Prattle & Jaw

Two blogs about a whole lot of nothing

Filtering by Tag: John Wesley Powell

Page to Monument Valley

Today, today, today. Where to start. Last night, that’s where. You’ll be thrilled to hear that Slackers holds on to its number one spot for best burger in the world. It’s a long way to go for the best burger in the world, but it’s worth it. Trust me.

 

I also think I saw God in a sunset – or the bit of sunset that I saw from behind Slackers. No wonder people get all religious.

Sitting outside the motel office to use the net, I bump into the owners, Pamela and Brady (of Red Rock Motel). Brady greets me with a ‘howdy’ and I like him instantly. He tells me how this district is the historic district of Page, and the many motels that line the streets are the original buildings that housed the workers who built the dam. I think this is extremely cool. In fact, if you look at old photos of Page, you can see the buildings that are now the motels. Pamela and Brady have a nice dog too. We chat about England and he shows me a photo of him doing muddy motorbike things in the UK somewhere. It looks very cool. I recommend the motel if you’re ever in the area. You know, for or a burger or whatever.

On to today. Up at 6.30, breakfast in bed (why not) and a Skype with the missus in blazing sunshine at 8.30. I then go off to see the John Wesley Powell Museum in Page, which is full of information about Glen Dam and John Wesley Powell, a professor, a soldier, and an explorer of the American West. He was the first man to navigate a passage through the Grand Canyon. He also only had one arm when he did this. He certainly was an interesting chap. There was also bits about lots of other people who have braved the rough waters of the river, long before the dam tamed the flow. Impressive stuff.

Clever guy, Buzz

I look at some dinosaur footprints and realise it’s the first time I’ve ever seen some. I don’t take a photo and I’m not sure why. I hit Walmart for a towel, then head out to Horseshoe Bend as it’s close by. It’s every bit as beautiful as I remember. My stomach flips as I get close to the edge, and think about how it’s only sandstone I’m standing on, the very same sandstone you can break and crush with your fingers. I move back. I’ve put on weight.

The walk, while not long, is tiring. Although only 10.30, the sun is going for it and I develop a lovely sweat patch on my vest. The good thing is I'm far from the only one. Back in the car, I amp up the AC. Time to swim.

I head out to Lake Powell. There’s a small dirt road just before the dam which leads to a car park. Climb down rocks and you’ll probably find a stretch of red sand or white rock you can call your own private beach. I jump and swim, but get scared easily by the blackness so kick around in the shallows. It’s bloody lovely. I stare up at the dam and wonder if anyone is staring back.

I was here last year with Thilde and Nikolaj, and had hoped to find the same spot but of course, with the water level changing constantly, it’s nigh on impossible. I must be around the same area but just can’t recognise it.

After an hour, I’ve dried off, and I head back to the car. My flip-flops break. I buy new ones, then hit the road. I haven’t got an address for the hotel I’m staying at but know what roads I need and it’s only 2 hours away so go old skool and leave the GPS in the glove box. 

I drive and drive through nothingness. I hit a short but intense rain storm which thankfully helps clear the sticky mess of dead insects from my windscreen. I hit something huge the other day and while the rain helps get rid of most of the other gunk, my wipers just smear big dead bug all over the place.

Suddenly, I see what must be the start - if you can call it that - of Monument Valley.

I keep thinking this for the next hour, until we round a corner and there it is, no mistake. I’m so excited I actually whoop out loud. I can’t believe I’m finally here.

The hotel is superb. I check in, head to my room, head back out and ask about another night. All booked up, she says. I was expecting it. I booked this room about 4 months ago. I go back to my room, but 10 minutes later the phone rings. The man behind me in the queue at reception wanted to check out early – would I like to take his room? She says she’s never had that happen before, I take it as a sign and take the room. I’m blissfully happy.

I do a wander around the hotel, sit on the wall, and look out over the valley. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in my whole life. I didn’t realise how important it was for me to get here, although I'm not sure why exactly. It’s so indescribably peaceful and majestic, it’s almost too much. Although the view remains the same as it has done for centuries, it changes every second with the light. I look out and wish my wife was with me.

I wander some more, and wonder how on earth I’ll ever get a photo that conveys even in the slightest how incredible it is here.

Tomorrow I have the whole day to explore. I’ll do the drive, and maybe get on a horse.

Tonight, if I open the doors to my balcony and look up, I can see nothing but stars. I’m instantly jealous of the families that still call the valley home. How wonderful.

I knew it’d be beautiful, I knew I’d love it, I just didn’t expect it to be quite so powerful. 

Tomorrow, I’ll watch the sun rise. I should go to bed. 

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