Mapping the Ridge

I passed through the freed wire fence and climbed the dusty incline toward the rocky crest. At the summit, a flat slab of sandstone offered an unbroken view of the basin. I laid my hand flat against the rock to test for heat before taking a seat. Beside a scrubby creosote bush, I spotted a sun-faded surveyor's ribbon knotted to a rusted iron stake. I reached out, using the haft of my axe to steady myself as I pressed the worn plastic strip flat against the stone, comparing the distant canyon contour with the trail map from yesterday. The path forward across the wash is clear.