Past the edge of civilization
It was a dusty sixty miles and several hours past the edge of civilization down a dusty dirt road notorious for flat tires if one traveled too fast, to a small primitive campground near the canyon’s rim. I had received a backcountry permit to camp there the year before, in April of 2020, for a destination that was soon closed, and a trip that was soon canceled. Now, I was finally headed there.
There had been no one at the shuttered ranger station, and when I arrived at the campground, I found it almost empty. Well, that at least explained the vacant ranger station. The first campsite offered an expansive area with several somewhat secluded spots to pitch a tent. Deciding I could do no better, I backed up the Jeep and pulled out my tent.
Late that afternoon, I walked down the rough rocky road to the overlook. There was a middle-aged couple there when I arrived, enjoying the view, and we exchanged pleasantries. They walked here and I walked there, with them eventually settling on a large boulder, where they sat and gazed across the canyon for some time. After a while, they left, leaving me alone at the canyon rim as the sun sank and the moon rose.
I was out at the canyon rim again early the next morning while the stars were still up. Alone in the darkness, I heard a boulder of unknown size tumble down somewhere on the other side. I guessed it had only made it part of the way down, as the sounds stopped several seconds later. It was soon followed by several boulder friends, hesitant at first, then gaining in number. I was glad I was not on that side, nor at the bottom.
Debating how to share
That evening, there were a few more people at the overlook. Two were photographers, whom I overheard discussing how they could both equitably share the same coveted spot for a sunset photograph. I thought about suggesting “Rock Paper Scissors” but decided to let it be, and spent the late afternoon and evening shooting infrared images elsewhere as the light fell across the scattered vegetation. I already had my sunset shot.
Early the next morning, I made my way up-canyon in the darkness to catch the sunrise, to a spot I expected would be “Rock Paper Scissors”-free. I was not disappointed.
After that second day, I packed up my tent and headed back out the same dusty road I had taken coming in. After a while, I stopped on the empty dirt road and assembled a sandwich from the contents of the cooler in the back seat. As I sat in the driver’s seat eating the sandwich, an approaching motorcycle pulled up alongside me and stopped. As I turned towards him to wave, I saw his thumbs-up gesture, asking are you OK? I was, so my wave transformed itself into a returned thumbs-up, and with that, he was off down the road.
We don’t recognize the significance of our bond of humanity when we’re constantly surrounded by each other. It is only once we’ve removed ourselves to these places of isolation that we realize how precious that bond is that unites us still, no matter how far apart we’ve wandered.