West Desert Journal

Nate doesn’t kill rattlers, instead he talks to them and says sorry for trespassing whenever he meets one. He must have a soft spot for rattlers and humans who behave similarly?

I ponder the precious and rare beauty of this world. The quiet that is. The sun rises in the east igniting the purple twilight while canyon birds join serenading crickets. The arms of orange light touch the tips of canyon rim and I am lost somewhere between eternity and pure love. This is life and we are on this journey of ruggedness called reality. This wilderness feels closer to faraway from all of life’s travails. The sunrise comes and then passes into oblivion never to be repeated.

The wind still whispers the ancient past as it travels through pinion. I hear them passing through here as if it were the present. They come out of the trees like lone drifting cloud shadows. They bring with them the stories!

Images dance. From out of the past, they come. Even with uncertain modern times, they dance. A great change is coming. Just around the bend, it’s on the verge of waking. The world is about to change forever. Brace yourselves. Think of the peaceful rain, rolling thunder; what happened long ago. These old ways are not forgotten.

And this is what is called mystery. Listen.

Can you hear it? Coming?

In a few words to keepin it short
My heart trembles
for Coyote Kate.

In winter, the wind whistles
over the dark Uintahs
through steep strange canyons
of sandstone and shadow.

The beauty of that country is composed of
lost gold mines, dinosaur graves
and chocked oil deposits -

a wild territory haunted
by coyotes, cowboys, ramblers ‘n such
even the ghosts of
departed prospectors.

as the sun sets
in the freeze of winter
you can feel the hint
of a deep conundrum
plaguing the
land of the Utes.

in quiet discontent
an independent Woman known
as Coyote Kate wonders
the streets of Vernal,
a town of oil drillers
river runners ‘n more.

there is something unusual to Her
silence that causes Me to conspire
as She moves about.

far away to the south
She rides the quiet canyons
and labyrinths of a dream.

I used to engage every adventure
into the forested hills.
I would follow the shimmering light
that appeared in the distance.
yet, I never felt fully content

until She crossed My mind.

A couple of years ago I was giving a Hummer tour in the Grand Canyon with a bunch of Back Easterners. It was mid-July and about 110 degrees Fahrenheit, outside. We pulled off the rocky road road to take a short break and stretch. The road winds it’s way down into the inner gorge of the canyon via Whitemore Wash to river mile marker 187 on the Colorado River. It is one of only two access points that can get you that close to the river in a 4×4. During the break we walked over to a cluster of Barrel Cactus and I began some interpretation on the flora of Grand Canyon when all a sudden we heard the doors lock automatically on the Hummer. Silence fell over the group. It didn’t take long to realize that the keys were still in the ignition and all the windows were rolled up.

For the next 45 minutes we debated and conspired in the shade of the Hummer, trying to figure out what to do? We were 6 miles from the lodge which would require hiking all the way up out of Whitmore Wash and out of the canyon. Nobody had water. That wasn’t even a choice for various reasons. Finally we grabbed a sharp basketball sized piece of basalt and proceeded to knock out the back window of the vehicle, then continued the tour. That was a teachable moment. What did I learn? I learned to always keep the windows cracked on a vehicle that has automatic locks!

The other teachable moment hit me later up at the lodge. My boss had me fill out an incident report and he called in for a price quote on a window replacement. I was surprised to learn the repair would cost around 800 dollars. Had I knocked out the windshield, it would have been around 200 dollars. The the next six months I was the butt of quite a few jokes.

All of this was on my mind today. Little moments like these educate you. The mistakes you make are teachable moments. They are experiences that create an impact that are still recalled years down the road.

by Nathan Cowlishaw

The snow covers the land in a thick white blanket with sunshine sparkling all over the mountains and trees. The sky is hard turquoise with soft clouds traveling over the new winter-land. For three days it snowed continuously. It reminds me of the deep heart of Navajoland near the Four-Corners, Arizona. This is the Escalante Desert around Cedar City, Utah, which is usually brown and thirsty. This past summer monsoon storms were disappointingly scarce compared to what I remember as a child when rain would turn streets into rivers around town.

