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Postcards from Powell

By Ken Wright

"We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore. What falls there are, we know not, what rocks beset the channel, we know not, what walls ride over the river, we know not. Ah, well!"

- John Wesley Powell

To: Jan Nesset, editor emeritus

Inside Outside Southwest Magazine

Ballantine Tower, suite 13

666 Sunset Strip

Las Vegas, Nevada

June 15, 2058. Moab, Powell.

Hey Jan!

Greetings from Powell ? "The Re-Wild West," as it says on the state flag. We left Utah and entered Powell three days ago at Green River, where we parked at the terminus of I70. Today we made it to Moab. We're camped along the fat and silty Colorado River, along with a bunch of other trekking parties and a couple of commercial Backcountry� trips. We're surrounded by those grand golden bluffs of the Moab Fault, but it's still hot -- I'm looking forward to getting to the mountains in a week or two. Even this "dry heat" gets heavy when you're our age! I almost envy your air-conditioned office. But, Las Vegas? Can't do it. I'll take that office job someday, but not yet. Dude, I'm only 98!

Best,

Ken.

June 19, 2058, Monticello, Powell.

Jan:

Today we can see the La Platas, still white from the wet winter and spring. (I'm tellin' ya, Global Cooling is real!) We're making good time so far. It helps that we don't need to carry many provisions - even though the state constitution outlaws pavement in Powell, it's still laced with good trails where the old highways were, and there is always a village within a few days' walk or ride. Every village is self-sufficient - when the roads were closed, a town either earned its keep or melted away. That's why "Earn your turns" is the state motto. We're camped outside of town, but are headed in to see what's going on.

Ken.

June 20, 2058, Monticello, Powell.

Jan:

We're still here. There was a big festival last night - the town was sending off a hunting party into the Backcountry� , and this one was taking a half-dozen or so teens. So there was this bash on the town common - bonfire, pot luck, dancing, and some local ale. Folks were very welcoming of us and the other trekkers in town at the time. The wild game in Powell, of course, is renown among the world's refurbished wild areas - and it was the first to restore subsistence hunting for all residents, with each community controlling the area's hunting and habitat - because they really need it to feed themselves. In fact, last night we ran into a group from France studying Powell's rewilding program. That's also why the state trademarked Backcountry� - the state has reinvented what "backcountry" means. I wish we could get over to Grand Gulch way - have heard stories of some people giving canyon living a go back there. Hey, let's check it out sometime, on Inside Outside's tab!

Ken.

June 24, 2058. Dove Creek, Powell

Jan:

How's life in the "real world" out there? Ha. We're in Dove Creek, which is nothing more than a semi-permanent hunting camp that provides services to Backcountry� trips and trekkers like us. Some folks like this kind of life, and it's good they have a place where they can give it a shot. We crossed the Great Sage Plain along the trail that roughly follows the old highway. The sage is coming back quite nicely, as are the pinion and juniper, and, of course, the game. The locals here proudly recite the stat that there's now six times more foodstuffs per acre than when it was beans and alfalfa. What's cool is all the little check dams and stock ponds everywhere. We learned that even once they fill in with sediment they become fertile little meadows that increase groundwater storage and further improve the wildlife. It's how the Anasazi did it. Duh!

Off again! (How 'bout you??)

Ken.

June 27, 2058. Towaoc, Powell

Jan:

It's beautiful out here. I wish I could walk more of the trail, but even with the leg replacements I got a few years ago, these nearly century-old limbs can only do so much. BUT: you'll be happy to know that I finally got that van I've been babbling about for the last fifty years! I bought it in Green River - there was a used wagon lot there for people going in and out of Powell. It's a lovely, well-kept, 2017 VW Volkswagen Vanagon - the last year they made gasoline cars. Sure, the engine's gone, and this one's pulled by a couple of donkeys - sort of an Everett Ruess meets Road Warrior thing. We're going to spend a couple of days here in Cortez - which the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe last year renamed Towaoc. I was told it was done so as to not forget the dark times in old Towaoc, and to remember their good fortune at a new start in what once had been Cortez, Colorado. Did you know that Towaoc means "Thank you" in Ute? Finally karma and fate put them in the right place at the right time. Kinda like the Din� - they get corralled on the Navajo Reservation and they ended up becoming a world power in solar energy. Ha! Don't worry - Inside Outside Southwest will have its day, too. Someday ? Heheh.

Ken.

June 28, 2058. Towaoc, Powell

Jan:

The new Towaoc is truly something unique, and very organic. I still remember old Cortez, when it was just the gateway to Cahone. Once gasoline hit $10 a gallon and the federal government went broke, tourists stopped coming and most of the residents left Cortez behind like an old whore. It's amazing what the Tribe has done with the place. The town has been cleverly and lovingly handcrafted using both crap that was here and natural materials. And now - thanks to the Backcountry� economy - it's a cultural crossroads, like some 21st century Chaco, for both trekkers (trust me - there ain't no "tourists" in Powell!) and residents alike. C'mon, man, come out here! You've been, like, 58 years at IO, right? Isn't it time you got an intern or something?

