Tag Archives: hiking

Mercredi by Professor Percival P. Pennywhistle

This mudstick, midway, turnabout Wednesday
(Stalled out, curbstruck, high-centered, roughluck,
Dimeandnickel, halfdone, deadbeat, nofun),
Punch a ticket, skip a class, take a hike, and make it last.

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To peruse more of the esteemed Professor’s erudite work published on WIZ and view his bio, go here and here.

Crossing Boundaries, Part Two by Steven L. Peck

Steve, friend, and redrock country

To read Part One, click here.

H. is unwilling to give up and is looking more closely at the little hole we might be able to climb in. I back up and find a passage behind a fallen slab about the size of a pancaked SUV leaning against the wall of rock. I tell H. and he looks and we decide it is worth a try. He goes first (again, being the less timid) and wiggles his way through on his belly. He yells that it ends at a drop off about seven feet high. I hear grunting, huffing and puffing . . . ”If I can just twist around . . . I can go feet first . . .” More grunting then an exclamation, “I’ve done it!” I then belly through the birth canal and emerge scratched up but smiling. We continue. The canyon is very narrow now. We cannot face forward in some places without each shoulder touching the wall. Two more places require us to chimney to get down similar seven-foot drops, but they are coming more often and getting trickier to negotiate. Continue reading Crossing Boundaries, Part Two by Steven L. Peck

Field Notes #11: Winter Solstice 2010, Part Two

Part One below on the “Home” page or click here.

As the archaeologist and I pushed uphill through sage and rabbit brush, he stopped to explain, quite diplomatically and in precise language, that he was in the canyon doing work pursuant to the BLM’s weighing a county government proposal to establish an ATV right-of-way through Crossfire, length to be determined.  Having lately become one of the canyon’s resident creatures, I found this information intriguing. Continue reading Field Notes #11: Winter Solstice 2010, Part Two

Field Notes #9: How I celebrated winter solstice

Warning!  Warning!  Long post.

Dec. 21st, a.m.  As I started out, temperatures bumped around in the low 20s.  A ragged ceiling of waxy yellow clouds sometimes let through bright sunlight.  Mostly, though, the cloud cover took the polish off the snow.  An unexpectedly cold breeze chilled the denim of my jeans and cut through my gloves, making my hands ache.  I pulled the overlong sleeves of my parka’s polar fleece liner over my gloves to better protect my hands. Continue reading Field Notes #9: How I celebrated winter solstice

Field Notes #8

October 2, 2009.  This morning, as I walk down the road toward Crossfire, I barely avoid stepping on a small, silver-and-grey-winged butterfly sitting on the pavement, trying, I think, to warm itself after our first night of ice-on-the-dog’s-dish cold.  The insect’s coloration matches that of surrounding gravel.  Only its thin wings and their accompanying shadow tip me off in time.  I veer.  Very slightly, the upfolded wings lean away from my foot swinging past.  It’s hard to not step on something that looks like a piece of your path. Continue reading Field Notes #8

Field Notes #2

April 13, 2009

Why do I still do this?  Why, at my age, do I follow as if I were nine years old unmarked, unpaved trails away from what I know into the wilds of what I don’t know?   That’s how this striving creation—part light, part water, part air, part earth, and all aspiring flesh—shows itself to me, in the mutual bodying forth between us. It seems an involvement composed of equal slices revelation and formation, since in discovery, everything changes, the New erupts into being, not just in me, the older wide-eyed child, but in this juvenile Creation.

Today, I begin at the Crossfire Canyon’s cliffs, taking inventory of the birds.  A few days earlier I saw cliff swallows flash between the rims, returning or passing through.  Had they stayed or gone?  To find out, I take to the air myself, or at least to the boundary between earth and air, the rimrocks.  Continue reading Field Notes #2