Green River, Day One—A Wild Beginning

We dipped our oars into the river where the current was gentle. We had lashed the two canoes together using rope and an old paddle. Dave thought it best that we ride side-by-side until we got use to the water.

Jayden and Jordan took the front seats of each canoe, while Wade and I the rear. Tason manned the kayak and Christian the inflatable raft. Dave had the privilege of being the first to ride the stand-up paddleboard.

It was late afternoon when we pushed off, having spent several hours traveling from home and shuttling the pickup truck to Mineral Bottom.

We passed the old truss bridge for the railroad, then glided beneath the freeway. Within ten minutes, all signs of civilization were past.

The old truss bridge near I-70.

The water-flow, as expected, was much higher than normal, moving at 15,900 cubic feet per second. But the high flow didn't seem to affect us. Everyone appeared to have control of their vessel. On the kayak, Tason moved wherever he wished in effortless fashion.

Thick forests of tamarisk and willow, with the occasional Russian Olive tree, grew along the banks, choking out most signs of shore. We were surprised when twice we spotted a deer poking through the salt grass to get a drink.

Beyond the lush banks, hills of cracked gray rock looked as if they could have been on the surface of the moon. They looked perfect for petroglyphs and I wish I could have stopped and explored.

Jayden and Jordan are ready to go.

During our navigation of the wide, muddy river we often encountered islands, and faced the decision of either going to the right, or the left. With a lower water level these islands may have offered soft sandbars, but instead they were enclaves of willow and tamarisk.

We passed old structures that have been long out of use. A cable stretched across the breadth of the river near what appeared to be an old home.

Five miles from our launch point we pulled our boats ashore to explore Crystal Geyser, an interesting geological feature that occasionally shoots water high into the air, but is much less reliable than Old Faithful. The rocks around the dormant geyser are painted orange from mineral deposits. An experimental well was drilled into the ground during the 1930's and if you look down inside the wide conduit you can see bubbling water. Occasionally it erupts, creating the geyser. But today had no such luck.

Tason looks down an exploratory well at Crystal Geyser.

Returning to the water, Christian switched places with Jordan, putting him on the canoe in front of me. The winds had been picking up all evening, making it difficult to row. Gusts blew from the south, creating a headwind. At one time they were so strong that they created white-water over the surface of the river. But we kept plugging along, still able to navigate.

We came to another island and decided to take the left fork. Because of the difficulty of the headwind, we looked for stronger rapids to help pull us along. We aimed for a long string of whitewater and as soon as we hit, the oar that lashed the two canoes together snapped in half.  The two boats folded inward and both capsized! Within a split second, two boys and two men were floundering in the water. Trash bags full of gear floated and began to disperse. A rush of water almost took my glasses off. It was now panic time!

Even though I wore a life jacket, I struggled to breathe with water splashing on my face. The other vessels quickly came and did whatever they could to keep us together.

Luckily, clear minds began to prevail and we all grabbed onto the canoes to help keep them afloat. Both were on their sides and full of water. One canoe had sunk so far into the river that it was vertical, with only the nose poking from the water. Some of my gear, like my little waterproof camera bag, I was sure was gone. Jordan, who was on the inflatable kayak, began plucking bags out of the water and heaving them onto his boat. It was later recalled that he had “superman” strength, showing abilities far beyond that of a fourteen year old. But in spite of his efforts, much of the gear remained in the water, bobbing up and down with the current.

With all our might we grabbed hold of the canoes and pulled as we swam toward shore. We got closer, but the current wouldn't let us completely approach. Once we even started getting further away. The temperature of the water was cold, but bearable.

Although I focused on getting to shore, the prospects of the incident crossed my mind: losing food, water, sleeping bags, and cooking equipment would be devastating to our trip. Either it would be a long, miserable trip without many of our necessities, or else it would be a long hike back into town.

At last we reached a pitiful shore. The banks were steep here and willows choked out any possibility of going further inland. But we were glad to be able to touch the bottom, although my sandals sunk quickly into the thick mud.

Regrouping after swamping the canoes.

We pulled the canoes and all the gear we were able to salvage onto the small bank. With one man on each side we tipped the water out of each canoe, then placed them up-right to float once again on the water. Then we gathered the scattered gear and loaded back up.

By now we were all frazzled (at least us newbies). Christian and I now steered the unlashed canoe, but it felt swirly and unstable. I'm sure our confidence was at an all-time low.

Within a mile we found a cleared bank where we decided to pull ashore and spend the night. Never was I more grateful to be standing on dry land! We traveled a total of seven miles today.

Christian displays the oar that snapped and caused the canoes to overturn.

