Meanwhile, back at the Valley of Fire...
Red. Brilliant, startling and in every shade imaginable, we were surrounded by red. After circling our trailers (can you circle two?) we unhitched our bright blue truck-so much more blue in that red background-, grabbed waters, hats and cameras, tucked Jenn in the back seat and headed out for a late afternoon explore.
As always, Jim made a bee line for the information center first. Worst luck, it had closed five minuted before we pulled up. We contented ourselves with snapping a few pics and harassing each other, then drove down a side route in search of a short stroll and long shadows.
First stop was the Mouse Tank trail, an easy mile or so on a flat, sand covered path. Here the red was slightly subdued-a good thing as the walk is through a tight, twisting mini canyon and the color of one wall is intensified by it's close proximity to the other. We wandered along the narrow path, our footsteps muffled by the sandy bottom. All around us sandstone formations snaked, corkscrewed, spun up and tumbled down over themselves and then the wind and rain had sculpted them in to the most fantastic shapes. Here and there a small shrub or flower made a gallant attempt at survival; their blue green softening the red. And everywhere, everywhere, pictographs lined the walls.
It was astounding. Hundreds and hundreds of pictographs all down the left side of the canyon. For thousands of years, unknown generations had passed by and left their mark on the walls. A sign posted at the entrance stated no one knows what the symbols mean. They could be clan marks, notifications of food and water availability, a weather calendar, sacred symbols or just an ancient version of "Kilroy was here". I think it's probably all of the above.
We wandered a good hour or more and then made our way back to the truck. The sun was sinking and we wanted to catch some evening color, so off again toward the end of the road at Rainbow Vista. More fantastic shapes and horizons danced along beside us as we rolled down the road. We couldn't help stopping constantly and snapping one grand shot after another. A short drive turned into a journey and by the time we reached Rainbow Vista, the long shadows had fled. Ah well, a few more pics and we turned back towards camp.
It was near dusk by the time we returned and our little box canyon decided to give us a show of evening color so intense we stood open mouthed. Jenn and Jim managed to shake free of the spell and fire off a few shots before everything faded.
Another pot-luck dinner followed by some Shock-Top (Jenn had water) and some double chocolate brownies went well with our camp fire as we sat back and watched the stars come out.
Night in the desert doesn't slip gracefully over the landscape like so much black silk...it drops! I was finishing the cleanup of the galley and having a hard time seeing, when Jim leaned over and switched on the overhead light.
"You like working in the dark?"
I looked around and, sure enough, night hand snuck up on me. He chuckled and wandered back to the campfire. We spent a lot of time at that campfire. More stories were told and we got to know each other better, but mostly we sat back and stared at the night sky.
I have always been horribly nearsighted. My life has been one long string of coke-bottle glasses and hard contacts. Bi-focals at the age of thirteen was particularly hard to swallow. Then my husband did something magnificent. He pulled out money that could have been better spent elsewhere and paid for eye surgery. Now I sat back in my chair, stared at the desert sky with my crystal clear vision and again blessed my husband for this most wonderful of all gifts.
The desert sky on a clear, clear night is hard to describe. Some say it's jeweled, other compare it to a cityscape on New Year's Eve: twinkling lights on a dark background. For me, that night sky was as if some giant had covered the world with a great swath of midnight blue silk velvet and with it's huge hands hands had cast fist full after fist full of brilliant cut diamonds over all. Breathtaking-literally breathtaking.
We sat there, who know how long, just talking quietly, watching the sky, tracking the satellites and counting the falling stars. Eventually the long day had it's way with us. We bade farewell to the stars and, swaddled in silence, we curled up in our little campers for a long, peaceful sleep. Tomorrow would be Easter Sunday and we had a long day planned.
And I will tell you about it later.
Camp On,
Sue
