Читать книгу Sagebrush Sedition - Warren J. Stucki - Страница 13

With its genesis roughly 240 million years ago in the early Triassic geological period, the Chocolate Cliffs are the granddaddy of the Staircase’s terraces and form the first and lowest rung. Created from brown mud deposited on the fluvial plain of an immense pre-historic lake, the rocks produced are mudstone and siltstone and these stones, along with a thin layer of beige sandstone, make up the Moenkopi formation. As a signature feature of this layer, erosion occasionally exposes large sheets of fossilized ripple marks.

Capped by a mosaic of Shinarump Conglomerate, the Chocolate Cliffs are the oldest, least visible and most deeply buried of all the Staircase cliffs. Only on the very southern border of the Monument, east of Kanab, is a comparably short shelf of Chocolate Cliffs that erosion has unearthed for inspection.

Judith Brisco fought the unfamiliar knobs and ridges of the lumpy mattress, then rolled over and once again tried to go to sleep. God, how she hated these motel beds. In the lodging business, there seemed to an unwritten but almost universally adhered to code, furnish your rooms exclusively with stone-hard mattresses. Try as she might, Judith could think of only two possible explanations: one, long ago, someone must have decided that hard mattresses were good for the back and that theory was still popular today. If true, whoever that person was, had obviously never studied the normal spine curvature. No way was the spine straight as a board, so why should beds be? Two, hard mattresses were more cost effective. They were cheaper to manufacture or less likely to sag under body weight and hence would not need replacing as often. Regardless of the reason, Judith sighed, now one could hardly stay in any motel without sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, on a concrete slab.

At least her own bed was on the way, arriving today she hoped. She had rented a small one-story bungalow in the Ranchos section of Kanab. It was a wonderful house in a picturesque location just across the Kanab Creek and right smack up against the looming Vermillion Cliffs. This setting, up against the cliffs, was a constant reminder of why she was here. Here in this God forsaken little Mormon town without so much as a Wal-Mart, a Macy’s, an opera house or even a movie theater. She was here to forge a national monument out of a mishmash of raw materials, whereas a little over a year ago there was none.

Ever since her arrival, she had been treated with courtesy and civility, but with a definite coolness. Not being Mormon, she had expected some minor cultural problems, but the one thing she had not foreseen, though in retrospect she should have, was the overwhelming public sentiment against the new monument. Naively, she would have suspected the citizens of southern Utah would have been happy. A new monument would instantly put them on every travel agency or tourist industry trade map and it goes without saying, the increased auto and bus traffic would be good for business. My God, it was not like they were throwing up six-story tenement housing or constructing a heavily-polluting manufacturing plant in the center of downtown Kanab.

If she lived to be a hundred, Judith would never understand westerners. It was almost as if they were a genetically similar but nonetheless a totally separate species, like the land mammals and porpoise, or the fish and shark. Somewhere along the evolutionary road, they had made a left turn from mainstream Homo sapiens. In general westerners were definitely independent, irascible, incongruous and contrary, with an inherited inbred paranoia for big government and bureaucrats. On the other hand, come Fourth of July, Memorial Day or Presidents’ Day, they were almost universally very vocal flag-waving patriots. Unarguably, it was a schizophrenic position. They loved their country, but hated their government. However, one thing was for certain, westerners did consider President Clinton’s creation of the monument a blatant federal government land grab. Of course, this was all nonsense. This was totally inconsistent with historical fact. Long before there was a monument, Mormons in Utah or even before there was a state of Utah, this land had been the possession of the federal government.

