TRIP #5, 2014--Rain, Rain, Go Away

Rain, Rain, Go Away
"It's raining lightly, so what are we going to do?" moaned an older couple in the motel breakfast room.
"But the sun is breaking through the cloud layer in the East, and it's only 9:15 a.m.," I told them, as I returned our room key.  "It's supposed to burn off by noon."
We headed toward Gorham in a roundabout way.

As clouds shroud the valley, the ducks
at Willey Pond follow us across the bridge
to the far side, hoping for a handout.

At Willey Pond, 1340 feet, the ducks followed us for a handout. A line of low clouds dribbled on the valley in a cold mist as we crossed the foot bridge. Webster Cliffs, over 3800 feet, were nearly shrouded in fog at 10:00 a.m., and the summit of  Mount Willey, over 4,300 feet, only peaked through the damp mist.

The hillside at Silver Cascades shows
early signs of fall foliage color.

By the time we drove down the road to Flume and Silver Cascades, it was sprinkling again.  We waited 20 minutes, watching the heavy trucks struggle up the gorge road, and then made a run across the street to see Silver Cascades. Just up the hill, the Flume Cascades dribbled down the cliff face in a steady stream.  "I'll bet this waterfall is gorgeous in the spring," said Andy.
At the top of the hill by the Appalachian Trail Club's Highland Lodge, we spotted a patch of blue sky, the drips stopped and one ray of sun promised clearing.  "Through hikers have about a month left to make it to Mount Katahdin," said Andy, and the manager at the Crawford Notch Railroad Depot told us the high for tomorrow would only be in the 50's.

Mount Washington Hotel Resort holds a
place of honor at the base of the mountain.

Nestled against the foot of Mount Washington, the legendary Mount Washington Hotel Resort at Bretton Woods looked like a Cinderella castle.  Even though the rain had stopped, a thin cloud layer outlined the red turreted roof.  A few golfers discussed their shots on an outlying green, but an imposing guard house discouraged us from driving in and trying to walk the grounds.  I guess that's reserved for the rich and famous.

Activity at the Mount Washington Cog
Railway increases as tour buses pull in and
locomotives gear up for the morning runs.

The Mount Washington Cog Railway is a relic of times gone by.  Built in 1869 as a coal driven steam locomotive running on a cog rail track up the steep slope, the railroad has survived to modern times and continues to draw crowds of tourists.  A bus load pulled in as we parked.  "I don't think they will see much today," said Andy, even though we noticed a few patches of blue sky.
"And I hope they take coats," I added, remembering the newscast had promised a high of 37 degrees at the summit.

The business office is ready for action.

This isn't exactly the bear
Sue had in mind, but it will do.

In the museum we shook our heads about one display.  A wooden sled on a cog track could slide a single man down the track for 3.25 miles in three minutes.  It had a hand brake which must have been laughable at that speed.  We imagined the Olympic toboggan or bobsled run, but this contraption had no sides on the sled or the cog track.

The Cog Railway retains some coal driven
engines, even though others have been
replaced by more eco-friendly locomotives.  

I snapped a picture of the original office desk and old Smith typewriter.  It looked just like one my father used for many years in his accounting business.  He composed nightly letters to me in college as well, detailing the accomplishments of the day and even what he had for dinner.   Like father, like daughter, I guess!

Ripley Falls is a half mile
hike into the backcountry.

Ripley Falls Trail climbed .6 mile to a hidden waterfall.  The sheets tumbled and spread across a sheer granite face.  We trekked in, avoiding puddles and scrambling over rocks.  Just as the trail turned left and descended over a huge jumble of boulders at the base of Ripley Falls, the sun broke through.  Several chipmunks scurried from under one boulder to another, avoiding our company.  "That was a good choice," complimented Andy.  "Drew and I never saw Ripley Falls.  When we came down the other branch of that trail from Zealand Hut, it poured for 7.4 miles and never let up."  Andy and I were a lot luckier today.

Andy tells me this is a freight line.

We headed north to Pinkham Notch.  Instead of clearing as the patches of blue sky had hinted, the clouds descended.  Mount Washington was shrouded in misty, grey cloud-cotton.  Totally overcast, many of the other peaks poked in and out of the undulating mass.  Every so often a bank shifted and a brighter spot developed and then disappeared.
By 2:45 p.m., we pretty much gave up on any further hiking.

