Section 2: Tusayan to Flagstaff
"You know koalas all have chlamydia, right?"
Good morning, starshine! The earth says hello!
We're taking a zero in Flagstaff today - that's a full day off, for those not fluent in hiker-speak. So far, we've crushed 2 quarts of ice cream and lost spectacularly at bar trivia, but we'll get around to our chores this afternoon. I need new contact lenses, Constantine needs shoes, we all need a rest.
The weather slowly returned to normal as we left the national park and began our road walk to Flagstaff. Each day I shivered reluctantly out of my sleeping bag, but was sweating through my shirt by noon. The heat would not relent for another few hours though, and I panted like a sled dog in July. My legs turned tan, then pink, despite their protective coat of dust and sunscreen. Scars from previous adventures stood out white against the mild sunburn, freckles in reverse. It was hot. The cattle roads grew more and more exposed as we hiked south, the scenery transforming by degrees as the temperature climbed. I put my bandanna on my head for shade and pulled my cap down low, over a rolling plain of scrubgrass and brown dirt.
Water access began to determine the length of our days. One afternoon break, after much discussion, Hardy and Sie decided to push to a distant cattle tank and camp near the water. Once they left, they were committed to a full forty mile day, and would have to hike late into the night if they didn't reach the tank by dusk. Constantine and I settled on a shorter thirty-one mile plan, carrying three litres each from a nearby source so we could dry camp farther on. Three litres of water weighs 6.6 pounds, more than my entire sleeping kit; each mile of walking beyond 35 is endured rather than enjoyed. It was a tough haul either way.
The disused road grew winding as it led us into a graveyard of spiky dead oaks. The cast of the light changed as I entered, taking on an odd yellow-green hue. It dimmed with alarming speed, and the skeletal shadows blurred to an eerie murk. I checked my watch - barely 5pm, much too early for nightfall. Turning to the west, I saw that the fluffy clouds I had admired earlier in the day had coalesced and multiplied to a thunderhead, smearing the evening sun into weird greenish haze. Rain. The desert, always quiet, had grown impossibly silent. The animals that would normally rustle or chirp from the bushes had retreated to their burrows, hiding from the oncoming storm. The air at ground level was still and close, but clouds raced past above me with furious intent. The high altitude wind was the only noise, a faint basso rumble that had no perceptible beginning or end. I was not sure when I had become conscious of it. This, together with the strange light, gave the whole scene the aura of a nightmare. It was surreal, and powerfully creepy. A coyote let out a single cry somewhere in the distance as I exited the dead grove, and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I felt an intangible presence, malevolent and poised with threat. Constantine was nowhere to be seen. I was out in the expanse of yellow grassland, alone.
And then: I turned another corner. A rainbow sprang beneath the fat cloud to my left, and the rumpled slopes of the San Francisco Peaks rose ahead of me, gentle giants. A pair of cows grazed beneath a vibrant oak tree, framed by the mountains. Suddenly, the storm light seemed golden, nourishing. Softer grey clouds trailed diaphanous veils of mist, rain evaporating before it hit the ground. More little rainbows flickered as I changed position against the backdrop of the sun. All the menace I had felt evaporated along with the rain, and was replaced with wonder at the dreamlike pastoral.
Moments later, the coyote appeared, as if from nowhere. He came tearing across the plain directly in my path and crossed the road perhaps twenty feet ahead. He was big, the size of a border collie, and did not deviate from his straightline course. "Hello, sir." I said to the coyote. He looked me straight in the eyes but said nothing, full of intelligence and purpose. As he sprinted up a small rise, he periodically glanced back over his shoulder, watching me watch him, and vanished into the strange sunlight. The air cooled and moistened, rain-veils soaking up the gold glow and becoming rosy as they approached, seemingly from every direction at once. The mountains purpled. Crows croaked. The coyote pack to the west celebrated the return of their leader with a chorus of yips and howls. It was time to awaken from my vision and catch Constantine before I got rained on, or fell down a rabbit hole. I wasn't sure which one was more likely.
The moon that night rose orange and huge, a magnificent ship on a flaming cloudy sea. The silence was complete, and peaceful. Cassiopeia sparkled on the horizon, and we watched the International Space Station float by on its perpetual voyage. I waved to the astronauts, imagining them at their experiments, maybe sitting down to rehydrated dinners as I swallowed the last bites of my instant rice. Not a bad way to celebrate Thanksgiving. I was certainly grateful, for the coyote and his rainbow blessing, for the desert and its unearthly primal night. I laid down in the tent, feeling my spine release the day's burden into the earth. The moonlight felt silver and cool against my cheek. I was home.
What I'm listening to:
After hearing my thoughts on the antipodean residents of Whistralia, Constantine has declared that he's secretly Australian:
"Very believable, with that Southern accent of yours."
" I don't have an accent. [ed. note: he does] And Australia is south!"
"Oh god. Couldn't you pretend to be a Kiwi at least? I like Kiwis."
"Yea-nah mate! Shrimp on the bahhhhhr-bie! Oz oz oz! I'm from... shit. What's the city in Australia called again?"
"It's a big country. There are lots of cities, ‘mate’!"
"What's that one with the big rock? You know, in the desert. That's my hometown."
"Uluru is in the middle of a national park, nobody lives there. You could be from Alice Springs I guess. It's... sort of close."
"No, no, no. Starts with an S, from the fish movie. You know?"
"You mean SYDNEY?! That's on the coast dude, it's hundred of miles away!"
"Nope, pretty sure the big rock is in Sydney. I was born there, I would know.”
Given that this dialogue has continued for literally days, this song is in my headphones a lot:
From the crew:
My favourite “Australian" has his usual section video uploaded - I haven't watched this one yet, but I know there are some cute cows in there.
Speaking of down under, my buddy Einstein is about to start the Te Araroa in New Zealand. He just published a great piece about his first hike on the AT, and the dangers of overconfidence.
Sie's not doing a consistent vlog this time, but he's got some things to say about people who don't clean up after themselves
Might get back to you later on this zero with further town shenanigans. Then again, I might not. Next stop, Pine, AZ! Allegedly they have hots tubs in the hotel rooms there! Hell yeah.
Talk soon, and take care.
-Magpie.