Jim Conklin was furloughed for the winter and the two of us took some road trips together. We helped move our friend Dave Evans, a ranger buddy at Bridges, to his new job at Carlsbad Caverns and there was plenty of time to talk. The topic of the chopper flights weighed heavily on Jim and he often spoke of the possibility that a faulty aircraft, a helicopter he knew was dangerous, might kill him.
He came back on duty in late February, but quickly learned that nothing had changed. The helicopter surveillance flights would continue. And often, the BLM would still use the Hiller 12Es. The first scheduled flight was Monday, March 14, 1976.
Just a few days earlier, Conklin and I had driven over to the west side of Horseshoe Canyon, via the old Green River road with its amazing ancient wooden bridge over the San Rafael River. I had never seen the Great Gallery before, though Jim had been there several times. Jim decided not to tell me when we were getting close; he wanted me to have that singular moment when I looked up and gazed upon this most extraordinary work of art for the first time. I think Jim was as thrilled by my reaction–the surprise of it–as he was to return and see the pictographs again. That was Conklin. We lingered into the early afternoon, then made the steep hike up the West Trail and the long drive home. He reminded me that he started work in just a few days and hoped he’d live long enough to visit Horseshoe Canyon again. He was that worried and that preoccupied with the risks.
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