A Journey to the Start of Time?
Removing yourself from all external stimuli; contemplating on the overwhelmingly large amount of people that will never extricate themselves from the shackles of cellular service – experience life devoid of that seemingly native sensation of constant connection. Pretty deep stuff, eh?
I like to record notes. I find that these small figments of memories, fragments of keywords and quick jots help me to remember things. Thus, the account of my trip to Moab will be retold via my notebook. More specifically, a “Rite in the Rain”... Somewhat of a non-sequitur style of writing.
Although, it would be relatively brazen of me to dive right into a rather abstract piece of writing without some form of a back-story...
For most of my adult life, (frankly, it still sounds incredibly odd to consider myself an adult)... I've traveled. No, not internationally – nationally. Across the country, back and forth to Alaska, throughout Washington and Oregon. I'm sure that my audience can agree, there is something thrilling in road-tripping. In turning the ignition key, packing the clothes (bare essentials, of course), emptying your refrigerator of all of it's perishables and pulling out of your driveway in the foreboding darkness of the pre-dawn hours; with the goal of reaching a destination that is not your own. A relative unknown. In all reality – in the simplest of iterations – the only thing separating you from that destination is miles and gasoline (or diesel, or electricity, or pedal power.. I digress). Travel of this form is a nod to our early settler's experience and plight – albeit, it's certainly pretty damn easy with pavement, smartphones and cruise control.
Moab had been on my mind as a place that was unattainable. “I'll never have the time to go there”, or “I can't go there with my truck”. That's simply not true. Often times, there may be a million reasons why not to do something, and only one single reason to do something. It's heeding that one do reason and running with it that will bring our wildest dreams to fruition. Again, miles and gasoline.
I was lucky enough to find a travel partner that's of the same mindset. Something that I feel is rare. I'm not endorsing this in any possible way; but, neither of us had any form of underlying plan for this trip, just a destination (s). Hell's Canyon, Oregon and Moab, Utah.
I'll preface my thoughts with a recording of my notes, and build each fragment of my story off of said notes. No notes will be altered, for better or for worse. Expletives included.
Begin.
Nov. 8, 2014
“Depart 0405”
Slugs/Coleman Fuel
237.1 Yakima
13:13, 14.9 264.3 Joseph, OR
Departed my house, just north of Bellingham, Washington at 0405 – bound for the Starbucks off of Samish Way, which was the mutually agreed upon rendezvous point between the two of us. The night before had been a marathon – literally installing my new bed rack (for my roof top tent) at the last possible moment. Which, translated into finally climbing into bed around midnight, all to wake up at 0330. Not the best schedule for a 9 hour day of travel. One of those nights when you're laying in bed knowing that sleep won't come, slightly aggravated when that autonomous alarm clock sounds it's maniacal, yet familiar screech at some ungodly hour. I must admit. I did have a fleeting “What the hell am I doing, why am I doing this?”, moment. Of course, nothing that a good cup of strong Aeropress* coffee can't fix. Skipped any form of breakfast, assuming that Starbucks would be open at 4 AM. I couldn't have been more wrong. Arrived on time, which for me, is impressive. Then my heart sank, we had another fifteen minutes to wait before Starbucks opened. Dammnit. Followed by musings of driving a truck through the front door, grabbing a breakfast sandwich and high-tailing it to the backcountry of Eastern Oregon – decidedly not the best thing to do for anyone's life path. Alas, 0430 rolled around and the door was finally unlocked. Maps and notepads were spread over freshly-cleaned tables, and a plan was formulated. Interstate 5 to Interstate 90, Interstate 84 to La Grande, then on to Joesph, Oregon. A CB radio channel was agreed upon, and the highway speed was determined. Largely uneventful trip, although – it is always entertaining to observe the looks gleaned from passing drivers at the sight of a fully-packed and reasonably-well outfitted rig traveling down the interstate. A mix of the bemused “Wow, rednecks” to “OMG. I'm jealous”. Either way. It is what it is.
Joseph is an interesting place. Perhaps it's apt to use the word rugged-cosmopolitan to describe the boutiques and coffee shops that abut the outfitter/gun shop. Irregardless, I like it. It was the final fueling stop before driving into Hell's Canyon, approximately 40 miles east of Joesph to Imnaha, Oregon.
Slugs and Coleman Fuel shouldn't have to be described for my audience. They are what they sound like.
“Lower Imnaha, Dug Bar @ 15:00, Air Down”
It's funny. As the Dug Bar Road winds closer to the trail head, the houses becoming increasingly grandiose. From the modest traditionally-styled ranch houses and ending with a sprawling sportsman's inn.