I miss those times traveling around the Navajo Reservation in the dead of winter back when I was a tour guide. Driving across a white snow packed Monument Valley was sheer beauty and stark winter clouds cloaking mesas and red sandstone buttes. That was quiet heaven on Mother Earth. I miss the orange crimson sunsets flooding the snow-decked plateaus chocked with Juniper and Pinion. As I was traveling, my mind would drift in and out of reality because the beauty would carry me far away. It would take me to another time in the past when things were sacred and simple. It was a place free from pop-culture nonsense and mindless vanity to a real heartfelt existence of solitude and hardship. There was a time when struggling was the main line of work and labor and you really had to tow the line to survive but you could listen to the storytellers instead of televisions and radios.

Winter is a harsh season but well worth the endurance. I love it in the Colorado Plateau and Great Basin. Tonight, I am dreaming of the supernatural. Something roams those white hills in the night. I am writing this as long after that turquoise sky turned to night. It is starting to snow this evening and people travel through it on interstates, being careful not slide or wreck. We need the moisture very bad so it is the perfect trade-off. It is the time to thoroughly enjoy Cabin Fever, be with loved ones and dwell in the past.

I wish there was someone around tonight to tell my stories to. There’s no one around to share my tales of the past, of what happened so long ago. If you are patient with me, I have many many stories. A lot of them are not written. My stories are for skeptics and nonbelievers and they are unreal to believers. When I get old, my grandchildren will have the opportunity to hear the stories and I will hope they will pass them on down. My life is short but I am determined to make the most of it. The Creator has blessed me tremendously.

Thankyou, Heavenly Father, for the beauty in this world and for allowing me to see it and realize!

The Dream of Reality

Basically
you are a dreamer
and I am a realist.

A dreamer is like the sky, intangible
where a realist is like the earth, tangible.

That doesn’t matter
as long as they both have a vision

When they possess that vision
it would make sense
that the earth and sky
are actually made for each other.

They do become one
where they meet.

And when they are one
they sustain everything.

by Nathan Cowlishaw
& Angela Perry

The heart knows not reason just what it feels. It isn’t any more complex then a child that likes to play in all their innocence. So because the heart is like a little child it doesn’t always know better and it makes so many mistakes. Perhaps that is why logic is there to keep it in check so it doesn’t run too wild. My heart knows love and can hardly be contained. It leads me into a lot of pain on occasion. I’m learning to keep it in check but I also listen to it more then anything else.

I’m kind of a rebel when listening to my logic because most my dreams come from the heart and it has never led me astray. Yes, I know pain and affliction but I also know the greatest forms of happiness and joy because I have always listened to the heart. Whether it’s hearing the spirit of the wild or the mysterious soul of a woman, I always listen.

Even when I feel pain, the heart inspires me to write and formulate words properly so that you can read what I am feeling. The love of life keeps me going strong and gets me through the hardest times. The relationship I have with my heart is the truest form of love. My spirit is strong and compassionate because of what my heart has done. I thank the Great Master for giving me such a gifted heart.

Away from darkness a dreamer’s journey begins towards incredible healing. His vision conjures up images from the bottoms of waking hours. Those spent thoughts were turning up nothing. The imagination was sad because it did it all in vein and trial.

Yet, here he wanders beneath the shield of sky, crossing the beautiful Desert that flows through him like a river. Out there is where all of the hidden wounds have been sewn. When young, he knew not his fear. Now he knows.

This is my own walk on the Red Road across a cheerful landscape, a vista of quality and color. The bad things in my life are forgotten. They matter not. They are just small thoughts easily cast from the mind. In peace, I shout it all out until I feel unworldly silence.

A bush, a stone, the sound of crickets, a river in the mountains; all of it is beauty. The meadowlark hides in the sunflowers sounding it’s incredible whistles. The desert heals my worn-out soul and renews the spirit. The deepness thereof is possessive and I am a castaway. As far as I am concerned the raft may carry me forever.

