Let's get one thing straight right from the start.  I'm a city kid.  To be more precise, I'm a suburb kid.  Have been my whole life.  I've never lived more than 15 miles from an Interstate Highway.  I-81, I-80, I-15, I-64.  Never lived more than 20 miles from an airport where you can catch a commercial flight to a city you've actually heard of.  Oh, I've lived in some 'small' towns - Great Falls, Montana; Reno, Nevada; Sparta, NJ.  But I've never lived in the true boonies, places where you had to drive 20 miles or more to go to a grocery store or a McDonalds. 

Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against Rural - it's just that my family never had cause to find ourselves in a rural setting. 

So how is it that I find myself driving from Northern Utah to North Dakota to buy a farm?

I've never in my life considered owning farmland,  In fact it never occurred to me that anyone other than farmers own farms.  Isn't that what farmers do, own land and grow food on it?  Of course it is.

I'm no stranger to investment property.  I own a couple of condos that I rent out.  I get that.  Lots of people do that.  But my brother-in-law bought some land in North Dakota, partly as a private hunting reserve but also as an investment.  We got to talking about it one day and the more he told me about it, the more intrigued I became.  He was not only enjoying hunting on his own land, but he was getting income from it - a rancher was leasing his acreage and paying him cash.  And on top of that, the land had appreciated in value.  It was now worth more than he paid for it.

A non-farmer owning farmland.  Hmm.

So I started to do some research.  I spent hours online looking at farmland all over the county.  It turns out farmland is listed in a very similar fashion to residential real estate.  You find a realtor's website, browse the listings, see if any properties are of interest to you.  However, instead of 3bd 2 ba w/finished basement, farm listings are more like 160 ac, NHEL soil, 85 productivity index.
 

As you may have surmised from the title of this article, I did buy a farm on this trip.  The pictures above and to the right are of my farm - 160 acres of rural, income-producing bliss.  And as you can see I already have a lease agreement with a local farmer, who wasted no time in getting his tractor onto my land and his durum wheat into the ground.   I headed back out on the long drive home with a rent check in my pocket, which doesn't come close to offsetting the cash I laid out for this parcel. But then again, that is the nature of investment property.  It's a long-term play.  And with commodity prices what they are and with everything I've read saying they'll remain high for some time, I'm feeling good about this particular investment.

Next year we'll plan a trip and bring The Camping Machine up here - taking our time, seeing the country.  I'll show Chris and Tommy the farm, and although they are too young to understand, one day this farm will be theirs.  They won't appreciate it now, but they'll enjoy seeing this huge tract of land, compare it to our 1/4 acre slice of suburban heaven and say what I did when I first saw it - "Wow, that's a lot of land!"  Then it will be time do go see Mount Rushmore, something they will appreciate more than a large field of dirt. 

Oh, wait.  That's in South Dakota.

It was a gorgeous late summer morning as The Camping Machine rolled off the RV pad and headed south on I-15.  Destination - Sand Hollow State Park, in the heart of Utah's Dixie.

If you've read the previous travelogues on this page you remember Sand Hollow as the place Chris, Tommy and I went for our Male Bonding trip.  No mom, no veggies, just some good, old-fashioned Manly fun.  Fishing, swimming, sitting around in The Camping Machine watching a movie in our underwear.  Okay, perhaps that's a visual you can do without.  At any rate, when we returned from that trip MBW heard all the stories about how much fun we had, and she said, "I want to see that place too."  So we decided to make Sand Hollow our Last Blast summer camping trip destination.

Upon arrival that afternoon, the instant we backed The Camping Machine into our campsite, both Chris and Tommy said, "When can we go fishing?"  You may remember on our last trip here we fished twice, and the second time Tommy caught his very first fish.  He was extremely excited and spoke of the feat for days afterward.  Chris did not catch a fish on that trip, and while he was extremely disappointed, he did not sulk or pout - but now that we were back he was determined that this time he would get a fish.  I told them we would have to wait until after dinner, closer to evening, when the fish would be hungry and more likely to bite.  The boys were patient as we set up camp and went into town to get some last-minute supplies - ice, which you can never have enough of in the 100+ degree heat, and night-crawlers, which would be required for Chris to get that trophy fish.

