Kanaraville? What’s a Kanaraville?

   Turns out, Kanarraville (founded in 1866) is a quaint little town fairly close to St. George, Utah (about half an hour away.) In many ways it reminded me of what Lehi, Utah used to be like when I was a young girl and used to visit my grandparents there. Lots of old, old houses, large trees and quiet streets. And strangely enough, no commercial enterprise whatsoever, unless you count the guy doing vehicle repair out of his home. (Groceries? We don’ need no stinking groceries….)

Kanarraville from the campground

I pulled into town and located the Red Ledge campground. Nice little place, green lawns, large trees, not very big but well kept up, and reasonable for full-hookup. (Accepts Passport and Escapees discount plans.) I took a site right in front of the office since I would only be staying two nights. Just long enough to do a couple of loads of laundry and see a bit of the town.

Since it was already afternoon, I unloaded the scooter for later use then started in on the laundry. Once again I was ever-so-thankful for the little washer/dryer unit in the bedroom. Yes, the RV park had a laundromat for the guests. Yes, I could have done all my clothes in one load there. I don’t care. Being able to set it and forget it. Not having to continually check in on my wash to see if it needs to go in the dryer, wait for a machine to be available, worry about if I have enough quarters to get the job done. All that is worth so much more to me than “one load or two?” could ever be.

From a pamphlet I picked up in the office, I learned that the property had been in use since the 1890’s (as Josiah Reeves Travelers Camp.) The property has been in continual use since then, so the site has a rich history. The little fold-out also listed several other buildings in town of historical interest, including an outdoor dance pavilion that has been in continuous use since the 1930’s.

old house and barn

The next day, after an exceedingly quiet and peaceful night, I got on the scooter and headed south. A couple of miles outside the town proper, there was a mid-sized subdivision of large, new homes. Probably mostly retirees seeking a warmer climate than wherever they were from, built at the base of the cliffs to the east. Nice houses, all painted in boring, neutral tones to match the dirt (with the exception of one nice, green one).

I cruised the streets, seeing if I could access any of the canyons leading inward from the subdivision, but couldn’t find a way. Until I followed the dead-end street on the northern end of the subdivision. At the top of the street there was a narrow dirt road with plenty of tire tracks, so I followed that. There was a turn at the top of the track, where the dirt road led off to the left, and there was a gate at the start of a trail to the right.

fall in Kolob Canyon

Upon reading a small sign on the gate I found out that the trail led into one of the Kolob canyons, part of Zion National Park. The sign told me to go somewhere or the other and pay for entry, but as I have a National Park pass, I figured that wasn’t really necessary. Through the gate and up the trail I went.   There had been some rain recently and many flowers were in bloom.

more wild asters

busy bee

The first thing I noticed was the sound of splashing water. A small stream tumbled over the spillway of what was at one time probably a small dam and reservoir. There was a cement spillway on one side, leading off toward town leaving me to wonder if this was once part of the town’s water supply. There was some sort of gate for water control off to one side, now mostly buried in sand that must have predated ownership of the land by the national park system. It looked rather sad and abandoned, surrounded by shrubbery while nature slowly buried it in debris carried by the stream.

old dam site

As I continued up the trail, it rounded a corner and ahead of me I saw a delightful little waterfall, maybe 25 to 30 feet high tumbling over the rock wall that formed the head of this little canyon. The whole thing was maybe a quarter-mile from start to dead-end. But such a pretty quarter-mile! Fall was still in full flush, lots of reds, yellows and golds. And I was the only person up there. If it weren’t for the other footprints in the sand, I could have pretended I was the only person who had ever gone there.

canyon and falls

I spent about an hour taking pictures, exploring the different types of rock in the stream bed and canyon walls, examining the local flora, and just relishing the peace. After checking out the canyon sides fairly carefully, I was pretty certain that if I wanted to exert the required energy, I could have climbed up and around the waterfall and gone farther up the canyon. But it was very steep, with lots of loose rock and a slip and fall would have resulted in, at least, more loss of skin than I cared to risk, so I passed on the exploration of the upper reaches. Guess I’m getting at least somewhat cautious in my “old” age.

base of falls

falls close-up

I finally pried myself out of the canyon and headed back to the RV park to have lunch. After that, I headed down the road on the north side of town. A nice enough ride, decent scenery, but nothing to write home about. Once back in town, I followed some signs that led to the local cemetery. Yeah, I’m weird. I like old cemeteries. I can walk around them for hours, examining the headstones, looking for the oldest dates, reading the inscriptions, admiring the sculptures on the older ones. Call it a hobby.

The Kanarraville cemetery was a pretty little thing, surrounded by a wrought iron fence with the town name and date of construction over the entry. There were a lot of graves marked as the internment sites of Mormon pioneers. There were several members of the Willis family in “residence”, who may very well be distant relatives of mine. The branch of the family that moved west during Mormon migration was actually Willes, but some members changed it to Willis for some reason.

view of hills from the cemetery

headstone

There was a map of the cemetery near the entrance (an Eagle Scout project for some young man) with each of the graves marked and the names of those buried there. It must have taken him quite a bit of research to find all the names as many of the headstones were illegible due to decades to wind and weather. However, some of these graves had secondary headstones that had obviously been placed there in the past few years so that deceased family members could be more easily located.

