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Show PAGE 10 -- THE ZEPHYR DECEMBER 1 990 favorite tourists part my 1 by Jim Stiles The first time I met Jeff Woods of Swansea, Wales, I was a ranger at Arches National Park. Most of the time I worked out of the Devils Garden, 18 miles Inside the park. But today, I'd been called down to the visitor center to cover for another ranger on sick leave. The questions were easy to answer, but consistently the same. After awhile I could answer before they asked: Two hours, If you don't want to get out of your car" (How long does It take to see this place?) and "Outside and to the left" (Wheres the bathroom?). Most of the tourists looked the same... a lot of polyester and doubleknit shirts out there. But when this one particular visitor shuffled through the double plate glass doors, I sensed Instantly that my day was about to be changed. The man stood barely five and a half feet tall (at 5'8 I towered over the little fella), and he sported a scraggly, fiery red beard than ferocious. But mostly, I noticed his pack. His that actually made him look more pack, a giant red nylon monstrosity with about thirty zlppered compartments clinging to every square Inch of It, towered over all of us. It barely cleared the doorway as he passed through. Red beard headed directly for the Information counter and me. Meanwhile, a gentleman and his wife had approached me for Information and advice. They had hoped to see 13 national parks In six days and there wasn't a moment to lose. They figured they had about 90 minutes to devote to the Arches and they wanted me to budget their precious time for them. The man with the red beard and enormous pack muscled his way beside them, eager to ask a question of his own. elf-ll- ke But the couple was not about to leave. Stylishly attired In his and her matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse royal blue, zlppered, Jumpsuits, the man asked about the condition of the road. "Not that It matters, he explained. "Our motorhome may be 36 feet long, but It can go dam near anywhere. Suddenly a muffled explosion split the conversation In half. Minnie, with a look of absolute horror, buried her face In her hands and turned away. Her husband, angry and man to man. offended, turned to the hairy elf next to him and confronted him "Excuse mel he said with Indignation, "But you farted In front of self-righte- ous my wife!" "I'm terribly sorry, the accused replied with British aplomb, "but I didnt know It was her turn." Mr. Mouse turned shakily to me. "Ranger! I demand that you do something! This man's behavior Is OUTRAGEOUS!" "Well, sir, I replied. "Ill have to check the Code of Federal Regulations. That would be CFR 36. I'm not real clear on just what the law jg regarding flatulence, but I'll be glad to find out His wife shrieked again and ran out the front door and he was right behind her. The air cleared, so to speak, and activity In the visitor center resumed a semblance of normalcy. My gaseous friend remained standing by the counter. "Well, I must say, he began, "you Americans are a bit sensitive at times. And what was that bloody costume they had on? Do you people always dress In pairs? "We Americans are truly a diverse people, I explained, "as well as sensitive and who might you be? "Geoffrey Woods. Call me Jeff- -. I'm hitching around the world, and I thought Id In for a few directions. drop Jeff was looking for Canyonlands National Park. He planned on taking an extensive backpacking trip, he said, and also wanted to spend some time on the river. I showed him the maps, which he studied at length, and gave him the names of some rangers at Canyonlands that could help him, If he needed any. We shook hands and he said goodbye. And that was that I told a few of my friends about the Incident with Jeff and Mickey and Minnie, but It soon faded from my memory. A couple weeks later, I left Moab for a trip to the Maze District of Canyonlands. Id managed to put five days of annual leave together and I wanted to see this stone labyrinth first hand, after only reading about It for so many years. Although the Maze Itself Is only forty miles southwest of Moab, as the crow files, the rest of us have to take a more circuitous route. Just to reach the Hans Rat Ranger Station, you have to travel north on US 191 to Crescent Jet (30 miles), then west on past Green River to the Junction with State Route 24 (36 miles), then south on SR 24 to the Junction with a dirt road (26 miles), then 60 miles east on a sandy, washboard dirt track that leads to Hans Rat and beyond. The plan was to meet my friend Mike Salamacha, a seasonal at the Maze, and stay the night at the Hans Flat residence. The next day, we planned to head downcountry. After a long dusty ride from the pavement, I reached Hans Rat at sunset, Just ahead of a wicked thunderstorm that was moving In from the southwest I found Salamacha and after moving some gear from my car, we sat down with a beer to study the topos and plan the next days trip. We had barely settled In to our chairs when the doorbell rang. At Hans Flat no one rings the doorbell. At the time only three or four rangers lived at Hans Rat They were the only human Inhabitants In an area that spanned millions of acres. I got up to open the door. I couldnt believe It It was that Umey again. "Hello mate, he said. "Fancy meeting you again way out here. I looked around for his car and then remembered he was hitching. Still I'd neither seen nor heard any vehicle at all. "How did you get here, I asked. "Oh... walked up from the river, he explained. "The river? Which river?" "Oh, you know, mate, the Colorado. By now, Salamacha had joined us and knew the distances better than I. He was amazed. thirty miles, Mike said. "You came all that way In one day?" Jeff shrugged. "Well It was a bit up hill, wasn't It? That's a good We brought Jeff Inside, and he told us his story. Heres what he had accomplished a matter of a few days. After charming a woman ranger with his tale of adventure, she loaned him the use of her two-mrubber raft. He floated down the river and after several had Bottom reached Spanish last evening. This morning.... this morning, he strapped days his pack arid the rubber raft (deflated) to his back and hauled this enormous load to the Doll's House, two thousand feet about the river. There, he hid the raft behind some rocks, and with only his fifty pound pack to slow him down, managed to walk another 32 miles and end up mooching a beer off Salamacha Just a few minutes after sunset Mike and I studied the Umey closely as he took a last gulp of Budwelser. "Awfully weak, this American beer," he grumbled. "Mind If I have another? Mike uncapped one more and handed him the bottle. "Aren't you exhausted? I asked. "No, he replied. "I am." I was confused, "What did you say? "I said," he explained, "'No, l am.'" "No, I am? What kind of answer Is that?" I asked. "Well," he explained, "You said to me 'Aren't you exhausted?' and I replied, 'No, lam. What Is so difficult about that? I looked at Salamacha. He shrugged and went outside. Salamacha was a lot wiser than Ive ever been. "So, I continued, "Are you tired or not?" "Yes and no, he answered. "Yes and no? Cant you make up your mind If you're tired or not?" "Of course, I can. I've answered your question as honestly and directly as I know In an BrW,h 10 mal complicated?"' methlnfl slmPe Into aomethlr "Yes," he groaned, "If s notl" I almost hit him with my beer bottle. "What In the hell are you talking about?' Indeed. ZZSttJJ2 - YoumW to me 'Arent you tired?' That Is tow lfter walking 32 miles In twelve hours, I'm very tin 01 my answer, property phrased, khould be: lam.' Do you understand?" JJWell, not axactiy. Arent you turning everything backwards?" YeSmM I m not. Salamacha walked over. "Here Stiles... Have another beer." 'No, ' -70 STtoJkh ,nd I" ter M " SPnlh Botlm- - We i" 1 reached "nliij, Jeff took a route via Pete's Moaa to It nd Twenty-fo- ur hours liter, ha W Nm cover around a bond In the canyon, he looked Ilka a gla. 1 I |