In Keeping with Hopi Tribal Tradition, the Word "Ruins" Disappears From Homolovi State Park, Arizona - 2013

 

In Keeping with Hopi Tribal Tradition, the Word "Ruins" Disappears From Homolovi State Park, Arizona

In May 2008, when I first visited Homolovi Ruins State Park near Winslow, Arizona I enjoyed it for what it lacked. There was no visible water, only a few parched trees and an RV campground with few amenities. With water and electricity brought in from underground to each campsite, the place was more pleasant than it first appeared. In the heat of the day, I could retreat into my air-conditioned coach to read or watch the old analog television signal that emanated from a tower in the nearby town.

Developed decades ago as a unit of the Arizona State Park System, Homolovi seemed teetering on the brink of extinction. Rangers no longer staffed the entry booth, although a campground host did arrive to collect my money and answer my questions. Few of the campsites had occupants during my stay, yet I loved the place for its solitude and lack of activity. Later, in 2010, the park did close for a time.

As a metal sign indicated, only half a mile from the campground was “Homolovi Ruin I”. Throughout the southwest, travelers often see the remains of grand edifices created by the ancient tribes we call the Anasazi or pre-Puebloan. Unlike the great Kivas of Chaco Canyon, New Mexico or the Twin Towers at Hovenweep National Monument, Utah, only a few foundations of a once-great civilization survive as the “ruins” at Homolovi.

 

Watch the desert sunset at Homolovi State Park, Arizona

What destroyed the great buildings of Homolovi was water, rushing in the desert. Early in the Second Millennium CE, the Great Disappearance took place throughout the northern reaches of the Colorado Plateau. Most scientists agree that the ancient peoples fled south, first to places like Homolovi. At that time, with reliable flows of water in the Little Colorado River, Homolovi seemed like a peaceful and abundant place to settle and farm.

As with so many landscapes on Gaia, or Mother Earth, appearances can be deceiving. For years, and perhaps decades, the balance of nature prevailed. The new arrivals from the north built structures near the river and used irrigation ditches to water their corn and other crops. Then, similar to Superstorm Sandy flooding the subways of Lower Manhattan Island, New York, the formerly benign Little Colorado flooded much of ancient Homolovi. Without warning, the river became a torrent, liquefying the adobe dwellings and washing them away.

When twentieth century archeologists dug in the area near the river, they determined that ancient Homolovi was flooded and partially destroyed at least twice. Whether repeated flooding or an intensifying drought led the ancient residents to abandon Homolovi is unknown. What Anglo archeologists concluded, however, is that the place was a ruin.

In May 2011, when I again stopped to enjoy the solitude of Homolovi, some things had changed and some had not. Although still a unit of the Arizona State Park system, at their own expense, the Hopi Tribe now managed the park, including its museum and the campground. Among their first acts, the Hopi eradicated the word “ruins” from the park. This was an easy task, requiring only the painting-out or taping-over of the offending words.

To some, it may seem insignificant to expunge the word “ruins” from Homolovi State Park. To the Hopi it was a sacred act, honoring their ancestors and other ancient dwellers of the area. Contemporary Southwest American Indians believe that the spirits of the ancients still dwell in the areas like Homolovi. “May the spirits be with you”, is the unspoken greeting of current tribe members.

In the various legends of the Southwest, there is no other character as ubiquitous as Kokopelli, the flute playing minstrel and god of fertility. Both anecdotal and archeological evidence points to Kokopelli first appearing as petroglyphs on Hopi tribal lands. For that reason, I invited Plush Kokopelli to accompany me on my May 2013 visit to Homolovi State Park.

Upon arrival at Homolovi campground, Plush Kokopelli wanted to see the river. It was late afternoon, so I set up camp and told him that we could visit the river in the morning. As evening approached, I took still-camera shots of the setting sun. Unlike my 2008 visit, with its colorful skies, my 2013 sunset was clear and dry. The video shows the progression of the 2013 event, followed by the vivid colors of the 2008 sunset.

Some may think it is strange or eccentric to travel with a Plush Kokopelli who is about the size of a two-year-old human, but I find him quite entertaining. For the most part, he minds his manners; plays his flute and watches the scenery go by as we travel. Still, when he wants something, he somehow makes it known. Early the next morning, I awoke to the visage of Plush Kokopelli staring at me. “OK, OK, we can go to the river right after breakfast”, I said.

Viewing the Little Colorado River at Homolovi can be a risky thing. As you approach the Homolovi I trail, there stands a sign reading, “Danger Keep Out. Unstable Bank, Quicksand, Strong Current”. Plush Kokopelli was undaunted, urging me on past a washed out chain-link fence and then to the riverbank. From experience, I knew that the Little Colorado River no longer supported a perennial flow. When the snows of winter melted upstream, there was a rapid and intense flow for only a matter of weeks.