Hidden in the wilderness from a trail off
an unimproved road, Triple Falls is a
little gem of nature.

"It's 32 degrees at the summit," reported the ticket salesman at the Mount Washington Auto Road office. "But it's fog covered up there, so you won't see anything."  We hadn't intended to drive it anyway.  But we browsed in the gift shop, chatted with some people from Pennsylvania and watched a couple cars start through the main gate.
After we had checked into our motel in Gorham, the showers ended and a rainbow arched across the sky.  We set out to find a moose.  Pinkham B, an unimproved summer passage, took us past the trail to Triple Falls.  A short .15-mile climb over thousands of tangled roots followed a tumbling brook to a hidden gorge with three small waterfalls.  Moss covered everything and the huge trees tossed on the sides of the brook were a testament to the powerful forces of water in other seasons.  By the time we got back to the car and followed Pinkham B to Route 16, there were more patches of blue sky.  "This is the clearest it has been all day," said Andy.
But the summit of Mount Washington was still hidden in fog.  And no bears or moose were to be found!

TRIP #5, 2014--Brake for Moose

Brake for Moose
A cold, grey mist clung to the tree tops this morning as we headed east. "This is like many mornings when Drew and I hike the Appalachian Trail in New England," said Andy. We cruised along through the chilly dampness.
The little town of Mascoma, New Hampshire, celebrated the coming of autumn with scarecrows.  All the businesses and many residents mounted the eclectic creations garbed in clothes that were apropos to the location: motorcycle rider scarecrow at the local garage, aproned scarecrow at the pizza parlor, bride and groom scarecrows at the church.
By 9:00 a.m. in Canaan when we turned north on Route 118, the sun broke through and the fog lifted immediately.

Like a picture window, the timbers of the overlook frame
the White Mountains on this gorgeous September day.

From Lincoln, New Hampshire, we crossed the White Mountain National Forest on Route #112, the Kancamagus Highway.  Signs read, "Save your life. Brake for moose."
"Might we see one or is it hunting season?" I asked Andy.  I decided to watch anyway. Here and there along the road trees tinged yellow and crimson where the sun hit directly, but slopes retained the green.  Only north-facing areas showed evidence of fall approaching with occasional dots of red and brown.  We stopped at Hitchcock Trailhead pullout to enjoy the view.
Pemigewasset Overlook at 2,855 feet offered a beautiful panoramic spectacle, but the chill drove us back to the car.
C.L. Graham Wangan Grounds looked east into the sun.  From here we could see more red color dotting the northern slopes of the White Mountains.  We descended a couple hundred feet to Sugar Hill Overlook, and the temperatures rose into the 60's.  New Hampshire has the right idea.  Here posted signs warn visitors against graffiti but the protective shelter and benches were already carved and disfigured.

Near the Homestead, the Swift River
provides a steady source of water.

At the Russell-Colbath Homestead, we took the Interpretive Trail for half a mile through white pine forest to the Swift River and back.  Signs explained that England harvested 200-foot white pines for masts for the king's ships.  The last one was taken in 1849.  Very valuable, the trees had to be at least 24 inches in diameter at the base and without branches in the first 80 feet.  Heavy fines were levied against anyone damaging trees marked with an arrow for the king.  The felled masts were hauled out over frozen ground in the winter by teams of 88 oxen.In 1901, settlers started calling for some protections of the forest.  So between 1906 and 1916, the Conway Lumber Company owners, all from out of state, cleared every available slope before protections against clear cutting could be passed by the state of New Hampshire and the federal government.
Luckily for us, the Russell-Colbath Homestead was open for visitors and manned by a guide in pioneer garb.  She was just heading for the wood shed to replenish the fire when we arrived.  The house, built in 1832, has no insulation and only one central fireplace in the kitchen. Five daughters hauled feather beds from their upstairs loft to sleep on the white pine floor and stone hearth in the winter when temperatures reached minus 30 degrees.  The house offered a glimpse into life on a homestead and provided a sense of the struggle for survival and settlement in a remote mountain valley.  Here, hunting and trapping provided food and clothing for families and income for homesteaders.  Selling and trading furs was common practice in the primitive backcountry.Thomas Russell bought five 100-acre lots for a total of $5.25 in 1831.  He built the house on lot #13 and sold the house and lot to his son Amzi in 1832.  Amzi married Eliza Morse George in 1834 and they moved into the house and raised five daughters, all subsisting on meager garden crops, wild game and fruits from field, forest and stream.  A sawmill and store on the property also provided a moderate income.

