“It’s a hell of a place to lose a cow,” Ebenezer Bryce is reported to have said.
Bryce Canyon National Park is decorated with hoodoos; a Piute word meaning, “Men turned to stone.” We rode down through these fantastic formations made by ancient sedimentation, uplifting, and differential erosion. Bristlecone pines grew among the rocks.
I am riding a mule! I have learned that mules are smarter than horses, more stable and steadier, can go longer without water, and use their ears to cool their bodies. My mule Pun’ kin seems to be powered by his wonderful long ears. They go like windmills as he quickens his pace. I trust myself to his surefootedness completely.
It’s a hot day. When we stop for lunch, we must choose a long ride, a short ride, or return to camp. I consulted with Robert and wrangler Hank and chose the long ride along Stone Creek. It’s a usually dry wash that winds through semi-desert country. At one point we descended Stone Creek Hill, an extremely steep switch-backy hill. I leaned back, pushed my stirrups forward, and let Pumpkin Pie take me down.
Got very hot, but another rider, Cathy, had me soak my kerchief in water and tie it around my neck. Hank had me drinking lots of water. When I saw our bus driver Ken and the bus, I started grinning. What a great day!
Tonight at dinner, Jimmy Collins came and sang oldies. There was a bonfire, and the stars are brilliant with distant spilt milk stars streaking the sky.
About my cabin, #14, Molly’s Nipple: Jim Ott, cook extraordinaire, keeps calling me that. As a joke, I hung a bra out there with a nipple drawn on it. It helps me find my cabin at night since they are all identical. Jim finally came, laughed, and told me the story of the mountain named Molly’s Nipple. Molly was the wife on a homestead near there. The family split up, and it was not a happy ending, but some of their descendants still live in the area.
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