Читать книгу Sagebrush Sedition - Warren J. Stucki - Страница 17

Running east to west, the third rung on the staircase, the White Cliffs, form an immense chain of sheer face-rock covering almost a hundred miles across southern Utah. One of nature’s favored rocks to sculpt, it tends to fracture along vertical lines and is often etched into huge domes and sheer perpendicular walls or hollowed into alcoves and arches. The eroding, receding cliff line shows the distinctive wind blown layers, often resembling the huge primordial sand dunes from which they were born.

Undoubtedly one of the most visible formations in the area, the White Cliffs are composed of white to pink, coarse Jurassic sandstone appropriately christened Navajo sandstone. Created during an arid climate one hundred and eighty million years ago, the White Cliffs are three to six hundred foot sand drifts that were swept into the area by violent Jurassic winds and over the eons have slowly solidified.

It was early, 7:30 a.m., when the teams departed the prefab, clay brown office in Escalante, Utah. Immediately splitting into assigned pairs, each squad had a different mission as commissioned by Deputy Manager Ron Sparks. The unlikely team of Douglas Roper Rehnquist and Sean Dunn O’Grady climbed in Sean’s 1990 dusty, dented and rusted Toyota Landrover and headed out of town.

In silence, they drove east on State Road 12 through the tiny Mormon farming community of Henrieville, then onto equally small Cannonville. There, Sean turned due south on the paved Cottonwood Road, driving right on past the right hand fork of the Skutumpah Road. A little further down they passed the road to Kodachrome Basin on the left. At this point the blacktop abruptly ended, but the road continued on, now gravel, still proceeding roughly in a southerly direction.

Dust billowed and swirled from the back of the Landrover and sifted into the cab through Sean’s cracked-open window as well as up from small fractures in the metal floorboard. The ongoing drought coupled with increasing tourist traffic had pulverized roadbed to fine clay powder. Roper rubbed his nose and stifled a sneeze then glanced at Sean, wondering if he dared suggest he close his window. In grim silence, Sean focused on the road.

At Grosvenor Arch, he turned from the main road, angling east on a two track lane, at times hard to see. Roper knew this track eventually led to the top of the seven thousand foot Kaiparowits Plateau. After another ten minutes, they descended down a precarious perpendicular canyon into a cavernous gorge aptly christened, the Gut. In places, the road was no more than a downward slanting rock shelf that had been carved into the solid sandstone wall, barely offering enough room for the Landrover to squeeze by. In lieu of a shoulder on the left, the terrain abruptly dropped straight off for a dizzying two to three hundred feet. Occasionally, when Sean bounced over imbedded gnarly roots or squeezed by table-sized rocks that a remote thunderstorm had washed onto the road, the outside tire would come perilously close to the edge.

Eventually they crossed the dry wash bed marking the nadir of the huge chasm then started up the other side. Fighting dust, hairpin curves and jolting over boulders, washboard, roots and potholes, they lurched up the fifteen percent grade, eventually leveling out on the far wall.

From here, the view was unparalleled. Appearing mostly steel-wool gray in color with splashes of creamy brown sandstone, the Kaiparowits Plateau stretched out far below them, dotted with a smattering of dwarf pinions and junipers. The plateau was upturned at the edges, like the rim of a saucer, with the western border being supported by the strange saw-toothed Cockscomb formation. The eastern border was shouldered up by the massive Straight Cliffs and to the far south Roper could see the blue-green gashes in the tabletop, marking the plateau’s deepening network of drainage canyons. Wahweap Creek, Warm Creek, Last Chance Creek, Reese’s Canyon, Navajo Canyon, Rodgers Canyon, Monday Canyon, Sunday Canyon all emptied south into Lake Powell. Glancing through the window to the north, he could make out the long slender snaking arm of Headquarters Valley. Even though the trip here had been a bit like a roller coaster ride, Roper had to admit the view made the trip worth it.

The agenda for the day, as the ever genial Deputy Monument Manager Sparks had earlier briefed, was to drive to the top the Kaiparowits Plateau and see what was happening with the various coal leases. In principal at least, Andalex and PacifiCorp had agreed to sell their leases back to the U.S. government, removing all their mining equipment, but not so with Highland Mining & Mineral. Andalex and PacifiCorp leases were located on the southern rim of the plateau, close to the Burning Hills, whereas Highland’s lease was right here on top, almost the geographic center of the huge plateau, in the Paradise Canyon area.

Apparently, Angus Macdonald, sole owner of Highland, had agreed to absolutely nothing and had in fact been recalcitrant and difficult to find. There had been no negotiations with him and none had been scheduled. Rumor had it he had been camping out somewhere on the Kaiparowits, probably near his lease, but no one from the BLM had been able to talk to him since that pivotal day, September eighteenth, the day the monument was created. Scuttlebutt had it however, that he was furious and did not want to talk or negotiate.