By our visit in mid-May, the flow was sluggish and diminishing rapidly. Soon the running water would become pools of standing water surrounded by quicksand banks. Having experienced the quicksand during an earlier visit, I entreated Plush Kokopelli to stay on solid ground. Almost before I knew it, there he sat, on a snag overhanging the Little Colorado River. Like a parent scolding his child, I placed Plush Kokopelli on an old railroad tie that rested on dry land near the edge of the riverbed.

When I offered to take his picture sitting on the railroad tie, Plush Kokopelli leaned forward and made a run for the river. If I had not captured his movement with my camera, few readers would believe my story. By then it was getting hot along the quicksand banks of the Little Colorado River, so I swept Plush Kokopelli up and carried him back to my truck.

If you ever want proof that the spirits of the ancients still dwell at Homolovi, just invite your own Plush Kokopelli along for a stroll by the river. If you do, be prepared for his tricky behavior while visiting the unstable banks, quicksand and strong current of the Little Colorado River.

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By James McGillis at 01:24 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

Respecting the Spirit of the Ancients at Kin Klizhin Ruin - 2011

 

Respecting the Spirit of the Ancients at Kin Klizhin Ruin

In May 2011, I visited one of my favorite places within Chaco Culture Historical Park, which is Kin Klizhin Ruin. On my way from camp to Kin Klizhin, I had already seen an elk herd on the mesa and visited Windmill Hill, where ranchers had installed a new windmill over a dry hole. Now it was late afternoon and time to head for the ruin in time for sunset.
 
From previous visits, I knew that the current road to Kin Klizhin paralleled an ancient pathway, which entered Chaco Canyon from the south. Rather than following the varied terrain, Anasazi visitors to the area tended to travel in alignment with the cardinal points of the compass. Looking east from the road, I could see occasional small mounds that may have been marked the trail for ancient travelers.
 
After stopping to inspect one mound, I walked carefully back to my truck. Once disturbed, the fragile soils of the area are subject to rapid erosion. By following a sandy watercourse, I avoided stepping on the cryptobiotic soils that make up much of the local terrain.  Closer to the road, I found an area scoured by wind and water. Lying among the pebbles on the sandy surface was a number of potsherds.
 
The largest of the fragments was almost pure white; its concave shape indicating that it was a small part of a much larger pottery vessel. When I reached down and turned it over, I could see that it was an elegant piece of black on white pottery. Found as far north as Wilcox Ranch, Utah and as far south as Antelope Mesa, Arizona, the high-contrast decoration of black on white pottery can turn utilitarian objects into great art.
 
On my fragment, three rippled waves of water lay beneath a white cloud, which was rolling across a dark sky. The symbolism left little doubt that the original vessel served to carry water across the dry terrain. According to Author Craig Childs, “archeologists excavate (black on white) painted jars as large as watermelons” from one Chaco Canyon site. Because of its remote location, I assume that someone dropped the water carrier along the trail. However, because of their ubiquity in the environment, early ranchers coined the word “potshot” for target practice using ancient vessels. Either way, this was a potsherd to love and cherish, if only in pictures.
 
After cleaning the fragment and taking several pictures, I returned it to its original spot. Although it would have made a fine artifact under glass, its real home was where I found it. By placing it back, face down in the spot where I had found it, I allowed another to come along and find it in the future. By publishing its image and identifying its native surroundings, I add to the general knowledge of black on white ware.
 
The U.S. Antiquities Act of 1906 made it illegal to remove any ancient artifact from public lands. Over the years, many people have ignored the law, taking whatever they found and placing those objects in private collections. As Craig Child’s argues in his book, “Finders Keepers: A Tale of Archaeological Plunder and Obsession”, once any artifact is removed from its surroundings, its historical context is lost forever.
 
The following day, when I described my discovery to the Gallo Campground host, he was pleased that I had respected the artifact and its context. “When we find a particularly nice potsherd, we dig a hole with our heel and bury it there”, he told me. Although his method may secure the future of the artifact for another century or two, mine left it on the land, where it belonged. I hope that when I visit Kin Klizhin once again, my treasure will still be there, reflecting light like a windmill in the sun. If you find this or other artifacts, I hope that you will respect the spirit of the ancients, allowing them to stay at home in the High Southwest.
 
