Addy and I drove in to Flagstaff today. It was just today I noticed she had a patriotic colored mudflap girl decal on the back of her rig. Plenty of red white and blue wearing citizens in the city, and everyone was out on the street in the downtown area.

We did the mundane stuff first: Deposited my check at the bank, went to Safeway for staples. I had gone to the Backcountry Office the day before for a permit, with the intention of doing the cross canyon trek this weekend. So we also went to Babbit’s Backcountry Outfitters for a few items. After getting advice about where to eat from the tattooed man behind the counter we ate the best fish taco in a little alley-way eatery. On our way to an art show in the Flag park we couldn’t resist popping into a vintage clothing store complete with costume rental and pulp fiction postcards. We were due at a barbeque later in the day so it was tempting to think about what we could go dressed up as. This much fringed suede jacket and replica badge saying “Tribal Police” could have made things interesting, or I may have ended up as a badly drawn character out of a Tony Hillerman novel. No dis to Hillerman’s work. He’s my Nevada Barr murder mystery this summer. Strange deaths in breathtaking places. The art show in the park was average, with the most unique booth being a photographer who specialized in long exposures to create “spirit shadows” www.sheerentertainment.com Some free music in Heritage Square caused us to take pause in the warm Arizona sunshine. A trio specializing in surf rock (Bonsai Pipeline!) and early rock n’ roll provided entertainment—after we got over the fact that he was blaming women for taking over television. He had been trying to derive audience participation with the theme song from Bonanza with little success, so he tried the old trick of pitting men against women. Apparently women are to blame for the (feminine?) comedy of Frasier and the loss of shows like Dragnet, Gunsmoke, and Bonanza—where it’s okay to be 50 years old and still live with your Dad. The singer then tried to rile the crowd with insults like: “the six senior citizens in wheelchairs we played for at Aspen Peaks last week were livelier than you,” or “three drunk golfers would make more noise than that.” At any rate his music was fun.

We moved on to the 77th Annual Hopi Festival of Arts and Culture at the Museum of Northern Arizona where I had been hoping to see some Hopi reggae, but sadly realized that their website was on “Indian Time” and hadn’t been updated since 2007. It was up-to-date the day before the festival when I logged in to the internet to verify times, but no reggae this year. Instead the big attraction was Kiowa Gordon, born in Germany, but a member of the Hualapai tribe--of Grand Canyon West Skywalk fame, remember the Skywalk is NOT managed by NPS people! Kiowa landed a role in the Twilight saga's New Moon film, so he was there signing posters and looking pretty. I preferred the, er, high art, the Hopi clowns and the Navajo jewelry on display in the museum collection. I also discovered the work of Ed Mell, painter of the new west, similar to Serena Supplee in style.

We made it back to the Village after narrowly missing the back end of a mini van who thought fit to slam on its brakes in the middle of the desert for two roaming dogs. The dogs were cute, but twisted metal would not have been. Hopi spirits protected us. Our barbeque was at a permanent resident’s house, with the ulterior motive (besides being the 4th of July) being to show off the work of some local artists. There was a Pabst Blue Ribbon mosaic, some disturbing work involving manatees, and my favorite which was the perspective of two bison looking out from the purple-curtained window of a train, long rifle barrels pointed at the prairie, which was littered with, er, men. Call me a sick puppy but there was some deep commentary going on about how the West was lost. Speaking of dogs, Ranger Lori showed up at the BBQ, author of The Adventures of Salt and Soap in the Grand Canyon, sold in all the GCA bookstores. Salt and Soap were found wandering around the inner canyon, most likely dogs from the neighboring Rez (much like the ones we almost hit out on the plateau). Lori ended up adopting them and writing a children’s book about their discovery. Salt and Soap were also present begging Cheetos and bits of chicken. I thought about doing one of my Ranger Storytime Programs on Salt and Soap, trying in the problem of animal abandonment in Parks, but thought later I didn’t want to take on the cultural challenge of First Peoples perspective on “pets.” Just didn’t think that conversation would sit well with 2-6 year olds.

No fireworks were needed as a campfire sufficed, and entertaining stories and personalities won out over a trip down to Tusayan for their famed 32-float parade. The parade of humanity is always worth celebrating.

A Ranger led Fossil Walk revealed sponges, trace fossils (prints of marine creatures), brachiopods, and insight into family behavior (albeit nothing new). Just as bivalves (clams, for example) share common traits, so did the Old Navy T-shirt wearing family, the USC colored clothing of another, the little girl pouting about being drug out to look for fossils, while Mom, Dad and big brother try to have a good time despite frowns and sighs.

