As much hiking as I've done in my years, this is by far the most challenging...
The most exhilarating...
The most affirming...
No trails or signs or cairns,
Maps help little at this scale.
You are on your own here, 15 difficult hours, at least, from the nearest assistance. In a New York second---or more accurately, a lost canyon moment---my hiking partner and I get separated. For the next hour or so I wander alone, feeling confident I can get back on my own. And though I feel the same confidence in my commrade I can't help but worry if some easy mishap didn't occur, a tumbling boulder or concussive slip. I call his name to no effect. Perhaps my voice gets lost in the immense windy space. Or more likely, this place is playing tricks on us, as I feel it often has in the past, testing our worth as sharers of its wonders, providing reminders of our place as visitors, hardening our resolve and skill as protectors and teachers. It's telling what goes through the mind in such trying separative and solo circumstances...very instructive to say the least...priorities quickly reorder themselves.Within two hours "the test" is over and my call is met with a response. A profound sense of relief is expressed between us, as well as a heightened appreciation for capable and careful companionship. 
How easy it is to miss the small stuff in life, especially amidst all the hustle and bustle of humankind.
How easy to trample the magic that lies underfoot, to let go unnoticed the life that burrows beneath the surface.
And yet, in mad pursuit of who knows what, how much do we miss?
My little arthropod friend whom I introduced you to at the beginning of this chapter emerged from a dime-sized hole just like the one pictured above. He lived there a long time, perhaps 13 or 17 years before he finally came to the surface. Imagine, after all that time, if my friends and I really had squashed him the moment we saw him. Now, in our own foolishness or ignorance or collective frightened madness, what would we have missed?
Of course not all in this place goes so easily unnoticed. After a good rainy season many high desert residents loudly announce their arrival, much to the mutual benefit of the pollinating insect...
So too do isolated daisies, lilies and primrose...
Bright red penstemon, claret cup and fishhook cactus add to the mix...
Violet and purple larkspur and lupine splatter color here and there...
Through the eye of the camera, or just paying really close attention, I see these colorful creatures staring back at me...
And they are no longer living merely in concept or theory, but in reality...
Feeling...in the deepest core of my being...just like you and I...these creatures are alive...
This place is ALIVE!