Specifically, she was getting plain damn tired of the sniveling argument that the western states had not been treated fairly, or at least consistently with the eastern states. Of course, they had not. No body said they had. The reason there was very little federal land in the eastern states is because they never had been federal territories. They were sovereign states first, then they banded together to become the United States. In the Midwest, territories on the road to statehood purchased or homesteaded their land, thereby acquiring it from the federal government. The same principal was applicable to the West but here, there was so much land nobody wanted, nobody claimed. The only land considered of any value was that associated with or adjacent to water, but a lot of lands were inaccessible and arid. Shamefully, even the federal government had tried to push some of this wasteland off on the American Indian, often creating reservations out the most barren sections of this land. But regardless of that, somebody had to be a caretaker of those lands and it fell by default to the federal government. And that scenario was also true of the one million seven hundred thousand acres now called the Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monument. The only federal land grab in the west was in their collective, overactive and paranoid imaginations.

Even after all arable land had been claimed, the federal government had magnanimously set aside large tracts of land adjacent to those sections claimed by early pioneers as state school trust lands. This was to make doubly sure in the future that western states would remain on equal footing with the other states.

This continuing undercurrent of animosity thoroughly astounded Judith. During the early years of her career, having spent some time at Big Bend National Park, she was used to disgruntled Texans idly talking sedition, mainly due to government regulations controlling the market price of domestic oil, but of course they never really meant it. Here in the West, she was not so sure.

Rolling over again, Judith pounded and repositioned her pillow, then wormed slowly across the bed, searching for that elusive comfortable spot. Why had she not asked for another pillow? Loudly she sighed in frustration. Until her furniture arrived, she was stuck in this over-priced, over-rated, but very uncomfortable motel. At least the lodging fare was not coming out of her pocket. The taxpayers were picking up the tab but in her estimation, they were getting more than a little ripped off.

She rolled again and stared at the white ceiling tiles. If she were honest, this bed was no worse than some of the places she’d slept in as a kid. Groaning, she closed here eyes. They, Judith and her Mother, had lived in some real dives back then. She remembered the time they were residing in the Washington DC area, just about the time her mother and father divorced. Before the divorce, they’d had a nice home. Her father, a career Marine officer, had been stationed at the Pentagon. Though she was only nine at the time, she still remembered how handsome he was in his royal blue and white dress uniform. Then came the big break up.

One night her mother and father had a particularly loud fight. Then he moved out. Sometime later she learned he had moved in with another woman. At first he came to see her frequently, then occasionally and finally not at all. For a while they continued to live in the Bethesda, Maryland house, but as finances became tighter, her mother sold the house and for the next few years they lived in various apartments in the DC area including some in very suspect neighborhoods and some with very uncomfortable beds.

During those early years, they would have perished had it not been for the assorted government relief programs for the poor and single parent families. Her father was supposed to pay child support and alimony, but the checks never came. Eventually, her mother obtained employment as a clerical at the Department of Interior. It was during the Kennedy administration and rightly or wrongly, her mother had always credited JFK as their savior.

It had just been the two of them, her and her mother. With almost no money, they never went to the movies or restaurants and her mother despised television. They spent the long empty days and evenings playing chess. Her mother was more than a fair player and it had been years before Judith could come even close to beating her.

Needless to say, Judith grew up appreciating government assistance programs, JFK and the entire Democratic Party. She never cared much for the wealthy, stingy, uncompassionate republicans. More, not less, government had been their savior. Judith, to no one’s surprise, had become and remained a loyal democrat. In Utah, she thought ruefully, that was somewhat akin to being an African-American at a Klan rally.

As her mother struggled ever upward, tirelessly climbing the bureaucratic ladder, she taught Judith the pearls she had gleaned on the way. These are tough lessons, she had counseled young Judith, and if you want to survive, you best learn them. Point one, this is a man’s world. Two, men view indecision in women as an overt sign of weakness. Three, men consider women’s primary station in life in the bedroom, not in the work force. Four, you can never trust men. There’s always a hidden agenda or an ulterior motive.

After graduating college, Georgetown University, with a degree in management, she followed her mother into Civil Service. Initially, she secured a job with the National Park service at Gettysburg. From there she moved a lot, but eventually worked her way out west, first at Mount Rushmore, then Big Bend, finally the crown jewel, Yellowstone. Slowly she learned agency politics and worked her way up the precarious, often treacherous, management ladder until she was named assistant superintendent at Crater Lake National Park.

