Benediction

How many people have used that title to describe rain in the desert?

 

 

I recently had the opportunity to meander across a section of the Utah desert. God, I love it there! I drove this time. I retraced in reverse a ride I took on my bike a few years ago. I rode my bicycle across some of the most remote, barren, and spectacular scenery I’ve seen anywhere in the world. The best part is from Blanding, Utah across to Hite Cove and across the river to Hanksville, Utah.

 

 

I stopped and camped on the rim of White Canyon. Carved from Cedar Mesa sandstone, White Canyon comes out of the foothills of the Abajo Mountains. It meanders its way through about 45 miles of sage brush and Pinyon Juniper forest emptying into Lake Powell. There are miles of side canyons and drainages that feed it.

 

Looking south I could see towering red cliffs of Wingate Mesa. It rained all night. A soft gentle patter on the roof of my camper. My camper is a Ford Escape. I removed the back seats so I can lay flat on the custom 3/8-inch plywood I cut for it. It’s long enough for my 5 feet four-inch frame. If the weather is bad, I can sit up and make hot coffee with the window cracked.

 

In the morning I walked out on an apron of slick rock about 50 feet above the canyon floor. The potholes were full of water, and it looked like water had run through the canyon in the evening. A rare occurrence indeed. Not sure if it's true but there is a theory about potholes water. Since it gets blasted by UV rays by the sun, the water can be safe to drink. I lay down prone on the sandstone and allowed my animal nature to drink right from a large but shallow pothole. It had the metallic taste that rainwater often has. It tasted like the desert.

I reflected in those moments that I had been there before. Several times in fact. I thought back to the days when I worked as a guide. This was part of our course area. Over the course of months and driven by the seasons, we walked. Much like the Ancient ones must have done. From the high country in summer to the low slick rock country near the lake. From the back side of Monticello across the entirety of what is now the Bears Ears National Monument. Crossing canyons, washes, and mesas. Around buttes and into the featureless landscapes of what we called, “Blow sand world”.

 

Arriving somewhere above White Canyon, we drank from its potholes. Deep within the canyon were long standing deep pools of water. I found more than one stone age tool along the way as we made our way up and over the towering red cliffs of Wingate Mesa. They once mined uranium ore in that area, and we would hike among the remnants of rusted mining equipment. The ground was strewn with yellowish rocks of ore. Wasn’t the safest thing to do but nobody told us otherwise. On we went. Down near where the confluence of two of the biggest rivers in the Southwest come together. The southern terminus of the course area. That was years ago now. My feet can no longer manage the kind of mileage we put in while carrying everything on our backs.

 

But I remember:

If one can be still long enough in that place, there will come the benediction of time.

As I drank from a pothole this morning, I drew a spiral on my forehead in blessing. I thought about the people I knew in that place all that time ago. A couple of the students I worked with and a few of the guides as well. Where are they now? Has the walking across this landscape altered the course of their life as it did mine? I know at least one of those students died. She was twenty-one years old and left behind a three-year old. I remembered her name and I said it out loud. They found her in an alley in Salt Lake City dead from a drug overdose.

 

So, what have I done since then? I continued wandering in the desert. My travels took me to the ends of the Earth. And I cannot get enough of it. This wandering. There will come a reckoning I suppose. I never have been able to make any money to speak of. My peers and the rest of the world moves on toward, “financial stability and some future in retirement.” I am still. I am kneeling at a pothole in the desert drinking rainwater.