The sun was just setting behind the Caprock Escarpment when I felt the “buzz” of my silenced cell phone. I was hesitant to read the message, for there was still enough shooting light if my target buck made his appearance. Alas, mere seconds later, the day was gone. With no fear of spooking an ancient whitetail from the glow of my phone, I pulled the device from my jacket. Joe Bob said he was picking JH up first and it would be a while before he got to me. I sat back and absorbed the fire of the western sky before darkness overtook the landscape.
I slowly made my way down the two-track without the aid of artificial light. When I reached my pick-up point, I turned my eyes to what was left of the magnificent horizon. Seemingly engulfed by an oceanic blue, the indescribable red sky was being consumed by a sinking hue. As with my shooting light, this day too was gone forever and only those witnessing, including me, would forever hold its beauty in a memory bank.
Darkness became pitch and the stars came to life, overtaking the colors of the day. Accompanied with the stars were the sounds of the brush and what it held. Far off tickling of antlers could be heard as distant bucks battled for dominance. An orchestrated symphony of coyote wails resonated through the canyons and bluffs. Each pack would have their turn with another pack then sending the previous pack to second chair. I struggled to describe the calamity. Was it spooky, or should it be referred to as eerie? Spine-tingling and chilling were probably more appropriate connotations of the experience. Through it all, I just stood there in silence, daring to disrupt what was unfolding.
Constellations then became my focus. I first noted the star cluster, Pleiades, also known as the Seven Sisters. This pale group of stars’ name is probably derived from the word plein, meaning “to sail.” This constellation was important in delimiting the sailing season in the Mediterranean Sea. However, in Greek mythology, the name was used for the Pleiades, seven divine sisters, the name supposedly deriving from that of their mother Pleione and effectively meaning “daughters of Pleione.” This cluster is dominated by hot blue luminous stars that have formed in the last 100 million years. It is also the most observed cluster to the naked eye in the night sky.
My attention turned to Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, respectively. The Big Dipper, also known as the Great Bear, is a constellation in the northern sky whose associated mythology likely dates back into prehistory. Ursa Major is primarily known for the asterism of its main seven stars which has also been referred to as “the Wagon,” “Charles’ Wain,” or “the Plough.” Ursa Major has been seen as a female bear by many distinct civilizations. This may stem from a common oral tradition of Cosmic Hunt myths stretching back more than 13,000 years. Using statistical and phylogenetic tools, Julien d’Huy reconstructs the following Palaeolithic state of the story: “There is an animal that is a horned herbivore, especially an elk. One human pursues this ungulate. The hunt locates or gets to the sky. The animal is alive and when it is transformed into a constellation, it becomes the Big Dipper.” To think, while in the midst of pure darkness, I was standing, observing, how a mythical hunt played out. Altogether fitting, don’t you agree? I then picked out the Little Dipper.
Ursa Minor, also known as the Little Bear, is a constellation located in the far northern sky. As with the Great Bear, the tail of the Little Bear may also be seen as the handle of a ladle, hence the name Little Dipper. Seven stars, with four in its bowl like its partner the Big Dipper, forms the constellation. Ursa Minor has also been traditionally important regarding navigation by mariners because of Polaris being the north pole star. Polaris, the brightest star in the constellation, is a yellow-white supergiant and the brightest star in the night sky.
You have probably guessed by now which constellation became apparent next. Named for a hunter in Greek Mythology, Orion is one of the most prominent constellations during winter evenings in the Northern Hemisphere. The Seri people of northwestern Mexico call the three stars in the belt of Orion “Hapj” (a name denoting a hunter) which consists of three stars Hap (mule deer), Haamoja (pronghorn), and Mojet (bighorn sheep). The Chippewa Native Americans call the constellation “Kabibona’ kan,” (the Winter Maker), as its presence in the night sky heralds winter. The Lakota Native Americans describe Orion’s Belt as the spine of a bison. Another Lakota myth mentions the bottom half of Orion, the Constellation of the Hand, represented by the arm of a chief that was ripped off by the Thunder People as a punishment from the gods for his selfishness. His daughter offered to marry the person who can retrieve his arm from the sky so the young warrior, Fallen Star (whose father was a star and whose mother was human) returned his arm and married his daughter, symbolizing harmony between the gods and humanity with the help of the younger generation. Maybe there’s still hope for us.
Without revealing my exact location, I suppose I should describe the Caprock Escarpment. This term is used to define the geographical transition point between the level High Plains of the Llano Estacado. The escarpment is made of caliche, a layer of calcium carbonate that resists erosion. The features of this geologically diverse land was formed by the erosion of rivers and streams, creating arroyos and highly diverse terrain, including the large Palo Duro Canyon southeast of Amarillo, Texas.
The Llano Estacado may be more familiar to you when referred to the Staked Plains. Also known as a “sea of grass.” Spanish conquistador Francisco Coronado described this region as follows, “I reached some plains so vast, that I did not find their limit anywhere I went, although I traveled over them for more than 300 leagues…with no more land marks than if we had been swallowed up by the sea…there was not a stone, nor a bit of rising ground, nor a tree, nor a shrub, nor anything to go by.”
Zane Grey, in his novel, “The Thundering,” describes this region as “two trails across in them days an’ I reckon no more now. Only the Indians know this plain well an’ they only run in heah to hide awhile. Water an’ grass are plentiful in some parts, an’ then there’s stretches of seventy miles dry an’ bare as a bone.”
Eventually, I noticed headlights from the pickup slowly heading my way. Though it was way past supper time, I was totally enthralled, captivated, by the serenity, the loneliness, and the romance of this country. I really think I could have stayed the night by myself. Joe Bob and John Hartley handed me a beer when I opened the door of the truck. Of course, the first question they asked was, “what’d you see?” I replied, it will take all night to describe in detail not only what I saw, but what I experienced.
We stayed up late that night just talking by the fire and watching meteors. The next morning, Joe Bob sent a picture to me as dawn came to life over the Caprock. Maybe this was just as stunning as the sunset the evening before. I barely had time to glance at it when the brush came alive below me. The rifle cracked through the stillness of the morning, but this is a story for another day. Thank you, Joe Bob, and Dane, for sharing your country and thank you JH, for being there with me. Good Lord willing, we’ve got a bunch more sunrises and sunsets together.
Until next time enjoy our woods and waters, and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it,