Fortunately, the National Park Service was only marginally subject to the capricious winds of political rotation and even through republican administrations she continued to advance. However when Bill Clinton became president, he inexplicably began placing national monuments under the stewardship of the Bureau of Land Management. At first, being loyal to the Park Service, she considered this an egregious affront, but this attitude would soon change.

Then came the day, her moment in the sun, when President Clinton created the BLM Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monument and plucked her with all her park management skills from the National Park Service and put her in charge! She still glowed with pride at the memory. So far, that had been the crowning achievement of her life. In celebration, she and her mother had a quiet restaurant dinner highlighted with a bottle of champagne.

That had been over year ago and she’d spent the entire past year organizing. There had been hundreds of meetings and countless airplane flights from Washington DC to Utah trying to put together a team, come up with a preliminary management plan, devise a budget, and create an initial outline of how she envisioned the monument would grow in the future. Needless to say, it had been a stimulating and exciting experience.

Then harsh reality set in. She actually had to physically move to the monument, to Utah. After a month, in frustration she had written to her mother her general impressions of the West, small dusty towns, devoid of culture and manners, with no amenities and a hard to define feeling of hostility to authority. Add to all this, the unique oddity of Utah society, basically a one religion state with all social and cultural life centered around the Mormon Church, and sometimes she felt a foreigner in her own land. Sometimes, it was almost more than she could bear.

Then to heap dismay onto disappointment, she did not particularly find her new monument fascinating, breathtaking or even enchanting, at least not in the same way as Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, or the majestic Yosemite. It was mainly just a remote tumbled landscape of black brush, sagebrush, junipers and pinions with flattop mesas, and occasional eroded hills that looked for all the world like a cheap copy of the South Dakota badlands. Yes, it was colorful, reds, whites, pinks and purples, but no green, at least not lush kelly green. It was dry and dusty with few mountain streams and even fewer lakes or ponds, but to its credit, it was one of the truly isolated places left in the forty-eight states. The Sierra Club and wilderness alliances loved it and wanted to keep it that way, but Judith envisioned something else. Something more refined, more polished, more developed. Some paved roads and some park lodges where you could get a good meal and a good bed. Certainly, not like this damn bed she was trying to sleep on tonight. Twisting over to her right side, she felt her lumbar spine groan as it sagged downward, trying to make contact with the hard slab.

Administration had made it clear, without question, the environmentalists were the people with the most political clout, the most money for campaign war chests and were the most politically correct in their view. Her job was to keep them happy. It didn’t take long for her to realize that group wanted the monument to themselves. No multiple uses for them. They didn’t like cowboys and they certainly didn’t want cows defecating all over their hiking trails, and deep down Judith had to admit, she agreed with them.

However, in his proclamation, President Clinton had clearly stated there would continue to be multiple uses for the Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monument. So for now, at least, she was stuck with that principle. That, of course, did not mean that all sides would not be tugging at her shirt, trying to increase their influence.

From her years in the National Park Service, she was well grounded in, and did not need to be converted to, the idea of conservation. That was the whole idea behind the Park Service. Fortunately there, they did not have to contend with the concept of multiple uses. But she was now with the BLM and to make the best of it and to try to appease the warring factions, she had formed this advisory committee. Not that she expected any real wisdom from it, but she knew it looked good and was definitely good PR.

Maybe, it had been a mistake to have Sean O’Grady represent the wilderness alliance. He was such an irritating hothead. It seems redheads always were. But it was more than that, he was also, perhaps, dangerous. Already she had heard the gossip, rumors of environmental terrorism before the monument was created, but perhaps that was just prattle. She had seen no actual evidence of any wrong doing. He had applied for the position of monument paleontologist, and as it turned out, they did need one. The monument was a literal treasure trove of fossils. Having him on the committee would serve a dual purpose. She could keep an eye on his environmental activities and evaluate him for the possible paleontology position.

