Arches Treasure Mystery at the Escalantes

Arches Treasure

Mystery at the Escalantes

Rosemary Dunn Dalton

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Arches Treasure

Mystery at the Escalantes

Copyright © 2008 by Rosemary Dunn Dalton

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4401-0451-0 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-0452-7 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. 09/09/2010

Contents

Arches Treasure

Mystery at the Escalantes

For Nancy and Taya, editors and for Marie, partner, all fellow sleuths.

Arches Treasure

Two weeks ago Nancy Duncan put on her hiking gear—backpack with the water bottle and first aid stuff, plus good shoes. She was prepared for the 105-degree temperature; that’s what it’s like in Utah in July. And it was hot. Visiting the Arches Monument National Park was quite the experience. Hundreds of flushed-faced visitors, huffing and puffing up the trails. No one could dispute the beauty of this place—red clay structures the size of the Empire State Building. Even the crumbling pieces form pillars that bore resemblances to whatever your imagination rendered. Some saw bears, monks, children. Nancy saw an ET at the Balanced Rock site. Utah holds its treasures tightly to its chest. Nancy and her partner, Bobbi, had been reading Terry Tempest Williams and Edward Abby, both esteemed chroniclers of the history and beauty of Utah. Like others, they are harbingers of a demise that will come if people aren’t vigilant about preservation. In the 1980’s Senator Morris Udall was a warrior of this state’s beauty.

It was 7:30 a.m. when Nancy hit the Arches. The hike was formidable. One had to climb intermittently for about a mile, reach a peak, then move down deeper into a valley in order to view the stupendous Landscape Arch. One of the world’s longest natural arches, it is a skinny span of over 300 feet long. The color was so vibrant against the backdrop of clear blue sky and bright yellow sun that Nancy could hardly keep her eyes steady to view its amazing structure of orange and beige rock. She wasn’t sure what spurred her to do it, but as she grew closer, she began to move some of the loosened rock formation. The hot sun displayed a glint for just a second and she began to glimpse a red clay structure.

Nancy gently dug further and there it was: a blue-hued stone encased in what appeared to be gold. Nancy gently nudged the object to make sure that it didn’t break into pieces. She took some time to dig it out of a tiny hole. It took some time for her to take it up into her hands. Her nails were caked with crimson dirt and her hand looked like she had peeled a juicy but tightly bound orange. Soon, people gathered around her to see what the fuss was all about. They laughingly joked that maybe she should be careful because it might be uranium. After all, during the cold war Moab and the surrounding area had been dubbed the uranium capital of the world after Charles Steen had discovered $100 million worth of the element from a local mine. Most of the onlookers wandered off after they saw that it just looked like a bracelet or something, except for two native Indians who lingered until Nancy looked up. Then they moved away.

Nancy noticed that small print circled the stone in a language that she couldn’t interpret. Was it Arabic or Hebrew? She would ask her friend, Shalom, who had been raised on a kibbutz in Israel.Was this object valuable? It had a tiny, short chain attached to it. Was it part of a larger object, a necklace, a bracelet? Nancy looked around to see if anyone else was observing her rescue the object. So far, so good, she thought. She had a feeling it was significant, a ruin of sorts. It had obviously been there for some time, maybe decades. Rocks shifted constantly in the Arches Park, so how could one tell? No one seemed to notice as she slipped the object into her pocket.

Nancy lived in Oregon now but had been raised in Michigan. Fresh spring water lakes were the treasure there but the recent population of motorized boats had changed the terrain. Still, when she and Bobbi had returned to Cooley Lake, the site of Nancy’s original family summer cottage, the water had retained its familiar smell of turtles and frogs, and lily pad groves. Nancy told tales of how her grandfather had purchased the cottage, as they called it, so that her mother would have a place to take all her children. Indeed, divided into two houses separated by just a wall, it had been the place where the family of eight spent their summers. By the time Nancy was just a little girl, her older brothers and sisters had married and brought their children to this beloved family summer place. She remembered complaining as a teenager that she always had to go to the lake, instead of public beaches. She had laughed as she relayed the story to Bobbi, because now she understood what a privilege it had been to have a private lake to go to.

