Paddling with Dogs

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Having rented paddleboards in the past, and last year buying one for ourselves, we often get the dogs out with us for a paddle if the water is calm enough.  They are fairly well behaved on the board for the most part, understanding from past experiences that setting things off balance can result in them going for a swim.  Our board is covered front to back with yoga mat material, giving them pretty good grip to hang on through a bit of chop.  Jake wanders a bit on the board, forcing constant adjustments on our behalf to keep dry.  Rubix has a habit of standing at the very nose, sometimes paddling herself, but often biting at the larger waves as they pass.  Occasionally reaching too far to bite a wave, she ends up swimming at least once each time out.

The kayak is a bit different.  One has a large enough seat opening in the hull to allow one dog to sit right in front of you, between your legs.  Ang and I both took Rubix for a few short paddles, and once sure she could handle it, Rubix and I loaded in and started the 3km long journey to the north end of the lake where it is fed by the North Verde River, a stretch of river that winds 8km or so from Horseshoe reservoir into Bartlett Lake (also a dammed reservoir).  Boating activity was at a minimum by this late in the afternoon, so the chop wasn’t too bad, however, we were fighting the current the whole way.  After about 1km she was getting brave, opting to stand, with her front legs out of the kayak and on top of it.  This was to allow her to reach the water with her mouth.  I imagine it was really getting to her, seeing all these waves splashing up the side and not being able to bite them!  The next kilometer was spent with me paddling hard to get through the flow.  Every slowdown or stop meant a loss of momentum and more effort to get it back.  By kilometer two Rubix was getting quite aggressive with the wave biting, barely letting a lone wave pass by without sinking her teeth into it.  Eventually, the waves bit back.  One particular wave rocked the boat enough just as she stretched out to get it.  A mad scramble of claws on plastic briefly ensued, without much luck gaining a grip.  And in she went.  Fortunately for me, the kayak is fairly stable, or I’d have been swimming with her.  She panicked and tried to get back in the boat with no luck of course.  I had to reach over, grab her harness and hoist her in.  Once in the boat again she immediately climbed up to lay on my lap, hugging me with claws gripping my skin like little needles full of gratitude.  I think it scared her a bit.  Her memory obviously short, 10 minutes later she was back to the same wave biting antics, perched precariously out of the kayak once again like nothing happened.  We made the mouth of the Verde, got out for a shoreline bathroom break and stretch and headed back.  It seemed the current had changed, and we were paddling against it on the way back too.  Go figure.

 

Phoenix and Bartlett Lake

We’ve had enough of cold mornings and not using our water system for fear of freezing our holding tanks over night.  This was supposed to be a warm retreat for the winter months after all.  With that in mind, we left Flagstaff, which was still dipping below zero for a few hours each night, for Phoenix.  The forecast was overnight lows of 7-8 Celsius there.  We followed highway 98 South from our campsite to Sedona.  That drive is a real unexpected treat.  After a quick descent of 1000 feet or so, we found ourselves following a snaky canyon floor, lush with green and the first flowing river we’d seen in weeks.  Oak Creek Canyon was beautiful.  Still covered in green growth, the brown canyon walls began to brighten until they became a rich red, littered now with cacti and sparse leafy growth of almost a neon green color.  The contrast is stunning.  Along the hour or so drive through this canyon we spotted numerous campsites and parks we took note of to visit upon our return.  I’m beginning to think 6 months is nowhere near enough time to see all we want to, as everyday our list of places grows.

We stopped briefly in Sedona for wireless service to figure out where we were going next.  A highway side RV campground provided a spot to stop and rest for the night, as well as a nice long hot shower in their facilities, unburdened by limited water supply.  Arriving in Phoenix late in the morning gave us time to do some shopping and errands, empty our tanks, fill up with fresh water, and consult some locals we met while doing so on where to go next.  Bartlett Lake was tagged as a maybe, but after a keen suggestion from another camper at the dump station we opted to give it a go.  It was evening by the time we were getting out of Phoenix, driving through a town called Carefree.  What a fitting name it was as a last greet before entering Tonto National Forest.  Just outside of Carefree we were forced to stop and take in a stunning sunset.  From high over Phoenix area we witnessed a lively orange and pink sky drape the mountains in the distance in layers like you’d see in a painting.

