at Bucky Eakins cabin tomorrow night at eight. You ought’a come, Rubles.” Skinner crushed his empty beer can with his boot heel. “In fact, I could pick you up and we could go together.”
“I don’t know about that, Skinner.”
“I’ll throw in a sit-down restaurant dinner at the Prospector’s Inn.”
“You know I don’t have time for no sit-down dinners,” Ruby replied gruffly. “But if I’m out in that area anyway, I might drop in. See what it’s all about.”
“I can’t save myself for you forever, Rubles.” Skinner flashed a full-toothed grin. “Not with all the other ladies after me.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s been tough on you,” Ruby said, dead-panning.
“What about you, college boy?” Without warning, Skinner hurled the crushed beer can at Roper, bouncing it squarely off his chest. “Wouldn’t hurt you none to hear both sides.”
“Believe you me, I know both sides,” Roper said, picking up the beer can and pitching it in Ruby’s trash bag. “And there’s got to be a better way.”
“Like advisory committees?” Skinner snarled.
“Yeah, that for one.”
“Well, you best be careful out there,” Skinner warned, eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’re getting in to.”
5
THE WHITE CLIFFS
Running east to west, the third rung on the staircase, the White Cliffs, form an immense chain of sheer face-rock covering almost a hundred miles across southern Utah. One of nature’s favored rocks to sculpt, it tends to fracture along vertical lines and is often etched into huge domes and sheer perpendicular walls or hollowed into alcoves and arches. The eroding, receding cliff line shows the distinctive wind blown layers, often resembling the huge primordial sand dunes from which they were born.
Undoubtedly one of the most visible formations in the area, the White Cliffs are composed of white to pink, coarse Jurassic sandstone appropriately christened Navajo sandstone. Created during an arid climate one hundred and eighty million years ago, the White Cliffs are three to six hundred foot sand drifts that were swept into the area by violent Jurassic winds and over the eons have slowly solidified.
It was early, 7:30 a.m., when the teams departed the prefab, clay brown office in Escalante, Utah. Immediately splitting into assigned pairs, each squad had a different mission as commissioned by Deputy Manager Ron Sparks. The unlikely team of Douglas Roper Rehnquist and Sean Dunn O’Grady climbed in Sean’s 1990 dusty, dented and rusted Toyota Landrover and headed out of town.
In silence, they drove east on State Road 12 through the tiny Mormon farming community of Henrieville, then onto equally small Cannonville. There, Sean turned due south on the paved Cottonwood Road, driving right on past the right hand fork of the Skutumpah Road. A little further down they passed the road to Kodachrome Basin on the left. At this point the blacktop abruptly ended, but the road continued on, now gravel, still proceeding roughly in a southerly direction.
Dust billowed and swirled from the back of the Landrover and sifted into the cab through Sean’s cracked-open window as well as up from small fractures in the metal floorboard. The ongoing drought coupled with increasing tourist traffic had pulverized roadbed to fine clay powder. Roper rubbed his nose and stifled a sneeze then glanced at Sean, wondering if he dared suggest he close his window. In grim silence, Sean focused on the road.
At Grosvenor Arch, he turned from the main road, angling east on a two track lane, at times hard to see. Roper knew this track eventually led to the top of the seven thousand foot Kaiparowits Plateau. After another ten minutes, they descended down a precarious perpendicular canyon into a cavernous gorge aptly christened, the Gut. In places, the road was no more than a downward slanting rock shelf that had been carved into the solid sandstone wall, barely offering enough room for the Landrover to squeeze by. In lieu of a shoulder on the left, the terrain abruptly dropped straight off for a dizzying two to three hundred feet. Occasionally, when Sean bounced over imbedded gnarly roots or squeezed by table-sized rocks that a remote thunderstorm had washed onto the road, the outside tire would come perilously close to the edge.
Eventually they crossed the dry wash bed marking the nadir of the huge chasm then started up the other side. Fighting dust, hairpin curves and jolting over boulders, washboard, roots and potholes, they lurched up the fifteen percent grade, eventually leveling out on the far wall.
From here, the view was unparalleled. Appearing mostly steel-wool gray in color with splashes of creamy brown sandstone, the Kaiparowits Plateau stretched out far below them, dotted with a smattering of dwarf pinions and junipers. The plateau was upturned at the edges, like the rim of a saucer, with the western border being supported by the strange saw-toothed Cockscomb formation. The eastern border was shouldered up by the massive Straight Cliffs and to the far south Roper could see the blue-green gashes in the tabletop, marking the plateau’s deepening network of drainage canyons. Wahweap Creek, Warm Creek, Last Chance Creek, Reese’s Canyon, Navajo Canyon, Rodgers Canyon, Monday Canyon, Sunday Canyon all emptied south into Lake Powell. Glancing through the window to the north, he could make out the long slender snaking arm of Headquarters Valley. Even though the trip here had been a bit like a roller coaster ride, Roper had to admit the view made the trip worth it.
The agenda for the day, as the ever genial Deputy Monument Manager Sparks had earlier briefed, was to drive to the top the Kaiparowits Plateau and see what was happening with the various coal leases. In principal at least, Andalex and PacifiCorp had agreed to sell their leases back to the U.S. government, removing all their mining equipment, but not so with Highland Mining & Mineral. Andalex and PacifiCorp leases were located on the southern rim of the plateau, close to the Burning Hills, whereas Highland’s lease was right here on top, almost the geographic center of the huge plateau, in the Paradise Canyon area.
Apparently, Angus Macdonald, sole owner of Highland, had agreed to absolutely nothing and had in fact been recalcitrant and difficult to find. There had been no negotiations with him and none had been scheduled. Rumor had it he had been camping out somewhere on the Kaiparowits, probably near his lease, but no one from the BLM had been able to talk to him since that pivotal day, September eighteenth, the day the monument was created. Scuttlebutt had it however, that he was furious and did not want to talk or negotiate.
Sparky had instructed Sean and Roper to scout out the Plateau, particularly the Paradise Canyon area to make sure there had been no recent digging, and if they could find Macdonald, try to arrange a day for him to meet with Manager Brisco. After that, if there still was time, they were to inspect any ranching operations in the area. Specifically, check on the number of cows presently grazing and if the number was appropriate for the present poor range condition. With the drought, Sparky had needlessly reminded them, the land would not support nearly as many cows. Sean had snorted at this and Roper silently suspected one was probably too many for him.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Roper glanced over at Sean. His freckled jaw was set and his green eyes focused straight ahead. To Roper, the complete lack of conversation was beginning to feel more than just a little strained.
“You ever hike up there to Grosvenor’s Arch?” he finally asked.
“Of
