Birds & The Bees

Went for a walk yesterday to try out a new camera I rented, and came home with a few images—and one tick. Red-winged Blackbirds are very territorial. This fellow buzzed me as I walked by, and so it was pretty easy to then look about and find his nest with his lady sitting on it. I walked away a bit, but he still flew about and had a lot to say to me.

Red-winged Blackbird

Another familiar fellow posed nearby.

Northern Cardinal

As I distanced myself from the Blackbird nest, I heard some rustling on the ground. This little fellow was busy getting insects in the dirt, but he was also very cooperative in posing for some pictures on a branch.

Song Sparrow

I needed to search for this one’s identification when I got home. I think I’ve got it right, but if anyone suspects something else, I’ve got an image of its back I can share as well.

Bell’s Vireo

I walked over to a landscaped park where there were quite a few bumble bees flying among the flowers. While I got some with the bee by the bleeding hearts, I liked this one without the pollinator better.

Bleeding hearts

I managed to get a bee by a Purple Allium.

Purple Allium and bumblebee

As I write this, I’m watching a pair of Robins on a nest they built outside our front door. One of the eggs hatched yesterday, and worms are being delivered. Waiting to see if more little heads will be popping up soon.

American Robin

Spiderwebs on my face

Last week I shared some words from Erna Nixon along with images from her park. In that housecleaning, I also found a draft of my college application essay, which I wrote about her hammock. So here’s some writing from seventeen-year-old me. First, an image I found in my dad’s slides of the day the hammock was dedicated in her name. The sign was still veiled. Mrs. Nixon is the second person on the left edge in conversation with a group. I think you can guess who I am. The second image is of the sign that still welcomes you to the trails.

March 12, 1966

“As I was reviewing topics for this essay, I got an urge to go over to one of my favorite places to clear my mind for a little while. This place is a small, unspoiled morsel of Florida that goes under the title of the ‘Erna Nixon Hammock.’ Wandering down the narrow, camouflaged trails and thinking about an essay led to two things. First, spiderwebs adhering themselves to my face and clothes. And second, an idea for the composition, my friend for the past ten or twelve years, the hammock.

“To discuss the hammock one must first consider Mrs. Nixon. My family met her through a mutual friend in Chicago. Since then she has become a good friend and teacher of mine. She is an eighty-year-old, very intelligent, very small, very wonderful lady who has spent a good portion of the last seventeen years under the trees of the hammock. If ever I have an unidentifiable plant or creature, I go over to her house with a description of it. We generally come up with a name for it, and then spend the next hour or two talking about anything that comes to our minds.”

“A hammock is an island of vegetation that is a bit different from the vegetation which surrounds it. The Nixon Hammock consists mainly of oaks and other trees and shade-loving flora. . . .”

“ . . . The hammock openly extends itself to anyone who wishes to share in its peaceful life. Often when I am home and being occupied with some work that becomes more and more burdening, I get on my bike and ride over to the hammock. Then I pick a trail that will take me to the portion of the dark interior I want to go to. I spend about a half-hour studying some ferns or mosses or sitting on an old oak. When I come out I am a little more relaxed and ready to go back to the work I had left.”

“Some days I may have a good feeling within and a free hour. This often takes me to the hammock. I just wander around in the outdoor cathedral, meditating and sometimes talking to birds and squirrels and waiting for a reply. . .”

Huh, I thought talking to plants and animals was a newer thing. I’d forgotten I’ve been doing that for quite a while.

"Seek out the Wilderness Places"

Our town has an annual spring cleaning day when it will pick up all the trash you put curbside. That led us to Coronavirus-basement-scouring-and-purging. In that project, I came across some boxes of old letters. Among the treasures were a couple notes from my dear mentor Erna Nixon. I also found my college essay which I wrote about her and her efforts to preserve wilderness in her community. The essay did its work. I was accepted, and I always remember Erna this time of year when I see the first crocus emerge. Before I left for school, she told me the woods on Northwestern campus are filled with purple and white crocus. Sure enough, each spring outside the two buildings I had most of my classes, a carpet of purple and white flowers would display.

