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Show Che Page A6 Thursday, September 11, 2003 Cimes-3nhepenbe- nt 1 Many Trails by Adrien F. Taylor fountain and the sculptured metal ceiling are about the only things that remain the same there. Dale Hash asked a bewildered Ariel why she had not replied to his email of a year or so ago. It was me, admitted. Dale had emailed me, and intended to reply but later lost his address, so now owe him one. Ollie Harris (class of 58) was part of the organizing committee and was master of ceremonies for much of the afternoon and evening. His essays entitled "Idle Thoughts from Mt. Waas, appear weekly on this page, and have been a great enhancement to its contents. fully expect his take on the reunion for next weeks paper, and he will, no doubt, have a completely different twist. Judy Tangreen, Verla Swasey, JoAnne Key, Ardith Peters Ochoa, Bonnie and Larry Day, Nat Hettman, Vere Dickerson, Marie Stocks, Mike Dowd and Jerry McNeely also worked on this event, and I'm told Judy Shumway was the driving force behind it all. There are others, I'm sure, and dont know who they are, but they did a great job. And take back what said some time back about the subject matter during visiting. While family size may have been a big deal 25 years ago, numbers of grandchildren did not come up, at least in my conversations, until lots of other more important things had been covered. Like health. Sam attended the picnic gathering at a had and Park, great time. I, naturally, Rotary had the opportunity to observe to many of my friends that also attend his class reunions (class of '51) with him, and if you think this group looks old, you should see that one. Next week: some of our antics. school class reunion is a great place to and how young. discover just how old you are The classes of GCHS of 1956 through 1960, along with friends, partners, former classmates from other years, and even some children of the grads, gathered last Saturday for a really memorable day Some started the reunion the night before, but others had prior engagements, this meaning in our case a grandson playing football with the mighty Red Devils in a game they unfortunately lost to Manti. My sisters, Ariel (class of 56) and Brangwyn (class of '61 but graduated in Arizona), came for the festivities. Some of our sister Andrea's classmates did not know that she had died. (Thats the class of 59 ) There are bittersweet moments at these gatherings, along with shared memories of those old school days. Several classmates of our brother, Brant, (class of 60, but graduated in Arizona) inquired about his excuse for not being there. So bought him a copy of his class photo from this reunion. hope he has better luck putting names to the faces than had at first. However, with most of my classmates (class of 57), just a moment of two of talking, and the years melted away to reveal those good friends from yesteryear. asked one if she had worked at the drug store (Riley Drug, now the Shop). She reall worked at the drug store. And plied, We guess shes right. During busy times, there were often three girls behind the counter. She told me had taught her how to make simple syrup. That memory has not remained in my brain, nor the identity of what older girl had given me the lesson, although do remember how to do it. The A high . . . I I I I , I I I I mid-da- y I I I I Community Comments by Sam Taylor newly-ar-rive- oxygen, we were rewarded with one of the most beautiful vistas have ever seen. took a roll of slides, shooting 360 degrees. We could see Shiprock, N.M. clearly, as well as the Henry Mountains, the Abajos and the Book Cliffs. Of course, we added our names to the list inside the can, and took pictures of ourselves. Then, we couldnt wait to head down. We went down the same way we climbed up. We had to. We couldn't leave poor Bill stuck to that granite boulder. We pried him loose and headed down to the top of the cliffs. The trouble was, every rock slide looked the same from above. If it hadnt been for that straw hat, we could have picked the wrong chute and splattered ourselves on the rocks hundreds of feet below. It was evening when we finally found our basecamp rescuers, completely worn out and not ready to try it again soon. Even now when family members or friends ask me to climb Mt. Peale, tell them have been there and done that. If you decide to go, the scenic reward when reach the summit will be worth the effort. But you dont go up Dark Canyon for Pete's sake. Go up from La Sal Pass. Its a lot easier. d I I I of course, is the tallest peak the in La Sals, and third highest in Utah, rising to just under 13,000 feet in elevation. So, Sam, Ray, Jack and Bill headed out early next the morning, leaving Don to tend base camp. We soon arrived at Dark Canyon, and climbed the ridge up to timberline. We were in for a surprise. We were faced with massive vertical cliffs on that east face. Obviously, this wasnt the best way to climb Peale, but we proceeded anyway. There were a couple of places where loose, talus sliderock came down between the cliffs. We