Non-Fiction Review: Finders, Keepers, by Craig Childs

 

Title: Finders Keepers: A Tale of Archaeological Plunder and Obsession
Author: Craig Childs. Read by the author.
Publication Info: Hachette Audio 2018. Hardback: Little, Brown & Co. 2010 (288 pages)
Source: Library digital resources

Publisher’s Blurb:

To whom does the past belong? Is the archeologist who discovers a lost tomb a sort of hero--or a villain? If someone steals a relic from a museum and returns it to the ruin it came from, is she a thief? Written in his trademark lyrical style, Craig Childs's riveting new book is a ghost story--an intense, impassioned investigation into the nature of the past and the things we leave behind. We visit lonesome desert canyons and fancy Fifth Avenue art galleries, journey throughout the Americas, Asia, the past and the present. The result is a brilliant book about man and nature, remnants and memory, a dashing tale of crime and detection. 

My Review:

I'm a fan of Craig Childs for the above-mentioned "trademark lyrical style," which has given us in several other books a paeon to the desert Southwest and the traces of the people who came before. In this case, it might not fit quite as well. Or maybe it does.

The book is half a hymn to the remnants of the past, and half an investigation into what we do with them. There is no question that to Childs, those archaeological remains are something more than objects, and more than history, too, and his passion for their right to be left alone is eloquent. His argument for leaving artifacts as and where they are (a decision he concludes every researcher must make for his or her self) is comprehensible and emotionally powerful. His exploration of the ways artifacts have been plundered in the past and are still being plundered may leave the reader angry, but I felt that Childs himself is less willing to judge, or perhaps finds his judgements derailed by sympathy for those who just want to have and hold bits of history.

But the history of archaeology isn't pretty, and neither is the present fate of many such objects, as pot hunters damage whatever is in their way in the search for the valuable items. What Childs left me with was an unsatisfied feeling of sorrow for what is lost and being lost, and anger at those who ravage history for profit. But he also imbues the book with his own reverence for the objects themselves, pieces of history in out-of-the-way places. I may not agree with everything he says, but his book forces me to think about it all, from the pot sherds we collected as children to the artifacts in museums, in a new and more critical way.

My Recommendation:
This is excellent reading for anyone interested in archaeology, particularly of the US Southwest, but also in a broader sense. Prepare to be angered and saddened at times.

FTC Disclosure: I borrowed an electronic copy of Finders Keepers from my library, and received nothing from the author or the publisher in exchange for my honest review. The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."  

 

Night-hike to the Panamint Dunes

There was no Chuck Wendig Challenge this week, which fit nicely with my intention to do a little creative non-fiction, with photos. We spent Tues-Sunday last week visiting Death Valley and the environs in search of stunning desert landscapes and spring wildflowers. We found both. The Panamint Dunes are located in the far north end of the Panamint Valley, which is the next valley west of Death Valley proper and part of the National Park.

Night Hike to the Panamint Dunes

Six miles of rough dirt road behind us, and a hasty dinner prepared and eaten, we hoist loaded packs as the last of the evening light fades away. The sun set early behind the Inyo Mountains, and at 8 p.m. the full moon isn't up. Even so, we can see our goal: the Panamint Dunes are pale in contrast to the surrounding mountains and the scrub-covered alluvial fans that surrounded them. Headlamps, even though I forgot to replace the dying batteries, are enough to show us the footing and avoid injuries as we pick our way over rocky ground near the parking area. Bits of the mountains  have washed down the slope toward the dry lake bed in the bottom of the valley. The poor footing for the first quarter mile worries me. If it's like this all the way, it will be a very long hike indeed.

Happily, we soon pass the rocky portion of the fan, and the rest of the 3-mile approach provides fairly smooth footing. We pick up the pace, dodging around bushes and following sandy washes where they angle off in more or less the right direction, abandoning them when they move too far upslope. There are footprints in places, telling us less that we are on the right route than that pretty much any route will do, as long as we keep pointing at the dunes.

The full moon should have risen as the sun set, but the ring of mountains means that the early sunset is followed by a delayed moonrise. We hike for 20 or 30 minutes before it tops the ridge to the east. Light hits the dunes first, giving them a ghostly beauty. When it reaches us, headlamps become a silly waste. The moon is brighter. We turn our lamps off and let our eyes adapt to the night. A deep shadow lies between us and the dunes, but though our pace is fast, the moon rises faster. We never catch the darkness, and move with greater confidence.

Just over an hour sees us over three miles in, 700-odd feet higher, and starting to sink into the sand. Vegetation is thinning and it's time to make camp. The moon allows us to do that still without lights, so that though we realize that others are camped a few hundred yards off (mysteriously, they keep their lights on, even while sitting and presumably enjoying the night) they probably don't know we are there. The night is calm, and the view well worth savoring. When it grows too chilly for comfort, we crawl into our bags, knowing we'll be up well before sunrise.

Morning on the Dunes
Our early start means that we have eaten breakfast and are well up the dunes (which rise only a couple of hundred feet beyond our camp) before the sun hits. The morning is best told in photos.

 Dawn breaks on the Panamint Valley.

Desert mornings can be chilly. We are well-bundled to eat our cold cereal.

 
 As the sun rises, the moon sets over the Inyo Mountains (we really only see the foothills here).

 Dune fields yield endless patterns of light and shadow and texture.

Curves and shadows and contrast with the eroded hills beyond.

Ripples.

 Even footprints add to the textures.

 Low sun turns footprints along the ridge into a braided piping for the edge of a dune.

If you think a dune is a dead place, look more closely. More like Grand Central Station!

Beetle tracks

There were also some kind of ground-dwelling bees, busily digging their holes.

Not the best photo. The bees wouldn't hold still.

Seems like every dune field we visit has a characteristic species. In this case, it was the prickly poppy.

When the sun grew hot, we returned to our tent, broke camp, and hiked the hour back to the car. Just for fun, here's our rather low-clearance Prius trying to cope with one of dozens of small gullies/washes that crossed the road. You can drive a lot of "4wheel drive" roads in a small sedan, if you go very slowly...and can muster a certain indifference to the sounds of the car depreciating beneath you.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016

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