desert solitaire the first morningdesert solitaire the first morning

The other creatures do the same. We bounce over a series of minor ripples and the river picks up speed. But soon, he discovers the rich animal life around his trailer, even domesticating a friendly gopher snake. At first I think it is still night but looking east I see a premonition of day in the greenish streaks of light spread out along the rim. Abbey also comments on some of the particular cultural artifacts of the region, such as the Basque population, the Mormons, and the archaeological remains of the Ancient Puebloan peoples in cliff dwellings, stone petroglyphs, and pictographs. Like a living caduceus they wind and unwind about each other in undulant, graceful, perpetual motion, moving slowly across a dome of sandstone. Hes been up in that canyon for ten years., No. We went on for another mile and emerged abruptly and to me unexpectedly into full day again, the glare of the sun and the scalding heat. Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey begins in the area surrounding Moab, Utah. Gently I lowered my canteen to the ground. The sound of nothingness? An owl. A treasure not in money but in beauty. Prime time: the sun very low in the west, the birds coming back to life, the shadows rolling for miles over rock and sand to the very base of the brilliant mountains. I stop to drink. She struggled feebly, the horses swung ahead, the mud made a violent raw gasping noise, exploded, and out she came. Somewhere not far beyond this confluence, if I recall my Powell rightly, is the opening to what he named Music Temple. Then they came again, louder and as it seemed from all sides, out of the rock itself, surrounding me. I find some dry sticks, build a little fire in the fireplace, uncork the wine. [32] Abbey states his dislike of the human agenda and presence by providing evidence of beauty that is beautiful simply because of its lack of human connection: "I want to be able to look at and into a juniper tree, a piece of quartz, a vulture, a spider, and see it as it is in itself, devoid of all humanly ascribed qualities, anti-Kantian, even the categories of scientific description. There are no bugs, which in itself is a warning sign, in case the smell were not sufficient. At one point close to the road this railway cuts through a hill. False dawn? The photographs, Before & After, prove it. Crazy son of my bitches, he was screaming, lets pick up the feet!, Roy raised a hand. His left arm hung limply from a dislocated shoulder. I put the boots back on; water or no water, my feet have suffered enough. The work is simple and requires almost no mental effort, a good thing in more ways than one. Like a god, like an ogre? With fingertip I write my own signature in the sand to let him know, to tip him off; I take a drink of water and leave. The canyon was short and boxed in and at the head was a cow and her calf; I drove them out and back to the main canyon. Keeping the flame alive. But how, you might ask, does living outdoors on the terrace enable me to escape that other form of isolation, the solitary confinement of the mind? As soon as he saw me he stopped hollering and relit his pipe. The verb greet is also significant, as it conveys the idea that the sun is a human shaking hands with Abbey. By taking off my shoes and digging my toes in the sand I made contact with that larger world an exhilarating feeling which leads to equanimity. I follow them for a short distance, still plagued by curiosity, before remembering my place and the requirements of common courtesy. Waterman has another problem. Am I awake or sleeping? Abbeys occasional work for the paranoid local cattle rancher Roy Scobie prompts his thoughts on death: to die in nature would be a natural dispersal of human energy back into the landscape to which it rightly belongs. Go south twenty-five miles toward Hanksville. At the main entrance to each national park and national monument we shall erect a billboard one hundred feet high, two hundred feet wide, gorgeously filigreed in brilliant neon and outlined with blinker lights, exploding stars, flashing prayer wheels and great Byzantine phallic symbols that gush like geysers every thirty seconds. Everything else they needed, from boots to beans, perhaps even the jeep, must have been brought in by way of the river, for this camp is a long long way from any road known to the mapmakers. [17], However, Abbey deliberately highlights many of the paradoxes and comments on them in his final chapter, particularly in regard to his conception of the desert landscape itself. Its a strange, stirring, but not uncommon thing to come on a pool at night, after an evening of thunder and lightning and a bit of rainfall, and see the frogs clinging to the edge of their impermanent pond, bodies immersed in water but heads out, all croaking away in tricky counterpoint. And they stay away because of the unpaved entrance road, the unflushable toilets in the campgrounds, and the fact that most of them have never even heard of Arches National Monument. But in such small towns as Moab, Kanab, Boulder and Escalante we can still see the handsome homes of hand-carved sandstone blocks, the quiet streets lined with irrigation ditches and giant cottonwoods, the gardens and irrigated pastures, the children riding their horses, which remind us on the downhill side of the twentieth century of what life must have been like back in the nineteenth. Try and answer it., How the hell should I know? On guard, head aloft that evil slit-eyed weaving head shaped like the ace of spades tail whirring, the rattler slithers sideways, retreating slowly before me until he reaches the shelter of a sandstone slab. Their emphasis on mutual aid, cooperation and sharing was not unknown among other American communities and