I was the only human visiting Kin Klizhin that afternoon. Although not as large as other Chaco Canyon great houses, the unusual setting and architecture allows Kin Klizhin to stand out from its peers. Unique in Chaco Culture, Kin Klizhin featured three above-ground circular kivas, each set within a rectilinear outer structure. The inner walls of the largest kiva are more than twice as high as the other two. Looking up from inside the larger Tower Kiva, I felt the grandeur of this ancient place. Perhaps that is what early visitors to Chaco Canyon felt upon arrival at this outlier, or welcome center.
 
The main west-facing wall of Kin Klizhin is its largest bulwark. The remainder of the structure, including a former enclosed courtyard was to the east of there. Although it is massive, there are only two small ventilation holes or Ancestral Puebloan windows on the west wall. One is set low, probably used to draw air to a hearth inside. The other is at eye-level, and is an obvious viewing port. From a relatively small inside hole-in-the-wall, the opening expands as it penetrates toward the exterior. This arrangement allowed someone inside to have a wide field of view, but kept the penetration of the structure as small as possible.
 
As sunset approached, I stayed inside the roofless structure, waiting for the right moment. Any photographer will tell you that catching the right moment requires luck, skill and many shots. Of the dozen portal shots I took that day, the pair pictured here are my favorites. The small image is from the outside, looking into the structure. If you click on that image, you will see the larger picture, looking out towards the sunset at Kin Klizhin, Chaco Canyon, New Mexico.

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By James McGillis at 09:29 PM | Environment | Comments (0) | Link

 

Chaco Canyon, New Mexico

Seeking the Miracle of Water Near Kin Klizhin Ruin

The Colorado Plateau Province is a physiographic region roughly centered on the Four Corner States. On its southeastern periphery lies what we call Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. In May 2011, I visited the Kin Klizhin Ruin at Chaco Culture National Historic Park. Kin Klizhin is the southernmost outlier of Chacoan Culture, and some say the ancient welcome center for Chaco Canyon itself.
 
It has been a millennium since the Great Disappearance, or demise of Pre-Puebloan culture on the Colorado Plateau. In the two years since my last visit, I wondered, had anything changed? As I soon discovered, the landscape had changed. In my brief absence, the sands of time had begun their march. The wheel ruts along the access road were a bit deeper, as were the sand drifts at their edges. Some might believe that this is natural evolution here on Earth. Others might see blowing sand as a significant threat to our environment.
 
If there is one defining physical feature on the Colorado Plateau, it is sand. During a visit to the Four Corners, one might see loose sand, quicksand, blowing sand, sand dunes, sandstone and tar sand. Human activities such as road building, motorized sports, cattle grazing and sheep herding all contribute to soil erosion. As frequent regional dust storms stir further soil erosion, we experience a drier, sandier High Southwest. In the two years since my last visit, the approach to Kin Klizhin was scoured of soil in some places and sandier than ever in others. Either way, the sands of the Colorado Plateau were moving once again.
 
Although I did not feel any rain the afternoon of my visit, a large thunderstorm was sweeping majestically away to the northeast. There was a breathtaking contrast between bright sunshine on the land and dark clouds in the sky. Turning from that spectacle, I saw yet another wonder of nature. It was the Chaco Canyon elk herd, or at least seven members of its southern contingent.
 
During my 2008 visit, I had startled an elk herd near Kin Klizhin. At the time, I had taken a picture of five bucks running at top speed. If there was a bull among the 2011 herd, it showed no antlers at all. This led me to believe that there may be more than one Chaco Canyon elk herd. Some visitors have heard their bellows from Gallo Campground, fourteen miles away. Could their voices carry that far, or were there two separate herds? Perhaps there is a greater Chaco Canyon elk herd, with a smaller group at Kin Klizhin. The extent and range of Chaco Canyon elk herds would be a good subject for zoological study.
 
During my previous visit, I had surprised the herd near an open water source, which was on the east side of the double-track. The 2011 herd, however, was on the west side of the road, standing below an old windmill, and its cast iron water tank. After photographing the elk, I drove slowly along the road. At several points, I stopped again to take pictures of the small herd. Wary of both my vehicle and me, they tightened their ranks and then slowly walked away. As long as I could still see them, they continued to look back and observe me, as well.
 
During my 2008 Kin Klizhin tour, I had visited Windmill Hill. At the time, the old Aermotor windmill was ragged and derelict, with barely enough structure remaining to suggest the water pump it once had been. Over the past eighty or more years, it had done its job all too well, sucking dry the aquifer over which it stood. The dry and rusty cast-iron tank, with its poorly patched leak holes told a story of profligate water use in earlier and wetter times. For much of the twentieth century, the Aermotor windmill ran continuously from atop this windy hill. Before seizing up, it pumped the last drop of ancient water from the Kin Klizhin aquifer. In my 2008 story, the old windmill symbolized the drying and disappearance of two cultures at Kin Klizhin.
 
