Black Sun Descending

by Stephen Legault

  SILAS REMEMBERED IT as if it were yesterday, but it had been almost ten years before. He had promised to take her there every fall but it had never happened; fall was always a busy time for a professor, and before he knew it he had forgotten about the ordinary majesty of the Grand Canyon and what it had meant, for that one day, to make a clean break with his own history.

  When this was all over he would bring his sons to the Grand Canyon and walk through the woods, and if they would let him, he would take their hands like he had when they were boys, before he had left and they had grown up without him.

  OVER THE OBJECTIONS of Hayduke they purchased a camping permit for Phantom Ranch. “It’s my national park. I paid for it. I fought in their fucking oil war and defended my country. Now I have to pay for it again?”

  Silas ended up paying for both permits and they set off down into the canyon, heavy packs straining their shoulders and backs. In April the trails were busy. Many experienced hikers knew that come June, the inferno of the canyon would make hiking nearly impossible, so they were out in abundance. Hayduke grumbled as they dropped through the layers of sandstone and siltstone.

  “You’d rather they were driving or taking a scenic over-flight?” Silas asked when the young man’s protests grew tiresome.

  “No.”

  “Then shut up and be happy.”

  They reached Indian Garden Ranger Station in just two hours and soon found themselves striding out along the Tonto Plateau toward the jump-off into the Inner Gorge.

  As they started into the black strata of the Vishnu schist—the billion-year-old stone that formed the foundation of the Grand Canyon—Silas couldn’t stop thinking about his last conversation with Special Agent Dwight Taylor. He watched the burly young man in front of him stride down the trail. Silas walked a little faster and caught up with Hayduke at a switchback.

  “I’ve got something I want to ask you.”

  “Nobody stopping you.”

  Silas cleared his throat. “Last fall, after that business at Comb Ridge, you told me you didn’t want to get mixed up with the FBI because you had a record.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well, Taylor brought it up when we were talking the other day. He said you had been arrested for assault three years ago.”

  “Listen,” Hayduke said, stopping so quickly that Silas nearly ran into him on the narrow trail. “I got into in a bar fight with some dudes. I busted up a guy’s jaw, maybe used a chair on another asshole. It was a bar fight, that’s all. I got charged, pled to simple assault, and served ninety days. I got a temper. Like I told you, a couple of tours in Bush War II will give a guy a penchant for violence. I blame the system.”

  Silas just nodded. “The FBI was asking why you and I keep running into each other, that’s all.”

  “Tell them it’s because I’m following you around the desert, watching your every move, and when it looks like you’re going to get yourself killed, I step in and save your skinny ass.” Hayduke’s furrowed brow slackened and he grinned a broad, toothy smile through the mats in his beard. “I’m just shitting you, lighten up. I’m helping you find out what happened to Pen. Tell ’em that the two of us have done more to help figure out what happened to her than they ever did. They can go fuck themselves if they don’t like it.”

  “I’ll try that out and see how it works.”

  “Alright, good. Now let’s hump these packs down to the river. I think I stashed a six-pack in mine, and if you stop busting my ass about my jacket, I might share with you.” Silas nodded and the two of them descended through the ancient rock to the Colorado River, which rushed between the gargoyle-like rocks at the basement of time.

  THEY CROSSED THE COLORADO RIVER on the Bright Angel Suspension Bridge, the water coursing below them. The river was the color of tomato soup and looked nearly as thick. It surged between the gray-black walls of the Inner Gorge; the light that reflected off the polished stone was sharp and elemental. Silas, who never wore sunglasses when he hiked for fear of missing some evidence of Penelope’s passing, pulled his hat down low on his brow. The temperature five thousand feet below the South Rim was nearly one hundred degrees. Sweat poured from Silas’s face and soaked his shirt. He felt the heat from his pack burning his back. Just across the bridge, on a wide sandy wash formed by Bright Angel Creek, cottonwoods promised shade.

  “Do you see the boat party?” Silas asked Hayduke, who seemed impervious to the searing heat.