At long last dinner was complete and it was time to fish.  We went down to the reservoir, back to the same spot we were when Tommy landed his catch, and set up to try again.  Wouldn't you know it - as soon as both boys had their lines in the water, Tommy got another bite and reeled in a 5-inch bluegill.  Chris was a bit sad but I told him, "The fish are biting!  Get your line back out there - I'm sure you'll get one!"  Sure enough, about 5 minutes later he exclaimed excitedly, "I think I got one!"  He began to reel in his line and sure enough, a fish broke the surface, fighting his line.  Chris quickly reeled in his fish, pulled it up and struck the pose you see here.  A 6-inch Bluegill - his first fish.

I was so excited for Chris.  It was hard for him to come away empty-handed on the last trip, and yet he was such a good sport about it, so I was thrilled for him to pull one in and enjoy the feeling Tommy had a month ago.  In fact, I could have packed up and gone home right then and there.  But the fish continued to bite and the boys were having so much fun there was no way we were leaving early.

Truth be told, it is not that hard to catch these little Bluegills at Sand Hollow reservoir.  They were hitting hard on the night-crawlers.  In fact, there were some crafty ones out there - often the bobber would go down, stay down, then pop back up.  Reeling the line in revealed the worm had been neatly removed from the hook.  Even so, they were hitting the line and we hooked our share.  The strikes were so frequent I did not fish with my pole much at all - I was continuously baiting hooks for Chris and Tommy. 

The Sand Hollow State Park brochure says the the daily limit for Bluegill is 50.  Fifty!  By contrast the limit for Bass is only five.  That tells me there are so many of those Bluegills swimming around out there you could probably wade into the water about 10 feet from shore and bring in a dozen with a butterfly net.  But who cares?  The kids were having a great time, we threw back everything we caught, and as the sun went down we went home telling stories - not about the one that got away, but the trophy fish that fell victim to the superior angling skills to Chris and Tommy - Master Fishermen.

Yet there is more to Sand Hollow than fishing.  There are golden sand beaches that rival some of the best oceanfront real estate anywhere.  Okay, that may be a stretch - but when you are sitting on the wide, red sand beach with virtually no one else within 100 yards of you, looking at the warm blue water and the majestic mountains beyond, it's easy to feel you're on vacation somewhere far away from Utah.

The water of Sand Hollow is clear an warm - very warm.  When Chris, Tommy and I were there a month ago the water felt like bath water.  It was a touch cooler this time, but even so it was more than comfortable.  Unlike Bear Lake, we did not see anyone wearing wetsuits, and the beach was far less crowded.  Hard to imagine, given that this was a Holiday weekend.  But as you can see from the photo on the right, we pretty much had the beach to ourselves at 10:00 AM Saturday morning.

We brought the Mighty Explorer, our inflatable boat, along for the Last Blast camping trip, knowing the warm and placid waters of Sand Hollow would make for some fine sailing for Chris and Tommy.  They love this boat and spent quite a bit of time floating around, looking for fish or lost pirate booty.  Fish were occasionally spotted, but apparently the pirates they imagined plying these waters long ago hid their treasure well.  Though no gold doubloons or royal jewels were found by our intrepid sailors, that did not lessen the pleasure of being the commanders of a fine sea-going vessel.

As the sun moved slowly westward across the sky we knew our time here was drawing to a close.  We spent a last two hours at the beach, playing ball and digging in the sand, before sadly packing up our toys and boat and heading back to The Camping Machine.  We hosed off under our outside shower (what a wonderful thing to have on an RV!) so as not to fill our beds with the fine red sand we enjoyed so much.  Clean and refreshed, we made dinner and sat outside watching the sun set on our fun-fulled summer.  As night fell we spread a sleeping bag on the ground and gazed up at a brilliant star-filled sky, a site we cannot see from our home in the light-polluted skies of Salt Lake City.  The wonder of the Milky Way never ceases to amaze me, and what a delight it was to see both a shooting star streak a fiery path across the sky, as well as watch two different satellites slide steadily across the silent, star-filled sky and slip over the far horizon.

