Spring is so close I can smell it in the air. I’m packing Neewa’s bowls and chain for our camping trip to Ruby Lake Reserve, a National Wildlife Refuge. I’ll be picking pine nuts, hiking, and fishing. Chester and his girlfriend Marlene have decided to come too.
We are bringing sleeping bags, tents, and all our stuff.
I ask, “Dad can we bring the ghost hunting stuff?”
Concerned about our safety and his job, “I’m afraid the whole Reserve will know if we do? It’s not a good idea.”
“Come on, Dad,” Jackie breaks in, “we have to go ghost hunting out there.”
Dad replies, “Can’t do it, the guys at work are already suspicious about me taking equipment home on the weekends. And Chester will be there. Whatever we do will get back to everyone, including Heather and Linda.
“You know how the Indian Grape Vine works. Look what happened to Coach Edwin when he got back from the basketball game. Everyone knew what he did. I saw him at a softball game a week later. He looked like someone ran him over with a truck. You should have seen the look in his eyes. The whole colony shamed him. He has a long road ahead of him if he’s going to redeem himself. I heard Heather almost got rid of him. No, we can’t risk it.”
Starting off early Saturday morning is Dad’s idea. We all pile into our van and go get Chester and Marlene. Dad wants to get there with plenty of time to pick pine nuts. Or is it to go fishing?
Chester is six feet tall and he can barely get in or out of our front seat. Dad is five feet eleven inches and has to put his seat all the way back to fit. In the back seats are Marlene, Jackie, Neewa and I. It’s a little tight but we fit.
Neewa is in the third seat with me and all our gear is behind us. She’s able to jump around everywhere as usual, but lies down and rests next to me.
Chester and Dad love to fish the marshes. They talk about it all the time. It’s Dad’s all-time favorite fishing spot.
Chester displays a rare bit of enthusiasm, “There is plenty of pinyon pine trees in the mountains surrounding the marshes. The weather’s good and it’s time to harvest the pine nuts. We’ll get bags of them.”
Chester’s girlfriend is Chinese American with long straight black hair below her shoulders. Marlene is very close to her family in California. She talks about them all the time and misses them terribly. Sometimes she just breaks down crying because she is so homesick. When Marlene and Chester are together they look like brother and sister. They have the same color skin, hair length, and both wear blue jean pants and jackets. I don’t think they plan it that way?
I’m telling Chester and Marlene about Neewa and the pumpkin pies that disappeared, they laugh and laugh.
“We still can’t figure out how she got up on the counter?” I say, interested to hear Chester’s ideas.
Chester says, “Maybe she flew up onto the counter like a ghost.”
We all laugh and laugh as we travel down the road.
I have pine nuts dancing in my head as I fall asleep on a rolled up sweatshirt pushed up against the window. I think the real reason we are going to the marshes is because it has eight-pound brown trout all through its canals and ponds. People go there to camp, bird-watch, hunt, and fish.
The Native Americans that live around here call it the Ruby Marshes. That is what they called it before anyone else even knew about it. It was designated a federal park in 1938 by President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
But before that Indians migrated through the area for hundreds of years, hunting and gathering food for survival. They moved south to north with the good weather, following the seasons. Back then they were called hunter-gatherers.
The drive to the marshes will take four hours and we will be traveling through desolate, uninhabited barren desert.
You wouldn’t know it if you didn’t live here, but the desert is teeming with life. At first glance it looks like there isn’t anything going on out here. But in the high mountain desert, life is everywhere, if you know where to look. There are prairie dogs, mule deer, and antelope to name a few. So far this trip I saw prairie dogs, rabbits, and a rare roadrunner. And there are insects, lots of bugs, mosquitoes, and beetles.
Beautiful birds are hidden everywhere in the desert. Hummingbirds drink the pollen from the desert flowers, while hawks circle above looking for prey. Eagles also patrol the scrub forests and the desert looking for dinner or a snack. And there are plenty of buzzards waiting to clean up whatever dead animals they can smell.
Predators like the coyote, fox and even wolves roam the desert. They look for deer, prairie dogs, and even little moles to eat. Animals in the food chain finish every morsel, they devour every last bit of food they find. Any carcass left out here is picked clean, right down to the bones. Even the flies and maggots make sure nothing goes to waste. And there is no time to waste in the desert. If you want to survive you have to be on the look out for your next meal all the time. It’s first come, first served out here.
