Ansur
The One Ring
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13
Joined:
Aug 28, 2006
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Zodiac:
Virgo
Chinese:
Rat
Posted Thu Nov 08, 2007 3:58 am...
This is not my story but one related to me by my friend, Dan. Dan was not prone to exaggeration or tall tales so I believe his story to be true--just as he related it to me. My changes have been to help in the telling of it. But, the story is true although I have changed the locations and some of the names to preserve the sanctity of certain places. This is about a place in the American West where the ancient-ones sometimes still hold power over modern man.
Note: Since I wrote this, Dan was cleaning the gutters on his house, fell off the ladder and broke his leg. A few days later, HE DIED! It was a blood clot! He was in his mid 30s...
Dan walked along the bank of the river in Central Oregon, looking for a good fishing spot. Now and then he heard the distinctive buzz of a rattlesnake and that made him even more careful where he was placing his feet. The place was lousy with rattlesnakes but at this time of year, they always gave you warning if you got too close to them. He knew that in mid-July, when they were in the process of shedding their skins, they would stop rattling and just bite anything that walked by--without warning. When they were shedding, they were blind and nervous.
He had not seen anyone this Sunday morning for several hours and he liked being away from the crowd of other fishermen. He waved some bugs away from his face and continued along the bank. As he walked the ground began to rise above the river until he was on a ledge about 10 feet above it. To the right, rising like a tower above the mostly flat landscape was a small, steep rocky butte. So he was standing on a ledge about 25 feet wide, 10 feet above the river--which was on his left, and the steep, tower-like, mini-butte--on his right. He came to a bend in the river and looked down. There was a small cove below with about 30 feet of sandy beach. It looked like a perfect place to fish. He carefully examined the rocks leading down to the beach for anything crawling. He also looked to see if there was more than one way down and back.
Last year, he had gone down into a smaller cove somewhat like this one, but when he later turned to leave, he found that a rattlesnake had crawled into the rocks behind him. This snake had blocked the only way out of the cove! He had pushed and prodded with his fishing rod at the snake, trying to make it move away. However, this just angered it and it curled up into striking position, angrily rattling at him. It had refused to budge! Dan had then sat down and waited for the snake to quiet itself. It had done so, but it still was in the middle of the only path out of the place. He tried to wait it out but it seemed to settle in and finally, Dan realized he was stranded there. With a sigh of irritation, Dan had gotten to his feet and then he brought the tip of his fishing rod heavily down on the snake--like a whip! The snake erupted in a frenzy of buzzing and striking but it could not connect with the rod whipping down on it. Finally, it had begun to back off and as it moved, Dan moved forward, continuing to whip at it with his rod-tip. The snake had finally given up and had slithered away at high speed. So, Dan was able to exit the cove. He had broken his rod tip so badly, hed had to throw it away.
This time, at this larger cove, Dan gently used the tip of his fishing rod to touch and scrape around the rocks leading down into the same cove. There was no reaction, so he began to crawl down the rocks onto the beach. When he got down to the beach, he opened his tackle box, picked up the bottle of insect repellent and rubbed some of the oily stuff on his exposed arms, face, ears, and neck. The insects were terrible this time of year.
Before long, he had his first fly whizzing out into mid-stream, where he let it float, natural-like, down the river. A sound on his right and behind him caused him to turn and look. It was another fisherman, crawling down the side of the cove onto the beach. At first, Dan was a little disappointed at the intrusion. But, there was plenty of room here, so he smiled and gave a small wave of acknowledgment to the man after he got down onto the beach. The man gave him a pleasant wave back. They fished for about an hour, each man at the other end of the cove from each other. Neither of them caught anything. It was a bad day for fishing, Dan knew. He hadnt seen anyone catch anything all day. And the fishing in this cove on the curve in the river was even worse; he hadnt even gotten a nibble. He reeled in and began closing up his tackle-box. It was time for lunch and he was hungry. Dan noticed the other fisherman was preparing to leave also.
