alone in the city of rocks 12 comments
Late afternoon on April 4th, and I’m making my way northward out of Utah. It’s the easter weekend. Just over the line into Idaho, I stop at a busy gas bar and find my van among cars and SUVs with out-of-state licence plates, crammed with parents and children on their way to or from family gatherings. I seem to be the only lone driver. The dogs peer through the van windows, puzzled by the frantic activity as people run back and forth between their cars at the pumps, and the convenience store where they are loading up on pop, chocolate bars and bags of chips. We depart and soon turn off the interstate, heading cross country to our destination – City of Rocks National Reserve in the Albion Mountains near Almo, Idaho.
Arriving at the visitor center too late to speak with anyone about the campgrounds, I study the brochures and find my way to the Smoky Mountain campground set among the tree clad slopes at the entrance to City of Rocks. The signboard lists winter rates and informs that there is power at the sites, but the water won’t be turned on for a few more weeks. I drive up and cruise around, looking for a good site. There are several horse camping sites with the best shelter among the juniper on the high side of the campground. Apparently, I’m the only one crazy enough to be up on this snowy mountainside, so decide that no one will object if I choose a site with a corral.
I plug in the extension cord and set up the small heater fan which can occasionally be turned on to warm up the van if it gets too cold during the night. Surprisingly, my blackberry is able to send and receive email notes if I position it just right at a particular spot against a metal strip in the back window frame – a discovery which I made while camped at other more remote areas in northern Ontario. I send a message to my mom that the dogs and I have a nice campsite up in the mountains, and are comfortable, lying in our bed, listening to the first evening calls of a Great Horned Owl. I soon doze off and awake at some point during the night, feeling as though someone may have just driven by on the nearby lane. I check the time and then lie looking out the van window at the million dollar view of the valley and mountains beyond, wondering if I was dreaming, or if someone actually did drive by this lonely place at around 3 a.m. I’m pretty sure it was just one of the odd dreams I have when camped off on my own.
Just before dawn, I awake to the whispering of wind as snow flakes whirl through the juniper. I decide to get us on the move as I’m not sure of the weather. The clouds feel ominous and heavy with precipitation as they scrape over the mountains, trailing a broad veil of snow behind. I want enough time to visit City of Rocks before continuing northward and am not sure if the roads will begin to ice up. On this day, I’m not feeling much like getting stuck or sliding off the shoulder. I follow the roadway to the peculiar granite formations, but stop to photograph the stone ruins of an old house on the bend as the first formations loom into view. It feels particularly forlorn in this place – but that has more to do with my state of mind this morning.
I stop periodically to photograph the granite crags and monolithic boulders rising up out of the silvery sagebrush.
I’ve read enough about this place to know that there are inscriptions on the rocks – many made by those who traveled the California Trail by oxcart in the 1800s. City of Rocks lay at a point where those who traveled west either continued northwest on the Oregon Trail, or turned to the southwest and passed through City of Rocks to follow the California Trail. As many as 200,000 people passed through this region, stopping to camp by springs among the formations. Those who passed through this range sometimes left their mark on the granite, painting their names in tar or wheel grease. Perhaps this inscription on Camp Rock was made by one of these visitors long ago.
On an interpretive sign, I find this little sketchbook entry. For some reason, it speaks to me on this day – here in this snowy landscape surrounded by frozen granite that seems to sap every bit of warmth out of me. My hands are becoming increasingly numb as I fumble with the settings on my camera. J. Goldsborough Bruff wrote:
Night very cold, hardly slept, – on ground, – sick, took laudanum.
and
No sign yet of my train. Left card in sarcoph cave rock.
Bruff is, no doubt, referring to a cave beneath Sarcophus Rock which was used as a place for travelers to leave mail and messages. See this page for further information on messages and inscriptions.
After spending about an hour alone, listening to the sound of snow sifting between these great rocks, I turn the van around to follow my own tracks back out to the highway. There was plenty more driving to do before we would make that night’s destination in Montana. Before leaving, I altered my campsite receipt to mark the date – April 5th – Don’s 58th birthday. I hope that, in some form or another, his spirit was able to spend a little time at City of Rocks. I know he would have loved being there with us.
