This photo at mile 68.5 has a special meaning to me.
When I left Alaska in 1986 after three years of working as an executive director of a non-profit focused on health and environmental issues, I took six months off to solo backpack various locations in the West. My first stop was the Grand Canyon, perhaps not the best location to kick off a season of backpacking. Day one was spent hiking down the Tanner Trail from the high peaks on the rim to the scrawny tree on the right. I started with a 70 pound pack, including a generous amount of water. It was a steep, unmaintained, rocky and somewhat dangerous trail of 8-9 miles that dropped 4700 feet with the first source of water being the Colorado River.
Not surprising, I didn’t see another soul along the way and was exhausted when I arrived. I had just enough energy to pump some water, eat a handful of gorp, and throw out my tarp and sleeping bag. I buried my food bag in the sand next to me and crawled into my sleeping bag. That’s when the mouse chose to go dashing across my chest from its home at the base of the tree to my food sack. “Go away Mousey!” I yelled as I dropped into oblivion.
When I woke up in the morning, the first thing I checked was my food bag. Other than helping itself to some peanuts, Mousey hadn’t done much damage. I looked over at the tree to see if I could spot its home. Nope, but I did see something round, grey and skinny on the side of my tarp. “What the” I thought, and then it dawned on me. It was Mousey’s tail! Something had sat on the edge of my tarp and eaten the mouse during the night!
Heading on down the river, we continued our drop through time until we left the layered look of the canyon behind and and entered the dark metamorphic and granitic Vishnu Basement rocks of the inner canyon. That told us that we had passed the billion year mark in the Earth’s history.Just past mile 84, after a long day, we stopped for the night at the Zoroaster camp site. An intense game of bocce ball entertained the troops. There seems to be some question over whose ball was the closest. I think Peggy’s stare was meant to persuade her ball to move closer via telekinesis. Steve seemed to be involved in a similar activity. Either that or he was wringing someone’s neck.Sunset that night provided a dramatic contrast to the dark canyon walls and river. (Photo by Don Green.)Three miles down the river the next morning brought us to the Kaibab Trail bridge that hikers and mules use traveling from the South Rim to Phantom Ranch. Tom had camped us near since one of our rafters, Nancy Pape, would be leaving us to hike up to the South Rim, and another, Jonas Minton, would be hiking down to join us.Phantom Ranch welcomed Bone…And Don.Hamburgers and TV news occupied us while we waited for Jonas to arrive from his hike down the South Rim. I slipped outside…To talk to a mule…Admire the scenery above Phantom Ranch…And ponder a bee as it worked a flower on a prickly pear.Eventually Jonas, who was older than I, arrived exhausted from his hike down. I’d known Jonas since the 70s when he and Tom and I had been environmentalists in Sacramento fighting for clean water and air in California. He was known for his quirky sense of humor. Like Tom, Jonas was a longtime boatman. He would take over for Megan who was shifting to her kayak. We rode with Jonas to our next campground. Given how tired he was, the ride was a bit on the wild side with us bouncing off rocks twice. His experience and adrenaline kept us right side up, however, or as boatmen like to say, the messy side up. The smooth side is the bottom of the boat.Things got strange in camp that night as Tom struggled for a new look… (Photo by Don Green.)And decided to wear Bone. Bone told me afterwards: “You know Curt, I have had some strange experiences in my life. Like the time 50 Japanese tourists got off a bus and insisted on having selfies with me! But nothing has been weirder than this.” (Photo by Don Green.)Or maybe not. Don’t ask.We learned it’s always valuable to have a dentist along when someone’s foot needs attention. This is Bradley Yee, Tom’s dentist.And Megan demonstrated how to get the best out of a yummy dessert by licking her plate clean.All of which led Peggy to assume a bandida look and go incognito.There was another magnificent sunset that night.Crystal Rapids at mile 89, the next morning, presented a challenge. The water flow was high and dangerous. There was a long discussion between Steve and Tom whether to chance it or wait for the river to drop in a couple of hours. That’s possible because flows each day are determined by the amount of water released from Lake Powell, and the timing of the release. It was decided to wait, which meant more time to goof off.The Dread Pirate Steve assumed his pirate persona…And threatened to cut off Bone’s head if he didn’t tell Steve where he hid his gold.A commercial boat went flying past us, providing a contrast with our private trip.Working our way down the river, we passed a bighorn sheep.And came upon the attractive Shinumo Creek at mile 108.5…And hiked up it to see its 12 foot waterfall. The current was swift and the rocks were slippery. Thus the help. (Photo by Don Green.)A few miles farther along, Tom had us stop at this charming grotto: Elves Chasm at mile 116.5.And Tom, being Tom, had us leap 15 feet into an icy pool. Looks like Jamie was trying to fly. (Photo by Don Green.)Damn, that water was cold!Here I am looking much warmer and relaxed.River view.A camp group photo.A view from our campsite in the evening. Gorgeous, isn’t it!Moving on (because this post is already too long), another river view.And another campsite. It was getting hot and we were hanging out under a tarp and flying a Jimmy Buffet flag. Tom’s a fan. I went searching on Google for the date when Tom and I had attended a Buffet concert at Lake Tahoe in the early 80s. AI responded that Buffet had never had a concert at the Lake. Scrolling down to his tours, I learned Buffet had been there in 1981 and 82. I think we attended the Coconut Telegraph Tour in 1981. The moral of the story here is… don’t trust AI, at least not yet. If it can screw up Jimmy Buffet, imagine what it can do with medical information.Our final stop for this post was at Christmas Tree Cave ay Mile 135.5.It was big…And inhabited by strange creatures. Run! Next post: Two incredibly beautiful streams that flow into the Colorado River: Deer Creek and Havasu Creek. Plus the world famous Lava Falls Rapids.
Megan rows toward Navajo Bridge at mile 4. It was our first notable landmark. Actually there are two bridges: an old one competed in 1929 to replace Lee’s Ferry and a new one finished in 1995 to accommodate modern traffic. The old one now serves as a a foot bridge. Crossing the bridge is how you get to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon from the South Rim. Or vice-versa. (Photo by Don Green.)
