A Walk in the Canyon

by Robert Drake

 

Tomorrow I have to go back home.  I guess I can’t do that if I don’t find the trail.  I really need to pay more attention.  I’m always lost.  I don’t know why I’m always lost. 

That’s not true. 

I know exactly why I’m lost.  I’m searching.  I’m always lost, because I’m always searching.  It’s not an aimless search.  Don’t think I’m that ditzy.  I know it’s around here.  I’m just not sure I’ll know it when I find it.  I think I will though and then I’ll walk back to my car.  I’ll drive back home and go to work and it’ll be as if I spent my weekend watching football or reading or doing whatever it is people do. 

I’m being awfully cryptic, aren’t I?  I do that sometimes, mostly when I’m lost.  I start going on about things and never quite get around to making sense out of it all.  I think that’s why I come out here.  It’s very easy to get lost if you work at it and I’ve got as much experience as anyone.    

I’ve been coming to this canyon every weekend for the last year.  It’s a decent drive.  All the money that I don’t spend on movies, concerts, and Chinese take-out goes to my roadtrip gas fund.  It’s kind of sad that I put more miles on my car on Saturday and Sunday than I do the rest of the week combined. 

I enjoy myself though.  A few people, just those that ask, think that I come up here to hike.  I guess that’s true.  I mean, I do hike.  There’s not really anything else to do.  You can either park up on the ridge and sit there all day or hike.  There aren’t really any other options. 

I’ve sat up there before.  It’s nice.  You can get some great photos, but I’m not very good at that sort of thing.  Everything always comes out blurry.  They sometimes look decent, but you can never really tell what they are.  They look like some Cezanne landscape viewed through a foggy mirror. 

Someone with talent should come out here and do some painting.  I can’t imagine anyone has yet.  It’s quite secluded.  There are trails of course.  Occasionally, mostly near the entrance, I see a few people.  That’s always the worst part of the trip.   It breaks the whole mood. 

Back home, I spend day after day doing the nine-to-five grind.  I smile and say good morning when I come in and always leave with a “have a good evening.”  I stay pleasant and friendly, but it’s just a job to me.  I look forward to coming home at the end of the day, but nothing really changes.  I run errands and watch television.  I read a bit, mostly on the computer these days.  I have a good setup I suppose, but it never feels quite right. 

I sometimes wonder if it’s just me.  I see people everywhere and I feel like I’m at a zoo, but not as a guest.  It’s not that I feel trapped.  That’s not what I mean.  It’s more like I’m being tricked.  I feel like I’m in a carefully planned environment that fulfills my biological needs, but isn’t quite natural.  It looks right, but there’s always something missing. 

I’ve always wondered if the tigers in a zoo miss having to hunt.  I bet they know that they should be doing something else.  They probably don’t know what, though.  How could they?  They were raised by the zoo staff and have never seen anything outside the ceramic pool and the manicured Sahara.  Still, they must know something’s missing.

It’s probably even worse for the prey.  The instinct, the caution, the fear, remains.  They’re always vigilant for hunters, but there never are any.  How could one live in permanent fear without any realization.  That must be horrid.  I feel very bad for the animals in the zoo.  For me, real life only starts the moment I can’t hear cars going by.  When does life start for an animal in a cage?

I shouldn’t be so dismal, especially not now.  I came out here for the endless miles of forest and canyon and that’s where I am.  I just hope I find what I’m looking for soon.  It’s always ahead of me, but I’m always worried it’ll go past.  I’m not sure how that makes any sense, but it’s true.

Ahh!  Here we are.  I knew I’d find it.  This is the spot.  I’m sure of it. 

Way out there, along the horizon, there’s another group of mountains.  I keep telling myself that I’ll go home and find out what they’ll called, but I never do.  Half of me wants to know just out of curiosity and another part of me wants to know so I can visit and see if the views better from the other side, but there’s something else inside of me that’s contradicts them both. 

Deep down I don’t think I want to know the name.  I come out here because everything is nameless.  I’m nameless.  I’m nameless anyway, but out here I’m nameless amongst my brethren.  I don’t want to know if the view is better.  So what if it is?  I appreciate what is around me.  Does it matter if the grass is greener?  Would I appreciate it more if it was or would I be disappointed I had wasted so much time on this side of the canyon?  I’m not sure and I don’t want to find out.  It just doesn’t matter very much. 

All that matters is this view.  I can see forever.  It’s weird though.  You can see everything, but there’s nothing to see.  I can see the sky all the way to the glare of the sun, but there are no clouds.  I can see down and down and down to the very bottom of the canyon, but it’s so far that I can only guess that the green and gray I see is a forest as lively as the one beside me.   I really have no way of knowing. 

Even up here near me there’s not very much to see.  There are trees and bushes and that sort of thing, but it all blends in so nicely.  Unless you make a point of studying this flower or that bit of moss it all just blends together into a majestic collage of green and brown. 

And the best part?

I’ve never been here before.  No one has been here before.  Nothing has seen what I have.  Nothing ever will see what I have.  That is why I get lost.   

I suppose that sounds very strange.  Of course, I don’t truly know if anyone has been on this specific spot of ground before, but it doesn’t matter.  There are no footprints, except for the ones that brought me here.  I can’t hear anything except the chirping of a jay in the tree beside me.  If anyone has been here before me, there’s no way of knowing it.  Even if someone was here, they surely didn’t get to see the world like I have.  They didn’t get to see that eagle dive down along the canyon wall and perch on the rock below.  Only me.  Only I see it.

