¿Sonoyta, anyone?

Holy Family Catholic Church on Benito Juarez Street.

Our introduction to Sonoyta was rather unpleasant. 

We were still within feet inside the Mexican border when the armed guard waved us to the side and approached our car. “Where do you have your pistol?” he asked in Spanish. 

“I don't have one,” I insisted. 

“Is it under your seat? Is it in the glove box?” 

I was baffled that he would assume that I tried to smuggle a firearm across the U.S. / Mexican border! Or was it just a ruse to get me to admit if I had? 

He ordered the four of us out of our car and began a systematic search. He used his flashlight to rummage through the front and back seats, and then the trunk. He found nothing, but had me worried that he would find some reason to send us off to jail, or at least fine us. 

Then, he waved us on. 

Armed guards at the border.

We didn't go far. We then parked on the side of the road of the immigration office to get our tourist visas stamped. They only let one group inside at a time, so we had to wait outside. 

A man stood outside the door dressed in full military gear, including helmet, bullet-proof vest and fully-automatic rifle. He kept asking me if I knew the price of a certain kind of pistol. I was perplexed and not sure if something was lost in translation. 

At last it was our turn to go inside. We gave our passports and tourist cards to a short brown lady who checked the details, stamped them, and sent us on our way. 

Relieved to have “passed” our entry into Mexico, we returned to our car and began driving the main drag southward. 

Immediately we passed a couple dogs and a man in a wheelchair holding out a jar. We passed an array of street shops and markets. We also noticed the stark contrast of now abundant trash on the southern side of the border. The scene bade me to stop, but we couldn't. We had to march seventy miles further. Sonoyta would have to come later. 

Stray dog.

This was the first time I had ever driven my own car across the Mexican border. I was a bit nervous. Sonoyta is a border-town that piqued my curiosity, but at the same time filled me with trepidation.

Sonoyta is a unique city. It serves as a portal for U.S. tourists coming into Mexico, as well as a launching point for illegal Mexican immigrants looking to sneak into the States. I can't imagine anyone wanting to cross illegally here as it would require an arduous walk through the Sonoran Desert. 

Sonyota is located just inside the Mexican border.

Sonoyta and rural communities to the east have become the battleground for rival cartels who vie for control of the land to move people and drugs into the United States. As a result, the city has seen a high rate of homicide and other violence. 

Before we came through, my daughter heard a story from a friend who had been driving through Sonora and was stopped by the cartel in the middle of the road. They were robbed.  

Just over a year ago, nine women and children were massacred by one of the cartels as they drove to a wedding on a dusty dirt road in Sonora. The women were connected to a Mormon fundamentalist group. Some were burned alive in their car. These people were living in Sonora and accustomed to the dangers. 

Stories like these didn't sit well with us. But you can't live in fear, and we decided the rewards outweighed the risks, so we decided to come anyway. We spent the next several days enjoying the sun and sand in a resort town well away from the border. 

Sonoyta lies in the heart of the Sonoran Desert.

Organ pipe cactus.

Fast forward five days and we were back in Sonoyta. This time we had one primary goal—to spend our remaining 1,200 pesos before crossing the border. We could have just exchanged the money, but where's the fun in that?!! 

Our first purchase came easily. There were men on the street selling asparagus, nuts and other commodities. We rolled down the window and bought a big bag of oranges for 70 pesos. 

Sonoyta is a highly militarized town. Within a minute of entering its borders we spotted six police cars, including a group of cops frisking another man. Later we saw a small convoy of military police with helmets and service rifles. 

Main road running through Sonoyta.

One of my goals was to find a certain taco shop that specialized in “wet tacos.” I knew the name of it and general location, but finding it seemed elusive. We drove up and down the street twice and tried going around the block when Jenna spotted the name of the shop on a hand-written sign. 

We found it on a side-street, with the name “Taqueria Sabas” barely visible. It looked like it was located in someone's house, with plastic chairs and tables along the outside. 

We sat down and immediately a young man came to take our order. When I asked if he had a menu, he said they only sold one thing—tacos. We ordered six of them. 

The “kitchen” was located inside the house. We waited at our table on the patio with a few other groups that looked much less gringo than ourselves. When we asked if there was a bathroom, we were directed to an outhouse a few feet away. (There was no light in the outhouse, but that which came through a small window. There was also no toilet paper and the door wouldn't open from the inside!) 

