Bluff Utah, it’s not Moab.

 

Bluff Utah, It’s not Moab.

 

In attempt to do something ‘different’ in the middle of November, we went south to Bluff.  We are somewhat limited with ‘different’ in Utah, with only Moab and St George on the busy end, Fruita and Kanab in the obscure middle and Cisco and Grafton on the quiet side.  With only 200 people in Bluff, half of them Navajo, no place to eat or drink mid-week and a main street so empty that you could shoot a man, and no one would see, it is the essence of catatonic chill. 

After a round of golf with our dog in Price on the way down, and a harried pit stop in metropolitan Moab we were happy to leave the maddening throngs and huddled masses behind.  We made the mistake of going thru Provo City and Wasatch County where they tease you with reverse traffic light timing for more stopping and imitation freeway entrances to entice you behind the most trucks possible for the slog up Soldier Summit.  Indian Canyon was off limits and has been under construction for the past five decades to build two short passing lanes for the infinite oil trucks lining up at 5 mph over the 15% slope.  

We arrived in Bluff under a spectacular purple setting sun and obscured rising Beaver Moon and quickly found our cabin since there was only one choice on Main Street.  The nights are 16 hours long this time of year and we couldn’t camp, read or play rummy for that long in our van so we treated ourselves to the lap of luxury in a comfortably complete pine box cabin with coffee, heat and a TV.  We are being kind to ourselves lately since our ‘Wealth Manager’ told us to spend more money, but we are cautious because we are Park City rich with nothing but house and you can’t eat equity.  

There are two resort hotels, one in East Bluff and one in West Bluff, and like America there was little middle class in between.  The parenthetical Pueblo type resorts on either end of town wouldn’t take dogs, and we don’t go anywhere without Eva, so we settled for something simple but new, compact and clean.  Centrally located across the street from the LDS Fort Bluff theme park and next to the river bike path entrance we were Downtown-Charlie Brown.

Surrounded by BLM land, Grand Staircase and Bears Ears National Monuments, there are purportedly over 100,000 Native American ruins and rock art installations in this area including Grand Gulch and the San Juan River, which was the Park Avenue for the Ancient Ones.  With the southern end of the prosaic Coxcomb dominating the landscape from Kanab to Lake Powell, there is a Native site of some sort up every canyon which lends itself to endless bike and hike adventures.  This feature may be an extension of the porno Cockscomb in Arizona because these formations sometimes dip underground and pop up in the strangest of places, if you look at it right, with the strangest of names, like Mollie’s Nipple, Brigham’s Unit or Cave 7. 

The point is that there is infinite geography to explore down there and a lifetime to do it.  In one canyon, there was an extravagant royal apartment complex perfectly intact in the middle of a 500 foot cliff and a Michelangelo museum quality petroglyph of Wilt Chamberlin, the Alta insignia and an upside-down chairlift going backwards, peppered by a few bullet holes.   The next canyon had several ground level rooms and granaries for the secure or lazy middle-class serfs and a couple of amateur handprints, spirals and chickens on the wall.  None of these are located on any map or indicated with any BLM signs, since they are doing more with less these days and want to protect these sights from rampant tourism and unethical collectors.

Some nice Nomad campers, who live in the canyons but move every 14 days, gave us the lay of the land and some good guidance that became confused or forgotten immediately but pointed us in the right direction.  From there on it was easy to make it up as we went along and find cool stuff.  My wife would explore several canyons each day while I would rest and relax with the dog after one or two ruins, in the cool van or cabin, taking notes and naps or reading books and maps in the solace that I had nothing to prove.  We seldom encountered any other hikers either in the cool of the morning or low winter sun of the afternoon.  I suspect I gets as hot as Moab here but there is no need for reservations or any effort to beat the rush or high season.

Bluff does not get a lot of traffic or business, and they don’t seem to care.  With a Chamber of Commerce or marketing manager they could turn this place into another red rock Disney land of conspicuous consumption, but I get the sense that they don’t want to.  There is an attempt at a river trail from town through the sandy bosque cottonwoods to the river raft boat launch area, but it is only rough graded and there is a large portion that fell off into the river.  While we were there they held a Marathon from Blanding that had more volunteers than runners and more cones than competitors, but they were nice people with free bananas and 80’s music there all day. 

We were so enchanted that we stayed an extra day into the weekend and a killer Coffee house, Navajo breakfast and Pork House rib place opened mostly for the locals.  They were mostly friendly folks except for some multigenerational natives that have perfected the one-word answer that almost sounds like another question.  None-the-less we had fun playing in the country and exploring the towns funky sandstone castles and modern palaces, with our dog, undeterred and undisturbed by other thrill seekers adrenaline hounds and athletic adventurists.  Go there soon, before it becomes another Moab.