The Nutcracker, Hot Wheels, and the Giant Snowball

Several Christmases ago, when Will was about seven and Clay was about three, Francie announced that, “Everyone should see a live performance of The Nutcracker at least once.”  I had my doubts, but I am no Scrooge, so I put on my best ugly Christmas sweater and said, “Let’s go!”

Francie’s response was, “You’re not going to wear that are you?”  Now I’ve been married long enough to know that even though this sounds like a question, it’s not a question.  So I went back, put on a shirt and tie, and we were off to experience a Christmas tradition.  We were also about to prove the old adage that goes something like, “You can dress him up, but you can’t take him out in public.”

We stopped by to pick up Will’s buddy Andrew because Will and Andrew went everywhere together and I guess we needed to broaden his cultural horizons too.  Soon we found our seats near the orchestra pit and the show was about to begin,

It was a slow start.  Will and Andrew had already pulled out the Hot Wheels cars and were busy racing them all over the seat backs of the row in front of us.  Of course, both of them were making that “motor noise” that all little boys are just born knowing how to make.  This brought disapproving looks from some of the ballet patrons in our immediate area.  Apparently motor noises are frowned upon at the ballet.  Francie was busy trying to keep the boys quite, and I was struggling to stay awake.  Then came the famous Snow Scene.

The dancers were out on the stage, and several guys were up in the rafters shaking boxes of fake snow. However, there must have been a warm front over the middle of the stage because it was not snowing there.  There was some sort of problem upstairs; nothing was coming out of one guy’s fake snow box.  He kept reaching inside trying to release the blockage, but no luck.  Until finally, it all came out at once.  A giant ball of fake snow the size of a beach ball was heading straight for the Sugar Plum Fairy.  At the last minute, she executed a prefect pirouette and the giant snowball crashed harmlessly on the stage behind her.

This amused me. I started giggling, just a little snort at first, which brought a disapproving look from the lady in front of me.  Apparently giggling is frowned upon at the ballet.  I was now fighting a losing battle.  I was that kid in church--the one who is trying to suppress a laugh—and can’t.  And just like that kid, you know somebody's about to get in trouble.  I almost made it, I was so close, except just at that moment I heard Clayton’s little three-year-old voice say, “Wow!  Do it again!”

Apparently belly laughs are frowned upon at the ballet.  Most of the people our section, (and a few others,) were looking at me like I forgot to take a bath.  Clayton and I were the only ones laughing, and we were really enjoying ourselves.  Will and Andrew stopped making motor noises long enough to ask what was so funny, and Francie was trying to disappear into her seat.  Later she referred to me having "the mentality of a three-year old,” but I prefer to think we were just the only ones who actually saw the whole thing.

At this point I'm thinking, "Hey, full contact ballet!  This might not be so bad after all."  In addition to the fake snow bombs falling from the rafters, we could have a little audience participation and pass out fake snowballs that we could chunk at each other.  Sort of a cross between The Nutcracker and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

But unfortunately, this turned out to be the high point in the evening, there were no more "meteorological malfunctions" and there was no audience participation.  My earlier enthusiasm began to wane, and my memory of the rest of the performance is a little fuzzy.  I do remember Francie landing several strategically placed elbows into my rib cage in a losing effort to keep me awake, but after that it's safe to say that I settled down for a long winter's nap while visions of beach-ball-sized sugar plums danced in my head.

When I finally awoke (in what seemed like about 12 hours later), the lights were on and people were filing past us. Many with that same look on their faces.  Apparently napping is also frowned upon at the ballet.  Clayton was curled up in my lap asleep, Will and Andrew were still making motor noises, and Francie was hiding under her seat.

We gathered everything up and headed to the Lobby, where I reached for my car keys and was headed out the door when Francie said. "Where do you think you are going?" (This also sounds like a question, but there is no correct answer).

"Home?"  I said hopefully.

"It's Intermission."

I must have had a dumb look on my face because she followed up with, "You know; halftime."  She likes to keep the conversation on a level that I can understand.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.  Now fully awake, I responded, "Do you really want to sit through another 12 hours of my snoring and the boy's motor noises competing with the orchestra?"  Say what you want about me, but I had a really good point.

She replied with a long drawn out, "Nooo."  She wanted to be mad at me, but the corners of her mouth were already turning up.

"Me neither!  Come on, let's go get ice cream!"  It may be Christmas, but in Austin, Texas it was still 72 degrees outside.

