Valley of the Gods & Goosenecks State Park: Utah's Showing Off Again

Always listen to Craig. 

That was the lesson we learned on this year's trip to the Southwest.

When planning our post-Overland Expo trip this year, a lot of emails flew back and forth in the days prior to departure. What about White Rim Trail in Canyonlands? Camping there was already booked up. How about Moab? Always fun, but crowded. Grand Canyon? We did that last year. Craig mentioned he had always wanted to go up the Moki Dugway, having been down it before but never up. And by the way, Valley of the Gods is just a hop skip and jump away from there. And after consulting a map, he realized Muley Point was just up the road, and wouldn't it be fun to go visit the Hawaiian Rolls?

What?

That's crazy talk Craig, but ok, we're game.

A little background: Craig is an archaeologist, specializing in aviation. His work life is devoted to studying crash reports, satellite photos and old photographs looking for clues as to where missing aircraft from as far back as WWII might have gone down. When he's fairly sure he's got the right area he drives out, hikes out and tries to find the rusty bits and pieces that might indicate he's found the site. He's a man obsessed, but in a good way.

This explains in a roundabout way how he came across a this photo:

Photo Credit: Adriel Heisey

He became so enamored with this picture he spotted in an Archaeology Southwest magazine issue, he studied Google Maps satellite view until he narrowed down where it might have been taken. What he came up with was a mesa near Muley Point Utah, accessed by the Moki Dugway, just adjacent to Valley of the Gods. Voila! The perfect place to explore, and just a half days drive from Flagstaff.

The namesake for Mexican Hat, Utah.

To get to Valley of the Gods from Flagstaff, drive up highway 89, turn towards Tuba City on 160, then turn north on 163 at Kayenta. From there you cruise through the outskirts of Monument Valley to Mexican Hat, cross the San Juan river and wave hello to the Swingin' Steak Grill, and maybe stop in for one of their famous steaks, grilled to perfection as it swings over a wood fire. (Or so I've heard. We didn't actually stop. Next time!) Take the turnoff at 261 toward Goosenecks State Park and drive almost smack into the side of a huge mesa. Turn right to get to Valley of the Gods; go straight and you'll be driving up steep switchbacks cut into the side of that mesa, the famous Moki Dugway.

Wind, Dust, Thunderstorms. I'm beginning to think the name Utah is derived from the Navajo word meaning "Crappy Weather"

Now, I love Utah. I really do. The red sandstone that is so famously carved by wind and water into arches and hoodoos, towers and spires; so very grand. But why is it every time we go, the "sculpting" has to be in progress? What is it about us that attracts 50 mph wind gusts and thunderstorms followed by torrential rain? Isn't it supposed to be a desert?

Driving through Monument Valley, through wind and rain.

We convoyed with our friends, Craig and Rasa in their Toyota truck towing their gigantic tent trailer and Mel in his Wrangler with his tricked out old army Jeep trailer, our big Ford truck bringing up the rear. We watched the trailers wag back and forth in the wind ahead of us as Mark gripped the steering wheel as the truck tried to change lanes on it's own. Off to the left, huge black clouds were hanging low over the desert. Now and then a lightning bolt would stab down and seem to touch the "monuments" that make up the valley. This was going to be fun.

By the time we reached the entrance of Valley of the Gods, the wind was tearing across the park in gusts strong enough to bend the metal sign posts off kilter. We slowly drove down the gravel road, searching for a spot that was big enough for all three of our rigs, and with enough protection from the wind to allow us to pop up our respective campers and tents without having to chase them down the valley. Thankfully, we had all brought our FRS radios so we could communicate without having to get out of our trucks. If you've ever tried to get out of a car in this kind of wind you will understand the risk you take every time you open the door; watching your expensive set of topo maps along with various bits of road trip flotsam (napkins, apples cores, gas receipts) fly into the next county is not fun. Been there, done that.

