Discovering the Undiscovered

   The air was crisp but I knew that it would rapidly warm as the desert sun rose above the jagged peaks  to the east. There had been frost lining the edges of small, leafy plants nestled in the shade of tall desert trees not but minutes earlier. The sand beneath my feet was cool and damp from the rain and melting mountain snow from the previous days. As I walked slowly through the lowland desert landscape, weaving between huddles of dense Mesquite trees I felt alone. The only other footprints were those of small white tailed deer that crisscrossed the barren sand where the dry, golden grass refused to grow. The morning sun reflected  from small pieces of white and rose quartz that dotted the red, gritty earth. It is hard for me to walk in the wilderness with my head raised to the horizon, years of archaeology training has forced my eyes to scour the ground for signs of past inhabitants. Hundreds of years ago, men from Portugal and Spain came to this desert as well as many other lands, claiming it a "New World", an entire continent now discovered and ripe for the taking. One after another, my steps led me through the low canyon; something caught my eye and I stopped. The distinct rust red of an ancient fragment of Hohokam pottery stood out just enough from the sand and rock to be noticeable to anyone who was looking. I had somewhat of a revelation just then...perhaps not so much a revelation as a realization; a sinking in of sorts. I had known for some time that there have been people here far longer than we know. I suppose being involved in archaeology had led to a kind of disassociation with the world. Maybe this was something I had thought before, or known all along, or some repressed notion hidden away by my romantic ideas of discovery. Whatever it may have been, it was apparent now that there was no real discovery here, not even when the Conquistadors and colonists came. Thousands of years ago this land had already been seen and settled and tamed. It had all been stamped out or forgotten and now I realized what I was discovering was no more a discovery than the New World. It is but a rediscovering of the lost. Maybe this is the true discovery.
    The question of who the first "discoverers" of the "New World" has always been a point of contention.  It has been taught for decades that those that would become what we call Native Americans traipsed here over the frozen Bering land bridge during the the thick of the last Ice Age. Popular opinion would have you believe that these people migrated from Asia by following giant Mega -fauna, mammoths and their ilk, through a convenient ice free corridor that existed in modern day Canada. Over the decades their has been numerous pieces of evidence that place people in the Americas long before 10,000ish B.C., when this corridor "would" have existed. Now it appears that there were multiple waves of colonization from Asia. It has been proposed that it one wave made their way along the western coasts and finally settled in South America long before North America became inhabited. This is shown in a number of artifacts found in the southern jungles that date well before any artifacts in the United States. These people would have been the first men and women to see these new continents, they were the first discoverers.*
      Not far from where I stood, perhaps only half and hour's walk, I knew that that long ago, maybe one thousand years or more someone had stayed for a night, I had seen it before. A few years ago, my wife, good friend Abraham and went hiking down a canyon while researching the legend of the lost Escalante Mine in the Santa Catalina Mountains. The trek was quite arduous, their were spots in the path heavy with deep sand, in other places large boulders blocked our way. Abraham and I scaled the northern slope of the canyon in order to see if we were still continuing on our intended path and on the way back down I slipped and nearly slid into a large diamond back rattlesnake that did not take kindly to the handful of loose rock I had just kicked his way. We eventually came to the end of the canyon as I we hoped we would, although unfortunately it did not perfectly fit the story we were following. Here we were met with a very steep and well worn cliff where water cascades when the winter snows are melting. Pools of green tinged water where clusters of wasps hovered and drank. Atop the dry falls we met a couple of women who had followed a trail alongside the canyon and had been watching us. This was rather disheartening as we had thought the canyon would have led farther into the mountains or would be more remote. Never the less, we talked to the duo and offered some insect sting ointment from our first ad kit to one who had been bit by some crawling thing or another. Before we parted, one of them told us we should investigate a small area jutting out above the canyon. She claimed she "felt an old energy". I am not one to readily believe claims of being psychic but what we found there left me thinking.

