Some of my yesterdays

This is where it all happened - although it wasn't quite as built up when I was doing my thing. Red dots and circles indicate some of the places mentioned.

Having had a far longer past than I will a future (sad but true), it's inevitable that, every now and again, I'll reflect on the seven plus decades I've got behind me. For the most part, the reminiscences of my childhood are still vivid. Like most of us of a certain age, I can probably recollect with far more accuracy that which happened in my early days than the events of more recent times. At least, I think the clarity is still there - or is there a touch of self-delusion? Who can possibly know? But I do not view yesteryear through rose-tinted spectacles: there is nostalgia, of course, but no sentimentality. It was the way it was and that's how we accepted it.

In two previous posts, I've touched on various part-time jobs I had in my youth (here and here) and, just to test my memory, I thought I'd try and jot down all those jobs I could remember. I've surprised myself at the list and it's been fun revisiting the people and places involved. I consider myself extremely lucky to have had all those experiences: I wouldn't have missed a minute of them. Here they are:

Football Argus Paper round The very first Saturday job I can remember was delivering a few Football Argus's in the late afternoon around the streets and pubs of Bedwas. I was 8 or 9 at the time and did get a few 'coppers for sweets'. I'm not sure how long this lasted but, at this distance, I'd guess for the length of the football season. 

Butchers' Boy: Off and on for a couple of years before I left Bedwas Junior Mixed, I had a Saturday job at Morgan's the Butcher in Church Street. As well as taking orders out on an old-fashioned shop bike with a basket, I helped make sausages, faggots and black puddings (getting blood for which in a bucket from the slaughterhouse behind Lewis's). And sweeping up the sawdust from the floor and cleaning down the counters.

Delivery boy/packer: During the summer of 1959, just before I went to Bassaleg Grammar School, I had a job at the Home and Colonial Store in Caerphilly. My Aunty Phyll got me the job and it was a mixture of bike deliveries and helping with packing various goods (dried peas, currants, raisins etc) from tubs into smaller packets. Pushing a heavily laden delivery bike up the Mountain Road in Caerphilly was not an easy thing to do and I can still remember feeling affronted that one customer did not even say "thank you" after I'd obviously struggled up the hill with her groceries. One day I'll tell about the Pea Magnet Saga and the Great Penrheol Delivery Boy Kidnap Incident. I still bear the mental scars from both.

Exactly the type of bike I used for deliveries. No gears, brakes only on the front wheel and a less-than-comfortable leather saddle. And let's not forget the wicker basket at the front.

Various jobs on farms: Like most of my contemporaries, I don't remember ever getting regular pocket money from my parents and, if we wanted some cash, we had to earn it. Hence we offered our services to whoever needed a (cheap) pair of hands. In reality, this meant one of the many small farms around Bedwas and Rudry. We'd do anything if there was a few coppers at the end of it and we laboured in the fields picking vegetables (my worst ever experience was picking potatoes in the cold and wet on Ty Sign Farm), helping with animals, milking, harvesting apples, hay making, picking stones from the fields - anything at all and in all weathers. 

Milk round with Mr Lewis: I've dealt with my time on the milk round with Mr Lewis at length previously (here) and, if you are interested, I will refer you to that post.

Milk round with John Davies: When Mr Lewis sold his round, due to ill-health, it was taken over by David Davies (Dai Dai the Milk) and I briefly worked with him. But I soon moved on to help his son, John, on his round that took in Rudry, Draethen, Lower Machen and Machen proper. I really enjoyed this time as the route was very rural and took us around some fantastic countryside. Sitting on the back of a van in the fresh air and racing around the lanes - what's not to like?  It was during our Sunday break for breakfast that I first encountered the Archers and poached eggs with HP sauce! I still like them both.

Sunday paper round: I did this for about three years when I was in the Sixth Form. It involved an early start (6am, sometimes a killer after a raucous Saturday night out in the pubs and at the Palais in Caerphilly. Confession time: I was an underage drinker, as were all of my 'gang'), picking up a trolley load of papers from Mr Jones' Paper Shop in Bedwas and then delivering them around some streets in Trethomas. I can still remember the route: Pant Glas View, Central Buildings, Bryn-y-Fran Avenue, Birch Grove, Elm Grove, Ash Grove and Hazel Grove. When I 'retired',  my brother and my elder sister inherited the round: the nearest we've ever got to having a family business.

