Danger at the Dinosaur Stomping Grounds

by Judy Young

  “Pretty amazing, isn’t it, Buck?” the older boy said. “I’ve explored many of those canyons.”

  Buck looked at him in surprise. “How do you know my name?” he asked, realizing the older boy had also called out his name when Buck had been frozen on the rockface.

  “I’d heard someone was going to be filming here, and back in the campground, I saw what was written on your weird green camper. So I put two and two together. Plus, your friend just said it and it’s also written on your shirt.”

  Buck had forgotten he was wearing his official khaki-colored shirt. The same words that were written on their camper, which had been nicknamed the Green Beast, were embroidered above his pocket: THE WILD WORLD OF BUCK BRAY.

  “Oh yeah,” Buck said. “Toni told me to wear it.”

  “Is that Toni down there?”

  “Yeah. We’re here with our dads, filming the second episode of my TV show. I don’t know if you could see, but Toni has on a head-mounted camera. Just about every place we go, one of us wears that. I have to wear this shirt and this lavaliere microphone, too.”

  Buck pointed to a small mic attached near the top buttonhole of his shirt, its wire disappearing underneath the tan cloth. He pulled up the side of his shirt, exposing a wide black waistband with a small recorder tucked inside.

  “Toni’s dad, Shoop, is our cameraman, but Toni is really good with a camera too,” Buck continued. “I’m sure she videoed me climbing the Allosaurus.”

  “Allosaurus?”

  “Toni and I have been naming the rocks. From down below, this one looked like an Allosaurus.”

  “I’ll have to take a look at it when we get down there. So, what’s your TV show about?”

  “It’s a wilderness show for kids, so they can see and learn about some cool places we have in the United States. The first episode was filmed in Denali National Park in Alaska. This one, in Canyonlands, will obviously feature the canyons and rock formations but will also be about the ancient people who once lived here.”

  “Well, maybe the ancient ones made our paths cross,” the older boy said. He put his hand out to Buck. “My name is Nash. Let’s go get Toni, and we’ll go back to the campground together.”

  “How are we going to get back down?” Buck asked.

  “There’s a simpler way in that direction,” Nash said, pointing across the long narrow expanse of red rock that Buck had imagined was the Allosaurus’s tail.

  Buck followed Nash, walking past several cairns that marked the way across the ridge.

  “Why do they call this slickrock?” he asked. “It’s not slick at all.”

  “No, it’s sandstone and actually has a lot of traction,” Nash said. “Some say when cowboys first came here, they called it slickrock because their horses slipped all over it with their metal horseshoes.”

  “I can’t imagine riding a horse over this stuff.”

  The ridge seemed to go on forever. Looking around, Buck didn’t see any better way back down. However, a cairn perched on top of a waist-high boulder indicated they were headed the right way. Nash went around the boulder and stopped.

  “We’ll go down here,” he told Buck.

  Buck walked around the boulder too and looked down at a deep crevice just barely wide enough for a person. The opening disappeared into darkness.

  “Is this the crack that’s near the beehive rock down below?” Buck asked.

  “Yeah,” Nash said, and chuckled. “You’re doing a good job naming rocks.”

  “So, we’re going down through this crack?” Buck asked.

  “Yeah. A crack like this is called a chimney, and it’s a lot easier chimneying up and down it than scrambling up the Allosaurus.”

  Buck wasn’t convinced. “How?” he said. “It’s, like, fifty feet straight down!”

  “A basic rule of climbing is to always keep three points of contact. Either two hands and a foot, or two feet and a hand. When it’s this narrow, you can use your back, knees, and shoulders, too. I’ll go down first. Stay close and follow me. I’ll talk you through it.”

  Nash took off his backpack and, reaching inside, pulled out a coil of cord. A metal carabiner was tied to each end.

  “What’s that for?” Buck asked.

  “It’s easier to chimney if you don’t have a backpack on,” Nash answered as he fastened one of the metal clips to the straps of his backpack and the other to his belt loop. Then he lowered the backpack over the edge until it reached the bottom.

