Selected Few

It’s not impossible for Uncle Sam to change his outlook & decolonize. In fact, I think he could change his whole opinion & quit seeing the world from the typical ethnocentric, westernized standpoint. Our multi-cultural nation could enter an enlightened renaissance never seen before in the history of civilization!

First off, I finally have something to write about and it concerns my earlier life. This is what I call introspection. When I was in grade school I hopelessly teased, ridiculed, and made fun of. In the sixth grade I wore a hat that proclaimed, “I love my Grandpa!” The other school children made fun of me because I dressed like a country boy and was living in Salt Lake City at the time. Basically, I was country when country wasn’t cool and I didn’t jive with city kids. I wasn’t good at sports, neither. So the combination made me the class clown.

In a way, I feel like I was dealt a great injustice but it empowered me to be self-dependent, to survive alone this world. That’s where it all begins. This is what makes me personally sovereign. By my definition of that, it means being a citizen to yourself first and foremost before giving allegiance to anything or anyone else. I’m a warrior against the injustices in the world and I’ve learned to be that way from personal struggles. I was bullied in school and now I stand against those that destroy beauty.

There’s a reason I’m an outlaw and a rebel against this modern world because I hear the voices on the wind and dream of deepness and darkness of rivers. My dreams are strong and powerful just like the thunderstorm off in the distance or the coyote that crosses the road. My heart allows me to take a stand against the injustices in the world and I want to become a warrior spirit against those that harm the beauty in this world.

The Creator gave me a heart that is true and pure. The truth is, I am not afraid of getting my heart broken or hurt. Life is beautiful and it’s the challenging experiences that count most. In the end, my deepest charms are reserved for the girl that wins my heart. All others will be friend-zoned. 🙂

We drove out to Area 51 in the middle of the night which turned into a big misadventure. Actually, it wasn’t a misadventure at all. Well it was, but it wasn’t. And it wasn’t even my idea. You see, there’s this girl I was studying with at Southern Utah University and after we finished up she suggested that we drive to Area 51 in Southern Nevada in the middle of the night. I don’t think she realized that I would do such a thing. Most guys aren’t crazy. Well, she’s crazy and I realized how much fun it would be. So we went hippie and took two of our friends along and drove to Area 51 in the middle of the night. The plan was to pull an all night adventure. So with a wild hair we left Southern Utah for Area 51. I’ve never visited the place in the middle of the night and the inspiration behind it was impressive.

So we began the journey leaving Cedar City around 10 PM. On our way we stopped in Modena, Utah next to some rotting antique buildings from the 19th century. They were all boarded up and looked mysterious in the headlights of a parked SUV. We also stood next to the tracks as a train flew by. The energy of the beast rattled the ground like a land slide and whipped the dark wind creating the most intense sensation of freedom. We stood within a few feet of the passing train with our arms all stretched stretched to the sky. It’s these little moments that grow on you and burn into memory. It’s why people go on adventures; to experience life which is way too short. It’s why love has so much power. I love life. Now back to the story…

This crazy girl is Aleicia. Don’t ask me where she came from. I call her the rock chip repair girl. That’s how my amigos and I met her. She fixes rock chips on peoples’ windows next to one of our favorite country fast food joints in Cedar City called Top Spot. They have a plastic cow on the roof that makes the whole town laugh and you can get bonafide country store ice-cream for a buck! Well I take it back, it isn’t just ice cream; it’s a home-made/hand-made shake that costs a dollar. That’s how I met this amazing girl, Aleicia, telling her about Country Store Ice Cream while she was inspecting a rock chip on my wind-shield.

After leaving Modena, we crossed the Nevada state line around midnight and took a pit-stop in Pioche in Lincoln County, Nevada. We walked into a haunted motel with a reputation for ghosts. The town itself is of high red-neck quality, the towns-folk are very unusual and sometimes suspicious of outsiders. Some of them are storytellers of the the old west or descendants of outlaws. There’s not much to see in the middle of the night so we took pictures on the empty main as fluorescent street lights eliminated ancient buildings in strange white isolation. It is said when Pioche was first established as a mining camp in the late 1800s, over 76 people died in shoot-outs and cold blooded murder before anyone passed on of natural causes. So the town never gained the same notoriety as Tombstone or Dodge City but it was more lawless than both those towns combined. Pioche was nearly invisible on the vast frontier, being on edge of the Mojave wilderness and the Southern Fringe of the Great Basin.