For those of you who like facts, here are a few about the river: The Colorado is 1,440 miles long from its headwaters in the Rocky Mountains to its mouth in the Gulf of California. I’ve backpacked through the area where it originates and kayaked in the Gulf of California. It ranks 6th in length among U.S. rivers. At its widest point it reaches 750 feet. At its deepest, 90. It flows along at 3-4 miles per hour but may reach 15 miles per hour in rapids. Given that the water comes out of the base of Glen Canyon Dam, it’s cold— an icy 46 degrees Fahrenheit during the upper part of our trip. Washing off in it usually elicited screams. Over the course of our adventure, it dropped 1700 feet in altitude, an average 8 feet per mile. That’s 25 times the average of the Mississippi River! Thus, the 250 rapids in the Grand Canyon.
As we floated down the river, we were awed over and over by the surrounding beauty! The pontoon boat, BTW, is rowed by Steve Vandoor. Steve’s boat is rigged to carry groovers (honey buckets), which is something of a specialty of Steve’s. While it might seem strange, it guarantees that he is invited to join river trips on a regular basis. Does this mean Steve is groovy? More on groovers later.This huge slab of Coconino sandstone at mile 10 once stood hundreds of feet above the river before it came tumbling down and stuck— standing up. It’s a reminder of the constant geological forces involved in creating the canyon. As the river digs deeper, erosion brings rocks crashing down, widening the canyon. It’s also a reminder that one wouldn’t want to be anywhere near when it fell!This was one of our first rapids. It’s where Tom lost an oar and ended up rowing heroically to get us out. Afterwards was one of the first times I ever heard him be totally silent. (Photo by Don Green.)Major rapids like House Rock were always scouted by the most experienced boatmen. Peggy is obviously quite excited. “Listen to the roar, Curt!” I was thinking more about the ‘hole’ that we might be sucked into. The boatmen plot out the best way to avoid such obstacles. They were amazingly good.In addition to our raft trip down the river and camping, Tom had planned several excursions. This is in Silver Grotto, which was quite beautiful. I’d chosen to stay in camp for photography and a little ‘Curt Time.’ See the slot canyon. Tom had them hike to the upper rim and then slide down some 20 feet to a small pond in what was close to a straight drop. The rocks were wetted to assure a smoother slide. Everyone survived and had fun, but it did make me wonder about the ‘safety’ part of my responsibilities.I discussed the ‘thrill ride’ with a raven that came to visit me and perched on a boatman’s seat. It told me she would share her opinion for food. I declined. I’m pretty sure she would have said, “It’s easy. Just fly.”While the major rapids provided for a minute or two of pure adrenaline rush for both boatmen and passengers, floating on calm waters was a much more common experience for us.Every corner brought a new marvel such as this towering cliff. Check out our boats at the bottom for perspective.Vasey’s Paradise at mile 32 is one of the most beautiful waterfalls we saw on our journey. It flows out of what is known as the Redwall, one of the Grand Canyon’s most prominent features.As you might imagine, we all took photos. This is Leland Lee, who, in addition to being a talented photographer, is a periodontist.While we relaxed and enjoyed the falls, Jamie gathered the cold fresh water for our drinking and cooking needs. Gathering and pumping water through filters to purify it was one of our daily chores. Redwall Cavern, a mile or so beyond Vasey’s Paradise, is one impressive cave! We headed in for lunch.Some of our rafters and the lunch kitchen provide perspective on the cavern’s size. When John Wesley Powell, the one armed veteran of the Civil War and first dedicated explorer of the river, came on the cavern in 1869, he estimated it could hold 50,000 people. Modern estimates are closer to 5,000, but that is still a bunch!This is a view looking out from the Redwall Cavern at the surrounding canyon walls.I thought this was a great people shot by Don…And scenery shot. (Photo by Don Green.)Colorado means red, which is the color of the river after rainstorms (reddish brown). Obviously it hadn’t rained recently, and, as I recall, it didn’t rain at all during our trip. Quite the monument.Theresa provides perspective on the ancient Anasazi Granary we hiked up to visit high above the Colorado River near mile 53. (Photo by Don Green.)Looking down the Colorado River from the Anasazi Granary. One of us is making our way back toward the river in the shadows on the right. (Photo by Don Green.)A view looking up, downriver from the granary.And another.Food is quite important to river runners as I mentioned in my first post on the river. And why not, since the boats can carry massive amounts. It’s not like backpacking where every ounce matters. Here, Peggy is working on a carrot salad. Each of us was expected to do kitchen duty. Tom, who owned a popular Mexican restaurant in Davis at the time, the Cantina, was proud of what he had brought along to eat— and quite particular on how it was prepared. He hovered providing directions. Like a chef.For example, the correct way to cut romaine lettuce. Susan Gishi holds up the lettuce like rabbit ears on an old fashioned TV set. She is about to demonstrate how to cut it and looking much more serious than the rabbit ears would suggest.Like this.Tom discovered me tearing it up instead of cutting it and got quite excited. Being allergic to taking directions from Tom about cutting lettuce, I made a trade with Peggy. I would handle her groover duty if she would take my kitchen duty. Here’s the thing about groovers, you are required to carry your poop out. Peeing is done in the river. My duty was to work with Steve in finding a suitable private place for the men’s and women’s groovers when we landed in the evening and then loading them back on his boat in the morning. BTW, the reasons these large ammo cans are called groovers is because people sat on them directly until someone figured out how to attach toilet seats. Duh. They left grooves on your butt! (Photo by Don Green.)Our next great stop was at the Little Colorado River where it flows into the Colorado at mile 61. Its beautiful color is due to mineral content. The minerals settle out to form the rocks you are seeing. There is a cave a few miles up the river where Hopi mythology claims they made their entrance into this world.As always, my camera was kept busy.I suspect the Hopi would have seen these reeds as weaving material.Not a thong bikini. Bobbi Allen was busy taking photos as well, but more to the point, she is wearing her PFD upside down per Tom’s direction. The purpose was to enhance our floating down the Little Colorado. They seemed strange and looked like bloated diapers. I’m not sure Bobbi meant to serve as a model but I wasn’t up for a selfie. That would have been scary.People floated down as individuals or in groups. I couldn’t tell which one this was for sure, but If she looks a little out of control, you should have seen me. My PFD slipped down around my feet and I bounced down the river with my head removing rocks along the way. I think it was Jamie who waded in and pulled me out. My guess is that others thought of it as a Kodak moment, and Tom thought it might pound some sense into my head.Here’s a Conga Line with Tim Spann, Bobbi, and Don plus others.Even Bone gave it a try, but he preferred the calmer part of the river.A sucker found him amusing…Nancy Pape praised him for being so brave. Nancy and I go way back to the early 1980s when she joined me on one of the hundred mile backpack treks I led. And many more after that. She has also gone to Burning Man with Peggy and me, as have Tom, Don and Bone.And Jamie decided to teach Bone how to row.In fact Bone became so confidant in his rafting skills, he decided he could serve as a scout checking out rapids.Fortunately, no one drowned. That does it for today. Next Friday we will continue our trip down the river with its great beauty and wild adventures. (Photo by Don Green.)