Supernatural clouds sail along the bronze horizon and I hear the beating heart of our Mother Earth. I am grateful for all of creation. The ageless wind stirs the forces of life and I am in the corners of God’s imagination. Free of any pain I may have suffered.

My love is the wilderness and those that destroy beauty are my enemies. I am personally sovereign and free.

An old wise fellow
came and spoke to me
he was the big cottonwood tree.

That old familiar wanderlust is coming back and I am once again listening to the wind. Talk about footloose! Why is it happening? It’s like Jack London’s Call of the Wild. I am fighting a strong temptation to flee and travel into desolation, isolation and utter solitude. One day I may tempt fate and head into the unknown… I’m listening to the chaotic-symphonic chorus of crickets outside my backyard door with two blue heelers sleeping in the tall grass. Their feet twitch in miniature spasms as if they are sprinting in their dog-dreams. Animals do have visions.

Much time has passed and it will continue. With each passing day I get older and hopefully wiser. When will my restless heart tire and my wild passions break? Yes, I am a crazy dreamer disconnected from everyone. It really seems that I live in dreams. It’s hard for me to understand anything else other than howling winds rushing through pines.

Please… if you are reading this. Come and talk to me and tell me how you feel? Try to help me find affinity and relatedness with you so that we can both understand our humanity; so we can communicate intelligibly because we are surrounded by a chaotic-psychotic world of greed. Come and lets find harmony in the simple. It would be so nice to connect with other dreamers. Are you one of them? If you are, how far have you traveled to my little abode? Because I have been traveling far and wide. As it has been said before; the more I learn the less I know.

I have in my possession an incredible beauty that can never be put down. When I discovered it, it became apart of me. It is what I am. I defend it with all my heart!

Well I may be heading back to Havasupai even though it’s closed for the next several months. They may let me back in if I volunteer to help reconstruct the campground and trails below the village. Every year for the rest of my life, I will travel to Havasupai because it is forever tied to my soul. The introspection I went through the night of the big flood was life-changing and the muddy water really spoke to me. Now I dream and contemplate the beauty that surrounds my life and I am grateful to be SO ALIVE!

Classes began this week and I am going full-time - eighteen credits. I borrowed the maximum amount on my student loan and purchased a Macbook and some photo editing software. Two of my classes are in photography and I’m seeing these big purchases as worthy investments to develop my talents. There is a strong need for me to produce more content but I need some industry-standard tools to do so.

Stay tuned! I’m going to write many thoughts in this journal…

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, up in Utah 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.

My prayers go out to you tonight wherever you are. May God bless and protect you in your journeys far from home and family. When I’m driving down an empty road I’ll give you a ride and be a friend. I love your stories and how you write poems on leather shoes and how you sing to the southwestern moon. In the darkness on the edge you possess a strong connection to your Creator and he has not forgotten your sleepless wandering soul.

I’ve dubbed the basement apartment where I’m living “the cave” three houses down from Southern Utah University. Lately I’ve been having vivid dreams at night in the windowless bedroom where I sleep. You can smell the soil of the earth in the foundation. At night I leave the door open to hear the crickets. I share my living space with several room-mates; spiders, ants and centipedes. Those varmints and me, we co-exist! lol… There is a mystery linked to the bedroom. These dreams are wonderful. Some of them are on par with waking reality. Early this morning I dreamed I was floating over a very steep granite canyon somewhere far away. There was dark green grass growing in deep pockets and crevices and calm pools of water reflecting clouds in the sky. It was surreal. The aesthetics surpassed anything I’ve experienced in waking reality. I’ve always been a dreamer. It was Crazy Horse, the great Lakota man that referred to the dream world as closer being to reality and that our waking life was just a shadow of it.

For the past few weeks I’ve been doing quite a few solo hikes. The experience one gains hiking alone in the hills is quite different than hiking with groups of people. You drown in isolation and it swallows you like a blanket. A dense forest surrounds you and takes you far from life’s travails and into the corners of God’s holy mind. The wilderness is my home forever.

