Earlier today, Doggzeneye (“da dawgs ‘n me”) hiked up the McCarty Trail, which starts just off Escalante Creek on the east edge of the Dominguez Canyon Wilderness. We climbed over 1,000′ in elevation in about two miles, taking us from … Continue reading
Tag Archives: inunnguaq
Thirty minutes beyond Slobbification
Azz izz beeK!umming YoozYooUhl, bennawhile since the pree(dee)vee-ous post, here. “Nothin’ much going on in Grand Junction” — so the daily nooze-paper headline should read. “Related stories through-out.” However, un-deterred (de-turd?) … I went on a (okay: cannabis-aided) hike yesterday, … Continue reading
La Leyenda de Elvis Diminuto
LA LEYENDA DE ELVIS DIMINUTO, capìtulo 2. “Close enough!” – Leonardo DiCaprio character (Jack Dawson), Titanic I think of that movie scene whenever I utter or think that something is, well, “close enough”. Quizáz Capìtulo 3. ¿He mencionado Tiny Elvis mas que … Continue reading
What if? Instead of aboriginal humanoids of the far north constructing cairns and such generally known as inukshuks, or inuksuits, that in an adjacent parallel yooniverse there were aboriginal orangutans constructing the equivalent of inuk-thingies? Yes, I decided during a recent … Continue reading
Death! & resurrection of an Inunnguaq (or “inuk-thingy”)
The Inuk-Thingy-by-the-Mailbox fell down this past weekend. I mentioned the inevitability of this to Betty a couple months ago. Originally constructed in an upright aspect, it had been leaning. Gradually. A little bit more noticable with each passing week. I … Continue reading
The WOMBAT-ARCH INUKTHINGY, or The Dorsal Indifference Of The Beast
This is a post, mostly pixures, about THE INUK-THINGY NEAR WOMBAT ARCH. And, of course, there will be other, random, unrelated observations. And ruminations.
Take a look at the Betunada site picture at the top of this ‘page.’ Rosco (me) is atop ‘Wombat’ Arch — and the photo is by Benjamin George (Eddie’s dad) from a few years back.
As you can tell, it definitely IS an “arch.” It helps to have day, or sky-light visible as the backdrop. So … these photos (below) are from ABOVE the arch, and the “arch-ness”, or archeosity, or arch-essence, qualities, character, whatever, is/are not as obvious. And there’s an INUK-THINGY nearby. Enjoy … and just wait ’til dessert …
Looking west, from the arch, past the Inuk-Thingy. A typical west Colorawdough high-desert turbulent spring un-settled sky.
Two dogs (RockSea and da Slevv) are on top of the arch. I was leery of doing same, as it seems to have possibly crumbled a little from the prior visit, and the integrity (not to mention ‘safety’ factor) could be in question. Probably silly of me to have thought this, but it WAS windy. Never-the-less, there are several hundred pounds of rock being held up. There will, eventually, be a return visit and opportunity for goofy portraits …
What, if anything, do I think about when rambling through the high desert? One pleasant and happy thought was that I considered walking across the arch, but being alone (the only ‘human’) it would be my luck for the thing to collapse, and the good chance I wouldn’t be killed, but would be horribly and painfully mangled. So, if there’s someone(s) with me, I’d do it (walk across, stand there), so whoever could report to whoever one reports to if the thing collapsed.
This little sentinel-cairn was in the valley below the arch.
View back towards the Grand Valley, sun at my back. Turbulent sky, unsettled and transitional — I usually like this kind of day.
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali tell us that connection to and realization of the unity among and behind and around all things is always close. Within. If it was a measurable distance to get to it, it would be less than an inch. But … the barriers, what keeps each of us, me, you, from that realization must be daunting. Intertwined. A thicket. A large overturned semi-truck blocking the road, hazardous waste spilled and ankle-deep in places. The Haz-Mat crew out in full PPE mopping and sopping and bagging it up. No, IT AIN’T THAT COMPLEX. It should all be so very very simple. I tell myself that, and try to clear the mind, stop the infernal dialogue, concentrate. Sometimes I manage to try to hold this thought for … oh, maybe ten seconds. I am so, very … deep.
I wuzz deriving to werk a coupla daze back, feelin’ paranoid. That old familiar feeling. Doom, more gloom, around the corner, under the bed?, through and within the forest, never far away. And then another thought put it all in perspective. A line from the movie “Men In Black” (Part II or III, I think) spoken by the Tommie Lee Jones character: THERE IS ALWAYS A KIRILLIAN DEATH-CRUISER ABOUT TO DESTROY THE EARTH.
en casa, 25 de Agosto (2012)
¿Alguien quire saber que algunas personas con un nombre apellido español quienes en la clase media hacer un Sabado ordinario? Nada mucho. No somos ricos, no somos pobres. Pero, no nos gustamos los dos partidos polìtico mejor. ♪ Vote partido tercero! (Pero local, vote con su corazon y su cerebro).
