After “not sure how many days” on the edge of Lake Powell, we resist the temptation to permanently reside on it’s shores. We are off to the “Bush”. As we proceed down one highway and up the next making rights and lefts without consulting the map, we realize how well we know this area. It’s not just the roads and ways to get from one place to another, we know the terrain. We recognize Mesa Verde, Comb Ridge, Natural Bridges, the Vermillion Cliffs, Red House Cliffs, the mountains that house Purgatory Ski Resort and the ones where Telluride can be found, Monument Valley, the snow capped peaks above Blanding, the La Sal Mountains above Moab and Delicate Arch, and of course Powell Point and Navajo Mountain. It seems as if you can always see one of those two landmarks from just about anywhere in the Four Corners region. 
The route from Page to our intended destination (Canyonlands National Park) includes exactly four towns by our definition (they must have a post office, a gas station, and a place to buy beer, except on the Navajo Nation, where beer is verboten.) One thing that is very much allowed on the Reservation are kivas, old fashioned octagonal structures for mediation and gatherings. Nearly every homestead has a recognizable kiva near the main house.
Town #1 was Kayenta, Arizona, a Navajo town on the plain, just far enough from the Juniper Forests and Red Rocks to ask “Why Here?”, we filled up with petro and moved on . . . Town #2 was Bluff, Utah, perhaps the only Anglican town in North America that proclaims its real founding date. In this case, we learned that Bluff was not only a ranch town and a gateway to rafting the San Juan River, but we also discovered it was established in 650 AD. Name another place in North America without a “1” as the first number in it's founding date.
On we went to the “Base Camp for Adventure”, Blanding, Utah, how we longed for the Chevron Station with the A&W built in, or the fake Taco Time, but on we pushed . . . old Sol was in the western sky and we needed to make time. Up next, “Home of the Hideout”, Monticello, Utah, where we filled up with more fuel so we had plenty of room to play in the Canyonlands and since they didn’t have bagged ice to sell, the nice lady gave us a five gallon bucket full of ice. We didn’t tell her it was exclusively for beer.
Finally, the longed for brown sign said, “Canyonlands National Park Next Left”, another 40 miles down a paved road that resembled farm roads in Walla Walla, and we were there . . . the BLM land on the outskirts of the national park. We had been in this area before and were looking for a quiet, get close with the desert experience, (generator and satellite tv/radio aside). We found it near the lower basin of Indian Creek (sorry JP, the rock climbs numbered in the hundreds). The sun set just beyond the Six Shooter peaks, and then the flood of weekenders arrived. We scared off the first bunch by setting up the dish with beers in hand, but the rest would not be denied. By the time darkness settled, we had neighbors on both sides, complete with barking dogs and loud kids. Oh well, the steaks were good, the wine better, and the weather exquisite as the waning moon rose just a few inches left of where it did the night before.
The route from Page to our intended destination (Canyonlands National Park) includes exactly four towns by our definition (they must have a post office, a gas station, and a place to buy beer, except on the Navajo Nation, where beer is verboten.) One thing that is very much allowed on the Reservation are kivas, old fashioned octagonal structures for mediation and gatherings. Nearly every homestead has a recognizable kiva near the main house.Town #1 was Kayenta, Arizona, a Navajo town on the plain, just far enough from the Juniper Forests and Red Rocks to ask “Why Here?”, we filled up with petro and moved on . . . Town #2 was Bluff, Utah, perhaps the only Anglican town in North America that proclaims its real founding date. In this case, we learned that Bluff was not only a ranch town and a gateway to rafting the San Juan River, but we also discovered it was established in 650 AD. Name another place in North America without a “1” as the first number in it's founding date.
On we went to the “Base Camp for Adventure”, Blanding, Utah, how we longed for the Chevron Station with the A&W built in, or the fake Taco Time, but on we pushed . . . old Sol was in the western sky and we needed to make time. Up next, “Home of the Hideout”, Monticello, Utah, where we filled up with more fuel so we had plenty of room to play in the Canyonlands and since they didn’t have bagged ice to sell, the nice lady gave us a five gallon bucket full of ice. We didn’t tell her it was exclusively for beer.
Finally, the longed for brown sign said, “Canyonlands National Park Next Left”, another 40 miles down a paved road that resembled farm roads in Walla Walla, and we were there . . . the BLM land on the outskirts of the national park. We had been in this area before and were looking for a quiet, get close with the desert experience, (generator and satellite tv/radio aside). We found it near the lower basin of Indian Creek (sorry JP, the rock climbs numbered in the hundreds). The sun set just beyond the Six Shooter peaks, and then the flood of weekenders arrived. We scared off the first bunch by setting up the dish with beers in hand, but the rest would not be denied. By the time darkness settled, we had neighbors on both sides, complete with barking dogs and loud kids. Oh well, the steaks were good, the wine better, and the weather exquisite as the waning moon rose just a few inches left of where it did the night before.
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