San Rafael Swell
Below are photos from a trip to the San Rafael Swell of Utah in May 2020. We had intended to go to the Maze District of Canyonlands National Park, but our reservations were canceled due to the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) virus (as the politically incorrect Epoch Times calls it).
Sunrise over the San Rafael reef. Mexican Mountain to the right. Had to crawl in the dirt for this shot. This was a perfect camping spot just before the end of the Mexican Mountain Road — there was a long pull out to the right, to the very edge of the “Black Box” Canyon of the San Rafael River. Very narrow, and you could hear the river’s roar, but the water itself was out of view. We backpacked from here following the river east, and then north up into Spring Canyon.
Globe Mallow on the eastern slopes of the San Rafael Reef looking east at sunrise towards the Book Cliffs. (At the site of the Smith cabin.) Due to the virus we had left a few weeks later than usual for Utah trips, making it a bit warmer than we care for: mid-eighties. But thanks to that . . . the Globe Mallow was in bloom! The day before we had attempted to climb to the top of the reef to the West where we’d be able to look straight down on the San Rafael River, but the landscape was so convoluted we gave up short of our goal. We may make it an overnight for a future trip. Now, our last morning before the long drive back, we sat/meditated and admired the scenery and spectacular sunrise from the back of our mobile mansion . . . and I couldn’t help admiring all the flowers catching the sun’s early rays on a nearby slope. So I had to go out and crawl in the dirt again with my extreme wide-angle lens to try to take in the whole thing. Came back to the truck, sat a bit longer . . . and decided I had to try again, that I hadn’t quite captured it the way I wanted. Another crawl on the dirt. Back to the truck. Still not satisfied. Back to the dirt. Took about a dozen shots in all. This was the best. To my eyes, worth the trouble.
I’m very fond of this “Little Yellow Tree.” So fond I had to take three pictures. This is from the top of the Swell, looking the opposite direction from the Wedge Overlook shown below. Though I hardly had the thought when I snapped the shutter, it strikes me now as a parable of the human condition: dry and barren and seemingly lifeless, on a landscape somewhere in nowhere land — yet still it reaches in its own way for the sky . . . while being suffused with the most wondrous golden glow.
The Wedge Overlook is a very popular spot, in fact we were told it’s “insane” on spring weekends. Also called the Little Grand Canyon.
This and the following photos are not as exciting, but I include them just to give more an idea of the place. Two young children hiking with their parents were killed in a flash flood in a slot canyon about 30 miles south from here on this particular day. There had been a forecast for thunderstorms. Hiking in slot canyons in such circumstances is nothing less than Russian roulette. I prefer to be up high myself anyway.
This and the photos below are a bit south, in the area of the San Rafael Knob. A very rugged four-wheel-drive road leads south from exit 116 off I-70. After coming over a ledge I neglected to scout ahead of time, we got hung up on three wheels. The jack didn’t help, so I jammed some rocks under the front right wheel, had Anne get in the driver’s seat, gave a big push . . . and we were on our way.
Perfect camping spot with our mobile mansion right on the edge of the endless expanse before us. I call this “The Temple of Mind” after the painting “The Temple of the Mind” by Albert Pinkham Ryder. A full moon made it especially mystical and magical, but I was unable to capture that. Not far from there is a peak called Temple Mountain. Will have to go there sometime.
Home at last. At long, long last. The scene from our front porch on the top of our 2000 foot hill in upstate New York, after having some trees cut to give us a view of the sky at least. Had one picture left on my second roll of film, so why not? 20 feet in front of the camera is a doe staring straight at me, upset that I’ve disturbed her evening browse. Sorry about that . . .