Plank floor and fire in the fireplace make the kitchen cozy and warm.

In 1887, Eliza Russell deeded the property to daughter Ruth Priscilla and her husband Thomas Alden Colbath.  Three years later Ruth had the front door altered to give out mail and was named Passaconaway's first postmistress.  She held the position for 16 years.  The guide demonstrated by lifting up a small door within the door where Ruth Priscilla passed out the mail.
In 1891, Thomas Colbath left the house, saying he would be back "in a little while."  Ruth Priscilla never saw him again.  For 39 years she kept a light in the window, but Thomas never returned until 1933, three years after Ruth Priscilla died.  By then the estate had been divided among the four living cousins.  Tom just wandered away again.
In 1961, the property was purchased by the USDA Forest Service, and in 1987, it was accepted in the National Register of Historic Places, "embodying local and regional significance not found in other places or structures."
Next to the cemetery an elderly park worker painted a sign post.  The area was well maintained and nearly 200 years old.

At Rocky Gorge the Swift River tumbles between walls
of granite as it heads downward into the valley.

When we arrived at Rocky Gorge about noon, visitors clambered over the granite boulders of Swift River.  Probably a madhouse in the summer, the area cleared so we could photograph the bridge sans pedestrians.
A one-mile loop trail encircled Fall's Pond.  Up and down it wound through the pine woods, over tree roots and around rocks.  "This is a pretty good workout," said Andy.  Puffing, I managed to keep up with him.  I even spotted a couple trillium growing near the path.
We parked near Albany Covered Bridge, built in 1869 and rebuilt in 1970.  The most scenic shots were from rocks in the river.  I didn't fall in!

Albany Covered Bridge connects the nearby town
with the outside world.

"Let's take the longer trail," suggested Andy, looking at the interpretive sign.  It was only .2 mile, sloping gently uphill through the woods to the junction, then 1.3 miles of up and down climbing on the Boulders Trail to reach the Ledges."We're almost there," called Andy after an hour.  "I can see light coming straight down from up above."
"Well, if you're almost there, then I must be almost almost there," I panted and puffed, climbing 30 feet below him.
But the view from the top was spectacular.  A French-speaking family urged us to follow the trail another 100 yards to the end for more views of the White Mountains.  "Those peaks are Maine," said Andy, when we reached the far end of the ridge.

Views from the Ledges are spectacular from every angle.

A lone woman rested with two small dogs at another overlook.  "It took me two full hours to get up here," she said.  "I had to carry the Chihuahua."
Coming down the other side was easier on the lungs but much harder on the knees.  The slope never let up.  "I think it's shorter than the 1.3 miles going up," said Andy, "but we never would have made it to the top going this way."  He was probably right.

From the top of the Boulder Trail
New Hampshire is God's country.

Poor Little Red!  As the sun slipped closer and closer to the peaks of the White Mountains west of us, Andy decided to drive up Hurricane Ridge Road.  Hoping to find a sunset view from the top, he wound his way uphill about five miles on a one-lane road.  Safe inside Little Red, I wished for a bear or a moose. I thought of the signs we had seen more than once along the road:  Brake for Moose.  I was ready, but no such luck!

TRIP #5, 2014--Back on the Road

Back on the Road
"You are the only one I'm waiting for," called out Andy from the bottom of the stairs. "Everyone else is ready to go!"
And I was ready too.
It was time to hit the road again. This time we would pick up five New England states, even though Andy had traveled through four of them while hiking with Drew in July on their quest to tally Appalachian Trail miles on foot.  Retirement Trip #5 would bring our jointly traveled total of revisited states to 47.
"I don't know if we'll ever get back to North Dakota," mused Andy, as we drove in and out of early Sunday morning traffic on the Wilbur Cross Parkway, heading toward Hartford. "Hawaii?  Well, there's a better chance for that than Alaska."
But to me it didn't matter.
With the sun warming my right shoulder and a crisp fall breeze nudging the tree tops, life on the road felt good. In Little Red, our almost 20-year old Saturn, we cruised along with a month of adventures ahead of us.
"I think Vermont is the most unspoiled state of all the 50 states. No buts about it--the state least spoiled," said Andy.