The miracle of the day was that of all our gear, my ball cap was the only thing lost! Even the dutch oven was intact, with the lid on and full of water! I don't know how that happened. My sleeping bag got a little wet, but my camera bag was found completely dry.

We are camped in a little valley that in the past has served as a farm. There are abandoned structures scattered around, as well as a large pump with an arm extending into the river. In the distance I can see large irrigation sprinklers and even a tractor. Perhaps in some years, this land is used to grow water melons.

Our gear is spread about, everything laid out to dry.

This evening we ate brats for supper. Jordan and Tason each caught catfish while waiting for supper.

There was a lot of drying that had to be done.

Our goal for each evening was to hold a small devotional where we could share spiritual thoughts and uplift one another. For our first night, we had asked Christian to share a thought. Although he had prepared ahead of time, his message blended well with the events of the day.

He shared a scripture in 2 Nephi 4:35 that reads: “Yea, I know that God will give liberally to him that asketh. Yea, my God will give me, if I ask not amiss; therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yea, I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God. Amen.” He then shared his experience as the canoe first capsized. Although he was scared in the beginning, he said a quick prayer and suddenly felt a calm come over him. He also pointed out how the winds died down after our incident, which allowed us to get to shore.

As he shared his feelings, the words in Psalm 46 came to my mind: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.”

Tason angling for catfish.

The sun is now down and the wind has picked up again. A half-moon is out, but mostly covered by clouds. There have been several flashes of lightning in the distance. I can hear the flow of water chugging along just down from where we have our sleeping bags. Right now the bugs are loving the light from my headlamp that I use to write.

* * *

As a person who has a passion for history, I can't help but to compare our trip down the Green River with that of John Wesley Powell in 1869. The Powell expedition was the first major party to explore what is now known as the Green and Colorado rivers. They started at present-day Green River, Wyoming, and rowed four boats into unknown territory, all the way to the Grand Canyon and beyond. Many of the landmarks along the way were named by Powell's party.

They began their journey down the river at the exact time of year as we did. After traversing Desolation and Gray canyons, they emerged from the Bookcliff range at the present site of Green River, Utah. This is precisely where we began our journey. The following are excerpts from Powell's journal:

“July 13, 1869⸺This morning, we have an exhilarating ride. The river is swift, and there are many smooth rapids. I stand on the deck, keeping careful watch ahead, and we glide along, mile after mile, plying strokes now on the right, and then on the left, just sufficient to guide our boats past the rocks into smooth water. At noon we emerge from Gray Canyon, as we have named it, and camp, for dinner, under a cottonwood tree, standing on the left bank.

“. . . A long line of cliffs or rock escarpments separate the tablelands, through which Gray Canyon is cut, from the lower plain. The eye can trace these azure beds and cliffs, on either side of the river, in a long line, extending across its course, until they fade away in the perspective. These cliffs are many miles in length, and hundreds of feet high.

“. . . This afternoon, our way is through a valley, with cottonwood groves on either side. The river is deep, broad, and quiet.

“About two hours from noon camp, we discover an Indian crossing, where a number of rafts, rudely constructed of logs and bound together by withes, are floating against the bank. On landing, we see evidences that a party of Indians have crossed within a very few days. This is the place where the lamented Gunnison crossed, in the year 1853, when making an exploration for a railroad route to the Pacific coast. [This is a reference to the Gunnison Massacre.]

“An hour later, we run a long rapid, and stop at its foot to examine some curious rocks, deposited by mineral springs that at one time must have existed here, but which are no longer flowing.” ♠

The Standup Paddleboard
Green River Trip, Day 2
Green River Trip, Day 3
Green River Trip, Day 4
 

I think we looked like this when our canoes overturned!  (Painting by Ethen Allen Reynolds)

The Stand-up Paddleboard

This guy named Dave is crazy!   Not only does he hope to send us all toddling for 68 miles down an overflowing river, but he has a vision of doing it in a vessel made from our own hands! And, mind you, none of us (other than him) have any experience taking on such a task. As for myself, I have never floated down a river in my life. And for the rest, most of them are just young pups, no older than sixteen.

The stand-up paddleboard is Dave's dream idea. This small craft is similar in shape to a surf board, but larger. It is designed to stand upon and to use a long paddle as an oar. Of course, Dave wouldn't take on such a venture if he didn't make the perfect product. In his mind's eye it would be made of wood, smoothed and varnished to perfection. He is no stranger to this kind of craftsmanship. In his garage hang two wooden canoes—one made by his father, and the second made with his father. The two of them took their canoes to Minnesota once where they spent several days exploring the Boundary Waters. When his father died, Dave spent countless hours building another wooden canoe, one that he would saw in half and create a top for, so as to enclose it. This would be his father's casket.

