a small building; next to it were more pines, more slices of sky touching distant mountaintops, and yet, with less than a hundred yards to go, the view of the canyon itself eluded him.
“I can’t believe we’re this close, and we still can’t see it,” Ashley said, straining onto the tips of her toes. “I read that in some spots you can almost walk right to the edge before you realize you’re on the rim.”
Hoisting a backpack bristling with camera equipment onto his shoulders, Steven told her, “Just a little farther. We’ve got to go right past this building and then….”
He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. In front of all of them loomed a vision that Jack could hardly believe, a vast space so incomprehensible it seemed to stretch across time itself. Golden-red rock descended in massive sheer-faced walls, ending in a tiny ribbon of water, a winding thread of silver that was the Colorado River. Shadows, ranging from brown to bluish-black, traced patterns against the enormous walls as if brushed by a painter’s hand, the dark and light composing shapes that were alive and ever-changing and incomprehensibly beautiful. But it was the expanse between the canyon walls that took Jack’s breath away. He was suddenly small, a tiny speck of matter on Earth, no bigger than a grain of sand and no more permanent than a snowflake. He stood with his family, perfectly still, taking in what he could in the silence. It was a good feeling, realizing where he fit. Everything seemed dwarfed here. He couldn’t move his eyes from the enormity of the canyon, not even to take a picture.
“It’s—it’s….” Olivia stopped, shaking her head in wonder.
“I’ve seen pictures,” Ashley whispered. “But they can’t even begin to capture it. It’s so much bigger. It’s so much more beautiful.”
Reverent, Steven said, “Nothing could capture this canyon’s spirit. I’m almost ashamed to even try putting it into photographs. The Native Americans called it Mountain Lying on its Back. It really is the mirror image of a mountain. Incredible.”
“I wish we had hours to stand on this spot and drink in all this beauty,” Olivia told them, “but I’m suppose to be at The Peregrine Fund field office at ten o’clock, and it’s an hour-and-a-half drive. We need to get Morgan, grab a bite of breakfast, and take off.”
“Where is the field office?” Jack asked.
“A place called Vermilion Cliffs. If all goes well, we might even get to see a condor!”
“There they are,” Steven announced. “The Vermilion Cliffs. Wow, what a view! Let’s stop for a minute so I can grab a few shots.”
The second he pulled the rental car to a stop at the side of the two-lane highway, all four doors swung open and all four Landons jumped out, Steven and Olivia from the front, Jack and Ashley from the back. Morgan remained in the middle of the backseat, where he’d sat like a stone for the whole hour-and-a-half ride from the Grand Canyon. As an act of defiance, he’d brought the Game Boy, but if it bothered Olivia, she didn’t let it show. She kept speaking to Morgan in a pleasant, brittle way that to Jack sounded strangely unlike his mother. It was a tone she’d adopted after their encounter two hours earlier when the four Landons had returned from the Grand Canyon rim to Yavapai Lodge.
With the room’s thick curtains drawn tight against the sun, Morgan was sitting hunched over the Game Boy. He quickly looked up and said to Olivia, “You told me not to take it to the rim. You didn’t say anything about not playing it here.”
Dryly, Olivia said, “It seems your upset stomach has miraculously healed itself. That’s fine, because we’re going to get some breakfast and then start out for—”
“Oh no,” Morgan said, clutching his middle. “I’m still too sick to go anywhere. I better talk to Mr. Landon.”
Olivia shook her head. “That won’t work this time. We’re all going, including you. Grab your things.”
And now, at the Vermilion Cliffs, Steven was attempting to draw Morgan out of the car, waving through the car window. “Hey, Morgan, wait’ll you see this view of the cliffs! Come on, it’s spectacular!”
“No thank you,” Morgan answered as he deftly punched miniature Game Boy keys.
Olivia put her hand lightly on Steven’s back, touching him where his shoulder blade protruded. “Leave him be,” she said softly. “If he wants to ignore all this, he’s only hurting himself.”
“Exactly. That’s why we shouldn’t give up.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m just not being taken in the way you seem to be.”
“He’s a troubled kid,” Steven answered evenly, “but those are exactly the ones who need our help. It isn’t like you to get rattled.” He gave her a quick, sideways hug that tucked Olivia beneath his lanky arm. “Give him another chance—he’ll warm up.”
“I hope you’re right,” she murmured. “There’s something about that boy that rubs me the wrong way.”
“You worry about the condors, and I’ll handle Morgan. Deal?”
“Deal,” Olivia said.
Jack knew he’d better hurry if he was going to capture a perfect shot. The morning sun cast shadows that outlined every crevice in the mesa-topped range. Compared to the mile-high cliffs of the Grand Canyon, the Vermilion Cliffs were dwarfs, and the shape of them wasn’t outstanding in this land of rugged peaks, pinnacles and crags, domes and forested ridges. But the colors! While other rock masses stood out in bold orange-reds, the reds of the Vermilion Cliffs had a bluish tinge. The blue-reds were layered in horizontal stripes by pale sedimentary rock left behind by ancient oceans. No wonder Native Americans called cliffs like these Land of the Sleeping Rainbow.
“Hey, where are the condors?” Ashley exclaimed, scanning the sky while shielding her eyes from the sun. “I thought you said they lived here.”
“Ashley, it would be a minor miracle if you spotted a condor. Right now there’s only one of them still out there in the wild. Come on, we’ve got to get to the field office.” Olivia started the engine while Jack and Ashley piled once more into the backseat. Steven took the map and checked the route.
“Wait—I think this is it,” Steven finally said. “The town of Vermilion Cliffs, christened after the cliffs of the same name.”
Morgan, finally looking up, muttered, “This is supposed to be a town? Jeez, it’s even smaller than Dry Creek! How many people live here?”
“About 30, I think,” Olivia answered. “And six of them work for the condor program.”
The town of Vermilion Cliffs consisted of a flat-roofed stone lodge with a neon “‘Vacancy” sign flashing; a fly-fishing shop; a couple of little trailers; and around the back of a loop from the highway, a double trailer. They parked next to the double trailer. A placard identified it as The Peregrine Fund California Condor Project.
At the door, they were met by Shawn, the research project’s chief biologist. Shawn had a beard that matched his hair, the same reddish brown they’d seen in their drive across the Painted Desert. Protective coloration, Jack thought, grinning to himself. Shawn would blend right in with the landscape. Tall and wiry, he must have been pretty tough—Olivia had said that every few days, Shawn strapped on a makeshift backpack and hiked two miles to deliver a 50-pound dead dairy calf
