Speaking of This Beauty

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There are so many good things in life like the sunset that bathes the sandstone mittens of Monument Valley, Arizona, or the soft whistle of a meadow lark on the high desert of Southern Utah. The clouds are constantly changing while the rock filled landscapes change slowly beyond our reality in geological time. It would be a once-in-a-lifetimes experience to witness a natural rock slide from the side of a granite mountain, or weathering mesa. These deserts of the Southwest endure the hottest summers and most frigid winters, but their surfaces soak in the deepest evening sunlight of every sunset, and warmth of every sunrise. It makes the landscapes of the Southwest part of the supernatural realm. It is where one can find peace between Father Sky and Mother Earth.

It is a constant search to learn about the native history and stories of the Southwest. I am not indigenous, but have an strong desire to know the truth and history of the land of my birth. It is important to understand the people that came long before me or my ancestors. There is this knowledge unknown to most common folk. Another desire is to come to understand the mysteries of the land and find affinity with the unknown. History goes beyond the text book, deeper then our modern life.

There is this tree that I know and I’m working very hard to find the roots. When I was younger, I discovered a beauty that I can never put down. It is with me every day, guiding me slowly, but carefully. The Creator is watching out for me. It’s all about this beauty, learning and finding ways to show respect.

On the Way to Tuba City, AZ

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It was cool enough this morning, but the sun is now cooking the desert alive and I’m sweating pretty badly. Venturing across Navajoland, I come across the aged shell of an abandoned gas station bathed in graffiti. One mural is two large eagle feathers tide together, with the phrase, STILL HERE, sprayed in red paint below. On the other side K-Town is written, slang for Kayenta, a town close to the east. The wind is cutting through the power lines along the highway and the monster cottonwood creaks. There’s a bunch of dogs barking from a nearby residence while an old Navajo drags a pallet on a chain behind his 77 Chevy, grading the dirt road back to the house.

Traveling and Moving Around

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I’ve been moving around the Southwest far from home. The first journey was a 1,600 mile loop around Arizona passing Hoover Dam, traveling along Route 66, down through Prescott, and as far south as Tucson. This is around the time my brother was getting married to a girl from Mesa, Arizona.

On the ancient Colorado, I had the opportunity to be Swamper for Arizona River Runners for one trip and worked my tail off. That is because one of the gals that was susposed to go had a medical condition at the last moment. So this oppurtunity was pretty rare and was told that getting a paid position on the river in my situation was like winning a contest. So I was able to skip the volunteer (work-your-way) position somewhat. My whole life I’ve been visiting Grand Canyon, but never had the chance of going down the river. Folks down there get a little trippy; they’re the whiskey-vodka drinking crowd, but I enjoyed the company. Sleeping on the pontoon every night, the stars were incredible. The river’s current rushed just feet from my head and it plays out in dreams and visions.

After the river, I traveled around Navajo land, going over to Shiprock, up to Blanding, down to a Tuba City flea market, and stayed in Monument Valley for two days. I went to several look out points above the Goosenecks of the San Juan River, like Muley Point. My whole idea was to venture up to Canyon Lands, but was missing Navajoland, so I returned to Monument Valley.

I’m back home in Cedar City, but already anticipating another road trip; maybe something more than that?

Note: Edited June 26th to add a few more details.

Last Day at Bar 10, Tomorrow

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Well it’s my last two days at the ranch, ten miles from Grand Canyon. Where my path goes from here, is unknown. Bruce at Arizona River Runners is giving me the chance to run the Colorado this summer. It looks like a dream coming true, finally! After an experience on the river, I’ll have enough material to stay busy writing for a while. Tomorrow is the last day for me, so I’ll make it the best one of them all.

Today, the desert was a furnace. The mens bunkhouse felt like a greenhouse in Death Valley. There’s honey bees and bumble bees all over the place. The tree in front of the Bar 10 Lodge is flowering and sounded like electricity with all the bees.

Everything seems to be flowering; the cliffrose, Hedgehog Cactus, the prickly pear with yellow or pink flowers, and dozens of other shrubs and cacti. The canyon is coming alive. Foot-long dragon-like lizards are basking in the sun, and running around on the men’s bunkhouse. The Great Basin Spade Footed toad has made himself known scaring some of the guests at night… they think there’s a yanni lurking nearby; after hearing a few stories of course!

Life is grand. I’m here at the ranch alone, again. It’s times like these that I find a chance to write a little in my journal. Things are working out just fine. I shot my Uberti 357 at some rocks down in the wash tonight, while listening to the crickets and wind. The dusk set in, and the shadows of Whitmore Canyon grew long.

All is quiet as I head to bed, ready for the final day…

Bad News

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Every river company I have spoken with have no volunteer work available for folks like me. Yet, river guides like Tom Vail are telling me that I must go down the river 6-10 times as a volunteer before I can be considered for any real job on the river. Maybe I’ll go down the Colorado like good old Buzz Holmstrom; a man with real courage, who by himself, traversed the entire length of the Grand Canyon. It’s larger then life and I am forced to dream. I’m tired of dreaming, I want a piece of the action, thrill, and beauty. Give me constant adventure, that’s all I crave on this crazy planet. The beauty of the hills is all that makes any sense. I’m sick of going everywhere else. I’m an explorer always feeling restless. If I don’t find some way to break the tension, I swear I’m going to go do something funny like attempt a solo river trip!

