My name's Wes Calder, and up until about a year ago, I spent nearly half my life leading

hunting groups through the backcountry around Aztec, New Mexico. After a divorce that took more out of me

than I care to admit, I traded guiding elk hunts and mule deer expeditions for selling hardware to weekend warriors

at the local supply store.

It wasn't exactly thrilling work, but it beat staring at walls, drinking alone, and waiting

for life to turn around.

That's why, when Dr. Eileen Graves called from the University of Illinois, asking for a guide

into the badlands near Navajo

Dam. I said yes faster than I probably should have. It had been months since I set foot off trail,

and her offer was generous enough that turning it down would have felt like throwing cash into the

San Juan River. Eileen was straightforward. She was chasing fossils exposed by seasonal runoff.

I didn't much care about bones older than dirt, but I knew the area she had her eyes on,

a twisted stretch of sandstone ridges and washes locals called Hogback, a place quiet enough

to let your imagination run wild if you weren't careful.

She showed up early on a Friday morning with her research assistant, Jonah Mathers.

Jonah had wide eyes and a nervous way of laughing at things that weren't really funny.

We shook hands and loaded gear into my truck, then made the hour drive toward the BLM access

road west of the dam. It was springtime,

which meant rain had carved new patterns into the land, leaving ribbons of exposed rock and freshly

scoured creek beds in its wake. Beautiful but brutal country. If you made a mistake out here,

nobody would find you until coyotes and vultures made sure you were beyond recognition.

We parked by the start of a half-race trail.

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