      Nestled between rocks and dry desert grass was a small ring of stone. Abraham was curious as to why I was so interested in the anomaly. I explained to him that it this was what archaeologists call a rock circle; this had once been an ancient campsite. Upon further investigation we found a great deal of pottery sherds* and lithic* fragments scattered about the area. Abraham expressed that he would have simply written it off as an abandoned hiker's camp site. By that time, I had seen many features such as this during archaeology field school and the evidence here was enough to say with a great deal of certainty that this site was left behind by the natives of Tucson River Valley quite some time ago.
      This is not the only place in the world where the sands of time have washed away memories of the past. Humans have been on this planet for over 200 thousand years; while a mere blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things, this is a massive amount of time and during that time span humans have walked over nearly every place on Earth. Again I stood amidst the desert landscape, the spirit of ancients, settlers and legend danced on the winds around me, the high granite peaks loomed above and at my feet lie the shattered memories of a forgotten people. Now I fully realized that I was not discovering the undiscovered but in fact remembering the unremembered. That is not to say that there is nothing to be found that hasn't already been seen; the woodlands of Canada, the Amazon, the Himalayan Mountains, all fortresses still resisting the advance of man...or are they?

 

*For more information of the pre-contact Americas, check out 1491 by Charles C. Mann
*For whatever reason archaeologists deemed it necessary to say pot sherd instead of pot shard
*Lithics are simply worked stone tools

A Walk Beneath the Long Dead Sea: or "My Trip to the Badlands of South Dakota" Part 3

     Following the series of stone monuments that had been left for travelers like me, I made my way through the tall emerald grass accented with the brilliant whites, yellows and purples of the native wild flowers. The trail edged along a eight foot or so drop off that acted as a kind of barrier between the viewer and a gallery of strange sculptures carved from the ancient stone. There were windows and doors and twisting pillars and a whole menagerie of petrified creations. It is funny how time changes things, changes all things, even those that seem the most solid, the most resistant. These monuments were once grand and imposing, part of another much more mammoth work of creation. Now they are little more than the size of us. Wind, water, and the flow of time had already sealed their fate long before the sea tides ever peeled away and revealed what it hid to the world. As the layers chip, crack and fall the remnants of ages undreamed reveal that all things are born, crumble and are born anew.

In this age of concrete, steel and computer chips, it is easy to see that humans are dominate in this world. We have managed to conquer nearly every environment, defy gravity, travel continents in hours. It is easy to think that we are unstoppable, invincible, that the tides of fate do not apply for we are the chosen ones, masters and creators of our own destiny. For countless eons this planet has harbored lifeforms great and small, they engulfed the Earth with enumerable species of all kinds. And yet here we, a product of the continuing cycles of life. It is foolish to think that humanity will last forever, despite the towers, the technology, we too will pass with time and in the wake of our going, it will be the turn of another.
     As I continued down the trail I came across something that I had not really expected to find. Atop a small island raised above the ground was a small patch of Prickly Pear cactus. Out west this type of cacti and its brethren are everywhere, in the Great Plains, not so much. Cacti are native to the central corridor of the United States and can be found in South Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas. When thinking of the plains many envision endless prairies and fields of corn, perhaps some cattle ranches thrown in the mix. There is actually a great number of smaller ecosystems interspersed, such as the Badlands and the Sand Hills of Nebraska. Some of these areas have the kinds of stuff Cacti love to live in. My grandfather actually grows one in a garden and it manages to live throughout the often harsh Nebraska winters. I have many less than fond memories of pulling spines from my calves and forearms after trudging through the desert on survey. When in the desert it was normal, perhaps a tad mundane to see this plant, as common as grass in Nebraska. Here it was somewhat of a gift. An unexpected reminder that within a world of lines and grids and barbed wire fences there are some things that can transcend the arbitrary boundaries that we assign to the world we live in. I recently listened to a piece on NPR that spoke of a a journey to the sea floor in Antarctica. This particular voyage was searching for a an elusive three-eyed tube worm that colonizes around volcanic vents on the ocean floor. Instead of these worms, they found fields and fields of yellow "fluff". This fluff turns out to be one of the oldest organisms on the planet. The piece ended with a very poignant statement, that nature does not care what we expect to find, it will be where it is whether we want it to be or not.