Then there was Douglas Roper Rehnquist representing the other side. He was a likeable enough guy and seemed to be a well-respected member of the ranching community. Also from the way he spoke and the way he carried himself, he appeared to be quite articulate and probably some college education. Not your typical Utah cowboy and as a bonus, he did play chess! Perhaps the only chess player in all of Kane County, she thought. Though he was a native southern Utahn, he seemed sincere in his belief there had to be room for everyone. It was his belief, there would be an initial and difficult acclimation period, but we all could struggle through it and learn to work and live together. That was probably overly idealistic and more than likely he was just trying to protect his dying kingdom, making sure it was not his ox that was gored, but he seemed sincere. It was truly amazing to Judith, how accommodating people became when they realized they might very well be on the losing team.

Once again, monument manager Judith Brisco pounded her pillow trying to soften it then rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling. It would not be easy, but by God she would make a damn good monument in this god forsaken country.

Closing her eyes, she tried to let her mind wander aimlessly into directionless colorless oblivion. Then the phone rang. Without bothering to turn on the light, she rolled over and picked up the phone.

“Hello,” she mumbled into the receiver.

“Judith, this is your mother.”

“Oh, hi, Mom,” Judith said without enthusiasm.

“Did I wake you?” Alise Brisco asked, her voice as raspy as sandpaper from her years of inhaling tobacco smoke.

“No Mom,” Judith replied. “I can’t sleep in motel beds.

“When you moving into your house?”

“Soon as my furniture arrives. Hopefully later today.”

“Have you seen your new office?” Alise asked.

“Yeah, it’s not much,” Judith said. “They rented the old high school in the center of town and are remodeling it into offices. Someday, hopefully soon, they’re supposed to start on a new visitor center, actually several.”

“Several?”

“Yeah, unlike the National Park Service, the BLM is not going to put visitor centers in the monument itself. Instead, they’re going to put them in border towns. Three are planned, one in Kanab, Big Water and Escalante.”

“That seems like a monumental waste of money,” Alise laughed hoarsely. “Monumental, do you get it?”

“Yes, Mother,” Judith answered crossly.

“What do you think of the town?”

“It’s not much. Tourist town. Maybe fifteen hundred people. No malls, no department stores and no theaters.”

“Do they have an Episcopal Church?”

“No, the closest one is in St. George and that’s eighty miles away,” Judith said, “and that’s just a small congregation. They just have Mormons out here, Mom.”

“I know nothing about Mormons,” Alise said, “except they don’t drink and they’re into polygamy.”

“I don’t think so, at least not the mainstream,” Judith said. “But there is a polygamous community, Colorado City, about forty miles from here.”

“I could never understand that,” Alise insisted, not trying to hide her disgust, “being that subservient.”

“Me neither. It’s barbaric.”

“Do you like your job?” Alise asked. “You sound depressed.”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Judith sighed. “There’s so much to do.”

“Are you afraid you can’t handle it?”

“Of course not, Mother,” Judith declared, a little more stridently than she had planned.

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing and everything,” Judith replied, “it’s complicated. There’s all these special interest groups. I’ve suddenly had to learn the fine art of political juggling.”

“What groups?”

“Well, the two main ones are the cattlemen and the environmentalists. They can’t seem to get along. In the Park Service we never had to deal with the ranchers, there weren’t any.”

“Well, remember the future of this country is with the environmentalists. Ranchers and beef are on their way out.”

“I agree, Mother,” Judith said. “But for now, I’m caught in the middle.”

“Judith,” Alise said, “be firm, decisive and take command. Indecision is always viewed as a sign of weakness, particularly among men.”

“Okay, Mother, okay,” Judith said curtly, silently waving her hands in exasperation.