On the same stretch of river which we hope to travel, he once took his young family of four children, ages 2 to 12. The water, just as it is now, was at peak flow from spring run-off. He tells the story of getting his two-year old son and wife situated in a canoe, then turning away to do something else. A sudden gust of wind picked up and took them down river, and in a scary several minutes they thought they were doomed to separation, or worse. Miraculously, he was able to catch up and bring them back.

So, Dave is no stranger to the world of canoeing. Our trip would consist of a small fleet of canoes and kayaks, as well as the stand-up paddleboard which we had yet to make. The idea was that as a group, which included boys from our church, we would spend one night a week working on the paddleboard.

Our work began on the kitchen floor, tapping holes into a piece of paper.

We began late in November when snow still covered the ground and nights were long. We had six months to complete the task, which we felt was ample time. Dave had purchased paddleboard plans from the Chesapeake Light Craft company, deciding on the “Kaholo” model. Had we known how close we would cut it in the end, we would have picked up our pace in the beginning.

We began our work on a Wednesday evening in the kitchen of our church where we laid down a quarter-inch thick piece of plywood and tacked on a large sheet of paper with patterns of random pieces. Although the shapes didn't make sense to me at the time, they were the outlines of the bulkheads, side panels, deck strings, and tail block. We used a hammer and anything with a sharp point, such as a screw, to tap holes through the pattern and into the plywood. Then we removed the sheet and used a pencil to connect the dots. Magically, the patterns were now drawn onto the plywood. On another night we would use a jig-saw to cut them out.

Then, on a cold February night in Dave's garage, we used zip-ties to fasten the pieces together, beginning at the bow, and working toward the stern, connecting the side panels to the bulkheads. The plywood bent to conform to the shape of the bulkheads. For the first time, the stand-up paddleboard, or SUP, began to take shape. Then we inserted the deck stringers into slots over the bulkheads that formed a grid appearance and created a sturdy foundation to support the paddleboard.

Fastening the frame together with zip-ties.

As we plugged along at our project, the craziness of life kept getting in the way. Usually, Wednesday evening was our time set aside to work on the SUP, but it was often trumped by other activities in which we were obliged to participate. As a result, we fell behind in our plan of action.

Using a straight-edge saw to cut strips of cedar.

Christian and Jayden help out at the cabinet shop.

In March we went to a cabinet shop with eight sheets of cedar wood. With the help of one of the workers we started by putting each sheet through a plainer, which took off the surface and made them smoother. Then we ran the sheets through a straight-edge saw, which sliced them into quarter-inch strips. This became a tedious chore as it could only cut one strip at a time, but it sure beat doing it by hand. By the end of the evening we had several strips of cedar wood, each one-inch wide. I will admit that in my limited mind, I wasn't even sure how we would use these, or how they would work into the paddleboards.

Knowing that we were running behind-schedule, Dave spent many hours on his own building the vessels. Where we had used the zip-ties to hold the pieces together, he now used an epoxy made of resin, hardener, and wood flour to truly fasten them. Once glued together, we clipped off the zip-ties.

I was surprised to see how Dave built the deck that would cover the top of the paddleboard. Instead of simply cutting out one piece of plywood and using that as the deck, Dave took several one-inch strips of cedar, intermingled with walnut, placed them side by side, and them glued them together. After cutting it out in the shape of the deck, he reinforced it with a sheet of fiber glass. So, I learned, that the preference to use strips of wood was more for appearance than for practical purpose.

Finally looking like a SUP!

Although Dave was always the mastermind behind the project and did most of the work, the boys were very beneficial in the construction. They cut out pieces, sanded, glued, lifted, and even gave advice. The work went much quicker when they showed up and were able to help.

With only one week left until we embarked on the Green River, our efforts with the paddle board were now doubled. Dave glued the deck, fiber-glass side down, into place on the paddleboard. Working in his backyard with the SUP placed on a picnic table, we used a router to trim the edges, and we sanded the sides and deck. Any blemish, rough spot, or imperfect edge would catch Dave's eye and he would go over it again and again until it was smooth. The one thing I learned about Dave is that he's a perfectionist.

We glued cedar strips to the sides and used finishing nails to hold them in place while they dried. We then covered the entire surface (in stages) with fiber glass, which we brushed with three coats of thin epoxy-resin. Each coat required several hours to dry.

Dave uses a router to trim the edges.

