Should I or shouldn't I?

I haven't tried running ads on this blog. One reason is that I know I don't have that many readers. Another is that the ads are usually for things I wouldn't recommend, or from companies I don't approve of. But, you know, there's the possibility of a few bucks. Money is good. But so is not selling out.

So, what do my readers think? Yes? No? Doesn't matter?

Pet sharing

Chili Moon stops by the Rolling Steel Tent

Another hard day on the planet

A little relaxing before lunch, then more relaxing afterward

Double good morning

Looks like a lucky RVer here at Lake Powell got the pot of gold

My yearning for water validated

Though I spend a lot of time in the desert or otherwise inland, I'm always eager to get back to the Pacific Coast. Or at least to a lake, river or other body of water. It makes me happy. It soothes me. It makes me want more out of life—like more time by water.

It's not just me. Science is on my side.

Everyone knows that being on the water makes us feel good, but now there's scientific proof: a new study confirms that living near a body of water improves wellbeing, even for city dwellers. The report was published in the journal Health & Place. 

"Increased views of blue space is significantly associated with lower levels of psychological distress," Michigan State University health geographer Amber L. Pearson said in a press statement.

Current studies show that green space—forests, fields, etc.—don't appear to have the same benefits. Perhaps that's one reason forests usually make me feel closed in, suppressed. Unless, of course, there's a body of water in that forest.

I know some people with no desire to be by the ocean. They much prefer deserts and forests. (Though it might have more to do with crowds that geography.) I'm fine with that. It leaves a little more room for me on the beach.

Another look at the Colorado River

An interesting day at the beach

I paid my senior-discounted seven bucks and grabbed a spot by the water at Lone Rock Beach, Lake Powell. Things were serene until the wind started howling and filling the air with sand. Not fun, but the direction of the wind allowed me to keep the side door open for the view and ventilation.

Then a group arrived with their rented kayaks and guide. Hmmmm, I thought. The wind is going to be a problem. But into the water they went. Hey, woo, this paddling stuff is easy downwind! They were soon out of sight.

About an hour and a half later, two patrol boats rushed by with their lights flashing. People on the shore had their binoculars out, pointing downwind. Ah, our intrepid foolish kayakers. Soon there was a helicopter.

Meanwhile, on another part of the beach, rangers and EMTs appeared. Someone was having a medical emergency.

Then, farther down the beach, more rangers were dealing with some kind of bad behavior problem. They had two guys sitting on the ground, handcuffed.

The kayakers and guide were finally brought to shore. They were having a heated discussion, probably about how the guide should know better than to take them out in wind like that and how they wanted a refund and how he wasn't going to give one.

But the guide and his dissatisfied customers eventually left, the medical emergency was handled, the two bozos were hauled away and things quieted down. Including the wind. The night was peaceful and uneventful.

No, I'm not on Mars

Oddities at Vermillion Cliffs

Morning on the river

It's dawn and Colorado River trip operators start arriving at Lee's Ferry, Arizona, downstream of Glen Canyon Dam. The Vermillion Cliffs are in the background.

Short thoughts

1. TO WASH OR NOT TO WASH?

Mud on the Rolling Steel Tent makes it (and me, by extension) look rugged and adventurous. We don't need no stinkin' roads. But it also makes it (and me, by extension) look unfit for proper society. Don't want the normal world thinking we nomads are bums. They make it hard enough for us already.

2. THE DARNED SIDE EFFECTS

I like to drive with the window open whenever conditions allow. I like the fresh air and feeling connected to my surroundings. I like to get the stale air out of the Rolling Steel Tent (particularly when there's an accumulation of laundry). But it's spring, which means pollen. Runny nose, watery eyes... I need to get more tissues. Or accept that it's not currently "when conditions allow" and keep the window closed.

Do the stroll

I was on the shuttle in Zion National Park. Many of my fellow passengers were decked out for a day of serious hiking. When the shuttle stopped, zoom, they were out the door, hustling to the trail with purpose and urgency.

Me? I stepped off, paused, looked around. The cliffs and peaks, the play of light, the contrast of bright green cottonwood leaves against orange stone and blue sky... I breathed the cool morning air, noting the variety of scents. Then I set off, at my own pace, in my own direction. First a visit to Weeping Rock.

Then, rather than heading up the canyon walls, I crossed the road and followed the narrow, unnamed footpath along the river. After all, the river is what made the canyon.

I had decided to keep things simple. I left my fancy camera behind and just used my iPhone.

My walk was peaceful. No crowds, no agenda. Just savor the day.

Then, because the conditions were right, I returned to that cliffside campsite that was too muddy before.

Beware of falling primates

I followed some online boondocking tips to a potential camping spot near Virgin, UT, not far from Zion National Park. It was raining heavily just to the north as I made my way down a dirt road with water-filled ruts and potholes. (It might have been a pothole farm.) But I made it this spot right on the rim of the Virgin River.

It was a great place, but what if the storm dumped more rain there? Would I be able to get back out? Better safe than sorry. So I splashed my way back to the highway and found a paved road heading toward the rim. There was a pullout with a nice dry gravel surface. It wasn't right on the rim, but it was just a short walk away. The storm cleared in a couple of hours and it looked like this.

That's Hurricane Mesa in the background. But most people call it Flying Monkey Mesa. Why? Well, back in the early days of jet-powered flight, the Air Force needed to test ejector seats. So they built a test facility atop Hurricane Mesa. It was far from prying/spying eyes, it was flat on top, and there was a 1,500 foot drop from the edge. Ejector seats were mounted to rocket propelled sleds and shot along a track. The seats were fired and the test dummies would float to the base of the mesa on parachutes. Once they had successful ejector seats, they needed to know what effects there might be on pilots. Rather than risk perfectly good humans, they substituted perfectly good chimpanzees. Hence, flying monkeys.

The track and the remains of the facility are still there, but sealed off from the curious public

While that explains the origin of Flying Monkey Mesa, it still leaves the mystery of why a mesa and town in the arid Southwest were named after a tropical storm. And, by the way, locals pronounce Hurricane as Hurrcun.

The Virgin River

I did not order rain

Interstate 15 through the Virgin River Gorge is quite dramatic. But I've been that way many times. And there's road construction. And lots of traffic. So this time I took Old Highway 91. It's a mellower drive.

Coming over the pass I got a gander at the storm clouds piled up over Saint George and eastward. As I got closer I could see that the front was just north of town and it was dumping rain/slush/snow on the higher elevations. Ah, May in the Rockies.

Corner to corner to corner

It's a travel day. (Oh, like when isn't it.) The weather gnomes have jiggled the levers, turned the knobs and flipped the switches. The forecast is good. So I'm going from the south corner of Nevada, through the northwest corner of Arizona, into the southwest corner of Utah. Now I'm just waiting for the sun to get high enough in the sky so that I won't be driving into glare. Zion, here I come.

Golden hour again