A Day in the American Wilderness

Years of planning and many blessings transformed a mindful, minimal, offgrid life vision into reality.

Retirement is an odd word to describe my active, expansive phase of a life unshackled by time and place commitments and free to live my dream each day in the American wilderness.

Living the wilderness dream

Much of America’s designated wilderness areas are within our National Forests, Parks, Bureau of Land Management, and Fisheries and Wildlife Systems.

For me, that dream is unlimited access to wilderness. The real wild. In our country, almost five percent of public land is designated wilderness

Map created by
Wilderness Institute at the University of Montana’s College of Forestry and Conservation. 

America’s Wilderness Preservation System protects the natural, wild condition of over 109 million acres in 803 wilderness areas. That’s about the size of California.

It’s not quite my “unlimited access” dream, but better than nothing! As more people return to minimalist lifestyles perhaps we will invest more to protect the American wilderness.

This land was made for you and me

Forest Road near Lake Roosevelt, Arizona.

These public lands are owned by Americans and managed by the federal government (National Forests, Parks, Bureau of Land Management, and Fisheries and Wildlife Systems.) Access is typically free.

The Chiricahua National Forest wilderness areas are some of the most biodiverse in the Northern Hemisphere.

Mostly untouched by humans, federally-preserved wilderness areas remain Nature’s stronghold where wildlife flourishes in diverse biozones and climates.

Worth the effort to get there

My continued thanks to the West Family of Watertown, South Dakota who appeared within minutes of my need and blanketed me in quiet efficiency, gracious humor, and willingness to make my problem theirs without batting an eye.

Unpaved, often rough national forest roads open access to the edges of America’s most pristine natural settings. Motorized vehicles are not allowed within the boundaries of designated wilderness areas.

Some of the finest people I’ve met have been on the backroads leading to the American wilderness.

Maps and local resources matter

Maps of those roads, trails, and dispersed camping (boondocking) sites can be obtained online and at national forest ranger stations and headquarters.

The National Forest Service provides maps of back roads. Black and white versions are free, while more detailed, topo maps are available for $14. Many other publications are available at ranger stations. Local rangers also know their territory and are happy to share.

Once within the wilderness boundaries, locomotion is by foot or hoof. Motorized vehicles are not allowed. 

Amazing, unexpected amenities

There are no services, but fantastic opportunities to experience our country, our deepest selves, and greatest capacity when we dare to go beyond the comfort zone of civilization. 

The world’s best wilderness companion and coach Rocky the Rockstar rescued me in 2008 and is crucial in helping build and maintain the dream.

Best Small Campground in East Texas

The beauty of nomad life is the ability to pack up camp and leave. Unexpected weather change can usually be handled with a move on down the road. But the deal is, “unpredictable” is the new weather norm. High winds, flooding, and snow are sweeping across the country much like the fires do in the summer. By the time you travel to forecasted clear weather and set up a camping site the winds shift bringing strong storms.

This month I traveled to the south and central regions of Texas because of historic snowstorms in the traditional winter havens in Arizona and California. When my beach camp on South Padre Island Beach Preserve disappeared under unexpected storm waves and strong winds I instinctively headed to the woods for protection.

Shelter in the Forest

Davy Crockett National Forest in East Texas. Photo by TXDOT.

One of the closest and most beautiful places to shelter in the forest from the starting point of South Texas gulf beaches is in the piney woods of the East Texas Forest Trail region.

Young loblolly pines are maturing in forests of oak and beech surrounding old logging lakes. Hiking trails meander through abandoned homesteads, mills and buildings erected for trail life during the 1900-1920’s lumber boom. Spacious, impeccably maintained and monitored campground facilities meet every need.

Ratcliff Lake Recreation Area in Davy Crockett

I was drawn to Davy Crockett rather than Sam Houston, Angelina, or Sabine National Forests because of a childhood memory of the Davy Crockett TV show. Driving from Southern Texas Hill Country north to Austin then east to Houston that song looped in my mind along with images of the beautiful rolling hills and forests featured in the old black and white TV show of the “King of the Wild Frontier” Davy Crockett.

I settled into the Radcliffe Lake Recreation Area in the national forest just outside of Lufkin and Kennard Texas after a long day of driving interstates across Texas.

The Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) built the camp in 1936 and preserved all the charm and character of that era.

Campground Ammenities

The grounds stretch around the small 45-acre lake with ample room between sites and plenty of electric and plumbing services to pamper campers. There’s also space preserved in gorgeous locations for walk-in, primitive tent camping.