Even better, the moment I leave no one will know I was ever here.  My footprints will disappear into the forest underbelly and I’ve left nothing else.   There’ll be no record.  I’ll have come and gone without notice.  I like that.  It makes me feel like I’m part of the collage.   

I like everything here.  It’s a bit cold sometimes.  I’ve got a windbreaker that I wear every time I come.  I’ve owned the thing for years.  I bought when it when I lived on the east coast.  I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen apart.  It’s quite ageless.

Ageless like this canyon.  It’s been here forever.  I wish I could be here forever.  I plan on taking some vacation sometime and staying here for a whole week.  It won’t be this year though.  I used my time over the holidays. 

I’ll do it next year.  I’ll bring a tent and food.  I’m not sure camping is actually allowed out here, but no one will ever find me.  That’s probably why they don’t want people camping.  They know someone will get lost and they won’t be able to find them.  I suppose it’s a good rule, but it seems rather paradoxical.  It’s certainly not enforceable. 

They don’t need to worry about me.  I’m always lost and I always find my way back.  I drift about in a daze half of the time.  That’s why I get lost.  That’s how I get lost.  It’s pretty hard with all the signs and trails and instructions.  You have to be bit demented to find yourself in a place you’ve never heard of.  I manage it though. 

I just sort of find myself in places I’ve never been before.  I wander about and marvel at the sights and just as everything starts to close in on me I stumble upon the trail again.  I’m always relieved when I’m back amongst the familiar, but it’s always a bit disappointing too.  You kind of wonder what you’d have done if you hadn’t found the path.  It seems like it’s sort of a moot point though.  Until you find the path you’ll keep searching for it just like I keep hiking until I find a spot along the canyon rim I haven’t been to before.  

This is one of those spots.  I’ve never seen this part of the canyon.

It’s funny how the trees that are right beside the cliff are all worn and dying and the ones that can’t look over the edge are strong and healthy.  I suppose it’s the wind or maybe they get less water since the canyon wall is so close.  I don’t really know, but it seems strange.  It’s like the view of the canyon is slowly killing the trees along the rim.  I bet if I sat here all day long I’d die to, but that’s just because I didn’t pack enough food. 

Speaking of food, I’m starting to get rather hungry.  I’ll have to leave soon.  The walk back will take me awhile and I can already feel evening starting to take hold.  I’ll see it soon enough.  The sun will disappear over the canyon wall.  You’ll see the glow over the top of the rock.  It’s like seeing the light from under the bathroom door at night, except it’s a bit more impressive. 

Sunset is fascinating to watch.  The rock is red and orange right now, but it’ll turn gray.  The sky, sort of a gray-blue right now, will turn red and orange.  The two will stare at each other for an hour or so and then they’ll go to bed together.  The sky and the rock will slowly fade to black until you can’t tell if they’re different from each other.  Maybe they aren’t.

I won’t be able to decide on that today.  I usually have to leave before sunset sets in.  If I don’t I won’t make it back early enough.  I’ve left later and it works out alright, but the traffic gets bad in the evening.  I don’t want to end my weekend frustrated so I’ll just leave a bit earlier.  It always works out.  I do miss the sunset though.  I can see the sky as I drive, but nothing can replace the rocks. 

I’m going to have to leave soon.  Dusk is approaching. I’ll just sit a few more minutes.  Dusk is always the best time.  It doesn’t matter where you are.  Dusk is always the best. 

Around here, you hear dusk long before you see anything.  The birds start to come out.  You can hear them flying around and chirping at their fellows.  Squirrels and mule deer come out to eat.  I’m not sure why you never see them during the day, but I only catch sight of them at dusk.  That’s proof that dusk is always the best. 

A bit later the bats will leave their caves.  At first you don’t even notice.  You can’t really tell the difference between a bird and a bat unless you watch for awhile.  Eventually you’ll start to notice things.  The birds are usually in groups.  They fly to bushes and trees to perch.  The bats fly alone and never perch.  The bats also flap their wings more.  They push themselves through the sky and fly in erratic loops looking for bugs. 

If it’s quiet out you can hear them.  They have a sort of sharp chirp that’s different from a bird.  It’s not lyrical or musical.  It sounds more like a sharp cry than a call meant for other animals.  Right now it’s still a bit too early.  The ravens are cackling and chasing the smaller birds. 

As soon as they quiet down I’ll leave.  There’ll be just enough light for me to find the trail.  It’s probably a bit dangerous to wait so long, but I know my bearings.  I’ve never been here before, but I’ve been near here.  If nothing else I can always follow the canyon.  It’ll bring me to the overlook eventually and from there I can find the way.  I’ve always found the way before. 

And once I find it?

I’ll drive home. 

Right now I’m as far from everything as I could get, but in a few hours I’ll be on the road speeding away from here.  I’ll get home and unpack and do laundry.  I’ll settle in for the evening news and get dinner.  It’ll be nice and warm and pleasant. Everything will be perfect.  It always is. 

I suppose that’s my cue.  Whenever I start getting nostalgic for TV dinners and prime-time sitcoms I know it’s time to go.  I should be heading out anyway.  I’ve got a long road ahead of me and I better get to it.  It’s just sorta hard to leave.  I like this spot and I’ll never find it again. 

Not to worry though.  I’ll be back next week and my search will begin anew.  I’ll be as lost as ever and I’ll walk this canyon like it was the very first time.  I already look forward to it.  It’s a shame I can’t start now, but it’ll have to wait.  So until next time…

I’d just like to say goodbye. 

Copyright 2005-2008 Robert Drake