Landscape Scale Dreaming P. 2

Just you, me, the desert, and more water and wonder than we can absorb.

A boat dropped us off along a temporary shoreline to meditate on yesterday, eternal and ephemeral, in the canyon country archive. We traversed seldom-traveled routes to view distant cliffs familiar to my feet from years and miles past. Nine days to lose count of with no words to find. Just you, me, the desert, and more water and wonder than we can absorb.

On my last sojourn here, a few winters ago, my friend coined such an escapade, “The Desert Heroin Tour.” Punishingly steep ramps of slick rock, wind-swept mesas, convoluted terrain that sends you nowhere before you get anywhere, heavy packs, too much water, then nothing for miles. “Yes, it is supposed to be this hard,” I reminded myself and Aaron at one point.

A head cold plagued me for most of the trip, releasing me from any magical belief I might feel “good.” Besides, I wanted something different. To feel human. Sniffling for extra air, scooping cups of wild water, and high-stepping toward the sun. No escapism, just another day of life in the desert.

But there is more dreaming within this landscape than walking. The darkness stretches further into each day. The ease with which we hibernate 14 hours makes us question what all those goddamn lights are doing to us all. When we cannot sleep, we fill the time with stories and laughter. The rapid accumulation of dew on the tent makes us locationally delirious. I have never seen the desert quite so damp.

Along a hard-to-discriminate old mining route, now a big horn sheep thoroughfare, a few rusty tin cans reminded us of humans past who believed in the extractive fantasies that continue to plague this culture today. A broken projectile in the blackbrush reminds us both that nothing lasts, and that good things take their time.

At home, in front of a screen, that is a tired euphemism, no longer a balm for anything going on. In the desert, it is truth. A succession of rains steadily saturates the Navajo sandstone this autumn. In north-facing pockets that the sun will not kiss until spring, the smooth stone is a slick and icy death trap. In loose facets, a stone hold crumbles to sand in my hands.

There is so much water. For now. A humble abundance we revel in, knowing global freshwater is strained, yes, by climate change, but more by greed and overuse. We meter and savor every drop.

I used to watch the way someone built a fire as a revelation of inner spirit. I’ve learned better to watch the way someone is moved by water, a reflection of love.

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Wild Words is a reader-supported publication. There is no paywall, but your generous subscriptions make it possible to prioritize writing in this space among my other deadlines and incessant wanderings. The only true benefit to being a desert scribe is time in the desert, and all of you Wild Readers help me put one step in front of the other in this trailless voyage.

Through the holidays, I am travelling with a box of books (Path of Light) and will sign and ship FREE copies for annual and foundation subscribers. You can message me to sign the book as a gift for a loved one. 🧡

If you enjoyed this post, I will be speaking in more detail about reading the landscape during my Archaeology Cafe presentation about the 1920s Benrheimer Expeditions in Glen Canyon. If you are not located near Tucson, you can tune in via Zoom!

In Person: Join us at Archaeology Southwest Headquarters in Tucson, Arizona (300 N Ash Alley). Register here.

Online: Watch live through our Zoom Webinar. Register here. (It will also be on YouTube about a week later.)

EXTRA EXTRA! There is a documentary film directed by Paul Bikis in the works about canyoneering legend Steve Allen, A Life in the Desert. Check it out, spread the word, and if you love Utah’s canyon country and want to see it protected for generations to come, consider making a donation. The film is in association with Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance, and I’ve had the honor to work with Paul and Steve BTS in these early stages of production. Keep an eye on ALITD social channels for a trailer in the coming weeks: (Instagram, Facebook, YouTube).