Known for its covered bridges, Vermont even features bridges
that lead to private companies. 

We turned onto Route 44A, heading toward Woodstock. "But you'd never retire here. It's number 50 for taxes and retirement potential," he continued.  We drove past a covered bridge on Route 106. "It's a long winter too," he added.

Maisey is remembered.

Outside fall was in the air as a crisp breeze ruffled the grass around the bridge. "The trees are just starting to turn," said Andy.  Here we were three hours from home, three states away and probably three weeks closer to winter. A brook gurgled under the covered bridge, and nearby a monument marked the burial site of Maisey the Moose. Three hours from home, and we were in a different world.
Our first excursion of Retirement Trip #5 was the Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historical Park, the oldest national park in Vermont, one of the nation's first programs of scientific forest management, and the only national park to tell the story of conservation history and the evolving nature of land stewardship in America.

The Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller house and gardens offer a
peaceful retreat on a cool September day.

A tour of the house, built between 1805 and 1807 for Charles Marsh Sr., the father of George Perkins Marsh, revealed a hodgepodge of memorabilia.  There was obviously no planning as far as decorating was concerned. For two generations the owners kept the 1800's Queen Anne style architecture, furnishings and gardens intact while adding 20th century renovations. The guide pointed out paintings by Thomas Cole and Albert Bierstadt, American landscapes that are part of an extensive collection. She also explained a little of the history that connected George Perkins Marsh (1801-1882) to Frederick Billings (1823-1890) and Laurance S. Rockefeller.  Marsh, a keen observer and American diplomat in Italy, penned "the actions of humans brought the earth to a desolation almost as complete as that of the moon."  He wrote Man and Nature in 1864, a careful analysis of the human impact on nature and a plea for responsible stewardship that became a founding text of the environmental movement.

This Vermont carriage trail
reminds walkers of the
poetry of Robert Frost.

Billings, a Vermont native who had made his fortune as an attorney in San Francisco during the Gold Rush, purchased the Marsh family farm in 1869. He was devastated by the barren hills and silted river, the site of land denuded of trees and destroyed by erosion and flooding. He set out to build a model farm based on wise land stewardship. When he died in 1890, his wife Julia and three daughters--Elizabeth, Mary and Laura--continued the vision.  When Mary's daughter Mary French wed Laurance S. Rockefeller in 1934, it brought together two families with a strong commitment to conservation."No photography in the house," ordered the guide, but the gardens were another story. Andy and I wandered in and out along compact flower beds and hiked about a mile along one of the carriage trails that crisscross Mount Tom. White pine, Norway spruce, hemlock and red oaks towered overhead... some more than 150 feet tall. 

Imagine driving home through Taftswell Covered Bridge
each day!

"About 80 percent of the forested land of Vermont is once again wooded," said the guide. Thank goodness for caring and observant citizens like Marsh, Billings and Rockefeller. Although the trees have not reached the 200-foot heights of pre-Revolutionary War America, they grow tall and, with scientific management, stand proud.


In the late afternoon light,
Quechee Gorge is hidden
in shadows.

"Woodstock is a classy town," said Andy, as we drove along the tree-lined streets. "I only know one person who ever stayed at the Woodstock Inn. That was in 1971, and then the rooms were more than $200 a night."  We walked through the elegant old lodging with its garden spa and library. Everything was decorated with distinguished good taste.The rest of the town spread out from a spacious green. Little shops lined the side streets. We watched one shop owner tend the flowers just outside her store and pick up a blowing tissue.  "You wouldn't see that too often," said Andy.Tidy and neat, Woodstock shows that citizens take pride in their community.  We purchased a muffin to share and two coffees at a local shop. It was pleasant to sit at the wrought iron tables outside and watch the shoppers across the street. In spite of the chilly 59-degree temperatures, a bright sun overhead and the colorful hanging baskets of petunias warmed the atmosphere.

