Making Friends Takes 2 Seconds

10/14/23

Capitol Reef National Park, UT

(Long blog alert)

Stumbling down the hill from our sleeping nook amongst the rocks, to the small parking lot below at around 8am on the morning of the big day, I noticed several photographers setting up for the perfect shot. I had half a mind to approach them curiously, asking “what are you guys doing? Are you taking pictures of this rock?” But I figured the joke wouldn’t land.

The eclipse itself was a moment in time shrouded in deep magic. The moon, in an attempt to strike a defeating blow against the power of daylight, tried its best to completely cover the sun and its light for all time. For a moment, it seemed as though all was lost. From my perch on top of a sandy mound, overlooking miles of mesa beyond, and several hundred feet above the road below, I could see the entire valley grow considerably dimmer. (By my calculations, based on the amount of sun being covered and the square root of 2, I think the sun was nocked down by one stop, or one half of the normal amount).

The coyotes cried out in anguish, echoed by the scattering of juniper trees and desert shrubs, afraid that their beloved sun would be lost forever, and the night would rule once more. Some creatures, I’m sure, screamed in celebration, thinking they had chose the winning side.

But the forces of light proved stronger, and the sun returned once more, flooding the valley with light. I won’t tell you which side I was cheering for, but I will say that when the landscape crept back to its normal luminance, I might have felt a fleeting sense of longing.

We descended the hill towards the cars once more, this time from the other direction. I hoped that if I were able to befriend one of the many photographers, I would be granted a glimpse of their prized images. Luckily, Beepy was parked right in between two of them.

Passing the first one, I said “get some good stuff?”

“Oh yeah”, he responded, and proceeded to show me a lasting image of totality. Burned into my mind, now burned into the sensor of his camera as well. Nearly mistaken for a viewfinder’s focus assist, showing soft edges. He even said he’d let me see it later, as well as his other work, which he doesn’t usually share!

“Are you gonna see the one in April?” He asked.

“April? I thought it was March.”

“No it’s April. I’m going to Austin for it, then driving about an hour north of there.”

“Oh I’m planning to go to Austin for it too! Why are you driving up north?”

“Austin is only on the edge of the path, so totality will only last for a minute and a half, but farther north it will be about 30 minutes.” I don’t remember if he said 30 minutes but it was longer than a minute and a half.

Then he told me to check out Bryce Canyon NP next, as it was his favorite park. I got his name, Bill, and email (which he said he would send me the photos through, personally) then I said farewell.

Moments later another photographer approached me from the other end of Beeby, later identified as Claude.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up this morning”, he said, rather skittishly.

“Oh no, we were sleeping up on the rocks, you’re good”, I replied. Then I added, “do you live out of it?” Motioning to his van.

“No I just like to go on road trips. Just a couple days a time.”

“Are you happy with what you got?” I asked.

Looking down at his van sorrowfully, he said “well.. not really.” Then he remembered the eclipse. “Oh! You mean over there. Yeah! Well, not so much. The conditions could have been a little better. And it’s so short.”

“Did you get to see it? Like with the glasses?” I asked.

“Oh yeah!”

“I wonder if the photos don’t look as good now because you still have the memory of the real thing in your mind. You can’t compare the two.”

“Oh yeah maybe! And you know us photographers usually try to edit the photo to emulate the real thing, so I’m sure I’ll like them once they’re edited. You have to edit the photos. You have to.” Then he added “so are you traveling in this?” Refereeing to Beepy.

“Yep” I said.

“That’s great. I love traveling light. It’s great. Well, it’s great!”

I let Claude get on his way. I remembered overhearing that he was trying to beat the traffic. As he walked away he gave me a shy little nod and said “good to meet you, be blessed.” And I believe that he meant it.

If there’s one thing that makes for a great adventure, it’s the characters you meet along the way. Some can become friends, some can purely provide information or entertainment. With just a few good starter questions, incredible things can happen. So I decided to recount the rest of the day only with the interactions I had with strangers.

After totality, the eclipse was over, as far as I’m concerned. Why have the last memory be of a partial eclipse? Hannah did not share my opinion, "three quarters!" she would call out, but regardless, we gathered supplies and set out to explore a nearby canyon called Cottonwood Wash.

About a quarter mile up the wash, I rounded a corner to find a couple who had driven their RV out, and set up a very comfortable viewing position. Two middle aged people, sitting in lawn chairs, solar glasses on, watching the eclipse.

“Enjoy the show?” I said.

“Oh yeah! It’s still going. Should be about another 35 minutes”, the man replied. By that point I had forgotten completely that it wasn't fully finished.

“You got a great spot out here”, I said.

“Yeah, as long as we can get out!” The woman said.

“Oh, it’s not too far” I said.

“And it’s got four wheel drive” the man replied.

As we kept walking past them, I imagine the woman said something to the man along the lines of “I think what he meant was that the main show is over.” Because I heard him reply “ok yes, the MAIN show is over.”

We approach another group, several cars parked even farther up the wash. A dog runs up to me. I almost recognize the dog from the day before, but the owners don’t quite match. “He’s ok!” I call out. He sits next to me and lets me pet him. But it appears the owners don’t want him talking to strangers, because one of them kneels down and says “Cody! Sausage!” Offering him a treat. Me, thinking that a sausage treat must be better than pets from a stranger, motion Cody to go to the treat, not wanting to get in the way. Cody, however, takes this as an immediate abandonment, and jumps at me angrily. While annoyed with the owner, I decide it was just a miscommunication between me and the dog.

