Joan and I returned to a place we hadn’t visited in a while, a canyon country nook tucked down another rutted dirt road.
We even set a structured ramble PR: no more than a mile from camp… and eight hours of solid hiking.
That’s not sarcasm.
We thrashed through willow-choked drainages, scrambled up ledges, wandered between alcoves, and climbed out to look over canyon bottoms.
We wandered through centuries, past rock images, ancient structures, and sherds that catch the light just right.
One piece even had the pot’s bottom; now it rests quietly in the sand.
Sherds along the way.
We camped among red rock and caught the last warm light of the day…
…and the morning light show from our tent after a sound sleep in the desert.
It was the last good stretch before November’s rains and sleet turn the roads to a sloppy mess; shoulder season in more ways than one.
In canyon country, I always return to a favorite line from Song of the Open Road:
You road I enter upon and look around,
I believe you are not all that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.”
That’s why we keep coming back. What we see is only a small piece of what’s really out there, and it draws us more with each passing year.
There is much unseen. And we want to see more of it.