Clovis Ovate Biface and the SHADOWS on the TRAIL Pentalogy

Figure One - An obsidian ovate biface probably made by
Paleoindians, most likely from the Clovis Complex.
Found on private land in Oregon in the 1960s.
John Bradford Branney Collection.   

One of the more controversial subjects to discuss today is climate change. I have no doubt that climate change is occurring today. The climate has never been stable in the history of this great planet! Climate change on Earth occurred one hundred years ago and one thousand years ago and one million years ago, and one billion years ago. Climate change is an ongoing process, it is going to happen with or without human help. The geological record of ole Mother Earth is loaded with examples of climate change. In Earth's prehistory and history, climate change is the rule, not the exception.   

One of the main themes in my original historical fiction novel titled SHADOWS on the TRAIL was that climate change was occurring around 12,500 years ago during the climate event we call the Younger Dryas. The changes in environmental conditions forced my characters from the Folsom prehistoric complex to abandon their canyon home where they had lived for close to a generation. SHADOWS on the TRAIL took the Folsom people on an adventure to a place called the North Country. It was their intent to find a place 'where the deer and the antelope play, and seldom is heard a discouraging word', and they could live in peace and harmony(a nirvana many of us still seek today).  

Figure Two - The inspiration for the SHADOWS on the TRAIL, a 4.1 inch long
discoidal biface made from Alibates agatized dolomite from the Panhandle of
Texas and surface found on private land in Northern Colorado.
This rock took a heck of a journey.  
John Bradford Branney Collection.

Below is a brief passage from my book SHADOWS on the TRAIL. In this passage, our hero Chayton is preparing to leave the canyon with his tribe, some 12,500 years ago. Since Chayton and the Folsom People really did not know what to expect on the journey, he visited a prehistoric quarry to mine raw material to take on the journey. Chayton actually visited the prehistoric quarry where prehistoric peoples mined Alibates agatized dolomite. In my book, the artifact in figure two left the prehistoric rock quarry with Chayton and ended up in northern Colorado where I picked it up. 

Here is that passage. See you on the other side.     

The elders selected three young hunters to be scouts for the journey. Chayton was one of the young hunters selected. He took his new role seriously. He prepared by visiting the rock quarry where he dug for the sacred red and white stone. Form the rock, he would make weapons and tools on the journey. The tribe could not rely on finding inyan wakan or sacred stone on the journey. He would take his own. Chayton walked deep into the canyon and found a pile of rubble where other humans had dug a deep hole in search of the precious inyan wakan. In the sweltering heat of the canyon, Chayton scraped through the rubble pile  in search of a few large pieces that the other humans missed. Once he found likely candidates, he took a large round river cobble from his pouch and hammered each large piece of sacred stone until it broke into smaller pieces. When he found a rock he liked, he used his river cobble and a soft hammer made from elk antler to shape the piece into a flat disc-shaped stone just a little bit larger than Chayton’s open hand. He continued the process until he had five disc-shaped rocks made from the sacred stone. Chayton would use these five sacred stones on the journey as a portable rock supply so that he could make blades, tools and spear tips on the spot. 

Chayton was preparing for a rainy day, and based on archaeological evidence this was a common tactic for Paleoindians. There are numerous examples of prehistoric people hoarding or caching non-localized raw material for stone tools. Since many of these prehistoric people lived a nomadic existence, they could not afford to arrive in a region and not be able to find raw material for making stone tools. They alleviated this problem by carrying some raw material with them.  

Figure Three - 6-inch long, thin Clovis preform/knife form dozed up near Sierra Blanca, Texas in the 1950s while building Interstate 10. John Bradford Branney Collection.  

One of the earliest examples of hoarding and caching of the raw material came from the Clovis Paleoindian culture, those hardy individuals who archaeologists for decades considered the First Americans. The Clovis People carried preforms and platters with them when they explored new areas. Preforms were not stone tools as such but were resources of raw material which could be transformed into the desired tool or implement on the spot. One of these preforms, which I suspect came from the Clovis People, is in figures one and four. Literature calls this particular type of preform an ovate biface. In the upcoming paragraphs, I plan on borrowing from a tremendous book by Michael R. Waters and Thomas A. Jennings entitled The Hogeye Clovis Cache, published in 2015 by Texas A & M.  