Our original plan was to finish the paddleboard with plenty of time to take them on the lake to make sure they could float. We were beginning to see that we may not have that luxury. Calculating things out in his mind, Dave discovered that the SUP weighed 18 lbs. more than it was supposed to weigh. Instead of being 40 lbs., it weighed 58 lbs. He worried about this, hoping it wouldn't sink in the Green River!

We watched curiously at the CFS of the Green River, which was much higher than normal. A couple of weeks ago the discharge had been as high as 20,000 cubic feet per second, but now fluctuated between 15,000 and 16,000 CFS. A strong current would be good to carry us down the river, but it may not be so good if we were to capsize. It would also flood out many of the good camping spots along the way.

With only two days to go, we were all busy in Dave's backyard. Some of the boys used a jigsaw to cut out paddles from quarter-inch plywood. We would then cover them in fiberglass and screw them onto the end of a PVC pipe and use them as paddles. (Although this was an ingenious idea, the paddles turned out to be too flimsy and we had to scrap the idea.)

Jayden and Tason work on the ill-fated paddles.

We glued together more cedar strips, and then cut them out into the shape of a fin. The fin, after being reinforced with fiberglass, would go on the bottom of the paddleboard.

During this final week, Dave would often wake up at three in the morning to continue work on the SUP. It was to apply another coat of epoxy, or attach the deck, or any of the other works of a craftsman. In the few hours he did sleep, he would dream of the paddleboard, and dream of floating down the river. Good or bad, our river trip consumed his attention.

On our final night before launching, we remained as busy as ants. Now it was loading up food, sleeping bags, life jackets, packs, paddles, chairs, and anything else we might need for the trip. It was now or never, and do-without for four days if we forgot anything.

We borrowed a trailer and T-rack to carry the canoes, kayak and paddleboard. We spent time tying them down and throwing all our bags into the back of Dave's truck.

Inspecting the paddleboard for any imperfection.

Just to make things interesting, one of the boys, Jayden, decided to take a joyride on Dave's backyard zip-line. Without noticing the vehicle that was parked at the end of the run, Jayden slammed into the truck and put an ugly gash into the crown of his head. At first, we thought he had a concussion because he was staggering around like a drunk. We settled him down and looked with horror at the bloody hole in the back of his head. We worried he wouldn't be able to go on the trip with us. His dad came and got him and that night he had three staples placed in the crown of his head. And they gave him the green light to go!

As for the stand-up paddleboard, Dave had glued on the fin, but decided not to varnish it because it would take a couple days to cure. He did a little touch-up work on the nose, but was dismayed when it touched the lawn and blades of Kentucky bluegrass stuck to the wood. No big deal, he said. He would sand it down in the morning. Our plan was to leave at 6 am!  Does he remember that he needs to get some sleep??!!!

Using epoxy-resin to attach fiber glass to the deck.

We met at Dave's house bright and early Wednesday morning. The sun hadn't quite crept over the mountains yet. A pink hue filled the sky, and soon, a golden wave of light poured over the alfalfa fields that surround his house.

All the boys showed up on time and anxious to go. Just 230 miles to drive until we could set our eyes on the Green River.

Dave had been up early working on the stand-up paddleboard, sanding down the nose and drilling a three-quarter inch hole for the plug. It was now ready to sail. The vessel was a piece of art with the cedar and walnut strips, glossy exterior, and the wood bent with the curve of the bow that seemed as perfect as Roman sculpture. Now was time to put it to the test. ♠

Green River Trip, Day 1
Green River Trip, Day 2
Green River Trip, Day 3
Green River Trip, Day 4 

Backyard Bangkok

Our taxi driver squeezed the car through a narrow street in backyard Bangkok before coming to a stop alongside another tiny alley.

“No more go,” he announced, waving both hands. “Hotel over there.” He pointed to a back street that was scarcely wide enough to fit two bicycles side-by-side.

We paid the cabbie 300 baht (not a bad price coming from Don Mueang). I slung my pack over my shoulders as Jenelle pulled hers across the pavement. We moved cautiously into unknown territory, quickly observing the scent of grease and urine. A stray cat with wide blue eyes watched us pass by.

Our hotel was in a rough section of town, but it supposedly had a breathtaking view of the Chao Phraya River from its eighth-floor restaurant, and to boot, it was only a 10-minute walk to Chinatown.

The hotel fit well with the neighborhood. Squeezed between other drab buildings, the hotel was very inconspicuous, and would be nearly unrecognizable as a place of accommodation without the green awning draped over the front. Inside our room the walls appeared unfinished; the floor felt of concrete. Plywood was part of the decorative motif, and our shower and toilet appeared antiques.