I am married to a patient woman, a saint really, so when she broke out into a full smile,  I knew that I would be forgiven eventually.  Although I do think this was one of the Christmases that I got coal in my stocking.



MERRY CHRISTMAS!  May your Christmas be filled with long naps and lots of belly laughs, no matter who disapproves.

Cross-Fit-To-Be-Tied

For the past several months, there has been a Cross-Fit Gym next to our photo studio.  Now I confess, I don't know much about the Cross-Fit craze, but as near as I can tell, it involves toting spare tractor parts around the parking lot while the coach stands off to one side and yells at you. 

They would be going through their workouts while I was moving out equipment in preparation for our retirement.  Since there was no place else for me to go, I would walk right through the middle of them.  I was carrying studio photographic equipment, while they were carrying what appeared to be a John Deere transmission.  After a few days of this, I decided to have a little fun.  I started to say things like. "How much are you paying to haul that?"  Or, "You can move this for me, and I promise not to yell at you."  

Francie even asked one guy, "Don't you think it'd be easier if you'd just roll that big ol' tire?"

Man, sweaty people just have no sense of humor!

One Last Bit of Fatherly Advice

When my Father-in Law's health started to fail, Francie and I moved to Tyler to help with the family photography business.  Jim passed away not long after that.  That was thirteen years ago.  One-third of the thirty-nine years that Batten Photography has been in business.

As many of you know, this Saturday, we will close the doors for the last time.  This is our choice, we are retiring.  It is time to move on to other things.  We are happy, and excited to be starting a new adventure.  But closing a business that has been in the family for thirty-nine years can be an emotional experience.

 

In our studio, there is a large electronic piece of equipment that Jim installed many years ago.  It hangs from the ceiling, and supports 15-ft long aluminum poles that move photographic backgrounds up and down. For thirteen years I have hated this thing.  It works perfectly in every way except when it comes time to change out backgrounds.  This has become the one chore that I despise more than any other.  One end of the pole has to be removed, and still supported while you remove the other end.  And I for one, find it impossible to hold both ends of a 15-foot long pole over my head at the same time.  I always had to get someone to help.  

 

I often complained about this, and Francie would say, "Daddy always did this by himself." And I would respond, "I wish he'd show me how, because I'm not strong enough or smart enough to do it alone."

Yesterday, I was dismantling this piece of equipment.  It has been sold to another photographer, a long-time friend of Jim's.  As I removed the last piece, I noticed something that had been almost impossible to see until that moment. Two coat hangers, bent into loops, were suspended from the ceiling near each end of the support poles.  My first thought was "Why would Jim do this?"  Followed immediately by "NOW HE TELLS ME!"  

Jim, I heard you laughing all day long!  

The Top of Texas

“Prayer doesn’t change God, it changes me.”

-- C. S. Lewis

High on the shoulder of Guadalupe Peak, the west Texas landscape stretches out like a dusty, rumpled quilt.  El Capitan, the dominant landmark from below, is almost unrecognizable from above, its cliffs forming a dramatic--and sudden--drop to the ridge I am climbing.  The summit is in sight beneath a cloudless blue sky; and for the first time, I know that we are going to reach it.  I feel the slightest breeze on my face.  My doubts and frustrations are gone.  My mind is calm, and I am at peace.  Mountains have a way of putting things in perspective.  As John Muir said, “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.”

I could stay here forever; but I hear the siren call of the summit, and my two sons; Will 21, and Clay 17, are almost there.  I push on slowly, for even though my heart still feels like it is 21; my knees and lungs know better. 

It is hard to imagine now, but this moment almost never happened.  Much more than a long, tough climb and creaky joints threatened it.  Just twenty-four hours ago, this climb was in danger of never starting because I had allowed life’s little dramas to build up to the boiling point.  Why is it always the little things?

                                            ------------------------

This was the second of what I hoped was becoming an annual “Guys Fall Break Trip,” a chance for us to escape into the wilderness for a few days, and reconnect with the outdoors and each other.  We drove from east Texas, arrived at the Pine Springs Campground in Guadalupe Mountains National Park, and managed to set up the tent while fighting the legendary Guadalupe Mountain winds.  About this time, things took a turn for the worse.  First, there was a misunderstanding with our neighbors.  I have found that the people I meet on the trail and in campgrounds are usually among the most friendly and easy-going people anywhere--but not this group.  Then, we discovered that the car was dead, and would not start even after jumping the battery for nearly an hour.  So with limited options, we made dinner in near hurricane conditions, and went to bed.