Sparky had instructed Sean and Roper to scout out the Plateau, particularly the Paradise Canyon area to make sure there had been no recent digging, and if they could find Macdonald, try to arrange a day for him to meet with Manager Brisco. After that, if there still was time, they were to inspect any ranching operations in the area. Specifically, check on the number of cows presently grazing and if the number was appropriate for the present poor range condition. With the drought, Sparky had needlessly reminded them, the land would not support nearly as many cows. Sean had snorted at this and Roper silently suspected one was probably too many for him.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Roper glanced over at Sean. His freckled jaw was set and his green eyes focused straight ahead. To Roper, the complete lack of conversation was beginning to feel more than just a little strained.

“You ever hike up there to Grosvenor’s Arch?” he finally asked.

“Of course,” Sean replied curtly.

“Me too,” Roper volunteered then waited, but there was no response from Sean. “Kinda makes you realize the monument is probably necessary—” More silence. “—to preserve God’s handiwork,” Roper’s voice trailed off. He felt a bit foolish, like an old man with senile dementia talking to himself.

“God had nothing to do with it,” Sean suddenly barked, startling Roper. He’d almost forgot he’d said anything.

“Well, all I’m saying—”

“—so anything beautiful is from God, anything ugly or repulsive is from Satan. Pretty naive stuff isn’t it?” Sean hissed, still not looking at Roper.

“I was just trying to make conversat—”

“—Grosvenor’s arch was created by the very natural forces of nature, wind, water and frost. You don’t have to throw God into the mix. That’s just another layer that’s not needed.”

“If you find a Rolex in the desert, you instinctively think it was made—”

“—don’t give me that tired old watchmaker’s crap. I don’t see any machined parts lying around Grosvenor’s,” Sean declared as they bounced through another pothole, banging both their heads on the roof. “Do you?”

“Well no, not in that sense, but certainly the human body is pretty intricate. So complex, it makes you think there has to be a creator.”

“Yeah, he created man in his own image, I remember. Yet, man eats, drinks, defecates, urinates and copulates like any other mammal. Maybe, your precious damn cows were also created in God’s image.”

“Maybe not the exact image,” Roper said, “but if you’ve got a template that works—”

“—with a sledgehammer anyone can pound a square peg through a round hole.”

“Well then, what do you believe?” Roper asked, immediately thinking he should have shut up. “I’m sure you’ve got a theory.”

“Damn right, I do,” Sean confirmed. “I believe Darwin got it right on the first try. The reason we eat drink and copulate like animals is because we are animals. I know that idea drives you creationists crazy. You prefer to distance yourselves from the animals, but if you take into consideration the track record of the human race, I’m sure the animals would like to distance themselves from us. However, despite their objections, we did descend from primates.”

“That’s is your opin—”

“—I’m not finished yet,” Sean interrupted. “Eventually man developed the capacity for abstract thinking. With this newly acquired skill, he became capable of contemplating his own demise. Of course, this scared the hell out of him, so out of necessity he invented an antidote, something powerful enough to grant him eternal life. With a task this big, he needed a super power, a supreme being, so he created God. But eternal life is still a pretty big favor to ask of anyone, including God, so man developed an elaborate system to court God’s favor. Hence, worship, religion and sacrifice were born. Now that’s your real creation.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Roper said, “you’re certainly entitled to your opinion.”

“And regardless of the absurdity, you are also entitled to yours,” Sean snarled as he braked down for a curve.

Again, they rode in chilly silence. The road, resembling an obstacle course, darted up and down numerous dry washes and around countless S-curves, but in spite of the occasional assent, the trend was ever downward. Navigating off the steep bulwark of the Gut required all of Sean’s attention. Finally, the road leveled off a bit as they crossed the almost barren stretch of Four Mile Bench and approached the pygmy forest of Dog Flat. Without comment, Sean abruptly turned south off the more well-traveled road onto a barely visible two-tire track.

“This is not the road to Paradise Canyon,” Roper observed.

No answer.

“Paradise Canyon is the other—”

“—I know damn well,” Sean blurted out, “where Paradise Canyon is.”

“Then, may I ask, where we are going?”

“I just want to check on the Ruby Flat dig.” Sean forced out the words, as if it took a great effort. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“An archeological dig?”

“Paleontology.”

“Looking for what?”

“Dinosaurs.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in that,” Roper said, arching an eyebrow.

“Got my bachelor’s degree in paleontology,” Sean answered, warming slightly. “At the time, there were no jobs. So I’ve never really worked in the field.”

“I know what you mean, my degree’s in English history and literature,” Roper said, then added with obvious enthusiasm, “but I do love paleontology. I do a lot of reading.”

