ARCHIVE - Landscapes of Change: Dry Falls » Basin

ARCHIVE - Basin Collage Essay

Charles In Charge — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 22:33:43 +0000

Fire blooms in the basin floor. It left behind charred remnants, planted still in the Earth. A raging inferno, razing the land, scorched remains, skeletons of once living trees. But from death comes rebirth, and once more the basin is green. It feels alive and breathing, as the wind winds through the canyon walls. Tall reeds rustle and dance, a beautiful symphony performed by the hands of Mother Nature. Three people crash into scene, a discordant note marring the otherwise perfect composition. They attempt to understand what it is, how it came to be. Suddenly a violent explosion of orange on the crest of the cliff above; the unaware travelers continue along in the sights of two hunting rifles.

“Those don’t look like deer, Frank,” one hunter drawled, lowering his rifle.

“Out here in the arid rolling prairies… meat is meat, hand me my silencer.”

Fred reached into his bag, withdrawing the silencer he extended it towards Frank, hand trembling. “Are… are you sure about this Frank?” he squeaked, terror overtaking his body.

“There can be no other way,” Frank said, “or the great waters will come over the falls once more.”

“STOP!” yelled a collective unconscious, freezing the would-be assassins in their thoughts.

“You shall not harm these men,” spoke the force emanating from a place called Dry Falls. “You have encroached upon the land for a final time. Destroying the hoofed grazers for selfish gain, this place is NOT YOUR PLACE. These men you see accepted me, allowed me entrance into their beings. Your guns will do them no harm. They are protected by me, for I am them. They are as much a part of this place as this place is a part of them. Leave now, poachers, or you shall see your death among the scorched ground below.”

The unsuspecting men below continue to write, ignorant of the conflict high above.

“Did you just feel that raindrop…?” one man asks the other.

An explosion of the senses from fresh rain, new smells and colors erupt from the surroundings, an overwhelming experience rinsing away the fear created by the now retreating hunters.

“Yeah, that’s rain. We’d better get ready to head back soon,” one says, but continues to write.

“This waterproof paper is catching more than my field notes,” one laughs, “I think the hour hike back better begin soon.”

We sit in silence for a little while longer, allowing the beauty to seep in; a connection is felt. We begin to feel the place and become the place and know this is what we’ve been looking for. The three depart, leaving nothing behind but taking a part of the place within them.

ARCHIVE - Basin Gallery

Charles In Charge — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 22:32:54 +0000

[nggallery id=33]

ARCHIVE - Basin Map

Charles In Charge — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 22:32:19 +0000

Legend:

Pushpin=sigificant place

Line=approximate route travelled

ARCHIVE - Basin Field Notes

Charles In Charge — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 22:31:25 +0000

There’s a plant that looks like poison hemlock, but the leaves are different and so are the heads.
There’s also plants that grow in clusters with long stems, ending in bunches of fragrant seed pods.
Several burned plants are about, indicating a fire at some point.
Fires once spread low and fast, leaving charred sagebrush stumps with blackened skin.
The ridges have lichen higher up, but it gradually shrinks down until it’s sparse.
The soil around here is very fine and grey, almost like ash.
There’s very little animal life, although there are signs that some large herbivores, probably horses or cattle, passed by.
Still green sagebrush forms a great erosional barrier around the seasonally filled reservoir
A desert weed grass fills in the soil, hugging the crumbled basalt flows.I sit in a basin surrounded by the ridges all around.
The typical grass and sagebrush are present, and in the lowest point of the basin there are orange-red plants of an unknown type.
There are far more trees here than is normal, probably because of the drainage into the basin.
The occasional bird sings.
The omnipresent gnats are here.

A distant valley is just as surprised as the hunters by our unscheduled visit. The rain, falling gently onto waterproof paper. Raging waters once again the culprit of a massive depression into a basalt canyon. As the reservoir holds less and less water each year, the sagebrush creeps slowly to the center of a low pothole. Talus sticks, chimneys without smoke, provide diversity to the canyon walls. Yarrow leaves a bitter taste in the mouth if it sits in hot water for too long. Water poured through this space from nearly all directions, except the southwest, of course. Game trails maze their way through the grass, only two ways in and out of here. Up or down, ascend or descend, choose your fancy.