Dewey's Pond reflects the white pine
trees along its edge as the sun sinks lower.

Taftswell Covered Bridge in Vermont, from 1836 but rebuilt in 2003, attracted tourists who crossed and slowly re-crossed in their vehicles. The bright red-painted wood contrasted sharply with blue sky and dark pines. "Don't stop in the middle of the street," called out a biker to a motorist, when he pedaled by.
As the sun dipped behind the ridges outside of Woodstock, Quechee Gorge nestled in the shadows. We parked at the Quechee Gorge Gift Shop and Snack Bar and strolled back and forth across the highway bridge, admiring the views of the Ottauquechee River far below.  "We never walked upstream when we were here years ago," announced Andy, "so we'll head that way."  Vermont's grand canyon trail, padded with wood chips, offered views of the gorge and a lookout near the dam. Farther along the .9-mile descent, we reached Dewey's Pond, lined with cattails and covered with water lilies. A small group of young adults practiced yoga stretches on a grassy rise, as two or three older couples admired the reflection of bank-lined white pines in the placid water. The uphill walk back probably challenged one or two of them. We felt good. The Appalachian Trail goes right down the main street in Hanover, New Hampshire, through the center of town skirting Dartmouth's campus. We had dinner at Molly's, while a huge college crowd lined up outside. "How many places can you say you had a beer on the Appalachian Trail?" joked Andy. And there would be even fewer places along the Trail that offer Thai pizza with garlic, chives, broccoli, chicken and sweet Thai chili!

More Travels 4--Ending on High Note

Ending on High Note

"It goes to 30 degrees below zero here in the winter," said Andy, as we got in the car in Richfield, Utah, this morning.  The desk clerk had told him that they had one day last winter that never went above four degrees below zero. "What I didn't know in planning this trip was that October is one of the biggest tourist months for Utah."

Clouds move out as we head east.

Interstate 70 winds between
mountain ranges.

As we headed east at 9:30 a.m., the clouds parted. The sun drew water in radiating rays over the mountains. "Those are the mountains of the Fish Lake National Forest," said Andy. "There are a lot of peaks over 11,500 feet in there but no ski areas. Imagine the snow!" Yesterday we had snow over the 9,500 foot elevation level.
Outside of Salina, Utah, a sign said, "No bull, no gas next 110 miles." We stopped to fill up--just in case. We didn't need much; good thing, since their gas was 35 cents more a gallon. Actually, Andy just wanted to wash the windshield.

Mountains in the distance that reach more than 11,000 feet
are already snow covered by mid-October.

 Interstate #70 winds between mountains with the summit pass at 7,886 feet. Skirting expansive ranches on each side, the road offers glimpses of peak upon peak in the distance. Utah jumper and red cedar blanketed the slopes with swaths of brilliant yellow aspen and brown oak quivering in the five-to-ten m.p.h. breeze. Tan sandstone outcroppings capped some higher peaks and encircled many lower ones. At times a creek bed followed the highway. Next to it on the adjoining dirt road we noticed Black Angus cows grazing placidly. It was 37 degrees when I hopped out in shirt sleeves to take pictures.
Then suddenly everything changed. On top of the plateau, sage dominated. It was just as cold--43 degrees--but the trees disappeared and rolling black hills and clay riddled badlands slopes took the place of the sandstone.

The highway cuts through the 400-foot
high San Rafael Reef.

Puffy cumulus clouds enveloped the peaks, as we turned around and drove back an exit for pictures and to leisurely enjoy the scenery. Out here one exit was 18 miles one way. By the time we drove back those 18 miles, the cumulus clouds had turned dark underneath and dropped down. "Do you think that's snow?" I asked Andy.
"Yeh," he answered. "Up there they could easily carry snow."

Clouds clear near Miller's Canyon.

As he pulled off the exit at Miller's Canyon for more photographs, he said, "Everywhere you look there's a picture." The dirt road offered no services, but the scenery was amazing.
"This is one gorgeous drive," said Andy. He pulled off into a Rest Area at San Rafael Swell. Navajos sold jewelry and pottery spread out on the ground around the parking lot.
"The pottery looked like the mass produced variety," said Andy, "and you don't need any more jewelry."
"But need and want are two different things," I told him.
He won. I took pictures. 