Wet tacos are a lot like enchiladas, but in the shape of a taco. Inside they have chunks of beef, onions and cabbage. A red sauce is poured on top. You eat it with a plastic spoon. They taste nothing like enchiladas. 

He brought us a simple tray of condiments that included red and green salsa, and limes. The flavor of the wet tacos was nothing extra ordinary, but defiantly unique and worth the experience. 

Wet tacos.

Next, we worked on spending those pesos. We found a hole-in-the-wall shop and bought Savanah a skirt. “Mas adelante,” closer to the border, we found another shop where we bought a couple of blankets. 

Then, with only 200 pesos left, we stopped by a convenience store and bought snacks for our trip. The funny thing is that when we went to pay, the total came to 201 pesos. I offered to put something back, but the cashier lady told me not to worry about it! 

We had one more stop. I was a little worried about this one because it took us a couple miles off the main drag. 

We drove east on Calle Obregón past homes and several vacant buildings. Many of them were skeletons. We turned right onto a dirt road and drove past an unused basketball court. 

Getting off the beaten path like we were I was worried about getting robbed or killed. Four people with Utah plates would certainly grab the attention of the cartel. 

We arrived at our destination—the cemetery. I am always fascinated with how different cultures tend to have different types of cemeteries. 

Instead of the usual rows of headstones like we see in the States, the graves here were marked with shines to the deceased. Some were bigger, like mausoleums, and others just a simple cross. 

But what caught my attention the most were the saguaro-clad hills that surrounded the cemetery. That seemed to bring the arid realm of the living face-to-face with the land of the dead. 

Saguaro-clad hills surround the cemetery.

Mausoleum at Sonoyta Municipal Cemetery.

We made our way safely back to the main part of town and eventually to the frontier. We crossed “the line” where I was stopped by a U.S. border patrol agent. Not knowing how many documents I would need to show, I asked him, “What do you need to see?” 

In a friendly, but sarcastic tone he replied, “This is the international border. I need to see your passports.” 

My wife had a good chuckle. Soon we were safe on the other side of the line. ♠

 

Sonoyta, Mexico.

 

Ghost Town of Austin, Nevada

The Austin Methodist Church towers above town.

The most striking feature before arriving at Austin are the snow-capped mountains that majestically press up from the valley floor. They run north to south like so many of the ranges in Nevada. The road finds a low pass on the northern flank of the range and twists its way through the pass. At the bottom of this serpentine route lies the ghost town of Austin, Nevada. 

It's not a complete ghost town. The 2010 census listed 194 people. But that's a far cry from the 10,000 that lived here in the 1880's. 

Like many of the old mining towns in the West, it is nestled between hills with steep decaying roads crawling up either side. Most of the stores on Main Street have been vacated for decades, although a few have resurrected, catering to the gawking tourist. 

Empty arcade along Main Street of Austin, Nevada.

Main Street.

We walked along an empty arcade and peered through the glass to find abandoned interiors, one appearing untouched since the 1950's. There is a turquoise shop across the street selling stones mined locally. A set of wooden stairs leads to an upper level, with a grander vista of Main Street, as well as a view of the Austin Methodist Church that towers above town. 

With the exception of the Vegas area, Nevada is a very sparsely populated state. This was even more true back in the mid-1800's. With the exception of a few Pony Express riders and Native Americans, there was almost no one. There is a reason that Highway 50 that runs through Austin is nicknamed “The Loneliest Highway in America.” 

Austin, Nevada is located on Highway 50, also known as The Loneliest Highway in America.

The first big strike came in 1862 when a former Pony Express rider found a promising quartz vein. Samples were taken to Virginia City where it was confirmed that the vein was rich in silver. 

By 1863 thousands of stakes were claimed and Austin became a tent city with over 2,000 residents. New businesses came to serve the booming town, including bakeries, barber shops and breweries. 

That same year Austin saw the International Hotel transplanted to their new town. The original building was constructed four years earlier in Virginia City. After building a three-story brick addition to the hotel, it was decided to dismantle the old wooden section and ship it to Austin where it was used to construct a new International Hotel. 

Lonely sloping Main Street of Austin, Nevada.

In 1864, an Italian immigrant named Samuel Crescenzo bought the International Hotel and ran it for the next 37 years. He built a hall next to the hotel and ran both of them profitably. He owned several other businesses in town, including a large store made of bricks. 

