What a gorgeous (pardon the pun) place to wake up! The Sandstone walls of Buckskin Gulch are stained with beautiful Rorschach like patterns reminiscent of a Navajo rug. (Imagine That!)
During the night last night at around 10:30, a group of about 12 people with flashlights picked their way down Coyote Wash, making quite a racket as they discussed where to camp and how to adjust their packs. They took a long time walking past us. Most of the crew were obviously neophytes, led by one or two more experienced hikers. Hell, it could have been a NOLS course if it was in a more remote location. This brought back pleasant memories of the course that I was one of the instructors for in the Talkeetnas this summer. As they finally receded into the gulch, I yelled,
“HAVE FUN!” inciting much confusion and a few “who-said-that?s.” I thought briefly about following them and having a little fun, but decided against it.
We started the morning off with a surprise stroll through an impressive stretch of narrows, which slowly faded back to a meandering wash through slickrock hills. The Weather was cool. Perfect and for once all three of us were feeling good.
After crossing coyote valley road at a trailhead stocked with some amusing literature. “Don’t Die out there! Five fool-proof ways to impress your friends and mortician.” We continued through Kaibab Gulch.
Though less than obviously beautiful, the canyon was a pleasure to walk through, and the curled-dried clay in the wash yielded a distinct bubble-wrap like crunch when strolled across. Still, I felt a twinge of guilt when I marred its patterns; it was very pretty, ranging from small intricate curls to large, interlaced tiles.
Almost immediately after we reached the road a white pick-up pulled up. A ride? No, a ranger! She was nice thought, considering we didn’t have a permit. She just wanted us to describe our route for her and fill out a permit. She gave us some water and granola too!
After the ranger left, we moved up and down the road looking for the ideal place to hitch a ride. Finally an SUV came down the Kitchen Corral Road. A plump woman rolled down the window.
“Hey, where’re ya’ll from?”
“Minnesota, Wisconsin, and California/Virginia!”
“I don’t usually pick up hitch hikers, you guys don’t have any guns, do you?”
“No, too heavy, we’re just backpackers, we promise.”
“Fine. Then hop in. You can put your stuff in the back.”
Clara ended up being the perfect ride. Part of a 5 generation Johnson ranching family, she gave us the rundown and recent advances in ranching techniques. When in town, she gave us a tour, all the info on what was open, and even took us to the different hotels while Sharon checked out prices. Thanks Clara! You are a generous individual.
We finally settled on The Sun and Sand Motel, a $39 a night run-down place with reasonably clean, large rooms, free breakfast, and owners straight out of the picture next to “white trash” in the dictionary. Wayne had long thinning hair, hollow eyes and half of his original teeth. His wife looked the same but with more hair and teeth and a pair of saggy, free swinging breasts that were a horror to behold. Still, they were friendly folks and we felt right at home, despite the 70’s burnt puke orange décor.
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