by Gwagwagwe
As the bison migrate west, they travel out of buckle of the bible belt. The landscapes of central Oklahoma and northwestern Texas leave much to be desired, so with due speed the winds blew the bison into northern New Mexico. Here, like the southern half of the state, is vast shrub, cactus, and sage prairies. Every hundred miles brings new addition the plant spirits along the mountains of pastel colors. We travel into the mountain national forests near Santa Fe. Here we find spring has not quite reached the mountainous regions of the southern Rockies. We’re a little sad because we had hoped to meet some of the Durango tribesman. We’d spent to many days indoors (slaving or escaping the cold) in that hell hole called OKC. That soon to be executed bomber or that f-5 tornado could have wiped out that entire 100 square miles that comprises OKC and the world would breath a little easier (disclaimer for friends and family, sorry guys but our hometown still sucks). Well I digress, with our northerly route in question we choose to continue due west into the land of the Dine (Navajo to some). Here the gods provide desert landscape and more sky and stars to guide our journey. Here the Bison come across an village site suitable for yearlong inhabitancy. Just west of the land the Dine now reside hides a metropolis near a national forest. Here the juniper and pine grow sparingly along grand mesas doted with alpine lakes. This place must have been the lifeblood of the Dine before the takers proclaimed their shortsighted ideas of ownership. Here the bison established a small village site at a place called kinikanik, a plant spirit the bison have been dying to meet. Here we meet the largest coyote we’d ever seen. His coat was rich and flowing, his tail uplifted as he bounded across the meadow, we meet the whitefooted squirrel and the black and white striped fly people. Our old friend the mullein spirit was popping up everywhere. A cow offered the bison his sunbleached scapulas for digging tools, and a fish offer his sunbleached bones for hooks and needles. We watched the sun and stars for many suns, but soon the wind gods started testing our resolve. As we learned from the bayou adventures, wind is our most challenging test (we don’t test the snow gods at all, and why should we?). For a few suns we tightened tarps and listened to the rattle of nylon and plastic, but there seemed no end to the gusts and howls of the windy one. So we put our face into the howls and headed wnw to Vegas with hope those California mountains might block the gusty giant. No such luck. The dust of Death Valley was thick in the air, and we could do nothing but continue north. Nevada is similar to Montana, except the directions of the mountain chains are reversed. It’s a stunning place if you avoid the taker parts (Vegas and Reno). We found a few village sites in between, but it’s not a forgiving ecosystem, and we could hear the dougfir spirits calling our names. We traveled over donner pass, and even in early April we we’re worried about road conditions and warmth (got down to twenty in Tahoe) so we moved quickly down into Sacramento valley where we meet the full force of life giving spring green and that cool warmth of flowing rivers and mountain breezes. Again “home”, AT LEAST FOR A LITTLE WHILE.
Thanks for all the support we received along our migratory route, and look forward to the spring melodies of bison herds.
From the Trinity Alps, see you soon.