The Secret
Daughter
Friday, March 6, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Time Travelers
The edge of dusk raced across the Oro Valley floor below the granite cliffs of the mountain. The two boys stood silently, as though seeing it the first time, watching another Spring desert Sun slip over the edge into California, to be doused by the Pacific Ocean. For the two this trek during the annual Spring break was a spiritual pilgrimage, filled with the usual rough teasing and posturing of boys, but performed against a natural back-drop of desert and sky, granite and sparse water, all pressed on by the daytime heat and silence of the desert.
This year, the boys had climbed higher in the breaks off the Northwest side of the mountains, away from their frequent destination, the granite pools (http://panoramio.com/photo/7058129. Though there was ice-cold water sliding down granite chutes at the pools, there was also no way to escape the sun on the bare, reflective surfaces. So because the day time temperatures had been unusually hot, this year they climbed higher to the Southeast of the pools toward a cool haven they had discovered on a prior trek. Each carried a back-pack with the bare necessities for a few days of subsistence, and one precious gallon of water, which was grudgingly used; but a gallon of water could be sucked from the body in less than two hours of direct sun exposure. It was practical and pleasant to camp by running water for food preparation and bathing, or to just be able to return to a cool haven of moist shadows in midday and refresh a spent canteen.
They were not the first to stay here in this friendly place; indigenous people had established a city on the valley floor near the large dry-wash, and had likely used this camp-site to watch the valley, or perhaps as a respite from the heat; a tangle of domesticated grape-vines, thick and gnarly where they gripped the stingy earth, bore testimony that the Europeans had used it too. The Spaniards loved their wine for sacrament and pleasure alike; they had planted these vines in the only place on the west side of the mountains which had running water late into the summer, and deep shade after mid-day. The boys, their 'sin' ignored by the unseeing desert, smoked the dry grapevines in mild rebellion against imagined prohibitions.
This ravine was tumbled full with large boulders, some the size of a bus, which on some past night, had rumbled down the face of the mountain. It was rumored by some of the older set in Tucson that in the late 1800's a sizable earthquake struck that region, including the Catalina Mountains and Mt. Lemmon -- and upon rising to daybreak the citizens of Tucson in the southern valley below saw that the outlines of the mountains had changed during the night. Whether truth or lore, the boulders gave credence to that story, or some other similar event since the boulders appeared to have come down all at once, many resting on each other at right-angles, like 'pick-up-sticks.' In this fashion they formed deep, overhanging shelters from the heat, and even protected the running water from evaporation, before it eventually succumbed to the sandy bottom of the wash below.
To get to this high haven the boys had hiked from Oracle Road, where a parent dropped them off with specific cautions and a 'to the minute' pick-up time several days in the future. The boys had grudgingly committed to the constraints of a planned trek and destination, as well as a route back in case someone had to come looking for them. The opportunities for injury or even death were not lost on the parents, but they had settled for cooperative knowledge of the plan, knowing that forbidding the trek could incent the boys to go underground, and thus, out of adult influence entirely. Once released from parental guidance, the boys had walked easily across the wide north-south wash, and past the Old People dwellings, now eroded to foundations and low walls extending less than 2 feet above the sparkling quartz soil. Mud bricks, and other 'permanent' human objects crack and break in the relentless cycles of cold and sun, then melt and run away in the Fall monsoons.
Though the Archaeologists at the local university had repeatedly gridded and carefully searched these ruins dozens of times, each torrential rain-storm uncovered pottery shards and other reminders that the indigenous People had thrived here until the Spaniards brought their enslavement, religion, diseases, and appetites, and in particular their obsession with gold; but, more than the found objects, this area was haunted with the presence of the Old People; at times the boys had experienced an almost palpable sense of being unwelcome trespassers in time, and sometimes a sense of being watched caused a sudden look over the shoulder at the high ground. These People had been vigilant, searching the horizon to the Southwest, West, and Northwest, their backs to the mountain ranges. Their vigilance, however constant, did not save them from the early waves of Spaniards, or the destructive ground-swell of American 'Easterners', which inundated and decimated the People's of the Southwestern deserts, their convenient excuse being a belief in manifest destiny, and a caucasion God of love who condoned any White means to bring about that destiny in the West (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manifest_Destiny). The boys had previously discovered mortar-like holes in the rock, likely worn down by look-outs who had ground corn for flat-bread while standing vigil, then toasted it over small fires as they watched from the high ridges. Though the People likely knew the Spaniards were coming days before the Spaniards knew of their presence, the European tide still washed over them without obstruction.
