We are fascinated by this area, the home of the Navajo nation. We like Horseshoe Bend and the way the Colorado River winds around the massive rock. There are other aspects that are attractive, too but overall, it has a nice feel— a gateway into Arizona from the north. We thought of hiking into the backcountry, following the river for a while. We did just that in a six-mile trip. When we reached a fence with a gap between the cliff and a ledge, we took it. As there was no warning posting preventing us from entering, we acted literally. The going was slow as we meandered alongside and above the river over the sandstone surface. It was terrific, free climbing and hiking on our own route. We chose to get to the cliff edges or move away when it became impassable or dangerous. All in all, it was interesting as each step was on virgin territory.
Every so often, we would notice a boat plying its way below us. Although we were quite a distance away, sound bounces off the cliffs resulting in voices carrying from hundreds of yards below and up or down stream. It was tiring but exhilarating. The old man lay down for a ten-minute siesta at the turnaround spot; the photographer took advantage and captured the scene quite naturally, we think. Most times, we sit out in the great open spaces with nobody about, it is particularly refreshing and uplifting to view vast uninhabited areas. Then should we desire company, we find a spot to relieve ourselves and what do you know, someone will arrive. Works much of the time.
We were in our room on our first night in Page, a nice motel, too. Our editor was reading a CIA type novel while we were probably doing something very intelligent. We forget what it was. ‘I think we have a bug,’ she says out aloud. We realize the book is having an effect on her. ‘Who is going to want to eavesdrop on us? You think anyone is interested in what mountain we’re going to climb on the morrow?’ We ask, humoring her as she sounds a little nervous. Perhaps we should suggest that she read something lighter at bedtime. “You don’t understand,’ she replies, ‘I think we have bugs in the bed.’ Just then she smacks the bed with her book and we hear her exclaim, ‘Ugh! Blood splattered on the sheets. I squashed the little bugger and there’s lots more.’ At that stage, she scampered from the bed.
There we were, at 11:30 at night, moving to a new room after inspecting the bed carefully. Our editor made a good point. ‘Why should the other rooms be clear of bugs?’ Sometimes we hate it when she gets so logical, especially at that time of night. We thought we had done a reasonable job securing a new room, moving all items across and carrying her down the passage over one shoulder and our stock of drinks on the other. The good news is that the new bed appeared clear; one of us slept well while the editor checked for bugs throughout the rest of the night using the flashlight given to us by the Shapiro’s. We doubt whether Shirley has any idea how useful the ‘light became.
A couple of days later, our 'CIA agent' has numerous bites on her body. Wait until we camp outdoors again.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
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