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John Pepin
When twilight fades and the darkness falls, the movements of heavenly bodies and the grandeur of the incredible nighttime skies come into their own.
Way beyond midnight, it's in those places on the map far past the lights of cities and towns, where broad landscapes with few trees provide some of the best experiences.
A tailgate, a stump or a patch of ground to recline upon is all you need to enjoy the show -- one that not only can capture your imagination but might leave you with indelible memories for decades to come.
It was in such a place -- the fabled Mojave Desert in southern California -- where I first encountered the Perseids meteor shower in grand fashion.
I was in the desert after dark with a friend of mine who shared an interest and a love for that incredible habitat and its fascinating after-dark creatures, like tarantulas, western diamondback rattlesnakes and ghostly barn owls.
We fell under the celestial spell accidentally.
We were unaware of the date and the time and their relevance to this annual display.
The meteors appeared whistling and fizzing by in a bright greenish blue-white frenzy.
I stopped the vehicle along the road, halfway down a hillside, and we got out to sit on the hood of my pickup truck, leaning back against the windshield.
I had never seen anything like the dramatic scene on that night before or since.
The name Perseids means "sons of Perseus" -- a reference to the male offspring of Perseus from Greek mythology. The meteors in this shower appear to come from the constellation Perseus.
I love learning about things like that. It's so cool.
To find Perseus in the night sky, look below the tip of the left leg of the big "W" that forms the constellation Cassiopeia.
Waiting for about a half an hour to adjust to the night sky light and heading out after midnight are among the best tips for meteor shower viewing.
The Perseids meteor shower began in mid-July and will last to the end of this month, with the peak occurring on the night between Aug. 12 and 13. Typically, under good viewing conditions, dozens of meteors may be seen in an hour during the peak.
If we can get a clear Upper Peninsula sky that night, viewing is forecasted to be great with a new moon phase leaving the sky dark. During the daytime on Aug. 12, there will also be a partial solar eclipse to see in our area.
I've scratched the occurrence down on my calendar and I've been thinking about where some of the best places to watch might be.
I'm quite shaken that it's already August. No year in my life has passed by faster. It truly is frightening how quickly time has evaporated into the past tense.
It feels like it's trying to drag me with it.
At the same time, it seems like I am standing still somehow, unable to move -- but move I do, at least physically.
I find that familiar ridgeline and follow it to the point where I can look down over the river valley. The sight of the twisting and straightening water flowing through that gravel and boulder-bottomed river course never disappoints me.
There are rapids and cascades and even a waterfall or two, deep pools for the fish to hide and thrive -- all of it fed by cold springs and tiny tributaries. All of it moves in a certain direction: down the topographic grade, down the valley to the big lake.
I think about how the river carved this valley into the landscape, cutting back toward its headwaters, down through solid rock. It's incredible.
The high and violent waters in the springtime, swelled by the winter's melt, do most of the heavy moving of boulders, fallen tree trunks, sand and gravel.
At this August time of the year, instead, the stream flows in a much more passive presentation with gentle pools formed behind boulders and the water low enough to expose the faces of countless rocks.
A bald eagle, wings stretched out flat, fingers moving in the wind, flies silently down the river high above. It reminds me of my desire to one day walk down the river to as near its mouth as I can get.
Just like the eagle, I'll be looking for fish when I do it.
I won't make that trip displaying anywhere near the majestic profile the eagle makes flying overhead. He'll also do it much faster and far more gracefully than me.
I think about the numerous similar trips I have planned to make, whether down rivers, up mountainsides, out west, down south, far north, back east.
I worry now that I won't have enough time to take all those excursions. How many will remain places I've only seen written about or photographed in books or on some television show?
I'd better get hopping.
I stand up and slap the dirt off my rear end. I think about snapping a couple of pictures but from this height in this sunlight, I'd have little chance of capturing much of the true essence of this wonderful place.
Beyond the visual aspects, there's no way to capture the clean smell of the water and the earthy smell of dirt and plants here without taking some of it home in a bucket.
The sunshine is warm on my arms, and the soft wind moves across my face.
As I get ready to walk back upstream to the bridge, I think about how the whole range of sediment sorting is in evidence here along the river -- from large boulders down through gravels, sand, silt and clay.
I'm also struck by how some things, like boulder sorting, that I learned in school immediately pop into my mind when presented with a related circumstance.
The trail is thickly covered with waist-high greenery, including thimbleberry bushes, whose berries should be ripened soon. Blueberries and raspberries are already out and available, as the local birds will tell you.
I lean on the bridge rail for a while soaking up the relative coolness and the sound of the water rushing past me below.
I remember fishing here with my dad in his later years. He went downstream and I went upstream. He was predictably the first to quit fishing and I was almost always the last one to show up back at the vehicle.
The same thing happened on that trip. When I got back to the bridge, he was bent out of shape because I didn't hear him pounding a rock on the steel bridge rail, which was supposed to be an indication that it was time to go.
"You didn't hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"This."
"No, the water was flowing pretty fast where I was."
I trudge the last few steps back to my Jeep through the sand.
I'm out here alone today, except for the eagle.
Nobody is pounding a rock on the bridge rail, and I'm not fishing.
The woods road is quiet as I work my way south and west to connect with a wider road that follows the flow of another stream.
The sunshine penetrates the canopy to reach the road in some places, otherwise, I continue ahead through a darkened tunnel of northern hardwoods.
As I continue to carry on driving, I remember that there is a wide-open area not far from here that would work well as a place to witness the Perseids meteor shower.
It's a place where the jack pine forest was recently cut, leaving an expansive clear view of the sky.
I also thought about another place I know about 30 miles away from here that might work even better. It may be darker out there. If I can find some clear skies between now and the meteor shower peak, I can do a test run at both places.
I stop at a couple other bridges on my way back, soaking up more of that water-moving sound. I notice a couple of deer along one creek upstream from me. They appear to be enjoying a lazy afternoon.
I find a raspberry bush leaning up against one side of one of the bridge rails. It's covered in dark red, ripe berries.
I gather up a handful and put them in my mouth.
That taste explosion is unbelievable. The only thing that can beat it for me is wild blackberries, which should be ripe soon too.
I get back into the Jeep and start up the engine. As I begin moving forward, I notice the palm of my steering wheel hand is stained red from the berries.
These moments are resting in my mind like photographs in a scrapbook -- some are in vivid technicolor, others are in black and white.
All these scenes and the in-betweens make up the ongoing slide reel of my experiences, my life now, forward and backward -- living and dying.
What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.
Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan's world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.