     After pulling myself back up to the trail I continued to walk in peace. According to the map I would soon come to a cross roads that would lead to a parking lot in one direction and a path back towards where I came from in the other. I had not seen any people thus far and enjoyed the solitude although there were times it was somewhat eerie. In my everyday life it is very difficult to come across loneliness and silence. It is true that while in nature I had still not found neither loneliness or silence but I had found an escape. Here there were no cars, no television, no computers, even my phone was off (I always carry it in case of an emergency). Being without these things are nearly heresy in modern times. There was still the wind, the birds, and insects all around me but I would gladly take them over sirens, traffic and commercials. Regardless, I knew it would not be long till someone ventured across my path and lo and behold, I had found them. At the cross roads were an older couple, probably late fifties or early sixties, the wife peering through a pair of binoculars and the husband scanning a wrinkled brochure.
     I walked up to them, looking what I would deem imposing with my large pack, knife strapped to waist and black bandanna wrapped around my head. This couple saw me and waved vigorously and I returned the wave with a smile. We greeted each other with handshakes and smiles although our names were never shared. This couple was lively and friendly, on a road trip across the U.S. vacationing from Canada. They were searching for the Big Horn Sheep that were supposedly roaming this area and asked if I had seen any. Unfortunately I had not, they seemed somewhat disappointed but still undaunted. They inquired as to how far I'd walked and we shared a bit of conversation about the great outdoors. I noticed the portly man red and sweaty and they were both lacking in water. Anyone who knows the first thing about hiking knows you need water, dehydration is a very serious thing. Being an Eagle Scout I am always prepared and had ample amounts of water bottles in my pack and they were grateful to have some. After a bit more chatter we parted ways and I wished them a safe and enjoyable trip. Before I left they thanked me for both the water and for being interested and caring about the outdoors. They said that far too many people my age just aren't interested. I thanked them and left with a feeling of pride. I am glad I had met these strangers and that our brief intersection had meant something to all of us.
     The last leg of this section took me to the edge of  the plateau where I could look out into the bulk of the Badlands. It was a barren, wasted land. Rocky spines and crags lifted above deep, shear gorges where little grew. At the bottom of these canyons were pools of muddy, brackish water. It was beautiful and terrifying as I looked out over the blasted heath and stared down into the crevasse below. Far off in the distance was a sea of green, a safe haven from this little patch of hell. This had been a rewarding venture for me, a chance to walk through time, to imagine the ages that came before, to see a still wild place nestled in the farmlands of Middle America, to meet people that I have never met and to share something with them. There was more that I saw and experienced in this almost alien terrain, but if I told you everything there would be nothing left for you to experience if you have the chance to go and see it for yourself. In nature some are driven to see God, others peace and the sublime, for others like me it is beauty and realization of place.

 
 Thanks you for following me on this journey, I hope you enjoyed it and continue to read.

-Logan

A Walk Beneath the Long Dead Sea: or "My Trip to the Badlands of South Dakota" Part 2

     I pulled my sunglasses from my face, lifted my hat from my head, and wiped away the sweat already beginning to bead just beneath my hairline. The dark clouds that had blotted out the sun had now ventured forth to lands unknown and the sun shown full bore in the hazy blue sky. The air was dry and warm but a cool breeze found its way to my skin intermittently. I looked on as the the gentle breath sent the green grass waving like an emerald ocean. A trail of almost non existent footprints led into the open prairie where they would soon disappear and the trail would be up to me to decipher. Narrow lanes of barren, dusty earth snaked their way through the field, looking like a maze of trails that led to nowhere and everywhere all at ounce. Not so far off in the distance was a small orange marker, just like the ones that led me up the cliff face, I put one foot forward and off I went. I wished greatly to be able to explore the areas off the trails, but out of respect for the wildlife and their home I opted to stay relatively close to the mapped path. In a place like this, be it State Park, National Park, game reserve or whatever, it is important to not disturb what little patch of ground we have designated as wilderness. Haven't we as humans taken enough from what was already here?
     I walked slowly through prairie imagining the bygone years. Once this was home to number of great beasts; rhinoceros, North Amercan camels, a variety of horses that would later migrate to Europe and Asia before being sealed off from this continent, only for their descendants to find their way back here aboard great Spanish galleons. Giant land tortoises once munched on reeds growing alongside muddy watering holes. Tall, spindle legged birds would watch carefully and quietly, the diminutive deer ever wary of the the scimitar-cats stalking through the tall grass. Just below their feet lay dormant the fossils of a once teaming sea. Time marches on and in another epoch, man has found its way here. Now great Mammoths are hunted by roving bands of nomads, travelers from Asia far from their homeland. And farther on still, their memory erased, no sign left except chipped stone spear points and scenes of a fresh kill. New waves of people immigrate to this land, the Lakota, the Dakota peoples, all travelers journeying through space and time only to once again be displaced as settlers from Europe claim America as their home.
     As I walked I looked carefully at all the earth formations and  along the ground, part habit from my days in Archaeology field school, part desire to find some sort of fossil, some tangible proof that there was once something else here, that there is more to the story than the cover. I walked between two small bluffs with barren sides and hats of bright green grass, the layers of sediment were stacked high like a tower of crepes on a breakfast plate. My map warned of two animals that I might encounter: the American Bison, and the Mountain Lion. I had seen both before, albeit behind fence and plexiglass. I knew the size a Bison could achieve and that that can be ornery, but I relished the idea of seeing some of the last wild Bison on the continent. What really gave me a case of the chills was the idea that a Cougar could be watching me, just like the saber toothed cats of old.