12 Responses to 'alone in the city of rocks'
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Megan – A trip with Matt’s ashes might turn out to be a very good thing. I believe our hearts know the right road for each of us to follow. Take care, bev.
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Oh Bev . . . that camp receipt. Oh honey.
Those pictures of cold granite and snow.
You have a strong, strong will carrying your heart through these landscapes.
That comment left by Bruff – the one about his taking laudanum . . . . morphine –
in order to sleep. Yep. I’d be mainlining the stuff in that situation.
Your courage is daunting and inspirational. Truly.
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Bev, take care as you wander back toward the next adventure…Don’s birthday was eleven days ago, so maybe you’ve made it by now. I’ve never been to the City of Rocks, but I can imagine how peaceful it must have been, even with the wind sifting snow around the rock formations. Even with the memory of Don shaping your state of mind as you saw that forlorn old ruins, you captured the old house beautifully. Stay safe and well.
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The loneliness in these photos is incredibly palpable. There is a starkness here that conveys the cold, snow, wind of these moments. I’m glad that you are on your way to your new home, and it will be springtime. Much awaits you, and you will fill some of that loneliness with all the things that you love. Where are you now?
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You never cease to amaze me, Bev. Based on these photos,
I’d have been out of that place in a heartbeat.Hope you’re enjoying a beautiful Spring morning in NS right now
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There it is again, what Ram Dass called fierce grace. In the midst of that austere landscape and threatening snowfall, you celebrated Don’s life and knew that he would have loved to be there with you.
I remember last year when you were driving north, leaving spring behind, and finding winter again. In my mind I have a picture of Nova Scotia’s spring. Am curious to see what you photograph once you arrive in Nova Scotia.
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I’ve found your account of this trip to be deeply moving. The landscape too, evocatively captured in your photographs, captures my imagination. How I would love to sit and draw and soak up the shapes and atmosphere of such a staggeringly entrancing place. Thank you Bev for sharing. I much appreciate your generosity, as I see others leaving messages here have done.
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This is just to log my correct e-mail address. The previous one is out of date.
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Cathy – Sometimes I am surprised by just how much determination I have. The move here to Nova Scotia has been one of those times. I will write more about it quite soon.
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John – Thanks. I did make it to Ottawa okay, although had some truck trouble on the last day. I have another post or two to write about the trip west – that’s coming up very soon.
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robin – City of Rocks did feel like a very lonely place to me. Circumstances seemed to conspire to make it so. I read accounts of groups of people camped there on their way to California and tried to imagine those encampments — but all I heard was the wintry silence. I am in Nova Scotia and will be writing more about that soon.
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marci – I know it may seem odd, but I’m the most at peace when I am in places like City of Rocks, even in the cold and snow. I feel relaxed and in control when I am alone in those wilder places.
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am – I like tht “fierce grace”. Often, I do feel fierce…and feel it in my way of doing those things that sometimes seem beyond me. How good that you remembered where I was last year as I celebrated Don’s birthday. Strange how similar the weather was in spite of the physical difference. I am in Nova Scotia now and it is a kinder place — new plant growth is verdant and there is a steady chorus of Spring Peepers around the property. I am feeling good about the house and moving. More about that coming up soon.
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Clive – Having seen your paintings, I am sure you would love City of Rocks. The whole region of the Albion Mountains captures the mind — the immensity of scale of the plains as they slope outward from the mountains. Incredible. -
It’s so good to know you’re safely arrived and finding beauty and spring peepers:-) Ours are already quiet.
I know we’re all looking forward to the first photos!
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[…] on previous trips to the west – but none in Idaho. There are several such sites in and around City of Rocks of which I’ve recently written. After leaving that location, I made my way northeast into […]
thank you. I had not had much peace the last weeks, and your post and photos brought some. Matt wanted to be dropped off in the salmon river watershed in Idaho, left to hike and camp his way out over the course of 6 months. We hadn’t been there yet. Maybe his ashes and I need a trip.