Whitewater Preserve (9)

My new things got me here on a Saturday morning, that goal and the offer of an "interpretive nature hike." I am liking this, enjoying how my "need" to do new things is paying off so soon. 

I am hopeful in the fall it will call me away from my work, help me be healthier in that way. I am late for the walk by a minute or two. There is a big group and we each sign in. The guide is warm, his voice resonant, and I like the way he makes a point of stopping along the way to tell the whole group in a booming voice what he has to say. It is the story of the aquifer and the happy news the water level is rising; restoration is working. This preserve is a wildlife corridor. Things are coming back into balance. It is good to know, levels out some of the horror. I walk at the back, thirty or more people before me, a long snake through the winding path through the canyon.

The creek is alive and crisp, clear. There are two charming little footbridges, and flowers growing in the water, their tiny blossoms covering the surface where they fall. I peek at them through the wooden slats, a floating bed of lavender. After less than half a mile the guide tells us this is the turnaround spot, so most of us continue on without him. We spread out little by little, and then I am walking alone. I stay on the original trail and head north through the canyon floor. The air is clear, the rocky walls sharp, the snow on Mt. San Jacinto and San Gorgonio framing my view.

I don't have enough water for a long hike, so I take small sips, make it last. I hear soft noises and look around for the raven. One is flying near me, taking slow glides. He is making that sound I think of as their affectionate voice, all round edges, so different from their loud caws. He flies with me for a long time, and I think he is watching over me, keeping me company. My sandals crunch in the white rocky sand and the wind rustles the bushes. I can hear the stream from somewhere on the other side of the canyon floor. The sun is hot. It would be stupid to keep walking without water, so I turn back, take more small sips. 

I chat with a man and woman along the path. I enjoy the warmth of the encounter, ponder the dynamics of their relationship. I dangle my feet in the rocky pool near the parking lot where kids are wading in the cold mountain water. I drink water in the office, talk to a second couple there. The man has a sly smile that confuses me. He has traveled in Mexico. His smile says he has a secret, but I think I am misreading him. They have walked in from where the creek meets the road. They are going to the casino in Palm Springs for a special price on the buffet. People come to the counter asking for free fish food to feed the trout. The man working there shows us a photo on a cell phone of a baby screech owl they rescued today. This evening they’ll return him to the nest in one of the rock faces. I ask if they are keeping him in a dark corner somewhere until then. By the trout pond I see a man with a big blue and yellow bird on his shoulder, and I go to meet him. The man tells me he is a blue and gold macaw. He sits on my hand and drinks water from the plastic cup I got at the office. His feet are strong but he is soft and gentle with my skin. I am startled for a moment when he goes toward my hand. He dries his beak on my finger, and I am charmed. It's a happy morning.

[Editor's note: Here is a link to see a photo of the kind of macaw I met at the trout pond. He was a beauty, very like this guy.]