In fact, the fingers of the Lakeside and Loblolly Loops have a tent group campsite on the point of a neck of the lake surrounded by several large primitive camping sites. There are ample potable water outlets on the loop.

It’s a good on-grid experience for us boondockers who camp only during the week, if ever, in an established campground.

Ratcliff Lake Recreation Area Has A Long History As Gathering Place

Long History As Gathering Place

Imprints from centuries of life in the forest flow from early Native American settlements to a booming logging business at the turn of the century and now, to today’s small, beautiful, and peaceful on-grid campground.

It’s easy to feel the layered generational memories from pow wows and large family camping reunions to intimate couple getaways or friends gathering for fishing and campfire getaways.

Facilities for Groups

Camping and day use fees

An amphitheater and two large sheltered picnic pavilions facing a roped-off swimming area vibrate with the history of weddings, revivals, church services, and easy, simple fun. There’s fishing, swimming, and boating on the quiet lake. Boat motors are not allowed. The icing on the cake? A concession area similar to a church kitchen. Can we say reunion?

Hiking Trails

The camp is enveloped by over 160,000 acres of national forest. The 20-mile Four C Hiking Trail explores lower and upper pine and hardwood forest, boggy sloughs, and upland bluffs with scenic overlooks. The Big Slough Wilderness on the route has abundant wildlife and primitive campsites for backpackers.

There are two shorter interpretive trails and one 20-mile trail maintained in the Ratcliff Recreation Area.

Nearby History

Check out local history at the CCC Camp-888’s reconstruction of the 1690 Mission Tejas chapel north of Ratcliff on State Route 21. A few miles further north showcases Native American history at the Caddoan Mounds State Historical Park.

My Experience in Ratcliff Recreational Area

I arrived at Ratcliff camp in a shroud of mist seeping through the humid forest. Sunset colored the hovering fog over the lake. The site I selected backed up to the woods at the far edge of the campground. During the week there were only three RVs in the entire water and electric hook-up loop and only one tent camper down by the lake.

Shelter from the Storms

I was so grateful to be out of the shifting sands and pummeling winds and waves of the beach storm! The abundant wildlife, rustling pines, and tree frogs in the pines created the perfect soundtrack for the vista of gently rolling forested hills. A soft fog enveloped our teardrop nestled in the pines as Rocky and I settled in for a deep, hard sleep.

We woke to a steady but gentle rain. A couple hours later I gave up waiting for a rain break and geared up to make breakfast and hike in the soft February rain. It is a beautiful natural area reflecting a great deal of pride and skill maintaining the lake campground nestled in the East Texas woods.

Ampitheater

My Gut Said ‘Move On’

One of two bathhouses in the Ratcliff Recreation Area

In spite of the beauty, electric and water hook ups, and clean bathrooms with real flushing toilets and hot showers I couldn’t settle. My gut pressed me to move camp after hiking. I would rather snuggle in with a good book on a cold, rainy afternoon nestled in a gorgeous forest than act on nomadic instincts.

Nevertheless, by early evening I was on the road again. I’m learning to trust my gut even if I don’t understand it.

I popped onto Wi-Fi during my first break for gas and received a text alert for severe weather in the Daniel Boone National Forest where I had camped. Unexpected, strong storms hit suddenly. It ended up lasting two days. Roads closed due to flooding.

Searching national forecasts to find my next camp I discovered passengers were trapped in an Amtrak in a snowstorm in sunny California. Kids were building snowmen in Arizona. I’d already escaped two erratic storms and every instinct said burrow in.

Home Sweet Home

I’m grateful to be sharing this particular tale in front of a roaring fire in my home base in Norman, Oklahoma where we have freezing rain and snow in the forecast.

My teardrop is packed; gas tank is full and ready to go. My nomad gut is feeling a tug from southeastern Arizona. Fortunately my overly analytical brain is keeping my gut snoring gently by the fire’s warm glow.

For now…

River Monsters and Rosemary Pear Preserves on Montana’s Mighty Madison River

I was too excited to sleep so we hit the water early.

The day before I met the mother of the third generation to grow up on this magic stretch of the Madison River in Montana.

Her childhood memories of camping with the neighbor kids on the river’s edge feasting on the first catch of the open trout season reminded me of my own outdoor adventures and freedom as a child.

Her stories of picnics in Pickle Jar Meadow, sunrise at Frank’s Hole, and the beaver trapper who homesteaded this area filled my mind during the morning fish upstream.