Pooneekay vatsoom ahdtuih,

Ken.

June 30, 2058. Mancos, Powell

Jan:

Another town turned into a big campsite. A nice one, though. Another display of Powell ingenuity: most of the old buildings in Mancos are held as commons, so they're kept up by the users, and are quite lovely and comfortable. It still looks like a 19th century ranching town. The few folks who actually live here augment their hunting and gathering with some light farming - nobody in Powell has a lawn, it's all edible stuff everywhere - and bartering supplies and services with trips headed into the Backcountry�. These towns, too, serve as stewards to the Backcountry� - remember what happened a few years ago when that group of ARVs (airborne recreational vehicles) tried to sneak into the San Juans? Those were locals that enforced that law. In Powell, the Backcountry� is the shared wealth and health. The only residence requirement is to live here on this place's terms. And to visit? Same thing. But, hell, if a 98-year-old stud like me can do it, anybody can. Even you. Come!

Don't work too much,

Ken.

July 2, 2058. Durango, Powell

Hey, here's a story idea: The feral poodles of Powell. I'd heard of them, but as we got closer to Durango, we started seeing them. A little scary at first, like packs of fanged mopheads. Really, though, it's a sad story: Seems all these poodles were heartlessly abandoned by the many bitter second- and third-home owners when they decided they didn't want to live here on Powell's terms. The locals say the poodles are good meat for the eagles and cougars and coyotes (they say the Chihuahuas and Dachshunds didn't last a year). Some caring people, though, are taking them in and seeing if they can train them to pull small carts and travois. I hear they're hard working as long as they get groomed regularly. I'd be happy to write, say, 5,000 words. I'm thinking I might need to spend a year or so here doing research, but I'd be happy to live out of my donkey-cart van. You could visit.

Ken.

July 3, 2058. Durango, Powell

Jan:

You'll be happy to know the Durango & Silverton train still thumps its way up and down the Animas Valley, coal smoke and all. Now, though, it's more than just a prop - once again it's a major link to the heart of the southern end of the Backcountry�. Durango's changed, but it's still what it's really always been: a jumping off point. There are wild chickens and goats everywhere, so we're eating good, and cheap. The day after tomorrow we're taking the train to the outpost of Silverton for some real backcountry Backcountry�! Hey, just saw that the old Fort Lewis College - it's now Southern Powell University - is looking for part-time composition instructors. If I fished, ate wild chickens and grazed some "lawns," and lived out my donkey-cart van, I wonder if I could make it in Durango again ??

Just wondering,

Ken.

July 4, 2058. Durango, Powell

Jan:

Tomorrow we're off on the train. But today we're joining some pilgrims who every July 4th climb over the low ridge behind Smelter Mountain for crazy ceremonies to celebrate . . . well, whatever - they do a lot of celebrating in Powell. Here, though, the pilgrims gather in Ridges Basin to visit the Nighthorse Salt Lick. Remember the Animas La Plata Project? That scam to pump water up to a shallow reservoir 500 feet above the Animas River? Well, it never filled, of course, and now the stagnant pool behind the dam evaporates the sweetest rock salt you ever sprinkled on your popcorn. Who woulda' thought? The joke is that it's the most expensive salt in human history - but, it's just another excuse to party in Powell. Hey, let's you and me do a trip next year to that new "Mount Rushmore of Powell" they're carving up in the Gore Range: Chief Ouray, Dick Lamm, Hunter S. Thompson, and Jerry Garcia.

Your salty pilgrim,

Ken.

July 5, 2058. Silverton, in the Backcountry� of Powell

Jan:

Our train got in a few minutes ago. Silverton is still crisp and glistening and vibrant as a bright idea - and more so for what it took to get here. I already feel twenty years younger. Which is still pretty old. But at least I'm not in Las Vegas! For more than a week we'll just roam. In ten days we'll head south. We'll arrive back in Durango, then ride the Powell Rail Road down to Farmington across the old Southern Ute lands. Hey, tell Amy Maestas she did a nice job on that story about the Southern Utes buying and relocating to Cuba. I love that they renamed it "Utopia" - love that dry Native humor! Then we take the bullet train to Albuquerque. We're going to see a New Mexico Hueros game while we're there - they're having a great year, and I bet they'll continue the Mexican League's domination in the World Series. Hey, how you do you say "Yankees suck" in Spanish?

Wish you were here, amigo!

Ken.

Ken Wright daydreams from his home in Durango. His latest book is The Monkey Wrench Dad: Dispatches from the backyard frontline.