gingerly climbed one of them. It was a weird feeling. There wasn't a solid rock on the slide, nor on Mt. Peale once we got above the cliffs. And the wind was blowing up there. Friend Ray was wearing a big straw hat. The wind whistling through the straw spooked him, so he took it off and put a rock on it. Hiking comhalf-wa- y up and froze in panion Bill had his fill place, urging us not to forget him on the way down. We couldn't budge him. Three of us continued carefully. As we dislodged pebbles, we could hear them tinkling down into the mountain itself, sort of like dropping a rock down a deep well or mine shaft. Spooky1 we reached the sumFinally, about mid-damit, cold, half scared to death, but victorious. But it was cold, even though it was July and in Moab temperatures were over 100 . Once on top, we found there were a couple of much easier ways to climb Mt. Peale. We chose the very worst one. Despite the cold and the wind and lack he I I I Peale, 36-fra- I I THE ZEN OF SHOOTING LIZARDS If you get out and about in the desert summer sun you may have seen the world's most beautiful lizard. It was likely sunning itself atop a lookout boulder, warily perched there, watching for predators or prey. Early in the morning this lizard may have been as gray and drab as any common lizard. You may have scarcely given it a second glance unless you happen to be a lizard person or because it may have been more than a foot long. As the sunning lizard grows warm, a magical transformation begins to occur. Its massive head and body begin to change colors. When it is thoroughly warmed, it appears to almost glow, the massive head a brilliant yellow, the body, legs and, lastly, the tail, a beautiful turquoise green. Its body may have small white spots and thin bands of yellow spots. Its wrinkled neck and shoulders will be banded by two black band bestripes with a tween These bands at its neck give the lizard its name. Collared lizards range across the southwest and into Mexico. But, only here in beautiful eastern Utah and western Colorado do they occur in such brilliant colors. When I was a kid we called these big blue lizards Rock Mountain boomers, or boomers for short, and we were afraid of them. Ive never seen any demonstration of aggression although Ive heard of them rushing toward people in an bluff. I would like to see it now but if such a thing had happened to me as a kid I would have been terrified beyond words. A couple of weeks ago I stopped by the Blanding visitors center to buy a map and to visit with the lovely Lynne Shumway. I mentioned to her that I was going out that afternoon to attempt to photograph a collared lizard. I only bring this conversation up because what happened later may have been luck but at least it wasn't completely dumb luck. I went out to a desert area where I have seen quite a few collared lizards. It was early afternoon. The air temperature was in the up address ntr q .yJZ7 Sam on the top of Mt. Peale in July of 1957. It was darned cold up there but the view was great. It was particularly cold for me, because that was my undershirt substituting for a flag. nt to: The I 0 d per nineties, perhaps reaching degrees. I knew that the lizards would be in one-hundr- full color. When I pulled up to the gate I noticed a n flash of brilliant as the first collared lizard dashed beneath the rocks to safety. After closing the gate behind me I began to slowly drive the big Dodge along a road that appeared to have been unused since I was there last year. The next collared lizard I saw was also running for cover. The next lizard was sitting atop a large rock but it was some distance from the road and I didn't have any confidence it would allow me to approach on foot. Like other critters, you can often get closer to them in a vehicle. Suddenly, I saw a beautiful lizard just off the track. I took a couple of shots from the window. I slowly opened the door and got out. The lizard did not move. I took a couple of shots. I then took a step closer and took a shot, another step and another shot. Incredibly, the lizard did not move. A couple of steps from the lizard I sank to my knees. I took a couple of shots. I crept closer and took more shots. At last I was within about fourteen inches of this desert jewel. I took more shots then carefully rested my elbow on its rock. I dont know if it felt some vibration or what but it suddenly dashed away. The result of all this is that there is an incredible 8x10 photograph in front of me that shows the fore part of the lizard from the tip of its nose to just behind its left elbow. The colors, scales, claws, nostril and textures are in exquisite detail. The eye is hooded and dark. The grains of sand and lichens on the rock are also in perfect detail. Kay Shumway, my mentor, thinks that it is good enough for the state fair so it is entered. Dang! I got lucky! Editor's Note: Oliver Harris was notified this week that his photograph of the collared lizard described in this column won first place in the Utah State Fair, Advanced Amateur Division, Category: Wildlife in the Wild. blue-gree- High