“I left the caverns for as good a
reason as I went there.” Well, not exactly. Being a Ranger for the
National Park Service is a deeply rewarding line of work, but it is
not quite the fantasy which most park visitors seem to think. Most
people think that once admitted to the park service, one can stay for
life, and live for free in America's wonderlands, with a fat federal
salary and full benefits, and “get moved” from one National Park
to the next by request. In fact, most park service jobs are
seasonal, which means that the worker is laid off after two to six
months. The pay is less than half that of a public school teacher in
California, and there are no medical benefits, and no assistance with
relocation. Park housing is often provided, but the ranger is charged
rent; and the ranger must supply their own food. One seasonal job
does not automatically lead to another; one must apply and compete
with hundreds of other fully qualified individuals. And if seasonal
jobs are impossibly competitive, permanent jobs are yet beyond.
Permanent jobs for the National Park Service typically offer higher
pay and more benefits, but remain specific to a single National Park Service site. To move to a different site, one must apply for a
different position and re-enter the mass competition. Most field work
in National Parks is conducted by seasonal staff. Permanent employees
are more commonly found sitting at desks, much like their urban
counterparts, albeit with a longer commute. (Over half of permanent
National Park Service employees opt to live in town, where there are
private homes, public schools, are other amenities.)
Hence, in a repeating cycle in my years
of seasonal work, I anticipate the end of the term with a bit of fear
and dread, but also a sense of opportunity. To be cast off alone
again, to face unemployment and find new work. My last day at
Carlsbad Caverns was November 2
nd, and I knew not where I
would go next, until October 31
st. On which day I was
“hired” as a Volunteer Park Ranger at
Wind Cave National Park.
With so few seasonal jobs in the winter, it is not uncommon for
summer seasonal rangers to accept winter volunteer positions, even
though the “rank” is lower. Some volunteer posts, including this
one, offer a small stipend and free housing.
The offer for the volunteer post was a
welcome relief, and a thrill at the chance of new adventures, in a
new part of the country. South Dakota was barely on my map until now
(although I do fondly remember visits to The Badlands and Mount
Rushmore from my youth). Wind Cave was the first cave to become a
National Park (in 1903, under Theodore Roosevelt and congress). It is
one of America's longest caves, and is known for its unique “boxwork”
formations. The park also boasts prairie and pondersa pine forests,
and a herd of bison. I look forward to the setting, despite warnings
about the winter weather.
NPS photo, public domain
Once again, I had to gather and
organize and re-organize my chaotic mass of belongings, and pack them
tightly, and play the jigsaw puzzle of the subaru. I pushed the
vehicle to the limits of its spatial carrying capacity. I departed
from the caverns later than planned, and was further delayed by the
need to replace one of my vehicles headlights, for which I received
crucial assistance from fellow ranger Jon, who also allowed me to
sleep on his couch, because it was late and not the best time to launch a prolonged drive. He also urged me to visit
Chaco Culture National Historical Park, for its amazing archeological sites. I took his advice.
When I reached Albuquerque, I underwent
a stressful rush up and down the streets, guided by GPS, trying to
arrange all car repairs and gather all supplies needed for my
upcoming 'survival' quest at Chaco Culture NHP. I
also stopped at
Astro Zombies and the
Comic Warehouse. Both of these
fine comics retailers now carry work by yours truly! I advise all fanboys
to go visit.
At last, after some days in
Albuquerque, I entered my blue subaru outback, and headed north and
west. I turned off the GPS. The NPS website gave dire warnings about
using GPS to guide a trip to Chaco Culture NHP—it could get one
lost or stuck in no man's land. To avoid this, I followed the map and
signs. Into the desolate desert of rocky orange sandstone bluffs I
went, on bumpy dirt roads. I established camp in Gallo campground,
near to where the ancients had farmed.
As nightfall came on, the temperature
dropped like a bowling ball. Heat radiated from the ground and walls,
unimpeded by moisture or trees. Initially clad in a long-sleeved
t-shirt and jeans, I added another layer every fifteen minutes or so,
until I wore full thermal underwear, two layers of fleece, rain
pants, a winter jacket, hat, scarf and gloves. Although I had all of
this, I had no campfire, for I carried no wood. But even the tiny
flame of my pocket rocket stove brought some gift of warmth. And it
boiled water for hot tea and the hydration of some thai beans.
