I woke up early to go for a hike with my friend Matt. Matt is a funny guy. I heard about him before i even got to this strange place. He is one of the few people out here who actually likes to go out and explore the land we live in. You'd think, as I mentioned that if were priveledged enough to live in such a place that you would really really take advantage of the park. Ha ha...ironically, most folks who spend their existence in these places tend to enjoy the freedom of the non reality, and instead, spend much of their time off work drinking, watching television, hanging with their new found friends in the "employee residencies", being reclusive or just plain lounging. And who can blame them? Really. This may be seen as a permanent vacation for most. Why not get fucking trashed, make out with people you may only spend a season with, and take the time to finally relax from the pressures of society. After a few seasons of exploring how much whiskey and beer I could ingest while keeping my job, fishing and wandering and camping without getting eaten by a bear or gorged by wildlife, I myself, decided this time around to really fully get my slave labor wages worth in the park. And Matt, well, he does the same and then some.

A camera toting, extreme back country exploring, solitary ex coast guard rescue mission man, Matt has had a life not easy to compare to most. He generally prefers to be alone, and so when he asked me if I wanted to go out with him early before work, well..I felt priveledged beyond belief. Matt knows this park better than most. He has taken off on his own to hike, camp and document the wildlife and the scenery as much as he can. He's been here a few seasons and has also spent time up in Olympic National Park as well. He's the sort of guy that drives on his days off and winds up somewhere in a National Forest 9 hours away, camping alone in the snow and winding up not too far off from a bear...clicking away. He's humble, and rarely ever shares his findings in a boastful way. If asked, he'll tell you what he's seen and what he's experienced. But it is always in a quiet way. He's tall and slender, and has been described by a friend of ours as a beautiful dark gazelle. The description is fitting. When walking with him out in the mountains or the desert, he just seems to belong. He has a funny sense of humor and likes to act like he dislikes humans. He has a quiet sarcasm and an odd playfulness that make him more than comfortable to be around. We spent an evening in the hot springs, watching the moon coming up, and he told me many stories, suprising me over and over again. He has lived many lives already...and he will say over and over (and mean it) that his life is not that remarkable. A native Texan, he has taught me more than I've ever picked up living in this ridiculous state in the month I've known him. I work with him at the front desk of the lodge, and try to learn from him more than i let on. He's fairly patient with my endless questions...and I suppose I supply him with some sort of entertainment with my own silliness. He humors me...and I appreciate it. People never cease to amaze me when they feel that their lives are not quite as amazing as they actually are. I'd like to share some of what Matt has told me, but he's a private person, and so I won't write about his massive achievements, discoveries and adventures. Let's just say I was lucky to have him this morning.

I woke up at Eight o'clock after some of the most vivid dreams I've had. (this place makes your brain go places you might never be able to explore in another world or time frame). I showered sleepily, dressed as the sun was coming up and went down to knock for Matt. We hopped into his pathfinder and we made our way. I wasn't sure where he was taking me, but I was excited for the adventure. And I knew I would be seeing something off the beaten path. Matt will go to places that are visited by all, but tends to wind up in places far less explored. We drove to Ross Maxwell Scenic drive, my favorite road in the park, down the winding road, watching the landscape rising and falling and rolling on endlessly in the beginning of the day. Old volcanic formations reached up to the bright blue sky as fields of sotols, ocotillo, lechuguilla, mesquite, brush, and the various other plethera of plants that make up the quilt on the desert floor shined and reflected the morning sun. The mountains and bluffs and buttes and mesas all around looked like they were deep in thought as they flanked us all around. Nothing ever ever looks the same here, and you can take a road, or hike a trail day after day and still, that place that you have seen will not look exactly as you remembered it. The light is always different as well. So I drank it all in. And matt and I drove, and he told me stories, and I happily listened as the desert floor slid by and we left the basin. We drove along the swollen Rio Grande, past the lush light vibrant green cottonwoods alongside the old Santa Elena Canyon. Down there, it is evident that this desert was once under the ocean. The old sedimentary cliffs are striped with the ragged time of worn down waterway markings. And the rock itself holds fossilized graffiti along its walls. There is a deep history here, written all along throughout the landscape. And it is evident every time I explore the park. Obviously, I have much to learn about my home.