     In Arizona there have been a number of fatal lion attacks in the mountains, and I had read heavily about how to change your status as prey if need be. First off, mountain lions mark their territory heavily and if one is in the area you should recognize it by its pungent urine odor. If you should happen to see one, the idea is to make yourself look as big and loud as possible. Wave you coat or shirt in the air, hold your backpack high above your head, yell and jump around. What do predators generally prey upon? Deer, young cows, gazelle in Africa, all animals that are quiet and skittish, much like bears, they are not looking for a fight, they want an easy meal. Note that these methods are not guaranteed but have been shown to improve your likelihood, if the need should ever arise.

      The grass gave way to a scene that I found very interesting, here on a barren patch of ground lay scatter hundreds of small roundish rocks. To me it looked very much like they had been washed ashore on a beach. Much to my amusement, some travelers coming through this place long before me had written messages with the stones. One greeted me, one told me I was on the right track, another was just simply a smiling face. The messages weren't big, and for that I was grateful, it could have been relatively easy to eliminate this sight by moving the rocks around. It was also nice to see there was nothing obscene written in tiny rock messages. Don't get me wrong, I am by no means a prude, but I find it infinitely distasteful when someone simply has to scrawl vulgar words or whatever in places that are public. I like to think of it as preserving the innocence of a child just a little a bit longer.
     Once again, I found myself off the map, and wandering only where I thought the trail was leading. I stood atop a small mound and peered through my binoculars partly admiring the scenery, partly wondering where the hell I was, when something caught my eye. A small pile of rocks, deliberate, placed conveniently where someone looking would be able to find it. Then I saw more. The little stone cairns were left to help those lost to find their way...

    
     I was going to attempt to write more, but I felt like I might be getting long winded, plus I love cliff hangers. Instead I am going to opt to put up a few pictures of what I have seen on my trip thus far. Hopefully you will keep coming back for more, there is an end to this trip, I promise!

The Badlands Plateau

Above the trail

Thousands of pebble strewn on the shore

The Mourning Giant

This is only a fraction of the Turkeys I saw

As requested by a reader, here are two pictures of the Prairie Dogs

Peeking up to say hello

The Jagged Horizon

A Walk Beneath the Long Dead Sea: or "My Trip to the Badlands of South Dakota" Part 1

     Over last summer I found myself with a distinct excess of time. My wife was away in Greece, my job super flexible and the money was ample. There were few places for me to travel to that I was interested in and only a day's drive away so I fixed a course to the Badlands of South Dakota. I had been there once before, as a child mind you, a child so young as to not remember a damn thing. This was the perfect opportunity to return and see what I had missed. I am somewhat of a cheapskate and I was going alone so I opted to book a room online through Econolodge in the small town of Wall, South Dakota. This is home to the famous tourist trap Wall Drug and also the town my family and I stayed at when I was a child. I loaded up my Jeep Liberty with food and snacks and a suitcase full of enough clothes to last me the weekend. I left my home in Lincoln, Nebraska early in the morning so as to be in Wall just in time for dinner, and also allowing me enough time to visit my favorite attraction in Nebraska, Ash Fall Fossil Bed (expect a post on this in the future). I won't bore you with what was most definitely a very long, monotonous drive through the central plains.
     It was nearing five o'clock in the evening, I had just rediscovered where I was on the map, and I was driving down the a lonely stretch of highway when I saw it.