Valley of the Gods is on BLM land, which means dispersed camping is allowed anywhere a previous camp has been made. Off road driving is prohibited, but there are plenty of spots to choose from, ranging from large pullouts along the main road to campsites on spur roads right beneath some of the monuments.

Circling the wagons, Overland-style. That's Craig behind his Fleetwood trailer, trying to hook things up while the wind was trying to rip everything out of his grip.

The view from camp. Not too shabby.

The storm made for a dramatic sunset that night.

As we were setting up camp in the wind, the guys from Ninkasi Brewing Company drove by, stopped, backed up and handed us some beer (they had attended Overland Expo as well). They said anyone who was willing to camp in this weather deserved a free beer.
We are now fans for life.

We found a nice spot nestled down behind a small outcropping. It was still windy, but tolerable. The saving grace of all this weather was it had rained just enough to keep the dust down. Small favors from the heavens. We set up camp then huddled in Craig and Rasa's trailer for dinner, holding onto our plates as the whole thing rocked in the wind. It definitely wasn't a-sit-around-the-campfire night.

Good morning!

The next morning Utah decided to show us it's alternate personality. Waking up to silence, we looked out the window and found it was a gorgeous, blue sky/puffy cloud/red monument/perfect kind of day. We hopped out of bed, grabbed our cameras and walked down the road before our campmates were up. If there's a better time or place to take photos than Utah at 6:00am, I don't know where that is.

Yucca flowers try to out-spire the spires in Valley of the Gods.

Evening Primrose decides to stay up until morning.

A backlit daisy seems happy the wind stopped.

Lupine

A break in the clouds highlights one of the many spires in Valley of the Gods

Mark hurries back to camp after our photo shoot went a little long. Way off in the distance you can see our camp, the white dots to the left of the road under the center spire.

We were having so much fun we didn't realize how long we had been gone. When we got back to camp our mates were waiting with breakfast for us. Scrambled eggs and veggies from the garden; perfection.

It was the perfect day to take a little exploration trip and find the Hawaiian Rolls, stopping in to see Goosenecks State Park along the way.

Goosenecks State Park, Utah

Goosenecks State Park overlooks an area where the San Juan River makes multiple u-turns, cutting sharp curves through the desert floor. Standing in one spot you can look down a thousand feet and watch the river as it makes it's way through three full curves. From above, it looks like a giant wiggly W. It's a spectacular view, and there are some primitive campsites if you like flat, windy places, but there isn't much else there.

Notice the red tinge to the clouds. That's not Photoshop; the white clouds were reflecting the red earth beneath them.

The San Juan river has cut it's way 1000' into the plains of Utah.

We stood and stared down for a while as more people started pulling into the park. Turns out, this area is very popular with the European tourist crowd. There were lines of rented Harley Davidsons parked in rows along the edges of the lot. A group of riders pulled in behind our parked trucks as we were trying to leave. We waited and watched as one woman tried to back her motorcycle up to the curb. She almost made it; Craig and Mark helped her prop the bike back up after it spilled over.

Note to self: do not rent your expensive fancy motorcycle to people whose total riding experience amounts to puttering around Florence on a Vespa.

Next stop: Moki Dugway and the Hawaiian Rolls of Muley Point.

To be continued...

Overland Expo 2015: Weather That Almost Won

This year's Overland Expo started out so promising. We pulled into Mormon Lake under partly cloudy skies, checked in and received our packets then made our way to the campground. The gale force winds that usually greet us were absent, and the temps were in the pleasant 60s. Even better, this year the campground was laid out in rows marked off with cleverly named streets. No more willy-nilly free-for-all camping that left us trapped in a sea of 4x4s like the previous years. Our friend Mel had staked out an area for everyone in our group; we pulled in next to him and popped up.

This was gonna be great.

Thursday afternoon before Overland Expo 2015, sunny skies and all is well.

