Visiting Gandalf in Grafton

I had a relatively short list of things that I wanted to do while out West this past winter vacation. One of the things was to spend the day with each of my siblings. The other was to go exploring Southern Utah. I had picked up a copy of one of the Lonely Planet guides on the region, hoping to get some ideas of fun and easy day trips to areas that I hadn't already explored on previous visits. An entry about the ghost town of Grafton caught my eye. Brother J agreed to go with accompany me on what we called a "shooting trip," and so on New Year's Day we set forth. (Note: Clarify your definition of "shooting" before you set out. You'll understand why this is significant in a later post.)

It was a beautiful day for a trip; sunny, warm for this Easterner, but cold enough to require layers. It had snowed in the higher elevations, so it was good to be prepared with layers and boots. J, though, in his inestimable fashion sense, had on his habitual flipflops, cargo shorts, and fleece. Note: Hiking + flipflops + unknown ground conditions = not generally a good idea.

J knew where he was going, so he drove Mom and Dad's car. This was great; I got to shoot pictures out the window. I call it my guerrilla style photographic technique.

There were NO "falling rock" signs that I saw. You just assume it is going to happen in this part of the West. This "little" guy wasn't too far off the road.

See?! It does snow in southern Utah.

We're not far from Zion National Park, and the mountains begin to take on some lovely shapes even that far away.

J had warned me that the roads were probably going to get a little rough out toward Grafton. Once we crossed the bridge in Rockville, this was especially true. What we both didn't expect was this bit of forewarning ...

(Well, that's welcoming!)

Or for the private road to be completely rutted, muddy, slick, and impassable in the car we were driving. We parked the car near the sign, and decided to see how far we could get on foot.

We got about a quarter of a mile or so down the road, slipping and slurping in the mud, laughing, and making much in the way of noise. Suddenly, we could hear barking from a ways away. We could hear the dog long before we could see him, and even then we weren't sure if he was fenced or chained in. We kept going, until we realized the dog wasn't behind a fence line, the barking was getting louder, and the dog was actually headed toward us at a good clip. We turned around and headed back to the car. J armed himself with a rock, just in case.

Incoming patrol ...

The dog turned out to be as friendly as could be. He carried his own stick, didn't bark, growl, or jump. J and I basically had decided to keep heading back to the car, and the dog continued to oh, so casually, but purposefully, herd us back up the road. We ended up calling him Gandalf the Grey, our very own animal guide. In that part of the West, you take your guides where you can. We figured that if we were at least smart enough NOT to drive down the road and get stuck, we should not ignore these promptings, no matter what form they came in. Gandalf was definitely a flesh and blood dog, but he does live by a ghost town. Who knows? There are more things in earth and heaven ...

J borrowed my camera to prove that I actually was there. In the light you can see how deep the tire grooves were. (And that's the sun on my hair, not grey, thankyouverymuch ... though I do have a streak on that side.)


Duty done, Gandalf headed back down the road to check on the car from Tennessee that passed us as we were attempting to brush and scrape a layer of mud and clay off our clothes and shoes. (If we had gotten mud on Mom's car, we'd never have heard the end of it.) Hopefully the Tennessee folks had 4-wheel drive, though we did hear them spin their wheels a time or two. Maybe we should have tried to wave them down and warn them about the dips and hills down the road? Nah ... Gandalf had it under control.


(We still aren't sure why the condition of the unpaved dirt road changed so dramatically. You can see it change right by Gandalf.)

J's lovely legs and feet.

People pay a lot of money for similar mud treatments.

Since going to Grafton was a big old bust, we headed north to Zion and its gorgeous views.
Here's a sampling. Remember, higher elevations = more snow.


We'll have to try a trip to Grafton on another trip, maybe in the spring or fall. Maybe we'll run into Gandalf again, or stop by his ranch and say hey to his people. In the meantime, J's going to check on the location of a few other ghost towns in the area that he's heard about from his colleagues.