As you can see, this was taken from a moving vehicle, not advised.

     The jagged peaks rose from the flowing fields of emerald grass like a worn saw blade. The sky was a deep blue hue and and behind me were hundreds of miles and a soon to set sun. The sight was impressive but I was dead tired and my left arm was sun burnt from hanging out the window all day so I drove through park on a winding highway and called it a day. I ate at a BBQ place across the street and walked down to the Wall Drug store for some overpriced sun screen and I hit the hay.
     The next morning I rose, stopped at the gas station for a doughnut, picked up some protein bars and headed back towards the remnants of the prehistoric ocean. The morning was a little humid and clouds still lingered from the storms the evening before. Driving south, I passed the park entrance, which was closed and had a sign posted advising to come back later and pay upon my exit. Good deal. After about ten minutes of driving through bright green prairie I came to the edge of a shear plateau that looked down into the valley of spires and spines, to the east the sun was attempting to peer through the ashen clouds that slowly meandered along the horizon.

     State and National parks can be hit and miss when it comes to that feeling of true wilderness. I was happily surprised when I was greeted by a massive, dare I say herd, of wild turkeys that seemed to care very little of my presence. Just a little farther up the road I encountered a large field of prairie dog burrows. I sat and watched for a while and saw the heads of the residents poke up from time to time. I have seen my fair share of turkeys but never had I seen wild prairie dogs before. I was giddy, my adventure was off to a good start. I found a parking area nearest the trail head of the longest trail where signs warned to not venture to close to the wild bison and bighorn sheep. After stepping onto the asphalt I took a deep breath of fresh air, looked at my map, and headed in. I was standing at the base of a cliff much like the one I had previously looked down from. The way up snaked through a series of tall, rocky columns. The earth looked hard packed but to my surprise it was soft and loose. The spires and rugged landscape are the product of the ancient inner sea drying up and leaving the sandy floor exposed to the elements and time. I scrambled up the steep slope, almost slipping once or twice, it was less of a hike and more of a climb and the trail was nearly non existent, only marked vaguely by orange markers. Wind and water had whipped to and fro through the slots and crevasses of the rugged range, molding shapes out of the barren soil; all around were tiny petrified toadstools sprouting from the ground.
      Higher I climbed  until I pulled myself up and over the final ledge. Before me was a wide open prairie half encircled by the almost alien crags. Millions of years ago I would have been standing upon the bed of a shallow sea; a home to a multitude of prehistoric sea life.I stood and imagined the the depths above me, a metaphor for the depths of time that also encompassed my surroundings. One of my favorite authors, H. P. Lovecraft, capitalized the theme of feeling insignificant and alone in the universe with his tales of cosmic horror. I sat for a moment and basked in the remoteness I felt. Eons have passed through this place, through all places, and there at that spot, I was alone in the vastness of time, like being adrift on an endless sea. 

     That ancient sea once teamed with life of all kinds; primitive sharks, pleisosaurs, mosasaurs, a multitude of fish and crustaceans. This inland sea, also known as the Cretaceous sea way, existed over 100 milllion years ago, when North America was divided into two small sub-continents. Time and Earth however, are always changing and eventually the rise of the Rocky Mountains lifted the sea floor through 2,500 feet of water along a 2,000 mile expanse. All that remained of this once great sea were a series of brackish lagoons that would eventually give way to the Great Plains. With time it would be decided that the age of reptiles would end and give way to the a new kingdom of mammals. While the great sea way is impressive and worthy of note, the Badlands are highly recognized for their fossils from the Oligocene, another remnant of the a age long past and another reminder that we are but a scratch of the the surface of the Earth...

     I am going to opt to end this here and make this a series of two or three posts. During my trip I saw nearly all there was to see of the Badlands National Park and there is quite a bit for me to talk about and think about. I thought this would be an appropriate cliff hanger, leaving you just before I begin my trek into the interior of the the Badlands plateau. I would also like to state that this is my first time writing something like this and if any of you readers have any questions or comments, maybe tips on writing and keeping interest, please, don't hesitate. Thank you very much for taking the time to read of my travels, I hope you have enjoyed it so far and that I have left you a little something to think about.

-Logan