Our first night in Utah was at one of the many campgrounds outside of Moab that sit alongside the Colorado river on highway U-128. A nice little BLM operation called Negro Bill. Lots of other campgrounds were available just down the road, but this was one of the cheapest. Besides, it happens to be situated right next to the trail-head for Negro Bill Canyon, which supposedly makes for fine day-hiking and mountain biking.
The name of the canyon (and later the campground) Negro Bill, became of interest to me as I was planning the trip, not only because of its relatively cheap price, but also because the name had been amended at some point (the 70's?) from its original place name of "Nigger Bill Canyon" to the more politically correct "Negro Bill Canyon." Seems Bill was a settler of the region back in the late 1800's who held the proper name of William Granstaff. For several years he grazed his cattle in the canyon before being run out, supposedly for selling liquor to the local Ute Indians.
Now, why change a perfectly good place name? I personally find the original place name much more endearing and characteristic of the American West. But, I suppose such a name just couldn't fly in this day in age, as I don't think there is another single word in the entire English language that carries as much baggage. (If you were to shout SNAKE, or FIRE, in the midst of a large crowd the reaction would likely be good. But try shouting NIGGER. You'll be lucky to get out in one piece.) And why not just change the name to Granstaff Canyon?
I can't help but wonder what Bill would have thought.
Today's image was taken through the Tamarisk trees that surrounded our camp. These low-growing invasive trees were reportedly introduced for erosion control in the 1800's and have been gaining ground every since. Now every major waterway and perennial wet spot in the Southwest is getting overrun.
A project is underway to control them with another introduced species, the Tamarisk Leaf Beetle. These pea-sized buggers strip the Tamarisk of their leaves and choke the life right out of 'em. The project has worked so well in other parts of the west that they started introducing them into the Moab area this year. They had nifty little signs about it posted all over the place.
As a riverside companion the Tamarisk seemed pretty harmless to me. They grew so closely together that they created a dense canopy, shading us from the desert sun. They also shed a nice bed of fine needles that were perfect for pitching camp over, and a handful of the fresh boughs made for a great makeshift broom. These were quite useful for sweeping out the tents and dusting off our gear.
The problem is that these trees also suck up billions and billions of gallons of water each year from an already water-starved area. And the fine needles that made for such a nice camp are so laden with salt that nothing else will grow where they fall. No wonder the natives want them gone.
Next time I visit I'll try to remember to bring my own broom.
2 comments:
There’s this mind-puzzle I have about sheer rock cliffs. I always wonder where the other half went. I mean, it looks as if something were cloven, or broken apart at their face the way a piece of glass cracks leaving a sharp, almost shiny face.
Okay, so geologists patiently explain the pasticiy of rocks and how the were created and how they weren’t really snapped like celery sticks, and that while some facing may have collapsed into piles at their base the sheer faces are like any other rock surfaces.. Yadda, yadda….
But still my mind’s search for pattern and symmetry pokes about to find the lost partners to their surfaces. Areas littered with sheer cliffs seem to me to be the graveyards for geology’s missing twins.
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