October 24th, 2016

Writing from the West Paria Outpost.

Mood: Elated

#Vanlife tidbit: When filling up water — mainly geared to people getting it offered for free from a tap or hose — fill up a cup or bottle and taste it first. Taste a whole water bottle and see if you’re cool with it. This obviously doesn’t apply when one’s really in need, but it took me to getting some nasty, chlorine treated water from a place out in Utah to realize that when you fill up, that’s the water your stuck with…for ten gallons. Take that into consideration, because pouring out and wasting water sucks and so does shitty tasting water.

Right now: It’s a thunder and lightning storm the first time I take on rain with the Gator. It’s not that bad. Kind of nice, actually. But some of these thunder booms…damn. Those particularly big ones that make you stop typing for a second to listen for when it ends….those give me chills. I told the other Scottish people camping here that being from LA, any type of weather puts me on edge.

The last few days have got me in a rhythm. It’s that rhythm that I’ve been talking about. I won’t say that I’m completely comfortable, but I’m happily and thoroughly engaged with my time…I love it. I’m taking my hypersensitivity and channeling it. It’s hard to articulate, but I just feel better.

The last few days have been also darn hoot. This is what traveling is about. Seeing new places and the people that you meet. My previous post was from White Pockets, a place deep out on the Paria Plateau. Its’ basically inland from where the Wave is, but because of the landscape, the roads force you to go quite far. It’s still unbelievably beautiful country, though. It’ a high, old, western-desert right out of the movies. Native-American petroglyphs everywhere with land that seems unexplored, untouched, or uninhabited for centuries. Pottery and new pictures are found all the time and it seems like the locals, having seen what happened to The Wave, don’t have any interest in letting the government know about what they find (speaking of which, it seems like the Wave has left a really bad taste in everyone’s mouth. It’s extremely beautiful, yes, but many of them are unhappy with the tourism as it keeps them out of many of the places they call home. That, or at least that’s the idea I’m getting). But I love this part of the country. It’s beautiful everywhere you look. There’s a feeling of tranquility that I feel from the solitude. Spending this much time here is exactly what I wanted to do.

It’s all thanks to the guys at Paria Outfitters, Steven and Logan, for significantly altering the course of my journey. I’ll start with Steve. Dead-head hippie in his late 60s. He was a guide and he knew everything. Can build a car, build a house, and write a book on the Paria. He goes to Rainbow Gathering (he’s actually gone for 25 years). That’s why when I asked him if he’d been to Burning Man, he replied, “Nah, but I know it’s cool because I hear it’s all about helping each other.” A stand-up guy with no bullshit…he’s great. Logan is the other, and he’s just awesome, also. I thought he was early-mid twenties when I met him, but found out he’s just 17. A tall, big boy from the Central Valley (of California), he’s out here with Steven working. His story is pretty interesting. He’s definitely a nerd, but because he was big, pretty athletic, and in the Central Valley, he was put into football. That’s just my impression. He was jumped by a bunch of people organized by the football coach on his birthday and it looks like his parents shipped him out here to the middle of no where to get away and have some time alone. A way to get away from his circles of influences at home as they don’t seem great. He got really, really messed up by those kids, and he is watching himself change in real time. I went through a traumatic experience with Dad and can sympathize with something like that.

I had met them and spoke with Steve for a few minutes when I first pulled up to White Pockets. It was morning and I sat down, made tea,and did a bunch of writing…it was a solid start. I warmed up the car for a solid couple of minutes and just like they told me I got a good start to try to get up that hill. I was taking Snapchats as well thinking it’d be a great story…I had no idea. I got stuck. I got close, but kept on digging. So I got out my shovel and thought I could do some damage…nope. I then resorted to the winch. Although dangerous and tough to get it working right, it is so helpful. It literally allows you to tow yourself out of anything. Thank god I hooked it up at Mike’s place in Page. This ended up working, but not for long. I made it up the initial hill but just could not get up the less-steep but longer second hill. After about an hour of digging and trying, I went ahead hat in hand and asked Logan for his help. He was already expecting me, hearing the engine rev. He was happy to take a look.

This guy…he got the thing out on his first try. “Did you air down the tires at all?” “Eh…no.” **Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh**. Now at 25PSI, the van floated on the sand. Problem solved. After getting out, it was already 1pm and I figured that this guy was pretty cool. He was a bit talkative, but not too bad. We shared a beer and he asked me if I wanted to go on a walk and I obliged. I’m glad I did because we went past the initial White Pocket and just kept walking, exploring the rock formations and looking for obsidian. By the time we got back, I made lunch and we just lounged around. By mid-day, it was obvious that I was going to stay for the night and, I realized that with Logan, this would be the perfect time to figure out the awning. Logan loves the Gator and was happy to help. It turned out to be easy and it's possibly the best camping setup I’ve ever seen. We hung around the rest of the day and enjoyed the sunset. I kept taking pictures of the sunset and van, and Steven even gave me a bunch (4 sandwich bags full) of leftover spaghetti. I’d say it was a good day.

The following day was Sunday the 23rd and Steven had offered to let me camp at the Outpost to wait out the rain and since I had nothing to do and wanted to go back into the Paria after the rain, I took him up. I packed up camp and caravanned out with Steven and his crew, making it to his place by mid-day. The rest of the day I helped around the Outpost and hung out. Steven and Logan left immediately back to their homes so I was alone for most of the evening with Eric, one of the other Paria Outfitters guides. He was an interesting dude to talk to. Had been in ski management his whole career and now “doesn’t want to work too hard” so he just camps and tour guides. There’s more to his story, but I’ll move on.

Monday was the 24th and it was supposed to see rain by Noon. It was light, but I really didn’t want to do anything more than sit on the Outpost porch, read a book, and watch the clouds go by.

These two women came out onto the porch of the Outpost, said they got dropped off there. It was a mother, maybe late 50s, and her daughter, maybe mid to early 30s. They were headed to Lee's Ferry (where their car was) via the Buckskin Gulch, which they found out was flooded. A photographer dropped them off here and said we could help them out. Logan called Steve and said to send them to the BLM office, which could contact a shuttle for them — obviously not the solution they were looking for. I didn’t want to drive in the rain, especially with a third person in the living room chair, but these women needed help and that’s what you do. You help when you can and then it comes back when you need it. They offered to pay for gas as well, which was honestly my only concern.

The van made it fine, doing that skethcy little burp thing where the belt misses and slaps back a few times up the hill. On the drive there, we got to talking about the permitting system and how rough we thought it was. This is something I’ve thought about quite a bit on this trip: especially since not getting any of the permits I wanted back in June and then having to get my permits day-of. It also has to do with that conversation I had with that BLM officer back in that office I spoke about. They understood the frustration that I felt. They also shared the frustration that I felt from the ignorance of the officer when it seemed like she didn’t realize how ridiculous the permitting system is. Obviously, nature geeks like me are going to do whatever it takes, but I’m saying for the average person, our public lands should be more accessible than they are.

The women ended up giving me $100 bucks, which was way more than the gas used. I said thank you and headed back, stopping at the laundry spot I had come across on my way to Page. Very crucial that I keep the van not smelling like laundry. It’s a small space and the mess compounds on itself. Let yourself go for just one day and you can be living in filth. More on this later.