Legend:

Pushpin= sigificant place

Male/Female sign= starting point

Arrow pointing to star= spider

Line= approximate route travelled

Legend:

Pushpin=sigificant place

Line=approximate route travelled

Warning sign=warning

• There’s sagebrush here, and some small strangely pink-white flowers. Occasional grasses spring up.
• Small tan rocks around that don’t seem to belong, they almost look like quartz.
• There are flies up here, as well as ants and the occasional bee. Passed a small snake on the way up, as well as several large black beetles. I hear hooting, so there must be owls around too. The gnats can’t handle it up here it seems.
• Lichen covers the north face but not the south.

Sitting on a large basalt stone on the saddle. In front and behind the saddle the basalt wall rises,  Small vertical rifts cut into the north side, forming alcoves and caves. The south side is much steeper than the north. The dirt isn’t really dirt, it’s just pebbles of varying saddles with a light brown coat.

A harder hike than we expected, but a view well worth the trip. A treacherous path invites some eager-minded wanderers; pace yourself, slippery slope ahead! Steady footing, a place to rest, one look around and the shock of the view almost sends me reeling over the other side of the saddle. I have to take a seat; the weight of this massive place presses me to the ground. It smells of sun dried lichen with hints of sweet yarrow and musty sage. The dried out lake below is littered with basalt boulders, as if God, acting like a child, had spilled them and refused to clean up. Serenity fills me, and the chaos of the landscape fades to perfection.

The fear of heights subsides; I can rest easy at the top of the world. No wonder monasteries were built alongside cliffs, surrounded by air, pierced by screeching hawks. For the first time in a long time I slow down to Nature’s pace. The peace of this place grants me an unobstructed view of the surrounding landscape. I feel my old self eroding away, providing new insights into undiscovered terrain. Our own personal Mars focuses and becomes Earth as shaped by the universal principal of give and take. Broken and beautiful, just like us.

A dock provides an embassy for terrestrial creatures to mingle with their aquatic counterparts. The frogs and birds still sing out in the familiar tones, my wandering minstrel troupe singing the songs of home and childhood. The icy depths sink into my body, refusing to let me move, a white flash, hard to breathe; suddenly I’m free, moving as fast as possible towards the dock, towards warmth. I feel lighter when I emerge, the weight of my old self still gripped by the icy lake: I am reborn, baptized in the waters of Deep Lake. The lake washes away all the dust of travel, then down to the deeper filth of the past; I am reborn in my image.

A sort of homecoming occurred: alienated by all this brown and gray a return to cool water and green plants set my heart at ease. A familiar world seen with eyes newly opened by an alien landscape. Wandering the water’s edge becomes oddly similar to navigating life: know boundaries by watching their edge. If you cannot be inspired through silence, then you will not be inspired by actions or words either. Silver sage and yarrow dance in the wind, I pluck a few, leaving my complete story; my hair in its stead. A night time visit reveals a new landscape, a gentle mist rising off the water’s surface, drawing the eye upwards only to be intercepted by the celestial plane displaying the most astounding light show since the Acid Tests. The fluid and flexible will always prevail with time; power, not force

“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.

Legend:

Pushpin=sigificant place

Line=approximate route travelled