Frustration, anger, and doubts kept churning inside of me, and sleep was not possible: 

How am I going to start the car?  How much is it going to cost to tow it from out here in the middle of nowhere?  I still cannot believe those people in the next campsite.  There is no way we can climb the peak tomorrow!  Somehow, I have to fix the car.  Who knows how long it will take?  We have driven across the entire state of Texas just to spend two days and a small fortune in some garage!  Then we get to turn around and go home.  This trip is ruined; the boys will never want to do this again.  How many more chances do we have?

I had turned a little bad luck into a series of insurmountable problems, and I had let the negativity of others rub off on me.  I needed to get a grip.  I tried to pray, but I could not.  It is hard to ask for forgiveness when you do not want to forgive someone else.  I was focused on the negative.  I needed to focus on the positive.

By now, both boys were sound asleep; they don’t seem to be worried about it.  This was not affecting them as much as me.  I could learn from their example.  At least the car made it here and we aren’t stuck in a cheap motel in some tiny town.  The new tent is doing great in all this wind.  Hey!  The wind has died down.  We really don’t need a car for a few days.  We could walk to the trailhead, we are close enough, no need to drive…

“Lord, help me to forgive.  Forgive me for blowing things out of proportion.  Help me to focus on the positive.  I want so much for this to be a special time with the boys, one they will remember for the right reasons, and one they will want to continue.  That will never happen if I do not change my attitude.  This trip is in danger, but not from car trouble, or other people, but from me, and my attitude.  Help me to change that.  Amen.”

I awoke the next morning to an orange glow surrounding the tent.  I opened the tent flap to one of the most memorable sunrises of my life.  The Guadalupe Mountains rise abruptly out of the desert, and the Pine Springs Campground is perched about a mile up on the escarpment providing a nearly 180-degree panorama of the eastern horizon.  That horizon was now on fire; and soon a red-orange ball appeared suspended above the brightest part of the flames.  Even the boys; not early risers, agreed that it was worth waking up for.  After breakfast, we saw that our friends from last night had finished packing and were leaving.  Clay asked what we were going to do about the car.  “It’s Sunday.”  I replied, “We couldn’t get anybody to work on it, even if we wanted to.  We’re going hiking.”

                                            ----------------------

Climbing the remaining few yards to the summit, I join the boys who are already stretched out on the rocks in the sunshine.  The forests and mountains of southern New Mexico lay to the north.  White sand nestles against the base of the cliffs to the west, while miles and miles of Texas stretch as far as I can see to the east.  And aiming due south, like the prow of a gigantic ship, El Capitan rises out of the desert floor; the foothills appearing as so many waves on the ocean.  If this is a ship, then we are in the crow’s nest.

As we linger on the Top of Texas on this spectacular October day, a faint sound breaks the stillness.  Far away at first, it quickly builds in volume and intensity.  It is a familiar sound, but somehow different and I cannot place it.  The din echoes off the rocks, as if a large group of animals is heading our way.  That is impossible; we can see anything approaching for miles.  As the racket becomes almost deafening, Will shouts, “Look up!”  And there, silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky is the familiar “V” pattern of a flock of Canadian Geese headed south for the winter.  They are so close that it feels like we are a part of the formation.  A vivid reminder that there will not be many more days like this before the howling winter winds set in.

All too soon, it is time to leave, and Clay shoulders his pack for the trek down the mountain.  He has had it since his first hiking trip when he was much younger.  It is small and well worn.  He looks it over and says, “Ya know Dad, I think I need to get a new pack before our next trip.” 

12 Best Baseball Photos of 2012

It seems like we traveled all over the country this year watching High School baseball.  And during that time I took over 7,500 baseball images; specifically of the Tyler Lee Red Raider JV team, and the East Texas Patriots 16U team.  Of those 7,500 photos, these are my 12 favorite baseball shots of 2012.  I hope you enjoy them. Spring baseball starts in about a month.  See you there!

