What’s around the corner?

You’d think that since I’ve been here for over two years, I’d know every inch of my own front yard. If I turn my head slightly to the left from where I’m sitting right now, I can see a few score acres of drab green meadow that slopes up to a large, forbidding ridge where nobody lives. The slope is riven with washes and small rock canyons, some of which I’m familiar with and some I’m not. Off to the right, out of my line of sight, is a large canyon that starts where the big wash ends, and is a favorite hiking spot because it’s mostly easy walking. Before the meadow becomes rock it’s littered with junipers. It’s a south-facing slope so most of the snow is gone except for patches in the juniper shadows.

I’ve climbed that ridge several times, but not as often as you might think because there’s easier ground in my back yard and for most of my time here I’ve been hobbled with an old-fashioned prosthetic leg, unsuited to the terrain. Since my November refit, I’ve been getting more adventurous but the weather hasn’t always cooperated.

This morning the boys and I started up the wash, as we often do. Rather than follow it to the canyon I jigged up the left bank and followed a smaller wash we hadn’t explored before. It terminated in a small but almost vertical box canyon that seemed to go all the way to the top of the ridge. Ghost thought this was great sport and disappeared; the next time I saw him he was looking down between some rocks from the summit. I don’t entirely know his breed, but his mother mated with a mountain goat. Sometimes I hate his ass.

At times like this I get obsessed with wondering what’s around the next corner. I started to climb the talus that led to the wall; there’s almost always a way up if you look for it. In a narrow passage between two enormous boulders I saw daylight and grass; I could get there but had to scramble over a bunch of big rocks. The big boys couldn’t follow here; I’d just have a look and come back down for them. I slung my carbine on my back and started to climb.

When I got to the tiny meadow on the other side of the passage, I was surprised to find Magnus waiting there for me. He’d found an easier way, the bastard. From here it would be an easy climb to the top, but Fritz was still whining on the talus. I had to coax him to climb the way Magnus had come, but he finally joined us and we went further up.

There are peaks here that are still substantially higher than we are; I’ve been there and the scenery is marvelous but there’s no other reason to go. I was more interested in what lay on the other side. Almost two years ago Ghost and I had made the same climb on another part of the ridge not far away, and on the far side I found an enormous canyon. Further exploration led to one of my favorite hiking places, previously mentioned. Now I saw that earlier canyon again, but gorram it! That was not the canyon I was used to walking. It was another one entirely.

Now I was intrigued. Maybe there was a way down from here. I worked my way down the rocks, looking for ways the big boys could follow. Ghost, of course, just hopped from rock to rock. We got down a ways, but then things started to look vertical and really, really high. It was a north face, covered with snow, and this was not a place you wanted to lose your step. They’d never find the body.

But now I had the bit between my teeth. I wanted to know how to get into that gorram canyon! It was too big not to have an obvious entrance at the wash; how could I have missed it all this time? Time to go back down and around this knob of the ridge; there had to be a way.

I climbed the rocks again, but then ran into a problem. Magnus scrambled up after me, but Fritz was stuck. He trotted back and forth on the ledge, getting more and more upset. Magnus had found a fairly good way, but Fritz kept going right past it. Sometimes that boy acts like he’s not too tightly wrapped. I finally went back down the way Magnus had come up and showed Fritz the way.

Together again on the summit, we walked along the ridge until we found an easier way down; actually a pretty easy slope instead of the rock-climb we’d taken to get up. Near the meadow at the bank of the wash, the boys turned toward home: At this point that’s what we usually do. But I was determined that this time I was going to find that canyon so I called the dogs and turned left, following the ridge wall.

Nearly in the wash itself was what had to be the opening. I turned into the canyon and found immediate disappointment: This place was familiar! It’s a large but short canyon, whose only interesting feature is that it terminates at a deep, wide sort of cave that’s often full of water, protected by a huge overhanging rock and canyon walls so steep and close that the sun never shines there. It’s a very popular coyote hang-out.

Well, I thought, we’re here. Let’s go see if there’s water today. Ghost, as he often does, had anticipated me and was already inside waiting to see which way I wanted to go. When I turned toward the entrance he bounded away up the canyon and I didn’t expect to see him again till we got to the water hole.

But I found him just around the next turn, up on the bank with his front paws on a tree, looking upward with great interest. I looked to see what he’d treed, expecting to find some sort of squirrel. At first all I could see was a ball of fur at the top of the small tree. I didn’t know what it was, but it was bigger than any squirrel ever born. Maybe a big raccoon, but I don’t think raccoons live around here. Never heard of them, anyway. What the hell was it? For the first time in weeks, I chambered a round in my rifle.

There are almost no animals here big enough, bold enough or aggressive enough to be a danger to me. We have a very few mountain lions – this was clearly not a mountain lion – but mostly the only animals I fear are packs of feral dogs, and you can’t tree a dog. I don’t think it’s possible to piss off a coyote to the point where it will stand and fight; they just don’t do that. So I wasn’t afraid for myself.

But the dogs are on another plane. I once had to shoot a perfectly innocent badger – I regretted the necessity – that the dogs had cornered in some rocks and driven to the absolute limit of its very limited tolerance. They’d have won the fight, I’m sure, but I’m also pretty sure there would have been vet bills involved at least. I'm responsible for the safety of the dogs, and not for that of anything they pick a fight with. So if Ghost had bitten off more than he could safely chew here, I was going to have to shoot something.

I circled the tree, trying to get a better look. And from the other side a very feline face gazed down at me. The small bobcat didn’t even seem upset; he just looked at me as if to say, would you please go away. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to one. Interesting.

I called the dogs, and to my surprise they lost interest immediately and trotted up the canyon with me. A short way further we came to the water hole, full of snow but no water. There’s so much snow elsewhere that this place didn’t even have any fresh tracks.

I looked around: as far as I’d ever noticed, this was where the canyon ended. But this had to be the canyon I’d seen from the summit, and I knew I hadn’t been looking at this spot. I backed up for another look, and sure enough: If I’d only paid more attention before I’d have seen it. By climbing the rocks right over there, I could surmount the water hole. The canyon did go further. This was worth exploring.

Well, next time. I was tired and so were the older dogs. Ghost, of course, wanted to go: He was already on the rocks above. But that was enough for today. I called him down, and we made our slow way back home.

City friends don’t understand how I can keep myself entertained out here, where nothing ever seems to happen. But I don’t expect to ever run out of interesting things. You never know what new thing is just around the next corner.