The Owl Man Again

Went the visit the Owl Man today. Hadn’t actually planned to walk so far up the creek, but as I was laying in the crutch of a fallen log, playing my flute below the Mean Man’s Road, I saw a guy with a military-issue pack on his back walking by. He stopped and listened to the sound of my music, trying to figure out where it was coming from, but his ears were apparently less-attuned than most;  either that, or I’m pretty good at not being spotted, even while playing a dual-toned flute. 

He never spotted me.

But I got a good look at him, and I nearly choked. He looked so much like Grizzly Bear that I felt my hair stand on end. I’d spent my previous night venting to the girls on Rion’s front porch about how much of a dick that guy was to me, and every single one of them agreed that, “Hey, even if you do see him, he’s not worth a smile in passing. Oh, and punch him if he tries to talk to you.”

Seeing this guy on the road made me feel uncomfortable. No one is allowed on the road to begin with, and he was walking up there as if he owned it. I wondered if maybe he worked for the company at the top of the mountain. I wondered if he’d spot the Owl Man at his place by the creek, and I wondered if I should run ahead and warn him. But the Owl Man was a smooth-talker and a vigilant forest-dweller. He knew how to avoid conflict, and he knew how to avoid being seen.

Nevertheless, I put my flute back in the caribou hoof carrying case and scrambled up the trail, leaping and ducking and climbing up the rocks along the creek until I reached a spot where the path leveled out with the Mean Man’s Road. Though I knew it was a bad idea, I climbed up onto the roadside and hurried up to the area where the Owl Man was sure to be.

And sure enough, I spotted him with his dog, Sita, down the embankment not far from the road. He had been taking a creek bath and was wearing no pants, but thankfully, his shirt was long enough to cover everything. I called his name to let him know I was there, and Sita growled protectively as I headed down to meet them. The Owl Man put his shorts back on as Sita and I played fetch in the sand, then he packed a bowl in my pipe and we smoked and talked. He asked about my classes, and I told him about the park ranger who tried to arrest me. We concluded that he was a twisted man.

Earlier in the week, I had met a woman who’d been walking her two dogs along a vacant trail, and the ranger tried to give her a $400.00 fine because the pooches weren't on a leash. One was an Akita and the other was a Pit Bull. The ranger cited them as ‘dangerous’ breeds and even tried to increase the fine as a result, though thankfully, the tag was reduced to $200.00 in court because the woman brought the dogs with her to prove that they were friendly.

Later in the conversation, I thought I saw the guy with the military pack again, and Sita stared up the road in the same direction, but her head back down on her paws after a brief glance. I figured it was nothing, but said to the Owl Man, “I’ve been seeing ghosts everywhere today.”

“What kind of ghosts,” he asked curiously, taking a long drag on the pipe before handing it back to me.

I laughed. “Just thought I saw someone walking up here earlier that looked just like a guy I knew. An enemy of sorts.”

“You have enemies?” the Owl Man asked curiously. I shrugged. “Only one. And he’s not really an enemy, he’s just…” I fumbled for words, which the Owl Man found for me: “He’s just the subject of your intimate dislike.” And I had to smile.

But just then, Sita and I spotted movement on the Mean Man’s Road again. It was the guy who looked like Grizzly Bear. He stopped when he neared us, and I looked up at him with scrutiny, trying to tell if it was him or not. He looked so uncannily like him that I felt my hands ball into fists. But I said “Hey!” and the guy hurried off.

“Was it him?” the Owl Man asked. I shook my head. “Would he come here for you?” he ventured. And I shrugged again. “Doubt it,” I admitted, “But I came to know him all the places I wander. We went for a lot of hikes together out here.”

“You’re just worried that he’ll know where you are,” Owl Man observed with a knowing nod, “like you’ll find some part of him remaining out here.”

I agreed. But we both seemed satisfied that the traveler was not Grizz, and we smoked a few more bowls before I headed off back down the creek, promising to return next week. I moved low to the ground as I went, crouching on the rocks and listening ahead over the sound of the running water, just in case the traveler had left the roadside and was now moving along the creek as well.

Sure enough, as I leapt atop a particularly large boulder and perched momentarily, he was standing in the pool just a few yards downstream, looking somewhat startled by my sudden and quiet appearance. Knowing now that it was not Grizzly Bear, I merely paid him little mind and leapt down from the boulder to a smaller rock and continued on. By the time I got halfway to his former location, he’d disappeared up onto the road again and was hurrying away, almost as if he didn’t want to be seen.

I found this a little odd, but kept on going, running low to the ground and being as silent as possible. Though I wasn't running to or from anything, I figured it was good to stay in practice, as moving through terrain such as that is difficult and requires a quick eye and quicker feet.

Once I reached the pavement at the roadside, I adopted my normal stride and headed back to town.