  “Not yet. The boat beach isn’t visible from here. It’s up around the bend where the South Kaibab Suspension Bridge crosses the river. Let’s go and set up camp and wait for the party there. We’ll see them from the campground.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Sure, lots. Hell, I did a trip down the Colorado once. Oar-powered, of course.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Yeah, it was years ago. Five, six. I can’t remember. It was great!”

  “Penelope did a trip—”

  “That’s where we met.”

  Silas felt like he had been hit with a brick. He grabbed the railing of the suspension bridge and closed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “I thought I did. Shit, sorry, man, you okay?”

  “I couldn’t make that trip.”

  “Yeah, I know. Hey, listen, it’s alright.”

  Silas felt Hayduke step next to him. He felt the man’s big hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t really miss much. Just a bunch of rapids and shit. Nothing to write home about.”

  “Hayduke, is there anything else about your relationship with my wife you haven’t told me?”

  “You mean, like, were we getting it on? No way. Penny was a one-man woman. She talked about you all the time. Shit, she wouldn’t shut up about you. Between saving the Southwest and her wonderful Silas,” Hayduke mimicked a woman’s voice, “that was all we ever heard about.”

  “Who is we?” Silas was looking down at the Colorado.

  “Me, Pen, sometimes others, like Jane Vaughn and Darcy McFarland. There were lots of people who were interested in helping set this river free and protecting the places that Ed Abbey loved.”

  “When we get topside again, we’re going to sit down and go through Penelope’s journal and I want you to tell me all the people who worked on this stuff with her, what the status of all the work was, and who you were up against.”

  “Sure. That’s no problem. Fuck, I can tell you who we were up against: the whole fucking United States Senate. Shit, that motherfucker C. Thorn Smith had the entire Republican majority of the Senate against us. The House too. And then, let’s see, there was just about every oil, gas, fracking, logging, mining, and hydro power company in the continental United States to contend with. The list is pretty fucking long.”

  “We’re going to make that list,” said Silas. “I want to know everything, Hayduke. Alright?”

  “Shit yeah, but listen, we need to get out of the sun. You don’t look so good. Let’s get to the ranch. You can sit in the creek there. Cool your jets and what have you. We can’t ambush Love and Hinkley and their cronies if you’re puking from sunstroke, can we?”

  IT WAS LATE in the afternoon. Hayduke was nearby, but Silas had put the young man out of his head for the time being. The revelation that Hayduke and Penelope had met on a trip down the Colorado brought bile into Silas’s throat. Once again, Silas realized how much of his wife’s life he had missed, how much he had chosen to ignore. He had opted out and now he was paying the ultimate price: she was gone, and he was dealing with a young man who seemed to know her better than he did.

  “I see them.” Silas heard a voice close by. “They are coming up the trail.”

  Silas looked at this watch. It was five-thirty. Hayduke was perched atop a rock along the creek, his binoculars clutched in his massive hands.

  “I see Love leading the way, and I got Chas Hinkley, all decked out in his superintendent’s uniform right behind him. Then—oh, this is rich! Then we
have Joan Crocket, the Republican Congresswoman for Arizona’s First Congressional District, which includes Grand Canyon. I don’t recognize any of these others, but it looks like there’s maybe eight other guests and that bunch of boatmen humping gear. Shit, that chick is hot.”

  “Are they heading to the ranch?”

  “Yeah. You want to brace them now?”

  “No, let them get settled in. We’ll go and have a chat later on.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ve got to check on something in the meantime.”

  “Hayduke?”

  “Yeah?”

  “No monkey-wrenching.”

  “You spoil all the fun.”

  SILAS WAITED FOR Hayduke to return and, when an hour passed and he hadn’t, made a simple meal of freeze-dried pasta and beef jerky and drank one of the beers that Hayduke had carried down the trail. After the beer and the food Silas felt better and realized that he was probably letting his imagination get the better of him.

  At about eight o’clock, with the sun down behind the canyon rim, Hayduke reappeared.

  “Where have you been? You didn’t do anything to their boats, did you?”

  “Fuck no, would you relax? Nobody gets hurt, that’s the first rule of monkey business. No, I went and cased the ranch. I found out who was in what cabin and had me a little listen in on some conversations.”

  “How … ?”

  “When I was in Iraq I manned a listening post. We used to sneak right into the buildings that some of those terrorist fuckers were sleeping in and place listening devices right under their noses. I got pretty good at moving around unseen and unheard. I just did the same thing here. Do you want to know what I heard?” Hayduke didn’t wait for an answer. “They got big plans. Love and Hinkley and that congresswoman and those others—they’re mostly business types from Page—are going to try and cut off the debate over Wilderness along the Colorado River at the knees.”

  “Why is this so important?” Silas asked.

  “It’s about protecting the peace and quiet and tranquility of this place, man. It’s about dignity and freedom and the goddamned purpose of this here national park. It’s about saving a place where people can travel at the speed God intended, and not be always rushing and making a fucking mess of things. It’s about saving something of the America that Major John Wesley Powell saw when he made the first trip any white man had made down this here Colorado River through the majestic Grand Canyon. And it’s about setting up the fight to kill that motherfucking Glen Canyon Dam.”

  Silas was smiling despite himself. “Nice speech. That last bit, about the dam. Is that what this is really about?”

  “For some of us, sure.”

  “And how does this fight set up the effort to drain Lake Powell?”

  “It’s not just about draining the lake. I told you that before. It’s about tearing down that concrete monstrosity. The lake is draining itself. Hell, the water level has dropped fifty feet in the last decade. Climate change and drought is doing that for us. But if we can get the Colorado River designated as Wilderness, then we can make the argument that the Glen Canyon Dam is interfering with the natural flow of the river and should be decommissioned.”

  “You think that Chas Hinkley and this congresswoman—Crocket—and others are on to you?”

  “They probably are.”

  “Do you think that’s why they’re fighting it?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “It seems like a lot of work for a long shot.”

  “Wilderness has always been a long shot. But we’ve won lots of other battles and we’re going to win this one.”

  “What did you hear Love and Hinkley and the congresswoman discussing?”

  “They said that if a bill gets to the floor of Congress about Wilderness, they are going to hang a rider or something on it that defunds the National Park Service. Then nobody will be able to vote for it without gutting Grand Canyon, Canyonlands, Arches, and all the rest.”

  “Clever.”

  “Evil.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Go and crash their party.”

  Silas exhaled loudly. “No fighting. We try and get Love and Hinkley alone and ask them about Jane Vaughn and Darcy McFarland’s connections. Nothing more.”

  “And Kiel. Don’t forget Kiel. And Penny!”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Got to get a beer first. Maybe two. All this sneaking around is thirsty work.”

  SILAS WORE HIS HEADLAMP AND Hayduke followed him down the trail, clutching a can of warm beer in each hand. He finished one and nearly threw it into a clutch of prickly pear cacti before remembering where he was. Instead he crushed it and put it in his pocket.

  When they arrived at Phantom Ranch the group of rafters had finished dinner in the lodge’s small, rustic dining room and moved outside to a fire circle. A blaze burned and the faces of the group were illuminated in the night. Silas turned off the headlamp.

  “What do you want to do?” Hayduke swallowed more beer and belched.

  “Let’s wait a minute and see if either Love or Hinkley gets up to go to the washroom or to get a drink.”

  They waited. Someone in the group brought out a guitar and a few of the guests sang along to old seventies songs. “Good lord, make this stop,” moaned Hayduke. “Nothing worse than drunk rednecks trying to sing.”

  “Look, Hinkley is getting up.” Silas made his way along the trail, following Hinkley toward the lodge. The superintendent entered the building through the staff entrance and went into the kitchen. Silas followed him.

  Hinkley didn’t look over his shoulder when Silas stepped through the door into the cramped room. He was at the propane fridge pulling a six-pack from an ample supply stocked inside. “Get you a beer?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said Silas. Hinkley turned around.

