Fidgety Pilgrim: Things That Go Bump in the Early Morning

It's still early July of 2010. Tanner and I have left Shiprock, NM. We drive east, then north, gaining elevation as the road winds up onto a bluff overlooking the San Juan River. There are farms and green fields below in the river valley. Signs along the way advertise hay for sale. The air becomes cooler. There are mountains ahead.

Just shy of Durango, CO, I turn east on Highway 160. This is a stretch I haven't yet driven. I'm thrilled at the prospect of seeing new terrain.

The sun is descending at our backs. We follow the shadow of the Jeep as it stretches before us. A few monsoon clouds toss about on the wind, making complicated effects with the sunlight as it lies across the landscape. Big drops of rain dot the windshield. The sky overhead clears and a rainbow arches over the road ahead of me. Dusk is approaching. Time to find a place to set up camp for the night.

I pass through the town of Bayfield, CO and continue east, entering the San Juan National Forest. I begin my search for a likely-looking side road, rejecting a few until I see a small brown sign indicating a forest service road that heads north. When I slow and engage the turn signal, Tanner pops up from his recumbent position on the blankets in back. Tanner is a mountains-and-deserts dog. He recognizes that dirt and gravel roads equal off-leash time for him.

Initially there are houses, set back from the road on generously sized properties. Two miles further, a ranch is for sale. The house and outbuildings sit at the edge of a meadow, surrounded by pine forest. The property is lovely. 'How peaceful it would be to live in a place like this, so remote and quiet,' I think. Then I begin calculating how many hours this ranch is from any sizable airport, and it makes me twitchy.

Rounding a curve a few miles from the forest boundary, I catch of glimpse of brown just below the road in a shallow, narrow valley. I bring the truck to a slow stop and roll my window down partway. A female coyote stands chest-deep in the green grass about fifty feet away. She is alert to my presence, but not overly concerned by it. She and I spend a moment in circumspect contemplation of one another, then she vanishes into the bushes beside a creek.

Soon after, I spy a dirt track branching off to the left. A side road off a side road: it's exactly what I've been looking for. I bounce along the rutted track, going deeper into the forest. After climbing another thousand feet, the road bisects a small clearing. I pull to one side. Tanner and I get out to investigate. We're near the summit of the mountain. Through the trees is a breathtaking view to the west. A ring of stones surrounding a pile of cold ashes indicates previous use of this spot for camping, yet there are few tire impressions in the dust other than my own.

I select a place under a trio of pines and haul out the tent, pausing frequently to take in the last remnants of sunset. By the time it's fully dark I've struck camp and given Tanner his dinner. While he eats, I root around in my backpack for the packet of pre-made Indian food I brought with me - palak paneer - and a packet of pre-cooked rice. I empty them both into a bowl, find a fork, and dig in. The cold rice is slightly undercooked, but the spicy cheese-and-spinach combination is satisfying. Before I've finished eating, the miles I've driven, the heat of the day, and the pleasant cool of the evening catch up with me. I seal the leftovers in the bowl and stow the trash. When I shut the truck door, Tanner runs over from the stump he's been inspecting. I hand him a treat, and we make our way to the tent by starlight.

Once inside, it still takes me a while to wind down completely. I flip on the flashlight and write a brief journal entry about the day: My last night of solitude, high altitude, cool, dry aspen/pine-scented air. Must enjoy it while I have it. And: The air temp has dropped considerably while I've been writing this. I'm going to have to dig out my socks soon and burrow into the sleeping bag. How delicious to have this one last cool night. I shut off the flashlight and lie in the stillness for a long while, watching out the mesh roof of the tent as the stars spin through the pine branches overhead.

In the pre-dawn I awaken suddenly to Tanner's warning growl. The sky is just beginning to lighten. I listen, and soon hear heavy footsteps thudding in the dry grass nearby. Several footsteps. Big creatures of some kind. Quietly, I unzip the nylon window cover and peer out. Tanner crowds in beside me, his nose quivering as he picks up the scent. I can make out a couple of large shapes on the slope adjacent to the tent. They are too big and lunky to by deer, yet not tall enough to be elk.

A branch cracks loudly in the trees across the road. Tanner gives another low growl, followed by a short 'whoof'. One of the beasts startles and calls out - 'mooooooo' - then trots into the open space near the front of my jeep. We have been overtaken by a herd of cattle, mostly young males. A few of them, curious, step within a yard or two of the tent.

Tanner whines. He wants really badly to go make friends. Knowing that Tanner's definition of 'making friends' is closer to 'chasing the cattle down the mountain', I make him stay where he is. The last thing I need is some rancher coming after me for letting my dog spook the marbling off his steaks.

Eventually the herd moves on. The sun pops up over the top of the mountain. I release Tanner from the confines of the tent and we begin our day.