Canyons Breath

The flashing lights and chaotic scene disrupt the normal predawn calm, clashing with the natural order of the desert. Standing upon the cliff I see an early glow cresting the far horizon, mornings false light has yet to stretch her long bright tendrils across the dry earth. I realize the need to move fast before the sun bastes’ the basin below with temperatures beyond comfortable. However, I will take as long as needed. Once I begin my descent, safety is always the priority, not speed. The focus is getting down to the canyon floor and up again in one piece.

My equipment lays spread out on the tailgate of Rolands truck, who is focused on checking my gear.

“Ready?” That is all he says to me.

I shrug and reply. “I’m never ready for this but always prepared.”

Like a ritual I begin to gear up. The motions are as natural as dressing for work, then again this is my work. The only difference is that every time I put on a piece, my partner double checks and adjusts as needed, no one ever adjusts my tie or re-tucks my shirt. Ok, my wife does, but for a different reason.

I gaze across the beautiful expanse, with endless sand dunes dotted by vegetation struggling to survive. The winds have not yet started, so for now the sand remains unmoving, like an artist rendition painted on canvas. I ignore the constant babble of voices calling out to me and focus on the serenity of the moment. Muscles spasm involuntarily from the evening chill that still lingers, that and the thought of what I am about to attempt.

My concentration fractures from questions shouted at me.

“Are you worried about the loose formation of rock?”

“How will you navigate the multiple protrusion on your way down?”

"Will the ascent be difficult?"

“How confident are you about the success of this mission?”

Rolands hand gently touches my back, and I feel his warm breath as he whispers. “The drop is further than we first thought, I extended your rope.”

“Girth hitch?” I ask.

He nods.

I finish threading my rope, centering through my anchor point, giving a tug. Roland hands me my knife and kit. Taking a deep breath, I place my helmet on, this is when it becomes real. Once I begin, I will be alone the way it should be, not some spectacle for show. In my opinion the media should not be allowed, this is a solitary mission that demands concentration. However, it is nice to have a spotter like Roland, just in case.

Facing outward, I take in one last glance and focus. The outside world vanishes, gone are the flashing lights, the erratic overlapping voices fighting for dominance over one another. I listen to the breeze as it flows across the dry earth, a scurry of lizards as they flee to safety from the disturbance of their home. The soft swish of dunes slithering over one another as they begin a daily migration. A low frequency hum pulsing like nature’s heartbeat.

Stepping to the edge of the cliff I look down, due to the outcroppings I cannot see my goal, the desert floor is resting in the shadows. I trust in Roland and myself, everything else is just luck. I inhale and smell the camphorous scent of the creosote bushes, the dry yet sweet aroma rising from dew covered foliage fills my lungs, mixing with the dusty mineral taste of chalk coating my hands.

The sun begins to rise, and with it the canyons breath starts puffing erratically through the winding walls of rock. We can never truly know the pattern of this invisible threat. That was the issue yesterday, calm one moment then before anyone can react, gusts powerful enough to toss a climber about, like an empty plastic bag in the wind. To make things worse, abrasive sand from the desert hitches a ride upon the uncontrolled gale, hurtling along with a speed and force that will strip unprotected skin and flesh down to bone in minutes. I know not everyone can do this, sometimes I wonder why I do. In truth I crave the rush.

Suddenly my breath leaves my soul when dawns rising glow kisses the sandstone formations, lighting up shapes hidden within the shadows. Revealing remnants of a life that once flourished within these walls. A village carved into the cliffs. Time stands still as I gaze into the canyon's history. These ruins are remnants of a proud Pueblo civilization forced to abandon their home. A reminder of the harsh reality this land demands of those who wish to live within her domain.

My ancestors.

This was all theirs, until it wasn’t. I stare into the void like I am daring it to challenge me.

To the untrained eye, people see a barren lifeless desert spanning a distance beyond sight. I see a diverse rugged land filled with cliffs, canyons, and various colored sands. Blooming flowers dotting the surface. I watch tiny trails of sand dance with the wind like blood flowing through vessels. There is so much contrast of color and textures it captures one’s breath and stops the heart for but a moment.

It is also filled with horrors for the unprepared. Nature constantly finds a way to humble us, reminding us of how small we truly are. Which brings me to why I am here today. One moment you are on top of the world, enjoying life, and thinking it does not get better than this, and the next moment.....

Turning around I face the crowd, grip the rope, and take a step back. Normally this is when I feel the excitement, but not today. Pushing off from safety I begin my descent. Not for enjoyment, not for a rescue, but for recovery.

Adrenaline courses through my body, closing my eyes I imagine what their last moment was like as they fell. Did they know their body would be lifeless before it painted the desert sand with their blood?