So I have to brag on Betty a bit. She was named Interpreter of the Year for 2009 at Grand Canyon. This for an interpreter in a back corner of Park Headquarters in street clothes as opposed to the flat hats in the front lines. I think this speaks volumes about how successful Betty has been marketing her services, improving visibility, and educating staff about the added value an onsite research library can bring to a Park. I mentioned the fact that her term is up this September and must reapply to continue working. She pointed out a Reference Librarian opening at San Francisco Maritime History Park to me, encouraging me to apply. Wouldn’t hurt since I now live in dread of a call from my principal mid July—I mentioned why in my last post. Cataloguing sea chanteys and sailing vessels has appeal. Reminds me of this symposium I went to at UO which included about 15 of us around a table discussing obscure folk ballads from the 18th and 19th centuries. My paternal grandmother was a US Women’s Marine during World War Two, stationed in San Francisco.

                                                                                                                    

I shall henceforth be known as the “mean Ranger” who makes little kids lug gallons of water in midday heat to reenact the historic experience of first settlers and first peoples of the canyon—actually, I’m sure the first peoples had the sense to go for water in the cool of early morning and evening—only white folk run around in the heat of the day attempting to accomplish things. When is the siesta movement going to change labor practices in this country? Siestas would do wonderful things for public education. It would do wonderful things for the economy, get people’s priorities straightened out. PPS is currently debating what subjects and services to take away from students. Cutting the usual things that do not just enrich but are essential to a young person’s educational development. I detest the terms “special,” “enrich,” and “supplemental.” We need a social revolution people, complaining to the TV isn’t going to do anything, get up and take to the street. Exercise your right as a US citizen—protest.

Back to storytime—being in the flat hat certainly garners you looks from the tourists, mostly curiosity, jealousy, respect, and signpost to flag down for extraction of the secret knowledge about where restrooms are located. There was some lovely elk scat and a perfect print in the mud near the tree where we spread out. Teachable moment. The first folks I talked to were from none other than Portland, OR. Adorable respectful bunch, with the inquisitive 3 year old who piped up periodically why I was reading to ask important questions. We read Snail Girl Brings Water: A Navajo Story, retold by Geri Keams. I passed around laminated prints of all featured characters (otter, beaver, canyon treefrog, desert tortoise, snail), and a wooden frog that supposedly makes the sound of a frog croaking when you stroke its ridged back with a wooden stick. My lesson plans are posted here under “Environmental Education Resources.” The gallon jugs of water were a hit, only four out of about 14 kids were up for my little relay, but considering most of them were probably worn out from sightseeing it went well. As I was walking through the El Tovar parking lot, one tourist said to me, “You’re living the life aren’t you?” I replied something like, “Well, I am carrying 32 pounds of water right now, but besides that…”

Betty was in Flag today so I opened and closed the Library on my own.

Met some fabulous characters including a computer shy mule wrangler (or what I assumed to be a mule wrangler), and a delightful school librarian from California.

Marc Jean Baptiste, visiting from the Seychelles archipelago (off the coast of Kenya and north of Madagascar), gave a slide presentation about his home parks, also UNESCO World Heritage sites. He is currently the site manager for Valle de Mai, but has done work on the Aldabra Atoll as well. In fact he is the third person to visit the US through an exchange conducted by the UN. Other international visitors from parks around the globe have been to the Everglades and the Hawaiian Volcanoes.

40% of the whole country has “conservation status” which is a cool stat even though it’s small. I don’t know if the state of Hawaii can boast that. They may be about the same I’ll have to look that up. They also get 114.2 inches of rain a year and we think PDX pours! Economic stimulation comes through bread fruit, cassava, fisheries and tourism. I did ask Marc if they had a park librarian…they do not as such. Giant tortoises outnumber the human population with 85,000 residents and 100,000 turtles. Turtles had even greater numbers years ago, but the introduction of goats to the islands reduced the vegetation turtles rely on. The fact that Marc gave his talk on June 29th was significant since that was when the country obtained independence from Great Britain in 1976. Three languages have simultaneous official status: French, English, and Creole—but a completely different Creole than what you would hear in Louisiana. Arab seafarers and wanderers like Vasco de Gama noticed the islands, but there were no populations indigenous to the island. The French first colonized it, but power was wrested away by the Brits in 1903 under Victoria’s reign. The British Crown, it seems, had a habit of sending political prisoners to Seychelles as an “open prison.” When Marc flashed a picture of some people in a Paradise swimming hole, one of the members of the audience asked if those were the prisoners…