The fisherman sharing the cove walked up to Dan and said, Any luck today? No," said Dan, and I havent seen anybody else get lucky either! Dan turned around and began looking for snakes in the wall of the cove. He probed at the rocks with his fishing rod. What are you doing, asked the man? Looking for snakes, Dan replied, and then he told the man about his confrontation with the snake last year.
But there arent any snakes here, said the man. What do you mean? said Dan, Ive been hearing them all day. Yes, said the man, they are all over the place, but not right here." "Snakes and other critters dont come near this place. Dan was about to retort to this stupid remark but then he realized something: He had not been bothered by any bugs in this area! Dan turned to look more carefully at the man, wondering at what he was saying. Dont the animals come into this area, he asked?
NO! Its because of Spirit Rock, answered the man, pointing at the towering butte nearby.
Spirit Rock," asked Dan? Yeah, answered the man, still pointing to the rock tower.. It's a sacred Indian place, with pictures on the top.
Pictures? repeated Dan.
Yeah," replied the man, "the ancient Indians put them there centuries ago.
Dan looked up at the towering rocks.
Clear up at the top, prompted the man.
Dan looked up at the very top of the rock-tower. Through the waves of heat rising from the sun-baked rocks near the top, he thought he could see some drawings on the face of the rock--or was it just his imagination? He really could not see up that far very well.
About a half hour later, Dan got back to his car, opened his trunk, and put his fishing gear in it. He unlocked the door and opened it. A blast of heat, smelling of hot plastic, washed over him from the cars' interior. He got into the hot interior and rolled down the windows. Starting the car, he placed the vent fan on high and started down the dusty gravel road. A minute later, he closed the windows and turned on the air conditioner. About 20 minutes later, he came to the paved highway, and turned right. A few seconds later he drove into the parking lot of the Bear Springs Restaurant. Bear Springs was a very small town, with just a service station, a restaurant, and a couple of old houses. Bear Springs was right on the border next to an Indian Reservation.
Dan walked into the restaurant. He had been eating here every weekend for the last three weeks, and was now almost considered one of the regulars. He sat down at the counter and picked up a menu from the bracket in front of him. He ordered a sandwich and a coke, then relaxed and looked around. In his usual spot at the corner table was the short Indian of indeterminate age. Down at the other end of the counter, Dan saw another familiar face. It was a man that he had seen in there before. He was middle aged and balding. The manager approached him. Hows the fishing today," the manager asked? Really terrible, replied Dan. Too bad, said the manager, walking off to greet another customer.
Dan ate his food, left a big tip for the pretty waitress, and then walked out into the heat of the Central Oregon afternoon. He did not like this part of the season as well as he had earlier--this part of Oregon now got much too hot in the afternoon to stay out and fish. He sighed, got in his car, which was hot again, started it up, and began the two-hour drive back to Portland. After just a few minutes at highway speeds, his air conditioner had cooled the interior of the automobile to a comfortable level. He placed a cassette in the tape deck and drove on, listening to Wagner Overtures.
The next week, Dan returned to his favorite river. At the last minute, he had remembered the rock tower so he added his binoculars to his gear.
He got to the small town on the highway just 10 miles before Bear Springs before sundown that Friday night and pulled into the familiar motel parking lot. After registering, he went to his room and unlocked the door. It was a cheap room but it was clean. He took a shower, changed clothes, then left the room and drove the 10 miles to the restaurant at Bear Springs.
The restaurant was packed. He looked around for a place to sit but couldn't see any.
The manager came over to him. Good evening sir. Can I help you find a seat? he asked.
You sure can, replied Dan.
The Manager looked around, and then said, just a minute. Then he walked off toward the corner. Sitting at the corner table, in his usual spot was the Indian. With him was the balding man that Dan had seen in the restaurant several times before. The manager talked to the Indian and the man for a moment and then came back to Dan.
Would you mind sitting at the corner table with a couple of the regulars? asked the manager.
Dan hesitated a moment. I guess that would be all right, he replied, slowly. Then he followed the manager over to the corner table.
