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Trip Overview by Pygmy "Guru", Art |
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This
is to share my observations of the Great Pygmy safari of 2006. The
event occurred September 22nd, 23rd and 24th. It was completed by 15 brave
and resourceful Pygmies with a token female (4 legged). I was fortunate to be
invited, although not clear to me why. Perhaps the group included me
(the eldest) to be their guru. Sorry As I share with you the idiosyncratic behavior of each tribe brother, be advised that each holds a position of high respect in the tribe. After a leisurely breakfast we started out…15 Pygmies and one dog. We left pavement and traversed many roads, trails and washes. Our leader was Chief Hank. He led the way simply because he was Chief. No one wanted the job, just someone to blame. (see letter to the Editor) It did not take long for things to unravel. Our leader took us to dead ends and reversed course several times. The Pygmy brothers were about to mutiny, then reason prevailed. It was pointed out that our leader was not lost; he was trying trails that our forbearers have always taken. The futile attempts at following our familiar course were stymied by the Park Service and B.L.M. Miles of fencing cut across our time proven route. We had to circumnavigate immense turtle pens. Had they asked us, we would tell them we don’t eat turtle, tortoise, or terrapin. If we were to ingest tortoise, the only known antidote is massive doses of liquids (brewed, distilled or fermented). Incidentally, we have been known to take these liquids for medically accepted preventative purposes. Day
one continued to unravel when a rock bit the tire of Donnie the
soothsaying sot. Donnie asked his navigator Those
that laughed the most were first in line for seconds. Sleep was on
and off as the wind rattled our tents all Rescue
man Jerry brought our only female companion, named Bandit. She
afforded just the right amount of femininity. NO We left the clattering coins of Searchlight toward a quieter Nipton. Any flatlander could reach Nipton in thirty minutes. Not your High Desert Pygmies! They take the route less traveled. Ours was the trail that tests driver and machine. This trail scales mountains, descends into gulches, all the while affording spectacular views. Mule deer bolted in front of us. Every turn offered another photo opportunity. Pygmies know that slow going in the desert is full of rewards. On the roughest stretch, our CB’s crackled with Ernie’s running narrative detailing the geology, history and other aspects of the area. Meanwhile the yet to be tamed vehicle driven by Donnie dove into a ditch. Nothing would budge that delinquent vehicle until rescuer Jerry applied a tow strap and mega horsepower to that unruly beast. After
a tailgate lunch, we moved on to camp at the foot of the Steak
dinner was so well received the first night, that Chris did an encore.
However, beans two nights in a row can Sunday
dawned beautifully clear. Gary and Ron started breakfast. Ernie and
Donnie fired coffee pots. Mike’s excellent Beef Jerky and Happy
Little Pies had been well
received; so he pressed his luck by offering his precooked bacon.
Gary allowed it need not come near his kitchen. Chief Hank said he
would not go for anything synthetic. After breakfast, our holy man
Robb summoned us together for a moment of brotherly sharing and
inspiration. Our fellowship reached new levels as he described in
MOVING detail his recent bodily function. There was nary a dry eye
as Robb dealt with his separation anxiety. We then carried the
solemn moment to the Blowsand gravesite. Continuing in his eloquence
Robb delivered a dedication that the National Cathedral would be proud to
hear. The pioneering spirit of the Blowsand family and it's history was
felt by all. Our
tribe broke camp, packed the trash, and erased all evidence we were there.
That is the Pygmy way…leave it pleasant In
conclusion, I remember my mother’s wise counsel “If you want to
get to know someone, go camping with them”. The men I camped with
are of good humor, resourceful, helpful and good stewards of the land.
What our society needs is many more like them.
Your Pygmy
guru …Art |
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to disappoint, but no pearls of
wisdom dripped from these lips. It was explained that I had no
viable means of desert transportation. If this were a buffalo hunt,
I was too old and could only give lessons on reading buffalo dung.
In spite of these reminders, I was allowed to go along with the admonition
“sit down, hang on, and shut up”.
why he did not warn him
about the rock? “ Because I am blind” says Ernie our historian. “No excuse” says Donnie. Rear guards Chris and Jeff S. raced to
the rescue. Point man Jeff H. denies any involvement. However, we
have photographic proof he was “covering” Chris from behind.
Due to the blowout and all the turnarounds we struck camp at sunset and
dined in the dark. Chris cooked on an open pit fire. "Emil"
could not have done better. Porterhouse steaks, beans and charcoal
baked potatoes and onions. Witch doctor Mike whipped out his
"Happy Little Pie Makers" to make fruit "Happy Little Pies" in the fire.
night. (All this in plain
view of Searchlight and it’s notorious houses of comfort).
Evidently Chief Hank suckled on firewater all night…he kept muttering
about fires “out there” that no one else could discern. The morn
greeted us cool and clear with song leaders Gary and Ron whipping up
delicious breakfast burritos and potatoes. We broke camp, went on to
Searchlight for gas and a new tire for Donnie.
complaining, NO shopping,
NO pms. Yet, when it came to guarding vehicles she was a real BITCH.
While waiting for Donnie the rest of us sipped and hit slots at the
casino. As we dropped a few bucks, the chair that held our Holy man
Robb dropped him to the floor. The lady tending bar gave Robb a kiss on
the cheek. “Yes Robb, we really must leave”. (see
letter to the Editor)
to enforce. No traffic snarls, no drive by shootings, no
disputes. All our enforcers could do was help with KP, pass out
cigars and smile. High above our camp a deserted mine beckoned
to all. Could this be the cave where the great Pygmy spirit
dwells? Jeff H., Jeff K., Mike and Chris were determined to find
out. With little fear of the consequences
they scrambled to the
opening. Our fearless foursome stumbled over a headless hare (sign
#1). A bat charged past our heroes (sign#2). Was the Pygmy
Spirit pleased or giving them a warning? Either way, there was something
that deeply affected them but this was not the home of the Great Pygmy
Spirit. From our view far below, it appeared they
were bowing toward that mystic presence in the cave. It seemed that
they were trying to signal the import of this event to us. The last
rays of the sun illuminated four rosy orbs in all their lunar glory.
prove hazardous to all. A
malodorous cloud fell upon the camp. Had we camped on a sulfur pit?
What died? Was the spirit getting even for our trespass?
Further investigation narrowed the stench down to three tents. In
the first tent Jeff K. had attempted patricide. His father (Art)
would have surely expired, had it not been for a gust of wind to dissipate
that noxious gas. Meanwhile, the tent shared by Chris and Jeff S.
housed emissions closely related to laughing gas. The noise was akin
to hyenas in heat. Most puzzling was the fact that Dan bolted from
his tent, and he was alone.
for all to enjoy. On our
way home we visited the East Mojave headquarters at the old Kelso Train
depot. The National Park Service has done a masterful job restoring an old
abused site. We all benefit from the efforts taken.
Incidentally, Chief Hank nearly broke the most sacred of all Pygmy
rules. He was so impressed with a lovely park guide he would have
brought her into the tribe; until we reminded him our only female is
Jerry’s bitch.