The Great Basin enormous and covers most of Nevada. The geographical characteristics are usually valleys that stretch for dozens of miles with sparse mountain ranges popping up like islands in the sea. You can drive down an empty highway and never see another motorist for hours on end, even in the middle of the summer during tourist season. I once ran out of gas on my way to Baker, Nevada once and was stranded on the roadside for five hours before an RV came along with spare can of gas. This is why I love that country!

We didn’t stay long in Pioche but we stopped briefly at Cathedral Gorge State Park for a moon-lit hike through strange badlands formations and joked and teased in the dark of night. What an eerie place as it reminded me of a time when Skinwalkers and Chupacobras lurk in the shadows of Juniper and Pinion and coyotes howl in the sage. We watched one of the last thunderheads of summer pour down on the desert, and the lightning show was reminiscent of fireworks but it was natural and beautiful. We were soon driving through the downpour on our way to Nevada’s secret military base but the federal government still denies its existence!

Around 2-3 AM we arrived in the shambled ruins of Rachel, Nevada, on the northern boundary of Area 51. It doesn’t even look like a town at all. There’s the Little Ale’inn which is the major gathering place of UFO enthusiasts and alien experts from all over the world. Before arriving there, we took pictures of otherworldly grafitti; little green men with big bug eyes painted on buildings and water tanks. The rural decay around Rachel is amazing because of the extra terrestrial memorabilia that has become quite nostalgic. We stopped briefly at the inn to photograph the famous sign there, while looking up at shooting stars. That is one evening I will never forget.

We finally ventured down one of the back roads to the border of Area 51, to a gated entrance that was heavily lit. We approached the signs that say. “Use of Deadly Force, Authorized.” We parked the Blazer about twenty feet from the gate in the lights of a watch-tower and observed a unmarked military guard walking in the darkness. He was wearing what looked like a space suite and no one ever came to talk to us. They knew we were there long before we arrived. That’s all we witnessed of Area 51. We never saw strange lights, just a few shooting stars… There’s not much else to see and it’s not all that spectacular. We went out there because it was important that we actually had the experience. We set a goal and we accomplished our initiative. It is important to follow through on your initiatives just like it’s important for a climber on Mt. Everest to reach the summit. We accomplished our mission, but it came with a price.

To be continued…

Last night I went hiking down in the Narrows. There were no clouds in the sky. I returned to Cedar City around 7 P.M. and spent that evening reading Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey.

Sometime in the wee-hours of morning I had a strong dream about the entire Grand Canyon getting inundated with water ripping down every gorge and side canyon. Imagine the destruction to Hoover Dam? At the Bar 10 lodge where I used to work on the North Rim, I dreamed the employees had gone crazy and were gambling and playing poker. When I awakened images of what happened in Havasupai last weekend came back to me. I could hear the roaring overflow, snapping wood and boulders. Oh, how I miss Havasupai though with the hiking trail that meanders from the campground onto Mooney Falls and down to Beaver Falls, ending at the Rio Colorado. What a spectacular thing it is to day-dream of Havasupai!

Next week I head to Canyon Lands and Horseshoe Canyon. I’ve invited some people to join me on that excursion but doubt anybody is going along. Surviving Havasupai helped me discover my humanity and the big realm of possibilities. My heart is not going to be bludgeoned by the suit and tie world because I am forever individualistic. Life is a short-lived paradise and my intention is to take advantage of every quick moment. The sheer ruggedness of Canyon Country awaits my return and I will seize every opportunity to be in the wild.

It is nice to have friends along though because you develop a camaraderie that goes totally unrivaled in the materialistic world. Friends become buddies and memories are created that never fade!

It was a beautiful and pristine weekend on the Havasupai Reservation in Grand Canyon. Late on a Thursday night we hiked eight miles into the Grand Canyon to Supai Village and arrived at the tourist office shortly before day-break. After we paid our dues we headed straight for Supai campground two miles away to set up camp for the weekend. That very same day, I wanted to head back into the village while others went swimming in the falls. That afternoon I visited with various Supai villagers and engaged in small talk. This was my first time to Havasupai and it turned out to be a life-changing experience.

Friday and Saturday I spent hiking with my buddies Robert and Joe. Saturday I wanted to hike 7-8 miles down to the Colorado River from the campground but couldn’t get anyone in our group to accompany me that far so I settled for Beaver falls about three miles down from Mooney Falls. My first impression of the waterfalls in Havasupai was the sheer beauty of the turquoise green waters going through the canyon and the travertine formations that sculpted each spectacular waterfall. It was utterly amazing, it was almost like the first time I set eyes on the Grand Canyon when I was eight years-old. All my life I’ve seen various waterfalls around the Southwest and nothing was on par with Havasupai. Every outdoorsman should go to Havasupai at least once in their lifetime!