In about 1100 CE, those who had tended the irrigation dam and milpas at Kin Klizhin departed, never to return. The Pre-Puebloan Chaco people had diverted surface runoff, sequestering it behind their hand-built dam. The large amount of ancient water that soaked into the sandy soil later became a target for twentieth century extraction technologies. After centuries of accumulation and a millennium of rest below the surface, that irreplaceable aquifer disappeared in less than a century. Although leakage from the water tank was extensive, the primary usage was even more wasteful. In the high and dry desert, ranchers piped the water to cattle troughs at the site. Exemplifying a lesson of unsustainability, when the well went dry, the ranchers and cattle herds of Chaco Canyon experienced their own Great Disappearance.
 
As I drove west up the short road to Windmill Hill, sunlight on the Kin Klizhin windmill reflected into my eyes. As if it were a heliostat standing in focused light, the object appeared even brighter than the sun. Before the advent of new energy, all reflected light was weaker than its source. Since the Quantum Leap in energy, reflected light may shine with greater intensity than its light source. Some may pass this phenomenon off as a simple lensing effect. It is, I believe, a local confirmation of Einstein’s larger curved-space theory.
 
With few intact blades, how could the windmill shine with such brilliance? To my amazement, I son discovered a shiny new windmill atop the old steel tower. Its many galvanized steel blades acted like a Fourth Order Fresnel Lens, refracting and concentrating the light. In Miguel Cervantes book, “Don Quixote of La Mancha”, the inept hero does battle with a windmill that he mistakes for an unfriendly giant. Unfriendly or not, Don Quixote’s windmill at least served a literal purpose.
 
Was the new Kin Klizhin windmill a flight of fancy or did someone actually think that there was water down there yet to be pumped? Either way, individuals that are more rational had banked the new windmill, so it could not spin to destruction in the wind. In the future, if anyone sees this windmill pumping water, please let me know. I would consider that a miracle of the desert.

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By James McGillis at 04:04 PM | Environment | Comments (0) | Link

A Visit With Lizard Man, The Spirit of Pueblo Bonito - 2011

 

A Visit With Lizard Man, The Spirit of Pueblo Bonito

When I arrived at Chaco Canyon in May 2011, it had been two years since my previous visit. That two-year hiatus represented one five-hundredth of the time since the crash of Chaco’s Pre-Puebloan culture. From the perspective of Chaco Canyon history, my time away was insignificant.

Arriving at the park after nightfall, I had searched the visitor’s area for water to fill the tank on my RV. To my chagrin, the old water tap lay capped-off and hidden behind the temporary park headquarters. After searching for a while, I found the new water tap in a far corner of the parking lot. Whoever placed it there was not thinking about RV service. The only way to use the faucet was to fill containers and then transport them by hand. The new manual system encouraged conservation, but mainly through inconvenience.

After investigating Gallo Campground, I visited a large yurt that serves as the temporary visitor’s center. Across the parking lot, the old center had disappeared, almost without a trace. Early that morning, I had seen a large cement truck rolling in. Where the old center had stood, construction workers were busy pouring a concrete slab for the new one. Based on the remoteness of the worksite and progress to date, I estimated summer of 2012 for the opening of the new center.

After paying my park entry fee, I purchased the book, “ Finders Keepers: A Tale of Archaeological Plunder and Obsession”, by author and naturalist Craig Childs. Early twentieth century archeological exploitation at Chaco Canyon had left it barren of in-situ artifacts. In the name of twentieth century archeological science, every human-made object found at Chaco Canyon disappeared into private or institutional collections. Today, many of those treasures linger on dusty shelves at various museums and universities. That void leaves Chaco Canyon as a place with insufficient context. For current visitors, putting the ancient puzzle together from only its architectural ruins can be daunting.

At the northwest end of Chaco Canyon lies Pueblo Bonito, the largest and most elaborate of the park’s great houses. At its zenith, as a gathering place of the ancient world, Pueblo Bonito was still centuries away from European contact. Seeing its similarity to historical Hopi, Zuni and Pueblo Indian dwellings, early Spanish visitors named it as such.

Early European visitors found Chaco Canyon deserted and destroyed by its ancient inhabitants. It was that event, about 1100 CE that we now call the Great Disappearance. Within less than one hundred years, Chaco Canyon, Hovenweep and Mesa Verde all fell to disuse and abandonment. Until the ancestral Navajos arrived centuries later, most of the Colorado Plateau remained uninhabited.

