Between Worlds
By Michael DeMarco, Crow Canyon Cultural Explorations program participant
for Glen Canyon, the waters, the lessons
The travel group of fourteen and associated gear were on Lake Powell, a human- caused body formed by damming the Colorado River at a point in Glen Canyon. We were about 20 miles up lake from the Bullfrog Marina, close to the Escalante Canyon, a feeder into the Colorado River. We set camp on a sand and rock shelf of an unnamed inlet. After a day of travel by road and boat everyone relaxed in the evening. The night sky was not static. Two meteors burned across the heaven. The first lighting a route along the backdrop of the very visible-this-night Milky Way, the second crossing it at a sharp angle. It seemed close to those of us who sat around an unlit fire pit in camp chairs all looking upwards. Most had never seen as many stars before as populated the dark now. The cosmic show of a river of stars and dust appeared through the almost black sky dome. More stars steadily came into view as eyes adjusted. We listened to Navajo stories of First Man [Orion] a guardian and First Woman [Cassiopeia] and learned of stars placed in the heaven by animals in the beginning of time to light the night. Coyote threw the unset stars [those not forming constellations] from a blanket into the night. We listened to how he claimed the brightest one as his own. It is Venus the Coyote Star, the Morning Star. I am trying to find the words to express a place in transitional equilibrium: desert but a lake, canyons and valleys near mountains, mesas, large plateaus; hot, bright cloudless days that surrender to cool, cloudless nights; standing cliffs and sandy banks; sites where water and dirt blend; barren tracts that are suddenly hosts to pioneer plants - datura, mountain nettle, cattails, lichens, soft mosses, and new ferns. Changing scenes from what was to what will be, but not all the way there yet. I am trying to find the words for the yawning earth, a great silence, the vast stillness. I look again and realize it is not still—wind kicks up, blows fine dust, sand, silt, dirt over everything. Grit gets on closed eyes, lips of water bottles, floors of the tents, the boats. An arid air wicks moisture from all things – the surface of the lake, the bodies of travelers, the clothes and towels. Slow waves bob the tied boats. The wind and water are not quiet, but there is a calming effect of the elements of earth, air, and water beneath the fires in the sky. My watch is useless away from the marina. Time is not measured by numbers. Water days begin with a predawn light at the east horizon, well before there is a sun to see. Water days end with a dimming once the sun has slipped below the western edge of earth. Light lingers for a bit, night is drawn across the sky, darkest in the east growing darker west. The darkness reveals the Milky Way.
Crow Canyon recently completed a whirlwind series of film screenings throughout the Four Corners region. The series was in partnership with the Glen Canyon Institute and featured films about Glen Canyon from each of our organizations. Many of you hopefully were able to catch a screening near you. If you missed the events, you can watch Crow Canyon’s film on our YouTube channel, @CrowCanyonConnects Glen Canyon Film Series
Who would know that it is always there unless there are nights like these?
CROW CANYON ARCHAEOLOGICAL CENTER
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