Tuesday, April 26, 2011 - Devil's Canyon Campground, Blanding UT
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Sandstone Plus, White Canyon, Fry Canyon UT, April 22, 2011
What is that I see?
Down there. In the crick bed. Amongst the wonderfully multicolored tumbled sandstone river rocks. Those harder, slicker, gray rocks. What are they? Here's my guess. Uranium. Well, uranium bearing rocks.
Toward the top of the colorful sandstone layers forming the buttes around here is a very distinct gray layer. You can even see it as bluish rings around the buttes on my Google Night Camps map - it's quite extensive. It seems to me these river rocks down here tumbled out of the eroding buttes above and that the gray ones came from the gray layer.
Sandstone Plus, White Canyon, Fry Canyon UT, April 22, 2011
Somewhere I read whilst at Capitol Reef a few days back that the gray layer visible there contains uranium. There are mines here - one I saw from the roadside was involved with the gray layer. There are uranium mines in this area. Ergo...
Night camp
Site 7 - Devil's Canyon Campground, Blanding UT
- Verizon cell phone and EVDO service - good signal
- Go to Devil's Canyon Campground website
- Locate Devil's Canyon Campground on my Night Camps map
- Check the weather here
It's No Use Arguing Tastes with a Cow
By what appears, furthermore, to be the compensating justice of Nature, the treasures of the earth are always hidden in the most unattractive, dismal, and dreary spots. At least all the mining places I ever visited are so located, and Bisbee is no exception. To get away from the cramped little village and its unsavoury restaurant, I established my first camp four miles south of it on a commodious and pleasant opening, where we could do our own cooking. But here a new annoyance, and rather a curious one, was met with. The cattle of the region evinced a peculiar predilection for our wearing apparel. Especially at night, the cows would come wandering in among our tents, like the party who goes about seeking what he may devour, and on getting hold of some such choice morsel as a sock, shirt, or blanket, Mrs. Bossie would chew and chew, “gradually,” to quote Mark Twain, “taking it in, all the while opening and closing her eyes in a kind of religious ecstasy, as if she had never tasted anything quite as good as an overcoat before in her life.” It is no use arguing about tastes, not even with a cow.