Shouting to River Runners

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Peace is in the canyon in clouds passing over massive sandstone and limestone ledges. All is quiet, far from city noise. The deep waters of the Rio Colorado fill the inner gorge as ravens plane the blue sky catching thermals of late winter air. Cloud and cliff shadows mix. In the next few hours private river runners will come around the bend and reach mile marker 187. We will shout hello to them and wave frantically. They’ll raise their oars and shout back, then continue their fourteen day journey to the bottom of the canyon to Lake Mead. I love Listening to the river rapids and feel lucky in this subliminal moment. The canyon never grows old or familiar. Being here every day has been one of my greatest blessings.

Surviving In a World of Suffering

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I know what hides from most human beings and its realm is the vast wilderness. Humans have been separating themselves from the experiences of their ancestors. Most of them no longer retain even a hint of their original life ways. We have all lost track of why we are on this planet, which is our mother. Now, we have become so entangled by our own culture of mass consumption. We have forgotten our responsibility to the earth, and our relationship with the rest of creation. We have been cutting off this connection for very long time now, for hundreds of years, which will lead to grave consequences in the end. We cannot conquer nature, we only can subdue it for a short time, but no matter what we try to conquer and destroy, we are only doing it to ourselves. It will lead our own demise. Maybe there will be a few that find solace in the next life, or a passage to escape this dreadful event. I’m not trying to just talk here, I feel this way deep down. This isn’t a a prediction; its common sense. We are developing massive weapons that are only meant to destroy, kill, and exterminate. They leave wounds that cannot be healed. We are digging into sacred mountains, into holy places, and putting our feet where they don’t belong. This type of abuse cannot go on forever.

It is peaceful to work in the Grand Canyon, to be cut-off from the rest of the world in a place where I don’t have to hear bad news, of people dying over in Iraq, of terrible storms and tempests, of disease and terrorism. In a way, I am escaping those problems. I am running away from them. Most of us feel pretty cut-off and insignificant in a world that billions of people inhabit. It is an enormous and infinite place, and I’m living in it for only a very short while.

The mountains, the desert, the vastness of the wilderness quenches this awful loneliness. For me, Life is too short and fragile to waste doing trivial things other then what I love. Maybe it is selfish to exist in a world where so much suffering and misery exists, when I choose to dwell in hills of eternal rest, where time has no meaning. I’m not necessarily ignoring the pain and suffering, I am trying to escape it. A lot of us are survivors, just waiting for some type of end to draw near. We wait, and enjoy life the best way we know how.

To me, the most important things in this world are life, land, family, and my relationship to creation. The Grand Canyon has given me so much beauty. There’s nothing more powerful then standing on the edge of a massive abyss of canyons and plateaus that seem to swallow up everything else. When it’s one human being standing on the edge of eternity, you start to listen to the rest of the universe. In this realm, there is no pain and suffering. Just intense peace and solitude.

There are things that cannot be explained, hiding in the deepest wilds. Go to those places and experience them as often as possible. The more you venture into the unknown, the more experiences you will have. You’ll start to understand what happened long ago. There was a time when life was much more simple, unsophisticated, and there wasn’t so much suffering. There are cultures that existed for thousands of years that withstood the test of time, that outlived western civilization, and such. Human beings are complex, but if we weren’t so confused, life would be easier for all of us.

So I try to untangle myself. I watch the humming bird, the road runner, and the rattle snake, and I realize their importance in the desert. These creatures also seem very happy. It’s worthwhile to see how they live and survive out there. Each animal in the Grand Canyon has its own way of surviving and finding peace in such a wasteland. Most of the year, water is nearly non existent. the Grand Canyon averages about eight inches of rainfall a year. Yet a large variety of plant and animal life has managed to thrive. This is what I call happiness. Each and every creature plays a part in this. There are many, many relationships between many organisms. One could learn a lot from just mimicking certain habits and survival patterns of these beings. It’s all in an area, where time doesn’t exist, where the sun is constantly shining in a quiet existence. It is a place where the wind howls and moans and continues to carve the painted wastelands and sandstone canyons of the Grand Canyon. It will still be there, long after the period of humans.

Slow Moving Storm

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Buzzing power lines cut the wind
The wind howls and moans as darkness grows.
Winter pushes spring feelings away,
And brings dark cloud ships
that hug mountains,
shrouding them in eerie mist.
Fog enters the desert basin.
Mule Deer gather in cottonwood groves.
Flakes of snow start to invade.
The sun’s heat has faded.
The storm moves slow.
By morning, theres eighteen inches of
Fresh powder and growing.

