Reflections

So that was it. In 12 weeks,we travelled 12000 miles by car, 500 miles by train and 400 miles by plane in North America. We walked at elevations ranging from below sea level to 10000 feet above it and, within a single season, we experienced temperatures ranging from –13 to +25 deg.C.. We crossed 4 Canadian provinces, 25 US states and Washington DC, yet saw only a tiny fraction of the continent. Although we experienced a wide range of landscapes, urban and rural habitats, and wildnernesses, we only scratched the surface and caught a fleeting sense of most of the areas we covered.

So what are our main impressions and abiding memories? First is the astonishing variety of natural environments on the continent. The fall colours in eastern Canada and north-east US were stunning. Yosemite and Zion valleys were grand and beautiful, and the deserts of the southwest had a stark and alien attraction of their own. The great canyons of the Colorado Plateau were staggering in their size and awesome in the sense of isolation and solitude they engendered. The huge, open skies over the seemingly endless plains of the midwest produced magnificent sunsets, while the enclosed, secretive Louisiana bayous were hauntingly beautiful, but eerie. Overwhelmingly, there was a wonderful silence in most of the non-urban areas, which we rarely experience in Britain.

The built environment of North America is another matter. The few large cities we visited, particularly on the east and west coasts, are interesting and stimulating in their various ways, but there is a uniformity imposed upon them by modern commercial development and the ubiquitous appearance of national or even global brands. Of course, much the same could be said about most major cities, across the western world at least, where distinctiveness arises largely from the physical geography of cities and their environs. The medium–sized cities we saw were highly variable in their appeal, probably largely reflecting differences in municipal and average individual wealth (and the means by which it is created) but also depending on the extent of cultural diversity of the residents. The numerous small towns and rural communities of the US are almost all ghastly. The universality and uniformity of their open shopping plazas, surrounded by car parks, renders them boring, at best, and often downright ugly. Some of that might be attributed to the relativeness newness of many towns, but an evident lack of tight planning controls and the abundance of cheap land leads to spreadeagled or strip development of the worst type. It is both a result and an encouragement of a mindset which puts individual car use at the heart of much of American life. We wonder how long that can continue.

As we, ourselves, spent so much time in a car during our trip, many of the things we liked and disliked relate to driving on the roads. We liked:

(a) The rule allowing a right turn on a red signal, when the road is clear.
This keeps the traffic moving and removes some of the frustration of motorists who are sitting at traffic lights with no other cars in sight. There seems to be no obvious impediment to implementing the equivalent rule in the UK (i.e. left turn at a red signal), except that our streets mostly carry a higher density of traffic than in the US, so the rule may turn out to be of little benefit, at least in the daylight hours.


(b) Pedestrian crossing countdowns

We have seen these previously, elsewhere, and we wonder why they haven’t appeared in the UK (though it seems they may soon do so). They are an excellent way of assuring pedestrians that they haven’t been "forgotten", and they help to discourage jaywalking. In Istanbul, we also encountered countdowns for motorists at traffic lights and we understand that these excellent developments may soon be introduced in both the US and the UK.


We disliked:

(a) Stop signs (and stop lines) set back too far from intersections

So far back that it was often impossible to get a clear view of traffic coming, particularly from the left.


(b) Inconsistent and inappropriate positioning of direction signs
We frequently missed turnings because the only signs were at the intersections themselves (i.e. there was no forewarning). On other occasions there were direction signs placed well before the relevant intersections, sometimes before other intersections, causing us to turn too soon. These sorts of inconsistent and inappropriate placements were particularly problematical on freeways. Excessively early route indication frequently caused us to exit too early and find ourselves in a part of a city for which we were not prepared, while late signage often led to our missing our desired exit, sometimes having to travel up to 20 miles or more to get back to our intended route!


(c) Aggressive and inconsiderate driving

As we noted, the standard of driving deteriorated markedly as we moved west and south. Excessive speeding was not much of a problem, though as in the UK, some drivers often did not adjust their speeds to the prevailing conditions. Tail-gating was a serious and frequent concern, as were the appalling lane discipline and the lack of the use of indicators. We frequently saw cars suddenly veer across three or more lanes of traffic, without signalling, to exit from freeways. People we spoke to about the poor driving standards generally agreed and gave various explanations, though one which recurred was the American view that the car is an extension of their very existence and, as their private property, can be used in whatever manner they choose, without regard to others (rather similar to the attitude of many Americans towards handguns). In our view, the authorities don’t help matters much. Although, universally, there are frequent signs warning of fines for excessive speeds (especially in road works and near schools) and for littering of the highway, there seems to be scant concern about the finer elements of driver behaviour. Bad examples are set, both in poor road design and in the behaviour of traffic police. Not infrequently, we saw a police car stopped adjacent to the centre strip or fence of a freeway, having pulled over a car driver in the outside lane. On a couple of occasions the police cars didn’t even have their emergency flashing lights on!


(d) Freeway entrance ramps too short

Frequently when entering a freeway, there is insufficient distance to check what traffic is coming fast from behind and to pick up speed before joining the traffic flow. Adrenaline rush (aka terror) was a frequent experience upon joining freeways.


Probably the American practice that we most dislike is the universal expectation of tipping for all services and for many provisions of goods. It is not seen as an optional additional payment for exceptional service, but rather as an additional cost to be included, compulsorily, in the overall charge made, along with taxes (which are also never included in the basic costs quoted for goods and services). Quite frequently, a tip was simply added to the bill and we were, in principle, challenged to remove it. This situation is sanctioned by the US government by not including waiting staff and other service personnel in minimum wage provisions (which are extraordinarily low by UK standards, anyway). Tipping is an iniquitous practice, which invokes feudal comparisons. Having grown up in New Zealand, where (at least at that time) tipping was non-existent, we have a very clear view: tipping should be done away with entirely, in the US and elsewhere, and all workers should be paid reasonable wages.

