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Revisiting Llano Estacado and canyons
Standing on the rim of the canyons that were enveloped in a light fog, a sense of magic was everywhere. The air was crisp, moist and musty with the odor of rock. If you sit still long enough, you might believe yourself back in time when Charles Goodnight scouted for lost cattle looking for grass. Or when Colonel McKanzie ran hundreds of ponies over the cliffs to mollify the remaining Comanches and Kiowa. Or perhaps during the year that Captain Randolph Marcy explored and mapped these canyons.
Further back, you might hear the gathering of southern Plains tribal members gathering wild plums along the streams and sharing ceremonies. Maybe imagine how the men of Coronado's expedition thought they were hallucinating at the drop into the earth. Or perhaps you can feel and hear the thunder of bison hooves.
Even further back, you might sense these canyons forming under your very eyes. The Llano Estacado is part of the Great Plains. But what is different from it's northern compartment is erosion. As the Rocky Mountains eroded, vast deposits of debris spewed all over the Great Plains, and continues to erode. But this gigantic mesa, bordered by several rivers, has been protected from surface erosion by the calcareous caprock and the semi-arid climate.
Over time, the Prairie Dog Town Fork of the Red River carved out the softer minerals and rock that had been deposited and then uplifted along with the Rocky Mountains. At the very bottom are remnants of a shallow marine environment, alternating with dry climate periods. Even today one can see ancient dry tidal flats, marked by ripple marks and gypsum deposits that stream like white ribbons in cliffs of red and orange.
Fish and other marine animal remains can still be found. At one time saber-toothed tigers, rhinoceros, and the ancestors of camels roamed these lands. Hard rock boulders teeter on sandstone pillars, and one day, even those will be gone. But not in our lifetime.
Now the muted banded layers of orange, red, brown, yellow, grey, maroon, and white rocks sleep as the fog blankets a land spanning more than 240 million years. And we are but a momentary blip in time.
That is why I love canyons. And to truly experience them, you have to explore the tops and bottoms. They can be vastly different and our little ant bodies with our short grasp of time challenges us to imagine and feel deep time, in their sense. We can see and imagine the past as they were formed, the present as we feel them under our hands and feet, and try to consider what the future will be like thousands or millions of years later.
And all our dramas seem so small and trivial. It's an exercise in zen and patience. And a lesson in humility.
Standing on the rim of the canyons that were enveloped in a light fog, a sense of magic was everywhere. The air was crisp, moist and musty with the odor of rock. If you sit still long enough, you might believe yourself back in time when Charles Goodnight scouted for lost cattle looking for grass. Or when Colonel McKanzie ran hundreds of ponies over the cliffs to mollify the remaining Comanches and Kiowa. Or perhaps during the year that Captain Randolph Marcy explored and mapped these canyons.
Further back, you might hear the gathering of southern Plains tribal members gathering wild plums along the streams and sharing ceremonies. Maybe imagine how the men of Coronado's expedition thought they were hallucinating at the drop into the earth. Or perhaps you can feel and hear the thunder of bison hooves.
Even further back, you might sense these canyons forming under your very eyes. The Llano Estacado is part of the Great Plains. But what is different from it's northern compartment is erosion. As the Rocky Mountains eroded, vast deposits of debris spewed all over the Great Plains, and continues to erode. But this gigantic mesa, bordered by several rivers, has been protected from surface erosion by the calcareous caprock and the semi-arid climate.
Over time, the Prairie Dog Town Fork of the Red River carved out the softer minerals and rock that had been deposited and then uplifted along with the Rocky Mountains. At the very bottom are remnants of a shallow marine environment, alternating with dry climate periods. Even today one can see ancient dry tidal flats, marked by ripple marks and gypsum deposits that stream like white ribbons in cliffs of red and orange.
Fish and other marine animal remains can still be found. At one time saber-toothed tigers, rhinoceros, and the ancestors of camels roamed these lands. Hard rock boulders teeter on sandstone pillars, and one day, even those will be gone. But not in our lifetime.
Now the muted banded layers of orange, red, brown, yellow, grey, maroon, and white rocks sleep as the fog blankets a land spanning more than 240 million years. And we are but a momentary blip in time.
That is why I love canyons. And to truly experience them, you have to explore the tops and bottoms. They can be vastly different and our little ant bodies with our short grasp of time challenges us to imagine and feel deep time, in their sense. We can see and imagine the past as they were formed, the present as we feel them under our hands and feet, and try to consider what the future will be like thousands or millions of years later.
And all our dramas seem so small and trivial. It's an exercise in zen and patience. And a lesson in humility.