Generally, I had to keep moving to resist the night's terrific cold.
I paced across the campground and read The Life of Pi by flashlight.
The half moon cast an indigo glow across the sky; the stars too were bright.
That night, I covered myself in two
sleeping bags and a fleece blanket, with my therma-rest a vital
barrier between me and the ground. I became warm eventually, so long
as I stayed buried in layers. Getting up in the middle of the night to use the facilities was a bitch.
As the sun rose in the morning, the
landscape warmed quickly. The desert's 45-degree farenheit swings in
temperature are hard to believe, until one experiences them directly.
I was back to my original attire when I explored the ruins, and hiked
Pueblo Alto trail.
With intrigue I examined the wreckage
of Chetro Ketl, Pueblo Bonito and Pueblo Alto. Between 850 and 1250
A.D., the ancestral pueblo took on these extradordinary feats of
construction, in an inhospital desert. These Great Houses are built
of sandstone and mortar, with wooden logs for structural support.
The people hauled the thousands of logs by hand, from forests up to
70 miles away. They probably had to haul food from outside as well, as the desert gave them little sustenance. Some of the housings are acres in size, and contain
hundreds of rooms, including the circular kivas. Perhaps twelve
generations worked to build the same Great House, a span of time difficult for we modern humans to comprehend. In 50 years time, I wonder if we will all be cyborgs, or if New York City will be wholly annihilated by climate change and rising seas.
In 1977, artist Anna Sofaer shed new
light on what was behind the Chaco engineering feat. She observed a
petroglyph of concentric circles on Chaco's Fajada Butte on summer
solstice... and a “sun dagger” of light formed, to perfectly
bisect the circles and mark “the middle of time.” This prompted
the
Solstice Project, wherein archeologists took closer examination
of the archeoastronomy. They found that Chetro Ketl and Pueblo Bonita
were aligned on an east-west axis, which captures the passage of the
equinox sun. They found many other amazing astronomical alignments in
the buildings. Hence, Chaco Culture has been called “the American
Stonehenge.” It was likely a place of worship.
As I gazed into the kivas, I recalled a
story, which was read to me many times as a child.
Arrow to the Sun a pueblo legend as reinterpreted by Gerald McDermott (with
guache paintings which mimic native styles.) I was delighted to see
this very picture book for sale at the park's visitor center. Glad to
know that it can still captivate the young, and perhaps corrupt their
minds with education. In the story, the sun god sends the spark of
life down to earth, and a pueblo woman becomes pregnant. When the boy
comes of age, he goes on a quest to find his father, which takes him
to the sky and a series of trials, in the form of four kivas: the
kiva of lions, kiva of snakes, kiva of bees, and kiva of lightning.
In that final kiva he is tranformed into a super-powered, electrified
demi-god, worthy to join his father and help the people.
As a child, this story was to me a
power ballad, told in a small number of words and pictures. I was
thrilled and moved by the Kiva of Lightning, every time I heard the
story. It seemed to tap into something deep and potent. Upon recent
re-reading, I recognize the tale as a quintessential example of the
“monomyth” which
Joseph Campbell described in
The Hero with a
Thousand Faces. And it ought to be a familiar story to anyone who has
read the Bible. The details are always different, sprung from a
particular culture and its particular environment. But certain common
plots threads recur, across all continents, and across time and
space. One of these is the virgin birth. In the southwestern United
States alone, the Native American mythic heroes also include Child of
the Water (Apache), conceived when his mother White Painted Woman lay
out in a rain storm and allowed water to run all over her belly (or a
more discreet place, in some versions of the story); and Clay Pot Boy
(Pueblo), whose mother was impregnated by earthen clay. All of these
heroes eventually sought and found their divine fathers, in one way
or another.
And all of them went out alone, to meet
their trials and face their enemies. In life, I have set out alone
many times, but still have never died and been reborn, nor have I developed super-powers. In my lonely
travels in the southwest, I found some joy and discovery, but wished
a friend was along, with whom to share them. My next destination was Moab.
There, things would change.
