To linger at the edge

After supper last night we gathered for a lecture on Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef, the next two national parks we are to visit, and I went to bed ready for my first view of Bryce's luminous windows, fins and hoodoos. We awoke to the thickest fog I have ever seen. The temperature and the dew point matched exactly at 46 degrees.

We dragged our feet at every opportunity, Chrystal and Marc changing the schedule, moving our going out to the rim later and later in the morning: stopping at Bryce's visitor center to see the excellent film about the park and take in the museum, including a "geomoment" with Marc, and then at the lovely, old-style, hospitable lodge (front porch view to the right and dining room above) for another cup of coffee, all the while willing either the temperature or the dew point to change -- which, stubbornly, neither did.


Off to the rim with us (my first-ever view captured in the large image above). With zero visibility, I think our group slogged on with amazing good cheer, asking questions and responding to Marc's instruction as though the wondrous view were actually there before us.

Then, to our utter amazement and delight, the fog began breaking up, blowing, swirling to reveal mysterious formations, more and more of them out from us, below us, the scene changing with every nanosecond that passed. A truly magical, mystical experience that no words could ever describe. Enthralled, we walked from Inspiration Point to Sunset Point and moved by coach to Fairyland Point (the park's northern most outlook and where the wind howled), our precious time at Bryce growing short.








I wonder, had we simply walked up to the rim, the air clear and the view perfect, if I would have left Bryce with the same reverent feeling. I suspect not. Surely, viewing the clearing of the fog is a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Dixie ... in Utah?

We met our group late this afternoon as we boarded the coach (a new Prevost H3-41, very swish) for the short drive to dinner in a private dining room at the Gardner Student Center on campus at Dixie State College of Utah. While not everyone has arrived yet, there will be 36 Road Scholars on this trip. Our guides for the next ten days are engaging folks: Marc Deshowitz, a retired geologist with Shell, is the instructor; Chrystal Deshowitz, married to Marc, is coordinating the trip (both shown here in an image "borrowed" from Facebook); Geri Bentley will drive the coach -- and is being referred to as "wagon master."

During the introductory program back at the College Inn following dinner, we learned -- first thing -- the "why" of the term Dixie in this part of the world (along with some introductory geology, of course). It seems that when the Mormons established the City of St George in 1861, the Civil War was beginning and cotton was in short supply. One of the intentions was that the Mormon community in Utah be as self supporting as possible. The prophet, Joseph Smith, determined that St George would grow cotton in order to provide fabric for the whole Morman community, there being water in southern Utah and the Mormans knowing how to irrigate efficiently. So, St George became known as Utah's Dixie. After the war ended and the American south began producing cotton again, St George's farmers turned to growning alfalfa, but the name had taken hold.

Further and more recently, two additional factors are keeping the term an appropriate one: St George has the warmest climate in all of Utah, bordering on the Mojave Desert to the south as it does. And, because of the mild climate St George is a fast growing retirement area with golf a favorite activity.