We have had an amazing summer of family fun and adventure in The Camping Machine.  Chris and Tommy have had a blast, and that has made my summer all the more enjoyable.  Soon it will be time to begin planning next summer's adventures.  We can hardly wait!

Surrounded by mountains in the middle of the high desert, Bear Lake is a shimmering oasis.  The bright blue water is unlike any other lake in western North America, earning it the nickname Carribean of the Rockies.  While this is a bit of a stretch, at least in terms of water temperature, it is still a beautiful body of water and a great place to spend an extended August weekend.

Though this photo does not do the color of the water justice, it gives a sense of the feeling on the beach.  Soft gray sand beaches line much of the west shore of the lake, providing ample space for the hundreds of people who bring boats, jet skies and all sorts of water toys.

We showed up to the local KOA just after 1:00 PM Friday afternoon.  After setting up camp we gathered our sand toys, towels and sun canopy and headed to the beach.  The sun was shining, the wind was calm and it was a great afternoon to spend at the shore of the lake.

This is our third time to Bear Lake.  We come here each year on the second weekend in August.  It's the weekend after the annual Raspberry Days Festival, which draws record crowds and frankly overwhelms the resources of the small town of Garden City, Utah.  The weekend after is perfect as the weather is still nice, the water warm and the crowds about half those the weekend before.

Friday afternoon the beach was relatively empty.  A lone jet skier had plenty of room to zoom across the clear blue waters of this 20-mile long, 5-mile wide lake.  Sitting at an elevation of 5900 feet, the water at the deep end of the lake is still very cold, prompting many to wear wetsuits even in August.  On the west side of the lake, however, the water is very shallow and receives lots of sunshine.  I walked out into the water 50 yards from the shoreline and it just started to cover my swimsuit.  This makes it a wonderful place for young children to play in the water.  Despite the sparse crowds Friday afternoon, we knew that Saturday this beach would be packed.

The following morning the crowds did come.  Bear Lake is 3 hours or less by car to nearly 1 million people, so weekend day-trippers often come during the summer to escape the heat of the valley metropolitan areas.  Being veterans of the Saturday crush, and having a camping spot 5 minutes away, we were on the beach and set up before 9:00 AM.  We'd learned the best way to secure a good spot on this beach was to arrive early, park the Suburban backed-in for ease of unloading, and set up our canopy close to the water.  We brought two coolers with lunch, snacks and drinks, prepared to stay much of the day.  And like many others, we brought our boat - the trusty, inflatable Explorer - a perfect watercraft for two young sailors.

I grew up on the East Coast and spent my high-school years in Virginia Beach.  I was a beach rat and loved to surf, body-surf, and hang out in the sun with sand between my toes.  Until my wife and I took the boys to Bear Lake for the first time three years ago, I despaired of finding a place where you could swim in the water, build a sandcastle or simply sit in a chair with a book, catch some rays and enjoy sun, sand and water.  Bear Lake (and also Sand Hollow, in a different sort of way), fit that bill. 

So we rolled down to the city of 'Hurken' and set up camp at the Sand Hollow State Park campground.  This is a relatively new campground and as far as State Park campgrounds go, this one is very nice.  We had a spot on the crest of a small hill, affording us a nice view of the reservoir to the south and the mountains to the north.  Full hook-ups, no less - meaning we could run the air conditioner (it was over 100 degrees there each day) as well as not worry about conserving space in the gray and black tanks. Flush away, boys! 

But we had come, in part, to fish.  So the first thing we did Saturday morning was to bust out the poles and drown some worms.

As you can see from the above photos, we were up-and-at-'em early in the morning...but not early enough.  We had a few nibbles but didn't catch anything.  You should know that we are by no means expert fishermen.  This is actually the first summer I have taken the boys fishing.  It brings back memories for me of the weekends I spent with my dad and my grandparents summer trailer on Song Lake in Tully, New York.  As a young boy I would sit on the end of the dock and fish with night-crawlers on bobbers for sunfish and perch.  What a thrill it was for me to pull in a fat, 6" perch!  You'd think from my reaction I'd landed Moby Dick.