indeed such qualities are vital to survival in a frontier situation but the Mormons went about it in a far more deliberate, conscious manner, with more successful results. Centuries ago. Dehydration: the desert air sucks moisture from every pore. He tried to move and a sickening jet of pain coursed through his shoulder. One especially sad (though likely mythical) case was Alfred T. Husk, who uprooted his family from Texas to try his luck finding uranium in the Canyonlands of Moab. They struggled up the debris of talus slopes, clambered along ledges, pulled themselves up the boulder-choked defiles of side canyons. Without starting the motor he disengaged the clutch, took the truck out of gear and turned the wheels downhill. A shameless, The two gopher snakes are nearly identical in length and coloring; I cannot be certain that either is actually my former household pet. It seems odd that the mountainside should be covered with this loose debris but so it is with Tukuhnikivats; nearly symmetrical, like a volcano, it has weathered evenly on all sides, unlike its neighbor Mount Peale for instance, which can be reached over spurs and ridges of solid base rock. More and more sunflowers, whole fields of them, acres and acres of gold perhaps we should call this the Sunflower Desert. No, wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread. Ive decided to write a letter (to myself) before going to bed, and rather than use a candle for light Im going to crank up the old generator. Theres only one man in Moab who claims to have been there, a garage mechanic named Bundy, so we pay him a visit. I drink again, fill my canteen and go on. None of these proposals are entirely devoid of merit and at least one of them birth control is obviously essential though not in itself sufficient if poverty is to be alleviated among the Navajo Indians. Contents Desert Solitaire is a collection of treatises and autobiographical excerpts describing Abbey's experiences as a park ranger and wilderness enthusiast in 1956 and 1957. Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey 46,902 ratings, 4.19 average rating, 3,286 reviews Open Preview Desert Solitaire Quotes Showing 1-30 of 221 "Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread. He brought with him his young and pleasant-looking (if somewhat thin and anxious) second wife, his eleven-year-old son Billy-Joe, and two little girls younger than the boy. The air is clean and sweet again. He was hanging a picture on the wall of his store and had a heart attack. The sun was down, the new half-moon hung nearly overhead. Here I find the familiar fascinating semimelancholy debris of free enterprise: rusted tin cans, a roofless frame shack, the rags of tents and broken canvas cots, rusty shovels, a blunted old iron bullprick, rotting rat-bitten steel-toed boots, dynamite boxes, battered hard hats, two sticks of blasting powder (but no caps), sheaves of legal documents pertaining to mining claims and production agreements (rather interesting reading), a couple of withered sun-bleached topographical maps, and an astonishing heap of tattered magazines of the All-Man He-Male type . For the first time I felt a little fear. At times I step to the brink of the mesa and peer down through that awful, dizzying vacancy to the broken slabs piled along the foot of the wall, so far so terribly far below. Soon, park superintendent Merle McRae and chief ranger Floyd Bence bring Abbey some supplies. The reason for this apparent anomaly is twofold. At any rate I am troubled no more by rattlesnakes under the door. For example: Abbey is dogmatically opposed in various sections to modernity that alienates man from their natural environment and spoils the desert landscapes, and yet at various points relies completely on modern contrivances to explore and live in the desert. Naked in the moonlight, I enjoy the change, and listen for a time to the hoodoo voice of a great horned owl up on the rim somewhere. They shimmer like transparent, filmy veils between my sanctuary in the shade and all the sun-dazzled world beyond. Heart of the whole and essence of the scene is the river, the flowing river with its thin fringe of green, the vital element in what would be otherwise a glamorous but moon-dead landscape. These are sinister and supernatural figures, gods from the underworld perhaps, who hover in space, or dance, or stand solidly planted on two feet carrying weapons a club or sword. We discuss the matter. No end of blessings from heaven and earth. Petrified wood is also common in the canyon country. Even if we can get the Land Rover down this thing, how can we ever get it back up again? I rode on. We pass sandbars where stands of white-plumed cane and the lacy blossoms of young tamarisk wave in the breeze among driftwood logs aged to a silver finish by sun and wind and water. The sandstone walls rise higher than ever before, a thousand, two thousand feet above the water, rounding off on top as half-domes and capitals, golden and glowing in the sunlight, a deep radiant red in the shade. You might think we could make a landing anyway and walk back upriver on the bank but in Glen Canyon, where the sandstone walls often rise straight up out of the water, this is sometimes impossible. In anticipation of future needs, in order to provide for the continued industrial and population growth of the Southwest. And in such an answer we see that its only the old numbers game again, the monomania of small and very simple minds in the grip of an obsession. Investigating the wreckage we found only the broken bodies, the broken bottles, the stain and smell of Tokay, and a couple of cardboard suitcases exploded open and revealing their former owners worldly goods dirty socks, some underwear, a copy of. The thirst. To us these foamy waves. What persistent