by Stone Canyon ©2001 Stone Canyon Media Corp.
I'm a very cautious and prepared desert traveler. Even so, there's a potential for trouble if I come upon a human who's willing to shoot at me first and ask questions later.
As an avid “Natural Arch hunter”, I was excited to attend Natural Arch and Bridge Society (NABS) convention in Farmington, New Mexico. NABS had a trip planned to the fabulous Cox Canyon Arch, near the town of Cedar Hill. It’s a fantastic and amazing free-standing arch that’s wonderfully photogenic. My desire to see another fabulous arch, Snake Bridge, and my never-ending hunt for new arches, prevented me from taking the trip. Nevertheless, I was adamant about ultimately getting to Cox Canyon Arch on my own.
It was a beautiful Monday morning. This is a big desert. A hundred sandstone arches. And then some. I had led a group of NABS arch hunters through it, looking for unreported arches. We found a few that were small, yet photogenic. This took most of the day, and the participants all agreed it was a success. That morning, before the arch hunt, one of our arch-hunting buddies, Archie Cox (the names have been changed to protect the innocent), had given me directions and the GPS coordinates for Cox Canyon arch. I calculated that after allowing time for dinner, I’d still have enough time to gain the arch before complete darkness set in.
I drove north out of Aztec, New Mexico in my invincible Toyota Land Cruiser, and tried to find the county road turnoff to the arch. I was hampered by construction along the main highway; all the county road signs had been removed or displaced. It was getting on towards dark. I was just about to bag it for the night, when I noticed the moon’s glow just below the horizon.
“There’s gonna’ be a huge moon tonight!” I said to myself, boosting my confidence that I would see Cox Canyon Arch no matter what. The weather was cool but clear, and the thought of seeing and filming this great arch in the soft moonlight was irresistible!
I continued on. With Archie’s GPS fix and directions, I was fairly confident I could find the arch at night, especially in the bright moonlight. Per the directions, I turned right on road “512” and continued past some of the many natural gas wells in the area. However, the mileage Archie indicated - from the highway to the intersection - was off by a factor of about 2.2. It was then that I realized the mileage figures were actually approximating kilometers. (An incredible coincidence; Archie insisted after the fact that his figures were in miles!).
Perhaps Archie had his GPS unit set to UTM coordinates and the distance display set to kilometers, I pondered.
“No problem, I can adjust for that!” I told myself.
I continued down the road, and to my surprise I became completely stymied. None of the directions made any sense. The descriptions of the area and intersections didn’t match up with what I was finding on the ground. It was then that I realized I had another problem. The “road” signs Archie had seen the day he was there were actually “crew and truck” signs. These signs tell petroleum hauling trucks and gas well maintenance crews which way to go do their jobs. A sign with an arrow pointed to the right, marked “512”, may mean that truck or crew number 512 goes to the right. These signs can change location on a daily basis! Today, sign “512” was about 1.5 miles east of where it was when Archie was writing his directions to the arch.
I decided to start over using only the GPS coordinates and my map. It was getting late, but I was still determined to gain the arch. By about 10:00 PM, I was finally in the place where Archie’s descriptions of the area started to make sense. There were a series of natural gas compressors in a fenced compound, with a road going up behind them toward the arch. When I got to the parking area for the arch, I noticed that someone was camped there in a trailer, with a Chevy Tahoe parked alongside. As I drove up, I had my bright headlights on and they were pointing directly toward the trailer windows.
“Whoops, how embarrassing!” I thought. Out of courtesy to the campers, I decided to park down the hill about 150 meters on a well pad and walk back towards the parking area and the arch.
Amid the constant roar of the gas compressors, I punched the coordinates into my GPS unit and off I went. All was calm as I approached the parking area and campers. I saw the coals of their campfire, and walked up to it. No one there. I looked at my GPS unit. It wasn’t exactly clear whether I should go to the right or to the left of a giant rock fin looming over the site. I decided to try going to the right first (which was ultimately the wrong way). I rounded the fin and began walking along its wall, away from the parking area, watching my GPS intently to see how close I was to the arch.
Suddenly, and with no warning, a gunshot rang out! For about 2 seconds, I thought the explosive sound might be related to the natural gas wells. I realized then that it was the familiar sound of a .357 caliber magnum revolver. I moved quickly, but without too much haste, behind a large cedar tree. I knew from my extensive desert experience that cedar is extremely hard wood, so it was unlikely the gunman would be able to score a hit with me standing behind it.
