NO MAN'S BUTTE
The middle aged man looked up at the steep unassailable sides of the butte before him with a set look of determination on his face.
Six times he had attempted to climb it, yet had failed each time to conquer those heights known as No Man's Butte.
He had been born here within sight of the butte, it dominated the view from his home. He grew up listening to the tales of old timers recounting the scores of attempts that had been made to climb it to no avail.
In his childhood dreams he had climbed it a thousand times to stand upon its broad flat top and taunt the world about being the first to ascend it. Throughout his childhood and teen years he studied the butte from every angle, burning each rock and crevasse of its steep sides into his memory.
His first attempt to climb it was in his teens. After much preparation and practice, he announced that he would climb the butte. People gathered from miles around to witness the event, among them the native Americans from the nearby reservation who gathered about one particularly old man who sat impassively upon a nearby hill watching.
His first attempt was an utter failure. The steep slippery sides and loose rock defeated his attempts before he could ascend even a quarter of the way.
The bitterness of his defeat only spurred him on. Every spare moment and resource from that point on was spent in perfecting his abilities and equipment. His whole life became centered on this one accomplishment. Yet each attempt became a failure and with each failure the spectators dwindled, until here upon his seventh try, only that one incredibly old Indian sat watching from his hill.
Even as the early morning sun dried the dew from the stone, the middle-aged man started. Slowly he inched his way up the butte. Mid-day found him halfway up the steep slope. He had gone further then ever before but his forty odd year old body was feeling the strain. His hands ached and his legs were shaking, he was about to give up the attempt, when he glanced below and saw the old Indian sitting there watching him. He could almost feel the old man's eyes upon him and he somehow drew strength from the old man's presence and fought past his exhaustion..
Late afternoon found him only yards from his destination. Then finally he was at the top. Exhilaration filled him as he drew himself up over the edge to stand on top of the butte. He had made it! He was the first person to climb the No Man's Butte! He was about to shout his joy to the world when his eyes beheld something that shocked him into amazed silence. For there in the center of the buttes top was a circle of large stones and centered inside this circle of stones was a fire hearth and standing upright beside the hearth was a feathered staff with many prayer ties and ribbons waving. And he saw to his astonishment that there were many other signs of such hearths much older.
Turning, he looked down at the retreating figure of the old Indian with new found respect and humility.
~DA Naho ~
Blue Turtle