and devilish enemies they must have had, or thought they had, when even here in the intricate heart of a desert labyrinth a hundred foot-miles from the nearest grassland, forest and mountains they felt constrained to make their homes, as swallows do, in niches high on the face of a cliff. A wall of water. Long enough in the desert a man like other animals can learn to smell water. After the first wave of utter panic had passed I began to try to think. I sit down at the table, pull off my boots and socks, dig my toes into the gritty, cleansing sand. A few flies are already circling above the dark shape on the stretcher. That sounds grand and dramatic but then why not Tablets of the Sun, equally so? You better stay there, cousin, I warn him; if I catch you around the trailer again Ill chop your head off. Ive already jacked it up on blocks in a friends backyard, drained the radiator and engine block and covered the hood with a tarp to keep out the rain and dust. (Why not? He thought for a while, then opened a five-gallon jerry can and poured gasoline over Husks body and all over the interior of the cab. Complete your free account to request a guide. As the men traverse a nearly unpassable rock path in their jeep, Waterman confides in Abbey that hes considering a permanent retreat here, in order to escape the military draft. ), The day before I leave. (I say it with a smile; they laugh. At once there is a buzzing sound from below and the rattler lifts his head from his coils, eyes brightening, and extends his narrow black tongue to test the air. We see a few baldface cows, pass a corral and windmill, meet a rancher coming out in his pickup truck. How could this most easily be done? Dreamily, deliriously, I waded into the waist-deep water and fell on my face. I burn the bacon and the wind blows sand in the pancake batter. Johnny and I wait in the shade of the truck. But it wasnt always a fake. And most significant, these hordes of nonmotorized tourists, hungry for a taste of the difficult, the original, the real, do not consist solely of people young and athletic but also of old folks, fat folks, pale-faced office clerks who dont know a rucksack from a haversack, and even children. Ill leave them here in place to wave and jingle all through the winter, unseen and unheard, more power to the both of them. Whats the gun for? We walk it out. The return is harder than I expected. Thats French Spring. Although it initially garnered little attention, Desert Solitaire was eventually recognized as an iconic work of nature writing and a staple of early environmentalist writing, bringing Abbey critical acclaim and popularity as a writer of environmental, political, and philosophical issues. Continue military conscription. The horned owl may be the natural enemy of the rabbit but surely the rabbit is the natural friend of the horned owl. (There is no beauty in nature, said Baudelaire. I touched the rope and hackamore bunched up inside my shirt. The eye in the tree. As a small businessman Roy is getting smaller every season. At Topocoba on the rim of the canyon the temperature was a tolerable ninety-six degrees but it rose about one degree for each mile on and downward. He walked slowly up the canyon through the stifling heat, keeping to the shady side. I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with a nonhuman world and yet somehow survives still intact, individual, separate. "[37] His process simply suggests we do our best to be more on the side of being one with nature without the presence of objects which represent our "civilization". His nineteen ribs jutted out like the rack of a skeleton and his neck, like a camels, seemed far too gaunt and long to carry that oversize head off the ground. The moon was high enough to cast a good light when I reached the place where the gray jeep had first come into view. Knock on wood. Slowly, his old yellow hands shaking, he shovels two little Grade C eggs onto your plate. Both feet in stirrups, I took a few gulps of water and proceeded. Wrong again, he said, after a moments consideration. The same thing could be done at Grand Canyon or at Yellowstone or at any of our other shrines to the out-of-doors. As any true patriot would, I urge him to hide down here under the ledge. Well, who knows? Slowly and painfully, leaning as much of my weight as I could against the sandstone slide, I applied more and more pressure to the stick, pushing my body upward until I was again stretched out full length above it. 7000 feet up now; we put on jackets and hoods as a fine sleet drives down from the sky and turns the dust into mud. [11], In two chapters entitled Cowboys and Indians, Abbey describes his encounters with Roy and Viviano ("cowboys") and the Navajo of the area ("Indians"), finding both to be victims of a fading way of life in the Southwest, and in desperate need of better solutions to growing problems and declining opportunities. After lunch we get into the cab of the government pickup, all three of us, and tour the park. I am out of the wind for a change, can light up my pipe and look around without getting dust in my eyes; I can hear myself think. His pack trips are notorious for their frugality. It takes us only a few minutes to roll up our sacks and pile our gear into the vehicle; a light rain sizzling in the fire encourages our movements. Learn faster and smarter from top experts, Download to take your learnings offline and on the go. Cowboys like Scobie and Leslie McKee, now poor thanks to mechanized cattle farming, are also hurttheir image reduced to Hollywood caricatures and tourist attractions. Ive had this tree under surveillance ever since my arrival at Arches, hoping to learn something from it, to discover the significance in its form, to make a connection through its life with whatever falls beyond. I