They made introductions all around. The Native American (American Indian) was Willie Pierce and the middle-aged man was Ray Edwards. Dan sat down, a bit nervous about being seated with strangers. Willie and Ray had ordered supper a few minutes earlier and their food arrived several minutes before Dans. The two men dived into their food, wolfing it down hungrily. When Dans food arrived, he ate fast, trying to catch up with them, but they finished long before he did. The two men ordered beers after they finished eating.
Dan finished his food. Let me buy you a beer, said Ray.
Thanks, said Dan, but Ive got to drive back...
One beer wont hurt you, Ray interrupted.
All right, agreed Dan.
He sipped his beer, listening to the two men talking about their part-time jobs in the nearby lumber mill--and how bad things were when they couldnt find steady work. Dan bought the next round of beers. Then he stopped drinking and sat with the men for about an hour more. The restaurant was clearing out. Dan excused himself, told them that he was glad to have met them, then left and drove back to the motel.
The next morning (Saturday), Dan drove down the same gravel road that ran next to the river. This time, however, he drove further until he was near the big cove by the rock tower. Slinging the binoculars around his neck, he picked up his tackle box and his rod and walked through the dry, dusty area spotted with sagebrush--where, he knew, the snakes liked to hide from the noonday sun. He reached the cove but instead of climbing down into it. He put down his gear and he shaded his eyes, looking up toward the top of the rock tower. No heat waves marred the view this morning, and he could definitely make out figures carved or painted onto the rocks above. He put the binoculars to his eyes and focused them on the rocks above. The figures leaped out at him. And they were magnificent! Some of them were easy to identify, they were the painted or carved drawings of familiar animals such as deer, antelope, and bears. He could not identify the other pictures, but he was sure that they were pictographs and petroglyphs of Indian spirits. I must get some photographs of those wonderful art works, he said to himself.
Dan fished in the same cove again, but again had no luck--even though, during the drive in, he had seen other fishermen catching fish in other parts of the river. Dan drove back to Bear Springs to have lunch at the restaurant. This time, he was immediately invited to sit with Willie and Ray who were again hanging out there. Later, that evening, at dinner, Vern Forrester, the manager, also joined them and the four of them became better acquainted.
Sunday morning, Dan fished the river in another place and in just two hours he had caught his limit. He cleaned the fish and laid them in a cooler packed with ice. After lunch, he drove back to Portland.
The next weekend, Dan packed his camera too. On that Saturday morning, Dan drove up near the rock tower and leaving his fishing gear in the car, he took his camera and started toward the tower. He walked all around it, carefully looking for snakes in the brush or in the crevices of the rocks. He began to notice what seemed to be a lack of animals in this area. His suspicions were confirmed when he looked up and saw some birds flying toward the tower--they veered off and flew well around it. Then, on the other side, they veered back and resumed their original course.
Dan hung the camera by its strap across his chest. Then he reached up and began to climb the rock tower. He had only gotten a couple of feet off the ground when he suddenly felt a little dizzy. He rested a moment, and then continued the climb. A few more feet up, he started to feel his pulse pounding in his head. Am I that out of shape, he asked himself? He rested a minute, and then began the climb again. His head was now really beginning to pound with pain--a definite onset of a bad headache. On top of the headache, he was also having trouble getting his breath. Then another dizzy feeling hit him, but this one was a lot stronger and he almost lost his balance. Im not well, he thought. He started backing down the few rocks he had climbed. At the base of the rock, Dan took stock of himself. He was feeling better. His headache was gone and his breathing was normal. He shrugged his shoulders and started back to the car. The rest of the weekend, he spent with his new friends, playing cards in the restaurants back room.
Dan never did come down with any flu, cold, or other sickness as he had expected too, after the symptoms he had experienced on the rock tower. This worried him even worse. So, he made an appointment with the doctor.