As usual, the catch was smaller wild rainbows and browns in the three to six-inch range who fight like crocodiles.

Past due for a Montana Monster Fish I decided to experiment with a crazy long tippet rolling it out quietly on the water, delivering the tiny fly far beyond the end of the bright yellow fly line and thick leader.

The fly line spooks them but the tiny fly landing a few seconds later can trick the distracted fish.

The leader and lengthy tippet were much longer than the 7.5-foot rod I was using, but sometimes it works in pressured, end of summer waters.

It’s also a rig that rules out using a net to land a fish, especially waist-deep in big water currents. Ass far as I know, but I’m always open to learning if a full-timer is available.

This time I knew the name of Frank’s hole when I stripped and jigged a beetle across the confluence of the cabin side stream and the roaring Madison.

Frank and Joe could catch fish no matter the location or conditions and sounded a lot like my Dad and his best friend Jim.

Frank’s hole was just off the front yard and deck of the cabin he built in the 70’s. It’s a stunning view and the fishing hole name is a proper tribute to the man and his family legends.

I was daydreaming about that when the Madison Monster hit stripping line and skipping my heart as he torpedoed out of the water.

This one isn’t the monster, but there’s a story to watch for about this whitefish.

Muscle memory kicked in popping my rod tip up and line pressure tight yet responsive.  I’d give him plenty of space to wear himself out and come in gently.

Steering him out of the weeds meant I had to stay in the middle of the strong, deep current where an experienced monster can throw a hook easily.

He fought like a machine and I reeled in line during his brief rests, but still had too much line out given how long he’d been on. Eyeing a possible path to shore I decided to try to sweep him across the current to land.

This strategy is my least favorite because it takes the fish out of water increasing the stress and potential for injury. It’s even rougher on the fish than lifting it out of the water to get a photo because fish thrash about in panic on land.

It’s hard to catch and release when you’ve maimed a fish in the catching process. For me, it’s too cruel just to have bragging rights or photos of the landing.

The river dance is normally more than enough for me, but I was past due for a monster catch and hooked deep in this fantastic challenge.

Fate twisted in favor of the fish when I turned toward shore tripping over a submerged boulder and crossing the tight line into my pole with a definitive SNAP.

Monster Fish 1. Cindy 0.

To add insult to injury my defeated slouch rolled me into the strong current filling my waders with ice cold water.

On the way down I snatched my phone from the open bib pocket, holding it triumphantly in the air while body surfing down the river.

I heard Rocky’s distant, sharp bark and shrill yelps just as I was pulling myself out of the water. Adrenaline slammed into my legs propelling me past cabins across Pickle Jar Meadow through the shoulder high thorny brambles over several downed logs and into the side stream calling for Rocky and getting no answer.

No yelps. No barks.

I spotted him slammed into a log jam scrambling to find purchase on the slippery logs.

Our eyes locked and he arched to leap toward me just as I held my hand up signaling STOP. WAIT.

I’d never catch him if he jumped into the fast current even though I was running like a mama bear through the river.

Years of training, our combined stubborn will, and plenty of help from Frank, Joe, my Dad, and all the guardian angels in this stretch held Rocky frozen in that perilous perch until I lunged the last few yards and bear hugged his chest.

We might be going down but we were going down together.

There was no easy way out of this mess. Direct access to the shore was totally blocked by decades of downed trees.

The current was too strong and water too deep for Rocky to wade. I’d have to carry him upstream through the current around the log jam to shore.

He’s 50 pounds and I’m not 29 anymore, but adrenaline, the force of will, and the power of love is an amazing combination.

We groaned at the same time and I laughed pulling ourselves up the steep bank and out of the water.

Rocky squirreled beneath the brush but it took me forever to work myself through the tangle of thorns I had torn past in seconds earlier.

Exhausted, winded, and grateful I crouched at the top of the slope with my hands on my knees when I saw something that caught my breath, “Are you kidding me? ”

The labyrinth.

I hadn’t noticed it in Pickle Jar Meadow but the day before Chris told me about the years she and her kids would collect and place rocks carefully creating their family labyrinth.

She had texted me before I hit the river to let me know she left a gift for me in the labyrinth center.

I had no idea I’d be in a state of absolute grace when I got there. No idea the first steps on level ground would land Rocky and me in front of this sacred space.

Sloshing in my freezing, waterlogged waders around that labyrinth immersed in the gift of the miracles of this day I was mindful of little more than grace.