“I’m just trying to help,” Alise explained.

“Of course, Mother,” Judith said. “When you coming out?”

“I’ll give you a few months to get settled,” Alise replied. “You found a man yet?”

“Oh, really Mother!” Judith raised her voice, but involuntarily looked down at her flat stomach. She still had a good figure. “You of all people asking me that.”

“Well, they’re mostly trouble anyway,” Alise declared. “Have you at least found someone to play chess with?”

“No, not yet—maybe.”

“Have you entered any tournaments yet?”

“Oh really, Mother,” Judith said. “You don’t know Kanab, Utah.”

“Well,” Alise insisted, “you’ll lose your skills, but that’ll give me more of a chance when I do come out.”

“Right now, I don’t have time,” Judith replied curtly. “Got to go. I need to try and get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow, I’ve got one meeting after another.”

After hanging up, Judith closed her eyes. What had she gotten her self into? She had one million seven hundred thousand acres with almost no facilities. No paved roads, very few gravel roads, no campgrounds, no visitor centers, no marked hiking trails, almost no water and no lodges. Then add to that, more bovines than tourists. What the hell was she thinking? Obviously, she had been flattered by being offered the top job and the pay increase was certainly a factor, but wasn’t she a better fit with the National Park Service where they had already developed a system for preservation and visitation?

Roper didn’t sleep well either. Somehow his stomach had transformed into a cauldron of hot bubbly acid, occasionally boiling over and rising up his tender esophagus. He had no one to blame but himself. Famished when he’d arrived home from the BLM meeting, he’d fried up some of Bucky’s sausage. It was surprisingly good, but now he was paying for it. In one way or another, it seems with Bucky you always paid for things twice. Roper was nauseous, gaseous and his throat burned like he’d gulped battery acid. Getting out of bed, he took a couple of Pepcids then climbed back in and once again began tossing and re-tasting the sausage.

In lieu of sleep, his mind began resorting through the day. Roper didn’t quite know what to make of the meeting tonight. On the surface, everyone was cordial enough, except for Monty Coleman and Sean O’Grady, but he had gotten the feeling he was just being tolerated and most of the group would be happier if he weren’t there.

Also, he didn’t quite know what to make of Judith Brisco. Superficially, she seemed to be pleasant enough and efficient, but not overly friendly. Obviously, she did possess leadership skills as illustrated by the way she handled the surly Monty Coleman and the hothead Sean O’Grady. On the surface, at least, she seemed fair.

To her credit, she was a chess player; being a chess player she couldn’t be all bad. At that moment, Roper decided to play her. Probably he’d get slaughtered, but it wouldn’t be the first time. A few years ago he was a fair player, but he hadn’t played very much lately. Not much opportunity. While at Southern Utah University, he’d been a member of the chess club and once he’d even played a Russian Grand Master who was in town to speak at the university and ski at Brian Head. There had been nine of them in a big room, arranged in a large circle and each had brought his own chess board. Circulating from table to table, the Grand Master took only seconds to make a move then quickly moved to the next board. No, Roper hadn’t beaten him, but he had lasted through eleven incredible, though constantly harried moves. Actually, he was he last one standing.

Games notwithstanding, there was no doubt about it, Brisco had a big job ahead of her and Roper for one, was certainly not envious. He wouldn’t trade her jobs for an outright warranty deed to the Fifty. Undoubtedly, she had people coming at her from every direction, politicians, bureaucratic superiors, environmentalists, recreationists, ranchers, miners, hunters, loggers, not to mention the day-to-day problems of managing her own staff. And to top it off, she had a presidential mandate to create a national monument where there was none. No, she could have that job all to herself and in the meantime, not knowing her background or any ulterior motives, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

However, on the other hand, he was pretty sure Sean and Monty were two characters on whom he’d best not turn his back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he thought he might have known Sean from somewhere, another time or place, but the particulars escaped him. With his flaming red hair and cold hazel green eyes, he was a striking, though not a handsome man, one that if you’d met, you’d not likely forget. But try as he might, Roper couldn’t remember. Maybe it was nothing.