Late Saturday night as we were hiking up from Mooney Falls and were told to evacuate the area around Mooney because there was a flash flood warning in effect until ten o’clock. Joe and Robert headed back to camp and I hung around Mooney Falls to shoot a few more images as the waterfall began turning reddish brown. In camp everything was calm that night and we enjoyed an evening with only mild rain.

Around midnight early Sunday, I woke up to people screaming and a man shaking my tent alerting me of the massive flood. As I emerged from my tent I saw the ravine next to the tent filling with a raging torrent. The evening before it was bone dry. Boulders rolled through it with ease being pushed along with sticks and driftwood. On the other side was Havasu creek. It was completely overwhelmed looking more like a muddy Colorado River. All kinds of debris went rushing by including an outhouse, tents, water toys, cottonwood trees and boulders. The floodwaters completely surrounded the high ground that stranded our group of twelve people. There were others; a scout troop with six boys and one other couple with their friend. It became a long night as we all waited for morning to swing around. The water kept rising until 4 A.M. and then slowed down. We made a camp fire and everyone huddled around waiting for morning.

There was a lot of confusion, panic and uncertainty even in the morning when rescuers hadn’t arrived. It wasn’t until around 9 A.M. that four Havasupai men came to our rescue. By this time we saw a couple of private helicopters arriving on the scene. One of them dropped an old rope on our island. The Havasupai men helped us construct a line across the floodwater about 40 feet long but no-one wanted to cross because of the strong flood current. The first to traverse the line was a guy named Jerry and he barely made it. The rest of us would follow after being warned that another wave of flood water was just minutes away from slamming us. One of the Havasupai men said we had three choices; we could cross the line, climb a tree, or drown in the flood! My buddies ran up some trees but I couldn’t get into a tree and that’s when my survival instinct kicked in. I ran towards the ropes with a pack on. The only thing I was carrying was my flute, my camera, a blanket my mother made me when I was a child, and my 150 dollar cowboy boots. Everything else was lost to the flood. I zipped across the rope line. It was easier than I had expected though I did slip but was able to pull myself to safety with the help and encouragement of the Havasupai men. Two more people had crossed before me and everyone else followed across the line except Joe and Robert, my friends from Parowan, Utah. They were still up in trees on the island!

The water was beginning to rise and that’s when I began to snap a little. I felt guilty for crossing the line and having my friends still on the other side. It was tear-jerking! It was hard dealing with the uncertainty as to whether they could make it out or not and I couldn’t bear the thought of them dying in the the flood. The others in our group were from Vegas and when they saw me, they began shouting in unison for Robert and Joe to come across the line. Not long afterwards they arrived and both crossed to safety. The scouts were still on the island as well but there was an old Havasupai man that was able to find an access route to the island on foot and they were able to bring the scouts across quickly and safely before the next surge of floodwater hit. Everyone on the island made it out alive. I was so overjoyed that my friends made it across safely. We all made it higher ground. We followed the four Havasupai up some steep inclines and a hidden trail that lead back to the village two miles away. By the time we arrived in the village there was FEMA warnings posted on the trees letting everybody know that an earthen dam up the river had failed. We were airlifted in Blackhawk helicopters out of the Canyon.

Almost two days have passed since we left Havasupai behind and already I’m missing the beauty, solitude, and tranquility of the water falls. Late last night I dreamed about them. The campground is only thing that really sustains the Havasupai people. Without the tourism they would have a very hard time indeed. Our group is forever indebted to the four Havasupai men that risked their lives to save ours. I may not be writing this if it hadn’t been for them.

I’ve seen the best and the worst of Grand Canyon. While we were all on that island death was a constant reminder that life is short. Looking into that floodwater all night really forced me to introspect carefully about my life. Now I want to experience all that my life has to offer. The blood that runs in my veins is that of a pure desert rat and I’m grateful for this experience and having survived. I hope everyday becomes an adventure or misadventure!

Click Here – For photos of the flood!

Correction made to this post – Only twelve people in our group became stranded on the island. Seven others left earlier before the flood hit.