I see another dog, older and browner and shaggier, laying with the other people, and think “that one looks way nicer.” I was very incorrect.

The brown dog sees me, and then sees a demon living inside of me, and steadily approaches me barking louder and more consistently than I’ve ever experienced a dog to bark before. Hannah pointed out later that I did have sunglasses on. In my defense, it was very sunny, and no one reminded me that I had them on.

The brown dog would not let me leave. I tried backing away slowly with my hands up, in case the dog happened to be law enforcement, but that did little to settle him down. Cody even joined in barking at me, mirroring the other dog’s behavior.

Now, having completely ruined this group’s quiet eclipse viewing, I wanted nothing more than for the dogs to disappear. Eventually I got enough distance to get away, still bewildered that dogs could be that loud. Then I thought about how poorly it looked on the owners, that both of their dogs wanted to kill a very peaceful stranger. Sure, there was still the sunglasses thing, but plenty of people wear sunglasses.

Then proceeds a time of several hours where I did not see another soul, aside from Hannah, who I eventually split up with to explore the canyon alone. During this time I saw what appeared to me to be hundreds of tracks, everywhere. Boot prints, bare foot prints, dogs, deers, small critters, and potentially bears but I’m not sure. The fascinating thing was that many of the tracks were imbedded into the rocks, as if placed in mud, now hardened. In addition to scrape marks from hands and toe nails of several animals. From my perspective, they were everywhere. I took several pictures, as well as two physical samples. Flat rocks with what I imagined were animals tracks pressed into them, even on both sides of one of them.

(If you look at these and think I seem crazy, so do I. Except for the leaf.)

On my way back down the canyon to find Hannah, I ran into a group of eight or so elderly hikers. After giving them directions on what I experienced up ahead, I showed them my treasures, thinking they’d appreciate the archeological find. While pointing out the tracks, with several of them crowded around me, it occurred to me that I might be having a dehydrated hallucination.

“They’re everywhere!” I said, still questioning it myself, and hurried back down the path before they asked me for more proof.

From then on I was looking for tracks much more frantically, trying to find undeniable proof of my discovery, especially because I was planning on submitting this to the park visitor center for authentication.

Then I see a family at the beginning of the real canyon trail, deciding whether to slot the canyon or take the ridge trail. I call down, telling them the canyon hits a dead end and it’s hard to climb out. I climbed out, of course, but I’m tall and very talented. Then I think about it, and yell to them again. “I don’t know how long you’re trying to hike but the canyon is way more fun than this ridge trail. It might be worth it anyway.” Honestly I don’t remember what they decided to do, but I passed the dad and his daughter, maybe 5 years old.

I start doing my working-outdoors-with-kids persona, and try to show her my rocks. Her dad is not excited.

“Look at these cool rocks I found! They have animal tracks in them!”

“Wow” she says.

“They’re everywhere, if you know where to look” I say.

The dad responds “yeah if you know where to look, lotta rocks.”

At the time I figured he had grown old and boring and didn’t believe in the wonder of tracking, but now I’m wondering there were any tracks to begin with…

Next, I stumble upon a group of three young guys analyzing part of the slot canyon, farther down the wash. “What are you up to?” I ask.

“We’re slotting the canyon”, they say.

They go on to explain to me that they’re high school friends from Minnesota who flew to Vegas and drove here just for this.

“Just for this slot canyon?” I ask, totally forgetting about the eclipse again.

Now, of course, there comes a point when I have to pass the dogs again. At first I thought I was lost, not recognizing the wash going the other direction, but then I see them. The people that is. I try to slip by unnoticed, but Cody, the first dog, sees me. He comes over barking like crazy, marking his territory. Totally fine, I can handle that. Brown dog is nowhere in sight.

But I turn around just as brown dog comes out of the tall grass with a vengeance. This time they mean to kill me.

The two dogs surround me and press in. They’re going for my arms now, jumping and biting. Cody gets a hold of my hand, chomping down between my thumb and pointer finger. I keep laughing it off, saying “oh it’s fine” but inside I know it's me or them. But I believe there is no situation where I could be forgiven for kicking a stranger’s dog.

They say “just keep walking.” I keep walking. The dogs keep following me. I swing my rocks at the brown dog, I even lunge at it to try to spook it. Doesn’t work. I’m about two seconds from kicking brown dog in the face when I remember the sunglasses. I pull them off and back away. Finally, the brown dog stops pursuing, still barking.

As I make my way out of the wash, I still can’t find Hannah. Knowing that she’s too smart to pass out from heat exhaustion, I assume she’s made it to the car. And if not, I’m no good to her dead, so I aim for the car myself.

I keep asking people I pass, “have you seen a girl pass by here.” The answer is always no. I want to add “oh and do you have any water by chance?” But something about admitting you’ve lost your companion, and you don’t have any water, doesn’t really sound good to a concerned hiker.

I make it to the car, bring it back to the trailhead, fill a backpack with water and snacks, and head back up the wash. No sooner have I closed the door when I see Hannah emerge from the wash.

“I’m so popular all of a sudden”, she says.