Peggy and I never expected to visit Dracula’s Castle in Transylvania but there it was on our Danube River trip itinerary. How could we resist? Halloween was only 2 1/2 weeks away.I felt right at home.There were even places for naps.And to sit.Or stand if you preferred…There was a danger of being tied up, however.And ghosts. This scary fellow was floating back and forth in a dark room, like a caged wild animal. Optical illusion? Perhaps…A wild lion with vampire sharp teeth peered out from a table…A lioness with frightening sliced eyes was hidden among scroll-like decorations.Looking closely, other evil creatures seemingly appeared out of nowhere, like this satan goat with dead eyes and his companion, a horned dragon.Even door knockers were threatening. “Beware!” rather than “Welcome” was the message. Monsters’ heads peered out from the medallion. Two snakes slithered out, wound around the knocker, and became a second set of massive horns on a cruel face with pursed lips.Strange metal doors invited opening. Dare we? What dark secrets does the room hide? Eyes stared out from the top panel. Halloween scary for sure.Peggy entered a dark room and came out screaming. Had her hair fallen out? (Our guide had hidden behind a curtain and jumped out yelling.)And there were lots of dark, narrow, ancient stairs to climb that led to mysterious heights. Was this damsel in distress wearing a nervous smile about to become Dracula’s latest victim? (We were traveling with Peggy’s brother John and his wife Frances. This is Frances negotiating the ‘dark, narrow stairs,’ with a smile.)Even the castle’s no-smoking sign had a bit of Halloween-type humor, which brings me to something much more scary than Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the real, historical Dracula, son of Dracul…Vlad the Impaler.
Stoker never visited Dracula’s Castle but he based his book partially on folk tales, legends, and the actual historical Dracula/Vlad the Impaler. Compared to him, Stoker’s Dracula was a wimp, a woozy, a rank amateur. Born in 1431, Vlad would be responsible for some 80,000 deaths throughout his 45 years of life, utilizing various means including torture— the worst of which was impaling. Not to get too graphic, but imagine sitting down on a yard long, pointed, narrow pole. Ouch. He once did in 20,000 Ottoman Turks using that method. The rest of the army turned and ran home. Even Pope Pius II was impressed. The gruesome chair and standing tomb above are other examples of torture implements he might have used. Once a delegation of diplomats visited Vlad and refused to take off their hats in respect. He had their heads cut off and their hats nailed to their heads. So, if you want scary, Vlad is your man.
These were violent times throughout Europe and Vlad was among the most violent. No wonder ghosts roam about his castle, virtual, or otherwise.
At one point, Vlad was imprisoned in this tower for a couple of years, a part of his own castle.
And now, to lighten things up, a leap forward to Halloween 2024…
If you’ve been around this blog for a while, you know Bone, Eeyore, Bonetta, and George, the African Bush Devil. Bone has been wandering the world for 47 years, ever since Tom Lovering and I found him while backpacking south of Lake Tahoe; Eeyore has been his traveling companion for 25 of those years; Bone found Bonetta in a Florida swamp and married her at Burning Man; George came home with me from Africa in 1967 and is on the front of my book about my Peace Corps experience: The Bush Devil Ate Sam. They dressed up for Halloween— and you— using their Burning Man costumes.Eeyore and Bone have been wandering around North America together for 25 years. Bone gets Eeyore into trouble and Eeyore gets Bone out of trouble. Eeyore is wearing his leopard mask. Bone, BTW, is naked, which is his Burning Man costume. If Eeyore appears a bit bedraggled, it may be because he served as an elementary school mascot before joining Bone.The gorgeous Bonetta put on her Burning Man wedding dress to appear as the Bride of Frankenstein. (Baby Bone was sleeping in his coffin and no one wanted to hear him scream if he woke up.)George is wearing his dramatic Red Hawk mask. He was carved by a leper in Ganta, Liberia.And finally, the Mekemson and Cox Family Pumpkins. Clay’s lurks threatening in the background. Tasha’s is a First Grade Monster with eyes peeking out on the side. Ethan’s is an AI Robot (scary as a category five hurricane). Cody’s large mouth pumpkin is throwing up his innards. Peggy’s is the Castle of Dracula, and mine is Dracula’s Teeth. (I have a dental appointment this week and all I could think of was teeth. How much scarier can it get than trip to the dentist?)Actually, my dentist, Dr. Tim Smith, and his staff at Purcellville Dental are excellent. And have a great sense of humor! Their annual “Decorate for Halloween Contest” was underway. Each staff member creates a ‘Jack-o-lantern’ and patients are invited to vote for their favorite. This was mine.
Peggy and I, along with Clay, Tasha, Ethan and Cody and, of course, Bone, Eeyore, Bonetta and George would all like to wish you and your family a Happy and Safe Halloween filled with laughter, goodies, and slightly scary things.
Over one billion years of the earth’s history, great beauty, and adventure await those who are lucky enough to raft through the Grand Canyon on the Colorado River.
Most of our adventures start with a fair amount of forethought. Our 18-day raft trip through the Grand Canyon was an exception. It started with a phone call from our friend Tom Lovering.