Figure Four - 6.3-inch long ovate biface of probable Clovis

Complex origin. Found on private land in the 1960s in Oregon.

John Bradford Branney Collection.

      

Why do I believe that this particular preform in figures one and four originated from the Clovis People? First, this type of biface has a well-documented association with the Clovis prehistoric culture (the Hogeye Clovis Cache is one example, there are several others). Some people refer to this artifact as a 'Clovis platter', but morphologically I believe it is best described as an ovate biface, distinguished by its oval shape with knapping on both sides. Ovate bifaces had no clear base or tip. They served Clovis People as flake cores or knife preforms. If the Clovis knapper needed a knife form, he or she sharpened the edges. If the Clovis knapper needed blades or scrapers for butchering, he or she could remove flakes from the mother rock. Regardless of their ultimate use, ovate bifaces and/or platters were a source of raw material for these early explorers.

I draw your attention to figure four. Note the wide, long, and shallow flakes running across the face of this prehistoric artifact. This flaking pattern is another Clovis knapping trait. Ovate bifaces were thinned by overshot and over the face flaking using both alternate-opposed and serial flaking (figure five). 

Figure Five - from The Agate Basin Site by George C. Frison and Dennis 
J. Stanford, page 203.    

For the ovate biface in figures one and four, the Paleoindian knapper used the alternate-opposed flaking method, a sequential method whereby the repeated removal of an overshot or over the face flake from one edge is followed by a similar removal from the opposite edge on the same face. This was a common flaking practice within the Clovis prehistoric culture.  

In figure six, I am demonstrating to the reader my theory on how bifacial reduction or the lifecycle of a Clovis ovate biface or platter occurred. Please disregard the different materials of the four artifacts and pretend the four artifacts are the same artifact and this represents this artifact's lifecycle from ovate biface on the left to Clovis spear point on the right. 

Figure Five - Bifacial reduction from left to right, from the
original 6.3 inch long ovate biface on the left to a Clovis spear point
on the right. John Bradford Branney Collection.  

Our Paleoindian knapper created the ovate biface on the left, perhaps at a prehistoric rock quarry. As time went on, the knapper whittled away at the ovate biface when he needed raw material for stone tools or the ovate biface needed sharpened. This reduced the overall size of the ovate biface (second from left). At some stage, the Clovis knapper created a spear or knife preform from his ovate biface (third from left). After more time passed, the knapper whittled the preform down into a knife or a spear point (far right). Eventually, the knife or spear point on the far right was reduced in size through sharpening until it was was eventually abandoned, lost or broken. I imagine that the process from left to right in figure five took anywhere from weeks to a year or so. Who knows for sure?

I hope you enjoyed our trip through time. You can join me on another trip through time in my prehistoric book adventure the SHADOWS on the TRAIL Pentalogy.     

CLICK to ORDERSHADOWS on the TRAIL Pentalogy for the rest of the story. Available at Amazon.com and other fine booksellers.

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Tough Enough to be a Paleoindian? READ and SEE

Third Edition 

Figure One - 4.1 inch long discoidal biface or core stone which was

the inspiration for the SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL Pentalogy.  

One of the goals when I wrote my prehistoric adventure book series the SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL Pentalogy was to squelch the myth that Paleoindians in North America were cavemen who lacked intelligence and were one step removed from chimpanzees. North American Paleoindians had the same intelligence level and foresight that we have, maybe more. They might have trouble passing an SAT to get into Stanford, but they knew how to survive without the modern conveniences that us 'snowflakes' seem to not be able to live without. I doubt that few people alive today could survive the rigors of North America thirteen thousand years ago. 

How well could you survive without your house, doctors, medications, smart phones, cars, television, grocery stores, fast food outlets, internet, social media, and law and order? How well would you do facing a small-faced bear or a mountain lion or an American lion armed with a spear? 

Figure Two - GHOSTS OF THE HEART, the second book in the
SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL Pentalogy. Available at Amazon.com 

How tough were the Paleoindians? 

Archaeological evidence demonstrates they were quite tough. I emphasized this in my books.

The excerpt below in blue is from my book GHOSTS OF THE HEART. In this specific passage, a Paleoindian named Kangi was confronted by something much larger and meaner than himself. 

How would you deal with this encounter? 