The boys had passed below those look-out ridges this day, following the low paths of the ravines to their final destination in the boulders; this was no day to make extra effort in the heat, and consume precious water as futile sweat. They were keenly aware that there was a chance they would arrive at the camp only to find no water, and given the time and distance they had to travel through direct sunlight to get to camp, the usual side-trips for curiosity's sake were wisely avoided this day.
Distant objects can seem to be closer in the desert. This condition is likely a combination of magnifying heat-waves, the plane of the valley in the foreground, as one looks up in a straight visual line at the distant hills, and the mountains behind them; on an earlier time at the same drop-off and pick-up point on Oracle Road a Midwest family visitor had exclaimed with some certainty, "Why I could run to those mountains!" "Those mountains" were perhaps two hours away, depending on the stamina of the hiker and the conditions of the day, and between them and the road lay ridge after ridge and ravine upon ravine, to climb up and descend into.
In any case, many people unfamiliar with the tricks of the desert, lost their lives as they attempted to get to a visual place which was beyond their abilities, or they gave up and turned back only to find that the heat had smeared their view of terrain and objects, which were close enough to be visible, but were not visible; air, being moved by heat, can even cause sounds to be misheard. From time to time, there were stories in the local newspaper of people, usually tourists, dying within 50 yards of the highway and their parked, still running car, all evidence indicating that they had wandered in circles within hearing and sight of safety, except their sight was fooled by the heat-distorted air. So this day the boys had followed the familiar terrain of dry-washes, ravines, ever upward, guiding on the high-skyline and the vertical granite cliffs which were the only visual constants.
Now safely arrived at their campsite before sundown, they stood watching the beginning of the end of day from the deep glow of the mountains at their backs. In the otherwise silent vista they could hear water ringing on granite as the late snow and ice in the high Catalina's ran among the rocks only to disappear into the sparkling quartz and sand long before reaching the valley floor far below.
Tomorrow the day would dawn behind the mountains at their backs, and become slowly apparent on the camp-side. But tonight, without the reflections of light through clouds, darkness slammed the day shut as though a shade had been raised between them and the setting Sun. They watched the headlights of a lone vehicle out in the dark valley, well beyond its sound, with the detached contemplation which some future Astronaut might experience staring at Earth from the lunar surface; the car was not an intrusion on the solitude, rather a distant moving bit of silent light, more persistent in its duration, but no more personal than a shooting star.
One boy, risking to break the precious silence, whispered reverently to the oncoming night, "This is how it was supposed to be!"
This year, the boys had climbed higher in the breaks off the Northwest side of the mountains, away from their frequent destination, the granite pools (http://panoramio.com/photo/7058129. Though there was ice-cold water sliding down granite chutes at the pools, there was also no way to escape the sun on the bare, reflective surfaces. So because the day time temperatures had been unusually hot, this year they climbed higher to the Southeast of the pools toward a cool haven they had discovered on a prior trek. Each carried a back-pack with the bare necessities for a few days of subsistence, and one precious gallon of water, which was grudgingly used; but a gallon of water could be sucked from the body in less than two hours of direct sun exposure. It was practical and pleasant to camp by running water for food preparation and bathing, or to just be able to return to a cool haven of moist shadows in midday and refresh a spent canteen.
They were not the first to stay here in this friendly place; indigenous people had established a city on the valley floor near the large dry-wash, and had likely used this camp-site to watch the valley, or perhaps as a respite from the heat; a tangle of domesticated grape-vines, thick and gnarly where they gripped the stingy earth, bore testimony that the Europeans had used it too. The Spaniards loved their wine for sacrament and pleasure alike; they had planted these vines in the only place on the west side of the mountains which had running water late into the summer, and deep shade after mid-day. The boys, their 'sin' ignored by the unseeing desert, smoked the dry grapevines in mild rebellion against imagined prohibitions.
This ravine was tumbled full with large boulders, some the size of a bus, which on some past night, had rumbled down the face of the mountain. It was rumored by some of the older set in Tucson that in the late 1800's a sizable earthquake struck that region, including the Catalina Mountains and Mt. Lemmon -- and upon rising to daybreak the citizens of Tucson in the southern valley below saw that the outlines of the mountains had changed during the night. Whether truth or lore, the boulders gave credence to that story, or some other similar event since the boulders appeared to have come down all at once, many resting on each other at right-angles, like 'pick-up-sticks.' In this fashion they formed deep, overhanging shelters from the heat, and even protected the running water from evaporation, before it eventually succumbed to the sandy bottom of the wash below.