She had been a biology teacher in Chicago before retiring to Florida with her husband. She found an area in her village called a hammock, which is slightly elevated ground containing trees and other plants different than the surrounding pine and palmetto scrub-land in central and south Florida. She convinced the village to set aside the land, and she blazed a figure eight trail through the hammock, and would lead walks through this jewel. I was there when the village dedicated the area and named it “Erna Nixon Hammock.” It would be a sanctuary for me, and I’d sometimes encounter her on my walks there or go to her house and chat about discoveries I made there.

Red maple and ferns, Erna Nixon Park

She realized the hammock and other unusual features extended outside the village boundaries, and so were unprotected and at risk for development. She convinced the county to protect an extended area, and it would eventually be named “Erna Nixon Park.” But the future park ecosystem was still under threat if a developer’s planned mall would be built too close.

I would visit Mrs. Nixon whenever I’d return to Florida, and it must’ve been after one such visit that she wrote to me in early 1982, and of her efforts even at 90 to fight for the wilderness.

Thank you for helping me to celebrate my 90th Christmas! (I was less than two months old on my first.) I’m sure I was far more helpless then than now.

Both the old hammock and the newish park are thriving. Your folks may have mentioned the terrific efforts which have been made to get the Ohio developer to change his mind as to the location. It is a long, complicated story and I’ll not bore you with the details.

One feature in the Park not found in the Hammock is a shallow wetland area. The hammock has a dense canopy of trees, but the wetland area is open with lots of grasses and ferns, and water-loving Red Maple grows.

Red, white and blue

I apparently missed her on a visit in late 1983, but got a note in return:

You will be in my mind whether or not we write, meet or otherwise.

I keep amazingly busy and in excellent health. In less than a month I will have reached my 92nd. I just can’t comprehend it. So I brag about my age and Enjoy it. Life has given me so many experiences—all kinds!

This coming Sunday (Oct 8) I will be privileged to be one of many speakers & special attractions at the Erna Nixon Park. The Junior League of South Brevard, Inc., is sponsoring the event. I am so glad that I can continue in such activities. This affair is advertised as “An Afternoon with Nature” . . . from 12 to 5 p.m. Since I am not going out on long Tours, I think I’ll give an Imaginary one and call it: “Take a walk with me.”

I would imagine she described a walk through the figure eight trail she made through the Hammock or along the 3,000 foot boardwalk that circles through the Park. After leaving the wetland area, the boardwalk rises (a few feet!) into the hardwood hammock. A lovely moss covered Live Oak stands sentry.

Erna Nixon Park boardwalk

I remember sitting in her living room one day when I’d likely biked to the hammock and then paid her a visit as she went through one of her books to identify a plant or insect I discovered, and she said something such as, “I must learn at least one new thing every day.” As a young boy, I couldn’t imagine someone in her 80s would still be learning things. As I began my last year of law school, she wrote:

While I write, a big Bull Frog keeps distracting me but I like it. I hope you will seek out the Wilderness Places when you are busy with your Career. You will need the release and relaxation.

. . . .

When I see you again, I want to tell you about the amazing appearance of a seldom seen flower which has appeared in a ditch nearby — (called Nama or Hydrolea).

Your life of Learning is really just beginning — and who knows what may be ahead in the way of schooling! Congratulations on what you have accomplished. I will always be interested.

Most Sincerely,

Erna Nixon

A light in the wilderness

Shakespeare and Solace

Folger Shakespeare Library produces a terrific podcast. As with many other productions, they are addressing COVID-19, and this week’s was a bit different with several interviews with writers, actors, directors, and others about where they seek solace in Shakespeare’s writing. Here are some images from his island and text inspired by the episode. Hope it provides a bit of solace for you.