Peyton Conser delivers a pitch for the Patriots at Grayson Community College

The Patriots' Sam Scarborough smashes a line drive at Craig Ranch

Ryan Reandon homers for the Red Raiders against the Longview Lobos at Faulkner Park

 

 

Colton Carter goes back to make the catch in deep left field at Grayson Community College

C. J. Hodges takes third on a passed ball against T. K. Gorman in the Chapel Hill Tournament

Mason Mallard slides into third with a triple in Oklahoma City

Ben Romines takes a pitch just off the outside corner against Mesquite Horn

Blake Adams is tagged out at the plate trying to score on a passed ball in Brenham, Tx

C. J. Hodges turns on an inside pitch against the Longview Lobos at Faulkner Park

Peyton Conser tags a runner at the plate during the WWBA 16U National Championships in Atlanta, Ga

 

Patriot center-fielder Mason Mallard makes a diving catch in Oklahoma City

 
 

William Rittenberry fires a fastball during the WWBA 16U National Championships in Atlanta, Ga

Technical Info:  All images captured with a Canon 5D or 5D Mark II with 100-400 f/4.5-5.6 L USM lens.  Action photos were usually shot at 400 mm, at ISO 400, wide open, with shutter speeds between 1/1000 and 1/3200 sec.  All photos were processed in Adobe Lightroom 3.

Big Bend February 2012

My son Will and I went to Big Bend last weekend for our annual President's Day Weekend pilgrimage.  The main purpose of this trip was to meet up with several old friends, relax in the park, eat good food, and do a few day hikes.  No serious outings were planned.  Despite some "weather related equipment issues", the trip was a great success.  And as we soon found out, the weather would be the star of this show.

We drove all day Wednesday the 15th and set up camp in the Group Camping Area in the Basin.  I left the backpacking tent at home, and instead brought my "Wal-Mart Special" tent, which has the one advantage of being ”roomy”.  Besides, "I've never had any problems with it in the desert."  Not one of my smarter moves.

While we were setting up camp, a Ranger came by to give us an update on the recent Mountain Lion activity.  They had captured one on the Lost Mine Trail (which was still closed) and they were still tracking two in the lower Basin along the Window Trail, (also closed).

THURSDAY FEBRUARY 16

A cloudy and cool morning rapidly gave way to a warm and sunny afternoon.  We chose to hike the Hot Springs Canyon Trail from the Springs to Rio Grande Village and back.  Before we even reached the springs, we saw these tracks in the sand. (Mountain Lion?  Coyote? Hard to tell in the sand.)  They were about 3" in diameter (no doubt the loose sand made them appear larger than they were).  Whatever it was, the tracks heading straight into the river and disappeared.  

Although I had canoed this stretch of the river, I had never been on this trail before.  I was impressed with the views of the river, the Sierra Del Carmen, and the Chisos.  And of course the added bonus of finishing up in the Hot Springs makes this a worthy day hike in my book.

We were back at camp that afternoon, preparing dinner, when a thunderstorm hit us by surprise.  It didn't last long, and when it was over, a rainbow appeared in the Basin, between us and Pulliam Ridge.   

Apparently the pot of gold is located somewhere in the Basin!  (But I already knew that!)

Before we could get dinner finished, round two of thunderstorms rolled through, this time with some rather impressive lightening displays.  Thunder echoing in the Basin is a very awesome thing, and something that I had never experienced.  Once again, this was a short-lived storm, and we continued with dinner.  Someone in our group commented that we now seen every kind of weather that Big Bend could throw at us.  To which I said, "No, we haven't seen hail yet." I should learn to keep my mouth shut...

This is what a hail storm looks like coming through the window...

We had pea-sized hail, that once again passed quickly, and we finally got to eat.  Later that night snug in our "Wal-Mart Special", I counted six more short thunderstorms that seemed to roll through about every 30 minutes or so.  Things were going well until about wave number 5 when the "Wal-Mart Special" began to leak, just a little...at first.

FRIDAY FEBRUARY 17

Despite the leaks, we were "mostly dry" when we woke up Friday morning.  And once again I opened my big mouth and said something like: "It rained more last night than in all the 20 combined years I've been coming  out here.  Surely that's all the rain we will get."  I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.

There was a high overcast when we first got up, but soon after sunrise, a dense fog blanket started rolling through the Window from the desert below, and it kept coming, and coming, and coming.

Soon the Basin and High Chisos were socked in, and we headed to the west side of the Park for a few more day hikes.  First stop was Cattail Falls, which was still just a trickle, despite the rains.