……….Squatting alongside the game trail was a grizzly bear cub, about the size of a small wolf dog. With his heart racing in his chest, Kangi glanced across the meadow, looking for the location of the mother. Instead he spotted another grizzly bear cub running straight toward him, making woofing and snorting sounds. 

Then the bear cub that was squatted on the game trail finally noticed Kangi and it rolled over onto its feet and immediately began bawling loudly. Kangi turned around quickly towards the tunnel, hoping to make a quick escape, but he ran right into the first hunter coming out. 

“A-ah! – Watch out!” Kangi screamed. “Mato! - Bear!”

The hunter appeared confused when Kangi shoved him back into the pine branch tunnel. 

“HOPPO! – LET US GO!” Kangi yelled, shoving the hunter into the tunnel. 

Coming to her cub’s rescue, the grizzly bear sow lunged through the water of the mountain stream, leaving a massive wake behind her. She was across the stream in two lunges and barreled across the meadow at full speed. With her head held low, she grunted loudly as her thick body shimmered and swayed. She closed the gap to Kangi with astonishing speed.

Kangi shoved the hunter into the deceptive safety of the tunnel, but there was still no room for him. Kangi turned to face the grizzly bear sow instead. He placed the butt of a spear into his spear thrower and raised the spear above his shoulder. He reared back his arm and with his entire body, he launched the spear at the charging bear. The spear left the spear thrower with tremendous speed, its trajectory heading straight at the massive grizzly bear sow’s skull. By the time the spear arrived at the grizzly bear sow, she had traveled much closer to Kangi. The spear flew harmlessly over her back, ricocheting off the rocks of the mountain stream. Kangi was just notching another spear when the humongous grizzly bear slammed into him, knocking him a good distance across the meadow where he landed hard on his stomach. With the wind knocked out of him, Kangi attempted to crawl away, but before he got very far, the grizzly bear landed on top of him with her front paws. 

“MATO! MATO!” the hunters screamed at each other in the tunnel, pushing and shoving each other back down the game trail. Chayton held his ground until the frightened hunters, heading in the opposite direction, plowed right over him. 

The grizzly bear sow pounced up and down on top of Kangi’s back, driving him into the soil of the meadow………..

Figure Three - The proposed burial orientation of Kennewick
Man along the Columbia River in Washington.  

Did Kangi survive? Read GHOSTS OF THE HEART to find out. Living in Prehistoric America was not for the weak or timid. Some of the best archaeological evidence to determine the lifestyle of prehistoric man are skeletons. Since skeletons are made up of perishable bone, they are rare to find, especially the old skeletons of Paleoindian or Archaic people.  

One of the more famous and controversial prehistoric skeletons is Kennewick Man. Renowned forensic scientists, Douglas W. Owsley and Richard J. Lantz, studied his skeleton and documented Kennewick Man's controversial history in an excellent book entitled KENNEWICK MAN The Scientific Investigation of an Ancient American Skeleton. Much of the information below came from this landmark study. I recommend you read this book, immediately after you read GHOSTS OF THE HEART. 

Let me introduce you to nine thousand year old Kennewick Man through the facial reconstruction in Figure Four. He came later than the Folsom 

Figure Four - Forensic reconstruction
of Kennewick Man's face.  

People in my SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL Pentalogy by about three thousand years, but as an early Archaic hunter and gatherer, he had the same lifestyle as the Paleoindian Folsom People. 

Two college students discovered Kennewick Man's skull in 1996 along the banks of the Columbia River in Washington. Scientists believe he was between 35 to 39 years old at the time of his death. They estimated that he was 5’7” or 5’8” tall and weighed around 162 lbs. 

Thirty-five years old is young compared to modern-day life expectancy, but Kennewick Man had already experienced some pretty traumatic health issues by the time he died. The scientists found that he had several healed depression wounds in his skull and may have been hard of hearing. Kennewick Man was right handed and there were indications that his arms had gone through strenuous use.

Figure Five - Throwing a spear dozens of times per day
for years using an atlatl would damage anyone's shoulder.  

The scientists found that while Kennewick Man’s left shoulder had normal morphology, his right shoulder and throwing arm exhibited degenerative wear and tear, arthritis, possible cartilage erosion, and a rim fracture of his right scapula. Since Kennewick Man’s survival depended on throwing spears at prey animals, we would expect some shoulder wear and tear, just as we would expect it from a major league baseball pitcher or a NFL quarterback.