Glen Shiel

A few weeks ago, I shared an image inspired by Ariel in The Tempest. The other native on the island in that play is Caliban. In this scene, an invisible Ariel is making noises to scare two drunken shipwrecked sailors. The ugly, coarse Caliban, then speaks some beautiful poetry about his home island.

Highlands light

In reaction to that reading, the former Folger Library Director, Gail Kern Paster said:

I think too that one of the things that makes this passage so hopeful and beautiful at this moment is that it's really hard not to experience the world as toxic. The moment we walk out our doors, we feel as if we're in a toxic place. What this passage reminds us of is how beautiful our world is. And even in a time like our time, in a moment of plague, we cannot—we should not forget that we live in a very, very beautiful world. 

Current Director, Michael Witmore offered:

Okay, I'm going to give you a couple more short ones. One of my favorites, this is from Troilus and Cressida. "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." We're all human. Every one of us, but we share a common nature and this is what draws us together. I do feel like it speaks to my desire to feel like I'm in the boat with everybody else.

And then this is my favorite one I think, "Truth makes all things plain." “Truth makes all things plain,” does what it says. It's simple. It's direct, and so are the facts. And in this particular moment, we really do need facts. It's the thing we long for in addition to connection. So that's my favorite five word phrase for the thing we're experiencing now.

Elgol

The highlight of the podcast for me was listening to Derek Jacobi reading this overwhelmingly sad poem, that in true Elizabethan sonnet form twists in the last couplet to a ray of joy and love. So think of dear friends.

Isle of Skye

Back east to Zion

In January, I posted some images from the east side of Zion National Park. How can something as hard and harsh as rocks bring comfort? I’m not sure, but I find returning to these stark scenes bring calmness. It’s National Park week, so although many of the parks are now closed, it was a good time to look at some images of these magic places. I hope you enjoy these as I did while I revisited and processed these. First, a couple images of triangles and other geometric shapes in the land.

Triangles. Zion National Park, Utah

Triangle in a cup

A herd of mountain sheep entertained us in some nice evening light in their home. Not sure what the drawing is on the rock. Could it be an ancient pictograph? I assume it was someone more recently scratching on the rock, but I certainly didn’t notice it when I took the image. Only while I was processing, did I see it and wonder what that pattern was. See it below the sheep butt?

Rocky Mountain Sheep

Even at your feet, the wonderful patterns of the sandstone can delight.

And finally pining for the moon.

Piney moon

. . . and morning followed

I ended last week’s post with a sunrise image from Glen Sligachan on the Isle of Skye. As typical, the weather changed rapidly, and many different moods and atmosphere came over the scenery. Here are a few more from that morning. To the east of the River Sligachan are the Red Cuillin hills.

Sunrise over the Red Cuillins

Then rain came over the Northern Black Cuillins.

Rain above the River Sligachan

The old stone bridge over the River Sligachan was built in the early 19th century. However, there’s a legend from the even older bridge. Scotland’s fierce warrior Scáthach was challenged to fight by Ireland’s Cú Chulainn. The battle raged for a week, creating the Cuillins. Scáthach’s daughter wanted her mother to stop fighting, so she placed in head in the waters under the bridge since water is a portal to the fairy world. The fairies instructed her how to stop the battle and create peace with Cú Chulainn.

Whatever the stories, the stark beauty of Glen Sligachan and the Black Cuillins is legendary.

Black Cuillins above the falls of Sligachan

From Chaos

Last Good Friday I posted some images to accompany the creation story in Genesis. Of course, we could not imagine where we would be the next April, celebrating Passover, Easter, or simply the beginning of spring without family gatherings. While chaos and disorder always surround us, at times they close in. A people subject to plagues and exile recorded their ancient stories, including how God created order out of chaos. For the first time in many years, I will not be proclaiming this story on Saturday because of the disorder that surrounds us. Something unseen threatens everyone in the world. The disorder is amplified by a leader who lies. The disease spreads further because racist behavior that seeks to create a false order that leaves people more vulnerable. Yet we strive to see the gifts that surround us, and create or recreate order in those gifts.