In Southern Oregon folks were pushing to preserve wilderness areas and national monuments just as Senator Udall had done. Nancy had given testimony at a public meeting because she felt the wilderness was one of the last safe places where women could hike and enjoy physical freedom.

She had figured out at around age five or six that things aren’t always as they seem. Her curiosity often guided her to cozy little dugouts and secret paths. She liked that her first name was Nancy; she felt akin to Nancy Drew, the teenage sleuth of many mystery stories. Her parents were older than most of her peers’ parents as she was the youngest of eight, with a significant age span between herself and the oldest. She loved frolicking in the new house on the block, creating special coves where she and her friend, Kathleen, played house. When her family visited Michigan lakes, it was always Nancy who uncovered the remote lagoon for hunting frogs and turtles. She instructed her nephews and nieces on how to catch by hand an unsuspecting frog or how to scoop up a turtle with a bowl or pan. Mostly, Nancy invented a secret world of imagination to thwart the loneliness of a last child with so many siblings busily moving about in their own lives. Her next oldest sister, Jenny, was a bit of a dreamer and a reader, generally looking for a way out of the family scene and away from her sister.

Now, Nancy Duncan was deep in thought as she bounced along in the shuttle bus. Her thoughts were back at the Landscape Arch. She and Bobbi had returned to Moab for a second visit because Bobbi wanted to go on a Colorado River trip. Nancy listened with one ear as Bobbi rattled on about how the river looked kind of dirty given its brownish—coral color. She was asking if people really swam in it. This was going to be a raft trip but what if you fell in it? Was it safe? Bobbi was reflecting on how the rivers in Oregon were different, especially in Southern Oregon where they were so crystal clear. She and Nancy often went swimming in a remote area above the dam in what used to be Copper. The federal government had eliminated the whole town in order to build a dam. Now it was a lake and was the spot where most families went swimming. But she and Nancy would drive beyond it over the California border just a short distance to get to their favorite swimming spot in the Applegate River. Finally, Bobbi stopped talking after Nancy said she thought the raft trip was going to be a mellow ride, with rarely a rapid in sight. Nancy sunk back into her thoughts.

Bobbi nudged Nancy and asked, Where are you? Thinking again, huh? That can be dangerous if I know you. What’s up, mystery woman?

I’m thinking that Shalom and I need to meet to discuss my find. We need to have a name for the thing—arches treasure, that’s it, Nancy replied. She and Bobbi were unaware that someone had strategically placed herself behind them on the shuttle bus and was intently listening to their conversation. Maybe I’ll need to go to Israel.

Oh great! Bobbi exclaimed. The timing’s pretty dangerous. As we speak Americans are being evacuated from Lebanon because Israel is bombing Lebanon. Something about retaliation because Hezbollah is holding two Israelis capture.

Both Nancy and Bobbi openly expressed their disgust at the ongoing Middle East conflict. At the same time, they were trying to understand the history and the continuous violence. All of it seemed so incongruous to where they were now. During the last month they had traveled throughout Utah to the Great Salt Lake and camped on Antelope Island, a stretch of land on the lake with a causeway that connects the island to the city turf. Many sea birds reside there, and they had seen several Chakar, a small quail-like creature. Both Nancy and Bobbi were thrilled to catch a glimpse of a young Chakar clan. The Great Lake houses hundreds of species—teals, swallows, cranes, plovers, to name a few. Much has been written about the flocks of curlew, which are viewed as predictors of dire events, such as a drowning, and other sea mishaps.

Leaving Antelope Island, they had headed to Bryce Canyon where they careened a paved trail from Fairyland area to Bryce Points. This took about five hours because they stopped at some of the viewpoints in this glorious array of red rock. From afar they were able to view hikers who looked like dots as they followed the Queen’s Garden Trail. It was fascinating to realize that, over time, cutting water rapids and melting ice formations had actually carved out this site, which is particularly impressive from a few hundred feet above. Throughout the monument were giant formations of coral color, purple hues, vibrant orange and yellow— sites resembling many facets of Nancy’s imagination, including sharp peeked objects hundreds of feet tall. Ponderosa pine, conifers, blue spruce and white fir often dotted the trails. At Bryce, the Hoodoos were giant pillars of red rock created ten million years ago when the earth moved. The Paiutes dubbed the Hoodoos Legend People, sacred Coyote turned into stone. Layers of rock stand over 2000 feet tall. Nancy liked the idea of mystifying this majestic, magical place.