As soon as I was behind the cedar tree, a voice shouted above the compressor roar:
“Ahts a good way da git cher se’f shot!”
I wasn’t wearing my idiot decoder ring that night, so my mind scrambled to comprehend.
“What!!!!!!??????”, I responded at the top of my lungs.
“What’r you doin’ sneakin’ around our camp at night?” He sounded way more scared than I felt at the time. I remained surprisingly calm.
“Lookin’ for Cox Canyon Arch!!!!!!!” I said in a forceful voice.
“Not at naat chew don’t!!!!! Now go own, git outta here!!!! the backwoods, not-from-New-Mexico voice said.
“All right, I’m leavin’!” I said.
By that time, I was behind a nearby boulder about the size of a small bedroom. I felt safer, but I knew that would only be temporary. I had to stall him long enough for me to plan an escape route, but he was pressing me.
“Go own, git moovin’!” he said. I could hear his footsteps coming towards me.
He must be very close for his footsteps to be heard over the compressors, I surmised.
“Go own, git the hell outta’ here!” he said, his voice becoming ever more panicked and at the same time aggressive.
Footsteps a little closer.
“I’m goin’!” I lied. But I really wasn’t moving until I had that escape route picked out! Besides, he had no way to tell whether I was armed or not.
Behind me, in the opposite direction from the gunman, and unfortunately in the opposite direction from my Land Cruiser and safety, was a series of large boulders. They led, in a chain, to the edge of a steep-walled sandy wash about 12 feet deep. The gunman and his fellow campers wouldn’t be able to see or shoot me down in there, and I could probably hear them if they were coming. When I had parked the Land Cruiser, I noticed a sandy wash about 25 feet away. By dead reckoning, I knew my escape route was that same sandy wash. I could get to within 25 feet of the ‘Cruiser under cover of the wash. Then, my only exposure would be getting into the truck, getting it started and getting the hell out of there!
I skipped, ran, buzzed and scurried between the boulders like some cartoon character. When I reached the wash, I dropped in, crouched under a cedar tree and listened. At this point, the gunman was about 200 meters away, judging by the sound of him talking to someone else in the camp. I strained to hear over the roar of the compressors. At least I knew where they were.
I skirted up to the opposite edge of the wash to see if I could get a visual on the enemy. I pulled out my binocs, hid behind a cedar log and scanned the moonlit scene. I spotted them going back to their camp, but still watching for me as they went along. I realized from their direction of travel that they could be headed for my Land Cruiser! A scary thought. What would I do then?
I calmed myself by deducing that they really had no reason to ambush me at my truck, other than robbery. OK, so they can take my truck and all my stuff. The reality was they were more scared of me than I was of them.
I took a few deep breaths to settle my heart rate and continued down the wash. As I calmed further, I noticed how beautiful the sandy wash was in the glistening moonlight.
“I’m gonna’ to live to see another day in this beautiful desert! And all those other awesome deserts…and arches….. and forests, too!” I told myself as I trudged through the sand. Besides, if I got shot and died, my wife would kill me!
Getting close to the ‘Cruiser………
As I approached the truck, my heart rate went up, way up. There was another large cedar tree at the edge of the wash. I crouched behind it and looked around. It looked clear, but they could still be hiding low in the sagebrush. I decided to make break for it! I held the truck keys, sweaty in my hand, ready to go.
I felt like a sitting duck as I dashed toward the truck. OK, make that a running duck. My heart pounded even faster as I got into the vehicle. It seemed like an eternity to get the key in and get it started. Another realization struck: I can’t drive fast near these gas wells. I could run into something flammable and be dead nevertheless! So, I had to drive relatively slowly out towards the compressors and ultimate safety.
Once I reached the other side of the valley from the arch parking area, I pulled the binocs back out and looked for any pursuers. None………..….Wait a minute……..oh, OK, that’s just a bush…….but what’s that??………oh……… nothing. Those guys weren’t coming after me! Or were they? I struggled to gain control over my fear and was finally able to do so after I drove about 14 miles and camped. Ironically, my camp site was on the mesa about a mile above the gunman’s camp.
As I shook off the remains of the night, I reflected (both literally and figuratively) in the bright moon light:
One should always be cautious when dealing with unknown persons in the desert. It doesn’t mean you can’t trust anyone. Just be cautious, observant and proactive!