So this summer I went to Cabella's and bought rods and reels for the boys.  We've only been fishing a few times prior to this trip, each time coming up fish-less.  I was hoping this time would be different.  But our first foray out in the morning yielded the same results.

I knew the fish would be less active during the day, so we spent the rest of the day doing other things - swimming, playing in the sand, grabbing lunch at MCD and then retreating to the trailer during the heat of the day to watch a movie.  After a light dinner we went back out to see if the fish would be wanting some fat, juicy night-crawlers for their dinner - with a side-order of barbed hook. 

Our first casts yielded some nibbles.  The bobber would jiggle, jiggle, disappear under the water and pop back up, but neither Chris or Tommy could set the hook.  Just as it was getting dark Tommy's bobber went down and stayed down.  "Give your pole a yank," I told him, and he did.  The bobber did not re-appear but his pole did not seem to show anything pulling on it.  "Reel your line in and let's see what's going on," I said, and he did.  As the line came in it began to move about, and a fish flopped out of the water.  "You got one!" I exclaimed.  The photo above is the result - a five-inch bluegill.  Tommy's first fish.  

If you are a fisherman you can probably remember your first fish.  I remember mine - a little sunfish from Song Lake.  So you can imagine Tommy's excitement when he stood there, proudly holding his trophy, in the dim twilight at the edge of the reservoir.  It made the whole trip for him, and he talked about it all the next day and part of the way home.

We found large flat rock overlooking the canyon and spread out to have our dinner.  The boys amused themselves throwing rocks toward the creek and we enjoyed a wonderful late afternoon in the Rocky Mountains.
 
When dinner was done we decided to take a leisurely hike along one of the many trails in the area.  The one we chose has a gentle incline and meanders through meadows full of wildflowers this time of year.  We came around a bend in the trial and saw about a dozen people standing in the meadow, looking downhill.  As we approached, one person said, "There's a moose down there."

While it is not unusual to see a moose in this area, neither is it a given.  For all the hikes we have done in this area, we've never been fortunate enough to see one.  Cautiously and quietly we advanced until we could see a large bull moose grazing in the meadow.

I rarely go on a hike or trip without my camera.  Currently I am using a Canon Digital Rebel, and I had my Quantaray 70-300mm lens in the bag.  I used my hiking stick as a monopod and began shooting.  The light was fairly overcast as I made these images, shooting at f5.6 at between 50-60ths of a second.  All of the images I captured have some blur or shake - these represent the cleanest I had.

As I was shooting another moose wandered into the same meadow.  Now shutters were clicking like crazy and the crowd was growing larger.  Of course there were those few fools who approached far too close to the animals, trying for a shot with a point-and-shoot camera.  Fortunately no one was hurt and the moose were either good-natured, content or simply not interested in interrupting dinner to gore a moron.

The boys were very excited to see such majestic animals and were fascinated to know that wild animals like this live in the same forest in which we often hike. 

As we left and headed back to the car, it occurred to me once again that we are so fortunate to live in a major metropolitan area, with the occupational, educational, cultural and recreational opportunities all so close at hand.  Many people will drive their RVs hundreds of miles to Yellowstone or other National Parks to see wildlife like this.  We simply drove 20 minutes for a picnic.

And we didn't even take The Camping Machine off the RV pad.

So now that I've teased you into reading this travelogue about our trip to Ennis to spend time with family by leading with these photos, I suppose a bit of background is in order.

My wife is the youngest of four daughters, all from a small town in eastern Montana.  Two of her sisters still live in Montana, and the third, with her husband and two children, have a beautiful summer home in, you guessed it, Ennis.  So over the 4th of July weekend we had a family get-together, with all four sisters and attendant families present.  We brought our Camping Machine up because our kids thought of this as a camping trip, and it allowed everyone else to have a bit more room in the house.

In addition to the normal family reunion activities, there were a few opportunities to break into smaller groups to pursue more individual activities.  So when my brother-in-law suggested we sneak away for a chance to go cliff diving, I, if you'll pardon the pun, 'jumped' at the chance.