Figure Six - Kennewick Man's teeth
were wore down to a nub. 

In addition, Kennewick Man’s upper arms were asymmetrical in both size and shape. The scientists determined that Kennewick Man had atrophy of his left humerus with bowing to the right side. The scientists postulated that a left arm fracture in his earlier life caused the condition. Of course, 'Kennewick Boy' did not have a doctor to consult with for his arm fracture. His arm healed the best it could on its own.    

Kennewick Man’s teeth were in bad shape for any age of man. Check out the photos in figure six and compare his tooth wear with your own. His teeth were wore down to a nub. Kennewick Man was missing a molar and molar wear suggested that he ate food contaminated with fine abrasives and courser particles, such as sand. His tooth wear also suggests he used his teeth for more than just chewing food. He probably used his teeth in task-oriented activities, such as hide preparation and cutting. 



Kennewick Man had extensive chest injuries during his short lifetime (figure seven). His skeleton showed the presence of healed fractures in at least five ribs on his right side. The broken ribs had failed to heal properly, causing flailed chest syndrome, a life-threatening medical condition that occurs when a segment of the rib cage breaks due to trauma and becomes detached from the rest of the chest wall. Kennewick Man received a possible left rib fracture at the same time that the right rib fractures occurred. The scientists found no indication of infection or significant blood supply issue associated with the chest injury. They postulated that this was another young adult injury. Perhaps, Kennewick Man had a collision with a three-thousand pound Bison antiquus? We will never know.

Figure Seven - I recently broke three ribs so I understand.
The difference was I had a doctor and hospital to go to.   

Kennewick Man had bad knees. He had a condition called osteochondritis which is caused from damage to the meniscus, which causes erosion of the cartilage. Osteochondritis occurs most often in children and adolescents. It can cause symptoms either after an injury to a joint or after several months of activity, especially high-impact activity such as jumping and running, that affects the joint. 

In real life, bone under the knee cartilage can die due to lack of blood flow causing bone and cartilage to break free, causing much pain. Eventually, Kennewick Man's  knees were bone on bone. The scientists determined that he lived with this inflammation of the cartilage and / or bone in the knee.

Then, there was the Grand Poobah of injuries. Kennewick Man had a stone projectile point imbedded in his right posterior ilium. The stone projectile had been in his hipbone long enough for the bone to regrow over it. Scientists speculated that the possible symptoms could have included pus drainage for the rest of Kennewick Man's life. This injury might have led to a moderate amount of pain all of the time. This injury might have led to anorexia, sleeplessness, derangement of secretions, great irritability and despondency. An analysis of his leg bones indicated that Kennewick Man had no lasting / significant mobility loss from this injury. The scientists believe that this injury occurred in Kennewick Man’s teen or young adult years. 

So, you think you are tough enough to be a Paleoindian? Not me. These people had an extremely intense existence. They could not dial 911 when they needed help or go to the doctor if they did not feel well or call a cop if they got into a bind. They were on their own, for better or for worse. So, next time any of us feel sorry for ourselves, think about Kennewick Man and what he endured. Amazing, all of a sudden I feel a whole lot better about my own aches and pains. ;). 

So, now your next assignment is to read the SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL Quadrilogy to see if I accurately depicted life 10,700 years ago. Then, let me know what YOU think!   

                  CLICK to ORDER Shadows on the Trail Pentalogy

Dog and Devil Cows Along the SHADOWS on the TRAIL

Figure One - Sheila, my nemesis, the orange and white Corriente cow 
that first attacked Madd Maxx and me.

Dedicated to Madd Maxx

Born 2-28-2009

Died 6/17/2022

I wrote my prehistoric book series the SHADOWS on the TRAIL Hexalogy based on my knowledge, experience, and research in archaeology, hunting, and animal/human behavior. I have spent countless days out on the prairie and hills doing my research – finding prehistoric artifacts, watching and recording animal behavior, and creating scenarios in my head, such as the one below, taken from the second book of the pentalogy, GHOSTS of the HEART. In this scenario, hunters from the Folsom tribe are trapping a herd of bison. As you might guess, that was a perilous activity. I will see you on the other side of this passage from my book GHOSTS of the HEART.       

