell is one of the driest areas in the United States,” said Andy.  “Wouldn’t it be ironic if it rained there today!”

Driving a small Toyota Yaris gives
us the advantage of good gas mileage.

 


Temperatures warm as we follow
Route #95 toward Lake Powell.

He was right.                      
                                          
                                          
                                  And after days in the 90’s, the temperatures had suddenly plummeted to 65 degrees this morning.



Woodenshoe Buttes dominates the landscape off Route #95.

Darker clouds remained south of us, as we headed due west on route #95 and temperatures warmed.  We stopped several times to photograph Woodensboe Buttes at 8,757 feet.
The play of sunlight and shadow made it difficult to determine camera speed, but I got some good shots near the turnoff for Halls Crossing.  Clouds cast varying shadows over oddly shaped Cheese-Box Butte, as we headed into White Canyon.

No longer mined for uranium
 Fry Canyon stands silent.  

Jacob's Chair, an identified rock formation,
sits atop the butte in the distance

The lodge at Fry Canyon was closed, and the few buildings that made up the little town were all boarded up.  “This was a supply town for the uranium mining industry,” said Andy.  “When the market for uranium disappeared because we weren’t building more nuclear power plants, the whole lodge complex closed down.”  But what a gorgeous canyon of red sandstone formations.

White sandstone lines the inside cuts
of the river in White Canyon.

Grass even grew along the road in this open range country.  But there wasn’t a drop of water anywhere.

“It will be interesting to see Lake Powell,” said Andy.  “This feeds Lake Powell, or actually the Colorado River, and the region has become increasingly dry.”

Years ago, when we drove past Lake Powell, a part of it was turning into a big swamp as the lake dried up.

In\ the heart of Lake Powell country,
the bridge crosses the Colorado River.

The clouds dissipated as we swung northwest into White Canyon.  A stiff breeze had come up from the southwest, and temperatures warmed into the 70’s.  This is open range, but we didn’t see any signs of cows.  White Canyon, lined with blazing red sandstone cliffs above the horizon and white sandstone edges where the intermittent stream had cut down many years ago in wetter times, offered spectacular morning scenic shots: blue sky, white clouds, red bluffs, green sage, dark shadows and yellow snakeweed.  It was a panorama of color.
The road at a ten percent grade took us down to the lake.  Hite Recreation Area is the farthest north spot on Lake Powell.  “This was one of the last areas in the United States to be mapped,” said Andy. But there wasn’t a sign of life.

Hite Center was deserted: no ranger, several moth-balled boats, not a stitch of water anywhere near the boat launching area.  Even the new lower launch was totally dry.  The Hite Center was abandoned and not usable.

From the top of the mesa overlooking the Colorado River,
we could see the Henry Mountains in the distance.

“The issue is a struggle over usage,” said Andy.  “From what I’ve read, there is enough water for people but not enough for all farming.  People here are so accustomed to cheap water rates, and now the water companies are setting the rate without government subsidies.  It’s a brutal wake-up call for some.”

Lake Powell is the first to receive the Colorado snow melt, so there is more control of level here, but with snowfall down in recent years, more of the water has been funneled into Lake Mead instead.
Dirty Devil River still empties muddy into the nearby Colorado.  The area it drains was mostly dry.  Tamarisk trees lined the edges and only a trickle flowed in the deepest channel.  We passed four or five restroom buildings, all in the middle of nowhere.  Each one probably marked the site of a campground on the shores of what was Lake Powell many years ago.

Parked at the top of the mesa near the bridge, we could see
the Colorado River near the mouth of the Dirty Devil River

The lake was named for Civil War veteran John Wesley Powell, who led the first scientific exploration here in 1869.  He navigated Cataract Canyon in rafts and camped near the mouth of the Dirty Devil River, disproving stories of whirlpools and waterfalls that swallowed people whole.

To our north and west the Henry Mountains were topped with heavy clouds.  “It’s raining up there,” said Andy, as we turned onto Route #276.  “We might get a shower this evening.”

