Monday 3rd August. 2100
I'm writing this by moonlight. Well technically, by the light of the computer screen, while Richard is up above me reading bedtime stories to T over the cab. But otherwise, there's nothing out there but a very big bright silver moon, and the faint outlines of a jagged cliffline fading.
We started the day at Calf Creek; deluxe space for seven dollars, thankyou! Then we went a few miles west for what seemed a relatively easy hike - up along the Escalante River to find a natural bridge in the red stone cliffs. Four hours later, we'd had quite an experience... it felt like hiking in the Aussie outback again; along sandy trails, through gorse bushes, and cottonwood groves, fording the water there and back and there again, and finally in answer to my pleading, we all did the last half mile back by wading downstream.
It was completely clear running water, sometimes ankle deep over sand, sometimes knee deep over rocks (waist-deep for Tom...). And we had it to ourselves again, except for a couple of friendly grungy lads hanging out under a cliff-face, somewhat surprised as we came splashing out of nowhere. The bridge we'd gone to see was massive, more than a hundred feet across, and all the more impressive to us for taking such a hike to get to. We stood in the rippled bowl below it and made echoes as we ate oranges and trail mix and drank gallons of water. I was incidentally privately v pleased with the sudden progress of my tan, but it washed off back at the RV together with the red dust and mud I'd gathered along the way. Tom is just happy as Larry spending most of his days with smears of said dust streaked artfully around his face. It's quite an imposition when I insist he washes his hands for tea.
After that epic outing, we had a guidebook treat in store - in the middle of nowhere two miles west along Highway 12 - the Kiva Coffeehouse - it's a semicircle built into the cliff in Native American style, with huge timber supports and floor-to-ceiling windows. Scrambled egg and asparagus for me thankyou, huge salad for R, pizza and soda for T. Excellent.
We spent the late afternoon driving east along Highway 12; view upon view, awesome layer upon layer (yes I know, I'll shut up this time), reaching a high of 9600 feet. When we reached the local metropolis (gas stations, Mormon Church, and provisions store named Austin's Chuckwagon), we got in a few essentials. Very tempted by a Utah brew named Polygamy Porter ("Why stop at just one?") but settled for Zion Brewing Co Hefeweizen instead.
(R writes...) What Austin didn't have was ground coffee which I had been hankering for and particularly since I found a brilliant little coffee press at the Escalatte Cafe which I was unfeasably excited about. I had expected to find one at Walmart on our second day, but didn't and had been looking for one all week. Extraordinarily the only place in tiny Torres apart from the Church etc that PT listed, was a specialty coffee shop! PT ran in to get some while I filled up the RV in the petrol station opposite, but they take their cawfee seriously in Torres, so before they would grind it they needed to know exactly what kind of machine it was going to be used with. The two women in the store were good fun and very friendly as I showed them over my pride and joy and we discussed the merits of various coffee makers. They ground it to the right consistency and bade us farewell.
So, re-vittled, refueled and relaxed we headed on to the Fruita campground twelve miles away which, with 71 spaces we were confident we would get into. This bit of road was about the most spectacular of the day; the late afternoon sun searing into the towering rust red cliffs of Capitol Reef National Park.
Fruita is a historic little settlement in the river valley, planted with fruit trees which anyone can pick from. It's a little green oasis in this monumental environment. But it was full. The 71 spaces had shrunk down to about ten becasue they were doing some kind of restoration work on the rest of it. Philippa batted her eyes at the Camp Host (er, that's his job, not his demeanour) and he told us about an unsigned, undeveloped US Forest Service area just a few miles back. We found the mile marker and pulled off onto a rough desert track which opened into a mostly flat plateau looking down into a small canyon, and out to the red cliffs of the park. There are no signs, no facilities and no other campers. Its starkly beautiful, and free. And moon-lit. A little bit of wilderness of our own for the night.
I'm writing this by moonlight. Well technically, by the light of the computer screen, while Richard is up above me reading bedtime stories to T over the cab. But otherwise, there's nothing out there but a very big bright silver moon, and the faint outlines of a jagged cliffline fading.
We started the day at Calf Creek; deluxe space for seven dollars, thankyou! Then we went a few miles west for what seemed a relatively easy hike - up along the Escalante River to find a natural bridge in the red stone cliffs. Four hours later, we'd had quite an experience... it felt like hiking in the Aussie outback again; along sandy trails, through gorse bushes, and cottonwood groves, fording the water there and back and there again, and finally in answer to my pleading, we all did the last half mile back by wading downstream.
It was completely clear running water, sometimes ankle deep over sand, sometimes knee deep over rocks (waist-deep for Tom...). And we had it to ourselves again, except for a couple of friendly grungy lads hanging out under a cliff-face, somewhat surprised as we came splashing out of nowhere. The bridge we'd gone to see was massive, more than a hundred feet across, and all the more impressive to us for taking such a hike to get to. We stood in the rippled bowl below it and made echoes as we ate oranges and trail mix and drank gallons of water. I was incidentally privately v pleased with the sudden progress of my tan, but it washed off back at the RV together with the red dust and mud I'd gathered along the way. Tom is just happy as Larry spending most of his days with smears of said dust streaked artfully around his face. It's quite an imposition when I insist he washes his hands for tea.
After that epic outing, we had a guidebook treat in store - in the middle of nowhere two miles west along Highway 12 - the Kiva Coffeehouse - it's a semicircle built into the cliff in Native American style, with huge timber supports and floor-to-ceiling windows. Scrambled egg and asparagus for me thankyou, huge salad for R, pizza and soda for T. Excellent.
We spent the late afternoon driving east along Highway 12; view upon view, awesome layer upon layer (yes I know, I'll shut up this time), reaching a high of 9600 feet. When we reached the local metropolis (gas stations, Mormon Church, and provisions store named Austin's Chuckwagon), we got in a few essentials. Very tempted by a Utah brew named Polygamy Porter ("Why stop at just one?") but settled for Zion Brewing Co Hefeweizen instead.
(R writes...) What Austin didn't have was ground coffee which I had been hankering for and particularly since I found a brilliant little coffee press at the Escalatte Cafe which I was unfeasably excited about. I had expected to find one at Walmart on our second day, but didn't and had been looking for one all week. Extraordinarily the only place in tiny Torres apart from the Church etc that PT listed, was a specialty coffee shop! PT ran in to get some while I filled up the RV in the petrol station opposite, but they take their cawfee seriously in Torres, so before they would grind it they needed to know exactly what kind of machine it was going to be used with. The two women in the store were good fun and very friendly as I showed them over my pride and joy and we discussed the merits of various coffee makers. They ground it to the right consistency and bade us farewell.
So, re-vittled, refueled and relaxed we headed on to the Fruita campground twelve miles away which, with 71 spaces we were confident we would get into. This bit of road was about the most spectacular of the day; the late afternoon sun searing into the towering rust red cliffs of Capitol Reef National Park.
Fruita is a historic little settlement in the river valley, planted with fruit trees which anyone can pick from. It's a little green oasis in this monumental environment. But it was full. The 71 spaces had shrunk down to about ten becasue they were doing some kind of restoration work on the rest of it. Philippa batted her eyes at the Camp Host (er, that's his job, not his demeanour) and he told us about an unsigned, undeveloped US Forest Service area just a few miles back. We found the mile marker and pulled off onto a rough desert track which opened into a mostly flat plateau looking down into a small canyon, and out to the red cliffs of the park. There are no signs, no facilities and no other campers. Its starkly beautiful, and free. And moon-lit. A little bit of wilderness of our own for the night.
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