Last year, I could have envisioned some of these scenes from Scotland, but that imagination pales when feeling the wind and the rain and watching the play of light. Here’s some captured Scottish light to accompany the story.

North Sea

In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, 
the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss, 
while a mighty wind swept over the waters.

Then God said,
"Let there be light," and there was light.
God saw how good the light was.
God then separated the light from the darkness.
God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night."
Thus evening came, and morning followed—the first day.

Then God said,
"Let there be a dome in the middle of the waters, 
to separate one body of water from the other."
And so it happened:
God made the dome, 
and it separated the water above the dome from the water below it.
God called the dome "the sky."
Evening came, and morning followed—the second day.

Highlands

Then God said, 
"Let the water under the sky be gathered into a single basin, 
so that the dry land may appear."
And so it happened:
the water under the sky was gathered into its basin, 
and the dry land appeared.
God called the dry land "the earth, " 
and the basin of the water he called "the sea."
God saw how good it was.

Wick

Then God said,
"Let the earth bring forth vegetation: 
every kind of plant that bears seed
and every kind of fruit tree on earth 
that bears fruit with its seed in it."
And so it happened: 
the earth brought forth every kind of plant that bears seed 
and every kind of fruit tree on earth 
that bears fruit with its seed in it.
God saw how good it was.
Evening came, and morning followed—the third day.

Scottish Pines

Then God said:
"Let there be lights in the dome of the sky, 
to separate day from night.
Let them mark the fixed times, the days and the years, 
and serve as luminaries in the dome of the sky, 
to shed light upon the earth."
And so it happened:
God made the two great lights, 
the greater one to govern the day, 
and the lesser one to govern the night; 
and he made the stars. 
God set them in the dome of the sky, 
to shed light upon the earth,
to govern the day and the night, 
and to separate the light from the darkness.
God saw how good it was.
Evening came, and morning followed—the fourth day.

Loch Ness

Then God said, 
"Let the water teem with an abundance of living creatures, 
and on the earth let birds fly beneath the dome of the sky."

Kittiwake

And so it happened:
God created the great sea monsters 
and all kinds of swimming creatures with which the water teems, 
and all kinds of winged birds.
God saw how good it was, and God blessed them, saying, 
"Be fertile, multiply, and fill the water of the seas; 
and let the birds multiply on the earth."
Evening came, and morning followed—the fifth day.

Crab

Then God said, 
"Let the earth bring forth all kinds of living creatures: 
cattle, creeping things, and wild animals of all kinds."

Deer in the mist

And so it happened:
God made all kinds of wild animals, all kinds of cattle,
and all kinds of creeping things of the earth.
God saw how good it was.

On Mull

Then God said: 
"Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.
Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, 
the birds of the air, and the cattle, 
and over all the wild animals 
and all the creatures that crawl on the ground."God created man in his image;

in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.
God blessed them, saying:
"Be fertile and multiply;
fill the earth and subdue it.
Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, 
and all the living things that move on the earth."

Looking to Iona

God also said: 
"See, I give you every seed-bearing plant all over the earth 
and every tree that has seed-bearing fruit on it to be your food; 
and to all the animals of the land, all the birds of the air, 
and all the living creatures that crawl on the ground, 
I give all the green plants for food."
And so it happened.
God looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good.
Evening came, and morning followed—the sixth day.

Deeside

Thus the heavens and the earth and all their array were completed.
Since on the seventh day God was finished
with the work he had been doing, 
he rested on the seventh day from all the work he had undertaken.

Genesis 1.1 - 2.2

Silgachan

Tripod Trio

A critical tool in photography is a sturdy tripod. Photography is capturing light and time. A tripod not only steadies the camera, it helps slow you, and to help be certain of the precise image you want. And of course, it steadies the camera. Several times in Scotland, the spring winds were over 50 mph, and it was necessary to put the camera on the tripod and push it down from the top to keep it steady, even at a high shutter speed.