The Doctor could not find anything obviously wrong with Dan so he gave him a complete check-up, including a blood work-up. The check-up results came back Friday afternoon, just hours before he was due to leave for Bear Springs again. All the tests were negative; there was nothing wrong with him. The Doctors only comment about his symptoms was that he may have had a low-grade inner-ear infection--which had gone away before he had come in for the check-up.
Dan arrived in Bear Springs on Friday night again. He ate supper with his new friends at the restaurant--as had become his habit. When questioned about where, along the river, he was going to fish the next day; he replied he was not there to fish this time. Then he explained that it was his plan to scale the rocks with the Indian writing on them and photograph the beautiful pictographs there. His explanation was cut short by his companions hearty laugher. Hey, white-eyes, Willie laughed, Dont you know you cant do that? Hes right, added Ray, pounding his knee in mirth. What do you mean? asked Dan.
Vern explained. That rock-tower is called Spirit Rock--because there are ancient Indian spirits living up there. Hell, even the present-day Indians cant get up to those drawings! And, added Ray, if you try to climb up there, you will get dizzy, short of breath, and come down with a very bad headache. Its one of the few Native American holy places that the white man hasnt been able to wreck, said Willie, somewhat more seriously. Vern piped in, We havent ever heard of anyone catching a fish in that area either! Dan listened but he didnt believe them. He thought they were just joking.
The next day, Dan drove to Spirit Rock and parked his car. Taking his camera, he walked over to the base of the rock tower. Spirit Rock, huh, he thought. Well, watch out spirits, here I come and Im in fine form today! He jumped up on the rocks and started climbing rapidly. His head began pounding in pain almost immediately. But, he bit his lip and kept climbing. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he had to stop moving and hold-on tight. He shut his eyes against the dizzy swing of the world around him. His head was killing him! He was now so badly winded, he knew that he would not be able to go any farther.
Cautiously, Dan opened his eyes a little, and looked down. He couldnt believe what he saw, he was only 10 feet up!
Native American legend has it that no one has been able to climb Spirit Rock since olden times when the world was new. It is said that once, a great and powerful Medicine Man, one moon-filled night, met with the spirits in this place and they had him paint their pictures on the rocks. It is also said that if a living normal person could get close enough to clearly see these pictures, they would surely die.
Dan never did get to the top of the butte
Note: Since I wrote this, Dan was cleaning the gutters on his house, fell off the ladder and broke his leg. A few days later, HE DIED! It was a blood clot! He was in his mid 30s...
Dan walked along the bank of the river in Central Oregon, looking for a good fishing spot. Now and then he heard the distinctive buzz of a rattlesnake and that made him even more careful where he was placing his feet. The place was lousy with rattlesnakes but at this time of year, they always gave you warning if you got too close to them. He knew that in mid-July, when they were in the process of shedding their skins, they would stop rattling and just bite anything that walked by--without warning. When they were shedding, they were blind and nervous.
He had not seen anyone this Sunday morning for several hours and he liked being away from the crowd of other fishermen. He waved some bugs away from his face and continued along the bank. As he walked the ground began to rise above the river until he was on a ledge about 10 feet above it. To the right, rising like a tower above the mostly flat landscape was a small, steep rocky butte. So he was standing on a ledge about 25 feet wide, 10 feet above the river--which was on his left, and the steep, tower-like, mini-butte--on his right. He came to a bend in the river and looked down. There was a small cove below with about 30 feet of sandy beach. It looked like a perfect place to fish. He carefully examined the rocks leading down to the beach for anything crawling. He also looked to see if there was more than one way down and back.