Digo que no esta un vistazo significado — esta ordinario (o menos que ordinario).
La primera cosa esta mañana para me fue una carrera (de pie). Corrì bien. Entonces, a casa mi esposa quiere parame a ayudar ella en jardinerìa. Afuera, hace calor, por lo general. Entonces … tiempo por el piscina. Mejor …
Arriba: hay 22 fotos. Mas temprano, son de la piscina. “Betty” esta alado de, con un gato debajo su asiento. Mire los nublados sobre los “BookCliffs” al norte de nosotros.
Hay viente-dos; a la izquierda a derecho, arriba a debajo:
1. Sì. Bookcliffs, nublados, la piscina de Betty … El perro es “Koda.” Estamos cuidado el perro de nuestro hijo.
2. Bookcliffs, nublados … verano despacio y …
3. ¿ Ve el gato debajo el asiento?
4. El gato debajo el asiento …
5. Mas de mismo, y nalgas de RockSea …
6. Nublados sobre del “Book Cliffs”
7. El (la ?) inuk-thingy en frente del casa, y flores, y …
8. Vista al sur de la casa (cerro sin arboles)
9. Nuestro “lago” (estanque) y nuestro canoa esta listo para un viaje corto
10. Nosotros cuidar un niño, no … cuidar el perro de nuestro hijo. Pelota pelota — “ball ball.” (El gusta a traer la pelota).
11. Casa, nublado (sobre el “Grand Mesa”), arbol
12. Bruce dormiendo. Es verano, vd. sabe …
13. Inuk-thingy, Sleven, RockSea
14. Dos inuk-cosas en las afueras de nuestro lugar. Miriendo a sur …
15. Ooh … ¿ ve el rayo láser despues el camión y el buzón ?
16. ♪¿ No paso en la mierda de perro!
17. No caminar en las hormigas …
18. No se la palabra en español por –> inunnguaq — o — inuksuit — o — inukshuk, me llaman los “inukthingies” (inuk-cosas). Este es el inukthingy en frente de nuestro casa, al lado de la buzòn. Mire los nublados sobre de la Grand Mesa …
19. Dos perros (uno es de mi hijo — “Koda”) al norte de nuestro casa.
20. Dos perros negros …
21. Betty es “Wulf-Muthur” (la madre de los lobos) — porque ellos gusta a estar cerca de ella mucho del tiempo.
22. Cuatro perros (y la bicicleta de mi esposa) en el camiòn de ella — sobre el “Grand Mesa” el Domingo pasado — que divertido.
Un otro fin-de-semana que nada mucho ocurre
Ay caramba. El ùltimo fin-de-semana de Julio fue difìcil para me porque estuve cansado. Asi que …
Mis perros y yo fueron de caminar cerca de las MicroOndas de Nuevo-Milla-Cerro (“Nine Mile Hill”). Este es “Duallie” en una caverna (pequeño) con un pared de “hornunculuses.”
Es el re-construccìon de “inuk-thingy” de Whitewater. Es un dìa nublado y un pocito magnìfico, verdad?
Dually (y la cola de Rocksea) cerca un otro “Inuk thingy” de Whitewater. (¿Es una lengua grande, sì?)
Mi hija y mi nieto en la playa cerca de Port Angeles, estado de Washington. No, no fui allì — mis hijos fueron … fui solamente cerca de mì casa …
Son dos de mi favorita cervezas oscuras. Old Rasputin (North Coast Brewing) y Storm King (Victory, de “Downington” Pennsylvania). Recuerde: fue un fin-de-semana que nada paso.
Los tigres buscan y quedarsen en un estanque en la selva …
Un arco (“el” arco?) de Bean Ranch, Whitewater. Hay arcos cerca de mì casa que no estan en Moab !
Este arco es, mas-o-menos, veinte kilometros despues de mì casa. Hay un arco MAS GRANDE que es diez kilometros (o menos) despues de mì casa.
Es el inukthingy de Nuevo-Milla Cerro numero dos porque construì un otro hace unos meces. Creo que numero uno es muy difìcil a encontrar …
Desafortunatamente, no estoy aqui. Mì yerno y mì hija fueron a Port Angeles mas temprano de este mes. Mì yerno tomò este foto. ¿ Magia, sì ?