Why did the Pre-Puebloan residents of Chaco Canyon build their grandest structure in the shadow of “Threatening Rock”, or tse biyaa anii'ahi (leaning rock gap) in Navajo? Archeologists say that early reinforcement of that fractured sandstone slab indicates ancient knowledge of its peril. Was their choice of location an example of ancient risk-taking behavior, or was something else involved?

Seeking answers to this ancient mystery, we may wish to look at contemporary human behavior. If you visit Pueblo Bonito in the late afternoon, you will find others awaiting sundown from within its walls. With few exceptions, those pilgrims wait in reverent silence. Was ancient Pueblo Bonito also a place of silence? Once twentieth century archeologists began studying and excavating the ruins at Chaco Canyon, automobile traffic became ubiquitous in that area. Accompanying those vehicles were new and louder sonic vibrations, thus ending one thousand years of silence in that place.

In January 1941, Threatening Rock, which stood 97 feet (30 m) high and weighed approximately 30,000 tons crumbled on to the northern section of Pueblo Bonito. As it fell, the once intact slab broke into untold numbers of jagged boulders, both large and small. Like a flood of stone fragments, the rock fall released its energy over a large part of the great house ruin. Since the fallen rock and the building blocks of the great house are similar in color and texture, only their haphazard angles of repose help an observer to differentiate the natural elements from the constructed ones.

Threatening Rock stood both before, during, and for a millennium after habitation at Pueblo Bonito. Why, within forty years of modern rediscovery did the great stone slab crash down upon the ruin? Did the sound of human voices, the vibrations from their machines, or time alone topple and shatter that monolith?

During my recent visit to Pueblo Bonito, I made a clockwise circuit of the ruins, observing in turn, the south, west, north (rock fall area) and finally the east. Although there is much to see and feel within the walls of the great house, I was intent upon finding and visiting with an old friend that day. With any luck, I would find him hiding among the broken boulders of the rock fall. Was he still there, or had he vanished in the two years since my last visit?

As I walked along the path leading to the rock fall, there was no trace of my friend. Then, at a sharp left turn, I saw him under the overhang of a large boulder. He stood in profile, as if part of a natural frieze, sculpted and then released from ageless bondage in stone. Freed from his bondage in stone after one thousand years of silence, I offered my silent words of greeting to Lizard Man, the spirit of Pueblo Bonito. Although his wise countenance stared back at me, he remained silent.

It was not until I edited the photos that accompany this article that I noticed a vertical slab of stone framed in my first photo of Lizard Man. In the gap between boulders, behind where he stands a tall fin of sandstone stands away from the canyon wall. Was Lizard Man nonchalantly asking us to observe more of this scene than just him? Indirectly, was he pointing to the new Threatening Rock?

After taking several photos of my friend, I continued on my circuit of Pueblo Bonito. While taking the longer, temporary path to the parking area, I turned to look back. From there I could see the wavelike pattern of broken stone left by the 1941 rock fall. Turning my gaze to the canyon wall, I realized that I was now on the far side of the rock fin that Lizard Man had pointed out to me. It was indeed a new Threatening Rock, which had sliced away from the canyon wall. Narrow at the bottom and wide at the top, this slab was far smaller than the original Threatening Rock. How much longer that second Pillar of Hercules might stand, I cannot say. Only Lizard Man knows, but he is not talking.

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By James McGillis at 05:44 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

The Gallo Campground at Chaco Canyon, New Mexico - 2011

 

The Gallo Campground at Chaco Canyon, New Mexico

Late on May 21, 2011, I arrived at Chaco Culture National Historic Park. Known colloquially as Chaco Canyon, the place is almost equidistant from Nageezi and Crownpoint, New Mexico. For Interstate Highway reference, Chaco Canyon is about fifty miles northeast of I-40, if exiting at Thoreau, New Mexico. Although situated at what once was the crossroads of the Pre-Puebloan world, Chaco Canyon slipped into obscurity after the Great Disappearance, one thousand years ago.
 
Today, the larger Navajo Reservation encompasses over sixty percent of San Juan County, New Mexico. Of the county’s 130,000 residents, about thirty-five percent are Navajo. Seventy percent of county population resides in the Farmington Metropolitan Statistical Area (MSA), including Aztec and Shiprock. Sparsely populated Indian lands dominate the balance of the county. Finding Chaco Canyon, sequestered as it is among high desert mesas can be difficult, unless you are Navajo.
 
Even in this era of GPS navigation, the Magellan map database is woefully inadequate in Navajo Country, which surrounds Chaco Canyon on three sides. At least twice during my southern approach from Crownpoint, Magellan instructed me to turn at erroneous locations. The first road resembled a dirt track; the second existed only in the minds of early Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) surveyors. Between my late start toward Chaco Canyon and Magellan’s sweet-voiced siren luring me toward sandy tracks across New Mexico and the high desert plateau, it was after 9:30 PM when I arrived at Gallo Campground in Chaco Canyon.
 