Far from Civilization

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Last week the boss gave me a chance to go out alone on a quad, so I packed some food, water, and a camera and left to explore some of the real remote parts of the Grand Canyon. I stopped and looked out over Parashant Canyon, went up to Whitmore Point, and explored countless ranch roads. There is nothing like feeling solitude in the most isolated pockets of Grand Canyon. You don’t feel the same when others are with you. The beauty and aloneness is unrivaled. I spent the majority of time scouting cliff edges, deep ravines, and spiraling canyons. Man I’m going places that even river guides never see. Now I am back in town and there’s nothing to do but daydream of the quiet beauty. I know what I want to do for the rest of my life, live peacfully, far from town.

Fact is Stranger then Fiction

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I am always reminding myself that fact is stranger then fiction, it gives me the ability to have faith in the unbelievable. It is not hard to feel the power of this world, but the truth isn’t always in reach. There is a strong force running through my veins to seek the unknown. I have the oppurtunity to experience the world, by the grace of God, and seek infinite truth. Life itself is a miracle and a mystery. The quote below is from a movie titled; Second Hand Lions. It carries a lot of weight in my book. Truth is always within reach if you’re willing to accept the things which cannot always be seen…

“Hub: Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money, money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love… true love never dies. You remember that, boy. You remember that. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in.”

Out of the Woodwork

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In three months my job is done. It is a stepping stone to achieve greater things, and I am thankful to the folks at Bar 10. I’ve been a tour guide sense August. When April swings around, I’m going camping for a week, alone. I’m tired of people. It’s time to be alone in the pines. One day I’ll start looking for a companion, but I don’t feel the time is right now.

This morning I awakened from a strange and terrible dream. But I don’t mention these things often, as dreams are very personal. The events in a dream could be very imortant so I choose not to exploite them; even if they are just for the individual. I will reveal one truth, a lot of my writings have been inspired from those sleep-time episodes!

To change the subject quickly, I’ve gotta admit that I’m a strong a believer in the unseen. This world is all about finding truth. And I don’t base my truth in science and philosophy, but in how I feel deep in the spirit. I know without a doubt there is a Creator. What bothers some Christian folks, is that they cannot invade my personal sovereignly and cannot comprehend my love for the Creator, and the beauty and power of this world…

To end this post in an abstract and confusing way, I have one good question to ask! When are people going to stop depending on Western Civilization? I’m saying that straight out of the woodwork.

Quiet December Night

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It’s another dark night at the ranch, in the lodge. I’m spending the evening alone, but I love the isolation and personal time out here. A few minutes ago, I got back from turning the generator off for the night. The batteries have enough juice to power a few lights, the T.V., and the computer in the lodge. They are generous to allow me to use their PC, which uses a satillite connection. It’s dark in the deep desert. The grand canyon is covered in black with nothing but the stars. The moon will probably come out later.

A bobcat came across the lawn in front of the lodge just after the sun went down. They’re not very big animals.. I watched it for a few seconds then gave it a little surprise. It took of at incredible speed down the hill and through the wash, and was gone. Since last August and I’ve seen kit foxes, coyote, antelope, bob-cats, birds of prey, and most of everything living in the Grand Canyon. We have a pet road runner which hangs out like some close friend. He ruffles his feathers when basking in the sun. I’d like to know why he does that? The bobcat was quite a treat.
In the morning, I’ll drive one of the company vans across the Arizona Strip to Saint George, 85 miles away. There are some steep dugways as you head out of Whitmore Canyon, and climb elevation, passing by the Mount Logan Wilderness Area. There’s an old pioneer school house about 13 miles north, and then there’s the endless expanse valleys and mountains. The Arizona Strip is one of the most isolated areas in the United States. National Geographic magazine calls it The Tibet of the Americas, simply because it lacks human population. The main reason why there aren’t folks living out here is because there is no natural running watera. That means no rivers or streams, except for the Rio Colorado that formed the largest canyon on Earth. Luckily the folks I work for own a private spring.  They run water through a 7-mile pipe to the ranch from the spring. It is fresh and cold. The water pressure is gravity fed.

The Arizona Strip is hard and rugged country. It takes a tough and rough human to really survive. It can be a lonesome place, but the silence is a rarity. There’s mysteries to this land. The unknown is out here. I can feel it every day.

A Few Wintry Thoughts

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The frigid weather that hung around for a while is now passing. It’s warming up. It was nice in the sun, here in Cedar. So I took my dog and went for a drive out into the desert. At night, I’m dreaming again like when I was younger. These dreams are very real and inspire me to write something tonight. As for today, my brother and I devoured pizza for lunch on top of a parking lot roof, downtown, while watching smoke rise from chimneys into the blue sky. The mountains and the desert sprawled beyond the outskirts of town. There was a simple and mysterious beauty about everything. What a splendid day!

There are things that I am able to understand about this desert that doesn’t require scientific data, or the intellectuals of western civilization. I feel happy to be apart of existence, and to live on Mother Earth. I may be ignorant somewhat in the way I interpret this info, but I’m no friend of a structured life. The wasteland is in my heart, and I’m personally sovereign and happy. I haven’t been able to find this peace with Western Civilization, America, pop-culture, or around people who live by and believe in a status quo. I don’t believe humans live in a world of suffering, and I don’t believe one can only reach salvation in the next life by adhering to certain religious laws in this one. Heaven is right here on Earth and I feel the love of the Great Creator.