We checked the ferry schedule for Bullfrog to Halls Crossing.  Today was the last day of daily operation for the season, but there just wasn’t enough time to go over and still catch a boat back.  No cruise on the lake, but it still looked like rain in the distance.
As we drove along Route #276 toward Bullfrog, at least 20 trucks pulling boats passed us going the other direction.  “I’d say they are going home for the season,” said Andy.  It made sense.  Daily ferry service was ending, school had started and the Henry Mountains were buried in storm clouds.  Winter was coming.  But just across the road and looking south, Mount Holmes (almost 8,000n feet) and behind it Mount Ellsworth (8235 feet) were bathed in sunlight. 
More trucks passed, pulling boats.  With more of the launches on Lake Powell closed, Bullfrog and Halls Crossing must now be the focal points for summer activity.
The five distinct peaks of the Henry Mountains were among the last important ranges in the continental United States to be named.  When Major John Wesley Powell saw them in 1869, during his exploration of the Green and Colorado Rivers, the Henry Mountains did not appear on any official map.  First Powell named them Unknown Mountains, but later he changed it to Henry Mountains for Professor Joseph Henry, who was Secretary of the Smithsonian at that time.  The peaks are Mt. Ellen (11,615 feet), Mt. Pennell (11,371 feet), Mt. Hillers (10,723 feet), Mt. Ellsworth (8,235 feet) and Mt. Holmes (7,930 feet).  All five peaks are laccoliths, mountains formed when magma pushes overlying sedimentary rock up into a dome.

Stops along the Burr Trail offer
spectacular views of Utah back country.

A threatening sky keeps us from following the Burr Trail
beyond the paved portions.

At 2 p.m. we set out to fulfill an item on Andy’s bucket list: driving the 67.4 miles of Burr Trail.  “We’ve done some of it,” he insisted, but the 17 miles of dirt posed a problem if it had been raining in the Henry Mountains. We headed down the paved portion, a little wary about the clay stretches ahead.  The ranger warned us not to cross the first dry wash at 5.1 miles if the wash looked wet at all.  Otherwise, the road was drivable, he thought.  A depth gauge, installed just last month, would give us fair warning.

The Burr Trail features
spectacular color and solitude.

As it turned out, the dry wash truly was dry, even though clouds shrouded the Henry Mountains in the distance.One vehicle, lots of photo stops, and 19.7 miles later, we reached the unpaved portion and turned around to head back.  “I’ll think about it overnight,” said Andy.  “The last thing I want is to get stuck.  The road is clay, so they aren’t kidding when they say impassable when it gets wet.”  We had seen some spectacular scenery in the backcountry.  The sun came out full as we headed back toward Lake Powell.
At the 4.7-mile mark on the other side of the dry wash, we looked for a parking area and the Pedestal Valley Trail.  I read the short blurb in the park bulletin.  “Let’s try it,” said Andy.  “We can always come back if it gets too hard.”
The trail, marked only with occasional rock cairns, followed a dry gully inland towards the first steep ridge.  Watching carefully for signs of the trail and keeping an eye out for snakes, we made our way toward the first small pedestal, about a half hour in.  A few more pedestals later, Andy said, “I can’t see any more markers.”  He went on ahead a short distance to look.
“That’s enough,” I called back, looking at the sky.  The dark clouds were piling in closer. Mentally, I was already trying to figure out how to protect my phone and the camera, but I didn’t need to worry.  We made it.

As we headed back along the Burr Trail,
the sky became increasingly threatening.

“Thank goodness we didn’t have to get across the dry wash,” said Andy.  We didn’t have to worry about that either.

We rush back from our hike along the
Pedestal Valley Trail because of storm threats,
even though the sky behind us looks clear.

                           
                           
                        Proud of our strenuous accomplishment, we headed to dinner at the Anasazi Restaurant near the National Park Lake Powell Defiance Lodge.  It wouldn’t be part of my story, except that while we were eating pizza dinner, the storm moved in.  It came suddenly with huge, strong gusts of wind, lightening strikes down to the lake and crashes of thunder.  All the padded furniture outside our window seats blew the entire length of the open air porch.  At least 20 cushions, carried off in the hurricane-force wind, spiraled away far down the steep valley… spinning and twirling in the wind.  Waiters rushed out to save what was left.  The wicker furniture broke through the trellis porch; one or two chairs were carried away as we watched helplessly from inside.  Sirens wailed as boats on Lake Powell tossed wildly.  One waitress joked, “I’m so sorry I can’t offer you outdoor seating this evening.”  And then it poured.  Ten minutes later, it was all over.  And we could say we had truly seen a desert storm.