Working on a farm at Cefn Mably: This was a mixed arable/dairy farm called Cefn-llywd, owned by George Huish and run by his son, Roger. I was there for a full summer holiday and some weekends. I enjoyed it as the work was varied - milking the dairy herd of friesans, tending to sheep and pigs, hedging, tractor driving, hay making etc. However, what I didn't like was the fact that it was 10 miles from home and involved negotiating many hills on an antiquated push-bike with only three gears. On the positive side, I can still remember the taste of the wild strawberries I used to pick as I pushed my bike up a hill near the Maenllwyd Inn in Rudry.

Working at the British Legion, Trethomas: For a year or two, around 1964/1965, I worked behind the bar at the British Legion in Trethomas when George and Alma were the stewards. Almost invariably, my good friend, Malcolm from Rhiwderin (who never did get the hang of playing Bingo), was on the same shift so it was never dull. It was the days of pounds, shillings and pence and I was very adept at adding up orders for multiple drinks. I'm not sure I could do that now. Certainly not at the British Legion as it's been demolished for quite a while.

Working on the Bedwas and Machen Urban District Council: When university students living in Bedwas or Trethomas were looking for jobs during the summer holidays, there were a few 'usual' places that took us on. One of these was the 'council' - the now defunct Bedwas and Machen Urban District Council. I spent the summer of 1966 working for them and got to grips with the full panoply of services offered by the council. Some of the things I got involved with were grave digging, laying kerbstones and paving slabs, collecting rubbish, repairing drains, replacing broken window panes, cleaning buses and acting as a labourer for a stone mason. The latter was an old communist called Dick Jones who was a fascinating character. He was part of the Socialist contingent that fought in the Spanish Civil War against Franco and had spend many years in the 1930's travelling around the USA. I really enjoyed both hearing about his exploits and helping him build a bus shelter in Machen, that is still standing after 52 years. I always metaphorically salute Dick every time I pass it.

The old offices of Bedwas and Machen Urban District Council. The yard I worked from was to the right. The JP's courtroom was on the left and that was the scene of the infamous 'Air Gun Trial', where several youthful miscreants were subjected to a mock trial by the then JP, Kenwyn Lewis. But that's a story for another day - possibly, maybe.

Working on the Xmas Post: Another of the 'usual' places for hiring students was the Post Office over the Xmas period, dealing with the 'Xmas rush' of cards. I started doing this in 1966 and continued through 1967 and 1968. We were there for about a week each session. The days started with sorting out the mail into rounds and then going out delivering around Bedwas and Trethomas. For a couple of years, I was assigned what was known as the 'Mountain round' which involved delivering mail to all the farms and houses on Bedwas mountain. It was quite an onerous task, walking, perhaps, 5 - 6 miles with a heavy postbag, sometimes on lanes, sometimes on tracks and sometimes on shortcuts across fields. But it was money and it helped offset the overdraft I had accrued during the previous term. A happy time with a great bunch of regular postmen, all uniformly sarcastic and cynical! 

BOCM, Bassaleg: I'd almost forgotten this one. Labouring at British Oil and Cake Mills near Bassaleg railway station. I was only there filling in for a few weeks and the work entailed watching over milling, rolling and pelleting machines and a bag filler. Nothing too onerous and I can still recall the noise and the dust. The pay was rubbish.

Working up the Plant: Or to give it its formal name British Benzol and Coal Distillation Co. Ltd. At one time, this was THE place for students to work in the summer holidays. The Plant comprised of a series of coking ovens and an associated 'by-products' complex that recovered various chemicals from the gases produced in forming the coke. It was shift work and students helped out wherever a pair of hands was needed. I worked there for two summers (1967 and 1968) and, on one shift or another, was involved in most of the areas. Sometimes I worked on the ovens where the coal was burnt to form the coke. Sometimes I worked over on the by-products, mainly doing quality control checks on some of the processes and bagging chemicals as they were formed. Sometimes I worked hosing red hot coke down with water. Sometimes I worked on routine maintenance - greasing conveyor belts and clearing up spillages. A bit of everything really. I enjoyed working on the ovens more than anything else as it was quite exciting and moderately dangerous, with so much hot coke around. Every now and again, I'd work a 'doubler' - two shifts back to back. In theory, this meant a 16 hour working day but, in practice, the foreman allowed you to slope off early on the second shift. The money was good and I can remember the thrill of getting £20 in my pay packet when I had done a doubler. And it was in a pay packet - a brown envelope that we picked up at the cashiers' office on a Friday lunchtime. It was a great place to work and, someday, I might elaborate on some of the things that happened on some of the shifts.

