Sunday, October 26, 2008
La Cueva
R_ was pleased to take us to La Cueva. He rarely tipped his hand as to what mood he might be in, but there always was a detectable note of pride when he was about to show you something you'd never seen before. This trip he seemed to wear that look a lot. La Cueva is a large cinder cone in a field of large cinder cones although it seemed to stand off by itself, the nearest one being a few miles away. That's only a guess, and maybe a bad one. Distances are hard to gauge here. R_ says it probably got it's name from the small cave at it's base, but he also knew of a shallow cave on the north side about three-quarters of the way up. That's where the skull used to be.
R_ has a tradition of watching the sun set. In a respectful manner. Once, driving I-10 back from California, he made note of the time, pulled off the next exit, found a dirt road and drove up to the top of a hill. With an eye on the quickly falling sun, he grabbed two folding chairs from the back and two warmish beers, and we sat looking west until the orange sun had disappeared. The performance over and the bottles empty we rose and packed up. It might be my imagination, but it seemed like birds, bugs, and bats went about their business after having stopped, like us, to watch the day end.
In the same way, our arrival at La Cueva coincided with the setting of the sun. Lawn chairs were set up in a row in front of the mouth of a cave that opened in the ground about a stone's throw from where we would set up camp. After sunset we sat without talking or moving much. As the darkness fell and quiet got louder, you could see flickers of light in the black mouth of the cave. What appeared to be pale butterflies were actually bats, testing the night air and waiting to feed.
Their flights got longer as it got darker, and eventually they broke free of the safety of the cave, wheeling and diving at incredible speed. Our bodies just rocks or tree stumps for them to navigate around. I wondered at the time, "What eats bats? What could catch them?"
In the morning, R_ presented us with a kangaroo rat he found on his walk, recently deceased. Must have passed during the night of natural causes which I bet is rare around here. It was beautiful, and I took a picture of it on the hood of the truck. We made the hike up the south side of the hill, skirting the wide crevice that started at the lip of the crater and went most of the way down. Like someone started to cut a cake and then thought better of it. Two large raptor nests perched in the sheer side of the crevice although they appeared to be empty. The hike wasn't too strenuous, short dry grass dotted side and the cinders were packed down, and we were soon in the shallow bowl of the crater.
Looking down the north side, you could see bits of plane wreckage strewn down to the bottom, but the drop was sheer for a ways, so we had take an indirect route to the cave. It was more like two hollows side by side, and the plane must have hit a little ways down. But that's where R_ said the pieces of the skull were. A year ago a friend had moved the bones to the other side of the hill to better photograph them and left them sitting on a rock. That didn't sit too well with R_, and on the next trip he gathered them up and moved them back. He tries to tread lightly in this world.
The story is that back in the Seventies, a single-engine plane crashed into the north face of La Cueva in the middle of some moonless night. The assumption being that this was a drug run and that the pilot fell asleep or lost his bearings. No one reported the plane or the pilot missing and the wreck might have been there for months before anyone found it. The body was scavenged but nothing ever claimed, even by authorities, whatever authorities might be out here. Soon the wreckage was picked over for scrap or parts until there wasn't much left. And the skull remained, or the pieces of it. Walking down the hill you could see bits of seat cushion, bent pieces of aluminum, orange cloth, and pieces of plastic. Nothing bigger that a garbage can lid. I found part of a jaw bone, but R_ seemed to think it unlikely to be from our pilot, maybe desert sheep. I'm no dentist, but the teeth looked pretty human. This is a place where the lost and discarded have a pretty good chance of turning up someday.
R_ has a tradition of watching the sun set. In a respectful manner. Once, driving I-10 back from California, he made note of the time, pulled off the next exit, found a dirt road and drove up to the top of a hill. With an eye on the quickly falling sun, he grabbed two folding chairs from the back and two warmish beers, and we sat looking west until the orange sun had disappeared. The performance over and the bottles empty we rose and packed up. It might be my imagination, but it seemed like birds, bugs, and bats went about their business after having stopped, like us, to watch the day end.
In the same way, our arrival at La Cueva coincided with the setting of the sun. Lawn chairs were set up in a row in front of the mouth of a cave that opened in the ground about a stone's throw from where we would set up camp. After sunset we sat without talking or moving much. As the darkness fell and quiet got louder, you could see flickers of light in the black mouth of the cave. What appeared to be pale butterflies were actually bats, testing the night air and waiting to feed.
Their flights got longer as it got darker, and eventually they broke free of the safety of the cave, wheeling and diving at incredible speed. Our bodies just rocks or tree stumps for them to navigate around. I wondered at the time, "What eats bats? What could catch them?"
