Page 7 - Spring 2018 issue v1

6 Friends oF red rock canyon Friends oF red rock canyon 7

Stand on Fossil Ridge and stare toward a different **********
horizon. At times, you can imagine the topography
as waves – especially as clouds form at the edge of a At this moment, I am walking on water, this
ridge, casting shadows that bob and weave. ocean basin 2,800 miles from Cape Cod and hun-
dreds of millions of years from its Paleozoic ori-
Suddenly, there is a lone wild burro in the distance gins - before the deposit of limey sediments, before
creating the same excitement that a dolphin can as it the earth’s crust started to rise from tectonic shifts,
rises from the bay. before marine shale and sandstone were deposited,
before swamps became petrified, before shifting sand
But, it’s the fossils themselves that connect the two dunes lithified, cemented with calcium and iron.
seemingly disparate worlds, that impose on both brain
and heart the knowledge of your own mortality and At the tip of Cape Cod, at one of its thinnest
the immutability of nature. points, there’s a trail that
begins amid a beach for-
How can it be that de- est, then loops toward the
scendants of shells and sea ocean at Race Point. Along
sponges I discover along a the way, you pass dunes
lonely Cape Cod beach are reaching 100 feet or more
encased and memorialized toward the sky. You can
he marsh spreads miles from Cape Cod Bay a transient serenity and inviting me to walk toward among the stepping stones hear crashing waves in the
T revealing an ever-changing world from my the edge of the world. of my quiet quest climbing distance. Yet, standing be-
backyard’s giant bay window. Twice every day, by these mighty rocks? side the mountains of sand,
nature’s definition, the tide ebbs and flows. During Six months ago, I departed the bay and marsh you imagine yourself lost
full moon, the water’s edge creeps closer – more and moved to Las Vegas. Friends and family How can this peak’s path in a desert, your view of
so when the northeast wind reaches double-digit wondered aloud how I could abandon the sea; the be guided by remnants of the the world eclipsed in every
authority. early morning beach walks shar- ocean’s floor, each fossil part direction by the hot sand
Leaving the ocean for the Strip? ing soft sand with piping plovers of archaeological tapestry reflecting a noon sun.
From winter’s icy waves and terns, spying the spray of that mocks the transience of
to summer’s high, undulating right whales in the distance and our daily headlines? What will become of these dunes? They likely
grasses, the marsh reveals a The red rocks, I explained. feeling the curious stare of grey will be swallowed by the rising ocean – too soon.
rhythm that is at once predict- seals bobbing in the surf. Your imagination can’t quite scale the 300
able and mysterious, its angles million years when these fossils were alive at the Atop Fossil Ridge, I think about how only months
Volunteers dedicated to the preservation of Red Rock Canyon
ever changed by the competition between sun and Leaving the ocean for the Strip? bottom of another ocean filled with a glittering array ago my moments were circumscribed by waters
clouds, by the moon’s cycles, by shifting breezes. of fish – even giant squid. You kneel to touch the shimmering green and blue. Now, the moments bow
The red rocks, I explained. shell’s contours. It instantly conjures the recent memo- to resplendent Calico cliffs – each world equal in its
From the front of my home, I watch the same ry of a just-opened scallop shell that washed onto uniqueness, each inviting another day’s discovery, a
eternal tide command Boat Meadow beach. White There’s mystery and adventure there – a majesty what Thoreau dubbed The Great Beach, discovered new journey at nature’s command.
caps may capture a moored sailboat’s bow, carrying as humbling as the sea. Like the marsh, their angles just before hungry gulls would arrive for dinner.
it feet into the air. Five hours later, the sandy flats are commanded by the same sun and moon, by the
now stretch a quarter mile to the horizon, imposing hour of the day, by the direction of the wind.

Fossil Ridge by Norm Kresge

the Rock - Volume 8 Issue 3 Spring 2018