squat close to the fire, lean half over it inhaling aspen smoke, trying to keep warm, and eat my breakfast. Yes, I hate it so much that Im spending the best part of a paycheck on airplane tickets. Play safe. Thank God its Monday, I say to myself the next morning. Written while Abbey was working as a ranger at Arches National Park outside of Moab, Utah, Desert Solitaire is a rare view of one man's quest to experience nature in its purest form. A familiar and plaintive admonition; I would like to introduce here an entirely new argument in what has now become a stylized debate: the wilderness should be preserved for political reasons. We need more predators. The air is still and cool and I am glad that the heat of the day is finally gone. The dance stops. A little later in the season I was able to buy sweet corn, figs and peaches from the Supai. The only sound is the whisper of the running water, the touch of my bare feet on the sand, and once or twice, out of the stillness, the clear song of a canyon wren. A fork in the road, with one branch old, rocky and seldom used, the other freshly bulldozed through the woods. Our life on earth is but the shadow of a higher life, I could tell him. Free access to premium services like Tuneln, Mubi and more. Distance and space are functions of speed and time. (Because of erosion.) GRANDVIEW POINT, TUKUHNIKIVATS, Yet the springtime winds are as much a part of the canyon country as the silence and the glamorous distances; you learn, after a number of years, to love them also. The desert waits outside, desolate and still and strange, unfamiliar and often grotesque in its forms and colors, inhabited by rare, furtive creatures of incredible hardiness and cunning, sparingly colonized by weird mutants from the plant kingdom, most of them as spiny, thorny, stunted and twisted as they are tenacious. Rock and driftwood and the flashing underside of leaves gleam with a strange, wild, shifting light from the stormy sky. He lay still on his back in the shadows, looking up at the scarp over which he had fallen. I climbed onto my horse like a man dragging himself through a bad dream, got both feet in the stirrups and rode after the others. Disappointing; but there was nothing in that area anyway that required blowing up. [2], During his stay at Arches, Abbey accumulated a large volume of notes and sketches which later formed the basis of his first non-fiction work, Desert Solitaire. Advanced Searching Ralph takes a photograph, puts the camera back into the waterproof pouch which he hangs across his chest, and climbs into his boat. This is the seventh day or is it the ninth? But they are not adequate for the task. But I was hungry and thirsty, as always. Minor points on the same issue: I like horses. There are, however, many washes, giant potholes, basins, fissures and canyons in which a man could lose himself, or a body be hidden, for days or years. Nowhere have we seen a trace of the white man or of his horse or cow or helicopter. You know what happened to Ernie Faye? Roy said, evidently addressing me though he was staring up at the leaves. The air is hot, clear, dry and our canteens nearly empty; weve taken three hours in the descent. This time, however, we resolve not to give up; we keep paddling till we hit the shore and then work our way upstream, along the bank, with the aid of the willows at the waters edge. This time with a mate. He was a giant about seventeen hands high, with a buckskin hide as faded as an old rug and a big ugly coffin-shaped head. What are the Arches? But I have cut myself off completely from the greater world which surrounds the man-made shell. Then his attention wanders. A few dark birds are floating on thermals far out over the chasm of the Colorado, somewhat below the level of the mesa. Among these rocks, in chutes, whirlpools and great waves, with rushing breakers and foam, the water finds its way, still tumbling down. We lash the boats together, side by side, which makes not only for better companionship and ease of conversation but also improves the maneuverability: Ralph paddles on one side, I on the other, giving us some control over our direction. But lets not hurry. I have not seen a soul anywhere in Arches National Monument today. In my pickup truck, badly shaken by a long drive down one of the roughest roads in Utah, we carry camping gear, enough grub for two weeks, and two little rubber boats folded up in suitcase-size cartons. Abbey makes statements that connect humanity to nature as a whole. For. All things are in motion, all is in process, nothing abides, nothing will ever change in this eternal moment. Feeling much better we sit in the shade of the trees and eat some lunch. It has humor. Next, these here Arches light them up. In the lights of the truck I unlocked the housetrailer, got out bedroll and baggage and moved in. Circles and semicircles on the red dune where the wind whips the compliant stems of the wild ricegrass back and forth, halfway around and back again. There are no trail markers but even on the naked sandstone I can make out the passage of human feet, boot-shod, leading into the unlikely passage on the left. And then comes another thought. I stepped forward again, pushing under the branches. I stopped and he stopped. A bunch of cattle in the road. The refrigerator, too, is a useful machine. I prefer the desert. I was thirsty though and looked around for the canteen before remembering where Id left it; I could see it down in the wash, near the horse. Not true. I hurry on, south from Moab, off the highway on the gravel road past the new airport, past the turnoff to old Roys place and up into the foothills. Very well. The solitary owl called. If the drilling proved out they might be ready to go into business. 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