Before dusk, I went to an old pictograph site. I arrived just as the sun was beginning to set. The smell of light snow and juniper filled the air. The wind moved gently through the trees. There was a gentle evening glow and the sky was cloudless. The air was crisp. The silence was soothing; away from town, away from noise. Those painted images tell stories of what happened long ago. I listen to what they have to say.

This world has gone through many cycles. The one we live in may change some day. So don’t take beauty for granted. The wilderness is still amazing. There is a great unknown that lives in those hills of eternal rest… The ravens were playing tag as I watched the evening sun. Their wild conversations echoed through the canyon, bouncing off steep rock walls. The images seem to know when I pay them a visit, because I never feel alone.

The Company of a Woman

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I was storytelling with a co-worker tonight over at the old ranch house around a burning pile of weeds. The fire reminded me of simpler things; the isolation of the canyon, the smell of the elements, and all the mysteries of the surrounding mountains. Not too far north of the ranch is Hell-Hole wilderness where people rarely visit except for the occasional hunter or prospector. Up in there, it gets real dense with stands of Ponderosa Pine and hearty clusters of Manzanita. I’m thinking of the intense quiet and the dark shadows. I’ve been spending enough time in Whitmore Wash to learn a lot about the area, and I’m getting to know some of the folks around here.

The fire was somehow therapuetic? I don’t know how that is? I was feeling so much tension this morning because I’m always working it seems. It never lets up. We work from sun-up to sun-down every day. But it is nice to be so far from town in pure solitude. It must be some sort of Cabin Fever? Anyways, I want to get out into that desert and explore Whitmore Canyon more closely and maybe head up into Hell-Hole. I felt so restless tonight just wanting to grab a camp pack with food and disappear for a few days. I’d have to ask for work off a month in advance. It’s also not wise to hike solo in the Grand Canyon. I’ve been reading this book titled: Over the Edge, Death in the Grand Canyon.” It’s basically an almanac of every body whose perished in the canyon from death plunges, to over-exposure, flash-flooding, Colorado River drownings, and folks succumbing to the elements of extreme tempatures. A lot of things happen to the solo adventurers. The canyon says BEWARE to me, whenever I consider such things.

I need to find a way into the park service. There’s this small ranger station on the other side of Mt. Trumbell on the way to Toroweap overlook. That would be an ideal place to work and live. Sometimes I wander if I even need a wife. I haven’t thought about that much? It wouldn’t bother me too bad to have the company of a nice woman.

Looking for Pollywogs

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Tonight’s an evening at the ranch that becomes eerie. We left the lodge late in the afternoon to catch spade-footed pollywogs at a nearby pond. We started telling stories about shapeshifters, if you know what I mean? It’s not easy sleeping when you dwell on such things. Crickets and frogs start sounding louder. Every little movement, voice, drop of water, becomes an atmospheric sound scape. The night is surreal. I’m sleeping a lone out in the bunk house; no crew are staying over. Just the boss, his wife, and me. As we strolled into the ranch after dark, all the lights were off. Everything was pitch black beneath the roaring sea of stars. That midnight sky was bright. The generator isn’t on. My boss has gone to bed. I’m writing and pondering what lurks out in there the night. I’m hearing things. It’s those desert mice scurrying through the Sheetrock walls of the lodge. There’s nostalgic cowboy music playing in the kitchen; the static of this altered reality burns away into the latter hours. My mind is sifting through and regurgitating the same old horrors of unknown things like monsters in bottomless canyons, or the rushing waters of the sandy Colorado crashing down the inner gorge, not far away. The beauty of the Grand Canyon is really satisfying my spirit. I love isolated wastelands, twisted junipers, telling stories around the campfire; listening to the fire crackle, snap, hum. Running the river is a day dream. My life here is but a moment of bliss. I can imagine floating passed dark cliff shadows. Today, I loaded alfalfa, dug holes for fence posts, and ventured into side canyons of Whitmore Wash.

The Great Unknown

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I went for a walk with some of the ranch employees under the stars down a dirt road tonight. We were walking in the black of starlight. Coming back I realized how fortunate I was to be on a casual stroll near one of the seven natural wonders of the world, Grand Canyon. I mentioned some of my stories that I sometimes fear to tell, and my co-workers started to listen; then they grew uncomfortable as I started going into detail. So I remained quiet, and ponder the mysteries of the landscape on my own. So many folks fear the great unknown and turn to go the other way…

The darkness was black beyond sight. Without flashlights we became vulnerable as we stumbled down the dirt road in darkness. But the night was young, the stars, bold. The hills were silent. And then came yips and howls of ancient coyotes reminding me that we are not alone in this wasteland wilderness they call Whitmore Canyon. We continue down the road passed two or three cattle guards, down into Whitmore Wash, a main Grand Canyon tributary. The stars glisten and change colors rapidly in their twinkling. The Colorado roars off in the distance, down in the pre-Cambrian stomach of Mother Earth. The canyon wails an ancient and beautiful song with wind through the Junipers. She seems to say, “I’m Waiting.”