A couple of photographs taken with my old Zenith E SLR camera and processed by me. The shady figure is me on the top of the ovens when crushed coal was being poured into the open oven from the mobile hoppers. The brush was used to make certain that it all went in. The flames were an occupational hazard.

All the coal is now in the oven and the lids are being pushed back on. It was hot work and we had to wear wooden clogs as ordinary boots tended to melt in the heat! On more than one occasion the bottom of my trousers caught fire - another occupational hazard. Training? Minimal. Health and Safety? Almost non-existent.

Working at the Alcan, Rogerstone: Alcan Industries were based in a large works along the banks of the Ebbw River in Rogerstone and produced aluminium sheets etc from ingots. I worked there for the summer of 1969. Shift work again and students were employed to fill in wherever needed during staff holidays. I remember that, at the students' induction day, we were told not to be 'political' with the regular workers. I got involved in a wide variety of tasks - stretching aluminium sheets on a large machine, 'helping' fitters and turners with lathe work, carrying tools for mechanics as they repaired machines, working with a thermal lance to unblock the doors on the remelt furnaces etc. It was in the days when long hair for men was still a novelty and I have a vivid memory of running the gauntlet of ribald women on a packing line. Men do not have the monopoly on crude remarks or suggestive gestures! I blush as I recall what they shouted at me! It scarred me for life.

Working in the Family Loaf bakery: This was, in fact, the last temporary job I had as an undergraduate student, as after it I moved into the heady world of being a post-graduate. The bakery was on the Wern Estate in Rogerstone and involved working night shifts during September 1969. Forget the artisan baker, this was bread making on an industrial scale using the much-derided Chorleywood Process. I sweated between the proving and baking ovens, knocked cooked loaves out of their tins and operated a slicing machine. It was hot work but well paid. On some shifts, 'proper' bakers made us fruit loaves and other fancies to take home - all 'under the counter', of course, but ignored by the management. A perk of the job.

All these jobs helped me to develop skills that didn’t get taught in school, such as how to fake a smile (useful) or get on with someone difficult (a vital life skill). I learnt about the tedium of menial work and the ghastliness of some people, but also the value of physical labour and the camaraderie of work. I met some amazing people and learnt that wisdom and intelligence were not the preserve of the formally educated. Away from the critical gaze of my family, I got a taste of independence, responsibility and a sense of self-worth that I hadn’t known before. And along the way, I picked up a range of skills that have stood me in good stead over the years. I learnt that a bit of graft and getting your hands dirty won't kill you and how to just get on with it without complaining. Life lessons that I'll always remember with fondness and not just a little pride: I did all that and survived.

Pigs 2019: we start again.

It's that time of year again when a young man's fancy may very well turn to love but an older man's fancy turns to pigs! It's our fifth year operating as the Pigs' 'Ere Cooperative and our biggest change this time around is our new breed of pig. For various reasons, we've decided to move away from the British Lop and try something different. We are going with the Oxford Sandy and Black breed, also sometimes referred to as the “Plum Pudding" or "Oxford Forest Pig”.

It is yet another Rare Breed (there are fewer of them than the British Lop) and is one of the oldest British pig breeds. It has been around for 200 - 300 years and is a traditional farmers' and cottagers' pig, from the middle part of the country, especially around Oxfordshire. It seems to be closely linked to the old Berkshire and Tamworth breeds. Did it diverge from them? Or was it the result of crossbreeding between them? Or, perhaps, crossbreeding with an entirely different breed. No-one is entirely sure and, no doubt, there will be some DNA profiling done soon - if it hasn't already.