There, as I scanned the bulletin board for information, the campground host emerged from her coach. That kind soul, living in the middle of nowhere, had held back two RV spaces for late arrivals like me. Had she not done so, there would be no other legal RV camping within twenty miles, via treacherous, washboard roads. That night, I had tempted fate and fate had smiled on me. It came in the form of the volunteer host who saved my camping bacon.
 
While conducting research for this article, I found the “Gallo” name attached to many features in New Mexico. After I had no luck discovering who “Senor Gallo” might have been, I recalled that in Spanish “gallo” translates as “rooster”. Is the derivation of the local place name as simple as, “Rooster Wash”? Either way, its adjacency to the Gallo Wash, makes “Gallo Campground” an appropriate name. On the mesa north of Chaco Canyon, three “Gallo Wells” stand among the few other human-constructed landmarks. Every drop of fresh water used in Chaco Canyon originates in that sandstone aquifer.
 
Early in the past decade, the Gallo Wash flooded a portion of the campground. During my September 2007 visit, several low-lying campsites sported yellow tape and barricades. Floods along this Chaco River tributary had damaged the septic system, requiring extensive repairs. If you look at a satellite photo of the campground, long, geometrical berms associated with the new septic system are evident. Used as causeways during wet weather, one of the flattop berms ends at the communal campfire circle.
 
To their detriment and possible demise, Anasazi visitors and residents stripped the San Juan Plateau of all its timber. Deforestation eliminated extensive root structures, which had long held the soil. Later, cattle and sheep that grazed around Chaco Canyon exacerbated the erosion begun during the Ancestral Puebloan era. Undammed and wild, the Gallo Wash became a twentieth century focus for erosion control projects.
 
Beginning in the 1930s, the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) conducted extensive tree planting in the lower reaches of Gallo Wash. By that time, it was too late to save the meandering stream of yesteryear. Today, most of Gallo Wash is a deeply eroded, if somewhat stabilized ravine. Although only treetops are visible from the Main Loop Road, cottonwood trees planted there eighty years ago still flourish. At either end of Chaco Canyon, highway bridges span Gallo Wash. At the eastern bridge, near the confluence of Gallo Wash and the smaller Fajada Wash, you may stop and view full sized trees growing up from the streambed, far below.
 
Only upstream from the campground does the wash retain the look of a broad arroyo. With scrubby growth stretching from bank to bank, the water table there is closer to the surface. With less soil or sand below that section, floodwaters spread, rather than cutting deeply into the soil. In satellite photos, the larger Gallo Wash stands out as the most highly eroded canyon in San Juan County. Did early exhaustion of timberlands and arable land doom Chaco Canyon to depopulation and eventual abandonment?  Today, the grassy wasteland that we see in and around Chaco Canyon tends to say, “Yes”.
 
The following afternoon, I spent time walking south along a nearby canyon wall. Other than the contemporary toilet facilities, the most prominent permanent feature at Gallo Campground is a humble Chacoan rock house. Unlike the multi-roomed and multi-storied great houses found elsewhere at Chaco Canyon, this structure contains only two small rooms. Tucked under the canyon overhang, most of the structure has stood the test of time. In its heyday, around 1050 CE, what function did this structure serve?
 
The Chacoan rock house sits near the seasonal stream at Gallo Wash. Perhaps the structure was a granary, overlooking a stream fed cornfield or milpas. Maybe it served as a welcome center or port of entry to Chaco Canyon itself. Northbound, Chacoan visitors had the unique round kiva at Kin Klizhin to welcome them. For southbound visitors, the campground may have served much the same purpose that it does today. Then, as now, the site provided a final rest before viewing the great houses at Chaco Canyon.
 
As I continued my campground tour, I felt and then saw the spirit of the ancients on the walls around me. Whether decorating the canyon walls with pictographs and petroglyphs or building a small granary, the ancients imbued their outdoor areas with sacred art. As with many of the structures at Chaco Canyon, the rock house at Gallo Campground displayed an anthropoid image to me. Using its windows, air vents and roof beam holes, this little structure exhibited a face with character equal to its age.
 
As I approached the canyon wall, a variety of rock art images leapt out at me. One of the more obvious examples was a red ochre painting of a man. A pair of slim antennae emanated from the top of his head and a male organ pointed downward. Standing spread-eagle, this ancient Vitruvian Man predated Leonardo Da Vinci’s by five hundred years. As with so many ancient spirits, he had evolved over the past 1000 years. With two small rivers of gold flowing over his body, I noted that his stone cranium was proportionally larger than that of current humans. Perhaps the longer a spirit lingers on a Chaco Canyon wall, the greater consciousness he or she attracts.
 