Mr. Crescenzo had a colorful past. He was born in 1833 in Naples, Italy where he was educated. As a teenager and young adult he spent twelve years working on ships and sailing the sea. In 1856 he landed in San Francisco and soon opened up a store at Mokelumne Hill, which is east of Sacramento. He spent a couple years in Washington before permanently settling in Austin, where he bought the International Hotel. He became a prominent pioneer in the early days of Austin. 

The International Hotel is alive and well today. The ramshackle structure is partially painted in bright blue to attract the modern tourist. Unfortunately for us it was closed (due to Covid), so we couldn't go inside. 

The International Hotel is up and running after 157 years in Austin.

Mural near the International Hotel.

The prosperity of Austin ebbed and flowed until the early 1880's when things started to go downhill. By 1887, most major mines had closed. Until this point, almost $20 million in silver production was credited to the mining district. 

On the south side of town on a hill is a strange-looking tower known as Stokes Castle. We drove on a dirt road to the tower, which is now abandoned and surrounded with a chain-link fence. We weren't the only ones there. It seemed to be a popular spot for recreational enthusiasts, their dogs and kids. 

Stokes Castle was completed in 1897 by Anson Phelps Stokes, a mine developer. He built it as a summer home for his sons, but it was only lived in for a couple of months. Originally it had three floors, each having its own fireplace. It had plumbing and was sumptuously furnished. The castle was inspired by a medieval tower that Stokes had seen in Italy. 

Stokes Castle lies on a hill above Austin, Nevada.

Lastly, we paid a brief visit to the Calvary Cemetery west of town. I believe there are four cemeteries adjacent to each other, but we only had time for one. 

I was very impressed with the abundance of graves from the 1800's. The old headstones were well preserved. Many of those buried came from other countries, such as Ireland and Italy. Most were fenced off into family plots.

Calvary Cemetery in Austin, Nevada.

There were a few modern burials. Being Memorial Day weekend, several people were decorating graves. One even had a rake and was manicuring the large mound above the grave. 

One of the more prominent headstones in the cemetery was that of an angel carrying a cross. This was the grave of Lizzie Ortley Crescenzo, wife of Samuel Crescenzo, whom we have already discussed. She was a native of Switzerland and is buried next to her husband in a family plot. 

Family plot of Samuel Crescenzo. His wife's headstone is the tall one with an angel.

As I usually do in cemeteries, I wandered the grounds looking at graves and taking pictures. One of the family plots was that of the Williamson family. The mother of the family, Frances A. Slaven Williamson, had a tall obelisk-shaped headstone with an interesting bas-relief of four faces sculpted into the headstone. I assume that these four faces belonged to her children. 

It wasn't until I got home and went on the Find a Grave website that I found the story behind Frances Slaven. It was written by Jessica Dykstra, and I will quote it here in its entirety, because I don't think that my rewording it will do it any justice: 

“Frances Slaven Williamson could probably be called one of the most obscure feminists in history. This woman, from Austin, Nev., however, helped to organize the suffragist movement in Nevada.

“Willamson was born in Canada in 1842 and came to Nevada in 1863 to teach. She quickly became active in Austin, filling the roles of both teacher and school principal.

“Her husband, John R. Williamson, was the superintendent of schools, the owner of the mercantile and active in politics.

“Williamson was not a suffragist until the early 1890s, after a series of tragedies struck her family. Four of her six children died of a strange illness between 1876 and 1877. She recovered from the losses; her husband did not.

Headstone of Frances Williamson.

“When her oldest son died in 1891, Williamson's husband committed suicide. 

“Left with one surviving family member, her daughter, Mary Laura, Frances threw herself into suffrage activism.

“In 1891 she became secretary of the newly-formed Lucy Stone Non-Partisan Suffrage League. A few years later she helped form the State Equal Suffrage Association and brought Susan B. Anthony to speak to suffragists in the state.

“She moved to Reno and published a suffragist newspaper, The Nevada Citizen, on a weekly basis from about 1897 to August 1898.

“She lived in Washington, D.C. for a time and then moved back to the west with her daughter. Unfortunately, Mary Laura died in 1900, soon after they had arrived in California.

“She remained active in California, attending conventions and meetings.

“Williamson died Dec. 21, 1919, the same year the Nineteenth Amendment was passed by Congress and sent to the states for ratification. She died before the suffrage amendment was ratified and added to the Bill of Rights.” 

Family plot of John and Frances Williamson.

This is why I love cemeteries so much. I know that everyone buried has a story. In this case, I was lucky enough to find it. 