Spurring, if knot in the (w)Rawkeez, then west of the ‘Keez, as the situation (Colorawdough is not always a ‘state’) degenerates into You-Taw. Betty and Rosco and the dawgs hike mid-May up Coal Basin, off the west sighed (yes, some of these mountunz ‘sigh’) of the Grand Mesa.
I joked earlier in the day with somebody as we left the Texas RoadHouse (it was NOT our best vizzit there) — these others were lookin’ up towards the sun, it was 6 p.m., yes, eclipse-thirty and we said we’d hurry home and put on 3 pairs of sunglasses. Turned out that FOUR pairs was adequate. I think. It’s 5 days later and I’m not totally blind, yet. Weird thing –> we were SKYPEing with our kids. They live in Portland, and, hey, they didn’t know there was an eclipse, it was raining, as usual there. I went out-sighed, back to the sun, faced the laptop toward it, aimed some — ’til I had the sun lined up and “the kids” were, like, “wow!” and I hope they snapped/captured some shots.
Meanwhile, up Coal Basin Trail, the cactus is, apparently, happy. It had rained a coupla daze before, so the upcoming drought hasn’t settled in, yet.
We’ve been “horse people,” I guess, for 14 years. THAT ended earlier this week. Betty hasn’t been able to ride, they do cost money, so she gave them away. Among other things, (the ‘mung’ being one or more things) I haven’t been out re-distributing manure quite like I’ve been doing (for 14 years) as much, since. We’re not supposed to think, nor dwell, on whether B & M are happy or not. The vibe has been a bit more melancholy around here …
I recommend a movie called “THE BIG YEAR”. It’s probably the only movie you’ll ever enjoy about BIRD WATCHING. (Stars Owen Wilson, Jacques Blak, and Steve Martin). It’s not as boring and pedantic and audobon-society-drum-beating as you’d think. Maybe it is. It’s still a fun movie. Um… never-the-less, Betty and I got to wondering, how many species could we identify and count in a year? There’s crows, peacocks, mallard ducks, magpies, blue herons, sandhill cranes … oh, robins. Red-winged blackbirds. Quail. Then, we’d have to get a book. Above is just one of many (to us) indistinguishable species. We’ve got “little small sparrow/finch/wren/ type thing #1,” and “LSS/F/W TT #2” on up to 5, 6, or 7. And so it goes.
Yeah, please don’t do IT, whatever it is, in our lake!
We feel so much better, in general, and about ourselves, when the food and produce and other stuff is local, and not maidenchina or sumuthur place far, far uh-weigh …
Another smallish inuk-thingy emerges from the surroundings, this time just up and off the north rim of Unaweep Canyawn. Lookin’ east, towards “The Mesa”.
(“i used to make wombats”)
Ah … a span of time without anchors. A day off from work! No chores at home either (leaky faucets, doors not plumb within frames, unsightly detritus on the premises). Spouse off to her job ’til the dark evening hours, weather not too hot nor too muddy nor too frigid to be outdoors. Time to go ramble, with the dogs.
We (well, the dogs have little choice, they bark and lean over the sides and sometimes poop in the back of the truck) drive a short distance from the house. I go to trailheads where the likelihood of encountering others is slim, partly ’cause that’s the way I like it, and the dogs need time to be free-spirited unleashed beasts without boundaries. Reducing the possibility of bothering karmically-challenged people who worry about strange dogs intruding into their sacred spatial arenas. The buttheads.
I’ve brought two cigars for this trip. And filled-up the brandy flask. No telling, really, where the muse will take us, long as whatever it is ends by dark-thirty or earlier. I did tell Betty a different destination, but the almost-usual last-minute decision dictated elsewhere. I park 6.5 miles from the house, but it could be a few thousand years away. After a half-mile along a trail, we’ll diverge. Chances are after another half-mile, we’ll see little or no indications of other people having been there. Cows, maybe. This is Federal land. And where we’re headed, there aren’t supposed to be any trails…
I used to make wombats. I don’t know why I ever embarked on this pastime, nor do I remember my first wombat. A back-country dog-hike was not ‘good’ until I found a spot to spell out “W O M B A T.” (In rocks. on the ground.) The less likely anyone will ever see it, the better.
