North & South – June 2019

THEGOODLIFE

114 | NORTH & SOUTH| JUNE 2019

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appeared;it couldonlybebattery-

powered.Comingintothesolonight

inthedesert,thiswasmyworstfear:

ohyeah,I’veseenthemovies.The

moonlightgavenowheretohide;

therocksmightbecrammedwith

rattlesnakes.Thelightmovedinjolting

stepsdowntheslope,sometimesright,

sometimesleftbutcomingmyway.

I putonmyshoes,packedmy

meagrecamp.I preparedmystory:

thatI wasa copona NewZealand-

UStrainingexercise.Thecanyon

wasfullofcops.Iftheownerofthat

distanttorchapproached,thetalk

ofcopswouldscarehimaway.

Thelightwasalmostatthewashout.

Ifit crossedover,it wascomingforme.

Myheartthudded.Thelightturned

away,bobbedamongbushesand

headedtowardstherangerstation.

Finally,a girlcouldgetsomesleep.

Thesunrisewashedredover

theancientformofFajadaButte,

andnight’sshadoweasedfrom

thecanyon.Inpreparationforthe

desertheat,I poppeda Berocca

tabletintomydrinkbottletofizz.

A blackbeetleskitteredoverbumps

thesizeofbeetlemountains.

Thencamethesoundofa snake

rustlingindesert-drygrass.

I turnedjustmyhead.I lookedfor

a snake’salmond-shapedeye,forthe

blotchypatternamidgrasses.I stayed

quiet,soit mightnothearmeoverthe

soundofitsslithering.Slitheringthat,

nowI thoughtaboutit,soundedlike

a fizzingBerocca.Sucharetheperils

ofa timidKiwigirlinthedesert.

I brokecampandpilgrimmed

homewardtosharestorieswiththe

otherwomen.Oneofthemhadmade

campinthecanyonacrossfromme.

Aroundmidnight,themosquitoeshad

gotsobadshe’dwalkedbacktothe

rangerstationbytorchlight.Oh...

I’vereassessedmysnoring.I’m

prettysureit was a mountain lion,

afterall. +

A mooseelktookballetstepsat

dusk.ChacoCanyonisa DarkSky

Parkanditslightwasunpolluted

asthehugemoonswoopedslowly

thelengthoftheskyabovethe

mesa.Mercurywasespeciallyred

andslunkbesidethemoon.

I woketoa growl.Itrattled

softlyinthethroatofitsowner.

I laylikehumansausagemeat.

BeingbiggerseemedbettersoI stood,

turningtothesound.Therocksglowed

silent.Thegrassbreathed.Therewas

nogleamoftooth,noflickofa tawny

tail.Noleapofhindlegspowering

a setofmandiblestowardsme.

Ofcoursetherewasn’t.Itwasa

snore,silly.Occasionally,I mayhave

deniedsnoringbutfornowI was

happytoadmitthatI mayhave,

onthisoccasion,doneso.Snores

andgrowlsarecloselyrelated.

It’seasytogetthemconfused.

I laydownagain,safeandlion-

free,tosnoresomemore.

But across the canyon, a light

INAMERICA,manypeople
introducedthemselvesthus:“Hi,I’m
Bob.I didn’tvoteforTrump.”I met
theminAlbuquerque,LakeTahoeand
Maine:Trumpdeniers,everyone.
InChacoCanyon,NewMexico
ona meditativeretreat,I walked
in40°Cheatwithmybedrollanda
mountainlion’sfootprintimprinted
inmyhead.I hadseenthephotoat
therangerstationjustbeforeleaving
formyovernightsolointhedesert,
andnowI couldhavedrawnit hair
forhair,padforpad,clawforclaw.
I didn’tneedto.A mountainlion
hadmadea perfectreplicaofthat
photointhedesertdirtabout50m
fromwhereI laidmybedroll.The
ownerofthatprintcouldkillme,
buthewaslikelymorescaredof
me.Notthatmountainlionsare
scaredy-cats,buttheyknowhumans
possessgunsandnoconscience.
Nightcamelikea conductorto
startthechoir:a rousingofcoyote
howls and barks across the canyon.

MIDNIGHT AT

THE OASIS

RebeccaHaytertakes timefrom

the lifestyleblock inGoldenBay to

camp out in the New Mexico desert.

Left:ChacoCanyon,

New Mexico.

HIGH HEELS & GUMBOOTS /Rebecca Hayter