One Expensive Mistake

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It is exhilarating to live far from the fenced confines of the “sophisticated’ modern world. The Grand Canyon is a mystery. It is far from the reality of the miserable suit and tie people. This morning I flew into the canyon by chopper, with a pilot named Rahn. We were supposed to pick up river runners on the Colorado. They never showed up. We sat down there for an hour and a half, visiting, waiting, talking about religion, life, and our different views on the existance of God. We decided to fly up the river to see if there were any rafts headed our way. It turns out the river runners are coming tomorrow, on Saturday. This turned out to be an expensive mistake, but I don’t regret flying 150 m.p.h. over the north rim, into the gorge, and out like a hell-bat. It was windy and the helicopter was bouncing all the way back to the ranch.

The Colorado River was sure boiling with a silence as if it wanted to drown another human being in it’s current. So many mysteries occur in the canyon and it’s tributaries. Every year a freak accident occurs or someone goes missing, never to be found. Today at the ranch, it was abnormally quiet. The air was cool, a first sign that fall is coming.

We tried to feed a pet-shop mouse to some rattlers we have in captivity, but they didn’t bother it. When we catch native mice in the sticky traps and feed them to the snakes, they go berserk. Our fellow road runner, Billy, eats live varments right out the palm of your hand, now.  Never did I suspect these birds to be so intelligent. He comes into the lodge, and the men’s bunk house to visit with folks.

The nights are getting cold. Time to start wearing the jacket. This afternoon, all the employees left for the weekend. It’s just me and another guy named John who stays here occasionally. He’s watching an old movie in the other room, while I write this. The wind is blowing outside. The power we consume comes from two solar panels nearby.

Tonight, I am going to dream of boating down the Colorado among great cliffs of ancient strata, and daring fifteen foot rapids. Tomorrow morning I’ll be ready for another helicopter ride to the river…

Living in Isolation

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I’m out living, working, and breathing isolation every day now. My life is far from a phony reality that once enslaved my poor spirit. I’m on the edge of the enourmous Grand Canyon now and hear the  wind, and the lonesome happy singing of gentle ravens gliding along buttes of Hermit Shale, Toroweap Sandstone, and Kiabab Limestone. The Creosote bushes span as far as the horizon. So many cacti cover the lower portions of the Canyon; three species of Prickly Pear, Hedgehog Cactus, Barrel Cactus, and Fishhook Cactus. Spanish Bayonet, also known as Banana Yucca intermix with creosote, sage, Ephedra Bush, and Desert Holly. Jimson Weed (Datura) grows everywhere, around the ranch, over by the hen house, and up and down every flash flood gully. The large white trumpet flowers are so seductive. I know of the plant’s deadly power.

I work in Whitmore Canyon, a tributary canyon of the Colorado River. It is simple here. All is quiet. It is easy to push out any existing noise and know the a beauty that surrounds me all the time. I’m visiting the rushing red waters of the Colorado river on a regular schedule, educating folks about the truth and the history of this area. They listen very carefully when visiting the canyon. They listen to what I have to say and are appreciative. 

It has been dry here. The clouds have been encouraged to drop rain on the ranch but they often hesitate, moveing up and over Mount Logan, north of the ranch. I want to hear the flood waters rushing down Whitmore Wash. Oh, how I crave the sounds of thunder and rain. But the desert is so beautiful. I’m surrounded by solitude and I hesitate to go home every weekend.

 

Billy the Kid

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Tomorrow morning I leave to go back to Northern Arizona. I have to  say hello to Billy the Kid, our live-in road runner who isn’t afraid of people. We feed him live mice which he whips around and swallows. It’s back to visiting the Grand Canyon every day and getting paid for it. The nights out there are quite rare. Even in rural Utah, the stars don’t stick out as boldly as they do there. At night we have frogs croaking, desert pack rats moving about, and so many different insects making noise besides crickets. It almost feels like your stuck in a trance after the sun goes down. I can’t help but wander what I’ve been missing, even growing up in Southern Utah. The Strip is so different. It’s the 80 mile stretch that really changes the aura. Right before I go to bed in the bunk house, I pause to view the busy stars while listening to desert toads and hearing the wind shifting cottonwood branches.

The landscape around the ranch is covered with evidence of previous cultures and people who called this home. It’s so bone dry, you can only speculate as to how they survived such ruggedness and harshness. It’s cooling off a little; they say it isn’t as hot as it was the week before I came. I sure do love educating the folks that fly in from Vegas, they are so overwhelmed by the beauty that the ranch offers, especially in such close proximity to the Grand Canyon.

Billy the kid is the most interesting bird. He hangs out with us, literally. It’s hard to believe he’s even wild. He acts like he was raised and nurtured by humans. I may have to write some more in the journal tonight. Supper is calling…

Black Rock Wasteland

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Death glistens in
the desert like a mirage,
spectors in the diffused shade.
The sun adds a strange glow to the heat.
It has pulled them out into the open.
They spend dangerous amounts of time
away from their towns in the crevices.
The ghosted wind moves the Creosote
and I hear whisperings in the silence.
They hunt and gather in smeltering black seas.
Dust devils sweep by in dreams.