Monty Coleman, however, he knew he’d never met, but he knew his kind, cold, calculating, amoral, the ends justify the means. In short, he was dangerous. As the range conservation officer, unfortunately Roper knew he would be dealing with him on a frequent basis. Hopefully, Brisco would soon hire another range con man, freeing Monty for full time law enforcement. That job appeared to be a better fit.

Again, Roper got up, this time sorting through his medicine drawer for some Tums. There were none, so he went to the kitchen and mixed himself a cocktail of cold water and baking soda. Just then the phone rang.

“Doug, is that you?” Ruby asked. She sounded far away and like she’d been crying.

“Are you all right?” Roper asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” Ruby sniffled, sounding congested, “just had a bad night.”

“Do you want me to come over? I can be there in an hour.”

“No, it’s okay, Doug, but it’s nice to talk to someone.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No, it’s just a personal thing. But I’m going to take care of it,” Ruby declared, her voice full of resolve.

“Can I help?”

“You are helping more than you know, just being my friend.”

“Well, if you need anything,” Roper insisted, “just let me know.”

“I appreciate that. Did I wake you?” Ruby asked more brightly, an obvious effort to change the subject.

“Nope, got heartburn. Don’t know if it’s from Bucky’s sausage or the meeting I attended tonight,” Roper laughed, suppressing a burp.

“Didn’t know you had a meeting.”

“Yeah, monument manager Brisco asked me to represent the ranchers on an advisory committee she is setting up.”

“Oh—did the ranchers ask you?”

“Did the ranchers, ask me what?”

“Did they ask you to represent them?”

“Well, no.”

“Well then, don’t take it for granted that you’re representing them,” Ruby said, then quickly added, “I’m sorry, Doug. I’m glad there’s at least one rancher on that committee, but all I’m saying is the other ranchers may not like it.”

“I just hope I can make a difference,” Roper continued, somewhat defensive.

“I hope so too. Anyway, the other reason I called is to see if you were still planning on helping me tomorrow with the brandin’?”

“Yeah, if you’ll help me move cows in the afternoon.”

“Can do. Where do you want to meet?”

“On the Bench at the Cliff Trail,” Roper answered, yawning.

“Thanks, Doug,” Ruby said. “Sorry, about that comment.”

“Forget it,” Roper said, then turned to hang up the phone.

“And Doug,” Ruby added, “sorry about calling so late.”

Roper replaced the phone, gulped down the soda water, then crawled back in bed.

She is right, he thought as he rolled over. No one had elected him spokesman for the ranchers. Brisco had appointed him, probably because someone had recommended him as a person she could work with. But on the other hand, he sure hoped Brisco didn’t think he would be a “yes” man. Whether the other ranchers realized this or not, he was there for only one purpose, to see that they got a fair shake as this monument progressed. If not handled right, this whole thing could blow up in their faces like a match in a grain silo.

Rolling over in the other direction, he pounded his pillow, like tenderizing sirloin steak. Though he could still taste that damn sausage, he was happy about one thing, Ruby had asked him to help her. It wasn’t like he didn’t have enough to do tomorrow, but the thought of spending the day with Ruby made him smile.

Roper rewound their conversation. She did seem upset about something tonight. He was flattered she had turned to him for moral support but in retrospect, she hadn’t told him much. He was the first to admit he didn’t know much about women, but in his meager experience when a woman became that upset it was usually over a man. Other than rumors about Angus Macdonald and possibly Skinner Jacobson, Roper really didn’t know of any men in Ruby’s life. But then again, he really didn’t know much about her, other than he could easily tell she was a competent rancher, an expert horseman, and quite pleasant to look at.

Holding onto that very agreeable picture, he finally dosed off.