Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it has become clear to me that my husband and I have reached a major crossroads in our short time together.  It is with a heavy heart that I tell you, friends and family, that it seems unavoidable that my husband and I might become Floppy Hat People.  I know.  I know.  It's ghastly, isn't it?  And yet it is the ugly truth.

Up until this past weekend we have both been unabashed Visor People for obvious reasons, but first and foremost, because they look cool.  Never mind the fact that they provide sun protection for all parts of the top 1/10th of our bodies, with the exception of the scalp, ears, back of neck, front of neck, shoulders, chest, tip of nose and cheeks.  Floppy hats, on the other hand, aside from looking completely goony, cover all those areas and more.  

What more is there, you ask?  Well, hopefully enough of our faces to hide who we are when we wear them.  Here's how it played out.

We broke out our backpacking gear last week in anticipation of an adventure in a "wild and wooly" remote Utah desert canyon (according to our favorite guidebook author).  I took Friday off, taught yoga until 7, then we drove out of town with turkey sandwiches and a thermos of coffee, watching a valley floor coyote slink around a herd of elk, bedding down in the snow-rain mix that fell most of the day.  We drove far enough into the desert to make our Friday morning drive a short excursion after coffee and breakfast, then we loaded up and headed down:

Note the visor.  Not just its presence but how unbelievably "hip" I appear.  Note also the amount of shade it casts upon my person.

We find what proves to be one of the world's greatest campsites, set up, explore a little, and return for an evening fire, food and tea.  Three days of uninterrupted high pressure promised us cloudless days, soaring temperatures and sleeping without a tent.

Saturday we covered every exposed part of our bodies multiple times with SPF 30 sunscreen, and had a day-long adventure that included but was not limited to:

1.  My first ever horny toad encounter!  Not quite what I had anticipated.  Yellower and lazier than what I thought they were all about.  Yes, it moved the way lizards move, but I got the sense we had interrupted its regularly scheduled programming, which consists mainly of doing precisely what is shown in the photo, with the exception of sticking out its tongue at 17,poo miles per hour to painstakingly chew an ant.  We moved on.

2.  A picnic on a high rocky ledge that overlooks the enormous pour-over from whence we descended:

3.  A bat that flew out from underneath a ledge I was leaning against.  

4.  A lovely spring-fed stream with tiny bubbling waterfalls where we lounged about (me: nude and in full sun, JC: clothed and dozing in the shade) watching a spider do her thing in a web that was impossibly constructed:

It was here that the first mention of Floppy Hats arose, casting a pall on an otherwise lovely afternoon.  It seems that my husband has developed a fear of skin cancer - not just relating to his own body, but also mine.  Or perhaps, more specifically mine.  I have recently attempted to strike a deal with him, whereby I am allowed to get as tan as I want (and am able) as long as I don't burn.  Fair enough, right?  Well, apparently not.

Here is the inconvenient truth: Floppy Hats make sense.  They are extremely practical.  Need I remind you that one of my nicknames in Hawaii was Practical Kathryn?  Can I honestly turn away from the sheer logic of wearing something that provides protection from a potentially fatal disease, and turn towards several more decades of slathering and slathering my head, face and neck with lotions that provide minimal protection - coupled of course, with the dapper visor?  Sigh.  I think not.

We strolled back to our campsite and read our books in the shady shelter of an oozing juniper, and watched a black-throated hummingbird investigate his red sleeping bag, resting its pinky-sized body in a branch and taking a poo right before our eyes!  How many times have you ever seen a hummingbird take a poo??  Amazing.

I whipped up a hot dinner that proved to be almost inedible (trial-and-error with the camping food, don't you know), we sipped our hot tea by the fire, and watched a kestrel dive-bomb and veer away from something scurrying between sage bushes.  In honor of the new moon on Saturday we took some time to talk about what seeds we want to sow, setting our roots deeper in our respective endeavors (playing drums for him and teaching yoga for me), stepping back and letting the waxing moon draw them up into full blossoms.

Another starry night passed, a breakfast fire before the sun hit us (38 the first night and 40 the next) and the temperature climbed up near 90.  We discovered a panel above our campsite with some interesting pictographs:

and suddenly our anniversary day felt infused with excitement, discovery and antiquity.

I "really put the hammer down" on the march out, but not after we discovered an incredible new backcountry snack: peanut butter spread on a trail bar.  Sounds like too much?  I dare you to get good and hungry and try it.  We exited the valley with some coffee grounds and dried milk and water, that was all that was left of our rations.

A quick stop to see childhood friends of JC's in Monticello, then a pizza and salad at the Dolores Brewery, and by the time we pulled up to our ski chalet, I barely had enough in me to shower and get in bed.

We are off again next weekend, where you may see photos of us - unrecognizable of course - wearing 2 very new Floppy Hats.  It's a bitter pill to swallow.

Click here to see all the pictures from our wild and wooly expedition