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It was dark when we arrived at Bartlett Flats dispersed campsite.  We stopped on high beach and slept, waking early as the sun rose to explore the nearly vacant beach and pick our spot to set up for the next week.  The miles-long beach had only 3 other campers scattered around it, leaving us with choices galore.  We opted for a sandy little peninsula at the water’s edge that offered a 200-degree view of water out our door with cactus-covered mountains all around.  The first day it rained, as forecasted.  That allowed for some maintenance work on the trailer to get done without feeling like we were missing out on the outdoors.  The second day is when we felt we’d made it to the warm vacation we were in pursuit of.  The near vacant peace of the lake and the endless beach was soon interrupted by a low growl in the air, quickly followed by a roaring flyby directly above us of a fighter jet.  This repeated every couple hours, Monday to Thursday.  The air force training base just outside of Phoenix seemed to take advantage of the lake and river valleys for swooping, high-speed training exercises.

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The next couple of days the beach slowly began to line with campers.  When I say campers, I mean rv’s.  It was the start of a long weekend.

We basked in 25 degree afternoons with Margaritas and Coronas, periodically getting out for a paddle in the kayak or on the board.  One thing we didn’t buy (and I never will) is firewood as I’ll happily collect it from the surrounding dead-fall and keep my $6 in pocket.  However, a cactus covered desert doesn’t provide much for burnable dead-fall.  The opposite side of lake didn’t seem too far away, so I took one of recently acquired, used kayaks out for it’s inaugural paddle to go explore.  I found on the other side, in one of the runoff valleys feeding the lake, a pile of dead-fall hardwood branches and logs that had washed down from higher elevation.  With dreams of an evening fire I loaded up the kayak with enough wood for a couple nights, cautiously climbed in and planted my feet firmly on my find and began to paddle back.  Sound travels quite well across water, so as much as I could hear the comments from nearby boaters as to what the hell I was doing, I’m sure they could hear my expletives as I almost lost my load a few times breaking through the wake of other boats.  Maybe if I put a Canada flag sticker on the kayak next time they’ll understand, or at least not question my actions so much and just acknowledging me as yet another crazy Canuck.  What wood I had gathered would later that evening fuel one of the stinkiest bonfires I’ve ever sat around.  I’m still not sure what it was we were burning, but despite the odor, we burned the rest the following night.  No way was that hard earned haul going to waste.

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Grand Canyon!!!

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The word Grand isn’t enough.  Using 5 letters to describe and name this place, this world within our world, just doesn’t do it justice.  I guess The Greatest Most Massive Ever Upside-Down Mountain Range You Could Never Imagine National Park doesn’t fit on a map very well.  That name doesn’t do it justice either.  In fact, without being there to witness a part of it in person you can never truly understand, and even then, you still won’t be able to describe it accurately.  It simply isn’t possible.  All one can do to describe the Grand Canyon is relate their experiences being there and the emotions experienced when standing on the edge.  And we stood on edges (mostly Angela).  In some cases, I lied down at edges because looking down so far gave me a sensation I hadn’t felt before.  I’m pretty comfortable when it comes to heights, or so I thought.  I love cliff jumping into lakes and rivers and have spent a fair bit of my time working on ladders without fear.  I’ve stood on glass floors of skyscrapers in Asia and looked down without worry.  This was different.

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When I stood on the edge of a point and looked straight down to my left, right, and ahead, I felt my balance was off.  After gingerly stepping back and heading further on the trail one gets the opportunity to look back at where they once stood from another perspective.  What we stood on is no more than a small landing surrounded by 300-500 foot cliffs all around, straight down.  These are proper cliffs.  My lack of wings gives me assurance that these feelings of vertigo are warranted.  Man isn’t meant to be here.  At least not this man.

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Angela, however, seemed unconcerned about the imminent death that lay below if one took a minor misstep.  I noped out of many perilous viewpoints while Angela, who normally questions my behaviour, is the one who needed a sanity check here.  She confidently strode up to each point, surefooted to the edge.  And she made sure to mention I was a chicken.  A few times.

 

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That was the experience.  As for the emotions, small and insignificant are words that come to mind.  Looking down to the canyon floor below, occasionally catching a glimpse of the Colorado River, some 2 miles away makes on feel almost absent.  Seeing the layers upon layers of rock dating back millions of years will do that.  Between the history and the size, over 15km across in points, I can’t help but compare us to two flies buzzing over the truck windshield once at some point on our trip.  And even then, the time of our presence still doesn’t compare.

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We camped 2 nights here, at another free site, just outside of the Nation Park, but only accessed from within the park.  We were alone but for 1 other camper we passed on the way in.  Speaking of passing on the way in, the wood worker in me spotted something incredibly strange.  A towering pine at least 2 feet wide had a low branch coming off with the remnants of a large root mass growing out the end of it.  I still don’t know what could cause this anomaly, but here’s a picture and maybe someone else does?