The Aldabra Atoll is the largest raised coral atoll in the world, a sunken volcano it has no fresh water, little soil and affords only three hours between low and high tide. Valle de Mai is home to acres of Coco de Mer, coconut trees with mythical status and risqué looking male and female tree parts. While it is obvious that Marc is thrilled about the opportunity to spread the news about his lovely home, they have 60,000 tourists a year while Grand Canyon alone has 5 billion. It’s one of those places on earth I’m happy hasn’t been “discovered” and overdeveloped. The Seychelles Island Foundation (their version of NPS) limits cruise ships to one per day and is working on mitigating the desire to accommodate tourists with the necessity of protecting parrots, colonies of flamingoes, nesting turtles and the like from the heavy tread of man. The tread is deep and grooved here at the canyon, pun intended.

My roomie arrived! …but sadly she’s moving to the North Rim next Monday. A young geologist from Tennessee. She brought with her good cheer and an end to my solitary three day weekend by being the link to a fish taco night at an EE Ranger’s house who has obtained the coveted permanent status (which, in her case equals a real house). Our host had a sweet blue heeler (except when she nips), and two cinder colored cats who were a riot to watch on their lead ropes in the backyard. Cats on a leash, quite the sight. Five single ladies with glasses of wine, perfect end to an Arizona Monday night.

Storytime Adventure Lesson Plans used for NPS Junior Ranger Program, or for use in your classroom:

Snail Girl Brings Water: A Navajo Story, retold by Geri Keams
Theme: Water in the Desert
lesson plan
southwest river otter
desert tortoise
beaver
canyon treefrog
Kanab ambersnail

The Illuminated Desert, by Terry Tempest Williams
Theme: Art in the Desert
lesson plan
Colter architecture props
Art example props

Phoebe and Chub, by Matthew Henry Hall
Theme: Species of Concern in GCNP
lesson plan and activity materials

Caught the 6am “Hiker’s Express” to the South Kaibab Trailhead. About half the riders were American and the other half European (primarily French and German from the rudimentary knowledge I have of continental languages). There is also a 4am and 5am express, but I suspected for the “warm up” hike I was doing it wasn’t necessary to get up that early…yet. The recommendation is that you are either at your day’s destination or out of the canyon by 10am. We were dropped off about 6:30 and I got out of there at something like 8:40. There’s the alternative of hiking on the other end of the day—evening—which I may end up doing if and when I do an overnight trip. I saw at least seven more little lizards on the hike, along with various birds, chipmunks and squirrels.

Going down is deceptively easy; it was hard to stop at the recommended day trip turn-around at Cedar Ridge. I ended up going just below that to a saddle between monoliths. A guy from Rhode Island and I hop scotched for awhile on the trek back up. People on the way down looked breezy (as I suppose I did), almost in disbelief at all of us headed the opposite direction with out tongues hanging out. Their perspective will change!

It’s only 10 miles as the crow flies across the canyon, and about six to the river, but by the time you splash in the Colorado and turn around to go back the heat has settled and going up is NOT the easy part. There are signs, almost humorous in nature, at every trailhead, “What goes down must come back up.”

On the shuttle back I spotted a senior citizen at one of the stops wearing socks pulled up halfway his shins and a shirt that read “Tough Men Wear Pink.” Tough men also built the trail I had just walked upon, tough men were doing some nasty job at the pit toilets at Cedar Ridge, tough men were using shovels and a jack hammer at an archaeology dig along the trail. My lingering question is this, what do tough women wear? 

USPS still hasn’t come through.

Rode my bike through a herd of juvenile elk and Russian tourists on the Greenway as I made my way to the South Rim for a read in the shade. The trick is to find a ledge that goes off the Rim trail for a ways since most people will not diverge from the trail. I had a few folks wander in (one on his cell phone talking real estate) but they were respectful of my space and view.

Returned to the trailer for more reading and fell asleep in the “easy chair.” If only it had a foot rest. It is rather small as far as easy chairs go so one gets somewhat folded up in the thing. Finished Desert Solitaire. Abbey had me riveted through several accounts including the story about Charles Graham and Albert Husk—uranium prospecting and murder, where Abbey and a companion explore Glen Canyon (prior to it becoming flooded by the Dam), Abbey and yet another buddy do “The Maze,” his attempt to capture the moon-eyed horse, and when Abbey goes a little bit nuts during his stay in Havasu Canyon.