“Curt, you need to jump online right now and sign up for a chance to win a lottery permit to raft the Grand Canyon.” It was more in the nature of a command than a request. Tom was plotting. There are relatively few private permits granted every year in comparison to the ton of rafters who want them. Floating down the Colorado through the Canyon is one of the world’s premier raft trips, providing a combination of beauty and adventure that are rarely matched. Tom figured that the more people he persuaded to sign up for the lottery, the better the chances of getting a permit. He’d made the request to several friends.
I would have probably skipped the opportunity. We were in the midst of wrapping up a three year exploration of North America and were seriously looking for a place to light— a semi-wilderness home. We were closed to settling on Southern Oregon. We had an hour to meet the filing deadline and the chances of winning, as I mentioned, were close to zilch. Plus I was woefully out of shape and 67 years old. I wasn’t sure that my body would have a sense of humor about the journey. Floating down the river on a private trip actually involves a substantial amount of work and everyone is expected to do their share. Rightfully so.
My child bride Peggy, however, who is seven years younger than I am and loves everything related to water, went straight to the site, filled out the required information in my name, filled out another in hers, and hit send. Fine, I thought to myself. That’s that. We can go merrily on our way and report back to Tom that we tried.
What I wasn’t expecting, as those of you have read my blogs about the trip know, was waking up the next morning and finding an email from the National Park Service announcing that I had won a permit. “Woohoo!” Peggy yelled. “Oh crap,” my fat cells responded. Tom didn’t believe me when I called him from somewhere in Nebraska. It took several minutes to convince him. And then he got excited. Here’s the actual permit:
My first task was to make sure that Tom would do the majority of the work in setting up the adventure. We didn’t have the time and I didn’t have the expertise for a white water raft trip. My experience was in organizing and leading long distance backpack and bicycle adventures. Tom, on the other hand, was an experienced white water enthusiast who had run the river several times and had boundless energy. Plus, he had volunteered. “There is a fair amount of paper work for you and certain responsibilities,” he mentioned in passing. Paper work, as I recall was a 40 page document, maybe it was 400. The responsibility, I learned was daunting. If we screwed up in some way by breaking the Park’s environmental or safety rules, I was accountable and subject to a large fine.
The raft trip in 2010 was the first blog series I ever did. I reposted it in 2018. Since I have already blogged extensively about the journey, I am going to use this and my next two posts as a summary of the trip and include many photos I didn’t use before.
I will note here that while the trip was even more physically challenging than I expected— and there were times I could have strangled Tom (and vice-versa, I’m sure)— I owe him a debt of gratitude for the opportunity. I love the Canyon and have explored it in many ways over the years including five backpacking trips into it. The river trip provided a whole new way to experience the beauty. Traveling with a great group was icing on the cake.
Tom had plenty to keep him busy in preparation for the trip. Finding qualified raftsmen and women was first up. The Park insists. Running the river is no joke. There are world-class rapids to negotiate. Food was another major item. River runners have a tradition of eating well, if not gourmet. He had a total of 54 meals to plan. Tom and his partner bought the nonperishables before coming. We bought the rest when we joined him in Flagstaff, Arizona, our base for the trip. Between Costco and Safeway, we packed our 22 foot Pleasure Way Van, twice.Tom and I in Flagstaff getting ready to go on the trip in 2010. Do I appear a little dubious?Large, specialized containers were required for the food. Each was labeled for what it would contain.Huge ice chests were necessary to keep perishable food cold for the 18 day journey. Our room had been the central storage point for food. Minus the Kettle Corn, the bed was covered with our camping gear for the trip. It would soon find its way into a large, waterproof dry sack. Things we would need during the day went into ammo cans like the yellow one on the right.Tom had other responsibilities as well. He’s getting his new “do” here, coloring his hair for the trip. Roald Dahl is one of his favorite authors. Tom likes weird, a trait I share. But coloring my hair isn’t one of them. Neither is painting my toenails.The results.One thing we were required to do was paint our toenails. River lore is it protects you from flipping your raft in rapids. “I won’t let you on my boat unless they are painted,” Tom warned ominously. I painted two of mine on each foot. We didn’t roll over in Tom’s boat when we went through a major rapid. But he did lose an oar. I might have felt guilty but it’s rumored that Tom travels through life without an oar. We had one more major responsibility: Get Bone ready for the trip. Tom and I had discovered him hanging out in the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range in 1977 and he has been wandering around with us and others ever since. He had to have a life vest. Finally everything was packed and the participants had arrived. We loaded the truck to the brim with what seemed like a ton of equipment, drove over to our starting point at Lee’s Ferry and unloaded the truck, all in 100° (38°C) plus weather. My body had some unpleasant, unprintable things to say to me about being out of shape. (Photo by Don Green, one of the participants and a long time friend of ours.)Next we had a quick lesson in rigging boats and went to work. (Photo by Don Green.)Dave Stalheim and Peggy pose on Dave’s boat. Dave was to be the first boatman that we traveled with. Dave came from the state of Washington where he worked as a county planner. The plan was to ride with different boatmen each day. Protocol involved that we ask for a ride and help in loading and unloading the boat.A bottle of tequila was slipped in among the oranges. It would be saved for drinking at Tequila Point, just below Lava Falls, where it would be needed! (Photo by Don Green.)That night we moved a couple of hundred yards down from where we had rigged and loaded the boats to a campground I had found. We went out for dinner and came back to a major wind and dust storm that was whipping our tents around and making them difficult to find. With the heat, wind, and dust, I was reminded of our trips to Burning Man. Here we are, ready to begin our adventure. Ranger Annie is down on the end. She’d been by the day before to check our gear. When Tom introduced me as the ticket holder, I commented, “We have an excellent leader in Tom.” She had looked at me steely eyed and said, “You are responsible.” My muttered response was, “I’ll try to keep Tom in line.” Yeah, like that’s possible. She came back that morning to remind us of all the safety and environmental rules.
That’s it for the preparations. Now the ‘fun’ begins. The wind was back! We spent our first day fighting headwinds with gusts up to 60 miles per hour. If my dreams of a leisurely float down the river hadn’t already been demolished, they were now. We actually took turns with our boatmen rowing double. All of the photos were taken by either Don, Peggy, or me. I’ll note which ones are Don’s.