Nancy had told Bobbi that she just had to go for a swim in Lake Powell, the beauty of which had been acclaimed by so many of her adventurous outdoor enthusiasts. This required moving through the Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument. They followed Route 12 past the town of Escalante and took Hole in the Rock southeast to Lake Powell. As they traveled Bobbi read excerpts of Edward Abbey’s version of history concerning the great Lake. He maintains that Major John Wesley Powell, who pioneered the untamed white rapids of the Colorado River thousands of feet below the canyons, would be quite amazed that the lake was now named in his honor. Abbey views the wonders of Glen Canyon as essentially drowned by the damming of the river.

Nancy got her swim in Lake Powell after some considerable navigating through back roads with spectacular views of rolling hills combined with castles of white cliffs that looked hand-carved. At Halls Crossing they took a ferry boat over to Bull Frog where they encountered a fabulous resort area. Nancy and Bobbi, however, settled in the Bullfrog Campground, #23. The facility was affordable and public.

They drove to the boating docks to see if they could rent a small craft to actually get out onto the lake. There they saw boats the size of small ships, recreational vehicles the size of buildings. The guy at the marina explained that they would have to rent a boat for a minimum of a half day at a ridiculously high price of $223. The man explained all the issues of liability and the women politely left. After a discussion of what Wesley Powell would think of all this opulence and lack of accessibility, Bobbi said, Well, the hell with this, we’ll find a place to get in the water no matter what, and where it’s not so crowded. They got back in the car and twisted and turned among dirt roads until they found just a place where a couple of families were squeezed under a hand-crafted canopy to block out the outrageously hot sun, even though it was after 4:00 p.m.

The water was smooth as Jell-O, almost hugging at their bodies, even cool to the touch. Nancy told Bobbi she was glad they had their handy little-kid tubes to heist themselves into, that way they didn’t have to feel the mushy bottom of the lake. Both couldn’t get over the aquamarine color of the water, just like all the photos they had seen. The lake was surrounded by the usual red clay standing castles, hills and giant coves carved out for overnight stays in houseboats.

When they returned to the campground they prepared a delicious meal of peanut butter sandwiches and cut up apples. This was the only thing that had sustained them in their travels, as the ice in the cooler needed replenishing and everything looked pretty unappealing at this point. It looked like it was going to storm too. Just as it began to get dark, and they were settled in their tent, though still boiling hot, Nancy noticed flashes of light through the thin tent walls. Bobbi, don’t go to sleep yet. Look at what’s going on outside. Elated at the sight of massive flashes of color, lightening coming from the south, Nancy and Bobbi set up their bargain lawn chairs and watched the show. Throughout the whole experience there never came a thunder sound, just a spectacular light show of red, pink, yellow, silver and white.

Sometimes camping trips can really challenge a relationship, especially when the weather is the main issue. They next morning Nancy was propped up beside the door of the car for shade reading when Bobbi piled out of the inferno, electric charges firing out of her head, face red as a beet, and said, Let’s get the hell out of here! Nancy could tell that Bobbi needed to settle down inside. They decided to head north from there and were continually amazed at how desolate the area was, with their car sometimes the only vehicle on the road. Bobbi had suggested they take the Burr Trail Road, a cut-off from the Lake Powell area to Boulder. The route was marvelous, of course, with steep canyons of slick rock, white and red sandstone formations—tall, huge and ominous all at the same time. Bobbi volunteered to drive through the perilous landscape and Nancy felt her stomach jump more than once as she peeked over the ridge as their car surfed the terrain. One young fellow, Everette Ruess, had disappeared in this part of the world. So enamored with the solitude and beauty, he had cut himself off from family to live life there, camping and exploring. He was last seen in the Grand Staircase—the Escalate area.

The women stopped at the visitor center at Anasazi State Park, a giant pueblo revered as one of the most important archeological sites in the Boulder area, and also the entry way