  Buck watched as Nash climbed into the chimney, keeping his back against one side and his feet on the other. Slowly, he moved down, always keeping three body parts touching the rock walls. Buck followed, and Nash instructed when to push against the rock with his shoulder or where to place his toes. Soon he was down at the bottom, looking up through the dark fissure at the bright blue sky beyond.

  “Wow, that was a lot simpler,” Buck said.

  “Yeah,” Nash said, picking up his backpack and putting the cord and carabiners inside. “But any kind of rock climbing is dangerous. You really need to know what you’re doing before tackling something like the Allosaurus. The first time I scaled that, I was harnessed to a safety rope.”

  “You’ve used words like scaled and scrambled,” Buck said. “Are they climbing terms?”

  “Yes. Scaling just means going up a rockface,” Nash explained. “When you scramble, the rock is too steep to just walk upright. You have to lean over and use your hands and your toes to go up, like you did climbing the curved side of the Allosaurus rock. Plus, you have to go fast and keep moving, because your momentum helps keep you from falling.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” Buck asked. “Do you do a lot of rock climbing?”

  “I’ve been coming here for a monthlong student program every summer for the last four years. Each year I’ve taken a rock-climbing course. I’m here with the same program now, but only for a week during fall break.”

  “Wow, that would be cool. Could I sign up for the student program? Is it part of the national parks?”

  “No, it’s a private program, and you have to be in high school. How old are you?”

  “I’m only eleven,” Buck said disappointedly. “Sixth grade.”

  “That will give you time to look up programs,” Nash assured him. “There are lots of different kinds and in all sorts of places.”

  They continued talking as Buck led the way around the beehive rock and headed toward the end of the canyon. “Which campsite are you camping in?” Buck asked.

  “We don’t camp at the regular campground. We’re at a group camping spot not too far from the entrance,” Nash explained. “Near the rangers’ cabins.”

  “So, they just let you go all over by yourself?”

  “Not in the summer programs,” Nash answered. “There’s a counselor for each group of about twelve kids, and they keep a pretty tight rein on us. But this fall program is a lot more lax. There are only four kids here, and there aren’t any counselors, just the head director. But he’s new and pretty much just lets us do whatever we want. We don’t see him very often. He must be spending most of his time planning for the big summer program.”

  They reached the end of the canyon. Toni had climbed down and was waiting on the bottom ledge, braiding strands of colorful thread. Buck introduced her to Nash.

  “How did you guys get down?” she asked, putting the braid into her backpack.

  “We chimneyed through that crack we saw,” Buck answered. “Nash showed me how. He knows a lot about rock climbing.”

  “Not a lot,” Nash corrected. “I’m still learning.”

  “Do you live near here?” Toni asked.

  “No, but my Navajo ancestors, as well as the Ute and Paiute, have lived in this area at one time or another for the past eight hundred years.”

  “Is Nash a Navajo name?” Toni asked.

  “I go by Nash. It’s short for Náshdóítsoh, which is the Navajo word for cougar.”

  “Have you ever seen a c
ougar?” Buck asked.

  “Yes, but it’s very rare to see one. They’re quite solitary. Canyonlands covers over five hundred square miles, so there’s a lot of territory here for them to hide in. You’re more likely to see their prints than to see them.”

  As the three headed back toward the campground, making new footprints across the sandy canyon floor, Buck kept his eyes to the ground. Although he found rabbit prints and Nash pointed out deer tracks, he never saw the large rounded tracks of a cougar’s paw. However, as Nash led them on a shortcut up and over the rock ridge that separated two sections of their campground, he said something that alleviated Buck’s disappointment.

  “How would you like to see some dinosaur footprints?”

  TAKE 2:

  “BIG AL’S HUGE BACKYARD WAS DOTTED WITH FERNS, CONIFERS, GINGKO TREES, AND PALMLIKE CYCADS, BUT HE DIDN’T HAVE TO MOW. DINOSAURS WERE EXTINCT BEFORE GRASS CAME ALONG.”

