Black Canyon of the Gunnison
The Ballad of Dog Dually
From Wiley Timmons ‘Tales of the West’
Gunnison Gorge – An invocation to amuse-meant.
Gunnison Gorge, Gunnison Gorge Gunnison Gorge, Gunnison Gorge
Where canyons rise and eagles soar Rafting waters, outfitters tour
The river drifts, the white waters roar Fly fishing the Gunny without any lures
Past ancient cliffs of Gunnison Gorge Ancient river where Time endures.
1st Riddle – What’s the difference between a banjo and a harmonica?
Eb – D Harp Walking Scale Wiley on the River
On the Trail of the Tale
An ancient canyon, running river, wilderness adventure is a channel for music. Folkloric music. Ringing thru the air, Walking Down the Line, Fishing Blues and Tom Dooley piping thru the wind organs of the wild. Piping thru the wind organs of the wild.
From the trailhead the Chukar Trail[1] begins descending right from the start. There are 
very few level spots the entire distance. The overall elevation change is 1000 feet and distance is a trekking mile. Switchbacks are built in to make the steep grade more manageable. The trail eventually enters the wash where it passes through the cliffs and down to the river. Wiley the pack mule lugs in 45 lbs in of gear in a dry bag slung with backpack shoulder straps. [1] https://www.gjhikes.com/2014/04/chukar-trail.html
With no more than a blister to show (at first) he hears these refrains –Arlo Guthrie at Woodstock in ’69 singing Bob Dylan’s Walking Down the Line to 400,000 freaks. In typical Arlo fashion, he hesitates a bit. As did Wiley at the bottom of the trail – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eV_0h_OBNiM
Walking Down the Line (Bob Dylan 1963)
G C/g G C/g G I got my walkin’ shoes
Well, I’m walkin’ down the line, I got my walkin’ shoes
C/g G I got my walkin’ shoes
I’m walkin’ down the line An’ I ain’t a-gonna lose
C/g G I believe I got the walkin’ blues
An’ I’m walkin’ down the line.
C/g G Well, I’m walkin’ down the line,
My feet’ll be a-flyin’ I’m walkin’ down the line
D7sus4 C/g G An’ I’m walkin’ down the line.
To tell about my troubled mind. My feet’ll be a-flyin’
Tell you ‘bout my twisted spine, knee, leg.
At the base of the Chukar Trail, where the shore meets the river, Wiley unloads the dry bag and starts sorting gear when his trick knee kicks in. SPROING! The pack mule load unwinds on his leg like a coil spring and wilderness adventure Wiley is now the 1st crip on the trip. His tightened IT-band, knee sprain injury is old news. He’ll has to deal with it in the here and now. On the river.
2nd Riddle- What walks on 4 legs in the morning, 2 legs in the afternoon and 3 legs in the evening?
Overboard Anglers
Some came for the day, some for overnight. Some came to guide, some to ride, some to 
fish and some to float. Three boats on the river. Looking for rainbow trout and browns, fishermen rigged their gear from fancy fly boxes. Elk-haired cadis, streamers, bright plastic moths glowing in the water. Like Taj Mahal singing to the Gunny –
Fishing Blues (Henry Thomas)
I went down to my favorite fishin’ hole,
Baby, grabbed me a pole and line
Cast it to the left, cast it to the right
Land that fly where the fish will bite
Browns and rainbows swimming around
Smooth river flows without a sound
Many fish bites if you got good bait,
here’s a little tip I would like to relate.
Many fish bites if you got good bait,
I’m a-goin’ fishin’,yes,
I’m a-goin’ fishin’ in the Gunny Gorge river too!
Father and son, wading in the water
Landing everything in sight
Back in the boat, fishing the waters
Left back home the mothers and the daughters
Many fish bites if you got good bait,
But when you’re tossed overboard it’s a fast moving lake
Keep your head up, feet first downstream
Don’t panic in the water or try to scream
While you’re splashing in the cold Gunny Gorge!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNsQI-abvCo
Bite Me, I need the Money
After a day and a half on the river all wilderness rafters make it back to the
campground. Alive. Tired and Dusty. With a hitch in his get-away, Wiley
hobbles over to the bar / store / stool to hang out with the good ol’ boys from the
local outfitters shooting the breeze about the river and rafters.
‘What’ll you have’, asks the barkeep?’
‘PBR like everyone else I guess.’
‘What’s your name son?’
‘Look at the label – PBR. That’s me – Peter Brown Robinson. Get it?’
Guffaw, guffaw.
Bidding the bubbas goodbye, Wiley drags himself back to camp to pack up and go.That’s where Wiley meets Dually bringing back to mind the murder, musicballad – Tom Dooley.
The mega-fire of the devastating Woolsey blaze drew back the curtains
The Battle for the Headline News
Pink Lady in the Nudes (1966).
Miramar Surfers Win at Meet
Huerfano (meaning orphan) County’s Spanish Peaks, neither quite a fourteener but standing out from the Front Range (wa-ha-to-ya in the native tongue) were landmarks on the Santa Fe Trail. Population centers include county seat Walsenburg, sex-change capital Trinidad, Ludlow (as in Massacre), La Veta and a double handful of small dried-up towns scattered across the scrub oak and pinon of the hills and sagebrush of the high prairie.
15 miles up a county road, with no electricity or running water, our dreams become projects. Build a cabin, string a fence, lay in a cistern. Pour concrete walls. Pour lots of concrete walls. Stand up a windmill, dig a trench, pump water up a mesa to tanks for gravity-fed irrigation systems. Fix a broken tractor. The entropy of the land: we’re always building, and things are always breaking down.
The only structure on the property when we acquire it is a low shed, used to store hay, protected from snow and wind. Raise the roof, add some walls, add more rooms – piece by piece it becomes a cabin. Fred and Marigold, dreaming of Rammed Earth, design the next addition, pouring a foundation then presenting plans to Frank Noga, the county engineer. He never heard of rammed earth – pipe clamps secure sturdy forms aligned 15″ apart, sprinkle in a moist blend of clay, sand and portland cement, then tamp it till it rings, hard packed. Keep adding earth-mix, keep tamping and the walls rise. With a “hat and shoes” – protective roof and foundation – a rammed-earth structure lasts centuries. Well, Frank Noga’s seen plenty of hippie shelters – our architectural drawings are a step above. He stamps his approval on the plans.
The Kawasaki 175 (Estrella model) is a sporty, temperamental motorcycle for riding the Story Creek back roads and making quick trips to town. One day, Fred takes it out for a spin. Wearing sunglasses plus a helmet with a smoky visor, he keeps fiddling to kick this sucker into third gear. As luck would have it, he notches third as he comes over a rise, revving up to 30 mph about the time he sees, about 40 feet away, a three-strand barbed wire gate closing the road. Steve McQueen in The Great Escape would have leaped gracefully over this barrier. Instead, Fred goes for Plan B: dropping the bike, sliding wheels-first into the obstacle to save himself from painful lacerations. Almost. His right hand on the handlebar finds some nasty barbed wire that slices a two-inch gash in his middle-finger knuckle.
The next day, Fred wrestles his car out of the mud, driving home by way of the long-gone Red Rocks commune, the dome his cousin shared with thirty other hippies. Fred’s cousin, David, morphed into a film critic for Newsweek. The Red Rocker, Larry Lazlo, hangs his hat in here in Denver, with Co-Media Photography. His celebrity portraits grace Denver’s SIE Film Center today. Everybody starts somewhere.
April 1st, 1981
A dyad launched from the Alpha Motel,
Beneath the snowy Spanish Peaks –
I tried that harmonica
