Finding Out What Fo'

cabeza prieta 10.01.05 What's It Good For? Canyon in Cabeza Prieta hides the deep answer to the right question

Out west, in the desert far beyond houses and curbs, a modest canyon bends and beckons to the crest of a sawback mountain. You haven't been there, but you know it and you'd feel safe in that desert of stark quiet nights under silk moons. In autumn, when the sun no longer bakes the ground and light softens the stark rock, Richard Webb and I camp several miles from the canyon and watch the sun settle. A lone mourning dove lands on the truck's windowsill and looks at itself in the side-mirror, maybe wondering why it didn't fly south to winter with the rest of the flock. The sun slips behind ridges of clouds and obscures the cleavage of the canyons in the long jagged range farther to the west. Then, just when we think darkness is imminent, the sun roars back into view below the clouds, red and bursting and radiant with one last defiance of the coming night. An ironwood tree near camp appears to burst into flame as the sun blazes directly behind it. We gawk at six tiers of vivid clouds. Slowly, and in turn, each fades as if the homeward-bound watchman were turning off the lights of each floor as he walks down the stairs. The stars dazzle in contrast to the black nothingness-or everythingness of the infinite sky beyond them, and I lie on my bedroll, trying to count shooting stars. The Milky Way looks like a snow bank and I yearn to touch the star flakes one by one. Poet Robert Browning must have been lying on his cot when he thought to write “a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?” Sometime after midnight I fall asleep.

Long before sunrise on October 1, we leave camp and head toward the canyon, guided by the ripening glow that precedes dawn. I'm awestruck, marveling how researchers unravel the intricate details of the cosmos. Sunrises become wavelengths and refractions; the explosive motion of a startled jackrabbit is revealed as the mechanics of efficient levers, and love is explained as pheromones and hormones. But as the black of night gives way to deep purple and the darkened canyon walls begin to glow with salmon and gold, I'm overwhelmed with wonder, beauty and hope.

In the pass I sprawl on a gravelly clearing used by resting coyotes and nap. At every little gap in these mountains, a coyote trail crosses from one valley to the next. Nothing escapes the eye or nose of wily coyote, who may cover 35 miles a day in search of food. I hope it won't mind me lounging in its lookout.

Some 50 years ago, this canyon earned a name when a friend of mine-a whitehaired wildlife biologist named Gale Monson-rode over this same little pass. Gale's name is on the cover of eminent books about bighorns and birds, but he was happiest when he could count horned larks on the bare ground between creosotes, sit mannequin-still for hours awaiting a bighorn ewe and her spindly legged lamb to come to water, or tromp to places coaxed from ancient maps. He'd rather camp beside an ironwood tree than breathe.

Gale and Jim Johnson were horseback, searching for hidden waters, and out of curiosity headed up the narrows. It didn't look like much, more of a deadend than a passage. Instead, clean granite sand glittered underfoot, blooming ocotillos waved, saguaros stood guard and Gambel's quail scurried through the bursage. For men who have surrendered themselves to the desert's charms, life couldn't get much better. They remembered the lusty flowers of the past spring and scanned the steep slopes for fat desert sheep.

This canyon was their secret passageway into an enchanted world. They rode to the notch and when they surveyed the magnificent vista before them and the cryptic cleft behind them, they looked at each other and grinned. One said to the other in mock bewilderment, “What's this canyon good fo'?” That name, What Fo, is now on the maps, minus the apostrophe that cartographers snip like a dangling thread.

So what is a canyon for? To provide soil for giant cacti? To funnel sporadic rains to huge ironwood trees along sandy arroyos? To carry our imaginations to the far end of the universe? In loving one small place, maybe I can better love the world. In thinking of one small canyon, maybe I can begin to unwrap a more urgent question, “What am I for?” Gale knew the worth of a canyon, but lured us to look for ourselves.

The day grows warm, even for the first day of October. The light becomes glare and colors blanche. Though we have energy bars and boxed raisins in the truck, our stomachs growl for something more. We are more like the restless, prowling coyote than we admit.

So we return to town for a warm meal and cold drink. In Wellton, Geronimo's Restaurant is open and inviting, a harbor from the sun. Placards on the door announce a VFW meeting, a benefit car wash, the local high school's football schedule, and “help wanted.” Sombreros, colorful serapes and Diego Rivera prints decorate the walls. Rudy Geronimo runs the place and the family helps out. His mother Irma Ramirez owns the dress shop next door. Fresh from a day at school, three first-grade girls sit at one table, giggling.

Richard and I plow into plates of food and try to divine the purpose of it all. What is a canyon for? All answers lead up twisting canyons. Like lasting love, cool water or sweet music, they require no justification. Canyons exist. Cacti bloom. Coyotes lie down to rest, bighorns walk confidently along cliffs and we reach for stars. And on this warm, mellow day, we bask under a shining sky and smile.

If you find yourself there even in your dreams-you too will know what for. All Bill Broyles, who loves visiting with Arizona's old-timers like Gale Monson, is fascinated by map names and recently co-authored a chapter on southwestern Arizona place-names in Dry Borders: Great Natural Reserves of the Sonoran Desert. He lives in Tucson.

After photographing in 100-plus degree temperatures and wandering into a swarm of killer bees, Richard Webb of Mesa was a little jealous of the writers and photographers working in the cooler parts of the state.

when you go

Location: Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge. Getting There: From Phoenix, take Interstate 10 south to Interstate 8 west. Take the Tacna exit, then drive south to the wildlife refuge. Travel Advisory: The hike is 4 to 5 miles roundtrip. Refuge visitors must obtain a free permit. A four-wheel-drive vehicle is required. Weather may be hot even in October, so take plenty of water. Visitor services are available in Wellton and Tacna. Additional Information: (520) 387-6483; www. fws.gov/southwest/refuges/arizona/cabeza.html.

north rim

Panoramic Palette Vista Encantada, on the Walhalla Plateau, offers a variety of visual treats-the Painted Desert to the east, Brady Peak and the upper drainage of Nankoweap Creek. In this photograph made on October 1, the North Rim of the Grand Canyon unfolds in sweeping scenes to the northeast of Encantada. CHUCK LAWSEN To order a print of this photograph, see inside front cover.