Dicey details
A study in impermanence
I am endlessly fascinated by ice, water, and clouds. Eternally changing shape and form – solid, liquid, gas, we can see it transform in real time.
Where would we be without it?
GreenLand
Cocktail hour under the red sails
The red sails are a tourist gimmick, but the effect is stunning when fog slides around the icebergs creating a shroud of mystery.
The football pitch
Local kids practice their soccer moves on the Astroturf while Disko Bay icebergs, staunch supporters, look on.
Why it’s called ‘Greenland’
Oddly, it’s not called Greenland because of the intensely lush vegetation or the neon mosses of Disko Island. Rather, it was named Greenland as a ruse to encourage Viking settlement. Like many places, it had a name before it was ‘discovered’ by Europeans. The original name reflects the native connection to the land; Kallaalit Nunaat means “land of the people.” From the rich mosses to the columnar basalt and city block-sized icebergs, Greenland is stunning.
New skies…
and long horizons
Stepping away from the desert for a few months.
Off to Greenland, Iceland, Svalbard. Polar summer, polar night.
The light and the dark; we need both.
Photos to follow. Stay tuned, my friends.
The shape of mountains to come
Looking west
The view from Round Mountain to the west includes the town of Round Mountain and its range of protective mountains.
Tailing tales
The view east from the town of Round Mountain is not of Round Mountain any longer but of its remains. In extreme mountaintop removal, gold was extracted in flakes and nuggets, and the mountain was moved, grain by grain, to the valley. The neatly stacked tailings contrast with the geologic structure of the flanking mountains, snow still clinging to the upper crevices.
Down the road
Another mine is relandscaping a different piece of real estate. Rolling slopes and gentle peaks have become unscalable walls and plateaus upon plateaus.
Earth-moving
Can the mountains survive when earth-moving trucks come on tires twice the size of pick-up trucks? Has anyone asked for mountaintop approval?
Red dirt road
Spring in Dakota country
The prairie flowers endure, thunderstorms loom, ants continue their eternal work.
Although the parlor stove went missing a few years back, its delicate, leafy pattern was eager to join the spring rush.
And the miles add up on a pair of dirt red feet.
Wild and scenic
21 April 2023 camp, XXX Wild and Scenic River
Gorgeous blue New Mexico day. Blustery winds, high river, mud red as it flows below the height of Wall on the northeast side of camp. We put in on Wednesday, unloading gear, pumping up rafts and inflatable kayaks. Loading gear and tying down water, toilet, dry bags, coolers, food. And off, high snowmelt, high wind, blue sky. Herons and ducks, vultures, red rock, bluffs, and walls climbing from the river to the mesas above. Ponderosas, juniper, piñon, slot canyons, side canyons, water always flowing. The first night, a late partial solar eclipse somewhere, and in the morning, I climbed the wall to find the sun before anyone else awoke. I could see across rows of mesa cliffs and upriver, along the canyon above the rapids where we would start the day’s float. A ponderosa eked out an existence on a boulder, mid-river, at the head of the rapids. Water, rock, tree mark time: eternal river time, canyon time, life time.
Tear down camp, load gear, lock it down, move on, another day’s float. Below the walls of red and ochre, tuff or sandstone, blue sky, green ponderosas, and the faint hint of spring among the willows, the sun strong and brilliant, the air cold and the wind biting. Tailwind, headwind, river turn, no wind, headwind, river bend, tailwind. Rapids, rocks, high water snow melt, cold water biting through sun.
Dead elk, antler standing true against river boulder, waves breaking and flowing over the skull, parted by the forehead, rounded above the boulder by the rib cage no longer full of life, full of breath. Canada geese shifting along the bank, starting, flying, swimming, laying their long necks into a kinked line, thinking themselves invisible. Geese with downy nests in open rock crevices above the water, brooding alcoves like so many bees in honeycomb. Cliff walls full of cliff swallow nests. Globes of mud and spit held together against the rock, entry tunnels extending out, open to returning parents.
The accompanying dog running on the bank, climbing aboard a kayak, jumping off again, running the islands, swimming the channels, shaking out on the next beach to be picked up, and packed along again. Once running to the tip of an island only to startle a goose off its nest flush with the grasses, flushed from the grasses, eggs uncovered, dog disinterested, into the water for the next kayak stop pickup.
Rafts swirling forward, backward, around, flowing with the current, working against the wind, with the wind, in no wind, the water moving on, no time to waste, no time to pause. So much sky, so many walls, so many ponderosas. Layers of clothing on, layers off. Sun, wind, no sun, too much wind. Jacket on, hat off, gloves, socks, wind jacket, no jacket. The endless string of pieces shed, and pieces returned to their appropriate body parts. Lunch stop, sun, no wind, rest, warm, eat, laugh. Push off, float, float, float again farther. Hold the water, an impossible task, follow the course, fill your space, fill your soul with red mud water, blue sky, ochre and red walls, green ponderosas. Flow on, flow on.