When we cancelled the rest of our photo tour and drove back to Inverness, we made one last photo stop in Invermoriston where the River Moriston flows into Loch Ness. So the trio of a Scot, an Aussie and a Yank stood on the bridge, and captured scenes as the weather changed from sunshine to rain to snow to sunshine to rain in less than an hour. The bridge is over an extended waterfall, and the first image is of water rushing around a large rock. A tripod is essential to capture this five seconds of water flowing on to Loch Ness. Perhaps it’s the birth of a new monster.

Rock and flow

Waiting out the rain, then it turned to snow, then the snow moved off to the west, and I ran across the bridge to get the last of the snow in the distance. It looked as if this would be a final fitting scene to take of Scotland. The snow and rain had saturated the colors in the tree bark, the lichens, the purple branches of the birch and the green of the distant pines still in the snow. Anchoring the scene was the 1813 bridge, so perfectly using the landscape and fitting in it. The two spans spring from the rocky banks and meet on the rocky pier in the middle of the river.

Old Bridge over the River Moriston

The snow quickly left, and blue sky returned as Ian and I enjoyed scene when Alister said, “Mates, look this way.” The sun was low over the mountain to the south, fog and steam were rising out of the trees, and the tall pines on the top of the ridge were casting their shadows through the fog. Another use for the tripod. It held the camera while my extended hand helped block the sunlight from hitting the lens pointed toward the sun. Then it was time to fold the tripod, and continue on the way home.

Above the River Moriston

Scotland Winter

In the center of the Scottish Highlands is Cairngorms National Park, the highest mountains in the United Kingdom. There’d not been much snow this year, but March still had fierce winds and snow. Poet Edwin Muir’s Scotland’s Winter starts:

Now the ice lays its smooth claws on the sill,
The sun looks from the hill
Helmed in his winter casket,
And sweeps his arctic sword across the sky.

Cairgorms

In the west Highlands is tucked Glen Sheil, its Munros also covered in snow. Few can capture natural imagery as Mary Oliver, The whole poem is magic, but here’s a bit of White-Eyes:

* * *

             while the clouds—

* * *

thicken, and begin to fall

    into the world below

         like stars, or the feathers

               of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,

    that is asleep now, and silent—

         that has turned itself

             into snow.

In Glen Sheil

Blowing across the ridge

So out of the snowy Highlands and on to the coast on the Isle of Skye where there was still snow up high on the peaks. National poet Robert Burns had something to say about that.

My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow,

Sunset on Skye

At our feet

Twelve years ago I started sending out a weekly image of the wonder of nature close by—something of the beauty that is right at our feet, that is near us every day. Over time, that has changed, and I’ve shared natural images from many places. All of our movement for a while will be very close to home. As we isolate, it will be a time to once again appreciate the beauty that surrounds us. That is always so close to us. We only need look.

Fullersburg Woods, DuPage County Forest Preserve

I was scheduled today to be on the Island of Lewis and Harris on the Outer Hebrides—as isolated and safe location as one is likely to find. We realized, we could not go to that idyll. Instead, I’m awaiting my flight back home today. It’s been quite the 72 hours, as it has been for so many. I’m with my daughter, who will be leaving her studies in Scotland. One of the wonders is she will still be connected by technology, and finish her program remotely.

I did have some wonderful, if brief, encounters with the wild of nature on the Isle of Skye. One that will stay close to my heart, is a little stand of birches along side a sea loch. They stand resolute. And together.

Isle of Skye

Occasionally, as I photograph, some trees or animals specially touch me. And we often have a conversation. I express my gratitude to them for being and for sharing their beauty with me. I had a wee chat with this birch. As we go into a much smaller world for a while, I will be able to think of this distant friend, standing resolutely with the others, and waiting out these times of change.

Planted together

Highland Waltz

I’ve had a wonderful few days exploring distilleries in the Scottish Highlands with my son Joe, so I’ll share some of the scenery with you. And what better way than to start with my view as I opened my B&B window this morning and the moon setting over the nearby hill. I wish I could also share the birdsong filling the air now as it seems to every place in Scotland. And soon after taking this image ten deer with two bucks showing off magnificent horns ran across the field.