Much to her dismay, Jenelle quickly discovered that the room had no air conditioning to combat the stifling Bangkok heat. Instead, a large ceiling fan hovered over the bed. (We developed a coping mechanism of taking cold showers, then lying wet on the bed, with the blades of the ceiling fan circling above us. Sometimes we took several cold showers a night.) As for drinkable water, the hotel left a pitcher of it next to the television with two glasses. We could refill the pitcher in the hallway.

There were no major tourist sites within our backyard neighborhood. We used it as a thoroughfare to get to other parts of town. As much as we attempted to learn the tangled web of streets, we constantly got lost. One miscalculation would send you into terra incognita.

As I mentioned earlier, our neighborhood smelled like grease. This was because they sold second-hand car parts here. Walking down the street you would find heaps of metal, including engines and mufflers that belonged to anything from cars to mopeds. It's like having the junkyard as close and convenient as the grocery store. Sometimes a couple of men would be tending the heap by sitting next to it on chairs, smoking cigarettes and talking. Any foreigner who walked past would get a look of suspicion.

The other smell—urine—we learned frequently came from night. At least twice while walking through a dark alleyway, we witnessed men urinating on the street. This would make Jenelle very uneasy and we would always detour and take a longer route to avoid them.

Just below our hotel, pretty much at the side of a parking garage, was a Chinese Taoist Temple. Outside hung red Chinese globes and inside I could hear people singing or chanting. I didn't dare go in. The temple was very simple, and if you weren't right there, you wouldn't even notice it. Nearby a small shrine displayed several figurines, as well as flowers and incense sticks. A small sign was in both Chinese and Thai.

Just a few feet away was a tiny “public” bathroom. Having a curiosity of what bathrooms look like in Thailand, I was anxious to check it out. The closer you are to the tourist centers, the more likely the bathrooms will have a Western style. This was no where near the tourist centers.

The little room was slightly bigger than a closet, with a squat-toilet on the floor. No toilet paper. Just a hose inside a basin and a plastic bowl. There was a hand-rail, just in case you needed something to hold on to. Very rudimentary indeed.

We passed a small group of children playing with a basketball. No hoop. No goal. Just a an orange rubber ball that they bounced across the pavement.

These backyard streets lacked the vendors that you might see in Chinatown or Khao San Road. The vendors were there, but in fewer numbers.

On our last evening in Bangkok, on the way to the hotel, we passed a lady selling pad thai from a little stand in front of her home. One plastic table with two chairs were tucked into the shop. A windowed refrigerator had a few beverages for us to choose from, as well as the ingredients she needed for the pad thai. We watched as she cut all the fresh ingredients on a wooden cutting board, then fried them inside a wok to make my meal. I ate it right there, sitting at the little plastic table. Several flies swarmed around the humid outdoor room. The dish cost me 40 baht.

That evening I stood at the balcony of our hotel that overlooks the backside of several high-rise buildings. I thought about the people who live there. Thai's are very hard workers and don't have a lot of material wealth. Their dwellings are small. I could see that from my vantage point. I watched one lady hang her laundry—one by one—on her tiny rooftop.  She probably washed them by hand.

Even though we would be flying home tomorrow, life here would keep going. A backyard that appears crazy and chaotic to me, will continue to be their ordinary way of life. ♠

Wat Tham Seua (Tiger Cave Temple)

1,272 steep and grueling steps above the valley floor sits a shiny golden Buddha that overlooks limestone cliffs and the distant Andaman Sea. These forested mountains were once inhabited by tigers and later by monks, who came here to meditate. It is one of the most sacred Buddhist sites in the area.

There are no longer tigers near the temple, but plenty of monkeys near the foot of the stairway that leads to the top of the mountain. There is no particular building that would be considered “the temple,” but rather, the whole mountain complex. The most popular trail is one that leads to the shiny Buddha at the summit, but there is also another path that is less difficult that leads to a dell encircled by limestone outcrops. Here there are several caves and cells used by monks.

Tiger Cave Temple, or Wat Tham Suea in Thai, is located 488 miles south of Bangkok in the Krabi Provence. From nearby Krabi town, which is only 5 ½ miles away, it is possible to get here using a combination of songthaew and motorcycle taxi. We choose to visit as part of a day tour, which we booked from our hotel. Our group is very small and our tour-guide gives us a couple hours to do whatever we would like. Most of us choose to climb the stairs.

Today is the hottest day of our trip so far. Thailand is sweltering year-round, and March is especially scorching. What should you bring? I would suggest comfortable walking shoes, plenty of water, and modest clothing. We purchased extra water from a small store near the temple. As with all sacred Buddhist sites, please wear clothing that will cover your knees and shoulders.