“Periodically, I do some volunteer work,” Sean continued. “With this new monument, I was hoping they might hire me as their paleontologist.”

“Maybe they will,” Roper said, bracing for an upcoming bump. “I didn’t know there was a dig here on the Kaiparowits.”

“There’s several. This one was started a year or so ago by the University of Utah, before there was a monument, but now it’s under the direction of the BLM. So far, it’s been poorly funded and staffed, all from the university with almost no help from the BLM,” Sean said. “Compared to its potential, not much is being done.”

“Morrison formation?” Roper asked. “Like Vernal’s Dinosaur National Monument?”

“Nah,” Sean shook his head. “The whole Kaiparowits is Cretaceous. We’re talking about the Straight Cliffs formation, seventy to ninety million years ago. Same formation that has all the coal.”

“Then we’re not talking Jurassic dinosaurs,” Roper said. “Like Tyrannosaurus Rex or Stegosaurus?”

“No, but we’re seeing their eventual successors, right before the dinosaurs disappeared,” Sean explained, “not nearly as much is known about Cretaceous dinosaurs.”

“So what species are we talking about?”

“The better known ones are the Parasaurolophus, the tubed duckbill dinosaur, and Theropods like Dasplotasaurus. He’s a direct descendant of T-Rex.”

“Have they found any of them here?” Roper asked, his eyes shining with fascination.

“We hope to,” Sean replied. “They’ve been found in similar formations in Alberta, Canada and in New Mexico.”

“Bet they would be almost priceless,” Roper said, shaking his head in amazement.

“Don’t know if it’s true,” Sean continued, “but I’ve heard of an intact Parasaurolophus bringing eight to nine hundred thousand dollars on the black market.”

“Black market?” Roper asked, surprised. “I didn’t know there was a black market for fossils.”

“Actually,” Sean said, slowing the Landrover to a stop, “there’s a very active black market, mainly overseas, Europe or Japan. Wealthy private collectors or even some reputable museums buy fossils and are careful not to ask many questions.”

“Surely, there’s none of that going on here.”

“On the contrary,” Sean replied, opening his door. “In fact the BLM has a ten thousand dollar reward for information leading to the capture of any fossil thieves.”

“It’s that common?”

“Yeah, we’ve found a number of abandoned digs. Of course, we don’t know for sure what they took, but sometimes we can get a good idea by what they left.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sloppy excavation. Small bones overlooked and left behind. Sometimes we can extrapolate which fossil must have been removed.”

“I’d think the monument would put a stop to that,” Roper observed as he climbed out of the Landrover and joined Sean.

“Believe you me, they would like to,” Sean replied. “There’s just not enough personnel to patrol an area this big.”

Turning, Sean started hiking down a fairly well worn footpath. “We have to walk from here. It’s only about a quarter mile.”

With Sean leading, they trudged along a serpentine trail that meandered over a thin layer of fine red soil, probably coming from the erosion of the Pink Cliffs. Though this layer was only two to three inches thick, it was unusual because it contrasted sharply with the surrounding rocks, an almond colored sandstone. This strata, however, was crimson red and was undoubtedly the reason this area was called Ruby Flats.

After about fifteen minutes of brisk hiking they arrived at the dig located on the east bank of a ten-foot deep arroyo. Through the years, sporadic floods had eroded away the Ruby colored sand and through the dishwater-white shale, leaving a gray flank of exposed Straight Cliffs formation. The entire site had been cordoned off into a half dozen roughly equal rectangles, each area tagged with a different colored flag.

Presently, there were three workers, two males and one female, all crowded into the very most easterly rectangle next to the crumbling bank. Oblivious to the approaching visitors, they were intently dusting, scratching, brushing and gently picking away at the overlying blanket of dirt and debris. The entire crew was from the University of Utah’s paleontology department, his alma mater, Sean informed Roper as they approached, and he personally was acquainted with the team’s leader, Professor Leonard Albright.

Dressed in khaki cargo pants and a denim shirt, the goateed Doctor Albright looked up and smiled when he saw Sean approaching.

“Ready to go to work?” he asked, standing up and offering a hand.

“Wish I could, Lanny,” Sean responded, enthusiastically shaking the offered hand, “but the monument manager Brisco has got me tied up today.”

“We surely could use a hand,” Albright said, stroking his salt and pepper beard. “As usual, we’re very short handed.”

“Hi, I’m Doug Rehnquist.” Roper stepped forward, deciding Sean wasn’t going to introduce him.

“You Sean’s assistant?” the professor asked, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You got that right,” Roper grinned back. “You must have a fair idea how much Sean likes cowboys.”

“About as much as miners I suspect.” Albright grinned.

