Monitor, Merrimac, and My Feet

One sunny afternoon Rhonda and I headed into Canyonlands National Park for lunch and a bit of hiking. Even though the sky was completely cloudless - a photographer’s least favorite forecast - it’s hard to complain when you’re dining with that kind of view. Later in the day, on our way back to Moab, I noticed clouds starting to build to the north. I made a quick detour to the Monitor and Merrimac Overlook to grab a few photos. Standing there brought back some unexpected memories from more than 20 years ago.  

I generated the second image to sum it all up.  Let me explain…

I had a brief and utterly forgettable brush with fame in the early 2000s as a television personality. (Yes, really.) The Outdoor Channel’s show Road Faring - which was basically about the RV lifestyle - was filming an episode in the Moab area and contacted my office for info on camping around the area.

I dutifully dazzled them with everything I knew about Arches, Canyonlands, and the maze of public lands managed by the BLM. Impressed by my encyclopedic knowledge (or possibly just desperation), they asked if I’d appear on camera. What they didn’t know: I hate being in front of the camera. But with some strong “encouragement” from my boss - read: arm-twisting - I reluctantly agreed.

Day one was pretty tame. They interviewed me at the Moab Information Center in my usual black polo shirt as I tried not to sweat through it on camera. But then came day two: the action scene.

They told me to “dress for hiking,” which was easy - I have that look down cold. Best hiking shoes, functional-but-stylish shorts, performance shirt, wide-brim hat, and my trusty bandana. This was my chance to finally look like the rugged Canyon Country explorer I always imagined I was.

We met up at the scenic Monitor and Merrimac Overlook (named for the buttes resemblance to two Civil War era steamships).  I was ready - ready to stride boldly into the landscape. Then the cameraman pulls out a camera gimbal and tells me where to stand.

He lowers the camera to about two inches off the ground. “Okay,” he says, “just walk down the trail… nice and steady.”

That was it. They filmed my feet. My entire rugged outdoorsman debut, reduced to a slo-mo tracking shot of my dusty hiking shoes. No sweeping monologue. No heroic poses. Just… my feet. The canyon’s answer to Bigfoot.

A few months later, the episode aired. I had a few minutes of actual screen time, mostly standing around in my black polo mumbling helpful tips about water and sun protection. As for the hiking scene? Let’s just say my ankles absolutely nailed it.

For a moment, I considered setting up a table at the overlook to sell autographed prints of my footprints (“as seen on TV!”), but I thankfully came to my senses. My TV career ended as it began - quietly and with very low production value.

From then on, I was no longer a man of mystery, but the soft-spoken polo guy who knows where the bathrooms are and tells you to bring extra water.

Hollywood never called again, in spite of my great ankles.

Monitor and Merrimac Buttes

A concept that was doomed to failure.