One of the aspects we liked most about the “American way” is the expectation of individual responsibility for one’s own behaviour and the care of children. Oddly, given the litigious culture in the US, government and local authorities appear to be much less concerned than those in the UK about providing advice and safety measures at places of danger. Much more than in Britain, it is left up to individuals to determine and regulate their own behaviour and to supervise the activities of their children. In Britain, it is not so much that we have a “nanny state”, but rather an irresponsible population that leaves too many decisions and responsibilities to government and local authorities.

A final observation is that Americans like predictability or certainty in their lives. They are, of course, quite certain that the USA is the greatest country on earth, the only one in which the citizens are truly free and the only one with complete moral integrity. They are certain that it is (or should be) invincible and they are bewildered to discover that other countries don’t necessarily share or welcome all American values. Their certainty, as that of most imperial powers, is underpinned by their faith that God is “on their side”. That is apparent in the huge number of churches across the country and in the extraordinarily conservative fundamentalist Christian radio stations which fill the airwaves.

The uniformity in the development of towns is just one aspect of the predictability which pervades US culture (at least that of the dominant white community) and which is expected or, at least, welcomed by individual Americans. It is evident also in the ubiquitous fast-food clones and the extraordinarily and depressingly similar budget motel chains. This standardisation and predictability makes a lie of “freedom of choice” and individualism, which Americans proclaim as basic to the “American way”. We’re not the first people to point out that freedom to choose between options which are broadly the same (whether in fast food or in political parties) is really no freedom at all.

At another level, the desire for certainty affects the way Americans talk and act, for example in the standardised vacuous greetings and predictable behaviour of most of those who serve in shops, cafes and hotels. We suspect that it may also be one of the reasons why most Americans don’t appreciate irony. On several occasions when one or other of us spontaneously made what we thought were mildly amusing or slightly clever comments or repartee, the response was almost always incomprehension or suspicion, as in the following actual telephone conversation:

[Them: Thank you for your credit card details. For security purposes can I just have your zip code please?

Us: Sorry, I live in England, so I don’t have a zip code.

Them: That’s not a problem.

Us: Well, it certainly isn’t a problem for me, anyway!]

Through the silence which followed, we could almost hear: “smart-ass limey bastard!” . On the other hand, Americans are too polite to be directly rude to others, except possibly to the girl in the cafe who inadvertently puts blue-cheese dressing on the salad when “ranch” was specified. Their politeness, general lack of boorishness in public, and individual keenness to be helpful are pleasing qualities that we could do with a lot more in Britain. Unfortunately, this pleasantness is not applied to their compatriots who are physically more remote (e.g. other car drivers), nor to “foreigners” who do not share “American values”. While some European nations are at least occasionally included in the latter group, the British are generally exempted and we quietly cringed when told by a taxi driver that “I’m really grateful to the British for supporting our boys in I-rak. They really understand what we’re trying to do there”. However, we appreciated the genuine interest and welcome often accorded to us by individuals in shops, cafes and hotels, particularly in small towns and rural areas. Many people spontaneously shared with us the details of their family’s British origins or their recent travels in the UK and some gave us their contact details, with invitations to stay with them if we visited again.

It is a beautiful and amazing country, with people who are individually very pleasant and welcoming. However, the American nation seems to be busy playing an internet strategy game with the rest of the world, while maxing out on junk food and watching a nostalgic patriotic old movie. It hasn’t noticed that the electricity supply is starting to fail, the creditors are knocking on the door and its opponents in the game are losing interest and starting to play among themselves. The next couple of decades will be interesting and we may make another visit in the next few years to check on progress!





Our last US blog 'post'!

San Francisco

Friday 11th December

Daytime temperatures had risen steadily since we arrived in Yosemite and the snow had started to clear from the roads. On the morning we were due to leave, we woke to find light rain falling, and the tops of the mountains shrouded in low cloud. Road signs indicated that chains were still required. Initially, thick snow still lay at the roadside in some sheltered places, but the road became clear quite quickly and we were pleased to be able to take the chains off after a few more miles. After a long, steep descent, we emerged from the forested mountains into grassy foothills. Large orchards and vineyards appeared as descended further. The rain increased as we made our way towards San Francisco and intensified as we ran into heavy traffic in the commuter area. Crossing the Oakland Bay Bridge, we couldn't see anything of the Bay. Negotiating the steep, one way streets of San Francisco at peak time was somewhat challenging, but we managed fairly well, only having to go round the block a couple of times before stopping outside our hotel. In an extraordinary piece of good luck, we saw that the rental car depot was directly across the road from the hotel. With a couple of trips, we offloaded everything from the car into our room in the hotel, which was a small, European-style bed and breakfast place, run by an American, his German wife, their golden retriever who knew all there was to know about begging and their Manx cat, who had the most amazing repertoire of cat-talk.
As we walked over Nob Hill to a very pleasant restaurant for an excellent meal to celebrate our wedding anniversary, we noticed a loud humming sound at some of the street intersections. It took us a little while to realise that it came from the moving cables which pull the cable cars up the hills and which are located underneath the roads.




Saturday 12th December

The San Francisco authorities appear to have an ambivalent attitude towards tourists. There are the obvious tourist attractions such as the cable cars, the Golden Gate Bridge and the island of Alcatraz, which are promoted, but it seems to us as though tourism is something that the city puts up with rather than sets out to encourage more generally. The Visitors’ Centre is located underground near several transport hubs but it was not signposted and it was staffed by people who seemed wholly uninterested in providing information and useful brochures. Unlike most other visitors’ centres we have been in, it was virtually empty on the occasions we went in, even though the city centre was full of tourists. We never found an overall map showing the routes, stops and schedules for the city’s public transport system (the MUNI), which includes buses, trams, cable cars and a clever light rail network in which the trains are underground in the city centre, but become trams in the outlying streets. (Our benchmark for city transport maps is the remarkably comprehensive and clear bus services map in Barcelona - San Francisco doesn’t even come close). We gained the impression that the San Francisco public transport system is comprehensive, efficient and reasonably pleasant to use, but information about it is sadly lacking. We had to discover by trial and error what our 3-day “passport” did and didn’t cover and where the various routes went.