  Earlier that day, the Buck Bray crew had turned the Green Beast off the highway and driven thirty-five miles through desolate, arid wilderness until they’d reached the entrance to Canyonlands National Park. Near the entrance, they’d passed a visitor center and then driven down the main Canyonlands road a couple of miles before turning left onto the campground road. That road had soon divided. Dad had headed toward the left, driving along the east side of a long stretch of rocky ridges. Campsites were all on the right side of the road, tucked side by side into nooks and crannies at the base of the ridges. Although the sites had great views of the distant mesas, they didn’t offer much shade.

  The four had decided to go back to where the road divided and see what was up the other way. That road went along the west side of the same long ridge, but they hadn’t gone far when Buck had called out.

  “Look at that one! Too bad it’s taken,” he had said.

  A campsite with its own gigantic mushroom-shaped rock sat isolated at the edge of vast, flat sagebrush-dotted land that stretched out to the west. Its driveway was vacant, but two tents had been set up close to the rock. The rest of the campsites were farther up the road, each snuggled up to the ridge on the left side. They were shaded from the afternoon sun, but there were no magnificent views. They just looked out across the scrubby flat.

  “I vote for shade,” Shoop had said, so Dad had backed the Green Beast into the first available spot. The rugged camper that looked half tank and half school bus had sat dwarfed by the size of the massive slickrock ridge it had parked beside. As soon as the camper had stopped, Buck and Toni had easily scurried up on top of the ridge. Looking one way, they had had the same view of the mesas that the sunny campsites had. The other way, they could see the top of the mushroom rock and the flat stretching out for miles. Dad had soon joined Buck and Toni, but Shoop had stayed below.

  “Come on up, Shoop,” Toni had called down. “It’s just a long ridge up here, very solid. There aren’t any cliff edges or anything.”

  “It’s only about forty feet up. I don’t think the height will bother you,” Buck had added, “and the views are great.”

  “I’ll make lunch,” Shoop had answered. He’d turned and went into the back of the Green Beast.

  Dad had chuckled. “He’s a little spooked. Don’t worry, though. We’ll have him climbing around on these rocks in no time.”

  Now, as Buck, Toni, and Nash walked into the campsite, neither Dad nor Shoop were in sight. Buck hurried past the Green Beast, ducked under a branch of a juniper, and started up the slight curve of slickrock. He easily climbed higher and higher, Toni and Nash close behind. It was nothing like the Allosaurus, and in seconds Buck was at the top of the long ridge. There sat Dad and Shoop, looking out at the view. Shoop’s backpack that held his camera was beside him. A hard black case sat next to Dad.

  “Hey, Dad, Shoop,” Buck called out as he rushed toward them. “This is Nash. He knows where dinosaur tracks are!”

  “Hi,” Nash said, walking over toward Dad and Shoop. “I’m here with a student group. I met Toni and Buck when they were exploring a canyon near the campground.”

  Dad stood up and extended his hand to Nash. “I’m Dan Bray, Buck’s dad,” he stated, “and this is Toni’s dad, Shoop. I hope these two haven’t been getting into any trouble.”

  Buck held his breath, knowing Dad would be angry when he learned how Nash had had to rescue him because he had recklessly climbed up a rockface way too challenging for his climbing skills. He let out a sigh of relief when Nash said nothing about it.

  “No, Buck and Toni have been telling me a little about the episode you’re filming,” Nash said. “It sounds pretty interesting.”

  “I’m excited about it,” Dad said. “Beyond the physical beauty, what I find so fascinating about this place is its layers of history.”

  “Do you need any help?” Nash asked. “The student group I’m with is focusing on archaeology, and I’ve learned a lot. I’d love to show you guys around.”

  “That would be great,” Dad said.

  “I’ll have to ask Robert first,” Nash stated. “He’s the director of the student group. But I bet he won’t mind.”

  Buck was getting impatient. “Did you hear what I said, Dad? Nash knows where there are dinosaur prints!”

  “Here?” Dad asked. “I haven’t read about any dinosaur fossils in Canyonlands.”

  “Not here in the park,” Nash explained, “but you’re not too far away from the Cleveland-Lloyd Dinosaur Quarry. They’ve dug up a bunch of dinosaur bones there. And there’re several other places nearby where you can see dinosaur fossils and tracks, too.”