This map, which I took from the book The Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, an excellent guide by Larry Stevens, isn’t as clear in reproduction as I would like but still serves as a good reference for this and my next two posts. Our journey over 18 days would take us 280 miles down the Colorado River from mile 0 at Lee’s Ferry to mile 280 at Pierce Ferry, just this side of mile 300 at the beginning of Lake Mead. We finished putting the trip together in Flagstaff (lower right) and then followed Highway 89 up to Lee’s Ferry (upper right).Don Green and boatwoman Megan Stalheim double rowing to counter the strong head wind. Megan is David’s niece and, like me, was a former Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa. While rowing a raft was a new sport for Megan, her experience as an Olympic level white water kayaker gave her excellent knowledge of how to read and run a river.This photo of boatman Jame Wilson is a good example of what our fully loaded rafts looked like.
My post next Monday will take us from Lees Ferry to just below Phantom Ranch. Thursday is Halloween, however, and Peggy and I have a special treat for you, a tour of Dracula’s castle in Transylvania that we visited 2 1/2 weeks ago on our Danube River trip.
Clouds roll in threatening rain along the Danube River. Fortunately, the weather gods were kind to us. The river had flooded the week before our arrival due to heavy downpours upriver.
Today marks the beginning of our Great River series. The inspiration for it is our trip down the Danube from Vienna to the Black Sea that we just finished while traveling with Peggy’s brother John and his wife Frances.
Along the way, we traveled through Austria, Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria and Romania, all countries that I had never visited except Croatia. (Peggy had been to Austria, as well: Way back in BC…As in before Curt.) Other than the Romanian apple that got us in trouble with US Customs and a cold I picked up and undoubtedly shared along the way, our trip in a riverboat with the GoHagan travel company was quite good.
Knowledgeable (and often humorous) local guides led us on tours through cities, towns, churches, castles, and palaces while providing historical background that ranged from Mongol and Turkish invasions, to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, to the Russian Communist occupation following World War II.
We watched horses prance, people dance, and consumed at least three times as much food as we usually do. An ancient village with roots going back 5-6 thousand years and the beauty of the Carpathian Mountains of Romania/Transylvania wowed us.
Dracula/Vlad the Impaler called the Carpathians home. While we found the Impaler’s castle fascinating, I think Peggy was more excited to discover that the Cantacuzino Castle (where we stopped for lunch) serves as the site for the Nevermore Academy of the Netflix series Wednesday, a take-off on the TV series, TheAddams Family, of yore. How much does she like the series? Well, she has binged on it. More than once. Her scream of delight when she saw a sign promoting the castle as the series’ location led everyone on the bus to turn and look at her. I felt like I was married to a smitten teenager.
The Cantacuzino Castle that serves as the as the location for the Nevermore Academy of the Netflix series Wednesday with a view of the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania in the background. The leaves were just beginning to turn as we made our way through Romania.The castle of Vlad the Impaler, aka Dracula, in Transylvania.
One great river doesn’t constitute a series, however. And we’ve promised a series which brings up what our criteria are for defining a great river. There are the normal factors, i.e. length and volume, but I would also add history and in beauty. The Nile is a great example for history, while the Colorado River on its run through the Grand Canyon is one for beauty. Both are mind-blowing.
There is one criterion that is strictly ours: We have to have floated on the river. For example, Peggy and I have crossed the Mississippi, Missouri, and Columbia Rivers numerous times from their headwaters to where they flow into the ocean. But our only personal experience has been to take photos and explore their history, with folks like Mark Twain and Lewis and Clark serving as our teachers. Peggy is known to stick a finger or toe in on occasion, however, “to test the water.”
In addition to the Danube, the series will include the Colorado, Amazon, Rhine, Nile, Zambezi, and England’s Trent and Mercy Canal— not a Great River perhaps, but Peggy and I had a blast navigating it in a 60’ long 10’ wide narrow boat, stopping at pubs along the way.
Our private 21 day trip through Grand Canyon National Park by raft was filled with beauty, adventure and fun.We explored the Amazon River out of Manaus, Brazil for a week on the Amazon Clipper, a small boat that we shared with four other couples plus crew. We dined on piranhas for dinner that night, the ones we had caught in the afternoon (carefully).Our trip up the Rhine River had it all: Charming towns, Medieval castles, towering cathedrals, bucolic countryside and history. Plus, we took our son, daughter, spouses and grandkids with us.Horus, the Falcon God of ancient Egypt in the Valley of Kings. The Nile is lined with such treasures.The Zambezi River of southern Africa brings its own magic ranging from water buffalo, to hippos, to crocodiles, to lions and numerous species of birds.An underpass on England’s Trent and Mercy Canal. “Low bridge, everybody down.” —Erie Canal song
Since we have already blogged about these experiences (other than the Danube) in the past, I’ll simply do a summary post or two on each one that focuses on photos. The Nile may include more since there were several blogs that I ran out of time to do after the trip last year.
Next week, a quick look at the incredible beauty of the Colorado River through Grand Canyon National Park. After that, we will start on the Danube.
This apple is a dangerous criminal, an illegal alien attempting to slip into the US from Bucharest without a passport. I am using it here to hide my identity as it is interrogated under the bright lights of the law in a US Customs Detention Center at Dulles Airport. I can still hear the questions, over and over: “Are you or are you not an apple? Did you or did you not come from a former Communist Country? Where is your passport? Is it your intention to destroy America’s apple crop and replace it with foreign apples? What about oranges, grapes, turnips, and petunias?” Petunias?
Peggy and I were innocent victims. The apple was using us for its nefarious purposes. The staff at our hotel in Bucharest had slipped apples into breakfast paper bags when Peggy and I, along with her brother John and wife Frances, checked out at 2 AM. They had included a sandwich made up a slice of cheese and a slice of ham on white bread without any condiments, plus— the piece de resistance— a two-bite muffin. I’d eaten the sandwich and muffin on our ride out to the Bucharest Henri CoandăInternational Airport. I was suspicious of my apple, however. It had a not-right feeling. I tossed it into a trash can. Let the Romanian authorities deal with it.