We pulled out our chairs and watched the procession of campers, trailers, RVs, and various outlandish vehicles drive by, guarding the spaces around us for friends that were arriving late. The clouds that had been hanging off to the east started to move over us and it was getting a little chilly, but no worries. It was almost beer time and we had jackets.

The wind kicked up a little. No surprise, this was Overland after all. Then the wind carried in a few raindrops. We put up our hoods. No big deal. We're overlanders! We are tough! We cooked dinner huddled around the stove, as much for warmth as to shield the burner from the wind and rain. Socializing was made more difficult by chattering teeth and the cold, which had dipped into the 30s by the time the sun went down. Everyone decided they were really tired and went to bed just after 9:00pm.

The view from under our tarp. Rain, rain and more rain. 

The morning brought rain mixed with torrential rain and occasional snow flurries. The surrounding "dry" lakebed had turned into a gluey, boot sucking muck, a charming mixture of silty soil and cow dung that coated our shoes in alternating layers of slick mud and the tiny lava rock they had (somewhat belatedly and futilely) laid down on the footpaths. Walking was a chore; haul one heavy boot out of the muck, search for the driest, least deep area to place it and do it all over again until you reached the drier Expo grounds. By the time you got to the concrete each foot weighed at least 10 lbs and everyone was walking like Frankenstein's monster. I felt sorry for the lodge: the classes that were held inside were coated in pathways of mud tracked in by the hundreds of boots tromping up and down the stairs.

My boots, after I had cleaned them off to the best of my ability. 

Saturday morning the weather changed. Overnight three inches of wet, heavy snow fell, coating the trucks and tents, weighing down our awning until it bent the poles inward. Mark had gone out a few times during the night to flip the snow off, leaving piles of snow around the edges of the awning that melted in the morning, creating a deeper, thicker mud moat around our camp.

Does this look like fun? Believe me, it was colder than this looks.

Our truck that morning. It was actually warmer inside with the insulating layer of snow.

Mel's rig. He stayed in bed until the last possible minute that morning.

At this point, a lot of our neighbors decided they had had enough. Unfortunately, by this time the mud was so thick many of them couldn't get out on their own. Teams of recovery vehicles started roaming the campground, pulling helpless RVs and overloaded trucks and trailers out of the muck. Of course this churned up even more mud and some of the recovery vehicles needed recovering. In the end, the tow trucks called in from Flagstaff refused to come out to the campground and it was up to a guy named Wolf and his deuce and a half, an old WWII cargo truck. He was pulling people out for donations to fill his gigantic diesel tank, which was getting a serious workout. Yeah, they don't make 'em like they used to.

This is how it's done (if you brought the right vehicle, and the right driver):

We watched all this with interest and dread. We weren't planning on leaving until Monday morning, and we had been nervously monitoring the weather forecasts every few hours. It was supposed to start clearing Saturday afternoon but during happy hour that evening, we watched as the heavy rain turned to hail then snow showers. We had been planning on having a potluck meal that night, but that sealed it: we went to the pizza place, the best 60 bucks we've ever spent.

Mel, Chris, Max and Jason braving the rain for a sandwich.
This is how most of our meals were spent: standing up, eaten as quickly as possible.

When we returned to camp we found it had become a little island in a sea of mud. At least half the campground had vacated to higher ground and/or warmer climes leaving us with few neighbors. That night was quiet, except for the whirring of those lucky enough to have heaters in their rigs. Hey, there's no shame in it; we set ours to go on at 48, and it was cycling all night.

Sunday morning brought hope. Sunshine was starting to break through, and by the afternoon it turned out to be a beautiful day. Rays of semi-warm sun bounced off the mud puddles and danced on the small lake that had once been the volunteer campground. A lone Oz tent was still standing in the middle, a testament to the sturdy tent and it's stubborn owners. They must have packed waders because there was no way to get out of there without sinking to the knees in the mud.