The stairs to the top are steep, and seem to become steeper the further you ascend. In some places the handrails burn my palms. Although there is no drinking water along the way, there are bathrooms half way up.

The climb to the summit is too much for Jenelle, as she is sensitive to the heat. She decides to turn around and wait for me at the bottom.

The ascent will take approximately an hour, depending on how fit you are. Near the final level, just before the summit, there is a section where everyone has taken off their shoes. I remove mine also, as is common practice to show respect at a Buddhist sanctuary.

From the top, the panorama is breathtaking. In spite of the constant Asian haze, you can see for miles in every direction. To the north and west are the iconic limestone cliffs that give so much beauty to Southern Thailand. To the south one can see Krabi town, the Andaman Sea, and several of the closer islands. On the east side are many palm plantations, and south of them, mangrove forests. Directly below us is the village, the roofs creating an irregular patchwork.

Other than the large Buddha, there are also several shrines at the top. Some are miniature figurines with offerings and incense sticks.

A large bell-shaped chedi competes with the Buddha as the most prominent object at the summit. A chedi, as it is often referred to in Thailand, is also known as a stupa. Originally, they contained the remains of the Buddha, and later they were used to house the remains of Kings, or an important monk. The shape of the chedi is patterned after ancient burial mounds. As for the one here, I don't know whether or not it contains the bones or ashes of anyone. Regardless, it is an important structure within the Thai temple complex.

Because there is no one to monitor dress, not many of the visitors are dressed properly. Most wear shorts or sleeveless shirts. One man is shirtless. A Chinese woman uses a sarong to cover her high-cut shorts. In spite of their modesty or lack of it, most show respect. Some kneel down at the Buddha and others give offerings.

The trek down the mountain is far easier than the hike up. I am pleased to find Jenelle at the bottom and she has apparently found a vendor of ice-cold fruit smoothies, or in Thailand known simply as shakes. These shakes are ubiquitous and bring much needed relief on sultry days. We don't explore any other trails because we know our tour-guide will be waiting for us.

It is refreshing to find a religious sanctuary in Southern Thailand, which is often dominated with secular beaches. Wat Tham Suea is definitely worth the stop. ♠

 

Spirit Cave

[For the first time in 32 years, I returned to Spirit Cave. It looked better-preserved than I had remembered, as there were some ruins that I had forgotten about. This time, I brought my son with me and was able to show him the actual location of some of my old adventures.

The following account took place when I was twelve years old as a boy scout. I wrote it down a few years later, so most of it should be accurate, other than some literary license to fill in the gaps. I have slightly modified my old account, but have left it mostly as-is. The story of the pipe-bomb is 100% true.]

The first week of May we headed out of town to Spirit Cave. It is a wide alcove at the mouth of a little canyon covered in juniper trees, or as we would call them, “cedar trees.” Ancient Anasazi Indian ruins are scattered along the edges.

After unpacking, we built a fire and began preparing the dutch ovens. This time we were having barbeque chicken with dutch-oven potatoes. Very tasty! Along with a Pepsi, it would satisfy any stomach.

After dinner, we stood around the fire, warming our hands, when Damon suggested, “Let's make a pipe-bomb.”

“With what?” asked Courtney.

“A pipe. What else?! I saw one up on the rim of the cave.”

“I brought some black powder in my pack,” said Kevin, who was Damon's twin brother. (I think there was a hint of conspiracy here.)

“I've got matches,” I added. Walking over to get the the matches, I overheard Brother Lyman (our Scoutmaster) tell Damon to be careful, and if he were him, he wouldn't do it.

The pipe was one inch in diameter and just over a foot long. Damon placed the pipe on the ground, while Kevin poured in powder. Courtney stuffed cheat grass into the small opening and Brook lit it with a match. We all ran and ducked for cover. Nothing happened. Brook slowly walked toward it, hesitant because of the possibility of it going off. “It's out,” he said. He lit it again and ran for cover. Again nothing. We tried three more times and finally gave up.

In the meantime, we had cleaned up dinner and rolled out our sleeping bags. The sun went down and darkness fell upon Spirit Cave. The only light came from the red glow of our fire, and if you got far enough away, there were the pin pricks of stars in the dark sky above. A sudden chill came with the new night.

We decided to play flashlight wars. No camp-out is complete without its share of games. For this game, we would split into two teams. One team hides, while the other team looks for them. If you shine your light on one of the opposing team members and call their name, they're out.

I was on the team that had to hide. There was no moon, so I decided to hide close-by. I laid down under a cedar tree about fifty feet from camp. I was quiet. The other kids, scampering to their hideouts, could be heard in the distance. I waited. The wind whistled and leaves swayed back and forth.