Peggy, on the other hand, had visions of eating the apple somewhere along the way on our seemingly endless journey as a defense against starvation. She slipped it into an extra bag she was carrying for gifts and the apple immediately burrowed itself into the bottom of the bag, where it hoped to be forgotten. I can’t blame it for not wanting to be eaten, but apparently it had other motives as well. I don’t know what John and Frances did with theirs. I’d watched Frances cut up lots of them on our trip down the Danube, however. As for John, it probably depended on his political assessment of the apple. Had he thought of it as liberal, or radical, he would have consumed it on the spot, down to its very seeds. Had it been Libertarian, he would have coddled it, possibly even slipping it into Texas where the laws are different (not really, when it comes to US Customs).
We had a 4 hour layover in Zurich where the apple would have been consumed except we were traveling business class and could hang out at the Swiss Air lounge where all sorts of goodies were available for eating. Likewise, we were fed two full meals on our flight from Switzerland to Virginia. The apple continued its happy and secretive existence in the bottom of the gift bag— until we were in the middle of a massive crowd of people slowly making our way toward the passport check stations. It was then that Peggy saw the sign: “All travelers entering the United States are Required to Declare meats, fruits, vegetables, plants, seeds, soil, animals, as well as plant and animal products (including soup or soup products) they may be carrying. The declaration must cover all items carried in checked baggage, carry-on luggage, or in a vehicle.” The food might contain dangerous pests. Not declaring it is a crime subject to fines up to $10,000!
It was an “Oh poop,” moment. Oh well. Having lived in California for many years, we were used to border checks for fruit. We either got rid of it before entering the state or declared it if we hadn’t. I’d stopped being overly concerned when the border checks were frequently unmanned. If we declared fruits, the guards told us to throw it into a nearby trash can, or eat it. So much for the dangerous pests.
When we reached passport control, Peggy bravely pulled the offending apple out of her bag and explained why she had forgotten it. “Here, you can have it,” Peggy offered with one of her dazzling, disarming smiles. “Or is there a place I can toss it?” The agent reacted like Peggy was offering her a dead rat with the bubonic plague. She grabbed Peggy’s passport and locked it up in a plastic box for Peggy to carry. “Follow that red line to Custom detention,” she told her. Suffering from guilt by association, I was directed to go with her.
We opened the door and a very stern looking fellow took Peggy’s passport and glared at the apple. We were told to go sit on the side with a lot of other people. We would be allowed to go when and If the agents found no more apples in our luggage, which, at the time, was going around and around on the Swiss Air’s luggage carousel. “Can I go pick up the bags and bring them back here?” Peggy asked. “No” was the terse reply. “You will not bring fruit into the country,” we were reminded again. We were very close to being criminals. Agents would go collect our luggage so we wouldn’t try to escape.
A sign declared we were to take no photos or record any conversations. I understood why. Four agents were standing in the back of the room sorting through a pile of garbage four feet high and four feet across, carefully pulling out each piece and examining it. I certainly wouldn’t want my photo taken doing that. I hoped that they were well paid. As for the no photos, I wasn’t going to take any photos of their secretive activities, but I really did want a photo of the apple.
I pulled out my MacBook Pro and opened Photo Booth. Positioning my apple where I wanted, I pushed the red cameral symbol. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP the computer went as it counted down. The wasn’t an ‘Oh poop’ moment. It was an “Oh shit” moment. I imagined guys with guns rushing over to grab me. I quickly closed my laptop and waited. Nobody seemed to have noticed. The problem was, I wasn’t happy with the photo.
Out came my laptop again, this time with the sound turned off. I positioned the apple just so (as you see it above) and snapped another photo. The only thing I could see in the photo that might be considered in the no-take area was a TV that featured Mr. Potato Head on the left and an orangish looking guy with horns on the right. Satisfied, I put the laptop away and we waited. And waited. Another family of four was in the same strait we were. The daughter had brought a closed package of beef jerky to give to her brother, which was apparently a crime even more serious than ours. Her father was roaming around like an angry bee.
A half hour passed, and then an hour, and then an hour and a half. Each time the agents brought in luggage, Peggy and the dad would jump up to see if ours was included. Nada. Once the agents brought in 20 pieces from a French airline. Who knows what that was about. Maybe the French were trying to smuggle in a hundred pounds of Foie gras. The French fellow they were holding couldn’t (or wouldn’t) identify any of the luggage. I felt for all of the passengers who were wondering where in the heck their luggage had disappeared to.
Finally, the dad went over to talk to the “Big Guy,” who stood about five feet tall, and asked if he could go out with an agent and identify his luggage. Maybe the fellow was feeling a little guilty about the dad’s long wait with children. He said yes. Peggy, who knows an opportunity when it knocks, ran over and requested the same privilege. Five minutes later Peggy and the dad showed up with the luggage that the agents hadn’t been able to find in two hours. Ten minutes later our luggage had been scanned, Peggy had her passport back, and we were free to go. It was one AM in Bucharest. We had been traveling for close to 24 hours. All’s well that ends well. We had been worried that the following photo may have shown our fate.
Peggy is threatened with having her head cut off at Vlad the Impaler/Dracula’s castle in Transylvania. Our guide, whose name was also Vlad, was wielding the ax. That’s it for the day. Next up, we will start our Great River Series, including our adventure down the Danube River.