This site was another gem of the US Forest Service.  Most of these sites are on National Forest land, are user maintained (as in no services, haul out what you bring in) and are free!   The sites we’ve visited are generally quite large with ample room to maneuver and park our home on wheels, seldom having to uncouple the truck.  This particular site sat next to a forest service fire watchtower.  The tower was open for us to climb even!  This was my chance to reclaim my manliness “grunting”.  Many flights of steep metal stairs open to below and we made it as high as we could go.  The trap door into the lookout perch was locked shut.  From there we could see for miles in every direction, including a glimpse of the edge of the Grand Canyon.  Well, we couldn’t actually see the edge.  What we saw was a void where the land we were on disappeared, and never did come back into sight through the hazy air above.  Short of a few odd vehicles driving through we spent an uninterrupted 2 days out there and did a whole lot of nothing.  It was great!

We spent one more day exploring the Grand Canyon, vowing to return on our way back up and explore the North Rim.  There are a couple great campsites along the North Rim but the road to them is seasonal and closed in the winter.  They say the South Rim gives an idea of the depth of the canyon, with the North highlighting the width.  We can’t wait!  On the way out of the park we stopped at the Imax theatre to watch the 1984 National Geographic film on the history and adventures of the canyon.  I had seen this film once before years ago as a child but vividly remembered scenes from it.  I highly recommend anyone who has the chance to view it.  And view it at an Imax theatre.

Great Sand Dunes National Park  and Zapata Falls

A couple hours South of Poncha Pass the valley widened and the mountains grew shorter with peaks more dispersed.  We neared Great Sand Dunes National Park.  40 miles (roughly 65 km.) we spotted a beige cluster in the southeast distance.  The fact it was visible from such a distance suggests the scale of it.  We stopped for a quick bathroom break off the highway at a pit stop with no more than 2 of any item in stock, and less than a ¼ of the shelves with anything to catch the dust at all.  There was a diner attached.  If crickets paid they might make ends meet.  How these communities and places survive is a mystery to me.  The sandy, infertile, and incredibly inhospitable land was littered with mobile homes and trailers whose tin roofs were weighed down with old tires so not to fly away with the winds that whipped the land into it’s current condition.  Living in Edmonton and Saskatoon I’ve been questioned by many as to how we survive seasons.  The seemingly unfathomable cold is nothing compared to the un-growing, unproviding lands these are.  With cold brings snow, brings melt and feeds growth.  The native plants seem to barely survive here.  It’s hard to imagine this land providing in the sense we are accustomed to in the fertile, frozen north.

We lucked out coming into the park.  It seems those at the gate were on break.  The typically manned pay window was closed tight with a sign saying “gone, will collect payment on re-entry”.  Awesome!  National Park entry fees are $30.  Based on our cheap living budget that’s 3 days of meals for the two of us.  The dunes were barely visible from about 1km before the park gates until almost 2km after.  By that point they seem to quadruple in size.  What looked once like a sandy first rise up a desert mountain was suddenly a deep mass of sun warmed wash.  From the sandy, mostly frozen creek-bed below the dunes there is no camera lens that can capture the volume of what lies before you.  Carefully we skipped across 100m (300 feet) of partially frozen, still running, wet sand wash to get to the dry warm beach that is the base of the dunes.  And a beach it was!  This is by far the cleanest, softest, purest sand I’ve ever seen or set foot in.  It was dry 6” deep and I just can’t explain…  think the “champagne powder” of sand.

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With a quick preview and a plan of making the 750 foot vertical climb the following day, we left the park and headed up the next mountain south to a free campsite at the base of Zapata Falls.

I have a thing for waterfalls.  I find them absolutely fascinating and am obsessed with seeing and participating in as many as possible.  How exactly does one participate in a waterfall?  Good question.  I haven’t really given this much thought until this moment, the first time I’ve tried to explain or justify my obsession.  There is such a power behind any waterfall.  The only way they exist is because of thousands of years of water, something that seems so soft and gentle, forming rock; something so hard and un-formable.  You can participate by hiking nearby, ascending the same landscape they have cut through with no regard to its previous shape.  We swim and bath in the pools they form.  We jump off cliffs with them, feeling for a brief second the same power plunging into the pools below.  That’s all if you’re lucky. In most cases we participate simply by being there to observe and feel a power and force that cannot be measured by any man-made unit.