Heart of the Great Basin

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The stars stand bold against trees. The fire is dancing. The smoke drifts in my direction and soaks into my skin. This is a quiet moment in the Great Basin; where the little people roam the night. These individuals are knee tall. They move through the juniper mountains like ants. I can hear their whisperings, as they work in busy networks… preparing for what may come this way, someday… The thunder storms of summer claim these valleys and the thunderheads are in control. Bolts of lightning draw near, and slam the earth. At night the sky seems to clear, but the storms are like power houses, and linger late into the night.

You have to be careful of the little people. They are there. As I search up winding canyons, what surprises may be waiting? This is the middle of nowhere, which is a place for the remote few of us that desire such isolation. The wasteland may not seem like much to a lot of people, but they are afraid of it, and they hide in great cities. But when I visit their cities, I feel really lonely. When I journey out into the wild, it feels like I’m going home every time.

Going down dirt roads, my car eats the gravel. The dust comes in through the windows. I breathe the dirt road into my lungs, and the dust collects in the jungle of my scalp. Sage Brush, tall as trees, grows along the road and I love the smell of sage after a fresh cloud burst. Sometimes, when I’m driving across basin valleys late at night, I imagine those little people roaming around in the eternal hills. I cannot stop thinking about the mysteries of the rolling, Juniper-covered hills.

In my desert camp, I watch the fading sunset burn the low rising ridges and basin hills. Crowded Junipers greet the setting sun. Clouds ignite in orange, pink, red, and maroon, then purple. All colors silently fade without a noise, as the crickets serenade. Coyotes howl in the distance; thunder sounds somewhere far, far away. The stars come out like bold specks against the dark earth. It is not an evil dark, but a pure black darkness that haunts my imagination. It has provided many sleepless dreams.

Working on the Arizona Strip

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My new life began on the Arizona Strip about a week and a half ago. I’m working 8-9 miles from the inner gorge of the Grand Canyon at Bar10 ranch. The Arizona Strip is one of the most isolated places in the United States, and it has been called the Tibet of North America, because it is one of the most uninhabited places by human population. The problem lays in the fact there is no water on the strip except for a few springs here and there. The Heatons own this ranch, which spans about 250,000 acres large. They have a spring that they pipe water to the ranch from, which is about six miles away. They have about 1,000 head of mother cows that come to the Bar10 in the winter, but during the summer they are at higher elevations. Where I work is about 4,000 above elevation. My job entails being a trail guide. Bar10 ranch has an airstrip that brings tourists in from Las Vegas to see the Grand Canyon. The Heatons also saw the opportunity to pick up river runners who didn’t wish to journey the whole length of the Colorado (through the Grand Canyon) and on to Lake Meade. We pick them up by helicopter. In the old days, those that wanted to visit the Bar10 had to pack everything out by mule. I’m working as a basic guide giving ATV and Ranger Tours, plus educating guests about the Arizona Strip.

So it is a great way to settle down for a while. I’m 80 miles from the nearest telephone pole or oiled road. They have satellite internet out here, so I will be able to post stuff when the chance arises. I work from dawn til dusk… There’s no personal time it seems. When we aren’t giving tours, fixing meals, or entertaining guests, we’re digging ditches, holes, mending fences, etc. It’s a great job though. I live out here five days a week, and spend weekends back in Southern Utah. There’s just so much going on here, that I probably won’t get around to mentioning many details. It’s incredible to see the Grand Canyon every day, and live in such close proximity. I figure by the time this job ends in April, I will have some good experience for something even better down the road.

I’m thinking of some type of job in Law Enforcement through an agency like the National Park Service, or the BLM. I’ll get into certain details later down the road as to why I am pondering this. One reason is, I would like to protect archeological and historical sites from those who would seek to exploit them, or destroy them. I’m tired of seeing these sites and sacred places being jeopardized on a daily basis. I’m not one that wants to dictate things, but I want in some way to protect these areas just because they are so precious, priceless, sacred to so many indigenous and non-indigenous folks, and because they are simply irreplaceable.

So I have great hope for what my future holds…

The Landscape and its History

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That subliminal quiet is stirred only by ancient winds. The rocks are timeless, squared away to outlast the human element. Passing through Juniper I observe enormous balloon clouds hovering over the tips of the mountains. Looking out across the valley below, I see the rust stained foothills where one of Southwestern Utah’s largest petroglyph sites lay, a place known as the Parowan Gap. Some say the ageless writing spans 12,000 years ago in age. I’ve heard that the Paiutes say that they were written by the Creator. Others say they were inscribed by tribes coming from the far east on their trade routes. The gap is a strange and respected place that I often find immense silence.

