Round Rocks

A sweet country boy memory.

 ~When it came my turn, I flipped like a trout into the churning ‘tub’. My eyes were open and I recorded the change of view, in streaming video as I went. A tall scraggly juniper, baking on the edge of Falcon Canyon crashed and distorted into silver spheres as I was enveloped by a liquid shade. Cool gray and green and blue inviting me in.

Eight feet round and nine feet deep, and carved out of solid stone, the hole had deceptive curvatures here and there along the sides.  They seemed like steppes, but defied any attempt of hands or feet to find purchase. When visitors jumped in this enchanting pool for the first time, there was a firm lesson to be learned as well as a cool dip. There is a powerful undertow here, and it pulls you right to the bottom. I have felt the sharp terror that comes when one realizes the visible surface is too far. I have also noticed that there is other magic here, as the Ancient Ones always forgive the foolish bather, and send a vortex at the last moment. Then, in the form of a passing Crow, they mock your fear as you hug the slippery edge . Most folks don't notice this, but I have seen it more than once. Caw!

Excavated by water and time, this monument to motion and rest, looks pretty tame from standing on the edge, tiny fish darting among the clumps of bright green blades. The water tumbles over bare feet from a higher side, into the pool an out the opposite side leaving a smooth wandering ripple on the surface. As it leaves the hole, it spreads to a thin sheet a few feet across, invisible on the smooth stone, before submitting to a fifteen foot waterfall. With a soft roar it greets an ancient Oasis in the middle of a seemingly empty desert. It is a sacred place, with sublime beauty lying right next to rapid peril.

Upended, I felt hands grab my ankles, and I held ridged, allowing them to push me towards the bottom, wherein the natural drag took over, and then the hands were pulling, as the hydraulics attempted to steal me away.

In the bottom, there were hundreds of loose stones, rolling and tumbling their way through eternity. Stones that have seen of the roar of ten thousand spring runoffs.

If you listen you can hear them tell the story during the never-ending, gently flowing streams of late summers. Cool vibrant waters burbling and winding through shady stone pools where speckled trout snooze forever. Over the eons, the stones thunk and bump their way into almost perfect smoothness and roundness. It was a practice of us kids in those days, to harvest a few round rocks whenever we made the long trip out across the scab flats of sage and scrub, to this desert paradise among a lost enclave of tall creaking pines.

Once added to a person's 'things' these rounded rocks were usually forgotten, accept when occasionally someone comments on their shape or size. For me they still hold powerful visions as they prop open a stairwell door, or guard the corner of a walk:

I had my target set from an earlier immersion, and now worked my hands beneath it, gauging its weight. I waited a second, willing my hands to adhere to the elusive stone, before being rotated and pulled. I heaved at the precise moment, and let the motion of the water move the basketball sized oval into my skinny arms like a baby. Squatted at the edge, Lonnie reached and snatched the heavy stone away when I broke the surface. By then my legs were freed, and I fell back into the pool, inverted again, and rested, laughing, my fingers dug into the mossy gravel that hid just under the bubbles. Another clever trick I learned from the Ancient Ones.

 In a while I sat in the mist of the fall, and sloshed ice cold Hamm’s around in my mouth, before swallowing. I watched FattMatt take his turn at stone fishing. It takes at least three people to haul FM out of the hole. I admired my rock and figured it to be about 60lbs.

 I experienced a moment of pure connection, pure joy then, sipping the cold beer while Dawn Marie shared her curves with me. Her musical laughter rang out as she watched the EverClown, FM. He was doing his hilarious, ‘drowning fat guy’ routine. I savored the vision of her, jiggling in the bright green bikini, the spray from the falls glistening on her brown skin. Lovely Dawn Marie. Forever never mine.

 My mind wandered back to the time that she and I had come here alone. On a bitter cold september day, we witnessed an early snow storm. Scouting for Elk is what we were doing, as far as the parishioners were concerned. I had a Grand Wagoneer at my disposal that weekend, and it had an excellent fold down rear compartment and a Radio Shack receiver that got FM all the way from Bend or Ontario. I built a big fire and we drank coffee, made in a three pound tin, laughing and spitting grounds while the night gave up 8 inches of powder. Later she shrieked with the acclimation, as we shed our clothes  among the swirling sparks and  flakes, before scrambling beneath the old hand sewn quilt. Just the one was plenty warm enough.

I don't suppose I ever really thanked ol' Rusty for the use of the Jeep, nor for the introduction to wonderful places like Upper Falls.

But I bet he knows how much I appreciate it.

Thanks, Grandpa.

Author's Note

In this story, I actually was thinking about DawnMarie. But I needed a way to introduce her. Rock Fishing was the best example I could think of that was also something interesting as a ..side story.. I guess.
I'm having a hard time reading it from the readers view, maybe I didn't color in the environment enough, ...
but I hate overdescribing things, you know I much rather write only the tiniest details, forcing the reader to Imagine.
Is it hot enough? it is supposed to be very hot, desert canyon.
Can you see the place, with the stream coming down through the boulders, the grass growing on the edge of the rock hole?
The water fall?
Dawn Marie?
Anyway....

Reviews

[Crowley]

I knew where you were right off, having a similar place or places back home. Besides, to me this wasn't about the visual, it was about the feeling of the place and the mind of the boy as it pertained to the girl. It was plenty hot, moreover it was very real, and I could identify with the refreshigness of the water, the weight of the stones, the feel of the moss, the awesomeness of the curves, and the warmth of her and you under that quilt...god I love quilts and afghans. Great stuff Tony...I coud here you telling me this one over ice cold Hamms..

[Kerry O'Connor]

This says so much to me about losing ourselves to the power of emotions, like the strong undertow of water, and to time, which sweeps us away from ourselves.

[Samuel Dickens]

I had a little trouble in the beginning developing a visual picture of the scene, but after re-reading, I managed to see it well enough. All of it is good, but I especially like the telling of you and Dawn Marie. "Forever never mine" is an excellent phrase that really says a lot.