There was also a slot canyon, just to the northeast of town that was also the location of Kanarraville Falls. The pictures of saw of the area were really lovely, but the information I read about the hike indicated that it was a five-to-six mile journey, round-trip. Since it was already late afternoon when I located the info, I had to pass on making the hike. I suppose I could have paid for another night and hiked the canyon the next day, but I have family in St. George who were expecting me and I hate to disappoint. And I know that I will pass this was again and I can put the canyon and falls on my itinerary for that trip.

So I ended my stay in Kanarraville with another peaceful night, then headed for St. George and a visit with family the next day.

Valley of the Goblins

I arrived on the outskirts of the Goblin’s valley yesterday. I set up camp on a small flattish area along a dirt road just below the base of a cliff on the opposite side of the road from a feature known as the San Rafael Reef. The reef rises hundreds of feet above the road leading to Little Wildhorse Canyon. A place I will visit in the next day or two. But this story is about the area just outside Goblin Valley.

campsite seen from cliffs

my campsite, view one

The Valley itself is surrounded by high, steep cliffs in variegated colors of red, green, gray-white and ocher. The cliffs take a serpentine course undulating nearer and farther from the canyon road. There are many well-used dirt roads that traverse the alluvial deposits that line the base of the cliffs. Some are fairly smooth, all things considered (the roads are not maintained by anyone. They exist only because of their almost constant use.) These hard-packed clay tracks lead to flattish areas that have been used by tenters, campers and RV’s for decades.

I chose a road that already had a few people in residence, but which appeared to have a relatively flat area along a dry ravine that sees water only during the infrequent rains which pass through this area. What I saw from the road below turned out to be larger than it first appeared and with a gentle enough slope that the jacks on my RV had no problem setting everything level.

bottoms up!

Once my home base was established, Topper (my dog) and I set out on a small, exploratory hike. We got a little carried away, maybe. What I had planned as a short jaunt turned into an almost two-hour exploration of the short, tortuous canyons that are inset into the cliff face at every turn. They all end within a few feet to, at most, a couple hundred feet or so at some shear drop from the mesa above. They were all carved by centuries of sporadic desert rains that cascade down the sides of the mesa to the valley below. And they are all beautiful and different.

weird desert plants

banded cliffs

narrow canyon

While on our explorations, I found some interesting rock specimens (including one with some nice crystals inside) and saw a pale purple aster-like plant that had managed to survive being buried in sand during some rain event and had pushed its flower stalk above the soil to let its blossoms shine against an otherwise rather drab backdrop.

tenacious flower

As night fell, we watched the moon rise above the cliff behind our little dwelling then went inside for a quiet supper. Later that evening, when I took Topper for his final stroll of the evening, I could see campfires in several places across the valley where it was spread out below us. The half-moon provided more than enough light to see the features of the canyon in dim relief. The moon was surrounded by a tight, glowing, pale-yellow halo, usually indicative of a coming rain. We shall see what the next 24 hours brings.

last flight

moonrise

The next day we met the two families who were camped above us. Two retired woodworking teachers from the Provo area and their spouses. Topper found a playmate in one of their dogs and we were invited to share lunch with them. I’m glad I accepted. The food was delicious and the company pleasant. We took our leave shortly after the meal as one of the couples had to pack up and return home. The other couple is staying until tomorrow.

Topper and I took another exploratory stroll in the late afternoon, this time heading in the opposite direction from the day before. We rounded a turn in the cliff and were rewarded with a view of the back side of Molly’s Castle, a prominent feature of the area which marks the entrance to Goblin Valley.

Molly’s castle

We reached an impasse and headed back toward some of the small side canyons which we had yet to explore. Topper got side-tracked by some small hole that to him apparently smelled wonderful. He spent several minutes making it much larger in pursuit of the denizen of said hole. He never caught up to whatever he was after (not that I thought he would, desert rats are smart enough to have several openings to their dens and many tunnels to use to escape would-be diners.) When I tired of watching his antics we headed off to explore the section that we hadn’t yet seen.

Reef detail

San Rafael Reef

Topper’s pursuit

A couple of the little canyons (or very tall gulleys, if you will…) were quite nice. One even had a small bridge that had formed when two large rocks collided when they slipped from their moorings on either side the lodged together in the middle. We passed underneath and continued about another 75 feet up the incline, until it became too steep for further exploration. Topper, who was pretty much a sissy-dog when we left St. Louis has become much more adventurous during our travels. I think he’s gotten in touch with his inner mountain goat.

pregnant rock

bridge

I saw a few more of the tiny (about 1/4 inch across), colorful flowers that dot the ubiquitous plants that exist here. They’re rather pretty flowers, but difficult to photograph. Not only are they quite small, but when fully open their petals are translucent and about as thick as wet tissue paper. Once the plants have bloomed they dry into small sticker bushes that you don’t want to sit on, step on barefoot (or dog foot, as Topper found out), brush up against with any bare skin or otherwise come into contact with. The stickers come out easily enough, but they aren’t comfortable while lodged in one’s skin.

As we returned to our dwelling the moon was once more rising over the mesa looming above us. I took the opportunity to photograph the various formations and features in the waning light and found that the goblins do, indeed, come out at nightfall; their faces evident in the photos I took. Rain clouds were coming in from over the reef. I don’t know if they will drop any moisture on us tonight, but they made for a dramatic sky as the sun set. They also brought with them a stillness and silence that whispered of a peaceful night to come. At least so long as the goblins don’t become too restless…