Last year, he had gone down into a smaller cove somewhat like this one, but when he later turned to leave, he found that a rattlesnake had crawled into the rocks behind him. This snake had blocked the only way out of the cove! He had pushed and prodded with his fishing rod at the snake, trying to make it move away. However, this just angered it and it curled up into striking position, angrily rattling at him. It had refused to budge! Dan had then sat down and waited for the snake to quiet itself. It had done so, but it still was in the middle of the only path out of the place. He tried to wait it out but it seemed to settle in and finally, Dan realized he was stranded there. With a sigh of irritation, Dan had gotten to his feet and then he brought the tip of his fishing rod heavily down on the snake--like a whip! The snake erupted in a frenzy of buzzing and striking but it could not connect with the rod whipping down on it. Finally, it had begun to back off and as it moved, Dan moved forward, continuing to whip at it with his rod-tip. The snake had finally given up and had slithered away at high speed. So, Dan was able to exit the cove. He had broken his rod tip so badly, hed had to throw it away.
This time, at this larger cove, Dan gently used the tip of his fishing rod to touch and scrape around the rocks leading down into the same cove. There was no reaction, so he began to crawl down the rocks onto the beach. When he got down to the beach, he opened his tackle box, picked up the bottle of insect repellent and rubbed some of the oily stuff on his exposed arms, face, ears, and neck. The insects were terrible this time of year.
Before long, he had his first fly whizzing out into mid-stream, where he let it float, natural-like, down the river. A sound on his right and behind him caused him to turn and look. It was another fisherman, crawling down the side of the cove onto the beach. At first, Dan was a little disappointed at the intrusion. But, there was plenty of room here, so he smiled and gave a small wave of acknowledgment to the man after he got down onto the beach. The man gave him a pleasant wave back. They fished for about an hour, each man at the other end of the cove from each other. Neither of them caught anything. It was a bad day for fishing, Dan knew. He hadnt seen anyone catch anything all day. And the fishing in this cove on the curve in the river was even worse; he hadnt even gotten a nibble. He reeled in and began closing up his tackle-box. It was time for lunch and he was hungry. Dan noticed the other fisherman was preparing to leave also.
The fisherman sharing the cove walked up to Dan and said, Any luck today? No," said Dan, and I havent seen anybody else get lucky either! Dan turned around and began looking for snakes in the wall of the cove. He probed at the rocks with his fishing rod. What are you doing, asked the man? Looking for snakes, Dan replied, and then he told the man about his confrontation with the snake last year.
But there arent any snakes here, said the man. What do you mean? said Dan, Ive been hearing them all day. Yes, said the man, they are all over the place, but not right here." "Snakes and other critters dont come near this place. Dan was about to retort to this stupid remark but then he realized something: He had not been bothered by any bugs in this area! Dan turned to look more carefully at the man, wondering at what he was saying. Dont the animals come into this area, he asked?
NO! Its because of Spirit Rock, answered the man, pointing at the towering butte nearby.
Spirit Rock," asked Dan? Yeah, answered the man, still pointing to the rock tower.. It's a sacred Indian place, with pictures on the top.
Pictures? repeated Dan.
Yeah," replied the man, "the ancient Indians put them there centuries ago.
Dan looked up at the towering rocks.
Clear up at the top, prompted the man.
Dan looked up at the very top of the rock-tower. Through the waves of heat rising from the sun-baked rocks near the top, he thought he could see some drawings on the face of the rock--or was it just his imagination? He really could not see up that far very well.
About a half hour later, Dan got back to his car, opened his trunk, and put his fishing gear in it. He unlocked the door and opened it. A blast of heat, smelling of hot plastic, washed over him from the cars' interior. He got into the hot interior and rolled down the windows. Starting the car, he placed the vent fan on high and started down the dusty gravel road. A minute later, he closed the windows and turned on the air conditioner. About 20 minutes later, he came to the paved highway, and turned right. A few seconds later he drove into the parking lot of the Bear Springs Restaurant. Bear Springs was a very small town, with just a service station, a restaurant, and a couple of old houses. Bear Springs was right on the border next to an Indian Reservation.
Dan walked into the restaurant. He had been eating here every weekend for the last three weeks, and was now almost considered one of the regulars. He sat down at the counter and picked up a menu from the bracket in front of him. He ordered a sandwich and a coke, then relaxed and looked around. In his usual spot at the corner table was the short Indian of indeterminate age. Down at the other end of the counter, Dan saw another familiar face. It was a man that he had seen in there before. He was middle aged and balding. The manager approached him. Hows the fishing today," the manager asked? Really terrible, replied Dan. Too bad, said the manager, walking off to greet another customer.