“What you working on?” Sean asked, motioning toward the partially unearthed fossil.

“Not sure yet,” Professor Albright said, removing his red Utah Ute’s football cap and running his fingers through thick gray hair. “Think it’s some kind of a Theropod, probably of the family Dromaeosaurus. In some ways, quite similar to the other Dasplotasaurus we’ve found, but this skull has protective plating. It’s a bit smaller in size and has four toes.”

“Sounds more like Velociraptor. They’re Cretaceous,” Sean suggested, “but perhaps a bit later than this dig.”

“I thought raptors were Jurassic,” Roper interrupted.

“Only in the movies,” Sean snickered. “Only in Jurassic Park.”

“You’re right,” Albright continued the original train of thought, “this is a bit like Velociraptor, only no S-curve to the spine and again there’s that darn skull.”

“So what do you think?” Sean asked.

“I’d rather not say,” the Professor replied.

“Come on,” Sean insisted. “You’ve aroused my curiosity, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Well,” the Professor said, eyes shining with excitement, “I don’t know for sure and it’s certainly not official yet, but we may have discovered an entirely new species!”

“Wow—congratulations, Lanny,” Sean exclaimed. “Lanosaurus does have a certain ring.”

“Let’s not start celebrating yet,” Albright said. “There’s a lot of hard work left and as I said, this is all preliminary.”

“Mind if we take a closer look?” Roper asked, straining to get a look at the site.

“Not at all,” Professor Albright replied. “Come on over and I’ll show you our little baby.”

For the next twenty minutes, Lanny Albright guided them around the periphery of his prized fossil, pointing out details, much of it too technical for Roper. Superficially, it didn’t look like much more than a slab of chiseled rock, but Lanny was obviously ecstatic. According to the professor, it was an adult male, approximately eight to nine feet tall, with a disparate three digits on the arms and four on the toes, curveless cervical vertebra and a thick bony armor plate on top of a ten inch long skull. Though not directly involved, Roper couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement. Lanny’s enthusiasm was infectious. Even as a rancher, he could understand why this kind of work could be appealing, even exhilarating.

“Well,” Sean said at last, using his hand as a visor and eyeing the sun, “we’d better get going if we’re going to check on those coal leases.”

“Glad you dropped by,” Albright said warmly. “And if you do get some free time—”

“—I’m pretty tied up for a month or so,” Sean replied, “but after that.”

“Don’t forget come November we close the dig down for the winter.”

“You going to be able to get this thing out of here by then?” Roper asked, as he climbed back over the rope of the cordoned area.

“Nah, not this year.” The professor shook his graying head. “We want to remove it intact. That takes time.”

“Well if not this year, you count on me for sure in the spring,” Sean said, also retreating from the rectangle.

“If you don’t think I’d be in the way,” Roper offered. “I wouldn’t mind giving you a hand come spring. I usually have a little down time after I get my cows moved to the summer pasture.”

“You’d be welcome any time.” Lanny Albright smiled, but Roper noted Sean’s dark frown.

After expressing their appreciation to Professor Albright and his crew, Sean and Roper, hiked the fifteen minutes back to the Landrover. In silence, they climbed back in the SUV and after another ten minutes, they were back on to the main road, again heading toward Paradise Canyon.

“Thanks” Roper said, “I had no idea. That was really interesting.”

Ignoring him, Sean didn’t answer, focusing on the road.

Moody, Roper thought, then settled back and gazed out the side window at the slowly passing pygmy forest.

“Why you here, anyway?” Sean asked after a few minutes.

“What?” Roper had been watching the landscape and imagining what it look like when it had been populated with Cretaceous dinosaurs.

“Why you here, token cowboy?”

“That’s the second time in two days,” Roper replied, an edge to his voice, “that I’ve been called that.” He gritted his teeth and looked down at his boots for a moment. “I guess I’m here ‘cause I love this country and want what’s best for it.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” Sean said sarcastically.

“Why the burr up your saddle?”

Sean thought for a moment then said. “You cowboys don’t care for nothing but the bottom line. If you rape and pillage the land, that’s okay ‘cause your grandfather did it, it’s your heritage, your sacred tradition. Dammit, from my point-of-view, the whole purpose of this monument is to get guys like you off this land.”

“Surely, there’s room enough for everyone,” Roper said. “The concept of multiple use will work. Anyway, most government and independent studies show the range is in better shape now than it was fifty years ago.”

“That’s not saying much. That was the dust bowl era,” Sean replied.

“Let’s agree to disagree,” Roper insisted, “and change the subject.”

Sean was quiet for a few moments then asked tersely, “how much farther to Macdonald’s leases?

“We’re almost there, I think.”

“Thank God,” Sean growled, as he bounced the Landrover around another sharp turn.