Boulder Creek River Art.

At least once each week I run the path along Boulder Creek, sometimes east from my downtown office, sometimes west to the mouth of the canyon and beyond. On my journey west I pass through Eben G Fine Park, a one-time motor-park that is now a quiet, pastoral setting under a canopy of massive cottonwood trees.

Boulder Creek Path, passing through the city is a carefully designed city park, all the more effectively designed because few people realize each boulder, each rapid, was strategically placed, carefully sculpted. It is a perfect reflection of the wild canyon landscape immediately west of the city.

In late May as I ran across the bridge entering the park, I saw immediately upstream a collection of figures I hadn't noticed before, straddling the stream, hidden in the trees. Jogging in that direction, I saw them, backlit by the afternoon sun.

A young man was standing silently, with a trace of a smile, as another was setting up his camera and tripod to capture images of the stone structures. I too was smiling. It was slightly miraculous, these standing cairns eight high, some 10 or more, precariously balancing in the shadows and sunlight.

I've done a bit of stone-stacking. I once spent the better part of a Sunday afternoon with one of the young ones in my family carefully, slowly balancing river rocks. I should say, attempting to balance river rocks. A person comes face to face with the limits of patience pretty darned quickly. And we were only using flat rocks, large-surface to large-surface.




Knowing that Andy Goldsworthy, Richard Shilling and other land artists carefully photograph their work for documentation and to amplify the artistic impact, I assumed the young man with the tripod was the artist. Hoping for confirmation, I asked the smiling young man "Who's the artist."

"I am," he replied, almost bashfully.

The man with the camera was like me: a passerby who was fortunate enough to happen by at just the right time to witness--experience--this ephemeral piece of brilliance.


It took me a second to regain my footing. "How long did it take you to create these?" I asked, struggling to get back on top of my thoughts.

"Oh, I worked on them most of the day today."

"Who's your inspiration?" I asked, expecting to hear "Goldsworthy."

"No one. It's just something I love to do."

He said he'd been asked before if he knew of Goldsworthy's work and said he never had, but had been intending to look it up one of these days.

We visited for a few minutes, but I couldn't take my eyes off the stones in the water. I thought the top of my head would flop off, I was smiling so big.

Circling around, I made some images. I never run--heck I seldom go anywhere, anytime--without one of my cameras. And did it ever pay off on this day.

A few other visitors to the park drifted over to look at the precious jewels in the splashing creek. The young man stood back, still quiet, still slightly smiling, not saying a word.

"What's your name?" I asked. "Do you have a website?"

"No, I don't have a website," he said. "But I think I have a card here," now fishing through his pockets for a lost item. One card, slightly bent up, slightly soiled.

"Mike grab," it says simply. Telephone number and email address.

[Note: Addendum below.]

Taking his card, I ran on into the fading daylight, up the canyon a few miles, smiling all the while.

Then stopped by again on my return trip. Other park visitors were being entranced by the stones, young Mike grab now gone.

Every visitor I saw adopted a silence, a reverence, as they approached the banks of the stream and the standing icons. Awe.


I ponder it still today, some weeks later.

Thanks, Mike grab.

[Addendum 06.10.10. I sent a note to Mike letting him know of this posting. With a little more encouragement he let his light shine enough to tell me about his blog. Check it out.]