A guy named Powell….

Powell Point Memorial.

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At the end of Powell Point.

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Named for a guy named Powell.

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Who says my posts aren’t educational?

Well…okay.

But they do have pretty pictures.

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Walking out to the end of Powell Point was a frigid experience….

The wind was frigid, snapping my hair into my face like a whip. It felt like it was 4 below.

And I could no longer feel my nose.

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Whew.

Red… but still there.

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I scurried around, taking pictures.

Thinking, yeah… if it was 50 degrees warmer I’d sit a spell.

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But the husband was happily climbing around.

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Exploring every last square inch.

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And that’s the thing about the Grand Canyon….

There are lots of inches to discover.

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Including this fuzzy elk butt that was pointing at the car window when I got in.

Damn.

I love nature.

16 thoughts on “A guy named Powell….”

  1. At least the 2 of you are trained professionals due to living in Maine.

    Imagine if this Florida transplant had visited Powell Point on the same frigid day . . . my eyes might have frozen open! 😯

    Liked by 1 person

  2. In that kind of bitter breezes, a fluffy butt is a necessity, not a luxury … I think I would have tried to fluff mine up too … Ol’ Powell had some brass to descend down to the river where there was no trails … I went down the Bright Angel trail both afoot and on a mule. Mule is the only way to go … it was a loooooong schlep back up the canyon …

    Like

  3. “Damn.

    I love nature” But you, obviously, don’t like to eat–3 days in the Grand Canyon and you haven’t eaten yet!!!

    By the way 27 States (not sure if Arizona and/or Maine are included) have declared Elks as off limits as they have some sort of disease that is contagious!! So don’t have Elk meatballs!!

    Liked by 1 person

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