Dan ate his food, left a big tip for the pretty waitress, and then walked out into the heat of the Central Oregon afternoon. He did not like this part of the season as well as he had earlier--this part of Oregon now got much too hot in the afternoon to stay out and fish. He sighed, got in his car, which was hot again, started it up, and began the two-hour drive back to Portland. After just a few minutes at highway speeds, his air conditioner had cooled the interior of the automobile to a comfortable level. He placed a cassette in the tape deck and drove on, listening to Wagner Overtures.
The next week, Dan returned to his favorite river. At the last minute, he had remembered the rock tower so he added his binoculars to his gear.
He got to the small town on the highway just 10 miles before Bear Springs before sundown that Friday night and pulled into the familiar motel parking lot. After registering, he went to his room and unlocked the door. It was a cheap room but it was clean. He took a shower, changed clothes, then left the room and drove the 10 miles to the restaurant at Bear Springs.
The restaurant was packed. He looked around for a place to sit but couldn't see any.
The manager came over to him. Good evening sir. Can I help you find a seat? he asked.
You sure can, replied Dan.
The Manager looked around, and then said, just a minute. Then he walked off toward the corner. Sitting at the corner table, in his usual spot was the Indian. With him was the balding man that Dan had seen in the restaurant several times before. The manager talked to the Indian and the man for a moment and then came back to Dan.
Would you mind sitting at the corner table with a couple of the regulars? asked the manager.
Dan hesitated a moment. I guess that would be all right, he replied, slowly. Then he followed the manager over to the corner table.
They made introductions all around. The Native American (American Indian) was Willie Pierce and the middle-aged man was Ray Edwards. Dan sat down, a bit nervous about being seated with strangers. Willie and Ray had ordered supper a few minutes earlier and their food arrived several minutes before Dans. The two men dived into their food, wolfing it down hungrily. When Dans food arrived, he ate fast, trying to catch up with them, but they finished long before he did. The two men ordered beers after they finished eating.
Dan finished his food. Let me buy you a beer, said Ray.
Thanks, said Dan, but Ive got to drive back...
One beer wont hurt you, Ray interrupted.
All right, agreed Dan.
He sipped his beer, listening to the two men talking about their part-time jobs in the nearby lumber mill--and how bad things were when they couldnt find steady work. Dan bought the next round of beers. Then he stopped drinking and sat with the men for about an hour more. The restaurant was clearing out. Dan excused himself, told them that he was glad to have met them, then left and drove back to the motel.
The next morning (Saturday), Dan drove down the same gravel road that ran next to the river. This time, however, he drove further until he was near the big cove by the rock tower. Slinging the binoculars around his neck, he picked up his tackle box and his rod and walked through the dry, dusty area spotted with sagebrush--where, he knew, the snakes liked to hide from the noonday sun. He reached the cove but instead of climbing down into it. He put down his gear and he shaded his eyes, looking up toward the top of the rock tower. No heat waves marred the view this morning, and he could definitely make out figures carved or painted onto the rocks above. He put the binoculars to his eyes and focused them on the rocks above. The figures leaped out at him. And they were magnificent! Some of them were easy to identify, they were the painted or carved drawings of familiar animals such as deer, antelope, and bears. He could not identify the other pictures, but he was sure that they were pictographs and petroglyphs of Indian spirits. I must get some photographs of those wonderful art works, he said to himself.
Dan fished in the same cove again, but again had no luck--even though, during the drive in, he had seen other fishermen catching fish in other parts of the river. Dan drove back to Bear Springs to have lunch at the restaurant. This time, he was immediately invited to sit with Willie and Ray who were again hanging out there. Later, that evening, at dinner, Vern Forrester, the manager, also joined them and the four of them became better acquainted.
