Travels with Father - 1990, the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, and Colorado

I have been enjoying my time looking back and writing about the fall photographic trips I took with my dad in the 80's and 90's. I wrote an introduction back in November of 2013, which you may read here. I've shared about our 1985 trip to Sequoia and King's Canyon National Parks, our 1986 trip to Bryce, Zion and the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, and our 1989 trip up the California coast and across to King's Canyon National Park. In 1990, I wanted to do an even grander trip, taking in the south rim of the Grand Canyon, the famous formations of Monument Valley, finally ending up in southwest Colorado, at the foot of the San Juan Mountains, where my dad was born. So, for nearly 2 weeks in early October, we trekked in my Volvo turbo wagon across northern Arizona, the Utah border, and the southwest corner of Colorado....

Our trip started out as many of our trips had: load up the car with luggage, camera gear, and a cooler with lunch meats and sodas, and then some sort of crate or box with the crackers and bread for our lunches. We had a full 8-hour drive ahead of us, with Williams, Arizona as our first stop. The drive was uneventful, and we pulled into Williams at sundown. Williams is known as the gateway to the Grand Canyon. From Williams it's a straight shot due north to the south rim, which is where most Grand Canyon visitors go. Williams is also the base for the Grand Canyon Railroad, the famous train that will take you to the south rim.

Dad and I wanted to get out to the canyon at sunrise, so we woke quite early, and headed north in the dark. I recall it being cold, and taking quite a while to get the inside of the car warm. We did arrive at the south rim minutes before sunrise, but discovered we were not the only ones there. Our destination, Mather Point, was already dotted with like-minded photographers, out early to get the same morning images that dad and I were hoping to capture. We captured some early morning images, and stayed as the sun warmed the rim. As the morning progressed, we headed east on the Desert View Drive, photographing the yellow-leafed oak trees, and capturing images of the east end of the canyon. Eventually the road we were on intersected with highway 89, which we took north until we got to highway 160, which went through the Navajo Nation and Monument Valley. I remember dad needing to stop and get something, so we found a Walmart in Tuba City. I felt so out of place with a Volvo turbo station wagon in a parking lot full of Chevy and Ford pickup trucks. 

We eventually got to Monument Valley, and took a detour to Gouldings, the famous lodge where there is a small museum dedicated to the John Ford movie "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon", arguably the best of John Ford's westerns that starred John Wayne, and were filmed in Monument Valley. Even part of the original set was still standing, and you could see the lodgings of "Captain Nathan Brittles, USA", which was the small cabin that John Wayne's character lived in. We visited the gift shop, and then headed over to the Monument Valley Visitor's Center. The Visitor's Center was perched on a spot that gave one a sweeping view of the two famous formations in Monument Valley: the Mittens. It was easy to see why John Ford chose this place to film. The Valley itself is a character in his movies: telling its narrative wrapped around the story that John Ford would create. It was late in the afternoon by now, and dad was anxious to return to Kayenta, where he had booked a room at the Holiday Inn. We decided to return to the Valley in the early morning to get some sunrise images. 

We returned early the next morning, and I set up my RB67 medium format camera to capture the sunrise as it glowed in the east, slowly bathing the orange sandstone formations in brilliant light. After the sunrise photography session, dad and I returned to Gouldings, where we enjoyed breakfast in the dining room that overlooked the Valley. After breakfast, we decided to take the loop drive through the Valley. 

Since the Valley is actually a Navajo tribal park, access to its formations is restricted to a single road, unless you hire a Navajo guide, who can and will take you to more famous locations. So, I started on the dirt road, driving carefully through rutted out sections. It was during this drive that I decided that I'd need to purchase a high-clearance 4WD vehicle for future explorations. While I never got stuck, I had to maneuver around those rutted out spots, stopping occasionally for opportunities to capture dramatic images. Dad and I stayed at Monument Valley all day, doing photography until sunset, at which time we returned to the Holiday Inn in Kayenta for the night. 

The next morning we had our breakfast there at the coffee shop adjacent to the Holiday Inn, and noticed that we were all alone. As I have noted before, traveling in early October is quite nice, because you often do have places all to yourself. The roads are open, and hotels are often priced low, due to it being the off-season. The only problem is that fall is when most states do their road maintenance. Over the years, dad and I had several times when we were stopped by a flagman, or had to follow a pilot car. 

We left Kayenta, heading back through Monument Valley, continuing up to highway 261, which then crawls up the side of a cliff on a dirt and gravel road known as the Moki Dugway. The vista from the top was amazing: seeing the wide open expanse of southeastern Utah, stretching down to Monument Valley and beyond. Dad and I headed over to Natural Bridges National Monument, which we had to ourselves. We spent a good part of the morning there, photographing the various formations as well as the ground-hugging juniper trees that dot the landscape. We then headed southeast through Blanding, eventually ending up at the 4 Corners, where we did the "touristy" thing and stopped at the 4 Corners monument. Next, we drove up to Dolores, where dad was born. 

Dolores was one of those kinds of towns that probably hadn't changed much since the 40's. There were still old buildings that could have doubled as old western sets for movies. An iconic town hotel that looked as if it was well over 100 years old. Dad and I stopped in town for a while, walking around and doing some photography. We stopped into the old newspaper office, where there were several old printing presses. We then took a side road that took a narrow bridge over the Dolores River, and up a hill. As we passed a cemetary on the left, dad told me that there were some distant relatives buried there, so we stopped and tried to find their grave markers. Unable to find any that indicated where his distant relatives were, we continued down the road to where it ended at the Mancos Highway. Dad asked me to hold there for a moment while he took his bearings, and then told me to turn right. Within yards, he told me to stop. There, on the south side of the Mancos Highway, was the cabin he'd been born in nearly 70 years before. 