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Chayton knelt with Hoka on top of the hill, patiently waiting for the last of the cows and calves to enter the arroyo. When the last of the tatanka [bison] entered the arroyo, he signaled a hunter on another hillside. Chayton had wanted the tatanka bull in the trap, but it was not going to happen. The hunters would just leave him alone. There was too much risk attacking the bull on the open prairie. The hunt would be more than successful with the cows and the calves. Chayton would let the last of the herd get to the wakan ya [sacred  spring] and start drinking before he signaled the attack.

“WANA! – NOW!” Chayton bellowed and the hunters sprung the trap. A hunter signaled Tah and Wiyaka who lit their torches and then raced to the arroyo with the other hunters. The hunters arrived at the wooden fence and dropped more deadwood in the gap between the two sides of the arroyo. The hunters then picked up a large log that was lying behind the fence and set it down across the top of the fence. They had sealed the herd into the arroyo, but it would take fire to hold the herd. Tah looked up and saw that the tatanka bull had already taken off running, abandoning his herd. Tah and Wiyaka threw the torches on the wooden fence and it erupted into flames. Smoke rose as the flames burned into the green sagebrush, creating a huge smokescreen. The smoke signaled Chayton and the other hunters to attack. Carrying large bundles of spears, the hunters ran up to both sides of the arroyo and began heaving spears at the unwary herd. The herd milled around the wakan ya, confused by the spears and the smoke.

A rain of spears fell on the herd from three sides of the arroyo. Spears stuck in the hides of the cows and calves as the herd panicked and attempted to climb the steep walls of the arroyo. Without a leader, the herd muddled about while more spears poured down on them from above. Finally, one of the cows ran back down the arroyo towards the entrance and the rest of the herd followed…

Dangerous business, wouldn't you agree? A prehistoric hunter severely injured by a bison was almost worse off than if he had died. Depending on the severity of the injury, there may have been little the tribe could do. Analyses of injuries on prehistoric skeletons showed that medical treatment was quite limited, as one might expect. A severe injury in prehistoric times pretty much healed on its own, or it did not heal. There are forensic records from prehistoric skeletons that show that some injuries festered for years. 

Severe injuries created a burden on the tribe because now the people had to care for and feed the injured party, drawing from resources the tribe may or may not have had. Recovery from serious injuries such as broken bones took a long time if recovery ever took place in the first place. 

Figure Two - A size comparison between modern bison and Bison antiquus, the bison species that existed in my SHADOWS on the TRAIL Pentalogy.   

I experienced a traumatic event on December 3, 2016. My faithful dog, Madd Maxx, and I were artifact hunting on the original SHADOWS on the TRAIL prehistoric site when a herd of Corriente cattle decided they did not like sharing the pasture with Madd Maxx. An orange and white horned cow attacked Madd Maxx, lifting the hundred-pound dog off the ground with her horns. I interceded on my German Shepherd's behalf by swatting the cow between her ears with my walking stick, thinking that she would surely retreat. After all, I was a superior species. I was dead wrong. 

The orange and white horned cow rammed me in the chest with her big head. I grabbed her horns, thinking I could bulldog her. That was a laugh. I twisted back and forth on her horns and could not budge her one way or the other. That was when I realized I had another problem. The devil cow was shoving me backward across the pasture, and she was picking up speed. I recognized that this was not going to end well for me, so I let go of her horns. The devil cow ran right over the top of me. The impact of the ground and her hooves knocked the wind right out of me. That hurt, and I battled to catch my breath! I staggered to my feet, and before I could turn around to see where the devil cow was, she plowed into my back, knocking me to the ground on my face. I still remember the intensity of the pain as if the incident happened yesterday. I crawled away, but she was on top of me, pinning me to the ground with her head and flailing away at my sides with her horns. Thankfully, I was wearing a backpack filled with extra winter clothes. It shielded me from even more damage. The devil cow ended up destroying that backpack. I had a walking stick when I started the ordeal. She destroyed that as well. Dust rose up over the prairie as the cattle herd went on a rampage. 