Before leaving the hotel in the morning, we spent time on the phone, unsuccessfully trying to get through to the concert hall box office for tickets for a concert by the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. In the end we decided to go directly to the venue. It was intermittently raining very heavily, with a strong wind making umbrellas difficult to handle and of limited use. (Memories of Auckland weather sprang to mind). We took the cable car downtown and then watched as the driver and brakesman put their backs into turning the car around on its turntable.




By the time we had wandered around for an hour deciphering the transport systems before finding an appropriate bus, then walked half a mile to the concert hall in Van Ness Avenue, our shoes and trouser legs were soaked. Having found that there were no tickets available, we ran into the nearest and, indeed, the only visible eatery to dry out a bit and warm up with some soup. Because it was so wet, we didn’t really appreciate the grand buildings around the area (the Concert Hall, the Opera House, the City Hall and the California State building), but instead headed back to hotel in mid-afternoon to change our clothes.

The rain and wind revealed the value of a San Francisco peculiarity. The names of streets are imprinted in the concrete at the curbside at intersections, as well as being displayed on signs on posts, in the universal way. When pedestrians are struggling against the wind and rain, with their bent heads covered by hoods or hats, behind umbrellas held at 45 degrees, it is much easier to see the street names at their feet than to search for a sign 15 feet above the roadway, somewhere around the intersection.

Later, through cancellations, we managed to get a couple of seats for the evening concert so we retraced our steps, had a quick meal, then walked briskly to the concert hall. Fortunately the rain had eased off. The Louise M. Davies Symphony Hall is very modern and has a grand and distinctive interior design, mostly in white plaster and light-coloured wood, with idiosyncratic touches such as the several small ruched drapes, rather like roman blinds, fitted along the tops of the walls on both sides. The imposing organ has silver-coloured pipes. The concert was an excellent combination of romantic classicism and modern atonality, with well-known works by Beethoven set alongside two unfamiliar pieces by Webern, one a surprisingly accessible and delightful arrangement of Schubert dances. The orchestra and the celebrated piano soloist, Emanuel Ax, were highly impressive and the music was thoroughly enjoyable. The audience seemed to be comprised of a range of people with varying knowledge and sophistication, similar to those at most concerts we have attended in the UK. However, as in most aspects of US life, the two ends of the range were more exuberant and objectionable than in Britain. Some of the audience managed not only to applaud between movements, but actually within a movement. At the other extreme, there were many who expressed their sophisticated appreciation of the performances with prolonged applause, punching of the air with their fists,shouts and whoops, and one announced to his companion, in a voice audible to everyone within thirty feet, that “you’ll never hear another performance as good as that, ever”. We wondered how he knew.


Sunday 13 th December

Carolyn realised that she had left her reading glasses in the rental car but the rental company, who traced the car to Monterey, could not find them. We suspect that the spectacles are still lying in the natty and useful lidded compartment at the top of the dashboard. We were also not very surprised to hear that the car, which we had driven for 9000 miles, without an accident, along busy freeways, through city streets, across deserts, and in snow, ice and rain, had been crashed by the next hirer.

It was overcast with traces of rain as we walked through the financial district, whose buildings, though not the height of those in New York, still created a canyon-like effect. All the buildings here, like most buildings in San Francisco, were put up after the 1906 earthquake and the even more disastrous fire which followed it a few days later. As in all of the US cities we have visited, most of the commercial buildings are very recent.

We walked to the stylish Ferry Building, which has recently been restored and turned into a gentrified market area, while continuing as a terminus for some ferry routes across San Francisco Bay. We took the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) rail service, which we found is not covered by our 3-day transport pass, contrary to the information in our guide book. The automatic ticket machines employ an extraordinarily complicated, slow and frankly barmy procedure which defaults to a mid-price fare, then requires the user to add or subtract amounts in one dollar or five cent steps to reach the desired fare! Fortunately, while the lack of public information and official assistance for tourists has dismayed us, we have been impressed by the helpfulness and friendliness of the locals who have often come up to us as we puzzled over a map (or, in this case, struggled with a ticket machine) and offered to help.

We made our way to the Mission area of the city for a free City Guide walk on 'Murals and the multi-ethnic community'. As is often the case with these volunteer-staffed walks, it was interesting and informative, giving a better picture about the lives of ordinary people than commercial or municipally-run tours do. There are numerous murals in this area of San Francisco, some very large, with a few covering whole ends or sides of buildings.
As in most parts of the world, the murals either create narratives for largely illiterate local populations, or make political statements.








Most of them in the Mission area were created in the latter part of the 20th century, initally linked to protests about Central American issues and the involvement of the US in the region. A few of those have been targets for defacement and a couple have had to obliterated by the authorities to stop repeated vandalism. More recent murals, often created with regeneration funds, tell stories about people who lived and worked in the area, often for the benefit of the local community.



The tour also covered the architecture of houses in an area which was on the edge of the three-day fire in 1906. Hence, most of the buildings are Edwardian, but there are Victorian houses remaining where fire breaks were established. The descriptions of the architectural features and the changes in use of some of the buildings were quite interesting, but inevitably for those of us from a much older built environment, it’s difficult to get excited about a building only just over 100 years old.

Before returning to the hotel, we had a quick bite in a simple Peruvian cafe in a rather tatty small arcade in a low- income area. The concentration of the hispanic population was brought home to us by the difficulty we had in communicating with the young server, whose English was little better than our Spanish. With a couple of the household staff at the hotel also speaking Spanish and very little English, the changing demographic of the US is very apparent.