Perthshire moonset

Next is last evening’s drive here. I thought the B&B was much closer to Pitlochry where we’re exploring a couple distilleries, but it was a bit of drive. But then who can complain when there are views such as this. What will soon be purple heather on the hills is now just black bushes, but that black contrasts nicely with the snow.

Moulin Moor, Perthshire

March in Scotland is a show of weather changing by the minute. Fierce wind, calm sunshine, fine mist, pouring rain and snow storms. The drama is often nearby.

I’ve picked out a scene of what I think is a European Oak. Turn behind me and a few Highland Cows would frame Belvenie Distillery. A little to the left of this is Glenfiddich Distillery. Perhaps one day this oak will be a barrel to hold the spirits that it has undoubtedly smelled its entire life as the Angel’s share wafts out of the distilleries. We planned to tour both of these distilleries, but they closed to visitors because of the Covid 19. Not to worry, we found some open ones.

Balvenie Oak

If you enjoy a whisky, next time you can picture the scene of Glen Fiddich in afternoon light right after a rain. Your water might’ve come from the River Fiddich.

Glen Fiddich

And I’ll end with an image of where I’m sitting as I type this. Thanks Ruth, for the wonderful porridge and toast. And I’ll listen to some more bird song.

Migration

Soon birds will be moving north from their winter homes. Time to revisit some friends in Florida. First, a red-tailed hawk keeping eye on a dragonfly.

Red-tailed hawk and dragonfly in scrub pine

That image and the next are both from the reclaimed areas around a water treatment facility that’s become a good home for wildlife. Here’s a White Ibis flying by.

Ibis over Viera Wetlands

Down in the water is a Tri-color Heron, also called a Louisiana Heron.

Tri-color Heron

Finally, a couple reflections of a Snowy Egret showing off its yellow slippers. Snowies came very close to extinction in the early 20th century when their feathers were harvested for hats.

Snowy egret at St. Augustine Alligator Farm

Narrowed

Last week I mentioned I’d wanted to do an extended essay on the Zion Narrows trail , but hadn’t worked on the images. I took so many images, it still took me a long time to narrow down and then process a few. As mentioned before, the first mile of the trail is an easy paved hike from the end of the canyon road, and even wheelchair accessible for a good part of the way. After the trail ends, you need to hike in the Virgin River to continue up the canyon. I would guess in the blazing summer heat, it’s great to get in. January is a bit different. Fortunately, several outfitters in Springdale, a small community right outside the park entrance, will equip you. I had excellent results with the appropriately named Zion Outfitter, who let me have the equipment the day before at no extra charge so I could get an early start on the hike. The gear included neoprene socks to keep your feet warm, canyoneering boots to walk on the slippery rocks, and dry pants and bibs to keep you dry in the deeper water. And what was most essential—a sturdy walking stick to feel the water depth, where footing might be and keep you upright on slippery rocks in the heavy current. There are a few areas where there are rocks on the side of the canyon that you can get out of the water and walk on.

Fern wall, Zion Narrows

Rocky shore

However, most of the hike is just in water with canyon walls on both sides. The images look calm, and I expected a fairly easy hike. It turned out to be quite strenuous. While the water looks calm, it flows at a vigorous rate that you have to push against going upstream. While it looks clear, the flow and glare don’t allow you to see most steps, so you need to place every footstep carefully on a solid area before going on to the next step. I was using very different muscles for this kind of hike, and they let me know that night!

But there are so many spots to just stop and soak in the view.

Coves and stones

Wall art

Canyon wall tree

Zion is a place of so many contrasts. In the red rock desert, the Virgin River and tributaries are oasis of lush growth. In a frozen January, with snow and ice on the walls, water drips among ferns.