Snuggled in a warm, soft blanket back at the cabin devouring homemade rosemary pear preserves, I am gratefully mindful that life doesn’t get any better than this.

Manna in the Meadow

Two weeks in downtown Minneapolis can suck the last drop out of a gal like me. I travel the rough back roads of this country solo and rarely feel vulnerable, afraid, or exposed. But a lot of time in most cities is draining. San Francisco, Montreal, and Istanbul are the exceptions.

My hat is off to the founders of Minneapolis who preserved the green space along the Mississippi River flowing between the Twin Cities. Daily hikes along the downtown Nature trails infused Rocky and me. The festivals, museums, music, and food reflect an appreciation of high talent and passion. I’m grateful for the hospitality the fine staff at Town Suites on 2ndStreet offered Rocky and me.

The St. Croix River and several gorgeous state parks are within an hour drive of the city. The flooding of St. Croix created an awesome canoe ride on a sunny Sunday.

We bid farewell to the Twin Cities with one urgent goal – restore the balance off grid. I was so depleted I loaded up enough groceries, water, propane, permits, and maps to avoid town. Forever!

I knew what I needed and why. I didn’t know what state or national forest would answer my call for a cold, mountain creek with deep forest shade and enough flat space to set up camp. Frequent rain is a bonus.

We drove east past the crystal clear mountain lakes of Minnesota and the blazing Badlands of South Dakota without a second glance. But the Black
Hills National Forest pinged images of moving water, cool breezes, and the smell of evergreens.

Firing up my orienteering brain, GPS, and the Forest Service’s off road maps we set off to find our next hermitage in the woods. But the answer to my call for a mountain peak and valley creek took me far beyond even Subaru’s impressive off grid GPS coverage. The paper map led me to blockades of private land, cut timber, and herds of cattle common in today’s national forests.

I could feel the place in my heart, but I couldn’t find it with my head. Frankly I thought I knew the plan but all I really had were clear visions, longing, dreams, journals, stories, and prayers guiding my life. Eyeing the setting sun I let go of outcomes. I’d make due. And due would make me as it always does.

One deep breath disabled the brain and my open, willing heart took the lead focusing with gratitude on the cool, moist breeze, towering spruce, green rolling meadows, and distant granite peaks. Each turn on the ATV trail offered more than I had planned or prepared for. What did it matter if there was no creek?

On a last minute whim I took a left on what appeared to be a wagon trail from the old west.

Never turn left, my brain piped in, reminding me of the crash statistics on left turns.

Almost there Cindy. You are almost there, my heart replied.

Right. Sorry I got in the way for so long. Thank you for this, I whispered crossing a cattle guard opening to a large meadow blanketed with flowers.

A delighted laugh flew from my heart as I rounded a bend. A small clearing created when diseased trees were removed nurtured a new meadow
bursting with baby raspberry plants, brilliant flowers, and strong, native grasses. A wide and swift creek flowed beneath towering granite cliffs framing the meadow. Centuries of evergreen needles made the ground soft, flat, and fragrant. The sun disappeared beyond the cliffs while I danced in joyful circles around the meadow laughing and singing.

I couldn’t overthink camp set up because there was only one possible, perfect option. Shade for the camper, space for the shower/bathroom, stumps and cut timber for tables and chairs. The meadow was just right for optimum solar collection and a small deer trail led to the creek. I quickly assembled a basic camp and slept deeply to the sound of running water.

The nudge at dawn was annoying enough to be effective. Quickly wake up! Look! Outside my door was a breath-taking, eight-point buck grazing in the meadow with a juvenile male sporting new antlers. I flashed on Bambi’s Dad showing him the ropes in the forest. Mimicking Bambi’s Mother’s I sadly whispered “Man was in the forest today,”and the big buck looked my way before trotting up the hill with a snort and quick flash of tail.

Over coffee a curious bumblebee with an odd flight pattern feasted on purple flowers by my chair. He might have a limping flight but was not lacking in strength and agility I noticed lighting incense and settling into meditation.

He was gone when I came back to physical awareness but returned often.  His visits correlated with each new item I set up in camp. The two awnings, bathroom tent, a tablecloth over stumps to create a kitchen seemed to draw him like an inspector. He would hitch a ride on my feet, arms or hands.


I would too! 
I thought watching him crash land on the kitchen counter and crawl onto the raw veggies to nap.

