Friday, September 23 – Tuesday, September 27
Reggie and I are camped at Lone Rock primitive camping area. We arrived last Friday. Here are some photos showing the last few miles to our camp.
Shortly before reaching Page, Arizona, on Route 89, the landscape changes dramatically from grass-and-sage land to red rock country.
Page is northeast of the Grand Canyon, at the border of Arizona and Utah. It’s as if the town was on its way to Utah, changed its mind, and decided to stay on the Arizona side.
On the northwest side of Page, Route 89 runs into Utah.
Glen Canyon Recreation Area is off to the right. I see slivers of bright blue water. We pass a scenic overlook and then a sign appears.
“It was a long ride, Reg. We made it. We’ll stop soon and you’ll be able to run around. You’ve been such a good boy.”
We stop at the entrance booth.
The camping fee is $14 regular/$7 with senior discount (Golden Age Pass). I pay for three nights with my credit card. I’ll add more as I decide to extend our stay. The camping fee includes the use of the dump station, trash bins, and water spigot.
As expected — it being a Friday — several RVers are situated on the bluff overlooking the beach and water.
The beach is more crowded. I’m not interested in camping on the beach.
Not only is there the risk of becoming stuck in sand, there’s the certainty of hearing generators, dirt bikes, OHVs, jet skis, motorboats, and someone else’s choice of music and someone else’s choice of when you listen to it.
No, we are happier off by ourselves on the bluff.
We don’t have a perfect view of the water, but what we have certainly is impressive! Reggie and I can walk a short distance to see the water. It’s more important to me that we have privacy and our own, quiet, living space.
The group in the photo below are our closest neighbors. Most of them are gone by Monday.
We have the warmth we need.
Temperatures are in the high 70s during the day and comfortably in the 50s at night. Our first day here is breezy; subsequent days are calm.
An avian welcome!
Immediately after Reggie and I settle in, a huge raven lands about 25 feet from our front door and caws loudly, causing me to jump from my seat at the laptop table. With Reggie barking by my feet, I stand in the doorway, listening and watching with amazement.
This bird is huge, the biggest raven I’ve ever seen, even bigger than Reg!
He isn’t the least bit flustered by our presence.
He finishes his message in a series of cackles and caws. Then he flies off, not because of us, because he’s ready to fly off. Since that initial greeting I watch him from my station in the lounger. This bird is in possession of this entire place, making long flights over the castle-like cliffs, rising in a spiral over the lake, floating downward and spiraling up again.
At least once a day he patrols the bluff on which we camp, crossing through our air space, close enough for me to hear the whump-whump-whump of his wings as his shadow moves across the blue mat.
There goes Alpha Bird!
Well, I should show you the rock for which this place is named!
I’m typing this on our fifth day here.
Reggie and I haven’t gone anywhere, other than to walk to the beach or up to the pay station. I haven’t even unhitched the Best Little Trailer. I just don’t feel like doing anything or going anywhere.
For most of these five days Reggie and I sit outside, me in the lounger and he in his doggie bed (when not playing fetch with Chimpy). We take long naps, go to bed early, sleep late.
This is a familiar process for me.
When faced with a crisis or an intense challenge, physical or emotional, I am strong. I’ve always had to be strong, independent, and capable. Then when the intensity fades and the crisis passes, when I get a grip on the pain of loss, for instance, I fold up into myself and vegetate.
That’s why solitude is very important to me.
Nature — the yellow glow out our window at sunrise, the soaring black speck of the raven over the cliffs, the roadrunner scurrying by our campsite, the jackrabbits loping up the hill at dusk, the pinking of the sky at the end of day — I let these things restore me.
Eventually my energy and motivation returns. Not wanting sympathy here, just explaining the process. Whereas I was active the first few days, now I need to do nothing. Producing this post is a herculean effort!
Thanks again for your thoughtful and kind comments. Please know that I read and appreciate every one even though I may not reply.
Reggie is adjusting well!
He enjoys first-and-only dog status . . . . lots of cuddling, playtime, and naps together. I’ll try to have some photos of him for the next post.
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