Tires were aired down, the customary, seemingly obligatory pre-trail photos were taken, and the run out to Dug Bar (or thereabouts) commenced. Sweeping vistas of burnished green and yellows, the living fertile plants of a high-mountain landscape mixed in with the grays and darker browns of staleness. Instantly breath-taking. That sensation of knowing that you're about to insert yourself into a wilderness. Cell service dropped out thirty miles ago, Google Maps won't help here. Switchbacks intertwining with rapid ascents and descents, passing by abandoned ranches – wildlife. The animals in this country are pretty damn brazen: Deer that will only exert enough energy to pivot their heads in your general direction – eluding a glance that could perhaps be anthropomorphically embodied as “Yup, I'm eating right now. What the hell are you gonna do about it, hotshot?”. The Mountain Goat that stopped about ten feet directly in front of my truck would've been a little more gruff, “**** you, *******!”. Forgive the language.
Passed by the Imnaha Dam, with the remote research station around 16:00. Shortly thereafter, passed by an innocuous cattle gate (which marked my turn around point in July of 2013). Darkness descended upon us around 17:00. I feel that the darkness of any given place has an immense descriptive ability. This darkness is sudden. Abrupt. The trucks were running well, and all of our collective auxiliary lighting was in use. At least for me, it's justification for spending money on something that at the time, can seem so incredibly frivolous – that is, until you're navigating winding mountain roads in a pitch black night. You can't **** up here, kid. AAA isn't going to be kind enough to activate their “mountain rescue truck” to save your *** from an ignorant mistake.
Reached Dug Bar at 17:30, decided to investigate an area just out of sight of the horse trailers and wall tent that had been set up at the boat launch. Success. Well, at least until we saw the flicker of an LED headlight just below us, closer to the Snake River. There was a brief discussion as to whether or not we should relocate; well, a short discussion. It essentially consisted of “Well, if they were truly bothered with us being here, they'd come up here and ask us to move..”. I resorted to a relatively primitive method of leveling my truck, (placing a large rock under a back tire), and setup my roof top tent. It worked. Tent was setup in about ten minutes, Robby prepared his “nest” in the back of his truck – our respective habitats had been setup amidst the omnipresent gurgling of the Snake River. I must admit – I feel guilty of having such luxuries like fleece, synthetic sleeping bags and propane stoves. Something that the original occupants of this land never had, or never needed. Does that make me a “glamper”? Now that I've begun to dig this proverbial hole, I guess it will only increase it's depth to add that I gorged myself on Mountain House's version of Beef Stroganoff for dinner. It's a feast. Seriously. Continue that indulgence with a can of Rainer (shaken, not stirred) – and I may have well been wearing a tuxedo and making small talk at some swanky martini bar in Seattle. Maybe that's an exaggeration – I'd far prefer the dehydrated food anyways. The light from the campfire illuminating the other side of the canyon – the flickering light bounding effortlessly over the river, the stars shining above our heads – the stiff cold of a light breeze. Why attempt to use words to describe this? How does one use something so utterly clinical as english words to describe such an ethereal and soul shaping experience and environment? You feel this in your soul. In the essence of your being. You're in the wild. Well, with a 4WD Toyota truck as your mode of transport at least...
Sleep came fast, aided by a full belly and a slight buzz (embarrassingly, I'm a lightweight). Thoughts of that Aeropress*, and the liquid gold that it would bestow upon the two of us in the morning. (Is it odd to go to sleep thinking about the cup of coffee that you'll have when you wake up?)
Coffee. Odd to think that I swore it off for three months whilst working aboard a Bering Sea fishing boat. Amazing how seemingly mundane morning routines can manifest themselves into rituals. The water was boiled, the coffee press was stoked, and the end product was derived. Dispensed into two cups – enjoyed amongst a backdrop consisting of mountains, blue sky and river. Would this be an appropriate time to insert that I dutifully applied my Old Spice deodorant before exiting my roof top tent? Of course, an appropriate post-script to that would be that it was one of the only times that I used deodorant during the entire trip. I mean, honestly. Why bother?
Nov. 9
Depart Snake River Camp 0830
End of Air Strip
0930 Salmon Station “Paddle Wheel” ~ 50 Degrees F, Ovrcst.
Wind 25 + Knots W/SW
Pavement 10:30, 89.5 ODO
Imnaha Boat
The trucks were packed, maps were checked and a rough travel plan was outlined for the day.