An inuksuk (plural inuksuit) alternatively inukshuk is a stone landmark or cairn built by humans, used by the Inuit and other peoples of the Arctic region of North America. The inuksuk may have been used for navigation, as a point of reference, a marker for hunting grounds, or as a food cache.*
Now wombats are on the back burner. I had been considering, experimenting, constructing ‘test’ inuksuk, or inunnguaq (if one wants to get technical as that is the human form of the Inuit cairn-expression). And about two weeks ago the muse, or the subterranean intradimensional influences, or the mental/psychic/emotional equivalent of a long-overdue quasi-artistic urge, manifested in an inuk manner. I found the spot, the materials were available, an inuksuk assembled itself … with some help from me. The dogs just wandered around sniffing and digging and occasionally checking on me and then wandering off again.
So we wander. I have a general area in mind. A ridge beyond where even I occasionally sojourn. Perhaps the ridge after that. It just depends — on the so-called muse, and, of course, the muse would take a good location and decent construction materials into account.
We cruise up the trail, and where it turns to continue up the ridge just north of Highway 141, we don’t. Zigzagging down across the next valley and up the slope to the next ridge. Then down, and up the next ridge and we’ll proceed with the muse-gates more receptive and open on the other side.
I see human boot-prints, and am glad somebody else forsakes the established trail to bushwhack. Whoever it is, an artifact hunter? worse yet, someone with a gun? or a random itinerariless wanderer with an agenda as vague yet esoteric as mine? helps me decide that we go yet another ridge. Beyond the pale, whatever that means. Actually, I wonder if anywhere on this earth is beyond the pale, what with the GPS eyes in the sky and the ever-more accurate precise mapping of everything. Personal, and I’m sure, general experience has shown that one can not just tweak, but whack the pale out of the park with the right mix of psychotropics. But that is not to be seriously approached with my preferred combo of brandy and cigars …
Pale out of the picture, the horizon looks as it probably did a few hundred, nay, a couple, three thousand years ago. The circum-polar landmark potential beckons.
Dogzeneye survey the ridge-top we’re on. The inuk-spot location optimization does not exactly call out for action. The dogs become pre-occupied with pee-mail nexuses and bones to chew on, olfactory delights. I decide that a rock ledge half-way up from the valley bottom to the top of the next ridge north is our candidate location.
But it is not. There comes a time when the line in the sand has to be drawn, and attaining the 5th or 6th (it’s easy for me to lose track) ridge-top north of Highway 141 will either be THE SPOT and if not, we’ll back-track to one of the more-promising locations considered earlier.
It is breezy, nay, windy on this ridge. The approaching winter storm is stalled a few miles to the west.
The word inuksuk means “something which acts for or performs the function of a person.” An inuksuk is often confused with an inunnguaq, a cairn representing a human figure. There is some debate as to whether the appearance of human- or cross-shaped cairns developed in the Inuit culture before the arrival of Europeanmissionaries and explorers. The inunnguaq is distinguished from inuksuit in general.*
I begin the
inunnguaq creation by following a process I initiated a couple weeks before. Gather material, pile it around ground zero. Choose big blocky chunks for the feet. These have to be stable! Take care that the leg-pieces are also flat and preferably square-ish. You will need a couple or more large flat ‘body’ pieces to rest on the legs — and not of the inferior quality sandstone which would break to pieces if you dropped it from waist-high. Be sure there are several thin small pieces for shims and ‘chinking.’ Take care to locate strong and long rectangular rocks for the arms. Enough solid preferably cubic blocks for the upper body and to weigh down the shoulders. A collar-bone section, upon which the neck pieces and, finally, the head can securely rest.
Periodically, rock the structure-in-progress gently with one hand and note where shims or ‘chink’ pieces should be inserted to dampen sway. You do want this to withstand a windstorm, not to mention death by bird-perch. Granted, if a cow were to bump into it … I’d need either a half-dozen labor crew and/or construction machinery to make an inuksuk that large!
The dogs have little or nothing nearby in the olfactory delight availability, maybe the wind or impending storm has them apprehensive, and they are glad to leave.
There is a customary Inuit saying: “The great peril of our existence lies in the fact that our diet consists entirely of souls.”
(By believing that all things, including animals, have souls like those of humans, any hunt that failed to show appropriate respect and customary supplication would only give the liberated spirits cause to avenge themselves.)*
I do not exactly backtrack, and make this a circular, not out-and-back, wandering. I’m not tired, the dogs are more energetic than I, there is yet another cigar and the brandy flask has heft. Unlikely, but perhaps my diet of recent has been mostly comprised of souls. No wonder my seemingly sedate existence is paralleled by the great peril a millimeter away. So I build a smaller inuksuk up but across the valley from the ridge-top one.
Later on, I spell out a ‘wombat’ on a windswept hilltop much closer to the car.
* thanks to Wikipedia.com for selected excerpts