Monday 14th December

We woke to an overcast day, but it was not raining. After taking the cable car to Market St, we caught the so-called “Historic Tram” along the waterfront to famous Fisherman's Wharf, a large area of redeveloped docks which is now home to pointless shops, tacky tourist attractions and mostly low-end eateries. It is also the departure point for many of the boat tours in San Francisco Bay, which are heavily promoted by hustlers on the pavements. Most of the boat tours do not run at this time of the year, but we were able to take a tour out to the Golden Gate Bridge and back, with a quick circumnavigation of Alcatraz Island. With only a small number of people on the boat, there was no difficulty in getting to the side rail for unimpeded views.











The Bridge was every bit as impressive as various familiar photographs of it had led us to expect.

Alcatraz (or, at least, the famous maximum security prison built on it) appeared to be as grim as suggested in the several Hollywood movies in which it has featured.











We learned three surprising bits of information about Alcatraz, which is only about 1½ miles from the city. The first was that most of the prison staff lived on the Island with their families, and their children went to school on the mainland by launches, which were also used to convey prisoners to and from the Island. Secondly, there is no water source on the Island, so all of the water required for the prison and the families of the prison staff had to be transported there from the mainland. (This was one of the factors contributing to the closure of the prison in 1963, on grounds of the expense of maintaining and supplying it). Thirdly, some years after the closure of the prison, the Island was occupied for 19 months, by a group of American Indians who claimed it as tribal land, until they were evicted and the Island was designated as a National Park. While we were out on the water it was a real thrill to see a pelican skimming the tops of the waves. Though these are now returning to the area, with breeding pairs on Alcatraz and other sites around the Bay, the appearance of one during our boat trip was so unexpected that we didn’t manage to photograph it as it passed by.







On our return to land, we walked up Telegraph Hill, to Coit Tower, named after the benefactor whose bequest enabled its construction.










Lillie Hitchcock Coit was a feisty young woman who ran away to marry a man disapproved of by her family. She later returned to the city, displaying some eccentric characteristics, in wearing men’s clothes on occasions and becoming the mascot (and later the only female full member) of the Knickerbocker Engine Co. No.5 Fire Brigade. The tower is thought by some to resemble the nozzle of a fire hose. Its interior is decorated with murals, painted by several Diego Rivera-inspired artists, depicting the life and times of the city and the US in the 1930s. There is an elevator to take paying visitors to the top, but there were few takers for it, as the overview of the city from the carpark at the base of tower was panoramic and unimpeded. The streets in the area are among the steepest in the city, at about 30 degrees, with stepped pavements for pedestrians.










We took a circuitous route down through an old warehousing area of the city, much of which has been redeveloped into offices. Unfortunately, there was no historical information on the buildings in the area (or elsewhere in the city) for visitors. We made our way through the famous Chinatown area – the large Chinese population is very evident across the city, but nowhere more so than in Chinatown, where (at least at this time of the year) there was little English being spoken on the streets, even among young people. Later in the evening, we returned to Chinatown for a decent meal in a large, nearly full restaurant, in which half the customers were Chinese.


Wednesday 15th December


We made our way by underground rail/streetcar out to the Golden Gate Park, in the west of the city, passing through the Haight-Ashbury district, made famous by the beat generation of the 1960s (“tune in, turn on, drop out”), to an area that appeared to be predominantly populated by Chinese. Again, there were very few signs for pedestrians around the perimeter of the park but passers-by spontaneously assisted us with directions. It is a large park, with some semi-wild spaces, a lot of mature trees and a lake with an astonishing range of birds. Several men and women, largely Chinese, exercised by walking vigorously (or, in a few cases, ambling) around the perimeter of the lake. With limited time, we saw only a small part of the Park. We walked quickly through the Botanical Gardens, with areas dedicated to plants from different countries and zones around world, mostly within the Pacific Rim, including an area with familiar New Zealand trees and shrubs.


Philip under a very large Pohutukawa!

Making our way back to the hotel, we congratulated ourselves for having become moderately proficient in finding our way around and using the different parts of the city’s transport system, after four days, just in time for our departure.

Although the BART system includes a service to San Francisco International Airport, in view of the size and weight of our luggage we took a taxi. As standby passengers, we had to wait until embarkation was well under way before we were allocated seats for the flight to London. It was an uncomfortable and gruelling flight, but we finally made it back to cold Blighty.

Yosemite

Tuesday 8th December

It dawned fine but cold. We managed to do a laundry wash and dry in the time between getting up and leaving the motel in mid-morning. Highway 41 is the southern route into the Yosemite National Park and is generally recommended as giving the most spectacular entry to Yosemite Valley. The countryside was unlike anything we had seen for about six weeks - flat but productive, with large orchards and grapevines, or cattle on green grass. As we ascended into hills, mixed farming predominated. and snow lay on the ground. In the foothills of the High Sierras, snow accumulations increased on the fields and verges, but the road mostly remained clear. Quite suddenly, we reached a road block south of Fish Camp and had to fit chains. There were several enterprises ready to sell and fit them but we, of course, had our Walmart chains (as did most of the other motorists). Having never fitted chains before, we took a little longer than some others, but eventually we were on our way at the maximum 25mph allowed, hoping that we had done everything properly and anxious about the noise caused by the chains. Immediately upon rounding the next bend, we were on several inches of snow and ice. The sudden change was startling. Shortly afterwards we entered the Yosemite National Park. For the next 45 miles, we drove cautiously through a mountainous, forested area, mostly alone. As the altitude increased, the tall ponderosa pines became heavily cloaked with snow, which occasionally showered down in front of us. It was a very pretty scene. Eventually, we passed through a long tunnel and emerged to a spectacular view of the Yosemite Valley, blanketed in snow.




As the road descended into the valley, a stag walked across the road ahead of us. A minute later a pair of coyotes appeared on the road, hesitated to look at the car, then trotted off in the same direction as the stag. This was more wildlife than we had seen for several weeks! Finally we reached the valley floor and made way to the Lodge. The whole journey from Fresno had taken nearly five hours, so we were glad we had not continued on the previous night.

After checking in and putting our gear in our room, we walked to the Visitor's Centre, then to Sentinel Bridge in time to see the sunset turn the top of Half Dome a lovely pink.