While the devil cow was making mincemeat of me, I heard Madd Maxx off in the distance growling and barking, and whimpering. I figured he had his own dilemma. I recall feeling relieved that my faithful dog was still alive, and I knew that if I wanted to save him, I first had to save myself. I tried to stand up and reach my knees. I yelled for help, but there was no one remotely close to where we were. My shout sounded more like a whisper. Try yelling with the air crushed out of your lungs. I found out later that the devil cow had broken three of my ribs. From behind me, she knocked me flat, and I crawled on my elbows to escape. The devil cow was on top of me, clobbering me with her horns and hooves. I remember hearing her breathe in my ear and watching her horns thrash me out of my peripheral vision. I stopped trying to get away, and I wrapped my arms around my head to protect my skull from her assault. 

As a side note, I grew up in a small agricultural town in Wyoming, a state where cattle outnumber people. Every summer from junior high through college, I worked on farms and ranches, so cattle and their behavior were familiar to me. I had never seen a herd of cows in a wide-open pasture behave this way.   

Lying there in the dirt and manure with the devil cow mauling me, I was positive this was the end for me. I was going to die. I had zero doubt! I remember thinking how it would look if I "died by cow". We all have to die sometime, that is indisputable. I understand all that, but come on, death by bovine? Who would ever believe it? 

I was wheezing as my lungs pleaded for oxygen! My fractured ribs felt like someone had impaled me with a spear! While the half-ton beast held me against the ground, she gored me with her horns and stepped all over my back and legs with her sharp hooves. The burning and throbbing pain were unbearable. I was bleeding all over the pasture. I had never experienced anything like this in my entire life. 

Figure Three - Madd Maxx, my best friend, ever recuperating at home in 2017.

The orange and white devil cow was not going to be happy until I was a dead smudge on the prairie, so I decided to cooperate with her. I played dead. The horned beast pawed at me with her hooves, trying to roll me over, but I lay there on my stomach, anchored to the ground with my arms wrapped tightly around my skull. Her horn ripped my pants leg from ankle to crotch. Still, I lay there. She walked all over my legs, ankles, and back. Every time she stood on me, it hurt like hell, but I did not move. I was suffocating from the dust and blood, and cow manure covered me from head to toe, but I did not move. My acting eventually paid off, and the devil cow left me for dead on the prairie.

As I lay there in agony, I heard Madd Maxx whining and yelping. That was a good omen; he was still alive, barely alive. With all the effort my tortured body could muster, I rose to my knees. The pain was ungodly. My mangled left leg would not straighten up. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. I knew that if I did not move now, I would never move. I saw Madd Maxx standing in the middle of swirling cows. It reminded me of one of those old western movies where the Indians on horseback circled the wagon train. I crawled to Madd Maxx, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him away from the cows. 

Madd Maxx was in bad shape. He was bleeding heavily from his mouth, and he had patches of matted bloody fur across most of his body. He was defeated. We were both defeated. We crawled to the outskirts of the herd and stopped. My entire body was in pai,n and I could not breathe. Every time I took a breath, my broken ribs punished my effort. I was choking on the dust, and I could not walk. I wasn't even sure I could crawl all the way to the vehicle. The shredded backpack still clung to my back by one ripped strap. Madd Maxx sat next to me, whimpering from pain.  

Then, something happened that I still cannot believe. The herd that just leveled us lined up in front of us. The big orange and white devil cow stood five feet away from Madd Maxx and me, glaring at us while nonchalantly chewing her cud. Her eyes showed no anger or malice. I assumed she was there to finish the job. I commanded Madd Maxx to run for our vehicle, and he obeyed me lickety-split, without a moment's hesitation. He limped toward the SUV, which I had earlier parked in the other pasture. He never looked back. He ran right through the gaps in the barbed wire fence, never slowing down. The wire strands popped as the big brute hit them. He was safely behind barbed wire. Now, it was my turn. I wobbled to my feet, screaming bloody murder because of the intensity of the pain. The orange and white demon lowered her head and plowed into me, slamming me to the ground. That was when I blacked out.  

I have no idea how long I lay in that pasture. I lost track of time. When I woke up, I was hurting and freezing. The air temperature had dropped dramatically. After all, this was northern Colorado in December. Severely injured, I would never survive a night out on the prairie. I crawled to the vehicle, oftentimes stopping to let the pain subside. I dragged my mangled left leg behind me. I opened the back hatch of the SUV, and Madd Maxx struggled to get in. It took me a while to get behind the wheel of the vehicle. I thought seriously about driving myself to the hospital some seventy-five miles away, but the pain was too much, so I took my chances and drove to the ranch house. I had no idea whether the ranchers were home or not. The sun was low in the southwestern sky. I remember I wore sunglasses, and as I drove to the ranch house, I noticed that one of the lenses was missing. The odd things a person remembers. I honked my horn to alert the ranchers, opened the driver's door, and collapsed onto the ground. They called for help and covered me with blankets. My main concern was getting help for Madd Maxx. I did not want him to die.   