Seeing the cabin that my dad was born in was a very interesting experience. On the one hand, the idea that my dad was not born in a hospital, but in a cabin was something I couldn't quite comprehend. Here it was, 1990, and unless you're in real rural areas, you are born in a hospital. But this was 1920, and I'm sure there was no electricity in that cabin. I'm sure that my grandmother went into labor, and maybe there were a couple of local ranch women there to assist, or perhaps a midwife. Dad and I got out of the car, and walked to the fence. The cabin was small, perhaps only 200 square feet. Most likely it was a single room. There was a tin roof, which looked rather new. The cabin appeared occupied. We were tempted to go into the property and ask if we could see the cabin, but we decided not to. We took some photos, and then headed back into Dolores, turning south to return to Cortez, where dad had booked a room for a couple of nights. 

Before we pulled into Cortez, dad directed me to the Canfield ranch property, where his parents had married in the living room of my grandmother's parent's home. The roads in this area were for the most part north/south and east/west directions, without a great deal of bends or turns. However, the road to the Canfield ranch deviated to the left slightly as it dipped into a small creek bed. Dad shared with me a story that my grandfather had shared with him, a story about when my grandfather was courting my grandmother, and how my grandfather had maneuvered a buggy down the dip into the creek bed, eventually to the low draw where the Canfield ranch was situated. Now here we were, perhaps 75 years later, taking that same gentle slope and small detour, down into the same dry creek bed, eventually pulling up in front of the old Canfield ranch. There, several yards from the road and behind a barbed-wire fence, was the remains of the Canfield ranch house. All that was left was the living room, which was the room my grandparents had married in. As with dad's birthplace cabin earlier in the day, we were tempted again to go to the front door of the newer home, and ask if we could go out to the ruins of the ranch house. But we decided not to. As I write this now, nearly 30 years after this trip, I wish we had gone up to both the owners of the cabin as well as the property owners here. To actually see these places and document them, as well as hear dad's stories, would have been highly educational and meaningful. 

After taking a few photos of the nearly collapsed cabin, we headed back into Cortez, where dad directed me to the Cortez cemetery. There he showed me the grave of his maternal grandparents, which was marked by a large dark marble monument. For me, since I love history, being able to see the gravesite of my great grandparents was quite an experience. But being in southwest Colorado, which is full of history, was a joy. All these towns were founded in the 19th century, centered around mining areas (Dolores) or ranching (Cortez). And as dad and ventured out of Cortez, through Dolores, and into the Dolores Canyon along the Million Dollar Highway, we came across places where mining at one time had been active, such as Rico. The fall colors in the Dolores Canyon were spectacular. It wasn't my first time experiencing aspens, but to see the steep hillsides blanketed in these golden trees, along with oaks and cottonwoods, was different. The blends of the colors and the green of the pine trees made for a magical experience. We soon returned to Cortez to check in to our hotel for the night. 

The next morning was clear, with wispy clouds dancing across the sky. We left Cortez, heading back up the Million Dollar Highway, going through Dolores once again. The morning light bathed the aspens, creating glorious photographic images along the way. We stopped at Lizard Head Peak, where dad shared with me the stories of how my grandfather and my great grandfather Canfield would pasture sheep up here in the summers, and how their landmark was the pillar of rock that formed the peak. We stopped at Trout Lake, then went to a special place that had a wonderful grove of aspen trees. We went into Telluride, did some photographs there, and then headed back south to Cortez for a final night. 

The next morning provided cloudy skies that created a dramatic vista. We headed south, down through the 4 Corners, and into the Navajo reservation, visiting Canyon de Chelly, another spectacular sandstone canyon with prominent rock formations, and one of the most famous and often-photographed cliff dwellings in the southwest. We continued southwest, ending up in a hotel in famous Winslow, Arizona. Our plan was to make a long drive from there to Blythe, just over the Arizona/California border for our final night. The next morning we had breakfast at a Denny's, and then stopped at the Meteor Crater, just east of Flagstaff. I was beginning to feel a bit ill, and by the time we were heading south towards Phoenix, I knew that I was sick, and needed to find a place to be sick. We changed our plans and headed towards Wickenberg, a small town that had a nice hotel we'd stayed at on a previous trip. By the time we got to the hotel I was in full food poisoning mode, and stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon. It certainly was not the end I would have wanted for what had been a wonderful trip. Thankfully, dad went to a nearby store, got some Saltines and 7-UP, and kept me company while I camped out in the bathroom. The next morning I woke up feeling much better, and we headed home. Ever since this trip I have avoided Denny's sausage, and all sausage for that matter. 

This trip was for me the beginning of my love affair with southwest Colorado, specifically the San Juan Mountains. Dad and I would return here in 1994, and then I would come by myself in 1997. I have yet to return, but have found the glory of fall in the eastern Sierra Nevada to be a good substitute.

However, there is still nothing like the San Juan Mountains of Colorado in their fall splendour.

All photos taken by Cliff Prothero, 1990. For a full album of dad's photos, you can find them here on my Facebook page.