The Secret Knowledge of Water : Discovering the Essence of the American Desert
Craig Childs
Language: English
Pages: 304
ISBN: 0316610690
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Deserts are environments that can be inhospitable even to seasoned explorers. Craig Childs has spent years in the deserts of the American West, and his treks through arid lands in search of water reveal the natural world at its most extreme.
crawled down on my stomach to drink straight from the hole. The back of my calves baked in the sun. A couple of red spotted toads glued themselves to the dampness surrounding the tinaja. Toads, out here. Seventy miles from the nearest reasonable, permanent water source, which is Quitobaquito Springs in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument to the east. Water fleas of the genus Daphnia dangled just beneath the surface, hardly visible to the naked eye. Under a hand lens Daphnia is as fine and
amount of water seemed prudent. I don't like to haul more than a couple of quarts at a time. A gallon is enough for one day of drinking, but that is too much weight, eight and a third pounds. Water would need to be found by nightfall. I flooded the air ahead of me with faith that radiated away, then disappeared in the dryness like a hot afternoon breeze that cannot stir a leaf. Water created life the way it creates creeks or springs. It did this, I think, so it could get into places it could not
the water. I stripped and followed. There could have been discussion about us damaging the ecology of the hole. There was not. Even though filter-feeding organisms might profit from our flailing and stirring of sediment, I would never profess our presence to be a benefit. But it was hot outside, and there was water. When I entered, I did not jump. I slipped in at one end until only my face remained above the surface, my body seizing for a moment and then relaxing. It was not the coldness of the
astounding is at work. Where, other than at the turn of a faucet handle, have you witnessed water actually begin? Where have you seen the leading edge? Even to chase car-wash water along a street curb, watching its soapy finger probe the concrete, has a peculiar enchantment. But seeing it burst from the planet was far above such common magic. In the next half-second I realized I had severed my father's water line. A look of betrayal crossed my face, as if this was the least possible of the two
able to climb out of the sipapu, the ceremonial song ended. It could be sung only four times. The hole closed on those who had not yet reached the surface. Those people, I thought. I looked into the pool, as far down as I could see. Were they in here? But there was nothing in here. The impossible pain of the world above, the mystery and beauty and fear, there was none of this in the far back of the cave. None of the sky and purple asters and hot winds. No emotion or desire. I reached to my