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Zapata Falls was all of that, but frozen.  Paused in time as for what you can see.  Your ears and feet disagree though.  Under thick, cracked ice, mostly clouded with air but for a few glimpses through a clear block.  This flow was alive and well beneath a frozen cloak of cold trying its best to put you on your backside with every slippery step.  I feel winter may be the best and possibly only real time to view these falls.  From the end of well groomed trail leading to them, the frozen state allows you to climb back into the tight and tall canyon, around a bend where the giant falls stand.  Without the solid water I’m not sure we would have witnessed this sight.

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Half-way back to the main parking area, the trail forks and leads an alternate route back to one of the best laid out campsites we’ve stayed at yet.  Two large loops, one for tenting and one for RV’s are lined alternately, either side with pull-through stalls, each complete with a bear-proof storage bin to keep food items in overnight, as well as picnic tables and steel fire-pits including removable grilling grates.  It seemed there wasn’t a site that didn’t offer beautiful panoramic views of the valley below, with the city of Alamosa to the South, the distant peaks of the San Juan Mountains to the West, and the Great Sand Dunes National Park to the North, slightly dwarfed by the Sangre De Cristo Mountains behind.  But just slightly.  From this elevated viewpoint we were able to, for the first time, really view and comprehend the 31 square mile sprawl of the dunes.

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Truck and Trailer- sunset view
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Rubix looking at the sunset from the trailer.

Colorado Hospitality

Canadians are well known across the globe for their hospitable, friendly, and apologetic nature.  I’m sorry for stereotyping, but it’s generally quite true.  Canadians are genuinely concerned and adept to the state of happiness of our fellow Canucks or anyone else around for that matter.  With that said, I’ve found Colorado hospitality to rival that of most any Canadian experience I’ve had.  We’ve had the pleasure of experiencing 5 or 6 breweries, a few restaurants, as well as a few fuel stations.  At every one of which we were greeted with some of the friendliest folks we’ve ever come by.  Avery Brewing Co., as well as Asher Brewing in Boulder, Colorado, have some of the best staff we’ve ever encountered.  Not only was the beer fantastic, but the staff were incredibly welcoming and eager to help with anything we asked.  For example at Avery Brewery, we quickly realized that their substantial menu of beer ranging from 3.something % up to 16.9% was not ideal for those that wanted to continue trying everything that looked delicious and not drive themselves home after.  They did all they could to find us a way to get home (by home I mean Angela’s relatives place and the street on which our trailer was currently parked) with our dog who was waiting patiently in the truck.  That’s one of the perks of having dogs vs kids.  I find we aren’t judged nearly as much as a parent who goes to a bar and leaves their kids in the truck…

Unfortunately, in our experience, Boulder, Colorado has not developed quite the industry Saskatchewan and Canada have as far as designated driver services go that will drive you home in your vehicle.  Note for the future – business idea.  With that said, we did not stay at Avery long, opting to try out one more recommended local brewery, Asher Brewing.  Back home in Saskatoon, we have a few local microbreweries, one of which has become a bit of a second home.  Now this isn’t because of a serious disease known as alcoholism.  No, there are better reasons.  First of which is the regulars.  Prairie Sun brewery became a “Cheers” sort of local pub where you would walk in the door any given day and be greeted by name with friendly faces that you could sit next to for an hour or two and shoot the shit, whether you had one beer or three.  Asher Brewing had the same feeling.  It is a smaller place on the scale of Colorado microbreweries.  But it felt like Prairie Sun.  The bartender was friendly as could be, genuinely interested in our story of where we came from and what we were up to.  The Canadian I.D. tends to garner questions just about everywhere we go.  Imagine you are at work one day and a talking lama comes in and asks where to find a bathroom.  We feel like the lama.  For some reason, bewilderment is the first reaction, more often than not, when people realize they are in the presence of a Canadian.  Remember as a child when you first saw a rabbit or hare running through the streets?  And remember how you wondered if someone’s pet got out or if it escaped from the zoo?  We are the rabbits.  We really aren’t that foreign, yet we aren’t natural to the landscape.  Fortunately for us we have a common language with which to communicate and don’t simply run off scared.  And thanks to that common language we and the rabbit spotters in Colorado have found that we aren’t really that different.  In fact, this place feels like home.  It feels like Canada.  That is a compliment, Colorado.  We really like it here!