So I traverse through life a happy man of gratitude and I am the happiest of individuals. Nothing will take that power from me because it is a part of my spirit. I’ve discovered a beauty that most will never know. There are those who cannot recognize beauty when it surrounds them.

One day I may find my better half and then everything will be complete. There is a song that my mother always sung to me when I was a child, a song that I will sing to my future children. It is one of the most personal songs in my life and it goes like this:

“I know a place where no one ever goes.
There’s peace and quiet, beauty and repose.
It’s hidden in a valley behind a mountain stream.
And there I can find a place - a place where I can dream
Only a place of beauty to the eye,
Snow capped mountains rising to the sky.
Now that I know
That God has created this world for me.
For me. For me!

The songwriter or poet is unknown…

Okay, I had a wild hair to break out of my shell of conformity and write a few words here on Freedom. I’m talking True Freedom and how it feels. First comes courage and faith to think outside the box and to be different from all the others. Freedom is finding the courage to really let a woman know she is beautiful. Freedom is the wild horse that roams the great basin or is the man that decides to hitch-hike the lonesome highways of America. Freedom is to enter the quiet canyons of the Colorado Plateau and to experience solitude and seclusion.

I seek to be different and to emerge with a unique identity in a world of common imagery and unchanging static. My spirit is like a wild eagle and it cannot be bound by conformity, though I choose to conform. My shadow is a true rebel, but I have learned to bridal the Poncho Villa within. As I roam the great and vast distances of the American West and live the rural small town life - I have learned to experience true freedom on a daily basis. I thank the Creator for instilling in me such a strong and innate since of being. That is, because I am truly sovereign on a personal level and no one will ever tell me what to do! I choose what I choose and discard what is useless.

My affinity is for those that are striving to discover true freedom and who are trying to break away from the mold. There are lonesome hearts and there are dreamers; they are all naturally my friends.

True freedom and happiness comes from within. It all comes from my heart and now I am expressing it here the best way I can. This is just a sliver of my heart and there are infinite ways for me to go. Life is one big adventure to me and I am excited to see what lays around the next bend. With each major rapid I roar with anticipation and excitement.

I’m sure glad that things like that don’t happen on a regular basis. Something uncommon and rare doesn’t usually pop out of the bush like it did today. I’m not worried about anything paranormal or to do with wildlife. What I’m worried about are the few two-legged varmints that seem to haunt the hills.

Anyone who spends enough time out there will know that it is common sense to carry some kind of self-defense whenever possible. You don’t want to stumble across someone’s marijuana field in a remote canyon and end up meeting the farmer. Or how about the poachers, cattle rustlers, artifact diggers and fugitives running from the law?

I’ve had my share of awkward and strange encounters with a few creeps and I hope to keep them minimal! Today was rather trippy and I would prefer to end this here for now!

A couple years ago I had an amazing experience not easily explained. In fact I was baffled at first and then totally overjoyed. It all started when I received a fix-it ticket from a highway cop about a month before for a dead tail-light on my Suzuki Samurai. I ended up replacing the whole tail light assembly and was able to find it used at the local junk yard. The problem arose when I neglected to get the ticket taken care of.

I left town for Spring Break that spring and was attending Dixie State College. When I returned I received a letter in the mail from the Hurricane City Justice Court informing me that I had failed to dismiss the citation and also failed to show up in court. In the letter they were threatening to suspend my license, increase my fine and issue a warrant for my arrest. The notice was dated March 9 and the day I received this letter was march 20th. The letter stated that I had to pay the fine within 10 days or these additional charges would apply. I became pretty distressed and called the Hurricane Justice court asap.

When they looked up my case number they said that the ticket had been dismissed and that Nathan Cowlishaw had come in showing proof that the tail light assembly was replaced. The fact is I never went in. They asked me if I had sent someone on my behalf and I told them I did not. The truth is I told no one about my ticket except two family members and they were living hundreds of miles away. During that phone call I had the lady on the other end reverify this information twice and was reassured that my ticket had was dismissed with proof. There were no clerical errors. The citation verification number they had matched the ticket I was holding in my hand. So I hung up the phone and called a few relatives about this.