The thick snow everywhere made the valley very quiet and beautiful. While on the free shuttle bus back to Lodge, we saw another coyote trotting through the woods. In the evening, we went to a rather sentimental and melodramatic National Park Service film presentation on a couple of features of the Yosemite National Park. We thought that visitors to the Park should be able to experience its beauty without the unnecessary over-dramatisation.


Wednesday 9th December

In the morning, as we were about to leave our room, a beautiful stellar jay alighted on our balcony. Though the bird is not uncommon in Yosemite, we were privileged to see one so close. We walked to the base of the Yosemite Falls which, at a total height of 2425 ft, over three drops, are the highest Falls in North America.



Our New Zealand relatives and friends will no doubt want us to point out that the Sutherland Falls have a far longer single drop than the Yosemite Falls (as, indeed, have other falls in North America and elsewhere). Still, the Yosemite Falls are quite spectacular, or rather they would be in the spring, with the snowmelt. At this time of the year, they have a relatively small waterflow. However they were attractive due, first, to the ice-mountain at the base of the lower falls and, secondly, to the regular thunderous crashing of ice in the falls, as the sun warmed the rock face. The noise could be heard all over the Yosemite Valley.

We walked along the valley for a couple of miles, through snow up to a foot deep in places, to Mirror Lake. Along the way, we passed close by several mule deer in various combinations of stags, does and fawns, which all largely ignored us, as well as a ground squirrel which abandoned sunning itself on a rock as we approached. Mirror Lake was peaceful and beautiful, though the ice allowed only a partial mirror effect.



As we walked through the forest, small amounts of snow intermittently fell from the trees, creating a beautiful sparkling veil when backlit by the sunlight.




We made our way back to the Yosemite village and visited the Museum, where there was an interesting display of Indian baskets. The Miwok/Ahwahneechee Indians in the Yosemite area were (and are still) renowned for their intricate basketry. An elderly Indian woman, sitting quietly and almost unnoticed in the museum, sorting reeds in preparation for fashioning them into baskets, was very happy to talk about her work. She also spoke, surprisingly without any hint of rancour, about her childhood in the Yosemite Valley after the white settlers and the army drove her forebears from their homes, murdered many of them and subsequently employed some of the survivors in menial work.









In the afternoon, we joined an excellent walk, led by a park ranger, with a focus on wildlife and habitats in the Park. He covered the three main types of tree, and fauna from acorn woodpeckers (which store acorns in holes they create in trees)...












...to salamanders (which opted to escape either to higher ground as the glaciers progressed in the last ice age, or to points far down the valleys, beyond the moraines left as the glaciers retreated, changing their colour to suit their new, permanent habitats). The delicate ecological balance in the National Park clearly remains precarious and it is interesting to see how, over time, the views of “experts” have changed about how best to preserve the Park in the face of human onslaught. Of course, it is interesting also to consider that humans are part of the natural world, and that our impact on the environment may be just a part of a natural evolutionary process. The ranger became quite emotional as he spoke of wanting to ensure that the Park remains available for his young child’s grandchildren in the future. In the evening, we went to “Yosemite by Ear”, a presentation by another park ranger, rendering his impressions and imitations of sounds in the Park in an interesting and entertaining narrative style. His only use of recorded sound was of a birdcall, downloaded from the web to his mobile phone!

The NPS rangers really are enthusiastic about their work!


Thursday 10th December

We had an early start this morning, taking the shuttle bus to the Happy Isles. After ascending the trail to the base of the Vernal Falls, we were surprised to find that the Mist Trail to the top of the Falls, which is usually closed in winter, was open.



The 1000ft rise was steep and somewhat icy, and potentially hazardous in places, but not too difficult. Despite the rather low flow, the Falls were quite dramatic, with large stalactites and curtains of ice surrounding the water. We continued to the base of the Nevada Falls, with some difficulty in following the trail in places, because of the deep snow and minimal trail-marking. There were no other hikers over nearly the whole length of the trail, so we were conscious of the need not to get lost or to risk injury. We made our way part-way up the side of the Nevada Falls, before deciding to retrace our steps, as we anticipated that we would need an hour more to reach the top of the Falls and return to where we were, and time was getting on.



While eating our lunch in splendid isolation by the river, a short way from the base of the Falls, we kept a watchful eye for bears, which have been known to try to share people's food. Unusually, the black bears in Yosemite apparently do not all hibernate in winter, specifically because the presence of people means that they can usually find some food. However, we did not see any bears, nor any other wildlife in the snow-blanketed conditions. As we approached the Falls we had heard ice falling from the rock face, but we did not see any falling when we were there. Frustratingly, as soon as we started back, the sound of ice crashing down the Falls echoed around the valley. As we did not want to risk a hazardous descent down the Mist Trail, we took the John Muir Trail back to the Yosemite Valley. Unfortunately, this involved a further 1000ft climb, in quite deep snow, before a long and quite steep descent to the Happy Isles trailhead. The trail was completely deserted and there were no animals to be seen, but Carolyn became very excited by the numerous animal tracks in the snow. As the afternoon went on, the snow and ice was starting to melt, but the steep trail was very slippery in places. Fortunately, we arrived at the trailhead just as a shuttle bus was about to leave. The bus driver got the passengers (all 5 of us) excited by saying that she had just seen a bobcat on the road. Bobcats do live in the Park, but are rarely seen in the Valley. None of us could see what she was pointing to, until a small Bobcat snow-clearing machine trundled by!

We got back to the Lodge shortly before dusk, giving us time to relax and update our log (the basis of this blog) before going to eat.

Across to California

Sunday 6th December

We left Zion National Park on a gloriously sunny but cold morning (23degF). through the Mt Carmel tunnel, built in 1930. It has several 'windows' to let in light and air. Once we left the canyons of the Park, the land opened out , with ranches and occasional small towns.

