A few years ago, when I had wild ideas and wanted to be any place but here, I moved out to the desert to cove illegal OHV routes and build trails, sleep outside, backpack every ten days, read and write and never have to look at a screen again. It was all very beautiful. I was trying to decide between starting again somewhere else with and make another set of friends, in Alaska, or the northwest, or anywhere that would take me to do similar work. Yet I was scared of time and being left behind. I got a decent gig and thought I would give it another try. The gig got better. I’m still here.
Yet, I miss it. I miss it all the time. I miss the winter desert sun, the way all the snakes come seeping out of the ground in the spring time, the unbound infinity of the landscape, cutting my hands on rocks, eating beans for every meal, driving a big mean 4x4 truck all over everything, walking and reading, sleeping outside without a tent every night; without anything blocking my subconsciousness, backpacking twice a month, and feeling everything. I’m dying. I haven’t seen the stars in years.
A year ago I was online, and by online, I mean I was scrolling around on Twitter. Something came up for Desert Oracle. It’s a quarterly publication written composed by Ken Layne who puts together stories regarding the Mojave, and the desert in general. Damn that looks cool. I forgot to buy each issue and the publication fell out of my mind. Then, last week, I was online again, and by online, I mean I was scrolling on Twitter. The Desert Oracle came up again. This time it was a podcast.
It’s spectacular. The episode starts with some campfire guitar. It opens the door for a deep gruff man voice. The man talks about sp00ky things that happen in the desert, personal tales of his, and even has some audio from late night desert walks. The crunching of gravel. The baying of coyotes. Stories about the places I miss. Stories about the things I miss doing.
A few weeks ago I got the itch to go back. This podcast has turned these uncomfortable patches into open and leaking sores. I’ll get a taste of it again in two weeks to go hike the Outer Mountain Loop by myself. To finally read a book again, see the stars again, stay off my phone again, sleep outside again, and spend an entire day walking again.
Anyways, that’s all I got. The rest of the floor is yours to talk about whatever, Texans related or not. Just remember the standard commenting rules apply.