A local volunteer fire/rescue crew showed up. Lying prostrate, I asked one of the firemen if he had anything for my pain. He told me they were not authorized to carry medications. I should have known that since I was a volunteer firefighter. I heard the ranch foreman speaking in an almost whisper to a fireman. He was describing to the fireman how much blood there was in the pasture. It sounded like he was describing a murder scene. He did not realize I was listening. An hour or so later, I heard a helicopter circling the ranch house, searching for a place to land. The paramedics transported me to the landing zone in some kind of vehicle and then jetted me off to a respected trauma center in Colorado. I ended up with three broken ribs, internal bleeding, bruised and damaged lungs, liver, and kidneys, and a leaky adrenal gland. The lower half of my body was heavily bruised and swollen beyond recognition. I had several deep contusions on both legs where the cow stepped on me repeatedly. My teeth were loose (I eventually lost one of them). Every muscle in my body screamed out in pain. It took well over a month for me to graduate from a walker to a cane. 

Thanks to my wife, Theresa, and the ranch foreman, Madd Maxx ended up in an animal emergency room for treatment of serious cuts and bruises and broken teeth, but no broken bones.  

I hate to admit it, but Madd Maxx and I were very lucky. 

It could have been a lot worse.    

Figure Four - While the orange and white demon cow mauled me, the

other cows fought with Madd Maxx. This is what Madd Maxx contended with. 

I had a first-hand experience of the danger of large prey animals, even if they were “domesticated cattle”. Would I have survived these injuries twelve thousand years ago without Flight for Life or excellent care at a leading trauma center? Doubtful. If I survived, I would have been a burden to the tribe. I took this experience and wrote about it in my most recent prehistoric thriller, CROW and the CAVE, the fourth book in my prehistoric adventure series, the SHADOWS on the TRAIL Hexalogy. Check out the book series and see what life was like over twelve thousand years ago.   

By the way, here is some sage advice,  

Stay away from devil cows!      

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SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL TRILOGY - No Snowflakes in this Ice Age Tale

Figure One - prehistoric human stalking a bison.

I am reading in the media about all the snowflakes in our population who are melting down because of the U.S. presidential election and I cannot believe it. These people are requiring safe zones, aroma therapy, pet therapy, hot cocoa, and school test delays. They are protesting and based on media interviews, some of the protesters aren't quite sure why they are protesting. Crazy world. When did the human race get so much spare time and leisure time that we don't have to work for our bread? 

When I think about these snowflakes in our population, they remind me of my characters in the SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL TRILOGY, not that there is any resemblance between the snowflakes and the tough characters in my books. Ten thousand plus years ago when the SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL TRILOGY took place, prehistoric humans did not have the luxury or time to think about anything that did not have to do with surviving another day. Weakness did not survive in human or beast. After all, in the late Pleistocene, there were large mammals attempting to use my characters as a food supply and my characters were in a daily struggle just to find enough food to survive. In addition, my characters had to worry about the hostile bands of humans roaming the countryside. There were no policemen or hospitals or dialing 911 for my characters. They were on their own without the hot cocoa or aroma therapy. The only thing between my characters and death was a well placed stone spear point.  

Figure Two - CLICK FOR MORE INFORMATION

Below is a passage from the second book in the trilogy entitled GHOSTS OF THE HEART.  In this particular passage, some very bad people just attacked our hero Chayton and wounded him in the shoulder with a stone projectile point from a spear. Since these bad people wanted to kill him and his friend Wiyaka, Chayton did not have time for a 'woe is poor me' or to reflect on anything except the life-or-death predicament they were in.  Chayton was critically wounded and the bad people had NOT given up the chase. Here is what happened when Chayton and Wiyaka finally got a break from running away.   