At last, the opposing team had finished counting and was now on the search. No one came close enough for me to zap them with my flashlight. So I lay still. Once they had passed me, everything was quiet again. The camp fire crackled while crickets sang. The rising smoke above the cave looked eerie.

Courtney and Erik came walking toward the fire. Brook was behind them, escorting his victims back to the base. Here was a prime opportunity to free one. It was risky, but why not? I sprinted in and touched Erik on the back of his shoulder. Got him! I now had thirty seconds to find a new hide-out. This time I went further back and hid behind a huge rock.

Once again, everything was silent. There was little action taking place by other kids and the density of the cedar forest blocked most of my view.

A pack rat ran out in front of me into a hole in the cliff--or was it? At second glance, I noticed it was not a cliff, but an Indian ruin. It sent a small chill down my spine. Obviously, these ruins were evacuated hundreds of years ago, but the possibility of skinwalkers roamed my mind. Skinwalkers were the spirits of the Indians who used to live in these ruins. True or fiction, I didn't know. But the thought of it sure was freaky at a time when I was all alone at midnight with no moon.

Movements from behind startled me. I remained still and didn't worry. Those were the sounds of the night, and any harm they would do was all in my mind.

In the distance, I could hear Damon calling, “Lacy . . . . you're the last one! You've got no chance!” I put a smile on my face and told myself, “yeah, right.”

“We got you, Lacy.” Brook's voice shocked me from behind. Tim followed closely. “We got you, John.” I stood up and surrendered.

We all gathered around the camp fire and shot the bull. “Let's try the pipe-bomb again,” Damon strongly suggested. So, we did. Brook lit it again, and quickly ran for cover. A dud.

“If it doesn't go off this time, I give up.” Brook made a final attempt to set off the bomb. He struck the match on a nearby rock. He lit the cheat grass and half-heartedly trotted back.

BOOOOM!!!!!!

“Oh, crap!” Brook yelled, while diving to the ground. A large ball of fire flashed and a bellowing echo rang from the cave. Brother Lyman sat up in his sleeping bag and muttered something toward us. I didn't hear a word he said, because my ears were ringing like a telephone.

Once I could regain my hearing, I could hear Brook exclaiming, “Oh my hell! I was only two feet away from that sucker!”

“Dang, my ears are still ringing,” Courtney shook his head.

“Is everyone alright?” Brother Lyman came over in concern. “I warned you about this. Right now, I think it's best that you all go to bed.”

“Let's head,” said Brook, leading us to our bags.

“Where's the pipe?” asked Erik.

“It doesn't matter, as long as it ain't in the back of one of your heads,” Brother Lyman replied.

We settled down into our bags and started a conversation among us, not being able to sleep.

We talked of other kids at school and told jokes. The night grew darker as the last flame died out. Only red and black embers remained.

“Does anyone have any skinwalker stories?” someone asked.

Everyone else shook their head, but I piped up, “I've got one.” I then proceeded to tell my story:

“Remember Sister Redd, who used to teach us in Primary? I heard this story directly from her mouth. Many years ago when she was newly married, she had purchased an old wooden rocking chair that sat in the corner of the living room in her trailer. It looked as normal as the rest of her furniture. Late one night she awoke to get a drink of water. She passed through the living room to go to the kitchen, and traveled through the dark until she reached the sink, where she turned on the light. She got her drink of water, drank it, and dumped the rest out. As she heard the last of her water disappear down the drain, a blurred object in the living room caught her attention. An old Indian woman—very old it looked to her, maybe 105—was sitting in the rocking chair, knitting. The Indian woman was wearing a traditional Navajo dress. She stared at the woman for two minutes. Then she walked to the living room to turn on the light. She was gone.

“Sister Redd went back to bed, but couldn't sleep. The next day she went to the previous owners and told them her story. They said that ten years ago an old Navajo lady died in that very same rocking chair.”

“But I thought that skinwalkers were supposed to be evil spirits,” said Erik confused. “That old squaw may have scared Sister Redd, but her spirit wasn't evil.”

“Technically, from what I've learned, a skinwalker is a witch that has the ability to transform into a half human, half animal being. This witch may curse you in some way, either during birth, or after. He may curse you with blindness, deformations, cancer, or heart problems. Sometimes to curse you, he will shoot a bead made of bone in you. The only way to break the curse is to have the bead sucked out and shoot it into the skinwalker and kill him. At least, that's what I've read. But I understand what you're saying, Erik. Most of the stories I hear seem to use the term skinwalker to refer to an Indian ghost.”