I drove out Desert View Rd to the Watchtower, (cautiously circumventing poorly parked tourists out capturing more elk with their telephoto lenses) which was still partially under renovation, but afforded spectacular architecture and views nonetheless. It was the furthest east I had been and offered an opportunity to see some of the same buttes and plateaus from different angles. The inside of the Watchtower is magical. Mary Colter had Hopi artists recreate petroglyphs and murals on the walls using colored sand and traditional dyes.

While watching the sunset at Lipan Point I saw my first lizard (a small one—no Gila monsters) and endured a large family from India capturing the moment on camcorder while the children squabbled over the prettiest pebbles, some of them lobbed over the side of the canyon. I kept hoping this rather forward raven would swoop in and scare them (the children) back to the car, but no such luck. Ahh, sharing primitive moments with the masses, nothing like it.

Tucked out of sight of tourists is a beige building off Albright Avenue which houses over 200,000 museum artifacts. It is not routinely open or advertised to the public but is available for toursupon request in reasonably sized groups. Opening the door you are greeted by a tinny tune announcing your presence to museum staff. I was joined by a grandmotherly volunteer, archaeology intern, two from the fire crew, and a group from the SCA (Student Conservation Association). Standing in what serves as their lobby, a large display case houses a 50lb+ clay pot found in the Park by human types who thought they could sell it to an art dealer, they in turn, being honest folk, notified NPS who went and retrieved it. The curator who led the tour stated that the current trend in collection development was to leave artifacts in situ unless they are threatened by human disruption and theft. Accompanying the pot were a variety of items including a chuckwalla, preserved agave plant, and a species of skunk smaller than your average Pepe Le Peu, with spots arranged in several parallel stripes running the length of its body. On the wall facing the entrance were a sampling of dust jackets announcing Grand Canyon’s affair with high and lowbrow literature including Brighty, Ten Who Dared, and my favorite, a kitschy romance, The Nurse from Grand Canyon, featuring your usual light-skinned variety female and a swarthy man standing behind her with a protective hand on her arm.

Further in we found the natural history collection, which began with the shellacked skull of a giant ground sloth. We proceeded to a patch of dirty hair, and finally a generous mound of dung…which led to a story I had read about in The Incredible Grand Canyon: Cliffhangers and Curiosities. This entails a human explorer in Rampart Cave who threw aside his flaming torch when his examination of the area was complete. Being the ignorant type who would probably flick a burning cigarette out the window in high fire season, or leave his campfire burning, neither did he recognize that a burning torch in a cave was not impervious to disaster, especially when that particular cave was filled with thousands of pounds of 40,000 year old ground sloth poo.

Apparently, even at a ripe old age, it holds its smell, which is perhaps why the explorer abruptly left the cave to begin with. Well, that desiccated dung smoldered for a year, and attempts by the Park Service to put it out was met with public outcry. To an equally ignorant public, it doesn’t make sense to spend thousands of dollars and manpower on putting out flaming turds, but what they didn’t have an appreciation for was that the cave was a treasure trove of artifacts offering clues to our much pondered past. Sadly, many of these clues were destroyed.

There was an arsenic laced cabinet of taxidermy, and a variety of fossils which I can’t recall the names of—hollow shells and imprints of creatures that lived in an aquatic environment. One of those things to ponder as you walk within the canyon, dying of thirst, you collapse upon a layer of limestone to find the tunnels of sea worms and ancestral barnacles staring you in the face, the suggestion of water haunting your swollen tongue. It was revealed that the squirrel bodies were often used in still photography since the real fluff balls—like birds in constant motion—were not interested in posing for their picture. Later, at the Yavapai Observatory in gift shop #27 I thought the image of a tufted eared Kaibab Squirrel on a magnet looked suspiciously glassy eyed.

On to bent twig figures thought to date back 9,000 some years. It is somewhat of a debate whether these animal shaped effigies made of willow were toys or mystical charms meant to bring a successful hunt. Folsom and Clovis among the projectile points, a stone axe, wooden ladles painstakingly repaired with agave fiber when threatened to split, bowls, a man’s fiber shoe, and a colander of sorts meant for keeping stored seeds from getting mildew—one of six known to exist. Toward the end of the cultural history lecture the lights went out and the back-up system (significantly dimmer) went on. I expected the ghosts of miners and Ancestral Puebloans to rise from the objects still heavy with their essence. A thunderstorm passed overhead.

I ventured out, past the mural on the wall representing the nine foot wingspan of a condor, past the delicate nurse, and the petrified lizards. Into the rain I went. Nothing is delicate in the desert. These rain drops were the size of satellite dishes.

