Kodachrome Basin State Park, Cannonville, Utah
Like a muddied spring or a polluted well is a righteous man who gives way to the wicked. ~ Proverbs 25:26
I know what you’re thinking. It’s been just about all about rocks for months now. But today is a little different. And for those of you who didn’t find The Narrows hike in Zion all that interesting, maybe you’ll better enjoy the character of this one. Today, we walked a slot canyon and saw all kinds of interesting rocks, in a wide variety of colors. I also suffered from a short bout of anxiety, and yet another injury, which I’ll get into later when the time comes.
There are a few other things I want to talk about before we get into our day.
The past two times we’ve had to buy butter, we’ve been at a WalMart. For whatever reason, but obviously decided by someone who doesn’t cook or bake, they’ve decided to change their packaging. At least the packaging of all brands of sticks of butter in WalMart. I’d even be willing to pay full price for Land o’ Lakes. We’ve not had opportunity to check supplies anywhere else.
Here’s why I have extreme dislike for this “wonderful idea”.
- It’s different. We’ve had the same size sticks of butter for many, many years. We’re used to it. We know by looking exactly how much we’re using. No longer.
- It barely fits in my butter dish. That makes it hard to slice off a bit to butter my toast. Plus now, I can’t gage how much I’m using.
- It has to be cut up in pieces for melting, because it takes longer because it’s so fat.
- The open box no longer fits on the door of my refrigerator. Now I’m forced to take the stubby, fat sticks out and just let them slide around on the door.
- If I don’t use an entire stick, the squat piece that’s left has to be fished out of the door, because there’s no way to curtail it.
I’m certain I’ll come up with more reasons, but I promise to spare you.
I can only pray that our next regular grocery store will show some common sense, since WalMart’s purchasers/marketers (whomever is responsible) apparently have none.
(Blaine did a Google search, and apparently the difference in the size of butter sticks is an East Coast, West Coast thing. Something to do with the age of the machinery that manufactures the sticks.)
Up next, we’ve sort of been in and out of Grand Staircase Escalante the past few months, touching on its outskirts as we’ve traveled around Arizona and Utah, so here’s a bit of information on this grand 1.9-million-acre park:
First, its official name is Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument or GSENM for short. Too bad it doesn’t spell anything. 😊 It was the last place in the United States to be mapped and is still considered the most rugged wilderness region in the lower 48. In 1872, Charles Dutton, a geologist traveling with the John Wesley Powell expedition, gazed across the colored layers of ancient rock in front of him and muttered something about how “it looks like a grand stairway”. And with that comment, a name was born, but it didn’t become a national monument until 1996. Can you believe it took that long? And with that new designation, it became America’s largest national monument where (from oldest to youngest) the geological “steps” are chocolate, vermillion, white, gray and pink. The oldest layer belongs to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon (formed between 200-255 million years ago). The top and youngest layer is found in Bryce Canyon, which dates to 50-60 million years. It will be interesting to learn what God has to say about these dates when we get to Heaven. 😊
As for the name, the Grand Staircase part comes from the series of plateaus that descend from Bryce Canyon south toward the Grand Canyon. They’re distinguished by vertical drops at the Pink Cliffs, Gray Cliffs, White Cliffs, Vermillion Cliffs and Chocolate Cliffs. And it contains within, lots of colorful scenery. Someone said it should have been named the Grand Stare-case. 😊
The Escalante part comes from the Escalante River that flows from Boulder Mountain near the town of Escalante, Utah near where we’re currently staying, and contributes to the Colorado River at Lake Powell. The word is a Spanish habitational name from a place in Santona, Spain whose name derives from escala “ladder”, referring to a terraced slope.
The National Monument part comes from President Bill Clinton; he’s the one who designated it a National Monument in 1996.
Today takes us back into GSENM.
Our first stop was the Grosvernor Arch, named in 1949, in honor of National Geographic’s president, Gilbert Hovey Grosvenor, who was the first full-time editor of NatGeo magazine. It requires a dirt and gravel road trip to get to, but once you’re there, there’s a paved sidewalk so anyone can go right up to it if you want.
