Excerpt from The Rattlesnake Tour: Desert Encounters

© 1992 by Nick Dallett

I tried to ignore the man who sat across from me at the long white table, but he was intent on me. He was probably in his late forties. Navaho, dressed in the soiled motley of a street person. He held out a two-thirds-empty bottle of cheap red wine. I declined. "It's not polite to refuse to share what's offered," he said. I took the bottle, figuring the alcohol would kill any germs the rim might harbor. "I don't want any," I said, "but just to be polite, I'll share." I took a token swallow of sweet, warm wine, almost like sherry. He smiled. "I have a riddle. What has four corners, stays in one corner, and travels all over the United States, day and night?" I shrugged. "Think about it," he said. I though about four cornered things. This room. This table. My book. An envelope. "An envelope," I guessed. "Very close," he said. "A postage stamp." He outlined the form of an envelope, and indicated the upper right-hand corner. "Four corners, stays in one corner, travels all over the United States, day and night." He laughed.

When the laundromat closed, he followed me outside. His name was Fort Apache. He was born on the reservation in Tuba City. His brother was a chess champion, his sister a black belt in judo. He had come to Flagstaff to work, but when the work ran out, he was left to sleep in the street. He asked where I was sleeping. I indicated my truck. "It's cold. If I sleep outside tonight, I'll die," he said, simply.

I was surprised how easily we both fit in my truck, head to foot, I willing to put up with his unfamiliar and unwashed odor for the sake of possibly saving his life. He finished his wine, and laid the bottle down, neck cradled on a paper bag. "Always leave the bottle with its head to the East, like a person, to breathe. This helps hangover, makes you healthy. Treat all this way." He paused. "Hey. A Navajo came before a judge for drinking. Judge sentenced him to ten days in jail. The Navaho was proud. He said 'I'll do it standing on my head.' 'Then I'll give you another ten days to get back on your feet.' I grunted to acknowledge the joke. Fort told me lots of stories that night: tall tales of his life on the reservation, and local lore about San Francisco peak - about the dragon on top that devoured tourists, and that the mountain got it's name because, from the top, you could look through a telescope and see "that Golden Gate Bridge." He kept repeating this phrase - "That Golden Gate Bridge," like a punchline.

Flagstaff is a city of many trains. Sometime that night, I heard three trains blow their horns together in a major chord.

The next morning, Fort asked me for money. "I'll make you a deal," I said. "I want to know how to catch rattlesnakes this time of year. I'll give you money if you can tell me how." I had been obsessed with these snakes since Modesto, but had seen none, despite hours of hiking through amazing desert landscapes: the dry canyon in Cactus City, Ca., that must have emptied into the Salton Sea, where the sand held my tracks so well that the second day I could read the word "Reebok" in yesterday's print. The blasted heath at Ehrenberg on the Arizona border, where Saguaros were the only break in the sunburned rocks. The spiny steep hills west of Quartzite where the wind was strong enough to weather the rock into cactus shapes, arches, and caves. The hugeness of the wilderness behind the aqueduct at Salome, where I trespassed on US Government land to rockclimb a butte littered with quartz roses and crystals. The natural riprap ridges by Casa Grande where I saw a bobcat moving in the foreground of a vista that stretched for miles in every direction. The fertile, creviced, surprisingly soft rich brown earth at Sunset Point. The breathtaking redrock of "Monkey Face," where I rockclimbed in Sedona, and the jackrabbit-infested white rock country of Cottonwood, a few miles away.

"I know how to catch scorpions," he said. "Go into the desert and burn some wood to a fine, white ash. Cover your hand with a thick layer of this ash. Hold your hand out to the scorpion. It will come onto your hand. When it does, speak your heart to it, ask for its protection. Then let it go. It will be your protector. When I did this, the scorpion ran up my arm and stung me here." he showed me a round scar on his biceps. "When I showed this to my grandfather, he told me that I would be very strong, and that I would live to be one hundred and twenty years old. You can catch rattlesnakes the same way. To attract the snakes, go into the desert and speak the prayer 'Hey.' The snake will come to you. When he opens his mouth at you, throw some ash inside. He will hallucinate and lay still. Then you can pick him up and speak your heart to him, ask him to be your protector. Then let him go. He will be your protector."

I reminded Fort that it was the fall; that the snakes would be in their dens. He taught me a song:

He explained that Shosha was the name of the bear, and that this song was to draw bear out of hibernation, but that it should work for rattlesnakes as well. He said that because I was a rookie, I should be prepared to sleep in the desert for several days, singing the song to the four directions. At my request, he told me the name of the rattlesnake - Do'a chi'a ni'i. He explained that the last two syllables turned quickly, like the rattle of the snake.

When we left the truck, Fort thanked me and gave me his English name and address. He was disappointed in the ten dollars I gave him, and tried to get me to give him more for the riddle of last night. I declined. He would not let me take his picture.