The pullout at Black Canyon, part of the San Rafael Reef,
includes spectacular views of the canyon walls.

This large geologic anticline is located between Castle Dale, Green River, Price and Hanksville. It began its formation 50 million years ago. Over time the sandstone has slowly been lifted, and through erosion many cliffs and canyons have been carved. Enormous pressures from a deep basement fault have pushed Wingate and Navajo sandstone on the Eastern edge, the "San Rafael Reef," near vertical. 
On the other side of the Swell were badlands in pink and red and green and grey. "The mountains suck out every last drop of moisture. This land gets almost nothing," said Andy, "and from the looks of the clouds behind us, the mountains are getting rain or snow right now." Here it was 37 degrees and sunny.
Black Canyon Overlook was higher with even grander views. But here too Navajos spread their wares. "There will be more," said Andy, "and they all look the same."

Skeletons of Utah juniper trees accentuate
the top of the plateau at Black Canyon.

"Not quite so," I thought to myself. I didn't see the hematite necklace I had admired at the last stop.

Spotted Wolfe Canyon cuts into the San
Rafael Swell, part of the 30-mile reef.

Ghost Rock Pullout was empty of visitors. We photographed the landscape, but the rock itself had been vandalized with graffiti. It's such a shame that people have such needs to leave their marks. And it IS different from the ancient petroglyphs and pictographs. They took time and creative imagination; they are art.

After turning around on the highway
in order to see the scenery, we view Spotted
Wolfe Canyon from both directions.

From the highway the views of the
San Rafael Reef are magnificent.

Spotted Wolf Canyon  Overlook was already a couple miles descent, but the scenic pullout was still incredibly beautiful. I read that construction workers dangled 400 feet down from the top to build this roadway through San Rafael Reef. It was only two lanes wide. It wasn't widened to four lanes until the mid-1980's.

Black Dragon Canyon blooms with
yellow flowers in the mid-October cold.

Black Dragon Canyon on the other side of the road gave us a totally different perspective from Black Canyon. We turned around in a crossover that was not marked "no U-turn" to drive back up the six-mile climb. We had the time, and it was THAT beautiful. "I can see this as another trip," said Andy, "with time to hike and explore. And this is the land nobody wanted!"

Sandstone is lifted in almost vertical layers
at Black Dragon Canyon.

Off to our right, a cloud touched the ground. "I imagine it's raining over there," said Andy.
Temple Mountain Road was our first safe and legal opportunity to head back the other direction. From the sandstone formation, I could see why it was named Temple Mountain.
By 3:01 p.m. we were back in Colorado. "It's still cold," said Andy. The air temperature was 55 degrees.

Leaving the San Rafael Reef, the
skies clear over the plateau.

We returned the car to Budget at the Grand Junction Airport as agreed and walked back to the motel. Never did 30 days go by so quickly. But maybe we won't wait a whole year for our next "Retirement Trip."

Heading Back Home

A record low was tied today at 30 degrees in Grand Junction as we packed up our belongings and left for the airport.
It would be a long flight, but it had been a great trip.

More Travels 4--Winter!!

Western Winter Weather

The state of Utah opens Kolob Canyon,
a part of Zion National Park.
 

The government officials still aren’t talking. “I think the extension on the National Debt runs out on Thursday, and today is the deadline to get anything done,” said Andy. The extent of the shutdown was confirmed as we drove east. All the pull-offs in the Virgin River Gorge, maintained by the Bureau of Land Management, were cordoned off. “They’ve had time now to close off everything,” commented Andy, when we parked at the top of an exit ramp to take pictures.

Views in Kolob Canyon are breathtaking.

We stopped in Mesquite and St. George for visitor information, but it was more for a break from driving. “No snow on these mountains,” said Andy, as we left St. George. The car thermometer read 70 degrees.

Trees change in the mid-October cold.

But by the time we reached Kolob Canyon, it was cold—51 degrees to be exact. Utah had opened the national parks in the hopes the federal government would reimburse the state, so this part of Zion National Park welcomed visitors.

Yellow flowers add color to the
already colorful canyon.

The five-mile drive along the canyon was bathed in color—red sandstone, yellow scrub oak, green Utah juniper and cedar, grey sagebrush, and yellow, red and white wild flowers.

