Serendipity

We’ve been meaning to write about the balance between planning and improvising while living this nomadic wanderer’s life. On the prairie, we were moved by the power of serendipity to catch us up in its current and give a sense of purpose to coincidence.

A woman sitting next to us on our covered wagon ride discovered that we were planning to visit the Badlands next but did not yet have a place to stay and she said, “I live there and have an 1880 homesteader’s cabin you could rent if you like.” What luck! Then, while staying at her place, we chatted with folks whose daughter rode horses for three weeks in Mongolia, lodging with the local families in remote areas. So cool! One thing led to another, and we couldn’t help but feel that fate was on our side.

I felt a similar glow when meeting Shawn on Lake Powell this past weekend. The boys and I had finished hiking to a (relatively) unpopulated part of Lone Rock Beach with all our camping supplies, ready at last to counter the 95-degree heat of the Arizona desert with a dip in the lake. The boys were dismayed, though, by the prickly plants submerged at the water’s edge and my ick-meter was running high from the scum on the surface. When Shawn invited to take us out in his boat the following day to the clean emerald green of the lake center, we felt we’d just opened a gift wrapped in serendipity. Not only would we get to dive into deep water prickle and ick-free, but we’d also get to plunge into conversation with a couple of Russian families who were also planning to go out on the boat for the day. What were the chances?

These new friends were taking Shawn out to dinner to thank him for his kindness, he told me, and his dog would hold down the fort on his boat while he was away. Shortly after he left, I was surprised to see the said dog, “Polar” the Akita, loping along the beach like a freed jailbird. Ah ha! Here was my opportunity to repay Shawn for his kindness—I would save his dog! I led her back to the boat and put on her collar that kept her tied to a log on the beach, thinking the boat insecure. Purpose fulfilled!

The sun set on the army of RV’s in formation along the beach (not exactly the kind of tent camping experience I prefer), generators sounding off with an incessantly droning roll call, and Polar barked. Jackrabbits appeared in the shadows, lizards scurried up sandy canyon banks, crows sneaked snacks from unguarded caches, and Polar barked. Radios blared, laughter peeled, motor boats and ATV’s revved their engines, and Polar barked s’ more.

When darkness arrived at last, and the boys were safely squirming in their sleeping bags, a park ranger came by our tent to question if we knew anything about the abandoned dog. He was concerned that the owner had drowned and was relieved when I—somewhat guiltily— told him my part in Polar’s predicament.
After another 10-minute eternity of barking, all feelings of being a karma-charged superhero were now resting like a kind of a lumpy, woeful mass in my head. I decided to see if I could help the poor dog.

Recreating my own version of White Fang, I got really low to the ground and crept slowly up to the anxious, growling thing. For twenty minutes of moonlit drama, I coaxed, entreated, sympathized. Still, Polar barked.

At last, I had the idea to unhook the leash from the branch. Well within the range of a strike, should Polar decide to defend herself, I gave it a go. It worked! Sort of. She widened her circle on the longer line, relaxed a little, then resumed her crowing. Finally, I dropped the lead, sat down in defeat, and she came to me as a friend! Quickly as I could, I removed the offending collar and rubbed her all over. Poor distressed beast!

We sat together with the moon for the rest of the hour. I calmed her when she barked at strange stirring sounds. Was this owner ever going to come back for his dog? Does serendipity have a limit on its call to duty?

Those who know me will attest that I don’t like things to get in the way of bedtime, even cosmic karma moments like these. So, with my comfy sleeping bag as my totem force, I mustered the courage, and the top dog posturing needed to scoop that big dog in my arms, wade out to the boat, and hoist her in. She went straight to bed and was silent at last! (A dog after my own heart).

By that time, I was feeling kind of sour toward my serendipitous friend Shawn. He happened to come back down the hill just at that moment, would you believe? I briefly told him what happened and took my leave for bed.

But wait, there’s more!

Shawn came to my tent (it is really unnerving for someone to break the invisible “this is my space” bubble surrounding a tent at night, don’t you think?), upset because the rangers had been on his boat and confiscated what they believed was illegal drug paraphernalia.

If that weren’t unsettling enough, just after settling my mind and drifting off to sleep the ranger came back and barked at me to ask whether or not I had put the dog back into the boat. (I learned later that this was a pivotal point in Shaw n’s story—had he not met with me on the beach to know what had happened over the past three hours he would have thought Polar stayed in the boat the whole time.) Drama!

I wrapped my mind in ameliorating mantras of gratitude and goodness and was finally able to sleep.

In the end, though, I do think serendipity was pulling some strings, though not as I had initially expected. I did not get to dive off a boat or dive into conversation with some potential Russian contacts that day, but I did help a man keep from being separated from his dog and put in jail for his medical marijuana use. So, I’m glad we met. I guess.

PS – If you like quiet, calm, drama-free settings for your camping escapades, I highly recommend you NOT camp on Lone Rock Beach of Lake Powell.