My next stop was under the overhanging wall. There, water and minerals have seeped through porous sandstone, leaving their unique mark. If you study the Gallo Campground, you will find that both wind and water play a continuing role in the shaping the local landscape. Since the ancients last viewed it, this perennially damp wall has been sand blasted by one thousand years of storms.
 
As I stepped back, the erosional rock formation (image above) revealed its ancient essence to me. With the profile of a Mayan warrior in headdress, a face appeared. His large left eye seemed to spy me at the same time that I saw him. We both looked startled, I am sure. Regaining our respective composure, I asked if I could photograph him and share his story with the world. In silent ascent, he posed ferociously, if a bit comically for my lens. Oh, the stories he might tell of campfires and revelry at Gallo Campground, both past and present.
 
Soon, I reached the end of the cliff wall, where I discovered a cave large enough to shelter a family from the elements. When a freestanding slab of sandstone tilted, and then came to rest against the canyon rim, the cave established itself. Not knowing what wildlife might be lurking inside the cave; I remained outside.
 
As I completed my circuit of the campground, I could see Fajada Butte rising in the distance. The lowering angle of the sun reminded me of other plans. By then, there were less than three hours before sunset. My planned trip around the Main Loop Road at Chaco Canyon would take most of that time. Although the loop contains only nine miles of paved road, I hoped to stop and visit other Ancestral Puebloan spirits along the way. During a previous visit to Pueblo Bonito, I had discovered a cleft-rock frieze that I called “Lizard Man”. Had Lizard Man sloughed off in a recent rock slide, or did he patiently wait there for my return? I could not wait to find out.

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By James McGillis at 05:16 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

The Petrified Forest, Going, Going, Gone - 2011

 

Interstate I-40 East, From Winslow, Arizona to Gallup, New Mexico

     

In May 2011, I traveled from Winslow, Arizona to Gallup, New Mexico. Most of my trip was along Interstate I-40, but I did detour to parts of Old-66 at Holbrook, the Petrified Forest National Park and Gallup.

Whenever I am in Winslow, I stay at the Homolovi State Park campground. Although close to town, Homolovi itself feels like a place lost in time. From its Ancestral Hopi Indian ruins to its often-deserted campground, there is plenty of peace and solitude to go around at Homolovi. Departing at noon that day, I was the only human visible anywhere in the area.

From Winslow, east to Gallup, I-40 obliterated much of old Highway US-66. Side roads to the current interstate highway are the only remnants of Old-66, the “Mother Road”. Taking advantage of a gradual ascent towards Holbrook, the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad (BNSF) parallels the highway on the south side. Following the gentle gradient of the Little Colorado River, this transportation corridor takes the shortest and flattest route available. For those thirty-five miles of travel on I-40, the sagebrush desert stretches almost unbroken to the horizon.

To break the monotony of this stretch, travelers can marvel at the advertising signs along the way. For reasons unknown, most Indian trading post billboards have yellow backgrounds, with hand painted red lettering. Some of the signs harkened from an era when clean restrooms were a rarity, and thus a major draw. Other signs tout “cold ice-cream” or “Indian Blankets - $9.99”. Some of the billboards date back to the heyday of old Route 66. A few billboards were so well built against the wind, if not the weather, that only a trace of paint hints at their original subject matter.

In several places, the BNSF railroad tracks are close enough to the interstate highway for motorists to see the action. Years ago, workers laid a second set of tracks adjacent to the original east/west line. Rather than waiting on sidings for opposing trains to pass, this stretch of track is like an expressway, with trains operating in both directions, and around the clock. Elsewhere in the High Southwest, you might still see trains pulled by old Santa Fe Railroad locomotives. Here, however, there is a need for speed. The raw horsepower required to pull these long trains at 5,000-foot altitudes dictates the use of newer BNSF engines.

Painted in variations of orange, yellow and black, the Burlington Northern Santa Fe locomotives look clean when they are dirty and dirty when they are clean. Even when speckled with their own diesel exhaust particulates, they always look tailored for business. With their yellow lettering on a dull orange background, the BNSF locomotives reminded me of highway billboards advertising, “Chief Joseph blankets - $9.99”.

In Snowflake, Arizona, my friend Kathy Hemenway has a Route 66 vintage trailer stored in her yard. Outfitted to shield sensitive individuals from aberrant radio-frequency waves, its classic single-axle chassis belies its stainless steel interior. From its lonely perch along a High Southwest ridge, the little trailer appears ready to hit the road to high adventure. Although I would not relish sleeping on cold stainless steel, Kathy's trailer might convert well to a mobile kitchen.