My brother-in-law and I, along with his 13-year old son, drove 20 minutes around to the far side of Ennis Lake.  We crossed the bridge and turned down a narrow dirt road that leads toward the dam that forms the lake.  If you have never seen Ennis Lake, it's a large, beautiful body of water at the north end of the Madison Valley.  The lake is fed by the pristine waters of the Madison river, in which we would later float six lazy miles in tubes.  But as we approached the large rock cliff, the pristine waters appeared to me to be a menacing steel gray.

My brother-in-law and his son had made the jump a couple of times the day before, making them seasoned veterans.  And though they were extremely good-natured about it, they could not resist a bit of hazing for the newcomer.  As the car slowed and we approached the jump point, my BIL pointed to a tall rock pinnacle and said, "There it is.  I think it's no more than 50 feet high."  The rock in question was tall, narrow, and set sufficiently far back from the water that jumping to reach the lake appeared problematic at best, and all-but-impossible at worst.  Since our relationship is based in part on false bravado, I replied derisively, "You brought me all the way out here for that anthill?"  He simply smiled and laughed lightly, leaving me to think he was serious.

Of course it turned out the rock pinnacle was, in fact, about 50 feet off the water, but that was not the jump point.  I graciously conceded their small victory as they led me to the actual jump point, below the Pinnacle of Intimidation, but even so, not without it's own mystique - beginning with the memorial plaque in the second photo.  Yes, it really is a memorial for some guy who apparently died doing this jump, or some ill-advised variation.  It is a bit unnerving to walk past the plaque, out onto an uneven rock surface from which one will jump about 30 feet into the river.  The takeoff point is rounded, so you cannot walk up to the edge and see exactly what is below you.  Oh, sure, you can see water out there, but not where you will actually land - the entry point is below the horizon from your takeoff point.

Knowing my BIL and his son had made the jump (well, technically believing them when they TOLD me they had done it the day before) I was reasonably confident that yes, the water below was sufficiently deep and free of tree stumps and old refridgerators that a jump could be safely executed.  Still, I deferred to them as locals and suggested they have the honor of going first, and I would record their bravado for history with the camera.

They did jump - three times for my BIL and four for his son.  We captured the event in both digital photos and videotape.  At that point, having seen the succession of successful jumps, recorded them for their scrapbooks, and having run out of excuses, it was my turn to jump.  They graciously offered to record my attempt, and I accepted -which is what you are seeing here.

My first jump was a bit unnerving.  I stood along at the takeoff point, gauging how far I would have to leap to clear the rounded, protruding section of rock I knew was below, but could not see.  In truth it does not require much to clear, and I knew that from having watched seven previous jumps.  Still, it is one thing to know, another thing to be unable to see.  I took a few practice steps to the edge, measuring my strides much as a NFL place-kicker will pace backwards from the ball prior to kicking.  The last thing I wanted to do was lose my footing and stumble over the edge.  In the end, I did what all others had done before me on their maiden voyage - took a two-step run and lunged into the void.  As I cleared the rock and saw the water below I had two quick thoughts - first, I had successfully cleared the rock outcropping; and second, the water looked so much further away now that I was actually falling toward it.

That second of thought seemed to last for at least 5 seconds or more - but of course it didn't, and the next thing I knew I hit the water, more or less upright, went down several feet, never touched anything below, and swam for the surface.  I must have been 8-10 feet below as it seemed to take forever to get back to the surface, but finally I clawed my way to the top and took an exhilarating breath of air.

As I swam to shore I noticed that my nose felt as though it had recevied an enema - completely flushed.  Apparently I forgot to breathe out as I entered the water.  So on the second jump I made sure to put my hands over my face as I entered the water, as you can see in the last photo.

Did I mention we shot video?  Well. we did.  And if I can figure out how to do it, I'll post that as well.

The day after our cliff jumping experience we turned to a more leisurely activity - floating the Madison River.  From high anxiety to low intensity - what a transition. 

