Junction, Utah by Rebecca Lawton

Author:Rebecca Lawton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wavegirl Books
Published: 2021-08-18T00:00:00+00:00



Cookie showed us where to drop our unopened packs, which she said held first aid, water, and canisters of food. We left them at the base of the cliff for other members of the Diamond Mountain Club.

“They’ll carry in full loads, aussi,” Cookie said. “To add to the cache.”

More Club members would come to watch the herd. Others took photographs, collected datapoints, kept track of sheep both dead and alive. The activists flew under Utahco’s radar, gathering evidence should the Club’s lawsuit go to trial.

“C’est vrai. We’ve filed against Utahco and their inadequate Environmental Impact Statement for the Diamond Mountain rigs.”

Their open-water pits were polluted, she explained. They’d built roads and fences, without permits, that broke up the herd. Their Statement reported a Finding of No Significant Impact.

“Toujours, they come up with a FONSI,” Cookie said. “And it’s usually bogus.”

We reached a cleft in the wall that dropped below the fence. At the base of a talus pile, ribs, neck bones, and shoulder bones lay in a ghastly heap.

Cookie sat back on her haunches. “The sheep can’t deal with the fence—and so we find their remains here.” She lifted a slender rib. “Some of these belonged to a certain ewe I’d been watching. She broke her leg near here. We’d given her a radio collar, so we were able to trace her, airlift her out, repair the break, and rehydrate her. But she died in Lavern.”

“And her bones are here?”

“Oui, Madeline. We brought her body back after death. Coyote food. Raven meat. Important to keep her in the food chain.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I came close to quitting for the hundredth time when we lost her.”

Rick rubbed her back while I waited.

Finally she sighed. “But sheep are no dummies. They’ve started steering clear of this evil place. Now any scat we find in this canyon is old. Even if sheep could climb up past that fence, they’d find poisoned ground around the rigs—stained and black like most oilfields. A wasteland.”

It made me want to take down that fence with my bare hands. Cookie must’ve read my mind.

“Don’t worry, Goddess. We have extensive field notes and GPS geolocations documenting which lambs survive, how long ewes live, where rams go. Eh bien, we’re building a database about it. Bit by bit.”

After tarping the cache, we headed back down the canyon. Cookie led at a brisk pace as Rick and I followed, until we reached a rock wall lit by a lingering ray of sun. High above us, a panel of pictographs had just gone into shadow. A posse of stick-figure sheep covered the smooth face of Entrada.

“Regardez, Madeline,” Cookie said. “It was a canyon with good water. The thing you love most.”

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