The second day, eager to satisfy my curious brain I gathered up maps settling at the table to identify our coordinates now that we had hiked the area. I could visualize how the last minute left turn had taken me through private land with access to Crystal Peak and Creek. Now to verify that theory.

Bee arrived with a hard landing on the map and danced in circles along the winding map trail markings. Between dances he slept, so still the only sign of life was the light reflecting in his eyes. So bees sleep with eyes open?

I’ve never observed bee sleep so can only guess that’s what it was. If I nudged him he would crawl into my hand and drift back off. He napped a lot, especially in the spruce branches I had harvested from a newly cut tree to use on the altar. In the world of bee blessings I knew I had hit the jackpot even as my awareness of his declining condition grew.

No big surprise here, I mumbled acknowledging that if humans find me to midwife death why not a bumblebee?

By the third morning he had let go of gathering nectar in the meadow, preferring to stay snuggled in the altar bustling with a community of spiders, honeybees, beetles and ants. Extravert aye? I mused as I broke my “don’t kill the wildflowers” cardinal rule and placed his favorite purple flower next to him on the altar. He perked up and fed for hours between naps. I tucked him in that night with visions of angelic hives, prayers for peace, and a deep appreciation for his quiet companionship.

The next morning he was gone. I searched but never found him. My mind filled with images of Elijah the Bee ascending in a chariot of meadow flowers.

Seemed fitting. Like Elijah, Bee reminded me to be bit more mindful of daily manna in the wilderness that defy life or death polarities. This elusive, often fleeting awareness deeply restores a vibrant, healthy, happy harmony in every part of me and has since I was a girl living in the woods with creeks and ponds.

Profoundly simple. Nothing fancy. Just Nature showing up as Bee leading the way through miracles and magic in the great outback.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Off-Roadside Assistance

“You need help?”

“I did it this time didn’t I?”

“Thorough job.”

“I’ve driven from coast to coast on backroads but never experienced this one yet,” I chuckled surveying the tire so flat it had collapsed in on itself with an angry pop and forceful hiss after I clipped the partially buried wedge of shale forcing a split in the sidewall of the tire.

I also didn’t mention I’ve never experienced a flat, had no tire changing skills, and am often confounded by tools, although more often than not I do sort it out, given enough time. “Chin up ol gal. Somehow things will soon be right as rain,” I whispered internally pushing back the image of a spring shower exploding into an Oklahoma tornado.

“So can we help you then?”

“Are you in a rental? I know you probably need to get it back in time?” I replied with false bravado to honor the southern code of “thou shalt not impose.”

“No. These are ours. We’re in no hurry,” he nodded to the four rumbling ATVs waiting on the side of the remote narrow forest road across from my Outback.

“I don’t have cell service but a family drove by and took my information to call AAA and Subaru Roadside Service. It’s ok if you’d rather not. I’m sure someone will come,” I explained oozing ignorance about the likelihood of a service vehicle maneuvering the rough ATV trails half an hour off gravel roads and another hour to the first town on paved road.

“Then we’d better get to work. You guys ready?” he replied with reassurance that soothed the hard lump in my gut.

I held up my hand to stop him. “There’s just one more thing I should show you before you volunteer to help. It’s quite the hassle,” I warned moving to the rear of my car to open the hatch and reveal the solid wood chest of drawers built to fit in the full cargo area of the Subaru. My favorite carpenter had built it for me to haul my gear. With all the drawers removed it still takes two strong people to lift. Someday I’ll find someone to build it out of lightweight aluminum but for now this 300 pound behemoth serves me well.

Until now.

“Deal is the spare is under this. It’s hard to remove. You sure you’re still up for this?” I asked turning to him fully prepared to see serious back peddling. This would not be a simple tire change.

“I’m going to need one of you to help back here,” he quietly motioned.

At his signal engines shut off and a crowd of men and women gathered around. I recognized the quiet, exquisite manners, and warm compassion of these Black Hills folks who respectfully restrained their comments.  My wide-open Oklahoma plains girl quickly threw open the door to release the mounting pressure.

“I can’t believe not one of you has laughed yet!” I allowed.

The tallest man released a short, healthy guffaw and the women began to softly chuckle. Everyone began sharing thoughts, opinions and good-natured jokes and one began videoing my predicament. I doubled over allowing my own belly laughing to release the tension and fully receive the openhearted gift of this remarkable family.

And family they are. Three strapping brothers, their sister, mother, and a sister- and brother-in-law out for a picnic near beautiful meadows and old mine in Castle Peak wilderness area of the Black Hills National Forest in South Dakota.

I quickly declined their invitation to join them for their picnic even though I couldn’t imagine a lovelier opportunity. I would be dining with angels in one of God’s most beautiful settings. These folks are so good to the bone they didn’t even trigger Rocky who is well known for his keen ability to read the true character of folks. He will not allow anything unsavory near me. He slept soundly through the entire ordeal until I shuffled him out of the back seat and into the front to make room for the ruined tire.

I also knew I’d not only be intruding on family time but also would never make it back to camp on a spare. My tires are not common stock either. It was another miracle of the day that Tires Plus in Rapid City was able to track down one tire in the whole city. One is all I needed! (I highly recommend this business on Haines in Rapid City, South Dakota).

With a grateful heart we shook hands, hugged thank you’s and good byes and went our separate ways. Just as I was getting in my car a mammoth, cobalt blue 4×4 pick up pulled up and offered help.  I shook his hand in introduction and George swore I was the spitting image of his cousin. He may have missed out on the heavy lifting but he did stay in my site until we hit paved road where he waved good-bye.

My first calls when I reached cell service were to cancel the service requests made on my behalf by the family who first stopped. The call center folks couldn’t find me even with member and car VIN numbers as well as my name, address, and phone. There’s no way that family could have filed a service request with these computer system blocks. Indeed no call was registered at either company. Had I refused the help I might still be stewing in my own vulnerable pot of pride and self-sufficiency.

A week earlier when I entered the deep forests, meadows, creeks and cliffs of the Black Hills I immediately felt peace, safety and belonging in my marrow. My sleep has been deep and filled with adventurous dreams of close-knit family living here for generations. My camp in the pine and spruce forest has been busy with visitors of all kinds. The same bumblebee lived with us for three days. Two majestic bucks visit the raspberry field by the river every evening while I’m fly fishing for leaping brookies. Hummingbirds dive for my morning maple syrup. Angels dance with fairies and family long gone embrace me with a smell, a warm breeze, and memories of laughter and love. In all my travels it’s the longest I’ve stayed in one spot and I have no desire to leave.

 

It is exquisite living even with the occasional hassles and bummers. I do keep my guardian angels on their toes.

The West Family of Watertown, South Dakota appeared within minutes of my need and blanketed me in quiet efficiency, gracious humor, and willingness to make my problem theirs without batting an eye.

I briefly explained to Mother West how I came to be found solo on the back roads in need. She quietly listened and to my great surprise and delight she observed, “You are free! Having many adventures! And you are a writer aren’t you?”

In that instant I felt her unity with my journey in the very empty seat beside her. Yes the blessing of close, loving, grown children surrounded her. But she too knew unbearable loss and lonely, dark grief. I’ll never forget the glow of her face when she observed “you are free!”  I think like me, she lives a celebrated recovery beyond the losses with a grateful mindfulness of the gift of each breath every day simply because we are alive.

Dear West Family and blue pick up George know that I still feel your infusion of safety, reassurance, and rescue.  Your big medicine is now a part of me available to ground and guide me during the next calamity. May your blessings return to each of you in the gentle breeze with my grateful hug.

This One’s For You Daddy

I practice a Native Hawaiian active meditation I learned long ago. When someone you love is suffering you can help by having a grand adventure and intentionally sending the vital life force to the one who needs help. It is powerful medicine.

When I began traveling solo Daddy longed to go with me. Growing up my friends called him the Marlboro Man because of his outdoorsman persona, rugged good looks, and obvious membership in the Man’s Man Club. He was definitely someone who loved a wilderness adventure.

Advancing arthritis began to block his path to hike mountains and fish rough rivers. I knew I could send magic mojo home to infuse Daddy, ease the pain, and lift his spirits. What I didn’t realize is how much he was responsible for my growing wilderness skills.

Daddy would start trip planning in the dead of winter to cure our cabin fever. “Trip foreplay” was the best part of any adventure he’d say. He scouted out coordinates of some of his favorite mountain trails and streams, camping spots, even archery ranges. He’d send satellite images and I’d chart the maps first with orange dots that I would later connect at the end of each leg.

He lived vicariously through my trips in mountains, deserts, and rivers. I used his courage to head out on my own and navigate tough spots, trusting that he would find me if I didn’t report in.

Every time I got back on grid I would call and send pictures. He tracked me via satellite and always had specific questions about “that hole in the stream by that stand of oaks” or “the switchback trail to the peak.” He often warned me about tornadoes heading my way on prairie drives. The more details I could give him about the flying trout at dawn in a mountain lake or the razorback hog my dog blocked from my path the more he would belly laugh or quiz me on my marksmanship.