Country News half-centur- 8 of March 3, 1897. Ul P.O. Box 129, Moab, UT Times-lndepende- CAV I A OC T -- OGO 77-I I T 84532 I UVJU VJKS'U and PRESS ASSOCIATION Samuel J. and Adrien F. Taylor, Publishers Adrien F. Taylor, Editor Sadie Warner, Assistant Editor UTAH J y through southwestern Colorado into Utah, where it ended at Monticello, Utah. The stretch of asphalt is still there, but it has shed the number of the beast in favor of less ominous numerology. Exit Route 666. Hop on Route 491. Last spring, New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson led politicians from the highways three states in petitioning the federal government to change the highways numbers. They argued that the Bibles link between 666 and Satan was bedeviling the economic well being of the towns along the highway. But according to the Book of Revelation, a dragon-talkin- g beast would stamp 666 on our heads and hands, not our highways. I cant believe that its the three sixes that are possessing the struggling communities along that desert highway. Changing the number wont change the fortunes of small towns strung across the dusty Southwest, in Indian Reservations and nearby, where the future offers little more hope than dry thunderclouds promise rain. No jobs. No industry. No crops. Only lines of cars passing from one national park to the next, and theyre just passing through. I am nostalgic enough to believe that something was lost when those highway numbers changed. Route 666 took its name from its place on the map. It was the sixth branch off Route 66, the fabled Mother Road that was once the sickle-shape- 1538-183- jcnc open-mouthe- by Dave Frey address: editormoabtimes.com Member Harris Route 666 is fading in the distance. That 66 is stepson of the Mother Road-Rou- te headed toward oblivion. Thats a shame, because for me, like plenty of pavement pilgrims who arrived in the West over the last in RVs, SUVs or astride Harleys, the Devils Highway was the road into Gods Country. U.S. Route 666 was a lonely stretch of asphalt stretching 194 miles from dusty Gallup, N.M., across the rugged Navajo Reservation, of mtcs-3lnhcpntfrc- HsDO by Ollie The Devils Highway was a road to Gods Country 6309-200- of Idle Thoughts from Mt. Waas Writers on the Range ISSN (UPS) Entered as Second class Matter at the Post Office at Moab, Utah under the Act Second class postage paid at Moab, Utah 84532. Official City and County Newspaper. Published each Thursday at: 35 East Center Street, Moab, Grand County, Utah 84532 Postmaster: Send changes Category: "Wildlife in the Wild." yellow-fading-to-whi- Have you ever climbed Mt. Peale? This question was asked me by a professional to Moab in 1957, who soon became one of my fondest friends. told him I had not done so, but intended to some day Its supposed to be a piece of cake, told him. We decided to do it in company with three friends. So, a tew days taler we set out tor the La Sal Mountains. was asked what the best way to the top was. told him didnt have the slightest idea, but thought it could be scaled from any side. We picked Dark Canyon as our approach route. At that time they were just building a road into Dark Canyon Lake, so we camped overnight at Blue Lake, which was within an easy hike to Dark Canyon, and a great place to camp. Mt. First Place Blue Ribbon, Utah State Fair 2003 I I I Ollie's Collared "Boomer" Lizard ram-horne- d, d path of choice for millions of vacationers, truckers and automobile pilgrims looking for salvation among the motels, diners, tourist traps and expansive beauty that was the West. If you have a plan to motor west, the old song says, travel my way, take the highway thats the best. Get your kicks on Route 66. Only isolated fragments of Route 66 remain. They've been split apart by the interstate highway system that gave us convenience at the cost of character. When I first ventured west of the 100th meridian, it was to Route 66 country, and although Route 66 no longer remained, its romance lingered. Driving on Route 666 was as close as I would get to a connection with a piece of lost Americana. It was something else, too. That highway pulled me out of Gallup, N.M., which would soon seem to me like a big city once I hit the dusty towns on the Navajo Reservation. Tohatchi. Naschitti. Shiprock. This is the rugged West that doesnt show up on postcards. And it isnt sung about in that song. Kicks on Route 66 are found in Kingman, Barstow, San Bernardino, not Tocito or Towaoc. I became enchanted by this countrys sagebrush and mesas, turquoise skies and red rock, and years later, it lured me back. Thankfully, what I love most about old Route 666 wont change when the signposts do. It will still be a track through a rugged, struggling, beautiful place that carries the heart of the West. But I also loved where Route 666 came from. It was a branch off a piece of history, one that is now another step closer to forgotten. No kicks, Im afraid, on Route 491. David Frey is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News in Paonia, Colorado (hcn.org). He writes in Carbondale, Colorado. |