In the morning, R_ presented us with a kangaroo rat he found on his walk, recently deceased. Must have passed during the night of natural causes which I bet is rare around here. It was beautiful, and I took a picture of it on the hood of the truck. We made the hike up the south side of the hill, skirting the wide crevice that started at the lip of the crater and went most of the way down. Like someone started to cut a cake and then thought better of it. Two large raptor nests perched in the sheer side of the crevice although they appeared to be empty. The hike wasn't too strenuous, short dry grass dotted side and the cinders were packed down, and we were soon in the shallow bowl of the crater.
Looking down the north side, you could see bits of plane wreckage strewn down to the bottom, but the drop was sheer for a ways, so we had take an indirect route to the cave. It was more like two hollows side by side, and the plane must have hit a little ways down. But that's where R_ said the pieces of the skull were. A year ago a friend had moved the bones to the other side of the hill to better photograph them and left them sitting on a rock. That didn't sit too well with R_, and on the next trip he gathered them up and moved them back. He tries to tread lightly in this world.
The story is that back in the Seventies, a single-engine plane crashed into the north face of La Cueva in the middle of some moonless night. The assumption being that this was a drug run and that the pilot fell asleep or lost his bearings. No one reported the plane or the pilot missing and the wreck might have been there for months before anyone found it. The body was scavenged but nothing ever claimed, even by authorities, whatever authorities might be out here. Soon the wreckage was picked over for scrap or parts until there wasn't much left. And the skull remained, or the pieces of it. Walking down the hill you could see bits of seat cushion, bent pieces of aluminum, orange cloth, and pieces of plastic. Nothing bigger that a garbage can lid. I found part of a jaw bone, but R_ seemed to think it unlikely to be from our pilot, maybe desert sheep. I'm no dentist, but the teeth looked pretty human. This is a place where the lost and discarded have a pretty good chance of turning up someday.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Epitaph for a Sailor Lost at Sea
These are not the green hills of my Youth,
slate billows are the blanket for my bed.
A lullaby the petrels sing, forsooth,
and the Ocean lays It's kiss upon my head.
slate billows are the blanket for my bed.
A lullaby the petrels sing, forsooth,
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
A Bowling Haiku
The Strike
A kitten crouches,
waits, leers, flys arrow-straight and
scatters ten white doves
A kitten crouches,
waits, leers, flys arrow-straight and
scatters ten white doves
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Handwriting Analysis
Dear N_,
Thanks for the handwriting sample, although 500 pages was a little more than I needed. Probably the most interesting thing that comes through is a kind of, shall I say, "dual nature." More about that later. I'd have to say that organization is not your strong suit, but you do exhibit an attention to detail that borders on the irrational. While you are friendly and polite, there is a barrier that keeps you from getting close to people. When you talk to people at work, you feel like you are addressing them through a thick pane of smoky glass.
I feel the presence of another entity, another self struggling to reveal itself through writing. In a sense, you are always "eating for two." Your wife and children are blissfully unaware of your double-life, although the facade is increasingly difficult to maintain. Your interest in the occult will lead to no good. Your incessant humming drives people to distraction, but they are too kind to mention it.
You rarely forgive, but almost always forget. The sound of an accordion can bring you to tears. You love small animals, but only with gravy. You love dark cramped spaces, especially when they are ever so slightly moist. The voices in your head are actually coming from the neighbor's dog, although the Irish accent is your imagination. Probably the most alarming thing is that you actually like mimes.
All of this I can gather just by reading the first few paragraphs. I was too emotionally drained to continue. Anyway, I have to go scrub my hands now, best of luck.
C_
Thanks for the handwriting sample, although 500 pages was a little more than I needed. Probably the most interesting thing that comes through is a kind of, shall I say, "dual nature." More about that later. I'd have to say that organization is not your strong suit, but you do exhibit an attention to detail that borders on the irrational. While you are friendly and polite, there is a barrier that keeps you from getting close to people. When you talk to people at work, you feel like you are addressing them through a thick pane of smoky glass.
I feel the presence of another entity, another self struggling to reveal itself through writing. In a sense, you are always "eating for two." Your wife and children are blissfully unaware of your double-life, although the facade is increasingly difficult to maintain. Your interest in the occult will lead to no good. Your incessant humming drives people to distraction, but they are too kind to mention it.
You rarely forgive, but almost always forget. The sound of an accordion can bring you to tears. You love small animals, but only with gravy. You love dark cramped spaces, especially when they are ever so slightly moist. The voices in your head are actually coming from the neighbor's dog, although the Irish accent is your imagination. Probably the most alarming thing is that you actually like mimes.
All of this I can gather just by reading the first few paragraphs. I was too emotionally drained to continue. Anyway, I have to go scrub my hands now, best of luck.
C_
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