Long, long at last due to an unplanned layover in Davenport, Iowa. In Wyoming I had started hearing a strange noise coming from our 15-year-old vehicle. At Cheyenne I stopped and checked the transmission fluid — close but no cigar — but it was fine so I decided the muffler was just making a bit of a vibration. The drive was noisy due to rain and thunderstorms so I couldn’t really tell the truck’s issue was getting worse . . . . . . until . . . 3 AM Sunday in the rain just outside of Davenport . . . the rear differential self-destructed. The police officer who answered my 911 call said there’d been about 100 shootings that night so he didn’t mind missing the action to help us out. I asked if he’d ever been shot at. Only in the service in Afghanistan and Iraq. Fun. Shorter than me but with a very muscular build, he had biceps thrice the size of mine. At least. He didn’t like Davenport: too cold. Raised in Texas, he had inherited a huge cattle ranch on the border with New Mexico he’d love to get back to . . . but his wife wanted to be near her family. This was two weeks before the George Floyd protests started. After we got home we heard at least two protesters had been killed in Davenport . . . by other protesters. Hopefully the nice officer’s job will be defunded and he’ll get back to his ranch.
After the truck had been towed he gave us a lift to a Comfort Inn. Surrounded by two truckstops and an industrial park, it wasn’t quite like Utah. A 10 minute walk did get us to the edge of an utterly flat endless cornfield, but aside from watching the corn grow, there wasn’t a whole lot to do. Except be with ourselves, and sit.
But there was some entertainment: We were fortunately on the second floor facing the rear, and past the parking was a partially mowed grassy area bordered by some bushes which provided cover for wildlife. Rabbits. Lots of rabbits. Lots and lots of rabbits. Nothing so peaceful and innocent as a cute little rabbit — especially compared with us mean and nasty human beings. Right? But. Except. There were so many — like us? —they were fighting, either for territory or mates, chasing each other like crazy round and round. They hardly had time to munch on the grass. They would even face-off like gunslingers at high noon: Two rabbits, 4 feet apart, staring each other in the eye. Then one would charge and the other would leap straight up in the air 2 feet! The charging rabbit would run underneath the airborne one and then one would chase the other in circles. I know you won’t believe me because I never would have believed that myself, but next May go out to the Comfort Inn just west of Davenport and ask for room 211. Then you will learn the truth about rabbits.
Our truck had been towed to a Toyota dealership fortunately only 4 miles distant, but of course the parts had to be ordered. Took four days. Then installed. Another day and a half. We finally left around noon on Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. Straight into a massive thunderstorm directly between us in Chicago, our only route back. We had heard there was a tornado warning, but we didn’t see a tornado. We didn’t see anything . . . except sheets of driving rain, hail, winds at least 80 miles an hour, one flipped car, and a tractor-trailer blown on its side. Three quarters of the drivers pulled over, but I persisted at about 25 mph until we got through. But I wanted to stay ahead of the storm, which was also moving east, so I didn’t take the time to check the differential. Big mistake. An hour or two later I started hearing the same ominous sound I’d heard in Wyoming. I pulled over, checked . . . and there was oil everywhere: differential, spare tire, muffler, the truck bed. Even though I had asked the service manager at Toyota how the differential could have gone bad, no one took the trouble to look — at $150 an hour for labor — for a leak, even after the test drive. The top of the differential had rusted through, and while it didn’t leak when the vehicle is stationary, it all got thrown out when being driven.
I always carry 5 quarts of extra engine oil, so I refilled it with that and found a Pilot truck stop —thankfully open 24 hours on Memorial Day weekend — that carried gear oil. I cleaned out their supply, and every hour I’d pull over and add another quart. After eight quarts we WERE, at last, at last, at last . . . home. If I hadn’t stopped to check we would have spent another week in Ohio waiting for a new differential.
At home I fixed the holes with epoxy, but the noise hadn’t gone away so I took it to a dealership in Rochester who, after getting the okay from Toyota headquarters, completely replaced the differential. Again. But even the new repair wasn’t done right and there’s a little bit leaking from a gasket they installed so the story’s still not quite over . . .Update: it’s still not over because after checking the rear brakes I saw the left rearwheel bearing was leaking grease and thus needed replacement. Big project, which included removing the rear axle which allowed me to look into the housing of the differential. There were particles of rust all over! I drained the fluid and it was orange from rust! Evidently the replacement differential was one that had been lying around outside getting rusty, or maybe even they’d obtained it from a junkyard! They figured I’d never know! I flushed out the differential with one round of new gear oil and then put another of three quarts of synthetic in . . . maybe it will be okay. Maybe not. The warranty lasts until May …
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