Before the sunset in the west, Chayton and Wiyaka made it out of the mountains and onto the foothills. Wiyaka found a safe place for them to camp near a small spring-fed pond. Chayton collapsed on the ground, sick and exhausted. Wiyaka went to the pond and filled up their water pouches. When he returned, Wiyaka woke Chayton up, telling him, “Sit up! I want to look at your shoulder.”

Wiyaka knelt down behind Chayton and said, “It is getting dark, turn your back to the sun.”

“Where is Namid?” Chayton asked.

“Slol wa yea shnee, – I do not know.”

“Avonaco?”

“Slol wa yea shnee, – I do not know.” 

Chayton slowly twisted his body, letting the rays of the setting sun reach his wounded shoulder. Chayton’s hide shirt was stuck to the wound with dried blood. When Wiyaka peeled the shirt away, the air exploded with hundreds of flies escaping from the festering wound. Wiyaka swatted at the dense cloud of flies, but they were not going to give up their feast easily. Wiyaka leaned closer, attempting to block the flight of the flies while he examined the wound. Wiyaka took a whiff and quickly turned his nose away. The smell of rotting flesh overcame his senses. Holding his breath, Wiyaka steadied his stomach and inspected the wound. Blood was still trickling down Chayton’s back and a whitish-yellow mass covered the wound. When Wiyaka stuck his face even closer to inspect the whitish-yellow mass, he caught another whiff of the rancid smell and turned his head away. Wiyaka’s eyes watered from the strong stench and his stomach began to heave. He held his breath once again and inspected the wound. This was too much for Wiyaka and he turned his head to the side, vomiting the contents of his almost empty stomach on the ground. When he had purged his stomach of everything in it and more, Wiyaka again tried to inspect the whitish-yellow glob that completely enveloped the wound and the surrounding area. He found that it consisted of fly eggs and when he looked closer, he saw that many of the eggs had already hatched and white maggots had taken over.

“Waglulas, – Maggots,” Wiyaka declared. “Ayabeya. – Everywhere.”   

“I yo monk pi sni, - I feel bad,” Chayton murmured.

“Your wound is bad, kola, - friend,” Wiyaka agreed.

“The River People?” Chayton mumbled. “Where are they?”

Wiyaka, his hand unsteady from nervous energy, extracted a very thin, oval-shaped stone knife from his satchel. He thumbed the edge of the knife’s blade, testing its sharpness. Then he told Chayton, “This is going to hurt, but I do not know what else to do.”

“What are you doing?” Chayton asked, his head drooping from one side to the other.

“I must rid you of the waglulas - maggots,” Wiyaka replied. “They will bring you death.”  

“Namid…,” Chayton murmured.

Wiyaka grabbed the top of Chayton’s other shoulder with his hand and then with the stone knife in his other hand, he shaved and sawed the dried blood and fly eggs from the wound area. Chayton screamed in pain as the honed edge of the knife cut into the tender nerves surrounding the wound. Wiyaka then poured water on the wound, giving Chayton time to scream out in pain. Then with the sharp stone blade, Wiyaka scraped at the wound some more. Wiyaka did this several more times until he was able to remove most of the coagulated blood, fly eggs, and maggots.  The wound hole in Chayton’s shoulder quickly filled with blood when Wiyaka reopened the wound with the knife. He needed to flush the wound to make sure the poison from the fly eggs and maggots were gone. Wiyaka hoped that he was not too late.

“Ah snee was keyn ktay, - I am going to rest,” Chayton murmured, falling over on his good side.


“Oh lou lout ah! – It is very hot!”

“Ai, – Yes, you rest,” Wiyaka replied, rising to his feet.

Wiyaka gathered dry wood and started a campfire. While the campfire heated up, Wiyaka collected a few green willow branches from along the shore of the pond. He stuck the ends of the green willow branches into the flames of the campfire, heating them up. 

 

By the way, the language spoken in the above dialogue is Lakota Sioux. I used both Lakota Sioux and Cheyenne Native American languages in the SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL TRILOGY, not because anyone knows what language the Folsom People spoke over ten thousand years ago, but I am pretty sure the language was NOT English. 
 
Nope, no snowflakes survived at the end of the Ice Age, that’s for sure. Read the SHADOWS ON THE TRAIL TRILOGY if you want to read about some really tough people. In my next blog posting I will give you an example of how really tough these prehistoric people were. Do you think you could survive?   



        

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