After all that, I still wasn’t convinced! Being a little obsessive-compulsive I decided to call the court office about twenty minutes later. They located a woman by the name of Lisa. She was the original employee who had engaged in the transaction with the individual that was supposedly me. I spoke with Lisa and she verified that she had spoken to this individual and informed me that his name was indeed Nathan Cowlishaw. She reiterated that he had presented proof that my tail-light assembly had been replaced and they dismissed the ticket.

This is amazing! I don’t know who it was that showed up on my behalf? I don’t know who to thank? I never was at the Hurricane Justice Court to get the ticket dismissed. Lisa said that I must of been doing things right and should thank my lucky stars. To top all that, I was supposed to have a peace officer inspect my tail light and he was supposed to sign the ticket in order for it to be dismissed! Which I never did! That is what makes this a miracle.

I cannot even explain how this could happen logically? Miracles come out of the woodwork when you least expect them. That’s why you never stop believing and always remain hopeful even during those dark struggles in life. Never forget the beauty of this world or the blessings that you’ve been given. I want to thank somebody but don’t know who? I am being watched over and this was one of those unknown happenings.

This morning I listened intently to whistling robins. They were chirping and cheering with an early morning joy. The lovely noise filled me with a bright primordial bliss. There’s a storm rolling in from the desert. The whirling gusts of cold shifting air whip the Ponderosa trees in the yard. The past three days the summer temperatures have spilled into the 90’s but alas the nimble clouds have come to pay Cedar City a visit. Their approach is most anticipated. Never curse the moisture that the Creator provides!

Thank you Heavenly Father for this blessing of harmony. I am so grateful to be a part of the colorful landscape. Canyon Country runs in my blood. It is a part of my soul. When I become old, I want my carcass dumped in a flash flood gully where coyotes may discover my discarded flesh and laugh with joy. May they fill their empty bellies and be content. That is a powerful and pleasant thought.

All around is sand and plateau, the homeland of the Anasazi. Their presence is felt on the ancient wind. Their whispers whistle through pinion and juniper. A spectacular thunderhead trails across the landscape with a cloud shadow dumping rain on the thirsty landscape. The aroma of lightning and wet sage fills the air. Red Indian Paintbrush, Yellow Mustard and Prickly Pear flowers paint the pretty desolation. Welcome to the beauty of Mother Earth and a turquoise Father Sky.

My heart is filled with love for all of God’s creations - for the wailing wind that sings in desert pines. Listen to the old ways when the wasteland shimmers and conjures the past. Like a flickering movie the vision comes alive. My imagination evokes the dreams and they mix with hot summer daylight and rolling thunder. The sweltering sun bakes the land while the thunderhead is an escape from the ultraviolet furnace.

I sweat profusely in the intense dry as the dark rain heads towards my camp. The wind pushes the thunderhead swiftly. The junipers sing with the oncoming assault. Amazing! I’m taking cover in a red nylon tent that flaps and whips violently against the oncoming gusts. The thunderhead descends on my camp ground and strikes full throttle dropping golf-ball-sized rain drops that pound the earth without mercy. The dry beige colored dirt quickly turns dark and saturated rusty brown. A sudden flash of lightning strikes the ground followed by a deafening crack of thunder. As the ground trembles I feel the humbling power of nature.

There is no way to put into words how you feel when looking at huge murals of strange painted beings floating on canyon walls…

These images predate the Anasazi and when they arrived in Grand Canyon perhaps they were perplexed by the archaic pictography scattered throughout Canyon Country? They give you a sense of awe when hiking to remote places like Horseshoe Canyon or the San Rafael Swell in Central Utah.

I have always been fascinated with rock art. When I was in my early teens I’d check out stacks of books from the library on the subject. It developed an interest that became so powerful I started traveling to all the various sites that I could access and have since visited over 800 panels of rock art in Iron County! I’ve been able to locate 23 different sites with the help of old-timers, ranchers, sheep herders and friends. I’ve stumbled across sites that may not even be known to the general public? The majority of sites found around Iron County were left by the Anasazi and Freemont and not the Western Archaics. What really generates the deepest interest for me is the Barrier Canyon styles of rock art that dominate Horseshoe Canyon, San Rafael Swell, Glen Canyon and the Grand Canyon. I’d like to see some of the locations in Grand Canyon but they are closed off to the public.