To get to this high haven the boys had hiked from Oracle Road, where a parent dropped them off with specific cautions and a 'to the minute' pick-up time several days in the future. The boys had grudgingly committed to the constraints of a planned trek and destination, as well as a route back in case someone had to come looking for them. The opportunities for injury or even death were not lost on the parents, but they had settled for cooperative knowledge of the plan, knowing that forbidding the trek could incent the boys to go underground, and thus, out of adult influence entirely. Once released from parental guidance, the boys had walked easily across the wide north-south wash, and past the Old People dwellings, now eroded to foundations and low walls extending less than 2 feet above the sparkling quartz soil. Mud bricks, and other 'permanent' human objects crack and break in the relentless cycles of cold and sun, then melt and run away in the Fall monsoons.
Though the Archaeologists at the local university had repeatedly gridded and carefully searched these ruins dozens of times, each torrential rain-storm uncovered pottery shards and other reminders that the indigenous People had thrived here until the Spaniards brought their enslavement, religion, diseases, and appetites, and in particular their obsession with gold; but, more than the found objects, this area was haunted with the presence of the Old People; at times the boys had experienced an almost palpable sense of being unwelcome trespassers in time, and sometimes a sense of being watched caused a sudden look over the shoulder at the high ground. These People had been vigilant, searching the horizon to the Southwest, West, and Northwest, their backs to the mountain ranges. Their vigilance, however constant, did not save them from the early waves of Spaniards, or the destructive ground-swell of American 'Easterners', which inundated and decimated the People's of the Southwestern deserts, their convenient excuse being a belief in manifest destiny, and a caucasion God of love who condoned any White means to bring about that destiny in the West (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manifest_Destiny). The boys had previously discovered mortar-like holes in the rock, likely worn down by look-outs who had ground corn for flat-bread while standing vigil, then toasted it over small fires as they watched from the high ridges. Though the People likely knew the Spaniards were coming days before the Spaniards knew of their presence, the European tide still washed over them without obstruction.
The boys had passed below those look-out ridges this day, following the low paths of the ravines to their final destination in the boulders; this was no day to make extra effort in the heat, and consume precious water as futile sweat. They were keenly aware that there was a chance they would arrive at the camp only to find no water, and given the time and distance they had to travel through direct sunlight to get to camp, the usual side-trips for curiosity's sake were wisely avoided this day.
Distant objects can seem to be closer in the desert. This condition is likely a combination of magnifying heat-waves, the plane of the valley in the foreground, as one looks up in a straight visual line at the distant hills, and the mountains behind them; on an earlier time at the same drop-off and pick-up point on Oracle Road a Midwest family visitor had exclaimed with some certainty, "Why I could run to those mountains!" "Those mountains" were perhaps two hours away, depending on the stamina of the hiker and the conditions of the day, and between them and the road lay ridge after ridge and ravine upon ravine, to climb up and descend into.
In any case, many people unfamiliar with the tricks of the desert, lost their lives as they attempted to get to a visual place which was beyond their abilities, or they gave up and turned back only to find that the heat had smeared their view of terrain and objects, which were close enough to be visible, but were not visible; air, being moved by heat, can even cause sounds to be misheard. From time to time, there were stories in the local newspaper of people, usually tourists, dying within 50 yards of the highway and their parked, still running car, all evidence indicating that they had wandered in circles within hearing and sight of safety, except their sight was fooled by the heat-distorted air. So this day the boys had followed the familiar terrain of dry-washes, ravines, ever upward, guiding on the high-skyline and the vertical granite cliffs which were the only visual constants.
Now safely arrived at their campsite before sundown, they stood watching the beginning of the end of day from the deep glow of the mountains at their backs. In the otherwise silent vista they could hear water ringing on granite as the late snow and ice in the high Catalina's ran among the rocks only to disappear into the sparkling quartz and sand long before reaching the valley floor far below.
Tomorrow the day would dawn behind the mountains at their backs, and become slowly apparent on the camp-side. But tonight, without the reflections of light through clouds, darkness slammed the day shut as though a shade had been raised between them and the setting Sun. They watched the headlights of a lone vehicle out in the dark valley, well beyond its sound, with the detached contemplation which some future Astronaut might experience staring at Earth from the lunar surface; the car was not an intrusion on the solitude, rather a distant moving bit of silent light, more persistent in its duration, but no more personal than a shooting star.
One boy, risking to break the precious silence, whispered reverently to the oncoming night, "This is how it was supposed to be!"
~ ~ ~
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