Like the town of Austin, the Williamson family withered away. Frances outlived all her kids, and as far as I can tell, none of them had offspring. But just as a part of Frances lives on through the suffrage movement she valiantly fought for, so does Austin live on with people like us who stop to visit as they drive through. It also lives on through the stories of these hardy pioneers that have been lucky enough to survive. ♠

 

Austin, Nevada.

 

Oregon Road Trip: 8 Days; 6 States; 2,362 Miles

This would be the longest road trip we had ever taken as a family. I was excited, but a little apprehensive about having to spend so much time in the car. It proved to be one of our most memorable vacations ever. We didn't do anything extraordinary—like go to amusement parks or baseball games. Instead we kept it simple and saw some stunning landscapes. Every day was an adventure! 

Mormon Crickets.

Plague of Mormon Crickets: Day 1; Middle of Nowhere, Nevada; 302 miles. This was one of the most disgusting things I had seen in my life! At first we thought dirt had blown onto the highway, but upon closer examination we discovered the dirt was crawling! We had to stop to truly get a grasp of what we were witnessing. All around us for miles—on the road, on the hills—crawled millions of crickets! It is interesting that they all seemed to be instinctively migrating the same direction. On the highway, many of them had been plastered onto the pavement by passing traffic (which wasn't much). It was a sight that had to be seen to be believed, and I was very grateful that I wasn't a pioneer trying to eek out a living and planting crops.

Austin, Nevada.

Ghost town of Austin: Day 1; Austin, Nevada; 340 miles. With the nickname of “The Loneliest Road in America,” it is no surprise that U.S. Route 50 is home to some quaint little ghost towns. Nestled among the foothills of the Toiyabe Mountains, Austin is an old mining town with lots of boarded up and empty buildings. In 1863, Austin boasted a population of 10,000 people, but now there are less than 200. We spent about an hour here, walking along Main Street, driving up to Stokes Castle, and roaming through one of four fascinating cemeteries.

 

Reno, Nevada.

The Biggest Little City in the World: Day 1; Reno, Nevada; 513 miles. This was our first time ever in Reno. I was excited to see what the mini-Las Vegas would look like. We enjoyed our walk along the Trukee River, which runs through the middle of town. But my first impressions of Reno: dirty and sketchy—just like Las Vegas.

  

Doyle, California.

Small white church: Day 2; Doyle, California; 555 miles. I honestly don't know a thing about this little building. As we drove down Highway 395, I spotted a small white wooden church with a picket fence around it. Short steps led to the front entrance and a white wooden cross sat perched on top. It looked like something out of Little House on the Prairie. And to boot, it was next to a cemetery.

 

Burney Falls.

Burney Falls: Day 2; Cascade Mountains, California; 676 miles. This was my first time traveling through the Cascades and I wasn't disappointed. No one else was, either. The kids were surprised when they first set eyes upon the mighty waterfall. One hundred and twenty nine feet high and two hundred and fifty wide. It is indeed impressive. We walked the 1.3 mile-loop that circumvents the falls. Burney Falls was a detour from our route, but it was well worth it.

 

Clam Beach.

First view of the Pacific Ocean: Day 2; Clam Beach, California; 884 miles. We thought we'd never make it. The drive between Redding and Arcata was beautiful, but a very curvy road. But at last we made it to the beach! It wasn't at all what we expected. We found a super strong wind blowing from the sea and a very rugged coast line—choppy waves, wind-swept sand, drift logs and icy-cold water. Hills clad with pine trees rose in the distance. Right away we knew our June vacation would have no sunbathing or dips in the ocean.

Redwood Forest.

Walking with giants: Day 3; Redwood Forest, California; 915 miles. Our first contact with these massive trees came at Prairie Creek Redwood State Park. I was surprised at how few visitors we encountered. It felt as if we had the forest to ourselves. For over three miles we wandered along moss-lined trails beneath an impressive canopy of redwood trees. It is difficult to comprehend until you've actually been there. It was like wandering through a fantasy-land, where we could expect elves and hobbits to pop out at any time. There is a tame herd of Roosevelt elk near the entrance of the park. Prairie Creek is one of many places a visitor could go. Whatever you do, you need to get out and walk to truly gain the experience.

Smith River.