Sunday morning, Dan fished the river in another place and in just two hours he had caught his limit. He cleaned the fish and laid them in a cooler packed with ice. After lunch, he drove back to Portland.
The next weekend, Dan packed his camera too. On that Saturday morning, Dan drove up near the rock tower and leaving his fishing gear in the car, he took his camera and started toward the tower. He walked all around it, carefully looking for snakes in the brush or in the crevices of the rocks. He began to notice what seemed to be a lack of animals in this area. His suspicions were confirmed when he looked up and saw some birds flying toward the tower--they veered off and flew well around it. Then, on the other side, they veered back and resumed their original course.
Dan hung the camera by its strap across his chest. Then he reached up and began to climb the rock tower. He had only gotten a couple of feet off the ground when he suddenly felt a little dizzy. He rested a moment, and then continued the climb. A few more feet up, he started to feel his pulse pounding in his head. Am I that out of shape, he asked himself? He rested a minute, and then began the climb again. His head was now really beginning to pound with pain--a definite onset of a bad headache. On top of the headache, he was also having trouble getting his breath. Then another dizzy feeling hit him, but this one was a lot stronger and he almost lost his balance. Im not well, he thought. He started backing down the few rocks he had climbed. At the base of the rock, Dan took stock of himself. He was feeling better. His headache was gone and his breathing was normal. He shrugged his shoulders and started back to the car. The rest of the weekend, he spent with his new friends, playing cards in the restaurants back room.
Dan never did come down with any flu, cold, or other sickness as he had expected too, after the symptoms he had experienced on the rock tower. This worried him even worse. So, he made an appointment with the doctor.
The Doctor could not find anything obviously wrong with Dan so he gave him a complete check-up, including a blood work-up. The check-up results came back Friday afternoon, just hours before he was due to leave for Bear Springs again. All the tests were negative; there was nothing wrong with him. The Doctors only comment about his symptoms was that he may have had a low-grade inner-ear infection--which had gone away before he had come in for the check-up.
Dan arrived in Bear Springs on Friday night again. He ate supper with his new friends at the restaurant--as had become his habit. When questioned about where, along the river, he was going to fish the next day; he replied he was not there to fish this time. Then he explained that it was his plan to scale the rocks with the Indian writing on them and photograph the beautiful pictographs there. His explanation was cut short by his companions hearty laugher. Hey, white-eyes, Willie laughed, Dont you know you cant do that? Hes right, added Ray, pounding his knee in mirth. What do you mean? asked Dan.
Vern explained. That rock-tower is called Spirit Rock--because there are ancient Indian spirits living up there. Hell, even the present-day Indians cant get up to those drawings! And, added Ray, if you try to climb up there, you will get dizzy, short of breath, and come down with a very bad headache. Its one of the few Native American holy places that the white man hasnt been able to wreck, said Willie, somewhat more seriously. Vern piped in, We havent ever heard of anyone catching a fish in that area either! Dan listened but he didnt believe them. He thought they were just joking.
The next day, Dan drove to Spirit Rock and parked his car. Taking his camera, he walked over to the base of the rock tower. Spirit Rock, huh, he thought. Well, watch out spirits, here I come and Im in fine form today! He jumped up on the rocks and started climbing rapidly. His head began pounding in pain almost immediately. But, he bit his lip and kept climbing. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he had to stop moving and hold-on tight. He shut his eyes against the dizzy swing of the world around him. His head was killing him! He was now so badly winded, he knew that he would not be able to go any farther.
Cautiously, Dan opened his eyes a little, and looked down. He couldnt believe what he saw, he was only 10 feet up!
Native American legend has it that no one has been able to climb Spirit Rock since olden times when the world was new. It is said that once, a great and powerful Medicine Man, one moon-filled night, met with the spirits in this place and they had him paint their pictures on the rocks. It is also said that if a living normal person could get close enough to clearly see these pictures, they would surely die.
Dan never did get to the top of the butte
We have found the enemy--and he is us!
Ansur
Cancer
Dragon