We drove on Old Maverick Road, a dirt road that rattles your teeth in some spots, primarily meant for 4 wheel drive vehicles, but not as rugged as some of the dirt roads here in the park. I love this road, I like the scenery and expanse out there, and almost always feel a sort of childlike tug in my belly whenever I'm on it. This morning was no exception as we rambled along. Matt turned off of a side road that was more primitive and bumpy, I could feel my thighs jiggling as we made our way over bumps and through washes. We finally came to a clearing and parked. We were at the old ruins of a farm that provided food to the miners who made Terlingua and Study Butte their home back in the early 1900's while mercury mining was big business. The farm was around from 1900 to the 1930's. It had an odd feeling to it. Matt said nothing, but began walking, and I followed him as he strode across the terrain. Very old and primitive remains, all stone were scattered about. The Santa Elena Canyon was ghostlike on the horizon. We came to the Terlingua Creek and crossed, my feet becoming muddy and soaked as i did not take the correct path that Matt had taken. He seemed to have a purpose and a location and so we wandered on. The sun was hot now..and everything out there in the white sand had an eerie glow to it. Everything sparked and shined. And all of the red and brown rocks around burned bright. I woke this morning in the mountains freezing, and now I was hot and sweaty in my long johns and sweater. Matt looked like an old yogi walking me through the desert. He remained gracefully ahead of me. We came to a hill and i followed him up to the tiny remains of a dwelling that had been used as a tiny cemetary. I was overcome with such a bizarre feeling and almost knelt to make the sign of the cross. ( i was brought up catholic..what can I say).

The tiny crosses were on top of rocks that made a mound. It was very strange to know that bodies were at one time beneath those piles of rock. I imagined the skeletons sleeping endlessly there. And I felt ashamed as I took photographs of the shallow graves. Some crosses were nicer than others. Some plots looked ragged and beaten by the unforgiving landscape. One headstone told the date...1933. I looked around and realized just how many crosses there were, scattered about in that area. And I wondered who these resting places belonged to. While i stood taking it all in, my brain was quiet for a second. I lost some time. All i could hear was the tiny breeze out there. I realized that there was no one around except matt and I...and well....the dead. I felt the same mystique I felt as a child sitting through catholic mass with my grandmother. Except I was in a dead farmland out in the desert. I could smell the damp river on the breeze. And when I paid attention again, Matt was walking off, and so I followed him.

I decided to pay better attention to the remains of the dwellings. There were many rusted tin and other metal items all around, very very old hinges, cans, and various unidentifiable (to me anyhow) rusted and rotted metal objects. I felt a sense of grief, and then wonder and then I just started imagining what life for these folks must have been like. Frontiering Pioneers who made this remote part of the world their home. I felt like a child archaeologist, excavating ruins. And I didn't want to leave. Matt reminded me that we had to go to work, and so we walked back. Crossing the creek, and walking along the waterway. I kept being amazed at all that was around me. The cracked clay of the earth, the old rock, the variety of plantlife, the babbling water pushing past the pebbles and creating swirling blue beds of pools. The white white sand and the blue blue sky and the few clouds pulling along on the horizon. Matt and i drove back, and the whole way I just wanted to thank him. And I think i did in my own stupid way. But I'm not sure if he knows how much it meant to me. I began my morning with the quiet history of this place. I wandered through a dead world, and made up voices of ghosts in an old cemetary...and then I went to work and got lost in the functions of my normal day. It's hard to understand why anyone would want to drink the day away...or revel in a gallon of Dr. Pepper while watching some mystery crime solving show on tv when you have a vortex to get lost in. But I guess, to each his own. The moon is so bright up here in the basin it looks like the beginning of a spring dawn outside. I need to write some letters and tell people in the living world how thankful I am for them...g'nite.