Moving up the steep grade of the hill into a flat opening in the Junipers, I see arrowhead chippings scattered everywhere. I’ve learned to leave the arrowheads and chippings alone, not because it is against federal law to gather them, but out of a respect I have for certain cultures around here. There’s these old fire pits, dozens of them. In some places fire pit is built on top of fire pit in the sediment, sometimes overlapping. There they are, flintknapping, cooking, grinding corn, visiting, telling jokes, telling stories around the campfire for centuries.

The arrival of the Mormons came not too long ago, about 150 years ago they entered the Parowan valley to stay. The Spanish came 200-400 years ago. The Old Spanish Trail runs through the Parowan Valley, up passed Summit, Utah. The history of these settlers, intruders, invaders is so recent in the history of the Southwest. Their presence is barely a glitch on the radar screen of America’s timespan. What happened in this valley 2,000 years ago, when folks were gathering seeds and killing the cottontails just before the winter snows? Some things will have been forgotten in these so-called modern times, when human beings are so busy they forget to listen to that ancient wind, and they become encased in a workaholic lifestyle in a tall skyscraper in Chicago or New York. Bring a New Yorker out to Southern Utah and the isolation would scare the hell out of them. Those tough street-smart gangsters from L.A. would be a cinch to track and intimidate if they were wandering through these canyons.

This land is beautiful. So much of it’s history remains untold, hidden, and the truth lays out there in the isolation and desolation. The gnarly branch of an old Bristlecone can tell many stories. If I walk passed one of these 3,000 year old trees, chances are, many humans crossed the same path to greet the tree, long before Columbus was born. This history resonates up from soil underneath all the temperary structures, buildings, roads, and cities built by this civilization, America. The truth tells the history, not the myths of America’s founding fathers, or the temporary monuments erected to honor certain persons or individuals.

I was born in Utah. I don’t want to be so naïve and ignorant of the landscape and its history. For example, Mount Rushmore is sacred to Americans, because it honors certain presidents that added providence to America’s adolescence. But I leaned that the entire area around Mount Rushmore is very significant and sacred to the Lakota people, and the sculpturing is looked upon by some to be a desecration of a holy site. All of the Black Hills are sacred to the Lokota.

What history is to be learned about Southern Utah’s past? How many undocumented events took place where I live? Before the local Wal-mart was constructed in Cedar City, I remember all the arrowheads, and bits of pottery that were laying around where that superstore now stands! Does anyone care about what happened there in that area? What about all the endangered Petroglpyphs near this big-box superstore and inside the city limits of Cedar City? As I hike the ageless hills and wander spacious valleys of the Great Basin, it really sparks an interest in me to know the truth, and to seek it. I can only ponder most of the time when I stumble across the ruins of Puebloan ancestors, the rock writings, or when climbing the storied canyons of the Colorado Plateau, deep into the beauty of Mother Earth. I realize just how fortunate I am for the opportunity to explore this place; to feel the vastness of the solitude and isolation. This is wilderness in the truest sense, full of human history, habitation, and legend. The stark blue sky and the stony vegetated earth tell the stories of what happened long ago.

This is what peace is for me. I hope the desire to seek answers and truth never fades.

Galactic blue clouds
Fill the turquoise firmament
Deep from within the belly of Mother Earth
The stories unfold.
The winds are singing –
moving the rain and thunder.
The land is so beautiful.
May it always remain beautiful.
A resistant land it is.

My New Pal, Jesse James!

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I have somewhat a little announcement to make. It’s not a big deal to many, but for me, it was. I’ve been living a solitary life for the passed 4-5 years without much responsibility but myself to care for. Things have changed though, I finally went and found me a dog and named him Jesse, after Jesse James… He’s a blue heeler, english pointer mix. I’ve had him for over two weeks now, which puts him roughly at 8 weeks old. He was born on a farm on the outskirts of Provo, Utah, where I was staying to visit relatives. We’ve already bonded… I went over to Cal’s ranch store to purchase some puppy chow and vaccines. The times are a chang’n!

The Clouds Know

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Four days ago, after weeks of cloudless blue sky, I finally grew tired of the intense heat and asked the rain clouds to return to the land. It seems they heard me… Two days ago when I first saw the return of the clouds, I was so brilliantly happy, and relieved to see a possible end of the relentless bone dry days of summer. Then last night, the rain fell so hard on our ranch house, I couldn’t ignore the beautiful pounding raindrops splashing. I opened the sliding door and let the droplets try to invade the house and I chuckled. What a welcoming gift. So hopefully the monsoon weather stays around for the remainder of the summer.

It is the rain that brings strong memories of summer. It reminds me of the mysteries of life and why the unknown doesn’t always reveal it self to us. The unknown speaks loudly during an isolated active thunderstorm passing over the desert. As I’m traversing the Burr Trail, coming back from Lake Powell, The thunderclouds follow me all the way back to Boulder and Escalante. I camp out over by Bryce Canyon and listen to the rain and thunder claps in the middle of the night. The thunderclouds mix very well and supernaturally with the Colorado Plateau and its canyons. When you’re down in the confines of a deep canyon, a thunderclap echoes for miles and miles through boxy sandstone corridors, and it awakens the deepest appreciation for the quieter things in life.