Chilling by the river: Day 3; Smith River, California; 949 miles. The Smith River is named after Jedediah Smith, the first European to explore this area by a route other than sea. We drove through an impressive redwood grove with lots of camping spots and picnic tables. Our stop here was completely spontaneous, as we were looking for someplace else. But it turned out to be a pleasant intermission. We chilled by the river and occasionally rolled up our pant legs and waded in. The kids had fun finding flat rocks and skipping them across the water.

Macklyn Cove.

Macklyn Cove: Day 3; Brookings, Oregon; 973 miles. At last in Oregon! Although we had a beach near our hotel, we chose someplace else for our first sandy spot. Macklyn Cove is more on the secluded side. The easiest route to get there included parking on a steep and narrow dead-end road, then walking down a flight of stairs. This place didn't disappoint. We found sandy stretches, as well as rocky coves. We spent a couple hours, wading in the ice-cold water and exploring the shoreline. Then we watched the sun go down and silhouette the cliffs that rose above the water.

Harbor at Brookings, Oregon.

Harbor walk: Day 4; Brookings, Oregon; 973 miles. I've always dreamed of spending an extended period of time out at sea on a small fishing boat. This morning—while everyone else slept— I walked to the harbor and gave myself a tour. A low fog hung over the port. In the early morning, the still water reflected an image of vessels and their masts. I walked along the dock and admired the character of each ship, most of them old and rusty, each with a unique name that tied it to the sea.

Tide pool at Lone Ranch Beach.

Searching for sea creatures: Day 4; Lone Ranch Beach, Oregon; 978 miles. The fog still hung low as we pulled into the parking area at Lone Ranch Beach, with hills of spruce behind a wide stretch of sand. Although devoid of spectacular sea stacks like many of the other beaches, this shoreline is abundant in tide pools. We removed our shoes and braved the chilly water to get a closer look at all the marine life clinging to the rocks. We found starfish, anemone, mussels, and a variety of colorful shells.

Lunch at Arch Rock.

Lunch with a view: Day 4; Arch Rock, Oregon; 986 miles. This stretch along Highway 101 is arguably the most scenic in all of Oregon. We could have spent all day exploring hidden coves and picturesque beaches. Since time was of the essence, however, we had to pick and choose, unfortunately bypassing several places. With the exception of a few meals, we always bought our food at a grocery store and ate outside or in our hotel. The view point at Arch Rock provided picnic tables, along with a fantastic vantage point to observe some of the sea stacks.

Coos Bay, Oregon.

Dinner by the bay: Day 4; Coos Bay, Oregon; 1,080 miles. Coos Bay has always been one of those places that has stuck out on a map, calling me to come. And on this day, we finally came. But it began a bit rocky when I made a U-turn, not knowing I was on a one-way street, and for a small moment, risked the lives of our entire family! Unbeknownst to me, Coos Bay does not sit next to the Ocean, but is inland a few miles, next to a bay. (Imagine that!) We ate fish and chips—and other fish food—on the boardwalk next to the bay. Several boats are docked there, including a boat / museum.

Oregon sand dunes.

Sand Dunes: Day 5; Florence, Oregon; 1,130 miles. We didn't plan on stopping here, but I took a serendipitous left-hand turn off the 101 and fifteen minutes later we were looking over a beautiful stretch of shoreline with deep-blue ocean on one side, and a never-ending mound of fine sand on the other. I never would have imagined sand dunes in Oregon, but here they were. I think this would have been a fun family beach had it been twenty degrees warmer. Instead, we waded in shallow water until our feet turned to popsicles, then dried them off on the warm sand.

Heceta Head Lighthouse.

Heceta Head Lighthouse: Day 5; Lane County, Oregon; 1,148 miles. Coming around the bend from Sea Lion Point, just before passing Devils Elbow, a very photogenic lighthouse comes into view, perched on the distant cliffs. I wasn't sure if we would stop here, but once I saw it, it was too enticing not to. The Heceta Head Lighthouse is a beautiful red and white structure built in 1893 and named after the Basque Explorer, Bruno de Heceta. The beam can shine for 21 nautical miles, making it the most visible light on the Oregon Coast. Closer to the lighthouse you can park near the beach and hike there on a paved trail.

View from our hotel.

Room with a view: Day 5; Newport, Oregon; 1,185 miles. Just being an average family, we usually can't afford a hotel on the beach. But this time we splurged. Upon arrival we found our room to have a superb view of Nye Beach, complete with balcony and chairs. Especially with the cold weather, it was pleasant to merely sit on the balcony and enjoy the vista. At night we watched the ships slowly move across the dark waters, and to the north of us the rotating beam of a lighthouse.