Ice and shower

In a few weeks, the spring thaw will close this hike because the water will be too high. In summer, the trail will be closed when storms are nearby because water will funnel into the canyon and there will be no safe space in the flash flood. The many images I’ve seen of summer hiking has the canyon filled with people since Zion is now the third most visited park. But on this January day, I didn’t see another person for the first two and a half hours, and saw just a dozen people all day enjoying the solitude of this wonder.

Zion Narrows

On Tuesday, I wrote about the Zion Narrows River Trail which goes for about a mile upstream along the Virgin River. At the end of that trail, you must hike in the river to go further upstream. The canyon narrows even more. In January, you need to wear neoprene boots and rubberized pants to stay warm. I’d hoped to post more images of the hike, but Friday got away from me, and I did want to share one image. Due to its narrowness, sunlight doesn’t get into the canyon walls until near noon. Then for a short while the walls glow in the canyon light.

Zion Narrows Canyon, Zion National Park, Utah

Seaing horses, dragons and pipes

On Tuesday I posted about the Chicago Shedd Aquarium. Few creatures there are more captivating than sea horses. Indeed, sea horse images are all around the building in the plaster, tile, and even yard tall cornices. However, before even seeing any sea horses, I ran across this delightful little fellow called a pipefish, which the display said is in the same family as sea horses. It has a single fin—in the back—for propulsion, same type snout, and the female also lays eggs in the male who then fertilizes and carries them.

I can’t remember why, but it seems fascinating that the next creature belongs to the genus Hippocampus. Unlike the other two relatives, the Longsnout Seahorse has a prehensile tail to grab onto plants and other structures.

Stealing the show is this little Aussie, the Leafy Seadragon. Like the sea horse, it moves around by its dorsal fin. The leafy appendages are just for disguise, though it too does have those little pectoral fins on the neck for balance and turning.

West of Zion

Last week I posted about the east side of Zion National Park, which connects to Zion Valley by road. Zion is now the 3rd most visited National Park, and most visitors are concentrated in the central Zion valley. During much of the year, you need to ride the excellent shuttle bus system to get into the valley. Ironically though, an area just off an I-15 exit, Kolob Canyon in the northwest part of the park, is much less visited. You can’t see this from the interstate, but a short drive behind a ridgeline offers a magnificent view.

Timber Top Mountain, Zion National Park, Utah

The Kolob Canyon area was first protected as Zion National Monument in 1937, and incorporated into the National Park in 1956. The view above is the southern edge of the sandstone monoliths, and the view below looks further north. These peaks reach over 8,000 feet.

Kolob Canyon panorama

Creeks have carved valleys as these rocks reach out like fingers. On the far left of the image above, Taylor Creek has created a meandering path into the Zion wilderness.

Taylor Creek

Taylor Creek trail

The trail cuts back and forth across the creek which presents some slippery hiking in January, but also presents wonderful ice displays.

I’ve never seen ice formation like the last one above. They were a mass of fragile, flaky forms carpeting above the creek. Don’t know if it was morning fog or steam rising over the water during the night or some other cause, but they’d crumble with a touch. When returning on the trail by early afternoon, they’d collapsed into mush. A small waterfall presented itself in the glow off the red sandstone.

Taylor Creek aglow

I was also surprised by the number of birds in southern Utah in January. Not the avian variety in this image, but a couple of love birds.

Dan and Melina

I wrote Tuesday about the continued assault on the protections of this land by the current administration. Yesterday, half of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, protected since 1996, was open to oil and gas drilling and exploration. Best summarized by the National Resources Defense Council:

“These plans are atrocious, and entirely predictable,” said Sharon Buccino, senior director for lands at the Natural Resources Defense Council. “They are the latest in a series of insults to these magnificent lands by the Trump administration.”

East of Zion

The central valley of Zion National Park is dominated by red and white sandstone monoliths. Driving east from the valley the road goes through the more than mile long Zion-Mt. Carmel tunnel. Built nearly a century ago, the tunnel is not large enough for many vehicles, so traffic must stop at times to allow wider or taller vehicles to drive through the center of the tunnel. At this higher elevation, there are wider views of wonderfully patterned sandstone. However, at the east side of the tunnel is a scenic trail that leads to a view back into the valley. In the second image below, you can see the road winding up in the shade to the tunnel.

