Desert windows into a different time.
In warmer weather a native people sat in shade where now we see snow.
They chipped at calcedony nodules trying to get a straight edged flake for a tool, maybe even a rare arrow point out of that twisty mineral.
While climbing such a monolith ("the Sentinal" we called it) I found still scattered debutage chips from their hard work on the bench.
A Park Service ranger appeared, but we prevailed on him to jumar up our fixed rope to patrol the summit.
It was before forbidding rules required his frown.
A gap in time . .
NO climbing !
No Climbing ?
No Climbing !
No c l i i
i m bing . .
Fresh from scaling Shiprock on the Navajo Reservation
with a "happy band" of brothers from the Rocky Mountain Rescue Group, we gamboled around the Utah desert.