The nice thing about dry lakebed camping: as quickly as it can turn to muck, it dries out all the quicker. By early afternoon, if we were careful, we could walk across the campground without breaking through the crust. Only in the worst places–the roads that had suffered the most damage when people had gotten bogged down–were there mucky places left.

One of our favorite classes during our first Overland Expo was taught by Martin with Adventure Trailers. He was teaching us tire repair, a skill Mark has used quite frequently in the past few years. The lesson that stuck with both of us, though, was this: when faced with something that's stopped you in your tracks–say, a flat tire–and you feel panic setting in, the first thing you should do is stop and make a cup of tea. Take a moment, think it through, and by the time the kettle boils you'll have realized how to get at the problem with a clear, calm approach.

By Monday morning, our truck and camper were mostly dry as we packed up, and we drove out of there with nary a slip of a tire. Martin was right: sometimes it pays to sit tight and have a cup of tea. A nice blazing hot cup.

Tanzania: Lake Manyara | Running From Elephants

(This is the seventeenth installment in an ongoing series about our self-drive safari to Tanzania. To start at the beginning, click here.)

Our last stop on our self-drive safari to Tanzania was Lake Manyara National Park. This park sits just outside the town of Mto wa Mbu; in fact the entrance is within city limits, the only park we visited that was close to an urban area.

A huge giraffe peers down at us as we drive by.

After disentangling ourselves from our new friend Emanuel, we drove to the gate and paid our fees. We had a special campsite reserved for the last two nights and we were looking forward to spending some quiet time there before going back to the Twiga Lodge in Arusha.

This park was quite a change from the other entrance rituals we had experienced. There was still the giant log book, and we still had to see at least two different people before we were allowed to enter, but the workers had official uniforms and were much younger and friendlier than our previous encounters. Part of the difference was this park was smaller, and most of the visitors were coming in just for the day. There were a lot of safari vehicles and their drivers parked at the entrance, waiting to fill their cars with tourists willing to pay by the hour. The fact that there were so many people milling around either waiting for a car or returning from a tour meant there was a (paved!) parking lot equipped with a large modern bathroom, and a gift shop to spend your shillings.

We paid our fees, showed the guard our special campsite pass and were ready to go, but first we wandered into the gift shop. The shop was built from a large shipping container–still equipped with the heavy steel doors with locking bars–and it was lined with shelves full of wooden carvings, "Genuine" Maasai blankets, the obligatory jewelry, and...could it be? Snack items!

Candy bars! Sodas! Cold water! Bags of nuts and trail mix piled high! Our shriveled stomachs could barely contain themselves.

We had been on the road now for close to two weeks. Within that time we had visited one grocery store (before we left) and found one market with fruit. We were down to the last of our peanut butter, had been out of bread for a week and our paltry canned food selection was going to make for some interesting dinners. We didn't know it at the time, but we had both lost seven pounds at that point. Not a bad thing, but when presented with the opportunity to have some high fat, high sugar snacks we were not about to pass it up.

We counted up our remaining shillings, trying to guess how much we'd need for the next few days. We still needed a few gifts for people back home, so we picked out some carved wooden animals before turning our attention to the snacks. It was so hard not to sweep the whole shelf into our arms and devour everything on the spot. Hunger isn't pretty.

We were forced to make wise choices: a bag of cashews, two large bottles of water, one chocolate bar (for a treat after dinner) along with the gifts. It cost us most of our cash, leaving just enough for another tank of diesel and possible emergencies (like a quick trip back to the store for more chocolate).

We barely made it back into the car before ripping into the nuts. The taste of cashews will forever be dear to my heart.

As we motored through the gates, we were immediately struck by how much more jungle-like it was. Monkeys swung from tree to tree, and colorful birds flew by. The forest was very dense, making it hard to see anything that wasn't right at the side of the road. We followed a few of the safari cars out to an overlook at the lake. There, huge hippos were lounging with zebra, wildebeest, and hundreds of pink flamingos.