No trip to Cattail is complete without a stop at the “Tie-down Tree”.

We then headed to Burro Mesa Pour-off (bone dry) and then over to Burro Springs, another trail that I had never been on.  Since I have never seen it before, I have nothing to compare it to, but the tinaja was full, and there was a trickle of water in the stream bed, for a ways downstream. 

We returned to camp to find mostly clear skies, but soon the wind picked up and the temperature began to drop.  It was about 10:30 when the rain and lightening hit.  This time a steady rain that lasted almost until daybreak.  At this point, I wouldn’t say that the tent was leaking, I would say that it was raining inside the tent.  We slept in rain gear, and some how managed to stay just dry enough not to freeze. 

SATURDAY FEBRUARY 18

We awoke to find snow all over the High Chisos.  While there was some sleet and ice around the campground, for the most part, we were just below the freezing line.  We discussed packing things up a day early, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.   

So after a little breakfast, we managed to find enough semi-dry clothes, and headed up the recently reopened Lost Mine Trail.  Hiking in snow in the High Chisos was such a rare treat.  After the first few hundred yards, we made the first tracks, all the way to the top.   

The snow continued to get deeper as well climbed with accumulations of 2 or 3 inches near the top.   

The top was windy and still quite cold, but it was such a different view than I have ever seen before.   

We were back down by lunchtime, and we drove to Rio Grande Village, and it's 80 degree sunshine for showers, and to throw our clothes and sleeping bags in the dryer.  Finally dried out, we spent a much more comfortable night in the Basin, before heading back home the following morning.

By the way, if anyone is interested, I have a tent for sale...cheap!

A Father's Promise

Prologue

June, 1968

Chisos Basin

The late afternoon sun was setting through the Window as we arrived at our cottage in the Basin.  It had been a long drive.  Bouncing with pent up energy, and ignoring nature’s spectacular light show, my first words were, “I want to climb that!”  I was six years old, and I was pointing at the summit of Casa Grande.

The iconic symbol of Big Bend, this mountain dominates the Basin with towering vertical cliffs that appear unclimbable.  I begged Dad to let me try.  He wisely suggested other, more attainable goals.  We hiked Lost Mine Trail, rode horses to the Window, saw Boquillas, and scrambled into Santa Elena Canyon--all memories that I cherish.  But as we were leaving, I asked again, “What about that big flat-topped mountain?”

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “We’ll be back, and you will climb Casa Grande.”

But fate had a different plan. That early trip was the first of many outdoor adventures from the Rockies to the Blue Ridge, but my father passed away without ever returning to Big Bend.  That big flat-topped mountain remained unclimbed.

February 11, 2010

Late afternoon

South of Marathon

Approaching Persimmon Gap, the mountains have prepared their greeting.  To the east lies a steel-grey cloud mass--a "blue norther"--that is dumping record snow fall across much of north and west Texas.  To the west, accompanied by blue skies and fluffy white clouds, the sun is setting over the Santiago Range.

On this day, we have driven through that blizzard and have emerged safely on the other side.  In a matter of minutes, the temperature has risen twenty degrees.  Our mood changes with the weather, expectations rise.  Winter has turned to spring.

There is no chance of making the Basin before nightfall.  No longer rushed, we are free to soak it all in.  The air is clear, the colors crisp and sharp.  Blue and grey, black and white above mountains set aflame by the setting sun.

Clayton sees it first.  A rainbow, God’s symbol of promise, suspended atop a lone mountain.  On a day like this, it is easy to see why.  This promises to be a very special trip.

February 12, 2010

Casa Grande

High on the slopes of Casa Grande, ice still clings to the shady side of the cliffs.  It has been over forty years since I first saw this mountain with my father.  I am now perched on its flanks with my two sons: Will, eighteen, who carries his grandfather's name; and Clayton, fourteen, who is making his first trip to Big Bend.  In spite of the ice, we are warm from the exertion of climbing, and the cool breezes are a welcome relief.

The walls of Casa Grande rise as an impenetrable fortress, yet on this northeast face there is a breech.  Fractures in the cliff provide access to the summit.  Unfortunately, this approach is guarded by talus slopes, the unstable rock piles that seem to grow under mountain peaks.  From below it may look easy, but Clayton now understands why climbers hate talus--step, slide, step, slide--one step forward, two steps back.  We press on however, and soon reach the saddle at the top of the slope.