I am resting by alcove deep in Canyonlands, dreaming of wasteland shadows and the ancient voices from the past. Thank goodness, I am far from town and listening to the sweet sound of crickets and mourning doves in a cottonwood. A dust devil sweeps the arid plain whipping tumble weeds. A dark black raven trails the light azure sky. The sandstone is baked enough to fry and scramble eggs. The desert is an enormous frying pan. The distant elevated plateau dances in a mirage.

I’m alone and surrounded in pure isolation. Sure do miss those monsoon thunderheads that appear in late July. The crazy wind crashes through Juniper and pinion making the sound of white water rapids. Descending into a narrow slot canyon, into purple shade, I feel the cold red sand rise up between my bare toes. And I must admit It’s very lonesome… but its okay!

Where are you my fellow comrades; desert rats, rock climbers, river runners, outlaws and rugged naturalists? Where are you my beautiful sandstone queen?

In town I feel like a stranger and so I go home to visit the hills. Them rolling mountains have always been my friends. They are always there waiting. My love for the wild is my inner peace. On deep summer nights the thunder rolls over canyon country and I hear the sound of rain when sleeping on these cold winter nights. Oh, how I miss summer’s warmth…

In a dream, the cottonwoods sway to and fro on a heavy wind. I look into the sky and see patches of cumulus cloud ships as they journey through turquoise blue. And all of this fills an empty void inside. Even in hard times, the beauty gets me by from day to day. It helps me to remember and acknowledge the Creator’s hand in all things.

Life is like a rugged dirt road. It has washboards, puddles, and deep ruts, but my happiness has always been in four wheel drive and I can go anywhere I please. So I don’t let sadness or loneliness creep upon me. There is too much at stake. There is too much to be thankful for.

I have the wanderlust bug. There are so many places that I want visit. My dream is to move around the Southwest, and visit all those desert landscapes between Los Angeles and Santa Fe. I’ve admired those hitch-hikers that travel great American highways, like the famous, but deceased, Chris McCandless…

I have become somewhat a transient, myself. Not like those folks that spent so much personal time in isolation. I haven’t always been the best of friends and have fallen short of promises to keep, but I constantly need the human element. I depend on human acquaintances, friendships, and close family. I go to them for social replenishment, even nurturing, but often fail to return the favor. Without people in my life, I would be a dead man.

Instead of hitch-hiking, which I did a little in my teen years, I prefer to drive a camouflage-brown Samurai all over the West. This last summer, I spent a lot of time in Navajoland. I pick up every hitch-hiker out there on the rez, just to visit. Going places and meeting new people is always worth every mile. The summer before, I gave one of our stone customers a ride clear from Cedar City down to Tuba City. It was a good excuse to travel. He is one of our long-time customers, who had hitched a ride all the way up to our rock yard from off the rez. He needed sculpting Alabaster bad enough, and so I volunteered to drive him home. Later on, I went to an event in Flag, then headed up to camp near Lake Powell, in the hills north of Big Water. All the while, the suit and tie people continue to flourish and so do I! Not many people have the opportunity to wander all over tarnation, surely what this means is to experience true freedom instead of an illusion…

I made two very unique trips to Navajoland and Hopiland this summer. I drove on back roads around Big Mountain and Black Mesa. One major reason was to see the gaping wounds of Peabody Coal, one of the largest strip mining operations in the West. The first trip started in Chinle; I drove up through Keams Canyon, entering Hopi Territory. Just before dusk, I left the small village of Shungopovi and journeyed all night, careful not to rush. The stars were enormous in the heavens, there were deep ruts in a dirt road that leads to the coal fields. The wash-boards were nightmarish. Small communities, homes, and ranches were dispersed all over. Out there, folks seem to worry about outside travelers, reminding me of people back home… While checking the oil, three different individuals had stopped out of concern. One guy asks if I was lost and another wanted to know if my engine was having trouble.

After traversing some of those roads, I cannot imagine what it would be like to commute these routes on a daily or weekly basis; having to haul water or go to work, etc!? The nearest highway is 20-40 miles away. Approaching Peabody Coal Mine in the middle of the night with bright orange industrial lights was coming face to face with a monstrous and fiery industrial dragon that pierces wilderness at the very heart. It’s all found on top of a high plateau covered in Juniper, Pinion, and Cedar. Big Mountain and Black Mesa are at the heart of the Navajo Nation. It is an area considered sacred to Navajo people. On my second trip out there, it was mid day, and the landscape changed. It didn’t look as bad. The hills surrounding the mines were green with sage. Healthy monsoon clouds poke-a-dotted the sky. The air was fresh. It tasted and smelled good. Of course looks are deceiving, I’m aware of that!

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.”