Many species of desert flowers grow here. There are Yucca, Buckwheat, Ruby Mountain Primrose, Monte Neva Paintbrush, Milk Vetch and Scorpion Flowers. After a rainstorm, the desert comes alive. Flowers bloom, new plant shoots color the rolling hills, and paint the desert landscape with all the beautiful colors of the rainbow.
***
Dad complains, “The prairie dogs run across the road just as I get close. Are they playing chicken with our van?”
“Squish, Splat. Oh no, I hit that one!” Dad screeches.
He looks in the rearview mirror. We all turn to survey the remains of the poor little prairie dog.
Chester says, “John, I’m going to tell you how to avoid the suicidal prairie dogs.”
Everyone laughs.
Dad talks to the deceased prairie dog, “Just as I pass you, you run out into the road. You’re crazy. You should have stayed on the side of the road! You nutty prairie dog.”
Chester says, “You’ll never hit one if you don’t slow down or swerve to try to avoid them. That’s when you run one over. If you stay straight and maintain your speed, you won’t hit it. They run under the car and between the wheels. No one knows why?”
Chester warns laughing, “If you slow down, speed up, or swerve? Squish, splat, more food for the buzzards.”
We laugh.
From then on Dad doesn’t change direction or slow down when he sees a prairie dog run in front of the van. And amazingly, he doesn’t hit another prairie dog.
About a half hour away from Ruby Lake we see a sign for the park and turn onto the dirt road entrance. A marker says, “Ruby Lake Campground twenty miles.”
It seems like we are driving forever through the scrub forest and sagebrush on this endless dirt road. Dust and pebbles kick up into the air behind our van as we barrel down the road.
Finally we arrive in the park. I didn’t see one car the entire way here. We turn into the camping area that appears to be empty.
Dad declares, “Pick out a campsite or two if you want. We can take any of these.”
He pulls into the driveway of site number nine. I let Neewa jump out my door. She disappears into the brush. We all get out to stretch and look around. The afternoon air is crisp and clean and I can see the marshes stretching across the valley in front of me.
On a ridge looking out over the park Jackie yells, “Look at this, you can see everything from here, this is the campsite I want.”
“There’s almost nobody here, just a few motor homes over in the trailer camping area, but over here in the tent section, there are no campers at all.”
In the tent section you pay for the night by putting money in an envelope in a wooden box at the end of the driveway. It’s self-service camping. The park rangers come around in the afternoon and pick up the envelopes in the morning.
We are surrounded by natural beauty and tranquility as far as I can see. I stare into the miles of marsh, with reeds and grasses blowing in the breezes that whip across the water leaving tiny wave trails. Mountains surround us glowing in crimson earth tones from the sun’s rays beating down on the red clay. The marsh is an enormous meadow painted in soft pastel colors, purple, blue, yellow, and light green at the foot of these mountains.
Underneath the umbrella of flora and fauna are vast amounts of water. So thick only specks of green and blue are visible from our vantage point up on the ridge at tent site number nine.
Birds of all types pop up and then disappear as they skip from reed to cattail, flying to and from their nests. Like dancers they glide and leap about, taking different poses on the flowers and tall stems. Some just hover above the marsh looking for their favorite foods, waiting to dive, to make a grab. Others feed on a wide variety of seeds and bugs and return to their young, hidden and safe under the pallet of color.
Ducks and geese are departing while others commence their approach for a landing, “Splash, quack! Splash, honk honk!”
Like the runways of a modern airport, the many landing strips are all in use at the same time. Ducks, snow geese, and swan land and take off while a solitary great blue heron passes by above us. Gliding effortlessly he turns and chooses a hunting ground.
“Neewa, Neewa, Neewa!” I call her so she doesn’t stray too far.
Galloping toward me from a nearby stream that feeds the marsh, she stops and shakes the water from her coat into the air like a sprinkler onto my legs and feet.
“You stay close Neewa, I don’t want you going too far,” I order sternly.
We unpack our tent and gear for the evening. I finally pick a spot to put up my tent and prepare for the night. It is still warm right now, but I wonder about the cold night ahead. We have two tents for the three of us. Jackie and I get the bigger one with the screen door and rain cover, and Dad gets the little one.
Neewa follows Chester as he walks over to me, “It will be cold tonight. Bring some of these large round rocks into your tent and put them in your sleeping bag. Here, take this one. The rocks are warm from sitting in the sun all day and they will give off heat during the night.”
