I don’t know. Maybe it just sounds cool. Buckskin! And what is even more intriguing is why they would name a canyon, a Slot Canyon, Buckskin Gulch. As I wonder these thoughts one might ask … isn’t it winter. Better yet like -15 outside last weekend. Yea, well, I am just picking up where I left off with the Paria Canyon series. In this new year I can not even remember the exact details from so long ago. I can’t even remember what ground looks like. Smells like. Or even feels like.
I do remember my injury but just hints of it. The pieces that one needs to log into the security folds of the brain. The section that makes one think and maybe even pull on the brake levers when entering a corner in the middle of the night pedaling full tilt.
Yea, back to it. Well after our morning’s excursion down the canyon I faked like I was ok so that we could do a canyon that was intriguing to me. So we went on to this slot called Buckskin. They should have called it spooky. I kept looking back and felt like someone was watching. I mean more than all those shady faces looking down upon us. Like ghosts. Ghosts that got trapped in the narrows as they flowed upon the desert winds. Ghosts of natives. Ghosts of plans. Dreams, Passions, and relationships.
I could handle it no longer and wanted to ask if we could return to camp. My partner screamed to watch out. I jumped back. Gosh, I just about killed a tiny snake. Sorry buddy.
We returned to camp to find a dead owl. Something bad happened last night, Tuesday November 8th. Something so terrible that wisdom would no longer mean anything. Something dark. Only snakes survived … but also hiding in deep caverns. Something that killed even the tarantulas around us. A bizarre world where nothing made sense. What could be so bad? What happened? No matter, my back hurt and I passed out on a tuft of grass.