Horseshoe Canyon: Windblasted

I remember that the Little House on the Prairie folks were sometimes driven stark raving mad by the incessant wind. I understand… I understand.

Today: steady winds 30-35 mph, gusts to 50 mph. Again. Grainy bits of Navajo sandstone find their way into your eyes, teeth, ears, nostrils, shoes, lunch, and psyche. Oh, and every water bottle mouthpiece or Camelbak straw, oh yes. Sometimes I want to yell “STOP!” when the frenzied gusts are relentlessly sandblasting me. The towel I clean my face with every afternoon is covered in grit after one swipe. Secret wish: I want to be immersed in a bathtub of warmed oil and not come out until my skin has drunk up as much as it can hold… maybe a couple of hours, or all day.

If you ever wondered why the skin of cowboys looks like leather…