  “Oh, um, sorry, I thought you were with us.”

  “Nope. But I’ll take the beer.”

  Hinkley hesitated and handed Silas a can of beer.

  Hayduke pushed in the door behind Silas. He crushed the second can of beer he had and tossed it in the trash. “I’ll have one too if you’re offering.”

  Hinkley reluctantly pulled another can off the ring and handed it to him. “You guys staff here?”

  “Nope. Campers,” said Silas.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”

  “Probably not,” answered Silas. “But I really wanted a chance to talk with you.”

  Hinkley was a middle-aged man, with dark hair graying at the temples. He was tanned and lean, but had a small beer gut that protruded above his belt. He still wore his Park Service uniform. “I should get back to the party,” he said.

  “This won’t take long,” said Silas, smiling. “We found correspondence between you and Jane Vaughn in her office in Flagstaff. In your most recent letter to her, dated just shortly before she disappeared, you said that if she didn’t stop her work to protect the Colorado River, she might find herself at the bottom of Lake Powell.”

  Hinkley put the rest of his six-pack down on the food prep table. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

  “Shortly after that letter was written, Jane Vaughn was killed and her body dumped at the Atlas Mill project. What do you have to say about that, Mr. Hinkley?”

  “I know who you are. You’re that crazy son of a bitch who keeps finding bodies all over the place. You’re certifiable, you know that?”

  “Answer the fucking question,” said Hayduke, foam from his beer caught in his beard.

  “I don’t have to answer a goddamned thing. Not to you, not to anybody.”

  “It’s either us or the FBI,” said Silas.

  “If the FBI want to talk, they know how to find me. Now get out of my way.” Hinkley tried to squeeze past Silas and Hayduke, but Hayduke stepped in front of him. “You’re asking for trouble, young man. I’m a law enforcement officer. I’m deputized by the state of Arizona. I could place you under arrest right now.”


  “Feel free,” said Hayduke.

  “Listen, Mr. Hinkley,” said Silas, trying to lower the temperature in the tight space. “We just want to know what you can tell us about Jane Vaughn’s death.”

  “And Kiel Pearce, too,” added Hayduke.

  “I don’t know anything about the Vaughn woman’s death. Sure, we had some pretty heated correspondence, but that’s it.”

  “You are a part-owner of Mr. Love’s rafting company, aren’t you?” asked Silas.

  “Wait a minute,” he started to protest.

  “That’s a conflict of interest, Mr. Hinkley.”

  “I don’t own anything.”

  “You do. Your name might not be on it, but I know you’ve made a hefty investment. There’s a numbered company listed on Grand Canyon Adventure’s list of investors that is owned by your wife. I wonder what else the FBI might turn up if they went nosing around in your banking records.”

  Hinkley pointed a finger, first at Silas then at Hayduke. “Are you guys working with the Grand Canyon Preservation group? That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t win your fight fair and square so instead you come after me, try to impugn my good name. Well, let me tell you something: you come after me, and you’re going to find that I can make your life miserable.”

  “What are you going to do, Mr. Hinkley? Take away my park pass?” asked Silas.

  “He’ll do more than that,” said a voice behind them. Hayduke swung around and faced the barrel of a gun. He dropped his can of beer. It exploded on the floor, sending a shower of foam over his boots. Paul Love was holding a .22-caliber pistol before him. “Let’s close this door so we don’t let in any mosquitoes, shall we, gentlemen?”

  “I DON’T KNOW what your problem is, Mr. Pearson,” said Paul Love. He had the pistol in his hand, and rested it on the counter in the middle of the small kitchen. Chas Hinkley stood behind him, his face deeply creased. Hayduke and Silas were on the opposite side of the table, their backs against the gas stove. “First you accost me at the beginning of this trip, then you sabotage my vehicle, and now you show up here, in the middle of nowhere, to accuse Mr. Hinkley of murder? Are you out of your mind?”