April 12th, 2011

Gravel can be an extremely comfortable place to escape the heat of the day given that you can find a spot in the shade. I have found an exquisite nook under the tailgate of the truck that I’ve just driven a few miles up a rocky wash. I take a short nap to calm my nerves, frazzled by the stress of treacherous driving. Upon my waking I’ve come to find that gravel offers a menagerie of ways to explore my senses. Rocks of every color in your crayon box and shape in your imagination exist in the form of gravel and are awaiting your discovery.

In my time laying in this quiet place I dug into the gravel suing my hands, a variety of stones and even sticks. As I excavated I tried to imagine the center of the earth beneath me and the surface on the other side. I imagined the ocean several miles deep somewhere in the South Pacific that covers the rock there and the countless sea creatures that I would find if I could dig straight through. Holding stones of various colors I thought of how much pressure it takes to create them. I myself am contributing in some small part to the compaction of what lies beneath me, so I could consider myself a stone maker of sorts.

The gravel I am lying in, however, has come to be in this particular spot in this particular moment in time as a result of the process of erosion. Millennia of wind and water have broken each piece apart from one another and carried them down from the hillsides. In fact each one is on a slow journey down to a lower elevation and may one day end in the sea. From there it may have many layers of rocks and sediment pile up on top of it and become a new type of stone, or be forced deeper in to the earth. Perhaps somewhere along the way lichen will transform its minerals into the building blocks of living cells that will end up as a part of a vast and complex food chain. It may be destined to travel the world on the wings of birds and the flippers of whales, the fur of cats and the teeth of mice each absorbing it and changing its path.

“Poor Will” is the song of a local night bird. Over and over again through all hours of darkness I can hear this call move around my tent. The call contains within it a strange up note at the end similar to the sound a drop of water makes when it falls a short distance into a sink full of water. The bird that produces this sound is an elusive shadow that darts in and out of my perspective in the moonlight. Like a Hollywood ghoul it appears only for a moment or at least I think it does…

Check out: http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Common_Poorwill/id and play the "common voice."

The sound of a lone bull in the evening is kind of haunting as well. In the distance he bellows a lonely grunt, as if to ward off another cold night and what lurks within it. His tracks lead right down the wash and occasionally meander down well used cattle trails through the thick brush. It is kind of surprising that he can fit his massive body through dense catsclaw and cholla.

I’m lying in my tent now, writing by red-headlamp light trying to fight the cold off of my feet and the fears out of my head. Sleep slithers ever closer as my vision blurs and sags (my handwriting gets difficult to decipher here). Yet a passing plane or rustling of my clothes quickly rouses me, for the dread of an approaching cougar or angry bull. I’m sure tonight I’m more likely of being trampled by the bull, but I keep wondering why I’ve returned to my uneasiness after my time sleeping out at Spirit Mtn. Was it a fluke? Do I just let myself get caught up in tales of cougars and bears (and lions oh my!) and let my imagination get the better of me? The real high levels of risk exist more in moving cars and loonies with guns that with cougars. (End)

You should see the little doodle I did as I was fading into sleep this night. Maybe if I had a scanner I’d post it. In reflection of transcribing this entry from paper to my computer I have to wonder what really is fear and how does it take such a firm grip on my psyche late in the evening. To a certain extent I think that fear is a healthy emotion to experience, and to acknowledge when it is occurring.