THE KNOLL…

A few days ago, I left the Colorado River in Arizona and made my way up to southern Nevada. I found a lovely spot to set up camp on BLM land, about six miles from the Valley of Fire. Remote and peaceful, I plan to spend some time here writing, exploring and taking photographs. I call my campsite “The Knoll”. It has a 360 degree view of spectacular desert mountain ranges, with balmy days and starry nights. However…

Last night. It was dark, around 7PM, and I was hunkered down in the Gypsywagen, watching an episode of Downton Abbey on my large-screen iPhone when out of my left window, I saw a pair of headlights in the distance. The headlights gradually grew larger and then I realized they were coming up the narrow dirt road to the top of The Knoll. I thought, “Oh… what’s this?” I must confess that sitting alone and seeing those headlights coming toward me, my first thought gave utterance to; “And me without my .38.” Alone, remote and in the dark, I suppose it was natural to feel afraid. My mind began to race with anxious thoughts. Fighting panic, I kept wondering, “Who are these strangers?” Visions of Manson-type villains played out before me. I thought of some of my friends who’ve recently wondered why I don’t keep a gun in the Gypsywagen. 

In my youth I was a gun enthusiast. I had a collection of pistols and rifles and did a lot of target shooting. The experience of pulling a trigger and watching a bottle explode 50 yards away was a primal rush unlike anything else. But this didn’t extend to hunting. After an experience I had hunting rabbits on a friend’s ranch in Southern Arizona, my relationship with guns changed.

There were three of us. Chuck, Johnny and I were all pals from high school. We were on foot with rifles and shotguns that day. Thinning out the rabbit population was an essential part of running a cattle ranch and it all seemed so normal to be doing this. Rabbits were hopping around everywhere. We had killed three or four of them when a smaller rabbit was crippled by a bullet in it’s back. I’m sure it was trying to run but it just laid on it’s side and spun around from the kicking of it’s one good hind leg. When we came up on it my friend Chuck, who’s parents owned the ranch, told me to finish off the kill. I took three shots with my .22 rifle but the movements of the rabbit caused me to miss. 

Then Chuck stepped on the haunch of the rabbit and shouted, “Now kill him, Goddamn it!” 

I said, “I don’t want to shoot you in the foot.”

And then the little, wounded rabbit let out a cry that sounded like a human baby. It was a cry of fear, a cry of pleading, a sound that I still hear today, nearly sixty years later.

Johnny said to Chuck, “Step back.” He walked over and with his shotgun fired point blank, killing the poor, terrified creature.

A week later I gave away all my guns and swore off firearms for life. Now days when people ask me why I’m not armed, given the risks of my lifestyle, I simply reply, “I don’t do guns.” By the way, I have no problem with other people who keep guns. I believe that the Second Amendment of the US Constitution pretty much guarantees the First Amendment.  

The car pulled up to a stop about ten yards directly to the left of the GW. My heart was pounding. I tried to be stealthy, turning off the cabin lights. Looking out the window, it was hard to see anything in the night.

People got out of the car. They left the headlights on, but in the darkness I couldn’t see much detail. I could see them laying materials on the ground in front of the car. It took awhile but I realized these folks were pitching a tent. I could see they only had the car’s headlights to work with. Then I had an idea. Still dressed, I pulled on my shoes and opened the GW door. This was on the far side and I knew the strangers couldn’t see me exit the coach. I grabbed up a spare lantern that I keep and walked over to the new visitors,

“Hello. Hello. Good Evening,” I said in my best theatrical voice. “Welcome to The Knoll,” I continued. I could then see that I was approaching an adult male and three children. “I have a spare lantern,” I said, “that you may want to use while you set up your tent.”

The man was about forty years of age. A teenage boy and two pre-teen girls were standing off to the side. Approaching the man, I extended my hand and said “My name’s Bob.”

Shaking my hand, he replied, “Hello, I’m Tim… and these are my children, James, Susannah and Cate.” They were well behaved kids, standing quietly while Tim and I proceeded in a friendly conversation. They had arrived late to this campsite because all the campgrounds in the nearby Valley of Fire State Park were full. I told him I had recently arrived myself and that this was a lovely spot they would enjoy. Knowing they had work to do, I handed the lantern to Tim and said I’d see them in the morning. They seemed to be a happy family, enjoying their adventure.

I went back to the Gypsywagen and continued watching Downton Abbey, feeling pretty happy myself. For the next hour or so I heard the muffled voices as the folks next to me settled in for the night.

Arising around 8AM in the morning I discovered that my provisional neighbors had already packed up and were gone. They left the lantern on the hood of my truck with a very sweet note.

So we never know what a day (or a night) will bring as we wander down the gypsy trail.