Having spent a couple weeks for family time with Angela’s Aunt, Uncle and their two kids over Christmas, it was time to hit the road.  The Great Sand Dunes National Park was the next target on our list.  As we left Boulder we made one last stop to fill up a few growlers at another great local spot.  Bob, who owned the brewery, Endo Brewing Co., came to check out the trailer and gave us a recommendation for somewhere to see on the way to the dunes.  Salida, Colorado.  We followed Bob’s advice and made a quick detour.  Well, not much of a detour.  More like a different route.  All I can say is Wow!  The province of Colorado just keeps on giving.  After a roadside nap overnight just south of Colorado Springs we hit the road early well before the sun came up.  After an hour drive South, we headed West out of Pueblo, Colorado, and wound our way into the mountains again.  Along the surreal, red rock canyon drive into the hills we saw signs for Royal Gorge Park.

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A place not on our radar or one that we were even aware of became our new next stop.  And what a stop it was.  A small tourist village made up of dinosaur exhibits, rock and gemstone stores, and even a cowboys and Indians store (a bit shocking considering the times).  Through the village and up a winding road we found the parking lot just as the sun was starting to rise over the hills behind us.  It was a beautiful sight watching the red peaks ahead slowly be bathed in bright orange light.  We opted to hit some trails recommended by the park ranger at the gorge bridge, rather than paying the fees to walk across the bridge.  Always looking down so not to trip on a rock or step on a cactus (which were everywhere) we made our way to the gorge’s edge, taking over a viewpoint occupied by a couple bighorn sheep just before we showed up.  Standing a good way above the bridge, I think we had what may be the best view of it all, short of down in the steady little river that lay below, or through the windows of the train that runs along it.  Sheer red walls rise straight up from the edge of the water and the edge of the tracks hundreds of feet.  We didn’t venture to close to the slippery shale covered edge for fear of going over.  How the bighorn sheep navigate those cliffs seems to defy physics.

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On the road again, after the Royal Gorge stop, we continued West through one of the most scenic canyon drives I’ve ever had the pleasure of cruising.  It’s not quite as fun in a truck with a 30 foot trailer in tow as it would be in car or on a bike, but I loved it no less.  Along side the same river that snakes through the Royal Gorge, we wound through 40 miles of scenic, tight, red canyon walls all the way to Salida.  And what a cool city it is.  A mix of Mexican style clay wall homes, typical last 30 year North American homes, and a lot of century old brick English style architecture gave Salida a very unique vibe.  And the people matched.  Thought I didn’t get out for a ride here, we stopped at a local bike shop for a few tubes and advice on trails.  Incredibly helpful is all I can say.  Before leaving town a quick stop at a roadside winery we spotted, Vino Salida, to sample some mead (honey wine) and wine.  I did a flight of mead samples.  I don’t think “flight” is how you refer to wine tastings, but it’s what I know so that’s what we’ll call it.  Angela sampled a “selection?” of wines, and eventually left with a bottle of red something.  Maybe I’ll tell you how it gave me heartburn later, or Angela will tell of how it made her evening…   we’ll see.

We didn’t stick around Salida long, heading South towards the sand dunes, but stopping at another national forest free campsite.  Poncha Pass.  What an incredible place.  We left 3 degree Celsius weather, climbed 2500 feet, and were welcomed with a wide open plateau full of sun and 10 degree bake setting.  The bike came out, shorts went on and Corona’s were opened.  Let the tropical holiday begin!  After a quick loop on the bike around the off-road trails up and down a few adjacent hills it was back to the campsite for a sweater, pants, and the reality that, despite the warm afternoon, we were still at 9000 feet elevation in January.  The sun dropped over the mountains to the West with a glowing goodbye, followed shortly by a full, low moon rising in the East.  Darkness was skipped.  The whole landscape was lit by the moon to the point you could read.  What a scene!

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The next two days were more of the same, except for one adventure.  The typical homebody, Gus, decided to try to catch something.  A chase ensued, Angela on foot, and me not quite out of bed yet.  Eventually, I hopped in the truck and started to look.  Roughly 25 minutes later he was caught with a team effort and brought back to camp.  He will be leashed from now on…

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Devils Tower- Americas First National Monument

By: Angela

 

On December 13 we visited Devils Tower in Wyoming. It is a pretty amazing thing to see. We were able to drive all the way up to the top parking lot with the trailer since it is their quiet season.

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The dogs, while not allowed on the trails around the monument, were allowed to wander around the parking lot area and picnic areas. Dylan and I wandered up the trail to see Americas first national monument up close.

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It felt good to be able to stop for a short visit and stretch our legs out. Could not resist taking this picture on the way out when we saw the sign “Do not feed the prairie dogs”

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We also attempted to get a group shot of us but that will take some practice to get down pat. Hard to take a picture when two (Gus & Rubix) out of four dogs are stranger dangering the person taking the picture.

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