The rain has returned to lovely Southern Utah, where the wind never sleeps, and the gnarly bushes and pines weave themselves into the endless sky. The clouds, they give shade, provide moisture, balance the heat, and make beautiful pictures for the landscape photographer. They give peace and tranquility in my corner of the world. The land I live in is timeless and cannot be squeezed into mere words. The clouds come as ancient visitors to the land. The rain, floods, and wind carve the timeless fabric of the land, into colorful badlands, vertical hoodoos, rocky gorges and canyons, and flowing muddy rivers like the Colorado.

So I’d thought to stop by the library and let you know my thankfulness…

Is Blogging Still the Thing?

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Man, is it just me or are things kind of dying down in the blogging world? Some blogs I visit haven’t been getting as much attention as they used to. I don’t get as many travelers stopping through here any more, yet I’ve won some awards for my writing, and even a scholarship for a poem. It’s kind of nice though, because this space has become like a personal journal once more. I’m starting to write more material that I wouldn’t have mentioned otherwise. I’ve learned my lesson of posting articles to the more traffic-chocked collaborative weblogs, realizing that I don’t like getting the negative attention as much as I would the positive. More often then not, I’m writing in my composition notebook then West Desert Journal, because I have retained the introverted side to what I do, all along. Attention is not really what is important. What is important is sharing your thoughts, feelings, experiences with the larger world. Some lone drifter comes through here out of the wood work, looking for the off-beat. It’s like meeting some dusty traveler out from the sticks, or the hitch-hiker on the lonesome desert highway. When the rest of the world is bogged up in some fad, we have our little e-mail conversations, and enjoy a fresh conversation like ice cold lemonade on a hot summer day. When it comes down to the nuts and bolts, I write for the sake of writing, for therapuetic reasons, and to inspire those that care to read. My goal was to keep West Desert Journal around as long as I’m alive, however it may one day get a name change. But for now, everything is good.

So I wander, is it just me, or is the popularity of blogging fading?

Looking Back

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It hits like a freight train, I get this uncanny urge to wander off into the mountains. It builds up like water against a weak dam. When I try to describe this to some family members, it angers them. When I was in high school, some of my friends thought I might be suicidal when I would venture into the wilderness, alone. On one occasion they went looking for me, because of this. At first I was surprised that they would consider this, but grateful that they cared enough to do so. Maybe people thought I was shy? In reality; I had a love affair with the lonesome wild. I’ve always had a wanderlust, a motivation to venture into the hills. My mother put a scrap book of poems, artwork, and stuff from my earlier years, up through my teens, and I profess the same things now, as I did then. Some poems I read were clear back to 1996 when I was 14. So this isn’t some passing phase.

My Samurai is working again. It is a bright lemon yellow, so if search and rescue ever have to come looking for me, it won’t be hard to find. I’ve been taking some more risky trails lately due to my 4×4 capability. Having this power comes with more responsibility. Most people think I’m crazy to go to places like the Mormon mountains, alone. The problem is I cannot persuade anybody to come along. So it is just me and nobody! My brother, Joe, is coming home from New York this July, so I hope he’ll accompany me on some of my storm cloud expeditions?

The real fact remains, that I prefer going into the wild alone with no-one accompanying me. It is a very different experience then when I’m with others. Things happen then. When I’m with people, I talk too much. When I’m alone, it’s just thoughts and emotions. It’s easier to tune into the unknown and ponder this beautiful world.

I’m tired of the same regurgitation. The mountains hear my plea and they are always listening. 😉

The Shadows of the Land

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i am leaving home
to join my soul, the wild.
leaving my loved-ones
for earth’s darkness.
the universe sings forever.
the desert calls.
i’ve been patient
in my planning.
no one really hears the mysteries,
or why the heavens weep.
The land’s transforming.
old ways dance in my heart.
my spirit is fiery.
the horizon waits.
i’ll find the place
where nothing ever sleeps.
tonight, i pack travel food
and journey into the desert.
the wind whipped wasteland is glistening.
my dreams haunt
bottomless basin mountains.
my heart is in the tower of stars.
the desert is calling.
in this darkening hour,
it’s a conjuring whisper.
i can’t be late for an appointment
with the shadows
of the land.

Yes, I believe in him

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I just moved from Saint George, Utah, back to Parowan – Which I heard means Evil Waters to the Southern Paiute. Anyways, there’s stories around here of a hairy man, especially over by Enterprise Utah. I avoid certain parts of that country when going in alone… There’s an extreme feeling of melencholy there, because of a massacre site known as the Mountain Meadows Massacre, where Mormons killed over 200 people that were passing through back in the 19th century.

My grandpa has a bigfoot story, and he says the creature moved around him taking strides longer then that of a human being, and it walked in about 2-3 circles before grandpa decided to jump on his 4-wheeler and leave. He never saw anything, though. This happened up in the Tuscher Mountains, above Beaver, Utah. He was out rock hounding and it was after dark. Most people look at me in an unserious way when I admit that I believe.

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