Multi-colored layers of sandstone, clay and shale infused with seams of black coal— all easily eroded rocks— are what give Theodore Roosevelt National Park its unique, otherworldly look. They put the Bad in badlands in the sense of teen slang, like really great, like wow!TRNP is located in North Dakota close to the border of Montana. Canada is to the north.The park is divided into a north and south section. Peggy and I spend the majority of our time in the north section, which has far fewer visitors and, in my opinion, is more scenic. Visitors will find numerous multi-colored hills, like this…And this— an example of earth slump where a whole portion of one of the cliffs came sliding down intact. Note the coal seam. Lightning can actually set these seams on fire. They can burn for years.A close up. Coal was formed some 300 million years in large swamps where dead plant materials settled to the bottom and were eventually compressed into rock. Petrified wood from redwoods, cypress and cedar can also be found in the park.The strangest rocks, however, are these cannon ball shaped concretions that are formed when minerals settle out of water in sandstone and shale, around a pebble or fossil in layers.How much more unworldly can you get than this scene where the mud-like rock seemingly melts.And appears to have flowed out of holes and cracks.In addition to its cannonball look, the concretions also took other forms.Another example of a concretion.There seems to be no end to erosion carved features at TRNP. BTW, I think this is the way to Rock Hill, not the hill. A park information sign informed us that the grass on Rock Hill has never been plowed, making it one of the rare examples of pure native grass found in North America. The eroded hill here had a beautiful setting.Capstones, made up of harder rocks, help create the layered look.I felt that this example had a jumbled mass of erosion that had a dark, post-apocalyptic feel to it…So I added a noir filter.On a brighter note, we loved this massive hill with its trees on top.A side view. Like a massive vessel rising out of the earth.A distant view of the Little Missouri River that flows through TRNP. Note the small blip on top of the ridge.It’s the hill on top. I promised buffalo, right? There are lots of them in TRNP. But I promised more: Buffalo wallowing.That’s what this big fellow is about to do.Wallowing is all about stirring up dust. Buffalo do it to to discourage biting flies and shed fur. The males also do it during mating season to leave behind a scent and demonstrate what big, strong fellas they are. It’s important to get dust all over their bodies.And this involves…Getting down and dirty!
That’s a wrap on Theodore Roosevelt National Park, but even more it’s a wrap on our national park series. Peggy and I hope you’ve enjoyed it. In addition to the six I have featured here, there were the four others I included in our trip up the coast this spring and Everglades National Park we visited in February for a total of 11 in 2022.
But (isn’t there always a but), Peggy and I are going to bring you one more national park as part of our next series: Great Rivers. We will return to the Grand Canyon with a twist: Instead of looking down, we will be looking up— floating down the Colorado River on a 20 day private trip by raft through the park. I’ve blogged about the trip before, so I know several of you are familiar with it. This will be different, however, a photo essay stretched out over 6 posts with lots of new photos that Peggy and I haven’t included before.
First, however, Peggy and I are taking a vacation. (Do I hear a snort in the background. Isn’t that what you always do?) Actually, it will be a vacation from blogging as we float down the Danube River. Think of it as a vacation from a vocation, to the degree blogging is a vocation/work. I’m sure fellow bloggers will agree, it certainly feels like it at times. 😳We will be missing from the blogosphere for five weeks: This week in preparation for the trip, three weeks in Europe, and one week in recovery. I’ll check in from time to time to respond to comments. Beyond that, we will see you in mid-October!
Peggy and I hold on tight while Steve Van Dore rows us through rapids on the Colorado River. Is Peggy praying? Grin. (Photo by our friend Don Green)
Our 55 mile drive from Rio Grande Village to our campground in Castolon through the Chihuahuan Desert and around the Chisos Mountains of Big Bend took us from the east side of the park to the west side. One of our first views on nearing Castalon was the Cerro Castellan peak. It’s impossible to miss. Peggy and our F-150 white pickup, Iorek, provide perspective. Peggy is sitting on tuff, which is consolidated volcanic ash. It isn’t as soft as it looks. Peggy told me that she had a tuff butt.We like Google maps when we are looking for an overview of our day’s drive. This shows our route from the Rio Grande Village to Castolon and provides an estimated drive time— assuming one isn’t pulling off every few minutes to admire the views. There is another reason why I like this map: It provides a clear view of why Big Bend is called Big Bend. The black line traces the flow of the Rio Grande as it makes its big bend.This National Park map shows the area around Castolon and shows the sites we will be including in today’s post: Cerro Castellan, Tuff Canyon, the Dorgan House and Santa Elena Canyon. The Visitor Center, closed in summer instead of winter, provides a clear hint about the region’s weather. You don’t want to face the heat of summer at Big Bend. Fall, winter and spring are normally mild. The story of Cerro Castellan is like so many other peaks found in Texas and throughout the Southwest. A rock highly resistant to erosion overlays other rocks that erode more easily. In this case, the top rock is from a dense lava flow that covered the area. Most of the rocks under it are also volcanic, just less resistant such as volcanic tuff, the buff colored rock. The dark rock at the base is basalt from earlier lava flows.We were treated to numerous views of Cerro Castellan. This one was from our camp. Not bad, eh.The opposite side provided a totally different perspective.More of a side view here. I believe the greenery is mainly creosote bush .A final side view of Cerro Castellan.There are overlooks where visitors can look down into Tuff Canyon, or with a short hike, you can climb down into the canyon and walk along it, which is what Peggy and I did. 30 million years ago, a nearby violent volcanic eruption sent ash and rocks shooting into the air. Heat and pressure when they landed turned the ash into the tuff seen along the canyon walls. We were curious about how these river bed rocks got into the erosion created holes. The only thing we could think of was a flooding stream working its way down the canyon.These were rocks that would have been thrown out by the eruption and embedded in the tuff.I liked this photo I caught of Peggy from what I recall was a shallow ‘cave’ in the tuff.Flowers growing out of crevices in the tuff wall. Life will find a way!Tuff cliffs towering over dark volcanic basalt. The end of the trail leading up the canyon.An ocotillo plant looked down on us from the rim.The Ocotillo, with a mouthful scientific name of Fouquieria splendens, is an interesting desert plant that usually looks like a dead, naked bush with wicked thorns, i.e. not something that you would want to mess with. The stems actually have chlorophyll and are capable of photosynthesis and sustaining the plant thorough dry times. Come rain, however, the plant becomes covered in leaves and really goes to work in food production. It also develops brilliant red flowers. Thus the ‘splendens’ in the scientific name.And finally we stopped to admire this mesquite tree on the way out.On our way to Santa Elena, we stopped for a walk