Hippos lounge surrounded by cranes, pelicans, storks with wildebeest and zebra mixed in to complete the scene.

Lake Manyara is known for it's flamingo colony and it's curious tree-climbing lions. Lions are normally ground dwellers since they typically hang out on the plains, the dry grasses blending perfectly with their tawny fur. Here there were many more trees and the resident lions have learned to climb and lounge in the branches like oversized leopards. It was a little alarming to think our campsite for the night might have a 400 lb "bird" lurking overhead. We kept our eyes peeled as we bounced along the main road of the park.

Every time we approached our camp, we found these zebra "mowing" our site.

Our special campsite in Lake Manyara.

Our campsite turned out only to be inhabited by a herd of zebra and some curious monkeys. We set up in the clearing and as we sat down in our chairs we became aware of a low buzzing sound. It wasn't loud, but it was constant and it never seemed to waver. Soon we realized it was the millions of gnats that hovered over the site in a giant undulating cloud. They didn't seem to care about us, thank goodness, but the sheer volume of insects created a deep droning hum that only stopped once the sun was down.

That's when the elephants took over.

We were expecting the normal sounds we had become accustomed to: birds, lions roaring in the distance, hyenas making their chilling laughing sounds. The elephants in this park sounded (to our rookie ears) extraordinarily angry. They trumpeted to each other, and from within our fortress walls of canvas and nylon, seemed to be signaling that there was fresh meat on top of a yellow car, just ripe for the picking. Maybe the lingering smell of our cashews had them in a frenzy.

An abandoned boat sits among the flamingos.

The next morning we took off for the farthest reaches of the park. Lake Manyara National Park is long and skinny and the road only travels down one side, making it an out and back experience. We were on the lookout for the tree lions, but also for the elephants that had sounded so numerous. What we found were hundreds of baboons; big males with no intention of getting off the road, mothers with babies, groups of juveniles chasing and tackling each other and elderly statesmen scratching themselves. We idled slowly down the road and they wouldn't move until we were practically right on top of them. Sometimes, they wouldn't budge at all and we were forced to stop and wait. It was one of these moments, when we pulled into the middle of a pack and I was taking photos out the window, when I suddenly realized I was within arm's reach of them. The big males gave us some nasty looks, and I'm sure they could probably have ripped my face off if they decided it was a good idea. I pulled the camera back in and rolled the window up. Even a great photo isn't worth the risk; I kind of like my nose where it's located.

Baboons. They're so cute when they're little.

We stopped for lunch at a designated picnic area. We had rummaged around in our food box and pulled out the last of our lunch items: a peanut butter jar with a half inch left in the bottom, the last crumbs from a bag of "French Cheese" flavored potato chips, and our coveted bag of cashews. We sat at a table and took turns scraping the peanut butter jar with a spoon and watched the tour groups pull in with their drivers.

The picnic areas at Lake Manyara were quite posh. Laid out before me was our less-than-posh meal.

A set of white Toyota Land Cruisers pulled into the parking area and disgorged a large family of Americans. There were four college age boys and their parents helping the two drivers unload the lunch boxes. It was an incredible sight: a full size cooler overflowing with icy drinks, three bins containing bagels, bread, lunchmeat, sausages, cookies and other delectable treats. Our mouths were watering, but at the same time it was almost obscene. Did they really need all that food? My mind immediately started plotting how to get some. I had the patter all lined up in my head ("Hey guys! Where are you all from? How long have you been in Tanzania?") I was getting ready to march over there when Mark grabbed my arm. "Seriously? You're going to beg?" I looked down at my hands and realized they were the same color as the dirt. I hadn't even noticed. I now have much greater sympathy for the homeless.

At the far end of the park lies a fancy lodge where the more well-heeled tourists stay. We passed the ornate wooden gates in the thick forest and tried to imagine what it would be like to be Lodge People. You can bet they weren't eating canned spaghetti sauce for dinner.

