The Legend of Chuckawalla Bill

In a remote canyon somewhere in the deserts of the American Southwest, right where I knew I would find it, I come upon the crumbling ruins of a stone house. In the wash behind the house, I know I will find a spring. The bighorn sheep frequent this pool of precious water, and although I do not find them there, I find their bones. Even before I take the skull of this noble animal inside the stone house to rest it upon the fireplace, I know what I will find there. Carefully traced in the cement, the name of the man who lived here, and the year he renovated this cabin with his own hands: Chuckawalla Bill, 1933 A.D. No, I have never been here before, but in some ways, I feel that I know this place, this time, and this man. My arrival is the end of a long journey that began when I first read Colin Fletcher's book The Man From The Cave.

I have read The Man From The Cave countless times, and like all great books, each time it reveals a different layer of meaning:

• At first it seems to be a straightforward historical search: In 1968, Fletcher stumbles across a cave in a different desert canyon, and wonders, who was the hermit who lived here, and why did he leave behind his personal possessions more than 50 years previously?
  
  
• It is also a biography: That of a colorful character named Chuckawalla Bill who vagabonded all over the desert in the early 1900's.
  
  
• The book is about making connections: Fletcher's quest to prove that the hermit of the cave and Chuckawalla Bill of the rock house were the same person.
  
  
• On a deeper level, the book is about examining one's own life: Fletcher discovers that he really sees himself; he gazed into the looking glass of the past and recognized his own persona.
  
  
• Deeper still, the book forced me to examine my own life: In the characters of the hermit, Chuckawalla Bill, and Colin Fletcher, I came to recognize something of myself. It made me think, what will I leave behind that will last as long as this rock house?
  
  
• Ultimately, the book is about letting go: Fletcher realizes that at some point his decade-long historical search has become an obsession, perhaps an unhealthy one. Those seeking tidy answers to all their questions will not find them here. Some mysteries are best left unresolved.
  

Position mouse cursor over image below to see photo of Chuckawalla Bill standing in front of the rock house circa 1933.
Move mouse cursor off image to see my 1988 photo.

No, I will not tell you where this place is. You will have to find it the hard way, as Bill, Colin, and I each did. The path stretches across many lands, many years, many lives, many pages. For those who are determined enough, the clues are there. But I would warn anyone who would take the walk up that long canyon: the only person you will find there will be yourself.

Colin Fletcher passed away on June 12, 2007 at the age of 85. Ironically, his death was attributed to a head injury he had received six years earlier, when he was struck by an SUV while walking near his home in Monterey County, California. Ironic, because Fletcher was one of the greatest wilderness walkers ever. His unique talent was the ability, though his writing, to make his readers feel that they were taking the journey with him. I own and treasure every one of his books: