"Yes, quite a change from what it used to be. That’s probably why we never came here, not many did unless they went through here on the way to somewhere beyond."
Con pulled into the main portion of the entrance and asked, "I got us safely to the resort, now where?"
"Two canyons meeting in a desert, what better venue for a discussion of wasting water? I’m meeting him in the main restaurant, so I'll just get out here; what are you going to do?"
"I brought my camera. I’ve been looking forward to wandering around this gorgeous spot. And with these dark clouds building I’m excited about trying to get some dramatic shots. Red rocks and black clouds, don’t you worry about me," assured Con.
"Okay, see you back here at eleven and we’ll have lunch before heading home. Have fun!" Ela closed the door and walked toward the entrance. Con watched her daughter until she was safely inside and then caught herself. It was like she was dropping Ela off at school or a friend’s house years ago, the door was safely closed behind her daughter before her foot lifted from the brake pedal.
Ela & Alan - Gateway, CO
Ela found the restaurant where the meeting was scheduled to take place and entered, asking the young woman who greeted her for the table of Mr. Elliot. A nod and a request to follow brought Ela to the table of a large, older gentleman in slacks and a polo shirt getting to his feet and offering his hand.
"Hi, I’m Alan Elliot. You must be Miss Novena?"
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Elliot. Please, call me Ela."
"Great, Ela. Please use Alan for me," he said as they shook hands and took their seats.
The waitress came to the table, "May I get you something to drink? Menus?"
Alan nodded to Ela. "I’ll just have water for now, thank you," she said.
"I’ll have the same," he told the waitress and then turned to Ela. "After all, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?"
Ela considered the man in front of her and how to play this; she decided to let him know she understood the basics, so he wouldn't need to waste time covering them. "I suppose so, Alan. The organization I work with asked me to listen to your concerns about wasting fresh water. Specifically by first contaminating it, then pumping it deep into the Earth at very high pressure, enough to fracture bedrock, thereby releasing the fossil fuels locked within the rock. That fuel is then forced to the surface where it is collected, and then burned, releasing more carbon into the atmosphere."
Ela hesitated momentarily then continued, "Drinkable water is arguably the most valuable resource in an arid climate like the southwestern U.S. Shall we start with your perspective, and I’ll do my best to keep up?"
"I can see you've done your homework on fracking, let's look at the big picture of our relationship with water. It's pretty simple really; we are as much a hydraulic-based society as we are a petroleum-based economy. A shortage of either and civilization suffers," Alan said and let that sink in for a moment.
"Before railroads and Interstates, the rivers of the world were the highways that enabled trade. Without the canal system of New England, the Mississippi, the Ohio, and countless other rivers that were harnessed for power and transportation, America would be a vastly different place.
Where we are now, in the Southwest, sustaining the existing human population is possible only with the canals that transport the fresh water needed for household use and food cultivation in California and Arizona. Canals, pumps and dams spread the Colorado River’s waters over seven states making electricity, supplying household domestic water, and irrigating fields of food crops that feed us all." Alan took a breath and a drink of water.
He continued, "So, I guess my question is this: What would the general public of the Southwest say if every day, all day, a line of water trucks continuously passed in front of them— and the destination of this endless line of water trucks was a huge catapult that flung those tanker trucks, full of fresh drinking water, into the sun, lost to humanity forever? What do you say, Ela, because that's essentially what fracking is doing now?"
"Alan, I say water is life, but awareness is power. People don't see that line of water trucks right now, or don't care if they do. It's a buy-now-and-the-bill-will-be-paid- much-later-by-a-future-generation problem; it's easy to ignore the cost if someone else is footing the bill. We must inform people that it will be our children paying for our mistakes and indulgences.
The people with the most to lose are the youngest, the same ones that exhibit so much apathy in the fight to conserve the resources they will need in the years to come. If I could change just one thing in the world, that would be it. My mission is to help thirty-something year olds, and those even younger, realize their future is more limited with each day of unsustainable living."
"Ela, I won't be here in thirty years, so all this means nothing to me. I'm doing this for my children that will see 2050, and my grandchildren that could live to see the year 2100. But only if they have enough fresh water, there simply won't be a more pressing issue than the availability of potable water for those living in the last half of this century."
~~~
As the meeting came to an end Alan gave Ela a thick folder of detailed information on the wasteful use of potable water in the growing field of hydraulic fracturing for shale gas, which was occurring on the Western Slope of Colorado and southern Wyoming. Both felt it was the start of a long battle against billions of dollars worth of disinformation, which muddied what little fresh water remained for a growing population.
Gus - Uncompahgre Plateau, CO
It took until after sunup for Gus to cover the 750 vertical feet to the ridge top. Moving as quietly as possible through the thick undergrowth had slowed Gus down, but he wanted to make the least amount of disturbance in the forest as he could. Seeing the amount of elk scat on the ground, both fresh and from years past, pumped adrenaline into his blood. "Could be in the middle of 'em," he told himself as he concentrated on moving noiselessly, with listening stops every few steps.