We took Highway 14 which is a high mountain road through the Dixie National Forest. The temperature dropped to about –12 deg C. as we crossed the pass at 9900 ft. It is a cross-country skiing area.and there was already some snow on the ground, making it quite pretty.


The road was passable with care, without chains, as it had mostly been cleared and salted, though there were icy patches. We descended steeply and crossed into Nevada on completely empty roads, initially through flat, scrubby land with some farms. As the road crossed more hill country, all signs of human habitation disappeared and some tree cacti appeared among the juniper and sagebrush.


At a crossroads, there was a sign warning that there was no “gas” for 150 miles, but no indication what to do about it if our fuel level was low. We had already travelled at least 100 miles without seeing a fuel station. We probably had just enough fuel to get through but as it was already late afternoon we decided to divert from our route by about 10 miles to a place marked with a tiny dot on the map and were relieved to find a petrol station in the middle of the desert, with many motorists refuelling their vehicles.

Returning to our route, we travelled through mile upon mile of sagebrush desert with tree cacti, and occasional large salt pans, stretching between intermittent brown rocky mountain ranges, with the road running dead-straight for 15-30 miles at a time. The occasional other vehicle which appeared on the horizon took 15 minutes or more to pass us. It was getting dark as we turned onto Highway 375, with a sign noting that it is the 'Extraterrestial Highway', where there have been more reported observations of UFOs than anywhere else on earth. The fact that it is close to large areas used by the military for training and testing purposes may be relevant, as Gary McKinnon might have been trying to investigate. Nearby is the site of the US underground atomic bomb testing programme in the 1950s.

We saw nothing untoward for miles, but then Philip noticed 3 strange lights in a vertical line, following us. Occasionally they disappeared for a short while, but reappeared later in the same position and formation, never getting nearer to us. It didn’t take long to realise that the lights were from three cars probably 10-20 miles behind us. We had to keep our eyes peeled for more earthly encounters, as it was an open range road and one or two steers very occasionally loomed out of the darkness, next to road.

We reached Tonopah in the dark and decided to stop for the night, in a privately owned motel which claimed to be as 'cosy as Grandma's'. It turned out be a bit flouncy, but otherwise nothing special and a bit overpriced. However, a nearby Mexican restaurant produced a tasty meal at a reasonable price.


Monday 7th December

Tonopah was a silver mining town in the first half of the twentieth century and not much has happened there since 1950. In the motel guidebook (the motel owner's pride and joy) there was an amusing story about one of the silver prospectors leaving the town after the boom but returning regularly to check on his property. On his last visit he was furious to find that a large mound of broken rock at the edge of his property had slipped down the hill and, assumed by the local authority to be mine waste, had been used in the construction of a road. Apparently the “waste” was, in fact, high-grade silver ore which he had been keeping until it would be more financially profitable to have it processed. Instead, it seems, the streets of Tonopah were literally paved with siver!

We woke to a cloudy and very cold morning, with a storm forecasted to be coming in from the west, with heavy snowfall over the Sierras. We realised that we had made the biggest blunder on our journey as our map indicated (in miniscule print) that all minor east-west routes over the High Sierras are closed in the winter. It was clear that they certainly would be closed by the forecast snow, so we would have to much further south or north than we had planned, to get on to passable routes across the Sierra Nevada range. We chose to go south, for a better chance of catching rain rather than snow. As we drove through a desolate landscape we asked ourselves why people in their right minds would want to live in Nevada. The answer is not ‘minds’ but ‘mines’. We passed through some deserted settlements, while Goldfield was all but a ghost town. There were one or two signs of extraction of some mineral or other in the barren grey-brown mountains and foothills. The only other feature in the environment was the occasional huge salt pan, one of which we could see was covered in ice. The temperature dropped to -7 deg C as we went over a pass at 4300ft, above Death Valley, marking the border with California, then rose to 15 deg C as we descended on to the Valley floor.


It is a vast area of sand and rock, with tussock grass, mostly flat, but with large sand dunes in places. Maximum temperatures here are close to the highest recorded on Earth. At Stovepipe Wells, on the main road through the valley, the elevation is at sea level, but the lowest point in the valley is nearly 300ft lower.

It turned cloudy as we ascended out of Death Valley at its western edge, then began to rain as we crossed a pass and descended to Trona. It was a depressing town beside a large dry lake, set against grey-brown hills,with a mineral processing plant blowing out clouds of smoke into a grey sky. (trona = trisodium hydrogendicarbonate dihydrate, a source of soda ash from natural evaporation as an alternative to conversion from salt and limestone). The town revealed high levels of dereliction, with vandalised houses and cars, closed-down shops and petrol stations. We moved on swiftly to the much more prosperous town of Ridgecrest, 20 miles away, where we stopped for lunch. The difference between the two towns can probably be summed up by “the Forces”, as Ridgetown is surrounded by large military bases, including the Edwards Air Force Base.

As we turned on to Highway 58 at Mojave, the rain turned to snow and we were very soon into a snowstorm. About 3 inches of snow accumulated in 30 minutes and the road became very slippery, with poor visibility.


The traffic mostly slowed to10-15mph but some cars and lorries continued much too fast for the conditions. Over about an hour, we passed three crashes + saw two near-misses as cars spun on the snow. After about 90minutes, the snow turned to very heavy rain and there were further minor accidents and incidents. At one point, Philip noticed a police car, about 400 yards behind us, slowing the traffic by swerving across all three lanes. As he thought that there might be an accident ahead, he also slowed. This was just as well, as a car suddenly appeared in the outer lane, travelling in the wrong direction towards us and did a rapid u-turn into the inner lane about 200yds ahead of us! Despite this mayhem, the traffic continued to travel much too fast and too close behind other cars. By far the worst and most aggressive were drivers of the numerous pick-up trucks, the equivalent of the UK “white-van man”.