The Madison River is, in my opinion, one of the more scenic, beautiful rivers in the West.  It is broad, blue, relatively shallow and courses through spectacular scenery.  The river is very popular for floating - though this was my first time to actually float it, I have seen dozens if not hundreds of people floating this section of the river on sunny summer days.  Needless to say we were all very excited to get in and get started.

We have never floated a river before, let alone the Madison, but we knew we were in good hands.  My Brother-In-Law and his family are the Madison River vets.  They have done it before and assured us it was safe - and a lot of fun.
The river is gentle through the section we would float, and although our boys are both very strong swimmers for their ages, they are, after all, only seven and five years old.  The river is no municipal swimming pool - it has a current, the depth varies from a foot to up to five feet and the bottom is covered in slippery rocks of various sizes.  For that reason, better to be safe than sorry - we had the boys wear life jackets.  And to show them we weren't hypocrites, we wore them ourselves.

I did have some concern that the float would last too long for the boys.  It's six miles on the river, about four hours total float time.  That can be a long time for kids to sit still.  But all looked good as we shoved off from shore and set sail down the Madison.
It was a weekday and the float traffic on the river was relatively light.  Bozeman, Montana is a college town and is only 45 minutes or so from where we were floating.  Often the river is jammed with tubes and all sorts of floating apparatus, but today it was relatively quiet.  For much of the float, it would seem as thought we had the river to ourselves.

Our Armada, as we put out to sea, counted eleven watercraft.  In addition to MBW, Chris, Tommy and me, my wife's sister, husband, son and daughter were there, as well as a cousin and another cousin who brought her husband.  We pushed out to the current and began to float lazily down the river.
I found the sensation of floating the river to be unlike anything I have ever done.  It is at once both exhilarating and relaxing, if that is possible.  Exhilarating because, unlike being in a small boat, such as a canoe, you can feel the water and how it moves around you.  Relaxing because it is cool and refreshing, and other than use a hand to guide your tube to face the direction you wish to look, you really don't have to do any work at all.  The river gently pushes you along.

Other than the fact that I was floating in a tube made of rubber, it was not hard to imagine yourself experiencing the river as native Americans and mountain men did over 200 years ago.  Yes, a road follows the course of the river much of the way, and it is occasionally visible.  You do pass under a bridge as the road crosses to the other bank, and there is an occasional power pole peeking over a ridge.  With that said, for much of the way the banks of the river look as they must have for hundreds of years.
It was a special activity, a special afternoon that ended all to quickly.  I found myself wishing we cold float right past the take-out point and continue to drift for another few hours.  As we reluctantly guided our tubes to shore, gathered our gear and walked up to the parking lot, I tuned to the boys and said, "Did you guys have fun?"
Tommy, who was a bit tired, said, "It was a lot of fun, Dad!"
Chris said, "Can we drive back up and do it again right now?"
I smiled.  "Not today, guys.  But we'll be back!"
And we will.

In the 1950's the State of Utah, wanting to preserve and protect this unique area, bought the land and made it a State Park. 

Today Goblin Valley State Park is a very nice, out-of-the-way destination for those looking to experience unusual topography in the high desert Colorado Plateau.  The 'mushroom'-shaped rocks those cowboys saw were later referred to as 'goblins,' giving the park the name it has today. 

There are, literally, thousands of these oddly-shaped stone formations spread over hundreds of acres in three different valleys, connected by 'trails.'  I use the term loosely because hikers can wander among the goblins with little regard for any specific designated trail system.  This is great for exploring, but it is not hard to imagine an unprepared hiker getting, if not lost, then at least somewhat disoreinted should they lose track of where the observation point is.

The real attraction to this park is, of course, the goblins.  From the overlook at the top of the shallow canyon where the goblins reside, the rock formations appear small.  It is not until you take the short hike down into the valley of the goblins that you realize there are no mere sprites - these are big-time goblins.  They tower over you, watching as you walk among them, your eyes skyward watching them watch you.

The goblins are millions of years old, formed as the ancient sea receded.  Over the eons the wind and rain sculpted these creatures.  The texture of the rock varies considerably.  The lower portions look softer - almost like moist mud - and actually feel a bit softer, though not wet.  The upper portions are harder, coarser sandstone - gritty, but st