Hearing nature's silence, smelling the thin mountain air, he concentrated on using peripheral vision for the slightest movement before moving again. He tried to open his mind to the total awareness that only comes to predators and prey when the steaks are apt to be eaten raw, right then, right there.
The view that greeted him from the point of the ridge was better than he had hoped. Spread out beneath his position in the middle of a "Y" were two valleys, one on either side of him, that merged into one just below his perch; which gave him a perfect vantage point. Looking out over the area where the valleys joined he saw thick brush in the bottom around the stream, pinyons and cedars on the steep slopes, and stands of thick fir trees starting near the top; what he considered as prime elk habitat. The area directly below him, where the two valleys became one narrowing valley, had to be a natural game-crossing area with the maze of game trails visible in the clearings.
Gus got comfortable as he leaned back on a rock outcropping and steadied the binoculars with his elbows on his knees. He started by glassing the valley to his west, over the ridge from his camp, to take advantage of having the early morning light behind him. He planned on glassing the valley to his east in the afternoon to get the best use of afternoon light, if he hadn't already found a bull by then.
By lunchtime he had spotted one den’s worth of coyote pups mischievously attacking and mauling each other. They were so entertaining it was hard to avert his eyes from them to keep checking under each tree for the tines of a bedded bull. Four cow elk and a couple of calves grazed through a park then quickly disappeared into the trees. No bull seemed to be nosing around the cows, maybe because it was near the hottest part of the day. Gus thought this harem almost had to be accompanied by a bull somewhere nearby, probably staying hidden in the cooler shade of heavy-timber stands. He watched the area for a couple of hours occasionally seeing the cows, but not their boyfriend.
For lunch some shade and a military meal-ready-to-eat (MRE), after a few moments in a heater sleeve, ha
d Gus again thinking how good just about anything hot tasted in the great outdoors. He admired the spoon, saved it, and then buried the rest of the trash from the meal. He chastised himself, but quickly got over it, knowing exactly what happens to the trash packed out; it went into the Mesa County Landfill. Having been there many times to dump trash he knew what it looked and smelled like, the almost indiscernible spot where he’d buried his trash seemed like a better choice.
The warm afternoon sun and his full belly called for a nap, but the anticipation and excitement of the first day of hunting made him a traitor to his vow of relaxing. He decided to check out the valley to the east instead.
As the afternoon wore on he began to think he was looking in the wrong valley, and was tempted to see if the cows he’d seen earlier were still playing hard to get. He began a final check of tree lines on the far side of all the likely clearings, before he would stop and pack up to hunt the way back to camp. In looking around at the sky, before getting behind the binoculars, Gus heard some distant thunder, but saw no thunderheads; so he didn't let it worry him just yet. He did see some high clouds to the west, which meant darkness would come earlier, especially since camp was on the shaded side of the ridge. Seeing that it was getting to be late afternoon, he allowed himself one more thorough sweep with the binoculars before leaving. Gus’s glassing, thinking, and strategizing kept him immobilized and reluctant to call it quits for the day.
A few moments later he muttered, "That’s just a branch, but why do I keep coming back to it?" With the binoculars pressed hard against his eyebrows he asked, "Why is that? What am I missing?"
After another few minutes of mumbling and staring through the 10-power binoculars he felt a sudden blood pressure surge. The branch didn’t move, but the ear just below it did. He hadn’t seen it until the bull flicked his ear at a fly; and what had been subliminal crossed over into full consciousness. Instantly his heart rate increased, even before the image came into mental focus. Then he saw it, one side of the bull elk’s rack clearly in view above the ear; the rest of the bull vaguely outlined behind some oak brush. "Would you look at that," he whispered softly as if the bull, a good 500 yards away, would hear.
He quickly got out the quad map to plot the bull’s location on it for a starting place in the morning. Once he oriented the quad map to his position, he estimated the distance the elk was from a recognizable S-shaped bend in the creek. He marked the bull’s position on the map, hurriedly packed up, checked the immediate area for anything forgotten, and headed for camp at a brisk pace; hurried by the continued sound of thunder that was not so distant now.
On the trip back to camp low, dark clouds came rolling in fast. Mountains are beautiful, majestic, and all that; but they can sure limit a man’s horizons. This weather was almost on top of him as it came over the mountain and into view—not friendly looking clouds either.
He quickened his pace as thunder echoed and the first huge ice-cold drops fell. The drops were so large they kicked up puffs of dust as they hit all around him—like an enemy barrage. Gus planned to listen to the news on the weather radio; something must have changed in the forecast since he had last checked before leaving home. The weather was forecast to be typical for this time of year with warm days, cold nights and dry for the week, the opposite of what had just come over the mountain.
Flinching at the din of the pummeling rain on his hat, Gus thought of all the positive aspects of this sudden development. A common belief among hunters is when a change in the weather occurs elk are more active and easier to spot. So far this change in the weather had only proven to get a hunter moving, Gus had no idea if the elk was moving. He'd get to answer that question in the morning since he planned to put a hunt on the bull at first light.
Having been caught in them before, sudden thunderstorms coming on fast at high altitude made Gus more uncomfortable than any other weather common to Western Colorado. It was as if the clouds were intentionally throwing javelin-like bolts of lightening, some so close that the crackle of thunder was heard before the flashing bolt died. A huge sense of relief came to Gus as the sight of camp came into view, even the soft-walled tent offered better protection than walking under the trees during a lightening storm.
Hastily he lowered the provisions, grabbing a bottle of water, granola bars and some dried fruit; then he raised the rest back up into the tree before dashing to the tent. Once inside, after putting on dry clothes, he munched his meager dinner and reached for the weather radio. To his disappointment and frustration it refused to pick up anything but static, before and after a thorough cussing and shaking.
Sleep came in fitful, short naps as the storm roared through the forest around the tent. During one time between sleep and consciousness, when random thoughts come unbidden, a realization pushed through into his awareness. Gus came awake certain in the knowledge that many before him in the chain of his ancestry must have also lain awake, alone in the complete darkness and noise of a raging storm, without giving in to panic. He felt himself stepping to the edge of panic, and felt how easy it would be to give in. But with the certainty of his ancestors’ willpower he found sufficient resolve to hold his fear at bay. Gradually a broken sleep came.
The fury of the storm with its flashes of lightening, simultaneous thunder, and howling winds peaked at midnight, dying down afterwards. Sometime during the early hours Gus drifted into a sound sleep unaware of the silent approach of a deadly advisory.
Con & Ela - Unaweep Canyon, CO
As Ela walked out of the restaurant she met her mom walking in, "Meeting over? Where’s the Lady’s Room?" Con asked.
"Follow me, yes I’m done with the working vacation, and I'm now embarking on the real vacation I came to spend with you. Shall we go to the spa before lunch and see if we can get a massage, pedicure, mud bath, or something? My treat."
Time passed quickly while they indulged themselves. After a late, leisurely lunch both women were taken aback at the change in the weather that had occurred while they were inside. A steady rain was now falling, horizontally at times, due to the gusts of wind that were ripping up the canyon in the direction they were headed. They stopped under the porch roof just outside of the building's main entrance to look at the rain.
Ela gave her mom a raised eyebrow, "Still think you’re fast, Mom?" Without waiting for an answer she took off into the rain expecting her mom to try and jump the start.
"Wait!" Con shouted, making Ela turn back toward her just in time to see her mom fly by. They reached the car about the same time after Ela made up the ground lost to her mother’s subterfuge.
"Mom! You cheated," she accused with a laugh when they both were inside with the doors shut.
"The gullible always feel cheated when bested by intellect," Con enlightened her daughter.
"What’s your superior intellect telling you about this rain?" asked Ela, revealing her concern about the weather.
"Woman with leak in sunroof will have rain drops on head, what’s your trained mind tell you?"
"That I didn’t pay enough attention to the weather forecast this morning, guess I was worried about 'fracking' water theft and not the replacement cycle," Ela said as they crossed the Delores River that was now a powerful torrent of muddy water.
"Hope this lets up enough for me to show you some property when we get up here a bit," Con remarked after settling in to adjust to the new driving conditions.
"What property?"
"Hank, remember him? Awhile back he heard about a twenty-acre parcel here in the canyon, for sale by owner, and he knows the owner. We’ve talked about buying it together as an investment since neither of us like the bank’s interest rates anymore."
"Together? I knew there was more to Hank than your parking attendant. You two been out parking by the way?"
"You wouldn’t ask that of a sixty year old woman if you knew anything about aging. We’re just not flexible enough to find the facilities a modern car offers a mood enhancer," Con answered as a matter of f
act. "Don’t go worrying about Hank. We get along and enjoy one another’s company, but neither of us has room in our closets, or our hearts, for much beyond that."
"Well if you two are practicing safe group investing I guess it’s okay. Back to you spending my inheritance. What’s on this property that makes it so exciting to you two love birds?"
"Pterodactyls more like it, we’re too old to be birds," Con said wistfully.
"My inheritance . . ." Ela kiddingly reminded her mother to stay on topic.
"So, there are two main attractions to the property. Number one is water; it has an existing well with a year-round stream. And number two is the price that Hank can get."
"Water is important and becoming more important, that’s what I’ve just been talking about for an hour; the coming water wars of the Southwest. Are we going to be able to get to the place in this rain that is now mocking the water shortage I’ve been preaching?"
"It’s got really good access, so that won’t be a problem, but the way the canyon is socked in I don’t think you will be able to see all of the wonderful views from the home site," Con said glancing at the steady downpour and low clouds.
Their speed slowed as Con watched for the turn-off, "Here we go. This is the driveway in, it goes down to the bridge over the stream, which is West Creek on this end of Unaweep Canyon."
Ela sat up and looked at the conditions of the sky and the road, "Well, it has let off a little for the moment, visibility is better; you’re sure we won’t get stuck or something?"
"It's just a little further in here, we’ll be fine," Con said as they neared the bridge. She slowly pulled the front tires onto gray slabs of pine that lay across three supporting logs, which spanned the narrow creek. With a thump the front tires fell off the bridge on the far side just before the rear tires fell off with an even bigger thump.
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