My imagination is tempted to roam wild when visiting these places because they have an intuitive power to paint images and create scenes in my mind about the lives and times of these ancient people. They used the atlatl for hunting and created Split Twig Figurines that have been discovered in caves all over the Southwest. Very little is known about the Western Archaic peoples that lived in Utah and Arizona. When it comes to the rock art, one can only speculate and it adds to the power and awe of the Barrier Style that leaves you totally amazed. When looking at the images I do feel a power coming from their forms that suggests; perhaps they are real living entities painted on stone as I’ve heard some Ute people say. When viewing photographs of the images I feel the same lurking emotions. A Paiute friend of mine once said that it was appropriate to leave something of value for the pictographs because they are giving away spiritual power, so it is an exchange… As an artist, I feel compelled at times to incorporate them into my; paintings, sketches and doodles.

One thing that really bothers me is when folks have no respect for these sacred places. One of the biggest problems in the Southwest is the vandalism of rock art. It is disheartening to realize that someone would actually hurt a site. In my years of exploration and visiting various petroglyph/pictograph sites I’ve always been vigilant of those that destroy beauty. Anyone who would vandalize, deface or destroy anything sacred or beautiful is an enemy of mine. So when visiting these sites it is my belief that you should do so with respect and learn to hear the voices of the past. When they are disturbed it destroys the tranquility. When people destroy something so priceless and impossible to replace they are muffling those ancient voices. If you believe in the unseen and mysterious you’re best bet would be to protect these sites from those that would do harm to them. For those that do anything to hurt rock pictures will have unanticipated consequences later down the road; a family member could get sick or something? Over the years I’ve heard the many stories of how people mysteriously vanish in the wilderness without a trace. What goes around comes around and I’ve always remembered that and remain vigilant.

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?

Yes, I’ve been diagnosed with this and too much homework at school is the cause. Right now I am working on a paper about Ethnomethodology and how it has become revolutionary in the field of Sociology. It basically invalidates all the old conventional theories like Marxism. Even society is an illusion to the Ethnomethodologist! Maybe I should become one?

Thanks to desert beauty and crickets on warm summer nights, I know what I crave. I miss the dark monsoon storms of late July rolling over high desert plateaus and listening to the distant rolling thunder. The days are growing longer and trees are becoming green. It is time to go sit on Grandma’s porch and watch the hummingbirds.

Well, I’ve spent most my life living outdoors and being in the hills. This summer I am going to photograph areas of rural Southern Utah. Here’s a new twist, I’m also dating and enjoying a social life. Heck, I’m more sociable than I ever imagined. It’s a piece of cake with the right amount of confidence.

This summer my goal is to do some serious hiking in the outback. Running is a new passion. What I need is a good backpack for trekking. My old one is busted. I have an S.A. 44 Magnum to spook off cougars and black bears, so I feel safe going into the wilderness alone. I’ve already come face to face with a black bear and only pots and pans to bang!

It is a real virtue to remain calm when storms unfold. As you think you are getting old now, just keep advancing forward through different levels of maturity. Then you will look back and realize your own immaturities. You will see that wisdom and love are not derived from arrogance or selfishness. Peace and solitude come from selfless introspection and trying your best at finding a way through darkness and suffering. Sadness plays an important role in your progress through life but true happiness is the beauty that brings balance when struggles abound.

It has become Methuselah
while the sweat of black sun
drips from its wooden claws
which break
timeless howling winds

Daily
the cloud people travel
beyond its barren branches
into the ages
of silence

On the furthest edges
of God’s Holy Imagination
stands the test of time

With dark sandstone
plateaus below and
High above
on it’s heavenly throne
rules the ancient
Bristlecone Pine!