Why this particular breed? It seems a good fit to our style of husbandry. They have an excellent temperament and are particularly suited to outdoor systems as they are good foragers. As they are a coloured pig with a good coat, they are far less prone to sunburn, which can be a problem for white breeds such as the British Lop. Yes, we did slather them with barrier cream once in a while. Another useful point is that, although they are coloured, the rind of the derived pork is the traditional white. And, to be semantically correct, they are not spotted, they are blotched. Apparently the meat is an excellent flavour and, as they don't go to fat as readily as the Lops, we are expecting the weights at finish will be lighter than what we've had in the past. However, that may mean that we'll end up with relatively more meat and less fat.  We've got a whole litter of twelve, boars (castrated, of course) and gilts. They are cute little animals and it will be interesting to see  how we get on with them. It promises to be fun - again.

Goodbye Mrs May.

Mrs May's last laugh. Good grief. If one of them is deemed to be the answer to our current problems, we are in a worst state than we think.

Theresa May has gone. Sort of. At least she has removed the sofa that was barricading the door to Number 10 and arranged a date for the removal van. Then she strode out of that door to the inevitable podium and, without a hint of irony or self-awareness, spoke about the need for compromise in finding a solution to Brexit. If she’d done that when she became Tory leader then perhaps she wouldn’t have needed to make that speech at the podium.

The speech was a masterclass in lack of self-awareness. She quoted Nicholas Winton, who organised the Kinder Transport that saved 669 mostly Jewish refugee children from the Nazis just before WW2, saying that he had taught her that life depends upon compromise. Clearly she had heard his words but hadn’t understood them. She had learned of his deeds but refused to put them into practice herself, instead preferring to institute a hostile environment for migrants and to place restrictions on the passage of unaccompanied minors from the refugee camps near Calais. Nicholas Winton forged documents in order to bring those child refugees to the UK. If Theresa May had been Home Secretary at the time, she’d have put him in jail. Even as she announced the end to her time in office, her rank opportunism and hypocrisy was breath-taking.

There’s been a concerted campaign in the press to make us feel sorry for Theresa. We should be sorry for her because she regarded immigrants as an easy target that she could demonise and threaten in order to advance her career. We should be sorry for her because she was a racist Home Secretary who screwed up the lives of the Windrush generation and sent out vans bearing a message that the 1970s National Front would have approved of. We should be sorry for her because she presided over the destruction of the social security safety net and oversaw a mushrooming of foodbanks. We should be sorry for her because at every turn, at every opportunity, she prioritised the interests of her own party over the interests of the rest of us. We should be sorry for her because she was brought down by her own intransigence, inflexibility and inability to come out of the cave where she drew red lines in the dark. Sorry, but I'm not sorry.

But most of all, we are told to feel compassion for Theresa May because at the very end of her resignation speech her voice cracked and there were tears in her eyes. Tears for herself. Tears for her own career. Tears for how she will be remembered for what she herself has done. Sorry, but no. The compassion should be reserved for all those whose lives have been blighted by the worst British Prime Minister since the one before, the worst before the one to follow. We’re going to need a lot of compassion, it’s too precious to waste on a self-serving careerist who is the victim of her own arrogant intransigence. We’re all citizens of nowhere in the eyes of Theresa, and we have no sympathy to waste on her. We are asked to show sympathy for a hypocrite who only ever managed to show some emotion for the loss of her own power. Theresa May will go into retirement as a rich woman, she will continue to enjoy a life of privilege. The rest of us face uncertainty, fear and the prospect of a precarious and meagre existence.

Theresa is going and her failures have left us in an uncertain and fearful place where we laugh at dairy products being thrown over the demons of our nightmares because the alternative is to weep silently or rage in the darkness. If the best weapon that we have against fascism is a milkshake then we’ve already lost. The UK feels more dangerous, more precarious, than at any time since WW2. The forces of right wing populism are on the rise, facilitated by the failures of the British political system.

The gurning grinning face of Nigel Farage is never off our screens and when we look at him we see the image of the Conservative party that will follow this Prime Minister. We hear the cries of betrayal, of treason, of traitors, of enemies of the people, of national humiliation. We see the scapegoating of minorities, the migrants, the poor, the disadvantaged, and we know that this never ends well.

Whoever succeeds Theresa May will be another opportunist who seeks to ride the anger of that Farage has so successfully stoked up, and who will seek to reshape the Conservative party as the party of the Brexit extremists. We’ll soon be getting to the point where it will be easier to list those Tory MPs who aren’t standing for the leadership than those who are.