  “Can we go there, Dad? We could make dinosaurs part of the episode,” Buck begged.

  “I don’t think so, Buck,” Dad answered. “We’ve already started filming and have all the scripts written. The whole idea for this episode is to tell about the canyons and the Ancestral Puebloans. Dinosaurs just don’t play into this episode’s theme.”

  Buck didn’t say another word. Instead he turned and hurried down to the Green Beast.

  “I’m sorry I brought up the subject,” Nash said. “I didn’t mean to interfere.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Dad said. “He’ll get over it.”

  “Maybe we could take a little side trip to some of the dinosaur sites before we start the next episode,” Toni suggested.

  “We can decide that later,” Dad said. “Right now we don’t have much time before the sun starts to set.”

  “I want to film the intro shot from up here, looking across at that mesa way out there,” Shoop said. “I’ve heard it turns blood red when the sun gets low.”

  “It does,” Nash stated, “but you better be ready. It doesn’t last very long.”

  Dad walked over to the edge of the ridge and looked down toward the Green Beast.

  “Buck!” he yelled. “We’re going to shoot the intro soon. Get washed up and put on a clean shirt.”

  “Okay!” Buck called up.

  “The script’s on the table,” Dad said. “Maybe you should read through it again.”

  “No, I’ve practiced enough.”

  Dad walked back. Shoop opened his backpack, pulled out a tripod, and extended its legs. Then he attached his camera to it.

  “Get the shotgun microphone out, would you, Toni?”

  Toni opened the hard black case and pulled out a metal pole. Twisting the end, she extended the pole until it was about ten feet long, and then attached the mic to it.

  “You’ll need a windscreen, too,” Shoop said.

  “I told you it wasn’t scary up here,” Toni said as she pulled something that looked like a furry sock over the mic. “You’re getting better, aren’t you, Shoop?”

  “Had to,” Shoop answered. Then he pointed at Dad. “He forced me to practice. Kept sending me back to the Green Beast for stuff. I probably went up and down twenty times.”

  “Desensitization,” Dad said, chuckling.

  “More like torture,” Shoop replied, but then admitted, “though I guess it has helped
some.”

  Toni looked at Nash. “Shoop gets a little nervous about heights.”

  Dad looked at his watch. “You about set, Shoop?”

  “Ready to roll.”

  Dad walked over to the edge again and yelled down. “Buck, get on up here!”

  “Just a minute. I’m almost ready.”

  Soon Buck was standing in front of the camera. Off to the side, Toni held the shotgun mic toward him. Behind Buck stretched a large valley dotted with buttes. A long mesa rose up beyond the buttes, three times higher than them. Behind the mesa, the snowcapped mountaintops of the La Sals were visible far in the distance.

  “Will we have time for a practice run before the light starts to change?” Shoop asked Nash. Buck glanced behind him. The buttes and mesa were the same layers of dull rusty red and tannish-gray they had been all day.

  Nash looked in the opposite direction at the sky toward the west. “You’ve got a minute or two.”

  “Okay,” Shoop said. “Buck, say your first sentence so Toni can do a quick sound test.” Toni put on the headphones and pushed a button on the recorder she had hanging over her shoulder. As she held the mic out toward Buck, she gave him a nod.

  “I’m in Canyonlands National Park in eastern Utah,” Buck said.

  “Sounds fine,” Toni stated.

  “Here it comes,” Dad said. Buck quickly glanced behind him. The sun was hitting the mesa, starting to turn its layers brilliant scarlet and dazzling gold.

  “Okay, rolling,” Shoop said.

  As Buck looked toward the camera, its red light turned on. Dad quickly held a whiteboard in front of the camera. On it was written Opening Shot, Take 1. Pulling it away, Dad nodded and pointed to Buck, signaling him to start.

  “I’m in Canyonlands National Park in eastern Utah,” Buck said. “It’s an amazing place of canyons, buttes, mesas, spires, arches, and other rock formations, the results of hundreds of millions of years of erosion. But this is not only a place with layers of rock; it’s also a place with layers of time. I’m standing here right now in a national park, watching the sun turn the mesa behind me blood red.”