Past a storefront, I heard someone call out, “Hey, miss!” and when I turned, a scrappy street man was standing there with a huge smile on his face. “You dropped you smile,” He informed me cheerily.

“I hope you picked it up for me,” I replied, and we ended up going to the nearby pizza place for lunch. It was apparent that, as a street man, he’d done a few too many drugs, and it had messed with his brain to extent that it was hard to keep up with him in conversation. His thoughts were like packing peanuts swept up in a wind tunnel. But he was happy and had a permanent smile on his face, which I appreciated. I gave him half of my pizza, since he was kind enough to pay for it in the first place, and I knew he needed it more than me. I’d have gotten it for myself, but he insisted. “Not every day you get to buy lunch for a pretty lady,” he said, and then added, “You actually look like that Avril chick, the singer chick, ya know? Like, if you were shorter by a few inches, and had a sweatshirt on with the hood up, I’d have sworn you were her. Met her at a bar once in Hollywood….” And his story went on from there.

Back at the dorms, I dropped my flute bag on the bed and paced the room a time or two. It was deathly boring here. I felt fidgety and depressed almost instantly, and would have gone back out for another walk, but I was getting a headache and my body was exhausted from my walk to see the Owl Man. To keep from going insane, I opted to take a nap and woke up when it grew dark outside.

Reflecting back on the day, I can say that it was pretty eventful and rather mind-opening. Strange things happen when I play that flute of mine, and the City of Ashland has a strange way of taking care of my wounds for me. I only hope that with the coming of winter, the depression and boredom won’t grow too much worse. I have, after all, lost many of my friends to the workforce, and Rion’s house, though always open to me, has been a place of drama since he broke up with his girlfriend. On the bright side, there is always the Owl Man, and I always have my music to keep me company….

Burning Man: House Rules

I'd been alseep on the bus for what seemed to be only an hour, curled up beside Jake with Ashland the mountain lion draped over my body like a blanket. I'm sure the cars passing by nearly veered off the road if they saw it and didn't realize that it was just taxidermy. We got honked at a lot, though that probably had more to do with the fact that we were driving a HUGE bus with "NOW IS ALL YOU HAVE" printed proudly across the side, with "ON TO BURN NOW" written in duct tape on the back trailer.

By the time we'd slowed down enough for me to realize the change in motion, we were nearing the line to enter Black Rock City. It was about 4:00 in the morning, and the sun was about to rise over the peaks of the mountains in the distance, lighting up the edges of the horizon behind them, leaving them back-lit and black as ever. The only other light on the scene came in the form of a great yellow-and-red snake, moving slowly through the valley on its way to the Playa. These, of course, were the thousands and thousands of cars which had, like us, made the vast pilgrimage to Burning Man.

Though I hadn't gotten much sleep, I was excited. My cousin Marty, a veteran Burner, had explained that the wait was like one big party, and indeed, there was an energy in the air that seemed excited, calm, and utterly happy all at once.

I wanted to go out and explore, so I put Ashland the mountain lion on my head, and Danny donned a gigantic tea pot costume (think Disney's Beauty and the Beast). Then the two of ran up and down between the rows of cars, shouting, "Tea time in ten minutes!" and asking people with their windows down if they "Fancied a spot of tea?" It was a riot of laughter.

At last, as we inched forward, the sun began to rise over the black mountains in the distance, and Danny, still wearing the tea pot costume, turned to me, still wearing my mountain lion, and nodded toward the mountains. "Race ya?" he suggested jokingly. But I raised an eyebrow at him, and suddenly, both of us had begun a mad dash between the cars, under the boarder fence, and off across the wide open Playa, out-of-bounds, toward the mountains, which only seemed to grow smaller the closer and closer we got. Finally, we both realized that it was a fruitless effort and turned back, much to the disappointment of a cheering crowd.

Back in line, Danny and I climbed atop NIAYH's sister bus, aptly named "Swamp Thing" due to the unsightly drab green and rust orange paint job.

A few others from the group joined us, and we sat there, passing around a freshly-loaded bowl and a few bottles of beer to pass the time. Several people walked by and gave me compliments on Ashland, asking if it was real and where I got him and such. I was impressed that no one had given me any snide remarks yet, but Marty had told me that it wasn't in the spirit of Burning Man to pass judgement without asking questions first, and thus far, no one had had any issues with the origin of the pelt. I was pleased. One woman even told me that it was the most awesome costume she'd seen at Burning Man in over ten years. I laughed an merely reminded her that there was a whole week ahead in which to find a more extravagant outfit than mine.

She smiled then and handed a little note to one of the young men sitting on Swamp Thing's hood. "I found this. Pass it on!" and she left, disappearing into the rows of cars.

When the note finally got to me, I smiled and had to photograph it.