Yaquina Bay Bridge.

Run on the beach: Day 6; Newport Oregon; 1,185 miles. I had to take advantage of the long stretch of beach below our hotel. I woke up before anyone else and jogged south along the sandy coast, just feet from the incoming waves. Near the mouth of the Yaqina River I ran up and over dunes of sand and along a trail toward the bridge. The Yaquina Bay Bridge is a beautiful piece of architecture with several steel arches.

Chowder Bowl at Depoe Bay, Oregon.

Chugging oysters: Day 6; Depoe Bay, Oregon; 1,198 miles. When looking for whales at Depoe Bay became fruitless, we decided to peruse the shops along the main road (Highway 101). We bought some tasty kettle corn, watched salt water taffy being made, and found a good gift shop. Then we decided to step foot into the Chowder Bowl. When I saw the oyster cocktail on the menu, I knew I had to try it. When the raw shellfish came served in a shot glass, I had to ask how to eat it. (This was an embarrassment to my family and is a result of living a deprived life in the desert.) The waitress was so excited to teach me that she ran in back and grabbed a shot for herself! She instructed that first you drizzle it with Tabasco sauce, then you douse it with lemon juice. Then you down it in one gulp. That simple. On the count of three, and after a toast, (and with the entire restaurant looking on) we successfully consumed our oyster cocktails. At least two people filmed us and afterward I received an ovation. Probably the closest I will ever come to becoming a celebrity.

Mount Hood as seen from across the Columbia River.

View of Mount Hood: Day 6; Washougal, Washington; 1,320 miles. Just over the border from Oregon, and a few miles east of Vancouver, Washington is the small town of Washougal. I am glad we decided to spend the night here. It has a very rural feel to it, and seems a hundred miles away from the din of Portland. We lodged near the Columbia River, with a view of Mount Hood across the waters. We enjoyed sunset over the river and listened to a powerful thunderstorm move in overnight.

Columbia River Gorge.

Cape Horn Lookout: Day 7; Columbia River Gorge, Washington; 1,329 miles. The Columbia River is something to be revered. This mammoth waterway is the fourth largest river in the United States and discharges more water into the Pacific Ocean than any other river in the Americas. You can either drive it on the Oregon side or the Washington. I'm happy we chose the Washington side. I believe it is much less popular, yet just as spectacular.

Panther Creek Falls.

Cascades in the Cascades: Day 7; Panther Creek Falls, Washington; 1,366 miles. On this day it was my goal to see some beautiful waterfalls—and that we did! Our first waterfall we accessed by walking through a cemetery. The second we walked a short distance up on canyon, not far off the road. The third—and my favorite—required a twelve-mile drive deeper into the mountain range. Then we set out on foot through a thick forest, down to the bottom of a ravine. That put us face-to-face with Panther Creek Falls. As you can see from the picture, it is very impressive.

Upper Perry Arch Bridge, Oregon.

Upper Perry Arch Bridge: Day 7; Union County, Oregon; 1,590 miles. This stop was purely serendipitous. We crossed back into Oregon and surprisingly passed through a beautiful forest, which I believe is part of the Blue Mountains. It is right off the Old Oregon Trail. What we found was an arched bridge that spans over the Grande Ronde River and railroad tracks. The bridge is of an historical nature (built in 1924), but for us it was just a fun place to get out and stretch our legs. We crossed the railroad tracks and walked down to the water.

Shoshone Falls.

Shoshone Falls: Day 8; Twin Falls, Idaho; 1,894 miles. I have wanted to see this for a long time. Sometimes referred to as Niagara of the West, Shoshone Falls is an impressive cascade along the Snake River in Idaho. Even though water levels were high from a heavy snowfall this winter, I was worried that the falls might not be up to capacity. The size of the falls depends on the amount of water released from the Milner Dam, 24 miles up-stream. Indeed we weren't disappointed. The falls flowed at 85% of capacity and we enjoyed the view from the top with dozens of other people.

Harrisville Park, Utah.

Harrisville Park: Day 8; Harrisville, Utah; 2,072 miles. By this time, we were anxious to get home. Our drive today would be over nine hours. We found a small park with a pond where we pulled over to eat lunch. Although we had never been to this particular park before, it felt good to be in familiar territory with the Wasatch Mountains reigning in the background.

Home sweet home!: Day 8; Somewhere in Utah; 2,362 miles. ♠