Boris Johnson has many critics and opponents amongst Conservative MPs, but he’s the runaway favourite amongst the party membership who will make the final decision. That membership won’t look kindly upon MPs who conspire to block Boris from the final two who will be put to the membership. We’re now facing the very real possibility of a Prime Minister Boris Johnson and a no deal Brexit, the absolute worst possible scenario.

From the Observer, 26th May 2019.

USA 2019: Postscript.

 A few people have asked me about our itinerary so I thought I'd add it as a postscript to the series of posts I've made on our trip. It will also act as an aide memoire for when, in our dotage, we look back at this holiday and try and remember what we did!

This is the route we took - starting and ending in Las Vegas and going clockwise. It was approximately 2500 miles. The open circles show where we stayed. In some guides, the route is described as the Grand Circle but it usually includes the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. As we'd already been there, we took in the North Rim instead. Perhaps our version was the Almost Grand Circle?

We flew into and out of Las Vegas, using it only as a staging post for the airport. We did not venture into the city at all and only glimpsed the hotel district from afar. That was enough for us.

The places we stayed at met our needs. Nothing luxurious but we did not have anything to complain about. Here they are:

• La Quinta Inn & Suites, Las Vegas Airport South (Good free airport and car hire centre shuttle service).
• The Historic Stanworth House, Hurricane (Air BnB - B but no B).
• Cottonwood Meadow Lodge near Panguitch (We stayed in the Log Cabin. Cosy!).
• Broken Spur Inn and Steakhouse, Torrey.
• Days Inn by Wyndham, Moab.
• Hat Rock Inn, Mexican Hat.
• Red Rock Motel, Page.
• Brookside B & B (Air BnB - B but not B).
• La Quinta Inn & Suites, Las Vegas Airport South - again.

When we came to listing the places we either visited, looked at, walked in or drove through, I think we were surprised at how many there were. They included State Parks (SP), National Parks (NP), National Monuments (NM), Tribal Reservations (TR) and National Forests (NF). Quite a mix but all unique and interesting in their own way.

• Kolob Canyon (NP).
• Cedar Breaks (NM).
• Red Canyon (SP).
• Bryce (NP).
• Zion (NP).
• Kodachrome Basin (SP).
• Dixie (NF).
• Capitol Reef (NP).
• Goblin Valley (SP).
• Canyonlands (NP).
• Arches (NP).
• Dead Horse Point (SP).
• Hovenweep (NM).
• Monument Valley (TR).
• Antelope Canyon (TR).
• Rainbow Arch (NM).
• Horseshoe Bend (TR).
• Vermillion Cliffs (NM).
• Kaibab (NF).
• Grand Canyon North Rim (NP). 
• Pipe Spring (NM/TR). 

All that remains now is the compile all my posts into a book as a record of a great three weeks.

USA 2019: Kanab to Las Vegas - The end.

Our last full day as tourists as we wind our way back to our hotel in Las Vegas ready for our flight out tomorrow. Our overnighter in Kanab was good. Kanab itself is, as for so many towns around these parts, not a place to write home about. It's just north of the Arizona state line and the area was first settled in 1864. The town, itself, was founded in 1870 when ten Latter-Day Saint  (Mormon) families moved in as homesteaders. Since then, its major claim to fame seems to be as a lcoation for many familiar Western films. So much so, that it is known, by some (probably self-proclaimed) as 'Little Holywood'. All over the town there are information panels telling you about the films and TV series that had been shot hereabouts. To some extent, the names were a roll-call of my '50s and '60s (the decades, not my years). Kanab is also a good base from which to visit Zion and Bryce and that accounts for the number of hotels and motels which are disproportionate to its size.

Kanab on a Sunday is not an exciting place so we decided to call in on the Pipe Spring National Monument on our way passed. We were glad that we did as it was a really interesting place, with one of the best introductory/orientation films that we've seen since we've been over here. It also had a very well curated museum on the lives and beliefs of the Paiutes, who have called this place home for some 700 years. It's another example of a gem that is below the radar of most visitors to the area.

After that, it was down the Interstate to Las Vegas and the La Quinta Suites at the airport.Driving in Las Vegas was such fun. I just can't wait to do it again - not.

No, we didn't breakfast on a joint at the AirBnB in Kanab but we did have a cheese bagel around the corner in a neighbourhood cafe. A fellow customer asked me to take Trump back to the UK with me. I said I'd give him Brexit in exchange. We agreed that it was a draw. For the record, Cannabis in Utah is illegal for recreational use, with possession of small amounts punishable as a misdemeanor crime. Similarly in Arizona. But in Nevada you can buy weed for recreational use from authorised stores only. Not sure we'll ever see it on sale in the Post Office Stores in Stoke Climsland.

A rubbish photograph of Winsor Castle at Pipe Spring. It was raining and I didn't want to get my camera wet!  Pipe Spring was important because it was a reliable source of water. As such it had been used by various tribes for millenia, starting with the Pre-Puebloans and then the Paiutes. Unfortuantely for the latter, the Mormons discovered Pipe Spring in 1858 and this lead to a more formal 'take-over' in 1863 by James Whitmore, who was subsequently killed by the Navajo over some cattle. By 1868 a small stone cabin was built by way of defence and this was expanded to a fortified ranch-house in 1870. It was nicknamed Winsor Castle after the first occupant, Anson Perry Winsor. The ranch offered good grazing for cattle and Pipe Spring, owned and run by the Mormon church, was officially known as the Southern Utah Tithing Office, whereby profits and produce from the ranched were 'tithed' to the church and helped, in a very material way, to the building of a Mormon temple in nearby St George.

The first room of the ranch which functioned as a dairy. In this large vat, enormous quantities of cheese were made - the cheese press is in the background - which was despatched to St George. The spring of Pipe Spring was culverted and diverted so that it flowed in a atrough at the back of this room. Thence it went into two ponds dug as retaining pools. Thus the Mormon's control of the water was absolute and this was the root of protracted problems with the Paiutes for many years.

This shot reminds me of the atmosphere of some of the Dutch Masters. Just call me Rembrandt Parsons. Hardly. Who am I trying to kid? Anyway who needs all that sticky and smelly paint when you can do it with a digital camera?

Winssor Castle was simple in form, two sand-stone block buildings, facing a courtyard enclosed by solid wooden gates. Although built as a defensive structure, it was never used as such but it did become a very important waystation for travellers traversing the Arizona Strip, inhospitable and difficult to navigate at the best to times.

The story goes that one of the matriarchs of Winsor Castle said to her husband "Look, I'm fed up with cooking for so many on an open fire. Get me a decent stove or I'm off". Enter this stove via the Sears Catalogue. It's original from circa 1900 and reminds me of one my grandmother had. Not exactly the same but similar. Because of its strategic location, there were always many visiting travellers and I can understand the demand for better catering facilities.

Winsor Castle was an important staging post and because of this it was the first telegraph office in the Arizona territory (the State didn't exist then) on the Deseret Telegraph Line.

This is the telegraph 'office'. The first operator was 16 year old Eliza Luella Stewart, an example of the young being the early adaptors of technology?

Is this a Mormon khazi?

These are pure bred Long Horn Cattle. These are not as domesticated as our cows back home. These horns are very long and sharp. There is a ssign that says not to come within 5 foot of them. This sign should be obeyed. I ignored it and was almost impaled as I took this photograph. I'm old enough to know better but I don't. Imagine having to explain my wounds to the travel insurance company. Gored whilst ignoring an obvious sign! Rock and roll!

This is the only place where we've seen bush cactii such as this. There are lots of flowers yet to bloom and when they do, it's going to be a great big prickly bundle of yellow.

These fledgling Black Phoebes were making quite a racket as they awaited food from their parents. I think there were three in the nest

The young were on the cusp of leaving the nest and were making some short, exploratory flights to this handrail. A few minutes there chirping and looking around and then back to the safety of their nest.

And the Paiutes in all of this? Treated abysmally on all fronts. Harassed by the Navajo and Utes, infected by the Spanish and dispossessed and marginalised by the Mormons. Their numbers have ebbed and flowed over the years and it was not until the declaration of Pipe Springs as a National Monument that they really got some formal recognition, some of their own land back and a 1/3 access to the water of Pipe Spring. They are gradually recovering from all of that but, as with other tribes, they now face the problems of adapting their customs to the modern world. How will it end? Time will tell but it is a great shame that we, the most profligate users of the earth's resources, do not adopt some of their core beliefs.

