May 17, 2010 – A Feehan Thing – Moab, Utah

We pulled into Moab, Utah expecting the same dull empty campgrounds we have experienced all spring throughout Texas, New Mexico, and Colorado. Moab hops. Our neighbors to the left were jumping onto the river for a four-day float down the narrow and treacherous Colorado Cataract to Lake Powell.

To the right were a bunch of guys whose modified jeep rock-crawlers showed dirty red from a week’s worth of vertical back-roading. Bicyclists circled everywhere, bunked in Moab to test their fear level on the world-famous slick-rock trails.

We felt out of our element… until we noticed that our neighbor across the way possessed a lethargic miniature schnauzer — not unlike our lonesome Kimberley back home. We waded in with Cezar-like helpful hints.

“Did you know the schnauzer breed is very prone to pancreatitis, often initiated by a high-fat diet?”

The owner looked up from her bicycle pump — which she was employing briskly — annoyed.

“My dog is fine. And so am I.”

We checked out early and headed three miles north to Arches National Park. One’s perception of a place — and certainly the nostalgic remembrance — is invariably enhanced (or tarnished) by subtle factors such as whether the sun shone clear and bright on a windless day or whether you were harboring thoughts of uxoricide as a result of your spouse’s incessant snoring the night before.

But upon arrival at The Arches all such affectation evaporates. One is overwhelmed by the park’s tall sheer red majesty. Towering ochre cliffs and eroded rock arches surround and encompass.

We began our peaceful and blissful day by budding in on a ranger-guided hike to the labyrinth-like Fiery Furnace. This permit-only hike sells out weeks in advance. We showed up three minutes before the adventure started and were welcomed aboard when a couple from Des Moines no-showed. Our fellow hikers were fit and jovial and no one spoiled anyone else’s morning by toppling from a three hundred foot-high rock fin.

We then sauntered down to the gorgeous Devil’s Garden campground where we lucked into the world’s best campsite overlooking arch after ancient arch, the 13,000-foot snow-covered La Sal Mountains acting as a backdrop. People book months in advance just to get a shot at the overflow camping in Arches. We showed up at 4pm and bagged the primo site.

The Feehan boys (all seven) have a reputation for their dislike of line-ups, appearing on time or making reservations of any kind whatsoever. Showing up late, unprepared and expecting the best is clearly ill advised… but somehow miraculously often works out for us.

This is described by the female spouses within the family as “a Feehan thing”. When Christ said, “the last shall be first” (Matthew 20:16) he probably wasn’t encouraging this policy of procrastination.

Dead Horse Point State Park in the Moab region of Utah is described as “Utah’s most scenic and remarkable State Park.” This may be. We didn’t visit any others so we can’t comment. What we can remark upon is the park’s archaic gun laws, which are highlighted in the glossy Dead Horse brochure. I quote verbatim:

The use of firearms, traps or other devices capable of launching a projectile that can immobilize, injure or kill a person or animal is prohibited.

I’m not a lawyer — any more (thanks for asking) — but this flawed and obviously inadequate rule is crawling with loopholes. Where for instance is the restriction on the use of bananas (and their peels) to harness the endangered Moab antelope?

Before heading north out of Utah we enjoyed two great days of trail riding on our inadequate and underpowered bicycles climbing up and falling down slip rock tracks. The bumps and bruises were more than compensated for by the 2000-foot canyon views from the high plateau down into the Colorado basin at Canyonlands National Park.

Another “Feehan thing”, which will shock many a reader, is our genetically induced distaste for early mornings.

I mentioned to the night “camp host” at our stop in Price, Utah — while scrutinizing the invoice to ensure we had garnered the full benefit of the AAA, GoodSam, AARP and Vietnam veterans RV discounts — that we had a lot of miles to make in the morning. “Well, I’m not back on ‘til 7am, so you’ll have a lot of rubber under ya by then,” said he.

I nodded certainly. At 9am the following morning I skulked by his kiosk, vainly wiping morning crust from my eyes, too proud to request the punch code for the men’s john.

Gerry & Florence