Note that the UK concept of an outer fast lane and an inner slow lane has no meaning here. Despite signs exhorting driving in the inner lane except when overtaking, vehicles travel at speeds well above and below the speed limits in all lanes, overtake on either side, make rapid lane changes without signalling and frequently cross all lanes abruptly to exit from the freeway. All that, together with their drivers’ penchant for following so closely that they wouldn’t have a cat-in-hell’s chance of stopping in the event of an accident, despite their (doubtless) certainty of their supreme driving ability, explains why the US has had (and probably still has) such a poor record for motor vehicle accidents, injuries and deaths. We’re not clear why the driving standard deteriorated so much, from about West Virginia westwards we think, from the good driving we observed on the east coast – we can only assume that the most unreconstructed macho idiots took their genes west, leaving the effete, cautious types behind.

Although the rain stopped, it was obvious that we would be very late getting into Yosemite National Park, especially as it was reported that 5 inches of snow had fallen on the road into the Park in the afternoon and more was forecast. As we were somewhat exhausted by the difficult driving conditions, and it was already dark, we cancelled the first night's room booking in Yosemite Lodge and stopped at a motel in Fresno. This proved to be a good move.

Southern Utah

Wednesday 2nd December

Leaving Page on Highway 98 heading east, we passed a large Navajo-owned coal fired power station, and a coal mine further along the road. After that it was miles of undulating desert with scrubby sagebrush and, from time to time, some cattle, sheep, and horses. In most rural areas in the States, land beside highways has well-maintained wire fences running parallel with the road but there are some places, as on parts of the Navajo reservation, where cattle are free to roam on the road. Over much of the reservation, even where there is roadside fencing there are no other internal fences. Occasional cattle-grids or gates mark the entrances to dirt roads which usually lead to scattered homes, all bungalows and mostly mobile homes or of similar basic construction. As in Navajo towns, the rural homes are usually surrounded by a collection of vehicles (mostly pick-up trucks), often in various stages of disrepair or dismantling. The dusty yards often have various outbuildings, but virtually never gardens or any sign of cultivation. Many small roadside stalls, most with flags saying “open”, advertise Navajo jewellery and pottery, though only a few were open as we passed. After turning onto route 160 then onto 163, heading north-east into Utah, we were not far from the point where the state-lines of Utah, Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico intersect, hence the term 'the Four Corner States’. Our journey from the canyons in New Mexico through the Painted Desert to the Grand Canyon and now into Utah, has been on the Colorado Plateau, a vast area which was pushed up by geological forces millions of years ago, then eroded by rivers and glaciers, causing the large number of fantastical geological features which characterise the area. Now along this road, suddenly the soil became bright orange, and we saw weirdly-shaped tall chimneys and huge blocks (buttes) of red rock dotted across the plain.


Then it all changed again as we went over a ridge and the soil became paler and the cliffs buff-coloured. Just when we had given hope of finding civilisation and somewhere to eat we came into Bluff, a relatively attractive small, old trading and mining town, which has largely avoided the garish tourist development which mars so many rural townships. It included a pleasant coffeehouse/library/ gallery, run by a 30-something electrical engineer (who also happens to be the town’s mayor) and his wife, who is an archeologist. While we were eating excellent avocado and nut sandwiches, accompanied by mandarin oranges, various obviously well-educated locals dropped in for a chat and a coffee.

After passing through an area with more agriculture and cattle grazing, we reached Moab, a town which, like so many others, is comprised of shops, motels and small eateries strung along a single main road for many miles. In Moab, though, many of the shops are outdoor adventure equipment suppliers and outfitters, there are hostels and small motels in addition to the usual chains, and there are several individual small cafes and coffee shops. It also has its own microbrewery in a State which, until recently, was largely dry and which still closely controls the sale of alcohol. It is a town which caters for (and appears to be largely populated by) well-educated, sporty young people, retired arty folk and aging hippies. We booked into an unusual, cheap private motel, which was obviously geared towards people interested in outdoor sports, then went off for a meal in an indifferent local family-run grill.


Thursday 3rd December

A short distance north of Moab is the Arches National Park, famous for its weird spires, pinnacles, fins and, yes, arches. The fins are tall, thin, perpendicular slices of rock, formed by fissures being opened up by water and repeated freezing. The arches are thought to have been formed by the centres of some fins being eroded away, due to weaknesses in the rock.









Fins and pinnacles

After stopping briefly in the Visitors Centre for a map, we first drove to Wolfe Ranch, noting The Three Gossips on the way.



At Wolfe Ranch we looked at some excellent petroglyphs, before taking the short path (3 miles round trip) to Delicate Arch, which is the unofficial iconic symbol of Utah. The walk is moderately strenuous, rising steeply over exposed rock faces, between towering pinnacles. The temperature was about -6 deg C. and the wind was blowing at about 40-50 knots, so it was bitterly cold despite the sunny day. We were glad of our thermal underwear!

The arch sits in a sloping smooth rock bowl and, at about 90 feet high, it is much bigger than it looks from the initial vantage point on the trail, approximately 200 feet away. However, as we were already having some difficulty staying upright in the wind gusts, we decided not go out along the curved rim of the bowl for the traditional photos of each of us standing underneath the arch. Nevertheless, it was a stunning sight.



Driving further into park, we set off for the equally famous Landscape Arch, which has a span of 300 feet, but a minimum thickness of only 6 feet since a large slab, estimated to weigh about 300 tons, fell off the underside of the arch ten years ago. It is awe-inspiring, but also a bit scary, as there are cracks visible along the curve of the arch.



The area underneath and close to the arch is now fenced off as it obviously is not going to remain an arch for long. We also passed the area where the so-called Wall Arch collapsed last year and where large chunks of rock continue to fall. Clearly, this is a park in progress.

We then set off on a 'primitive' trail, i.e. one marked only by stone cairns, to the Double-O arch. This involved walking in narrow canyons between tall fins and teetering along the top ridges of fins (sometimes only 3-4 feet wide with 50-80 feet drops on both sides).




Double-O was a large oval window above a smaller window.