During a bout of vertigo on a fly-fishing trip in Basalt, Colorado he alone  knew why I didn’t come home or go to the doctor and he never nagged. Instead he taught me – over the phone – how to fall down a mountain without breaking anything. Soon after I was hiking down a steep, gravel ravine with a guide when a spell hit and I rolled and skied my way through it. “Man you fall like a 30-year-old!” the guide noted. At the time I was 50 and still don’t know if that was meant to be a complement.

Our talent of living vicariously through each other expanded over the 14 years of this particular partnership. I believed in him and he believed in me. He had raised me to hike, hunt, fish, shoot, track, and live in Nature. If he ever worried about me he never mentioned it. Any bravery I had was because of his confidence in me. Our shared stubborn trait forced me to make a way out of some impossible situations just so I wouldn’t have to worry Daddy.

When life as a single mom got me down Daddy pulled out “The Plan” to roam the country full-time in my retirement. He supported every step including my home and lifestyle downsizing to free me to retire early, buy an RV, and expand opportunities. Last winter we began charting my first outback adventures in the teardrop. He didn’t live to see my launch in the spring.

This first Father’s Day without him I look at those orange dots on the map and grief gut kicks. Control urges me to fast forward, avoid the pain, and just connect the orange dots! But control is a dangerous trickster and shortcuts in grief can leave big marks.

For now I lean into my old, honest companions Death and Time. I trust the divine alchemy these two create if I can muster the patience and courage to stay right here, right now.

When my heart soars down a mountain pass drive, or at the pull of “OMG it’s a monster fish!” Daddy is no longer stuck in his rocking chair waiting to hear my stories. His surge of joy feels stronger than my own and I often exclaim “Oh Daddy LOOK!”

If I ever do get in over my head I know I won’t face it alone.

Happy Father’s Day Daddy! Thank you!

Camping Around Arches and Canyonlands National Park

The heart and soul of the Colorado Plateau in southern Utah is expressed through canyons, arches, spires, and mesas carved by the Green and Colorado Rivers.

It’s almost impossible to wrap my mind around so much stunning beauty but it is as natural as breathing to allow all of that to become all of me. In my prayers and practices it also flows to each of you.

If you’d like to experience it yourself two national parks help millions access some of the area annually – Arches and Canyonlands. Fortunately most stay on the paved, scenic routes highlighting the parks.

Inside both parks there is no food, gas, or other amenities. Each has one national parks campground.

Most of the roads in this region are unpaved,  camps are primitive, and rivers are free-flowing. Native plants and animals still live in much of this remote, rugged, and wild countryside. Lots of folks call it “The American Wild West” but it’s been around much longer than we have and God willing will continue long after we’re gone.

Trying to balance recreational use with protection of these amazing resources requires effort by all of the major stakeholders – the Bureau of Land Management (BLM, often called public land), the National Park Servicecharitable associations, and YOU.

Please do your part to protect this ancient, wild land. Follow  “Leave No Trace” rules especially in designated and dispersed camping, hiking, biking, and OHV adventures.

Photo courtesy Dr. Eoin Brodie at Lawrence Berkeley National Lab and Dr. Ferran Garcia Pichel at Arizona State University.

Here’s the deal. The biological soil crust is extremely fragile in the desert. The cyanobacteria and other materials in the soil are some of the oldest life forms, trapping and storing water, nutrients, and organic matter not otherwise available. It’s suited for harsh, arid conditions but vulnerable to compression.

A thin, fragile veneer of biological soil crushed by your footprints alone (compression) may require five to seven years to recover. Cyanobacterial growth can take 50 years and lichens/mosses even longer.

If you’re going off-road to visit the area, be ready to rough it and take care of your own needs. Pack in what you need. Pack out everything – including human waste where restrooms are not provided. Remember that five to seven year recovery time just for a footprint? Enough said.

Canyonlands National Park Campsite

Each national park has one developed campground with vault toilets, tables, and fire rings. Maximum length for RVs is 28 feet. There are no hook ups or dump stations in either park. Most are first come, first served except group campsites and a few individual sites. To reserve online go to http://www.recreation.gov or call 877-444-6777 (toll free) and +1 518-885-3639 (international).