The deeper in we drive, the higher
the stone walls rise up.

We have a 360-degree view
near the end of Overlook Trail.

If Kolob is the rainbow, the Overlook Trail at the end of the drive is the pot of gold. A half-mile, one-way trail led out to a point with a 360-degree view. Accented with sandstone slabs and boulders, the well-maintained path climbed up along the ridge top about 150 feet.

Clouds hug the tops of the sandstone peaks.

But the views were worth the effort it took at nearly 7,000 feet above sea level. Everyone we met thought so. I took pictures in every direction.

Andy waits patiently while I adjust camera
settings for bright light and high altitude.

“It’s two-and-a-half hours to our motel in Richfield, Utah,” said Andy, getting back into the car after our last photo stop, “but the Ranger said Cedar Breaks is open. October is a huge vacation month for the parks in Utah, so the Utah State Legislature is funding the parks for ten days.”
I hopped in and buckled up. “So we stop in Cedar Breaks for another hike?” I asked.

Utah opens Cedar Breaks National Monument
 in spite of last week's snowfall. 

Near the 10,000-foot elevation, snow
covers the landscape.

“Yup, but only for the pull-offs. We won’t have time to hike,” he said, and we were off.
From the road into Cedar Breaks, we could see snow on the mountains in the distance. “And that’s not just a little on the peak,” said Andy.
On the top of Webster Flat the ground was covered. Here winter had set in already. The aspen quivering with brilliant color down below stood as naked sticks at the higher elevations. It was 41 degrees, and we were dressed in shorts.


At Point Supreme even the hot sun doesn't melt the snow.

“You’ll really get snow now,” said Andy, turning left toward Cedar Breaks. We continued to climb, and the temperature dropped to 36 degrees. My camera lens fogged up at Spectra Point, 10,285 feet, because of the cold.
Near the Visitor Center at Point Supreme, 10,365 feet, the Park Rangers recorded 25 degrees this morning when Las Vegas was 71. “Today would have been their last day of the season,” said Andy, “if this had been a regular season. Since it’s extended now, they are open until Sunday.”

Sunset View from the Visitor Center Overlook lives
up to its name in the late afternoon.

Sunset View from the Visitor Center Overlook offered absolutely perfect shadows at 4:30 p.m.
Chessman Ridge Overlook, at 10,467 feet, was 36 degrees. Andy said, “I’m not cold, but I can really feel the elevation.”
My legs were numb. Snow blanketed the ground around the Douglas fir trees. Winter had already come to the high country of Utah.
North View, at 10,435 feet, had ice coating the path in spite of the blinding sun going down. “It’s even more beautiful in the winter,” said Andy. “The snow on that red sandstone. WOW!”

We freeze at the rugged crest of Chessman Ridge Overlook.

We didn’t try the dirt road to Brian Head. It was icy and muddy, but the main road was open all the way down.

From North View we see the snow and
ice covering on the landscape.

Clouds hang over the lower elevations
as we head down from the
mountains toward Richfield, Utah.

We followed I-#15 to Richfield, Utah, through spectacular rural countryside between the mountains. Three major mountain peaks rose on our right: Mount Belknap, 12,119-feet; Delano Peak, 12,169; and Mount Hawley, 11,999 feet. We also passed Signal Peak, 11,223 feet, which looked red in the fading daylight.
Andy stopped for photos, but I leaned out the car window to take more. The speed limit was 80 m.p.h. We made it to Richfield before total darkness.

More Travels 4--Vegas and Finale

Vegas and Vacation Finale

It’s another beautiful day in the Nevada desert with temperatures in the mid-70’s by 11:00 a.m.
We had breakfast at Palace Station and then headed downtown. People checked out, waited in line for coffee-to-go, dragged their suitcases across the cobble foyer and generally prepared to depart, even on a holiday weekend. A few sat numbly in front of slot machines.  “I never could understand how so many can look so blank so early in the morning,” said Andy. “Do they just play all night until the lose all of their money?”
We got taken by surprise at breakfast. Yesterday’s buffet was $4.99 a person with the Players Club card. “You may purchase two breakfasts with your card,” the clerk told Andy. He had read Anthony Curtis’s review that the Palace Station had the best breakfast buffet value in Las Vegas. And it was delicious!  “You can’t eat at Burger King for $#4.99 a person,” said Andy.
But today the price was $8.99 a person. It was Sunday Brunch. Surprise! But we had omelets made to order, prime rib and apple crisp for breakfast. That was WITH the Players Club discount. “I wonder what it costs without the discount,” mused Andy.
“Double up,” I told him. This time I wasn’t kidding. The couple ahead of us had to pay it. I overheard the clerk. “You’re a foursome and the Players Club card is only good for two,” she said. “You can go down to the Cage in the Casino and apply for another card if you want to.”
“No,” said the customer.
“Okay,” she answered. “Then it’s $16.99 a person.”

