We rode our bikes down first to see if we could make it in the 'wander-rig'. There was a dot on the map that in no way implied what we were about to experience, though the bombing downhill on the bikes would have been worth getting skunked. In the belly button of painted hills and soaring canyon rim, a river ran through land that had been occupied for at least 1000 years. For all those inhabitants, we were two of the very few souls within many, many miles. This remote beauty was left to the deer, rabbits, cougar, coyotes, bats, and lots of bugs.
As an artist, I get a knee-jerk reaction to create when struck with places like this. If there are ghostly voices of history story telling in left over buildings and artifacts, it's a full on seizure of inspiration I can barely contain. If little flies hadn't wanted so much undivided attention, and to fly into my ears, I may have been able to paint on site. Instead activities to keep moving were in order, and I'm glad, because if I paint, I miss out on everything else.
Against the cliff face, almost to the end, a low wall has stood the test of time. It's easy to imagine the group moving in for the winter season safe from predators. To stay and live off the bounty of this land must have been incredibly appealing. We made this our home for a very short while, fully ready to stay indefinitely in our hearts.