Backcountry or Primitive Camps in the national parks require permits. These can be reserved four months in advance. Day use for 4×4 vehicles, motorcycles, and bikes can be reserved up to 24 hours in advance. Permits can be obtained online at http://www.go.nps.gov/canybackcountry

The BLM maintains 26 designated campgrounds with vault toilets, tables and fire rings. Drinking water is available at Lions Park (Hwy 191 and SR 128). The Windwhistle and Hatch Point campgrounds have drinking water on site from mid-April to end of September.

BLM On-line information about camping in Moab area.

BLM Moab Field Office, 82 E Dogwood Moab, UT. Phone is 435-259-2100.

Here’s some of my favorites and soon to be favorites. For a complete list of camping options check out the Discover Moab site.

BLM Camping Outside the National Parks

The Moab BLM Field Office manages over two million visitors annually on 1.8 million acres in the heart of the Colorado Plateau.

Reservations are not accepted except group camps. All are first come first served. All BLM developed campgrounds have vault toilets, picnic tables, and metal fire grills. Fees are $10-$20/night.

Weather can make unpaved roads impassable. Check with rangers for latest conditions.

The Visitor Centers at Arches and Canyonlands have detailed maps for 4×4 routes, hiking and camping. Topo maps are also available.

 Developed Campsites 

SR 313 Camps Between Arches and Canyonlands Island In the Sky National Parks

Lone Mesa Group Camp
  • (5 spaces)
  • Gravel road and camp
Cowboy Camp at junction of Scenic Byway and Island in Sky
  • (7 spaces)
  • Dirt road and camp
Horsethief off Mineral Point Road by Deadhorse Mesa.
  • (56 spaces)
  • Dirt road and sandy, flat area for camp. This is where larger RV’s park.

HW 128 Camps Closest to Arches

The further you go the prettier and less congested the sites. Fisher Towers and Onion Creek sites are my favorites.

  • Granstaff 3 miles ( 16 spaces)
  • Drinks Canyon 6.2 miles (17 spaces)
  • Hal Canyon 6.6 miles (11 spaces)

    Fisher Towers Campground
  • Oak Grove 6.9 miles (7 spaces)
  • Upper Big Bend 8.1 miles (8 spaces)
  • Upper Onion Creek 21 miles then .7 miles SE on gravel road (2 spaces)
  • Fisher Towers 21.5  – dirt road (5 sites)
  • Lower Onion Creek – 21.5 miles then 1 mile NW on gravel road (4 spaces)

HW 257 South of Arches

  • Jaycee Park – 4.2 miles (7 spaces)
  • Williams Bottom – 6 miles (17 spaces)
  • Goldbar – 10.2 (5 spaces)

Lower Onion Creek Campground

BLM Dispersed Camping – No Services/Facilities

HJ OHV Road

The BLM offers over 30 single or small, primitive camp sites with no services. These are first come-first served and free. Sites are marked with a brown post and a tent symbol.

 

Dispersed campsite off SR 313

This is serious “Leave No Trace” camping. You must use portable toilets. All trash must be packed out – including human waste. No wood cutting, creating new camping areas or fire rings. Do not drive, hike, ride off road. Please.

There are 25 sites in the Mill Canyon-Cotter Road/Dubinky Road Area.

 

Primitive Camping – Island in the Sky Section of Canyonlands National Park

Accessible by 4×4 Taylor Canyon, White Rim, Potash, and Shafer Roads

4 primitive camps along Green River

Labyrinth – Where Taylor Canyon Road meets White Rim Road on the Green River in Upheaval Canyon

Hardscrabble – South of Hardscrabble Bottom

Potato Bottom – along the 14.8 mile Potato Bottom straight stretch of White Rim Road

Candlestick – Southern part of Holesman Spring Basin. South of Wilhite Trail on White Rim Road

4 primitive camps on southern loop of White Rim Road

Murphy Hogback – near Murphy Point trails

White Crack – in the Lower Basins at end of 1.4 mile road

Gooseberry – where trail meets road near Gooseberry Canyon

Airport – By Airport Tower in Lathrop Canyon

1 primitive camp near Visitors Center

Shafer Canyon Overlook by Visitors Center

Shafer Near Visitors Center NE of where Potash Road meets Shafer Trail Road, Shafer Canyon. This gives access to the spectacular Goose Neck area of the Colorado River.

 

Can you find me and Rocky in this photo?

No matter where you may set up camp you’ll discover tons of ways to wear yourself slick having adventure fun. Remember to take some time to sit and stare for awhile.  You’ll be glad you did.