At Ethel M Chocolate Company a three-acre cactus garden
shows off rare and exotic plants.

Except for the Golden Nugget, downtown was dead. We walked through the mall to Fremont Street, watched a spray paint artist work, stepped in and out of a couple shops, had our parking ticket validated and headed out.
We drove the whole Strip back and forth to downtown. It’s nice to have some stop and go,” said Andy. “That way I get a chance to look around.” At night the traffic is humongous and all the flashing lights; erratic, confused visiting drivers; drunk and inattentive pedestrians; construction sites and disappearing traffic lanes make driving a car challenging and downright dangerous.
Ethel M Chocolate Company, owned by Mars, Inc., has cut back too. Only one line operated and that was a packing line for heart-shaped boxes of solid chocolate Valentine hearts. But it was Sunday. Two girls packed the chocolate pieces of candy, just like Lucy and Ethyl in the classic I Love Lucy sit-com segment.
“Boy, do they have to move fast,” said Andy.
We each chose a nickel-size sample of dark chocolate. No more “pick-any-piece-you-would-like-to-try” sample.

The huge orange flowers of the Prickly Pear cactus
add a splash of color to the desert at Ethel M's gardens.

We walked the gardens. It took ten times longer than the factory tour. I was interested in the different kinds of prickly pear cactus. Many were not labeled, but I saw Mission Cactus, Cow’s Tongue, Rabbit Ears, Beaver Tail and Purple Prickly Pear, as well as Prickly Pear. They all looked somewhat alike. Covering three acres, the garden includes more than 350 rare and exotic plant species, but many plants had no labels. It was just pleasant to walk and browse.  We noticed holiday statues, a Santa sleigh and Christmas lights. The flier invited guests to visit from mid-November through January 1, when the garden is lit with more than half a million lights. “But they close at 6 p.m.,” said Andy. “That’s not much dark time to light up the garden.”

Prickly Pear fruit is used to make jelly.

Our show tickets to Jubilee, the only floor show extravaganza left in Las Vegas, read 10:00 p.m. The advertisement said 10:30 p.m., so we stopped at Bally’s to verify the time. It was our Grand Finale on the Las Vegas Strip.
“I was going to walk the other way down the Strip tonight,” said Andy, when we left Palace Station all dressed up. We browsed in windows at the Cosmopolitan and checked out the art at Aria Hotel and Casino. The shopping mall housed more exclusive stores—Dior, Louis Viton, Cartier—and beautiful beds of live flowers in colorful arrangements.
We stopped at El Diablo for a glass of white wine, two-for-one, but they still charged $10 a glass. They know how to tease! At the bar we met Andy from Brazil. “They call me Andy, but my name is Anderson,” he explained when we introduced ourselves. Andy Anderson spoke fluent English, but his three companions comprehended little. I couldn’t even try out my very limited Spanish. They spoke Portuguese. When Andy Anderson disappeared with his girlfriend, leaving the other couple at the bar with us, we invited the guy to have Andy’s second two-for-one beer and tried to explain in pantomime that we had show tickets at Bally’s. I think they got it!

The show Jubilee at Bally's was a lavish celebration of costumes, dancing and music with scenes from Delilah's Biblical betrayal of Samson, the sinking of the Titanic, the Rockettes chorus line, and the Fred Astaire dance era. Audience members oohed and aahed when a performer juggled huge metal frames and a couple executed gymnastic dancing while hanging from drapes near the ceiling.

The colors, the actions, the scenes, the costumes and head pieces were mesmerizing.

It was an incredible Grand Finale to our four days in Las Vegas.