up to the Dorgan House. There are several sites around Castolon that feature historical sites from the last 100 years or so. Dorgan was an architect involved in the local farming community. The remains of his house included this unique fireplace made from petrified wood. It was fun checking out the various rocks.I was particularly impressed with this rock. I saw an eye, a pig-like nose and a great set of choppers. I have the perfect location for it at home. But I didn’t take it. That’s a no-no in a National Park. If you should show up and find it missing, however, remember…I was framed. The Rio Grande River flows out of these limestone cliffs where it has cut the Santa Elena Canyon some 1,500 feet (450 m) deep at Santa Elena.The canyon travels back some 8 miles from its mouth (shown here). Visitors can sign up for a raft trip down the river, or even run it on their own assuming they have a degree of white water expertise. Or, when river is low and slow, like it is here, you can paddle up it for 3-4 miles and then paddle back out. Or, visitors can wade across the creek on the right and hike a brief distance into the canyon.A view of the Rio Grande as it flows on its way after leaving the canyon. We were visited by a herd of peccaries (known locally as javelinas) one evening when we were at the Castolon Campground. These mammals are found as far south as Argentina. He did not like the fact I was following him around snapping photos…You might say it was a hair raising experience.On our way out we stopped by the Panther Junction Visitor Center to check out its display on duck billed dinosaurs that roamed the area. Bone provided perspective on a leg bone. Coming from the leg of a horse just above the hoof, he could relate. Plus he is a great fan of old bones. That’s it for today and for Big Bend National Park. Next up is Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota where the buffalo still wallow…
The Chisos Mountains of Big Bend were born 45 to 30 million years ago when the region experienced several episodes of volcanism followed by periods of quiet. We found the mountainous region to be quite beautiful. Our drive from our campsite at Rio Grande Village to our campsite at Castolon took us around much of the mountain range as shown in the National Park map below.Our drive from our campground at Rio Grand Village on the right to our campground in Castolon on the left took us around a significant portion of the Chisos Mountains. Most of our photos of the mountain were taken when we retraced our drive up from Castolon to visit the Chisos Basin. We did, however take photos from the Chihuahuan Desert Nature Trail on our way to Castolon. This is a Big Bend National Park map.The Chihuahuan Desert Nature Trail provided several views of the eastern side of the Chisos Mountains. I believe this is a view into Pine Canyon.Any view of the ‘Old West’ is enhanced by an old-fashioned windmill (not the gigantic modern types). We found this along the nature trail looking out at the mountains.Farther up the road, after we had cut off onto the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive, the Chisos Mountains Exhibit gave us a northwestern view of the mountains. Emory Peak, the slight knob on the left, is the highest point in the park at 7,825′ (2385 m).Once situated in Castolon, Peggy and I decided to make a more leisurely trip up the Scenic Highway along the Chisos Mountain to the Chisos Basin. Our first view along the way was one of Big Bend’s most photographed sites: The Mule Ears. They look a bit devilish to me.Another perspective. Do they actually look like mule ears? Close…I took this photo at Phantom Ranch in the Grand Canyon.Next up on our list of things to see was Goat Mountain. It’s the peak on the left.Closer…Closest! Actually, Goat Mountain was misnamed. What the early pioneers were actually looking at were big horned sheep.But, hey, an ungulate is an ungulate, right? Can you spot the sheep? Just kidding.Remember the old ditty, ‘the bear went over the mountain to see what he could see,’? I’m like the old bear. Always curious. Goat Mountain is the peak on the end. Getting close to the turn off to the Chisos Basin, this was our view. Note the red ridges in the foreground.The red ridges are the Fins of Fire shown on the map. They are volcanic dikes formed when lava forces its way into crevices in rocks as it works its way to the surface and solidifies. Erosion has exposed the red dikes here.Close up of the dikes.Now it’s time to work our way into the Chisos Basin. A window view of where we are going. The large flat rock is Casa Grande.A grand house indeed! But it’s only one of the many views we found in the basin.They range from rocks with character like these…To rocks I found particularly beautiful. Like this.And this. Note the trees and bushes. We are no longer in the desert!Variety in the basin…Is truly…The spice of life.This is Emory Peak, the highest point in the Chisos Mountains.And this is a view back out into the Chihuahuan Desert, where we will return in our next post. See the slight notch on the horizon…It’s this: The Santa Elena Canyon. Located in the Castolon area, it is one of the places we will be exploring.
At first, we thought it said Burro Mesa Pulloff. That seemed to make sense. Maybe this was an historic location where burros pulled off to rest, drink water, and chew on a desert bush or two. Then we saw it was Pouroff. So what’s a pouroff? A contest between bartenders? We read the National Park info board. Apparently water poured off of Burro Mesa and down into this gravel canyon during thunderstorms, flooding it. Given that the canyon was quite beautiful and that there were no thunderheads looming overhead, Peggy and I decided to go for a walk.
Today’s post was supposed to be about Big Bends Chisos Mountains. I even included a ‘teaser’ photo in my last blog. When I reviewed our photos, however, I quickly decided that a fourth blog was needed. This is it. There may even be a fifth. Most of today’s photos were taken along the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive shown below.
Ross Maxwell Scenic DriveThe little green hiker might be in a heap of trouble if water came pouring down the two steep canyons off of Burro Mesa.Peggy at the beginning of the trail. The buff colored rock is volcanic tuft.A close up.We were particularly impressed with the colorful tuft formation above the trail.And took several photos of it. And now for a potpourri of other photos we mainly took along the Ross Maxwell Scenic Road and a few thoughts on why we took them.Layer upon layer seeming to tumble down the cliff.Erosion can create wildly wonderful rock sculptures and this is one. We thought it looked like a dog. Too bad it didn’t look a bit more like a chihuahua given its location in the Chihuahuan Desert. Chihuahuas, BTW, got their name from the town of Chihuahua located in the Mexico portion of the Chihuahuan Desert. Geologists love deserts. There is little to hide the rocks. Peggy and I love deserts for the same reason. We are particularly fond of the formations like shown in the previous photos and the color shown in this one.It was worthy of a closer look. Peggy sees a face!Reds also capture our attention. Note the two red outcrops on top of the hill…I had a fleeting thought: Garfield.I liked the balance here, but even more the wisps of cirrus clouds that seemed to be rushing toward the divide.These layers of rock speak of millions of years and conditions from ancient oceans to deserts.Layers of rock resistant to erosion form cliffs that go on and on…Stretching off to the left…And to the right.This peak’s erosion had created a unique look.A different perspective.We’ll conclude today’s post from a distant look back at the Chisos Mountains, where we will go in our next post. Maybe.
Wandering through Time and Place 