Eventually the discussion ceased. Each kid lay in his sleeping bag pondering the subject of skinwalkers. Was the story they had heard really true? Or was it a far-fetched and out-stretched tale? It was hard to see the reality of it, but there was a side to each of us that wanted to believe it. We thought and visualized the subject until we got very sleepy. Then our thoughts turned to dreams. The dead of night moved in. Nothing around moved. Everything slept.

Before I awoke, breakfast was ready. It was last night's dutch-oven potatoes with eggs mixed in, along with bacon and sausage on the side. It looked to me like Courtney and Kevin were the early-birds who got up to make it. We all stood around the fire, holding our paper plates full of food.

The sky was blue, except for a white streak left behind from a high-flying jet. The Anasazi ruins were still there, and so were the cedar trees. I watched a rabbit scamper off into the bushes. Then I noticed a huge sparrow land on th . . . . BOOOOM!!!!  It sounded as if the whole world had blown up! I was so startled that all my sausages rolled off my plate. My ears rang. We all looked at Damon, who was standing against the rock wall, chuckling. While we ate, he had filled a sawed-off Mountain Dew can with black powder and lit it off! Obviously, he hadn't learned a lesson from last night.

As the fire died down, I volunteered to go out and collect more fuel. The only wood to burn was dead cedar branches that had fallen to the ground. I walked a good distance away from the fire and began gathering small sticks and a couple big ones. The heap was carried in my arms while my eyes could barely peer over the stack. I couldn't see the ground at all until the top branch fell off the pile. And when it fell, they all fell. I looked in amazement at an object nearly fifteen yards from my feet. Was it? Could it be? I wasn't sure, but it had to be. It was the pipe-bomb! And it had melted into a V-shape. Instantly I was thankful that none of us were hit by this flying object when I realized it was 100 yards away from the camp fire!

“Guys!” I yelled. “I found it, I found it!” I sprinted back to camp, with the evidence in my hands. My breathing rate was almost as fast as I was talking when I showed it to the boys.

“That could have killed one of us,” someone intelligently pointed out. We all stared in amazement at the melted V-shape of the once erect pipe.

We had an hour and a half left to do whatever we wanted before we left. I hiked a few hundred yards away and clamored onto a huge boulder where I sat. It was a good enough view where I could observe the entire place.

The temperature felt good unless the sun was behind a cloud. Then the wind turned chilly, creating goose bumps over my arms. Once the sun returned, the breeze was warm again and the boulder on which I sat felt nice and warm.

I was surprised when I saw a doe and fawn hop off into the trees. With all the commotion we had made, I thought they would have been spooked off long ago.

In my sight were the ruins built by the Anasazi. Their mysterious disappearance has inspired writers and raised man's curiosity for years.

These bygone people once inhabited this very land. Their name comes the Navajo, meaning “ancient one,” or more precisely, “enemy ancestor.” They were farmers, growing mostly corn, beans, and squash. They also built stone shelters, usually against the side of a cliff-wall to protect themselves from wind and their enemies. These houses were built of rectangular-shaped stones, piled several feet high. The over-hang of the cliff could protect against the elements, but they also used timber to create a thatched roof. Apparently they had to use ladders to get to some of these structures. There are some ruins that look impossible to be reached because they are so high upon steep, slick, and impossible-to-climb cliffs.

Not only were they master builders, but beautiful artists also. They produced huge quantities of pottery with artistic designs covering them, including artistic textures. Some of their weapons such as spears, knives, and arrowheads have been found scattered along the ground.

Although they seemed to have been a progressing tribe, something happened that caused them to vanish. No one knows exactly why, but many have their theory's. Some say a huge drought came and forced them to leave. Others speculate that hostile enemies chased them out. Some agree on both, but say they all fled into a sacred kiva to escape the evils of this world. There, they entered into a different realm, co-existing and sharing the same earth as us.

There hasn't been a single trace of where they might have went, although some think that they moved south and are the ancestors of the Pueblo Indians. Numerous questions have been left to ask. Why did they leave behind all their pots, baskets, and weapons? Things look as if they left in haste.

Only from what has survived the last seven hundred years can archeologists use to study the Anasazi's past. The stone houses still remain, but they have been crumbling for centuries. Broken pottery is scattered around the ground, proving, once assembled, that the Anasazi were great artists and potters. Grinding stones, mostly used to grind corn, can often be found. Hieroglyphics cover many of the cliff walls, showing some of their stories and beliefs.

As I looked at these ancient ruins that were built in and around Spirit Cave, my mind tried to comprehend the history behind it. The ruins had been abandoned for hundreds of years, or had they? Perhaps their spirits still lived here. That's sure how it felt the night before. Somehow the darkness has an effect on the mind that brings unsettling thoughts. ♠