We'd both decided to cut out Lord Flat/Hat Point from the itinerary. No, this wasn't some form of off-road snobbery – it was purely a function of operating under a schedule. We simply didn't have the time to run out and back (~8 hours) and make progress South to Utah in a 24 hour period. Largely uneventful ride back to relative humanity, aside from the howling wind and darkening skies. Incredible how as a species, we've still retained our innate ability to sense incoming weather, usually harkened by that fast moving cloud formation, or better yet that “feeling” in your gut. Almost as if by clockwork – the skies opened up with an intense rain the instant we reached pavement. It was mutually concluded that a fresh coffee would greatly aid in airing up our tires – we'd run back to Joseph at reduced speed.
Imnaha Boat..
I can't let a fragment as auspicious as that one slip away from further explanation. Yet, does it really need explanation? Rounding the corner on the road back to Joseph, there sits a classic wooden sailboat on boat stands. No, not some rotting testament to Man's dedication to perpetual projects – a nice, restored and smart-looking sailing vessel. The how's, why's and what's were left unanswered. It is what is was, a sail boat in a front yard. It must've been quite a chore to move a 50 foot-plus vessel into such a land-locked locale... Being a boat person, I of course was obligated to photograph it.
Reached Joseph around 11:30, that fresh coffee was a boost to morale. Tires were aired up, maps were once again referenced and a newer plan was formulated. We'd head to La Grande, then South to points unknown. Well, maybe that's a nod to some ancient proper “overland” expedition. We'd drive until neither one of us felt like driving any more. Fairly simple.
12:05 125.2 ODO to Enterprise, OR
STAY IN VEHICLE WHEN FUELING!
35th Parallel 13:56
Again. Largely self-explanatory. Don't attempt to pump your own gas in Oregon. No, not just Portland, a la Portlandia – the entire state. It's a piece of legislation dating to the mid-fifties. Oregonian writer Joseph Rose provides an intriguing anecdote:
“Oregon can be a silly place. Self-serve suicide (with a physician's assistance) is legal, but you still face a $500 fine for filling your own tank. But its residents get stubborn about tradition. Live here long enough, and you'll find your own reasons to buy into what once seemed crazy.”
True.
Reached Twin Falls, Idaho at 19:15 – devoured a Subway sandwich. Subway can be a challenging place at times. Albeit, none of theses daunting challenges are due in part to anyone else, they're internal. It's that freedom of choice thing, man... 6 inch or Footlong? Toasted/Not Toasted? Cheese? Vegetables? Traveling in this fashion generally lends itself to gaining an appreciation for the simpler things in life. Case in point, the speed at which a generally boring Subway sandwich can reach levels of culinary accomplishment never thought possible. Or, at least, that's what I think.
Fueled up and got back on the road. Utah bound.
That final stretch of highway into Utah, passing through the US Ecology Waste Site, was easily one of the most isolated and lonely portions of pavement that I've ever travelled. Reminiscent of the Canadian Yukon, our rigs provided the only source of man-made light for at least 150 miles or so. It's an interesting duality. Amazing that that proverbial lone highway still exists in this nation. Scared ****less that if something happens, you better be able to deal with it.
Salt Lake City Wal-Mart @ 00:15... Nap Location
Sure. A nap. “We'll just stop here to take a 3 hour nap, and get back on the road.” Sounds great in theory. Harder to execute when you've been on the road for 18 hours. That 6 hours of sleep was luxurious. Seriously. Yet, there was the: 0615, Wal-Mart – Crazy Dreams!
Crazy dreams. Those things that also occur when you've been on the road for 18-plus hours. That exhausted mix of steady sleep and vivid pulsating thoughts. I'm certain some psychological analysis could be applied; yet, I choose to purge them with a cup of strong coffee in the morning. It's cheaper for now.
Departed at 0615, reached the visitor's center in Moab at 11:30. I Must admit, it felt incredibly stereotypical having two built rigs sitting at the visitor's center, wallets poised to purchase trail maps. Tacomas attract quite a bit of attention, especially one with aftermarket bumpers, antennas and lights placed throughout it's structure. The first passer-by with some truck-related question is greeted with enthusiasm and a long, detailed answer. The second is greeted with a somewhat shorter, yet still incredibly congenial chat. The third is met with a rather short “Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but we were supposed to leave an hour ago..”. It's all relative, I suppose. Off to the trails.
* Aeropress – In spite of contradictory philosophy and beliefs, one of the single-most important inventions of the 21st century. An unbreakable feat of human engineering. A life-changing piece of culinary appartii.. Coffee Press..