East Rim trail view into a slot canyon

East Zion Canyon view

The red sandstone and green trees and shrubs provide peaceful, but dramatic views.

Moonrise near sunset

Lone pine

Aside from the East Rim Trail, this side of the park has no designated trails. However, there are wonderful sites just a few steps off the road.

East side canyon

canyon pool

Nice views of the white Navajo sandstone which provides the identification of the White Cliffs of the Grand Staircase.

White Cliffs

And you might get a delightful surprise of some wildlife. Two juvenile bald eagles played above the road, but no images of them beyond our memories. However, some mountain sheep posed for pictures before running off.

Bighorn sheep

running away

No snow in Snow Canyon

It’s not that it never snows in Utah’s Snow Canyon State Park, but it is rare. Water in any form is rare with less than 8 inches of rain a year. Mormon settlers in the 1850s called this sunny area in the Mohave dessert “Dixie,” hoping to grow cotton and other crops. Dixie State University still is in nearby St. George, and the park was first known as Dixie State Park. It was later renamed for Mormon settler brothers Lorenzo and Erastus Snow.

White Rocks Amphitheater, Snow Canyon State Park, Utah

The white and red Navajo Sandstone was desert sand dunes 180 million years ago. One trail goes through an area aptly called Petrified Dunes.

Petrified Dunes

There was a tiny pocket of water, and the folks on top of one dune give a sense of scale.

Reflected dune

The moon has kept watch over the area when this was desert sand dunes, lava flows, and now carved out frozen dunes. A piece of the lava that once covered the area before it was eroded away sits on top the dune in second image below.

Bryce in winter

At 9,000 feet elevation, there’s a good chance a January visit to Bryce National Park will provide snow. We were lucky that roads were open as well as most trails, and a sunny day made hiking comfortable.

Rim Trail view, Bryce National Park, Utah

One of the best trails anywhere is a loop along the edge of the cliff, and then down into the hoodoos on Queens Garden trail, and after a walk along the pines on the floor, back up on Navajo Trail.

Hoodoos on Queens Garden Trail

Another advantage of winter hiking, is that even when it is close to noon, the sun stays low in the southern sky, and you get nice light. On the hike, I said even when I look at the images later, I’ll say the colors couldn’t have been that intense. They were.

Sunburst on a hoodoo

Bryce has the largest concentration of hoodoos in the world. It is visiting a fairy tale world.

Bryce panorama view

Leaving the park required another stop to look park at the winter scene. Bryce is on the final level of the Colorado Plateau’s Grand Staircase. Climbing up from the Grand Canyon are the giant stairsteps of the Chocolate Cliffs, Vermilion Cliffs, White, Gray, and finally the Pink Cliffs in which Bryce sits.

Sevier River and the Pink Cliffs of Grand Staircase

Watchman

If you’re a fan of the HBO Watchman series or the graphic novel, sorry this post is not about that. At the south end of Zion canyon stands an imposing pyramid-shaped mountain keeping watch over the valley. At the intersection where the state highway heads east and the road splits for the only route into the valley, a bridge crosses the Virgin River that carved the valley. There is no walkway on the bridge, just the two lanes of traffic and narrow concrete edges where photographers gather every sunset for the iconic shot of the Watchman over the Virgin River and the cottonwood tree. I was there this evening, not with the big summer crowd, but with several others lined across the bridge with our tripods hoping the promising sky would provide a show.

Watchman, Zion National Park, Utah

As the sun got low, some orange light started to shine on the red sandstone low on the ridges, and then spread to the peak nearby and then up the Watchman.

Sunset

Then the show ended with a flourish. One of the clouds emptied some rain which caught the sunlight like some golden fingers of the artist finishing the painting.

The end of the show