At this pass, the secret of Casa Grande is revealed.  What appear as solid cliffs from below are actually granite fins that surround a grassy bowl and shelter a remnant forest of Ponderosa Pine.  From here, it is a relatively easy stroll to the top.  We catch our breath, and marvel at the lush grass.  The boys do not need much rest, so they leap ahead.  The race to the summit is on!  I hustle to catch up, but they are young and strong.  Near the top, they pause, allowing me to join them, and together, the three of us take the last few steps to the summit. 

Under crystal blue skies, the view stretches into Mexico.  Two-thousand feet below us, our tent is a tiny dot. To the west, Burro Mesa is surrounded by the desert.  To the east, volcanic crags keep watch over Juniper Canyon.  And to the south, waves of rumpled mountains roll to Emory Peak and beyond.  This is a day we will remember for the rest of our lives.  My father’s promise has been fulfilled. 

Far to the north, over Green Gulch, a falcon soars on the wind, his feathers flashing in the sun. He glides toward us, cruising directly overhead.  My thoughts drift back to my Dad; this is not the end, but a new beginning.

Our father’s promise has taken us to new heights; a place where falcons soar, and the mountains go on forever.  From here all things are possible.  My eyes follow the falcon, now a distant speck on the horizon; “Yes!  Let’s go there!” 

With the boys’ excited chatter as a backdrop, we make our way back down.  The conversation turns to tonight’s grilled steak dinner.  Fueled by hunger, the descent passes quickly.  Back at camp, tired and full, we grow silent as another timeless sunset drops through the Window.

 

February 12, 2010

10:00 pm

Green Gulch

The stone profile of the Apache chief Alsate looms before us.  He stares silently at the heavens above him.  In the darkness, I have to remind myself that it is just a legend. The stillness is broken by an owl across the arroyo.  I laugh at myself as I nearly knock the camera off the tripod.  I am aware that the owl call was a favorite communication method of the Apache warrior.

This old ghost story only adds to an already perfect day. Filled with steak and blackberry cobbler, the boys and I have come to this dark overlook to photograph the night sky with my new camera.  The results are very promising.

Between exposures, I take advantage of a rare window of cell phone coverage to call my wife, the mother of these two boys.  I hear the love in her voice—she knows what this trip means to me. As I hang up, her unspoken promise remains.  The perfect day just became more perfect! 

February 13, 2010

Cattail Falls

The sun is warm on my face; almost too warm.  This morning I started out with three layers, I am now down to one.  The desert gravel crunches underneath my boots; sweat rolls down my back, and the smell of dust is in the air.  I have to remind myself that it is only February.

As the trail rounds a low shoulder of Carter Peak; the desert changes; I feel the breeze, smell the water, and hear the falls.  A new promise is in the air.  I am soon aware that I am no longer walking on rocks, but on soil--real soil.  A short scramble over boulders brought down by some ancient flash flood brings us to the plunge pool at the foot of Cattail Falls.

We eat lunch in the shade among the ferns and columbines, cooled by the breezes funneled off the Chisos through Cattail Canyon.  Oasis--it's the only word that fits.

February 14, 2010

Apache Canyon

We walk single file underneath a cloudless blue dome.  The view atop Burro Mesa stretches 360 degrees.  Ahead and to the right is the massive uplift of the Christmas Mountains.  Santa Elana Canyon and Mexico lie far off to the left.  And directly behind us, looking closer than they really are, loom the ever-present Chisos.  To a passing hawk we must look like mere specs on the landscape.

The temperature, which has been so wildly variable on this trip, is now absolutely perfect.  The warmth of the sun is balanced by the coolness of the air.  We walk in shirt-sleeves without sweating. 

Our goal on this day is not on the map; it is not well advertised.  The Park would prefer that we stay away.  But of course, that just makes it irresistible.

But Apache Canyon has been well known in these parts for over 12,000 years.  Flint from this quarry has been found on arrow tips throughout the Southwest.  How many Indians have walked this very trail?

At the canyon with flint shards covering the ground, I am once again reminded of my father, and how much he would have loved this spot.  But this is a new generation, and youth will not be denied.  On the return trip, Will finds a higher gear; I cannot keep up.  At one point, I see him crest a ridge nearly a half mile ahead of me.  When I make it back to the van, Will and Clayton are napping in the shade, waiting my arrival.  A third generation is here.  And the promise of Big Bend is before them.