The Mohave Flute


He often went backpacking alone, preferring his own company. Not because he was anti-social, far from it, he had a wide circle of friends who met on a regular basis.

It was simply that he loved the freedom of thought and movement that solo walking gave him. This freedom allowed him to indulge in his other passion of connecting with nature, and trying to understand what was happening around him. To do that you have to be alone, and if possible remote from other human influences.

Yoga and meditation had always been a part of his life, as a child his mother encouraged him to practice sitting still, and listen to the silence all around him.  She taught him to use his mind to cut through distractions and find the hidden gems.

As the years passed he traveled to many remote parts of the world, and developed the ability to induce deep, almost transcendental states of awareness, which once entered, allowed him to experience rare insight into the parallel universe of nature. Things like the cause and effect of  weather patterns, wind, rain, snow, searing desert heat and the vastness of space.

He often camped or bivouacked out under the stars, observing and listening to the activities of nocturnal animals, insects and other creatures. All these special moments  were stored in the massive data bank which is the human brain. He took no photographs, very rarely kept written notes, it was all filed away in his own Trillion bytes storage facility.

For this particular trip he had decided to re-visit the Mojave desert. It had been a long time, and amongst other things, he was hoping to find the location where he had previously enjoyed one of the most amazing, and beautiful sunrises he had ever seen.

He had now been backpacking for many days, during all that time he had only seen one other human being. That was at the very start of his trip when he had reported to the Mojave National Park Ranger, a Mojave Native American by the name of Jim Golden Cloud. That was ten days ago.

During that time he had seen more ‘life’ than anyone could imagine. He followed the dried up water courses, scrambled down into the depths of canyons and ravines to shelter from the heat. He felt completely at ease and very happy. But his trip was coming to an end, and there was a three day hike to the nearest State Highway.

That particular night he found the perfect bivi site, with a small stream close bye. He slept soundly, but before daybreak he was disturbed by the unmistakable sound of a ‘Rattler’, through the gloom he could sense rather than see the snake. He wasn’t particularly alarmed, he’d seen many of these and other desert dwellers before.

He slowly reached for his head torch and carefully placed it on his head, whilst simultaneously  switching it on. The snake was in the raised ‘strike’ position at the foot of his sleeping bag, its chilling ‘rattle’ sounding more and more ominous.

They fixed each others eye, not blinking or moving, only the ‘rattle’ betrayed the gravity of his predicament. ‘Is this it then?’ he thought, after all his expeditions, was it to end here on a dark Mojave morning?

As he looked out into the desert beyond the ‘rattler,’ he saw a thin line, gold and pink, splitting the darkness like the slash of a rapier on a piece of crimson silk. The ‘rattle’ increased, but he just sat there transfixed, waiting for the mortal strike. Now the gold and pink was joined by reds, green and orange, as the increasing light lifted the dark desert floor.

At that moment, about fifty metres away to his left there came the most hauntingly beautiful sound of a flute. A Mojave flute player was sitting cross legged beneath a rocky overhang, about ten metres above the desert floor.

It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and with  each breath of the player the light increased, illuminating and bathing him in the new morning rays of warmth, energy and hope.

He looked down at his feet, the ‘rattler’ had slithered away to its rocky hide, the music had stopped, and the  outcrop was deserted.

Closing his eyes very slowly, he smiled, and saved it all to his data bank.

‘Do you think he can hear us’? said the student nurse to her colleague, ‘Don’t know to be honest’ she replied, ‘he’s been like this for six years now, crashed his motor bike into a desert ravine’.

‘Still, he looks very peaceful’ said the young nurse ‘maybe he was having sweet dreams’.

Authors note:

The Aha Macav Mojave Indians

The dream world to the Mojave, was just as real as the physical world. Through dreams they could travel back to the time of creation, and learn the meaning of things.


They could learn of gifts they had been given. Powers and abilities certain men had been blessed with to heal, or lead in battle.


These people would fast for days, passing all the tests that were set to challenge them, proving beyond doubt that they possessed the gift to receive and understand their visions.

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