We had a quick look at a couple of other, smaller arches before heading back to the car.








As we walked back in the late afternoon, Carolyn saw a desert big-horned sheep, for which this park is also known, though it didn't have any horns! As we drove out in the dusk we caught sight of Queen Nefertiti addressing one of her eunuchs, on the skyline.


For dinner, we went to the Moab Microbrewery restaurant, where Philip dutifully sampled a couple of the six beers brewed there. There was a good light ale and a porter which was well-flavoured - definitely a big improvement on the awful standard beers in the US, most of which are much the same as the ubiquitous cheaper “lagers” in the UK. Fortunately, the restaurant (which is in the same building as the brewery), was only about 200 yards from our motel, so after briefly listening to an indifferent and rather boring singer in the bar, we were able to walk back to bed.


Friday 4th December

On to Zion National Park, which required a 325 mile trip by freeway to the southwestern corner of Utah, then a 28 mile drive into the Park. The freeway was about as boring as it could be, initially cutting across completely desolate, scrubby, flat plains. Later we passed by large farms or ranches (many with their own exits from the freeway), with large herds of cattle, a few flocks of sheep, huge pastures with long mobile watering systems, and high piles of haybales. Some of the hay was green, presumably possible because of the aridness and low humidity of the area. (We had previously seen green Utah hay being transported to the Navajo lands in Arizona).

We arrived into Zion National Park in the late afternoon, as the setting sun was setting the peaks around Zion Canyon ablaze.


Most of the first white settlers in the Canyon were Mormons, who named many of the peaks and geological formations with religious descriptions or allusions, which are still used. As we made our way to the lodge, it was extremely beautiful, with the cottonwood trees and lush vegetation on the canyon floor softening the bare rocky walls of The Altar of Sacrifice, The West Temple, The Court of the Patriarchs, The Great White Throne, Temple of Sinawava and Weeping Rock.


Saturday 5th December

Today, we did one of the most frightening things we have ever done. It started off quite tamely, with a walk to the Emerald Pools. The pools are not much coloured at this time of year, presumably because of the lack of the algae which give the pools their blue-green colouring. Although the water flow over the falls was minimal, it was very pretty because of long icicles hanging down over cliff edges.


The path behind the waterfall was also covered in ice, making walking quite hazardous. The route up to the middle and upper falls was fine, as the path was bone dry. The upper pool, though small, was beautiful due to its setting at the base of a high cliff, from which ice repeatedly broke off with a crash as the sun warmed the rock.

On the pleasant walk back to our cabin, alongside the Virgin River, we passed several mule deer grazing in the valley, not much bothered by our presence. There were also large flocks of wild turkeys and numerous flying birds, large and small.







Later we drove to the trailhead for a walk to Angel's Landing which is a high pinnacle directly across the valley from the Great White Throne, a huge square-topped whitish mesa near the head of the Zion valley. There were quite a lot of people walking this paved trail, which involved a strenuous climb winding up a very steep 800 foot rock face to a col, then along a narrow echoey canyon to the base of a 400 foot vertical cliff which was ascended via 21 switchbacks (named Walter's Wiggles after the park superintendent who oversaw the building of them in 1930s).


Look for the people zigzagging up to the col










This effort brought us to Scout's Lookout, with spectacular views of the main valley and side canyons. However, this was only the start.
















Looking ahead, we saw a very narrow ridge leading across and then steeply up to to the pinnacle about 300 feet further above us. A few people were slowly making their way up the virtually invisible trail, hanging on to chains which had been installed to reduce the number of accidents. Despite signs warning of the difficult, strenuous and dangerous climb, and stating baldly that people had fallen to their deaths from the rock, we decided to give it a go. This decision was not helped by a young woman, who sat with her mother on the last point before the chain climb (which she referred to as "Assessment Point"!), telling us that she had been informed by a Park employee that there had been four deaths from falling from the trail this year. Having assessed their options, she and her mother quite sensibly decided not to attempt the climb. Whether the information she was given was strictly correct is unclear, but it is documented that the last death occurred about a week before we were there, when a middle-aged woman fell 1000ft.

It was exceptionally demanding and very frightening, with at times no more than a toehold in the rock and a chain handhold to stop us plummeting to the valley below. We were by far the oldest people on this section of the trail and amongst the most timid, never having understood the thrill of rock-climbing or scaling mountains, supported only by ropes. Our short legs did not help when we were trying to negotiate some of the bigger rocks. We felt all the more inadequate watching a few young foolhardys, who were dressed in shorts despite the cold, and were nearly running up to the top. However, although most of the others climbing with us were 30-40 years younger than us, nearly all of them were very pleasant, polite young people from the US and elsewhere (including the UK). They treated us as they did each other and were very willing to give us advice and encouragement, without any hint of condescension! It was also a delight not to hear "you're welcome" and "have a nice day" in every conversation! One of the real pleasures of this sort of activity is that people put aside the veneers and platitudes of everyday encounters and treat everyone else as equals.

Coming down from the pinnacle was just as frightening and difficult as going up and the descent down Walter's Wiggles was hard on the knees. To calm down and to return to behaviour more befitting our ages, we drove to the top of the valley for photos of the sunset, then back to our cabin for a soak in the bath before dinner.

Unfortunately, we don't have a good photo of the last part of the climb, from Scout's Lookout to Angel's Landing, but the following two photos show the main pinnacle itself, with the full-sized trees on the top of Angel's Landing just visible, and a side view of the route from Scout's Lookout (right) to Angel's Landing (left). We did buy a poster to bring home, so you might see it if you visit us. You can also see information about it at www.zionnational-park.com/zion-angels-landing-trail.html













Why did we do the last part of the climb, against all of our instincts for survival? Partly "because it was there", perhaps, but more because, having put all the effort into getting up to Scout's Lookout, it seemed a shame to miss the opportunity of making it to the top. Neither of us would wish to do it again, but we would recommend it to anyone who wants a thrill and can overcome their very natural fear of heights.