At last, I printed out a complete copy of my report, and gave it to John. He was delighted, and asked that his name be put on the front as one of the authors of the study. I had no problem at all with that, and so we “went down in history” together. Copies of the report began circulating around the Park and then one day, it was time to go see the Superintendent again. We walked down to the main offices and awaited our audience with the local deity.
He talked for about 45 minutes. None of it seemed to really point to any direction or policy or reflection of the information I had collected. It was mostly a rambling discourse on the politics, and the challenges, of doing anything regarding the aerial traffic. We walked out of there and one of the folks that was in the meeting reflected all of our feelings. “What the hell did he just say?” We were all confused.
And it was just about time for me to head back to Texas. I was not very happy about it, but I had to go back and collect my worldly possessions from the apartment vacated by my ex-wife – and for which I was still paying rent. Fortunately, in the second half of the project I had gotten a small raise; I was a GS-3!
One day as my assignment was about to end, the backcountry resources manager, a young woman named Jane, invited me to go along with her on a hike to check out some campsites that were “spreading out” in one area. It may have been over near the remote Bass Trail area, but I do not remember all of the details. We hiked out to a rather quiet and lonely area (I liked it that way); a beautiful spot that I had never been to before.
We found the campsite area and as was usual, did not set up a tent but just laid a tarp and our packs on the ground. She said she had some things to check on in the area and would be busy for a while, but if I wanted to, I could meet her on the top of a nearby butte for a late lunch. I thought that sounded fine, and did some exploring of the area on my own. Although I had my surveys, there were no customers to be found.
Finally it was time to meet Jane on top of the butte. Well, I circled that silly butte for about an hour, seeking a way up past the ledge of cap rocks that had held it together for so many years. There were few handholds despite the fact that it was a short climb. Rain started to fall, making things a bit more treacherous. I searched, but never found a route that I was comfortable with. Eventually, I went back to our campsite, folded the tarp over our gear, put on my rain jacket, sat down and listened as the rain began to get a bit more serious. I waited. And waited.
Finally late that afternoon Jane came down off of the butte and asked me what had happened. I explained that I just didn’t feel comfortable with any of the routes I had seen, especially when things got soaked. She smiled in a superior sort of way, and said she had gotten to the top, found a place to sit, and fell asleep only to be awoken by the rain falling on her face.
As we were preparing supper, she approached me – on the idea of adding her name to the report as well. I knew where she was coming from; work like this could help a career. I told her I would be glad to do so.
While it was just the two of us and yes, I was a lonely young man at the time, I knew she was seeing one of the trail crew. Although he was about four inches shorter than either of us, he was no one to mess with. I was certainly not going to make a pass at his girl, especially considering the fact that he was a “hackeysack bro.” Despite all temptations, it was a lovely night under the stars after the rain had passed.
Jane left the Canyon (and her fella) at the same time I did, and in fact gave me a ride down to Tucson where she was planning to start school that semester. She dropped me, and my few possessions, at the bus station for the long ride back to Texas.
John had also left for Phoenix a few weeks before I did, and the place seemed a bit deserted without him anyway. He was the life of most parties. He had gotten a job with the Southern Arizona group office, known in parkspeak as SOAR, and was responsible for resources at National Monuments and Park Service sites all over Arizona, with the exception of those up near the Painted Desert. He was doing all kinds of exciting things, but when he saw that each Park unit had been given one of the new IBM PC computers, with not much of a sense about how they were to be put to use, he sensed an opportunity.
Shortly thereafter I received a job offer from the Southern Arizona group office, to come back and become a Computer Specialist for all of those park areas. It was a far cry from what I had been doing before, but the computers were a great opportunity to stay with the National Park Service and I was delighted to have work again. The appointment, like all the others, was temporary. Sigh!
It was with great relief that I packed up and left Texas A&M once more. I told my parents that I could either buy a motorcycle, and sell off most of my worldly possessions, or I could purchase a cheap van and take it all with me. Not being very excited about motorcycles at all, my parents thankfully sent me enough supplemental cash to buy a used and slightly bedraggled florist’s van. The nice thing about the van was that it had foam insulation glued along the walls and roof to protect the flowers from wilting. Hopefully it would protect me from wilting, too, in the hot Phoenix sun. She was christened Maria.
I drove to Phoenix and parked my van out behind John’s place. He had rented a tiny detached unit behind a Phoenix home, and his brother had also moved in, making for close quarters. My bedroom was the van. We played hackeysack in the lawn, swiftly pounding it into a brown mat. The homeowners must have been very tolerant of all of this craziness out back. I think John had charmed them, as he charmed almost everyone he met. Backgammon games went on late into the night, and it was a grand party.
Thomas Moran was a landscape painter (1827-1936) who was known for capturing dramatic images of the west. His painting of Yellowstone helped generate support for its establishment as a National Park. Major Powell took Moran over to the Grand Canyon, and the resulting painting both entranced and alarmed some of his contemporaries with its glorious desolation. It is one of the most spectacular paintings of the Park I have ever seen, and I HAD to include it in this book. It is currently part of the Smithsonian collection.
Some saw both heaven and hell in the image.
There were many more adventures in and around Arizona yet to come, but the next chapter of MY tale is captured best in a short story I wrote many years later – and still many years ago.
Mi Mayan Hamaca 