This was the end of the park, and we still hadn't spied any elephants. They were winning at Hide and Seek, even though they outweighed us by thousands of pounds. We set off down a narrow side road and saw fresh elephant dung. We must be close! We kept going and found a few more piles, hoping we were gaining on them enough to catch them before they slipped into the trees. Rounding a curve we spotted a few giant gray butts, tails swinging, buried in the bushes at the side of the road. We stopped and waited for them to pass through and a curious male stepped out onto the road. We took his picture and waited to see which way he would go. He stood in the middle of the road and waited to see where we were going.

Our first day out, in Tarangire National Park, a guide had stopped us on the road and told us what to watch for when viewing elephants. "They flare their ears and puff up. Watch for trunk swinging too–if they swing a lot they're irritated." This guy in the road looked a little irritated.

He picked up a trunk full of dust and threw it on his back. He flapped his ears and dared us to come closer. We were stuck on a one lane road in dense forest; the only alternative was to back up. We waited a moment to see if he'd get tired of the game and wander off. He started walking toward us, picking up dust and flapping his ears. Time to move out of his way.

Mark slammed the car into reverse, a task he'd had trouble with every time he'd tried it up until this moment. When a 10,000 lb animal decides it should have the right of way you learn the gear shift position in a hurry. We backed up until he stopped approaching. We watched while he plucked at a few branches, keeping his eye on us throughout. He decided he wasn't done with us and started advancing again. Again Mark found reverse with no problem and backed us up a few hundred feet. Finally, our friend seemed happy and he started walking off the road in the direction of his crew. We waited a bit then slowly crawled forward. Our friend reappeared out of the trees, just a reminder that he wasn't satisfied with our distance just yet. Back we went.

This went on for several minutes, as Mark and I prayed no one would drive up behind us. The road was barely wide enough for one vehicle; if someone came up from the rear they would have to back up too, if we could convince them of the urgency before the elephant's tusk's made it into our radiator.

Finally the elephant seemed to be happy that he had won this game of chicken, and we were happy enough to admit defeat. We slowly crawled forward, just passing the place he had walked off the road as he disappeared into the trees. Here's a video of part of the action from our GoPro:

Storks stand guard over the hot springs.

After wandering a bit more through the park, catching a little bit of an ostrich mating dance, visiting the hot springs on the side of the lake (burning hot! do not touch!), and having a safari driver stop us to ask where the animals were (a crowning achievement–just goes to show what two weeks without a shower will do for your credibility as a driver) then headed back to camp. We needed to clean ourselves and the vehicle before we turned in the car and rejoined civilization.

An unfinished walkway over the hot springs has been completely taken over by water birds.

An ostrich watches as we pass by the lakeside, his army of flamingos behind him.

Lesser mongoose look out from a termite mound.

"You can't see me!" A waterbuck hides behind branches.

This bird would not leave our mirror alone.

He was either flirting or in battle with himself.

As we attempted to brush two weeks worth of African dust out of all the nooks and crannies, I thought it would be fun to take some photos of Plucky, the Land Rover that had become our best friend. I was backing up trying to get a good shot when I heard a noise behind me. I turned and found myself far too close to an elephant that had materialized there. How do they do that?

"SHIT!" I ran back to the car and hid behind it, Mark laughing at me (but also not straying too far from the car I noticed). The elephant didn't seem to even notice I was there, he just kept grazing. The rest of the day we had a large group of elephants circling us, browsing and trumpeting to each other. I think we were the afternoon's entertainment for them.

We settled into the tent that night listening to the sounds of Africa. It had been a wild ride; stressful, dirty, scary, beautiful and thrilling. Just before going to sleep, I asked Mark if he'd ever come back here. "In a heartbeat." he said.

I'd have to agree.

Feel free to write to us if you have any questions that weren't answered in this series. We would be happy to share our experience with costs for the trip, what to expect, and how to plan for this type of adventure. You can contact us at: runningfrommoose@gmail.com