Tag Archives: chert cobbles

Yo Ho Ho

We parked not far from an old rancho, and spent the day trudging up and down gravel hills. The bigger chert cobbles had been “mined” for the knapping of projectile points: busted cores, anvils, and hammer stones.

And rum bottles. Some cowboy was a rum drinker. We found bottles of every brand, broadcast as if by a man on horseback. And one lonely shot glass.


Boots Cebolla barbwire