What do you do when the sun’s glaring in your windshield? 
Turn it to black and white! : )
As you’ll see, it’s actually two arches. They’re roughly 150-feet up and the larger one is nearly 100-feet in diameter. What a magnificent sight!
After we were done gawking, we continued up the road until we arrived at the Cottonwood Narrows Trailhead.
We did some exploring around the parking area before we tackled the 2 ½-3 mile out and back trail.
Blaine climbed up there at my request – – this time. : )
It’s a slot canyon, but we think it only holds water when there’s flash flooding. So, sooo interesting!
But I didn’t stick it in my cap.
And I didn’t call it macaroni.
Didn’t have a cap. . . . : )
Things were going well, until we came to a puddle of water.
We had no way of knowing how deep it was, but after testing it with our hiking stick, it’s obviously too deep for us to walk through without getting muddy and wet. So we begin looking around and spot mud and footprints along the left side. So off Blaine goes.
And once he’s up, he begins coaching me that I can do it too.
I may be smiling on the outside, but I was quaking on the inside!
I did it, but as I said, it wasn’t easy!
I start off in that direction, but then the anxiety hit. I said all kinds of crazy things that I don’t really remember (something about being too short, and being scared, and I can’t), as I was trying to reach him. And he kept encouraging me and telling me “I’ve got you.” I don’t remember how I managed, but I did it! Thank You, Father!
with only minor injuries to my body and my pride.
I’ve never been so accident prone as I’ve been since I started spending all my time with my wonderful husband. Although, come to think of it, I can count many old scars . . . from falling from trees (more than once), to falling into rock-filled culverts, to getting hit with swings, to scraping my knees in foreign countries, to dog bites, to kitchen knife wounds, to burns, to . . . Okay. So it seems I’ve always been a bit accident prone. Today added another to my long list.
The rest of the trail was easy, with some rock climbing thrown in for good measure – – and fun.
Don’t ask me how I remember that . . .
I guess because I was impressed with the deep purple in the rock.
The closer we got to that puddle, the more concerned I became. How in the world are we gonna get back???
Once we arrived, Blaine had the brilliant idea to toss large rocks into the water, but they just disappeared.
He managed to get across from the left side, rather than our right (the way we got up there), but watching him, I knew there was no way I could do what he did. He was stretched to his fullest, and I’m about a foot shorter, so there was no physical way.
So I began adding rocks to his collection. 😊
He came back up and helped out, and finally, we had one sticking up to put a foot on.
I’m still stranded.
Blaine tried it, but it was a little wobbly, so he stood at the far end of the rock in that mud patch on the left of the picture, and helped me place my feet like I had before, plus he planted his hiking stick in the water to give me something to lean on, and with that . . . . I made it back to safety! I was glad not to have to spend the night, waiting for rescue. 😊
That was a little more adventure than I’m comfortable with! But I was pleased to have overcome! With help from my husband and Father!
The weather turned again this afternoon, and we watched pea-sized hail rain down on our vehicles and all across the campground.
This evening, I accepted an invitation to watch the movie, “Hacksaw Ridge”. I say ‘accepted’ because it’s certainly not one I would’ve chosen. It’s a war movie, set during WWII and the Battle of Okinawa in 1945. The premise of the movie is based on the true story of Desmond Doss, a young man who voluntarily enlisted as a faith-filled conscientious objector, in order to serve his country as a medic and with God’s help, saved the lives of 75 men who were considered lost in battle. He was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Truman. I don’t usually care for war movies (except “Glory”), but this one – with the exception of the extreme violence – turned out to be very good. And I don’t even recall it having any obscene language. Just a lot of gross stuff towards the end – which was most likely true to the horrors of war since Mel Gibson (The Passion of the Christ) directed it. I guess I would recommend it. You can close your eyes during some of the battle stuff. 😊
