Grumpa Max (the Mountain Lion) and Drew (the Mountain Goat) apparently take a lot of hikes throughout southern Utah, which is wonderful for them both. I was fortunate? lucky? coerced? into going with them on one of their trips while I visiting -- to a trail called Temple Quarry. I was told it was a relatively easy hike, on not too high a mountain (seriously, it's called the BLACK HILL -- so, not even considered a "mountain" around those parts), with some lovely scenery. I thought things would be fine. The day was beautiful, the weather perfect (light layers, which were shed in the noon-time sun), and the altitude not too bad.
Everything looks to start off well, and then "peace" gets throttled by "wisdom."
What they didn't tell me, and what I discovered for myself, was once you get away from the parking lot, and go around the side of the butte, that the trail narrowed in some spots, with a drastic drop-off. I think both my father and I had forgotten my issues with depth perception, heights, and physical exertion. (It's been a long time since he had to teach me to parallel parking, and he hasn't been with me in NYC for my freakouts in super high skyscrapers.) Umm. Let's just say for much of the hike, I was really REALLY quiet, focused on my feet, and hugging the side of the mountain like you would not believe. I was really trying not to embarrass myself. How ridiculous, right? Shamed by a kid and my father? I'm better on ground level, with the sheer faces of buildings hemming me in than following a hiking track. Then there were the families with small babies, that were being carried like footballs, and the geriatric solo hikers that totally lapped us. (For some reason I was MUCH better on my way back. Giving myself a unprofessional, non-medical diagnosis -- I don't like the drop-off on my left side -- proving once again that my right side, [hand, leg, eye] is my stronger one.)
Once we got to a point where the trail opened up and there was more room between it and the cliff-face, I felt like I could focus more on my surroundings. Such an area of contrasts: red Utah sand, black lava rock from the prehistoric eruptions in the area, desert flora, Drew, Grumpa, etc. Even in the gigantic boulders, you could see the difference in the types of lava flows. If you looked carefully you could see the remains of lava bubbles that exploded when they cooled, or hollows that occurred over the passage of time, where water eroded a rock into a natural basin or throne.
Bringing up the rear again, as we send the most vulnerable out to scout. Survival instinct? Maybe. Impatient goat? Definitely.
Now, I grew up in New England, so when I think quarry, I have visions of the granite quarries in the "mountains" of Vermont - dug/blasted into the sides of and/or into the bowels of the earth. I obviously didn't read the sign when we set out, as I was trying to fix my camera and not freak out and/or fall down. As we kept going around the curves, I kept waiting to see some "dig site." Once we got closer to the "main site," Grumpa started to point out the evidence of the pioneer past; the drill bites into large stones just laying where they were put by nature, or left by man; the clearings where the canteen might have been; the barbed wire fencing remnants; historical graffiti; and other evidence of pioneer fortitude.
That trail that was freaking me out? Used to be traversed regularly, by men, women, children, and mule teams, carting boulders off the hill, and then down to the valley floor. All in the southern Utah desert heat over 140 years ago. All those drill bite? Done manually. All those black rocks? Easily a couple 100 lbs to a ton or more each. That trail? Currently wider in places that it was originally.
Now, I grew up in New England, so when I think quarry, I have visions of the granite quarries in the "mountains" of Vermont - dug/blasted into the sides of and/or into the bowels of the earth. I obviously didn't read the sign when we set out, as I was trying to fix my camera and not freak out and/or fall down. As we kept going around the curves, I kept waiting to see some "dig site." Once we got closer to the "main site," Grumpa started to point out the evidence of the pioneer past; the drill bites into large stones just laying where they were put by nature, or left by man; the clearings where the canteen might have been; the barbed wire fencing remnants; historical graffiti; and other evidence of pioneer fortitude.
That trail that was freaking me out? Used to be traversed regularly, by men, women, children, and mule teams, carting boulders off the hill, and then down to the valley floor. All in the southern Utah desert heat over 140 years ago. All those drill bite? Done manually. All those black rocks? Easily a couple 100 lbs to a ton or more each. That trail? Currently wider in places that it was originally.
Some things you leave alone, as a testament to the power of Mother Nature and the fortitude of man.
Here's some perspective: Can you see the intrepid mountain rock scramblers in the field of stone on the left?
Beyond the impatient goat, off in the mid-distance from his head, nestled down in the valley, is the settlement where the stone from the quarry ended up as the foundation of the most sacred building in town.
Here's some perspective: Can you see the intrepid mountain rock scramblers in the field of stone on the left?
Beyond the impatient goat, off in the mid-distance from his head, nestled down in the valley, is the settlement where the stone from the quarry ended up as the foundation of the most sacred building in town.
There got to be a theme to this vacation - stepping out of my comfort zone. Not only did I get out of the Apple, the Attic, and the rut I was in at work, I ended up doing a lot of things that made me initially uncomfortable. You have to try at least - or you miss things and experiences that broaden your perspective and let you spend important and concentrated periods of time with two of the most important men in your life.
I'm still a Scaredy Cat, but I'll follow the Goat and Lion all over the place. And I have. And I did -- later that week.
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