Chester and Marlene want to sleep out under the stars in just their sleeping bags. I see Chester putting a lot of rocks in the two bags. Jackie and I gather rocks and put them in our bags.
The sandwiches we brought from home are in the cooler. They are looking mighty good right now. I’m ready to eat, but we are all walking to one of the ponds first.
Jackie, Chester, Dad, and I bring along our fishing poles as we follow the dirt trail through the tall grass down to the marsh.
As we approach the water all different birds come into view. Ducks are paired off and swim about. They have vibrant iridescent colors that shimmer in the reflected light off the water. Shiny black wings, fluorescent red heads, and glowing green and beige feathers. Every size and color of bird imaginable, bright orange, golden brown, and blue feathers are being dried and preened in every direction.
You can actually drive your motor home out on these access roads to the ponds. There are only two other families out here right now. One camper is parked on a canal with a solitary fisherman on the bank nearby. As we approach, he becomes excited and runs up to us with wild enthusiasm in his eyes.
Unable to contain himself he brags, “I already caught two five-pound brown trout.”
Turning back to his rod and reel, he reenters the trance from which he had taken a momentary break. Totally under the spell of the challenge of catching the creatures that lie beneath the water, his singular transfixed gaze returns to the shimmering hypnotic water.
There is a second motor home further out on the bank as each of us begins to separate, picking a place to fish.
I love fishing, and this is the most exciting place there is. We are a hundred miles from any town, with thousands of protected acres of land around us.
Dad gets a hit, but can’t set the hook.
“Damn, I missed it!” He grimaces.
The sun has already dropped below the mountain tops that surround the marshes. The sky darkens as we head for camp. Night comes as we reach the campsite.
I am worn-out from the long day, beat, and ready to finish my half-eaten sandwich, hang out by the campfire a little, and go to sleep.
Neewa’s bowls of food and water are empty. I refill them and she lies down by my tent watching me.
Gradually the moon, once concealed behind the mountains, begins to light the panorama around us.
Bats begin to fly their night missions, scooping up their meal of choice. There are plenty of delicious mosquitoes, flies, and other insects to go around. Some bats eat as much as a thousand mosquitoes in one night. There are dozens of different types of bats out here, Silver-Haired, Allen’s Big-Eared, Spotted, Western Red, Hoary, and Western Yellow to name a few.
Tonight the sky is clear and full of billions of stars. They look like candles burning, flickering in the night. I can see the Milky Way stretching from horizon to horizon. The planets are easy to pick out. They shine like spotlights. And spring and summer constellations extend across the sky like a bracelet around the heavens.
The stars are brighter because we are in the middle of nowhere. There are no towns, homes, or anything around for miles.
Chester, Jackie, Neewa, and I sit by the fire. Chester begins to tell a tale his Grandfather told him when he was a boy.
He looks at us and begins, “The name of the story is, ‘Coyote and the Monster.’ A long, long time ago, people did not yet inhabit the earth. A monster walked upon the land, eating all the animals except Coyote. The coyote was angry that his friends were gone. He climbed the tallest mountain and tied himself to the top. Coyote called upon the monster, challenging it to try to eat him. The monster sucked in all the air, hoping to pull in Coyote with his powerful breath. But the ropes holding Coyote were too strong. The monster tried many other ways to get Coyote off the mountain, but it was no use. Realizing that Coyote was sly and clever, the monster thought of a new plan. It would befriend Coyote and invite him to stay at his home. Before the visit began, Coyote said that he wanted to visit his friends and asked if he could enter the monster's stomach to see them. The monster allowed this. Once inside the monster, Coyote cut out its heart and set fire to its insides. His friends were freed.
“Then Coyote decided to make a new animal. He flung pieces of the monster in the four directions. Wherever the pieces landed, a new Nation of Indians emerged. He ran out of body parts before he could create a new human animal on the site where the monster had lain. He used the monster's blood, which was still on his hands, to create the Nez Perce, who would be strong and good.”
Chester smiled, “That’s it.”
On that note I turn and walk to my tent. “And thanks for the bloody monster story just before I go to bed. Are you trying to creep me out?”
“Ha-ha, ha-ha,” we all laugh.
“Yeah thanks, Chester,” Jackie adds.
We get into our sleeping bags, zip.