Touches of Wonder and Terror. James C. Glass
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electric vortex site,” said Bob.
The panoramic view was grand, stretching east to Bell Rock and far west to high buttes. “I read about it,” said Harry. “The Schuman resonance is supposed to be at seven or eight cycles per second, the earth charging and discharging due to global atmospheric electrical activity. They haven’t figured out the earth grid stuff, or why the area here is so accessible to us, but then I don’t understand all of it either.”
Bob smiled. “Yeah, well, the way they present it is good for the tourists. Bell Rock out there is another electric vortex site, they say, but Cathedral Rock is a magnetic type, and there’s supposed to be an interdimensional window that aliens and angels come through.”
“Oooo, angels,” said Harry.
They hiked the trail into the sacred area of Boynton Canyon and took photographs of a knobby spire called Katchina Woman. The spire was said to occasionally sport a blue aura, but the color was wrong. “South of here are the Palatki Indian Ruins, and beyond them there’s supposed to be a secret, buried military base, and UFO’s flying around. People say they’ve seen Humvees and men in black out there where there are no roads. Black helicopters, too,” said Bob.
Harry shook his head. “This is what happens when people have an untrustworthy government and naughty tourists who don’t obey the rules.”
Bob slapped his shoulder. “Oh come on, Harry, lighten up. This is a place to have some fun.”
So Harry lightened up and even allowed his own sense of humor to surface. Bob’s infectious enthusiasm made it easier for him to stop thinking like a scientist all the time. Without being conscious of it, the two of them were becoming close friends for many years to come.
Late one day they made a nervous climb on steep, rough rock up a buttress sprouting delicate, multiple spires and shelves. In a slot framed by two massive columns towering high around them they scrambled their way up to a high saddle for photography. Others were coming behind them, for Cathedral Rock was a landmark of the area, and visited frequently. Harry got one of his best pictures of the trip there, and the view was breathtaking. Suddenly he held up his arms and twirled like a child. “Oh, oh, I’m magnetic,” he said, and Bob laughed.
“Do you actually have to leave so soon?” asked Bob. “You’re really having fun now.”
“Well no, I don’t. I’m retired, remember?”
“You traveling with Aurora, or Trans-Di?”
“Aurora.”
“Me too. Why don’t you extend your stay a week, and we can take the same slip back,” said Bob.
Harry thought for only a few seconds, then, “I’ll do it. What else do I have to do these days? I’m still learning how to be retired. When do you leave? I’ll call my reservation in tonight.”
“Never mind,” said Bob. “You can do it from here.” He took his Model 20 out of a camera bag, made contact. Harry punched in his reservation code and did the rest.
Bob took back his Jaziril 20 and nodded at the puffing climbers now nearing their position at the panoramic viewing site of Cathedral Rock. “You know,” he said, eyes twinkling, “I think we can have some real fun with this place.”
“Oh, oh,” said Harry.
* * * *
And so there was another week and a half of fun in the high country of northern Arizona. They ventured out a bit, drove to Flagstaff and artsy Jerome, and visited nearby Indian ruins. A long tour by jeep took them to more ruins and a huge sinkhole formed by the collapse of a limestone cavern ceiling. The driver on the tour refused to talk about black helicopters or UFOs in the area. Sworn to secrecy, he said.
A day before their departure they had an expensive dinner together in uptown Sedona and walked nearly two miles to the Spiritual Center to hear a special lecture on UFOs. A kindly, white-haired man talked about alien visitations and showed photographs of their saucer-shaped spacecraft. There was even a photo of such a craft sitting in the driveway of a man who claimed continual contact with the many alien societies living on planet earth.
Harry whispered to Bob, “Atmospheric entry had better be slow in that thing. And what are all the spherical balls around the hub?”
“That is where they store their alcohol,” said Bob. His expression was serious, but his eyes said otherwise.
A matronly woman seated in front of them turned around with an admonishing glare, silencing them.
They walked back down the hill to town in the light of thousands of stars. “One hundred eight alien civilizations indeed,” said Harry, staying in the mood. “The number can’t be more than forty, tops”
“I’ve counted twenty-three,” said Bob.
“That’s more like it. And that picture of the alien, the one with the long earlobes, I’ve been wondering about you. Why is it you don’t have long earlobes?”
“I have them trimmed every Thursday,” said Bob, and sniffed primly.
Bob smiled, and sighed audibly. “Seriously, Harry, I’m going to miss this place. I missed it after the last time I was here. It has been even more fun being here with someone I could share it with.”
“So why don’t we do it again next year?” said Harry.
“You serious?”
“Absolutely. Let’s exchange addresses and keep in touch. Plan ahead. I haven’t had a massage yet, and we’ll both be ready for a good rolfing by next year.”
They shook hands on it, went back to their cars in a happier mood, and then home to pack.
Departure the following morning was complicated by their choice of location for it. Bob came to the rescue, finding two young men who, for a fee, would return their cars to the uptown lodge lot for them. They picked the men up at the lodge at sunrise, drove 179 and Back o’ Beyond road to the Cathedral Rock trailhead.
Both of their backpacks were stuffed full. The young men looked at them curiously, and then drove the cars away, leaving them alone at the trailhead.
“Now I wish I hadn’t bought all these books,” said Bob, looking up at steep rock.
“Give me some of them. We’ll sort it out at the other end,” said Harry.
They repacked the bags quickly and went up the short but steep trail over rocky knobs and loose scree to a gentler slope around a buttress to the Cathedral Rock high saddle viewpoint. Passing the lower viewpoint they’d seen two vans pulling into the trailhead lot below; other hikers would soon be joining them. Bob looked at Harry. “We could get our travel permits revoked for doing this.”
“Not likely,” said Harry. “People see things here all the time, and more often than not their reporting isn’t accurate or taken seriously.”
Bob and Harry grinned at each other like two naughty children, and hurried on.
When they reached the high viewpoint no other hikers were in sight. They took two final pictures of each other, with twin walls of red rock in the background. Bob took out his Model 20 Jaziril and tapped a key. Behind them the air seemed to shimmer, as if suddenly heated.
“Here they come,” said Harry.
A group of four hikers had come around a buttress base and were ascending the faint trail over smooth rock twenty meters below them.
“Now,” said Harry, grinning.
Bob tapped the Jaziril three times. There was an explosion of color, an iris of air opening wide and shimmering brilliantly in emerald green.
“Aurora would be very unhappy if they knew we were doing this,” said Bob.
There was a shout from below.
“I know,” said Harry, “but they won’t hear about it from me.” He