Next stop was The Shrine of the Ages, a building under remodel with unique architecture (the only mundane architecture in the Park being tourist restroom facilities, and every last structure in Market Plaza adjacent to Mather Campground), housing offices and a chapel. A cemetery abuts this building where old and new settlers to the area are laid side by side. A blacksmith, a ranger, an artist, a mother.

At the Yavapai Observatory I found a cluster of tourists both marveling and cursing at the mist filled chasm. Points of light shone on plateau and butte, a fork of lightning jolted my sensibilities. No one oohed or aahed so I felt that mine were the only human eyes that saw it. My camera batteries ran low as I tried to capture what no lens can—the feeling of presence. Ancient stories entombed in rock.

I wondered if the gallon of milk I purchased on my way home would some day be documented in accounts written by future humanoids. I now sit in front of a glowing screen, paling in comparison to the round glowing rock orbiting the pines outside my trailer window.

Adventure Hike with EE Ranger Amala this morning at Hermit’s Rest. We had about 18 people, parents and kids put together. The family program is geared toward 9-14 year olds, but we had some young ‘uns out there, one possibly as young as 6. They were troopers, crowding Amala up front with the parents trailing behind calling out warnings and reminders to, “let the Ranger go first!” Hermit’s Rest is only accessible by shuttle bus, being an employee on official business in an official vehicle, by foot, or by bike. It’s about eight miles from the Village. Mary Colter built Hermit’s Rest which has a stunning stone fireplace. It is named after a guy who lived on the west end of south rim, and yes he enjoyed his solitude. Amala lectured the group about hiking safely, drinking water, stopping to rest.

To the delight of the children she had a spray bottle filled with water which she periodically sprayed on anyone who asked. Delicious. At every trailhead I’ve been to there’s been an article about a Boston Marathon finisher who died in the canyon because she didn’t take enough food and water and tried to bite off more trail than they could do in current conditions. Her friend made it out alive. I like that they posted this (at the request of the deceased’s family) because it personalizes the concept of what may happen to you if you don’t go prepared. Just from the tiny section of trail we hiked today I decided that one cannot carry enough water below the rim. When they say it’s hot they mean that for every 1,000 feet you drop in elevation it gets 4 degrees warmer. If it’s already 85 on the rim at 7,000 feet and the river lies at something like 1,200…Well, there’s a story problem for you kids.

I submitted paperwork to stay in the employee bunkhouse at Indian Gardens (about 3,500 feet) in early July. There’s a regular kitchen with all the amenities so this is a huge weight off the sweaty ol’ back, or more room to haul additional water.

Back to the hike. Amala had us examine, pinyon pine, juniper, prickly pear, yucca, and agave. We also took a break at a fossil bed where the kids used wet sponges to highlight the ancient sea creatures, since it made them show up better in the piercing sunlight. It was the first time I officially went “below the rim,” so that was exciting. I was heartened by not seeing or hearing a single deadly creature. When I hike though, I’ll be starting at like 5am or before when it’s still cool. Scorpions and rattlesnakes like cool too…

Second half of my day I was back in the cool envelope of the library where I learned a few more new tasks, and reviewed how to handle ILL materials through the OCLC service. I guy came in asking about hiking by moonlight and wanting to know if we had a photocopy machine because he was too cheap to buy a map. There’s a full moon tomorrow night. He printed one off the NPS site for free, so that satisfied him.

I checked my PO box after work, USPS hasn’t come through for me yet. I visited the General Store for the first time and see why Betty doesn’t bother to drive to Williams or Flagstaff every week. It’s like a regular supermarket, granted, a higher priced supermarket, but with my magic green bag (just for locals) I got a 10% discount. I balanced hamburger meat for burritos, grapes, plums, apples on my cycle home, lamenting only that they were out of vanilla extract. I am fixed on making an orange julius with my borrowed blender. For now, water is gourmet. Ours comes from Roaring Springs on the North Rim piped across the canyon to the Village, where they keep a week’s worth at a time in supply tanks.

Now to some entertaining literature for the evening. Last night is was a tale about the first and last time anyone ever tried to herd deer. The famed western author, Zane Grey, wrote a book about it prior to the event, a film crew was on hand, and various authority figures were convinced that herding wild deer was possible. Why were they herding them? Well, men had killed off all their natural predators and so they were trying to “manage them.” Wildlife management. What a joke. Needless to say, the newspaper headline read, “Kaibab Deer Refuse to Herd Animals Become Wild and Stampede Riders’ Lines.” Really? They became wild all of a sudden? Yes indeed, the Great Kaibab Deer Drive was an astounding flop. In my next post I’ll tell you what really happened to Brighty, the famed burro of Grand Canyon.