On our way back we diverted to drive, albeit briefly, around a place called Colorado City. This and the contiguous settlement of Hildale (collectively known as Spring Creek) are notorious for their associations withThe Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (FLDS Church) is one of the largest of the fundamentalist Mormon denominations and one of the largest organizations in the United States whose members practice polygamy. They were founded in the early 1950s by FLDS elders who wanted to escape the attentions of the central LDS church in Salt Lake City. They thought that the Arizona Strip was remote enough to protect them. And so it did for many years until one of their more despotic leaders, Warren Jeffs, took over and introduced some extreme isolationist and exclusive policies. He was arrested and imprisoned in the late 1990s on charges of child abuse. Since then the communities of Hildale and Colorado City have gone through turmoil but seem to emerging from it now. There are still lots of issues on land ownership that are unresolved and our drive around Colorado City showed many unfinished houses and roads. It really was a dismal place, probably the worst we've been through over here. It's always good to end a holiday on an upbeat note, eh?

USA 2019: Page to Kanab via Grand Canyon North Rim

Today saw us leaving Page and heading for our next stop, Kanab, via the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. We visited the South Rim way back in 2001 and it will be interesting to see what we think of the North Rim. Reputedly, it has all the views and 1/10th of the people. An interesting route that took us over the Colorado at Navajo Bridge and through the Vermillion Cliff State Park, that had lots of cliffs that were coloured, mmm, vermillion. After that, we started climbing into the Kaibab National Forest to reach a plateau at around 9000 feet. At Jacob's Lake (nice place for breakfast there), we took the 45 mile spur road to the North Rim entrance gate and lodge.

A few views of the Grand Canyon from its North Rim. In my humble opinion, the views from the South Rim are a more spectacular introduction to the Grand Canyon. Not to say that the views from this perspective aren't worth seeing. They are.

A note of heresy. On our trip, we've seen many canyons at the various National Parks and I think we are reasonably well palced to make some comparisons. Against Bryce and Canyonlands, the Grand Canyon is, at one level, just another collection of canyons. Does it sound travel weary to say "been there, done that"? If I had to visit just one National Park, I'd put Bryce ahead of the Grand Canyon. Bryce is truly unique, the Grand Canyon isn't.

The views are still good, though. It's not always as clear as this so we had a good day with panoramas that extended for some 70 miles. One thing we did not expect was having to drive along such a long spur road before getting to the views. The route was interesting as it took us through forests and high-altitude pastures. Because this area is under snow for at least 6 months of the year, the Rim is only open for the summer months. There was still snow on the ground in places and, much to our chagrin, the road to one of the primary viewpoints was closed due to it being washed away fairly recently by a snowfall.

From the North Rim, the Colorado River is not visible, whereas you can look down on it from the South Rim. But there are plenty of side canyons to admire.

One of the main viewpoints at the North Rim is Bright Angel Point. Getting there involves following a fairly vertiginous trail which, when we were there, was lined with people clutching for their lives on anything by the side that they could. I think we will always remember it as Great Big Huge Farty Point after an unfortunate episode with a lady in front of us. Was she suitable abashed? Not a bit of it.

As with almost all of the scenery we've driven through and seen, the scale is amazing. You want wide, open spaces? The Arizona and Utah are the places to come.

As an alternative to walking the Rim, we did a 2 mile stretch of one of the trails through the forest. Tranquil and great to be amongst the trees.

in 2006, many, many acres of the Kaibab Forest was devastated by a lightning-strike fire. We saw lots of burnt stumps and, for some miles, the scenery was one of scorched earth. Apart that is from the regrowth of Quaking Aspens. They were obviously the first tree able to recolonise after the conflagration. It's a fascinating tree and, because I know my readers share my love of botany, here are a few facts to delight and inform you.
One aspen tree is actually only a small part of a larger organism. A stand or group of aspen trees is considered a singular organism with the main life force underground in the extensive root system. Before a single aspen trunk appears above the surface, the root system may lie dormant for many years until the conditions are just right, including sufficient sunlight. In a single stand, each tree is a genetic replicate of the other, hence the name a “clone” of aspens used to describe a stand. Older than the massive Sequoias or the biblical Bristlecone Pines, the oldest known aspen clone has lived more than 80,000 years on Utah’s Fishlake National Forest. And that's why it can survive fierce forest fires and spring back to life ahead of anything else.

Mrs P exercising her photographic skills once again. With her new found knowledge of Depth of Field, the best ISO setting to use and the difference between JPEG and RAW formats, she'll be asking to use my camera soon. Am I ready for that? Of course, I am.

We dropped off the Kaibab at 9000 feet down to around 5000 feet and the part of the state known as the Arizona Strip. So called because it is the part of Arizona lying north of the Colorado River. The difficulty of crossing the Grand Canyon has caused and still causes this region to have more physical and cultural connections with southern Utah and Nevada than with the rest of Arizona. The largest settlements in the Strip are Colorado City (which has a notorious past, more of which in the next post) and Fredonia (a ghastly looking place, that seemed to be completely without merit).

A notice that greeted us at our AirBnB. Well, that put paid to a very mellow evening. We made do with a microwaved parmesan risotto instead.

USA 2019: Lake Powell to Rainbow Bridge Boat Trip

Lake Powell is the major reason people visit Page, Arizona, and we decided to get up close to it and take an eight hour boat trip to the Rainbow Bridge Arch. This arch, one of the longest in the USA, is only accessible by boat or by trekking for several days across rather inhospitable terrain.

When you are accustomed to reservoirs such as Burrator on Dartmoor or those in the Brecon Beacons or the Elan Valley in Wales, the statistics of Lake Powell are mind boggling. Its maximum length is close to 190 miles and, at its widest point, it is 25 miles. The shore length is almost 2000 miles, longer than the West Coast of the USA apparently. It lies in two states, Utah and Arizona, and took some 17 years to fill.

Our trip was going to take us up the lake for about 50 miles and then take a side canyon to lead us to the arch.

The starting point was the Wahweap Resort, a rather upmarket marina a few miles from the dam.

If you want water sports, then Lake Powell is the place for you. Some of the rental boats put to shame anything you could hire on the Norfolk Broads. One that was pointed out to us came in at around $5 million and had 4 jacuzzis on it. There's plenty of money as well as water in these parts. But we'd come at the right time of year as it was not particularly busy and the lake was pleasantly quiet.

This white mark is called the 'bathtub ring' by locals and is caused by the calcium carbonate and other hard minerals in the water that attach themselves to the sandstone leaving behind a white mark. The top of the white mark is the high water mark. The water levels fluctuate widely over the years and there is around 50 foot difference between the highest and lowest levels. That equates to a lot of water.

A Black-necked Stilt. This is a wader and normally wades around shallow waters. At this particular spot on the lake, just off the Antelope Marina, its legs would have to be around 300 foot long for them to reach the bottom.

Beautiful scenery wherever you look.

Once anchored in Rainbow Canyon, there was quite a long jetty to negotiate before getting ashore. This reflects the difference in water levels that are encountered over the years.

The long-suffering Mrs P posing for a photograph that doesn't quite do what I had intended.

Some statistics about the arch for those who like that sort of thing. It is 290 feet tall from its base to the top and spans 275 feet across the creek channel. The top of the arch measures 42 feet thick and 33 feet wide.

This will give you some idea of the scale of it. The arch is on Navajo land and is sacred to them, hence no walking under it or on it.

A single dinosaur footprint, likely a Dilophosaurus, is just by the arch. The two legged, three-toed carnivorous dinosaur walked through this area 190-200 million years ago. And, yes, there were a few spots of rain at this point but they didn't amount to much.

The arch from its other side. Water levels from the lake have risen high enough to flow under it a couple of times since the area has been flooded but those were exceptional circumstances. The arch is certainly impressive and its remote location adds to its attraction.

Just to give an idea of the narrow passageways the captain of the boat had to negotiate. In the tightest spots, the clearance on the sides was just a few feet. And no cheap jibes about lady drivers from me. She was impressive.

Heading back and the setting sun is starting to light up the cliffs.

The contrast between light and shade makes for everchanging views. But it was cold standing on deck! I suffer for my photography. What a martyr.

The closest we got to a decent sunset before the clouds moved in and obscured everything - again.

There is good fishing in Lake Powell, especially for carp. These two came up to wish us farewell. We had the last word as the one on the right was my dinner.