Exiting I-40 East at Holbrook, I stopped for supplies at the local Safeway market. While waiting for service in the deli department, I spoke with an old-timer about the petrified wood trade around town. Although just a handful of shops and yards seemed to have the whole business tied up, he assured me that “almost everyone in town” had crates full of the scarce rocks in their garages. If I wanted a bargain on some rocks that had once been trees, he would have been happy to oblige.

Leaving Holbrook, I traveled eighteen miles southeast on US Highway 180. As I turned to pick up the highway to the Petrified Forest National Park, I glimpsed an industrial-sized yard full of petrified wood for sale. To the rear were the manufacturing and sales buildings. Well into the twentieth century, locals and opportunists often ignored bans against harvesting petrified wood from government land. Today, with legal collection of petrified wood from public lands long gone, I wondered who had gathered so many large chunks of our nation’s heritage and placed them in private hands. With so much petrified wood scavenged from the land, would there be any remaining for me to see at the Petrified Forest National Park?

Having turned sixty-three years old a few weeks earlier, I was intent upon buying my “Golden Age Passport” at the first national park I visited. After rolling up to the booth at the park entrance, I paid my ten dollars and received what the National Park Service now calls a "Senior Pass". As it turned out, I had been eligible for the pass since the day I turned sixty-two. With my lifetime pass, I can now gain entrance to any national park in the U.S., free of additional charge. As a reward for all of the federal taxes I have paid in this lifetime, I am happy to accept this federal government largess.

The young woman at the entrance booth reminded me that it was illegal to collect or transport any found item from the park, especially petrified wood. I assured her that I had no interest in collecting anything at all. In fact, it looked like the locals from times past had removed almost all of it anyway. She said that illicit collectors often develop remorse and return their ill-gotten rocks to the park headquarters. Although the park will accept such “donations”, they cannot return them to their natural place in the park since no one knows exactly where that place might be. Once taken from their original place of rest, these rocks become vagabonds within the mineral world, with no home of their own.

To a new visitor, most of the Petrified Forest National Park looks just like the surrounding desert. When we think of a forest, we think of trees standing upright, whether they are petrified or not. Actually, the Petrified Forest was a place where millions of years ago, large tree trunks washed into ravines, and then became covered with silt. Over the millennia, iron and other minerals infiltrated the cellular tissue of the logs, replacing cellulose and wood fiber with stone.

From about 12,000 BCE until 1300 CE, three distinct prehistoric cultures (Anasazi, Mogollon and Sinagua) occupied various parts of the park. As is true with almost all of the Southwestern United States, the climate today is drier and less hospitable than it was during the days of early human habitation. This land was not immune to the Great Disappearance of early tribes around 1300 CE.

Looking for evidence of running water in the park, I stopped at the confluence of Dead Wash and Ninemile Wash. Here, near the Puerco Indian Ruins, a confluence of two meager streams forms the Rio Puerco, which in turn flows into the Little Colorado River. The Puerco River, here flowing under the roadway in a culvert, looks more like a drainage ditch than a river. Although it still flowed sluggishly in May, I doubt that one would find running water here in late summer or fall.

After traveling almost half way through the park, I found the first petrified wood visible from the road. Stopping my rig, I confirmed that there was still some petrified wood left at Petrified Forest National Park. Until I saw tree rings in stone for myself, I had my doubts as to the authenticity of the whole enterprise. Until then, I wondered if the entire national park was perhaps an elaborate hoax.

To document the authenticity of the place, I got both of my Kokopelli and Coney (the traffic cone) out of my travel trailer. Posing them on one of the large petrified specimens, I took their picture as documentary evidence that the place still exists, and so too, do they. Reflecting my own stubbornness, sometimes they are hard to convince. In the second photo of my superhero friends, I unwittingly captured a picture of the Other, casting his shadow across the hard stone. It was late afternoon and I still had many miles to go before camping at Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. I ensconced all of my little friends in the cab of my truck and headed for the eastern exit of the park

After passing under I-40, I found myself stopping to stare at The Painted Desert. As a child, I grew up watching old Walt Disney documentaries about the desert, but I never imagined how realistic the Disney artists’ recreation really was. From each turnout, I could see a different view of a pastel colored desert, with subtle hues reflected in late afternoon sunlight. When architect Frank Lloyd Wright designed the Grady Gammage Auditorium at Arizona State University, in Tempe, critics cried foul at its pastel color scheme. Its exterior seemed to glow, with a pastel pink tone often predominating. Those who claimed that Wright’s colors were not true to any real desert should visit The Painted Desert. There they shall find proof of Wright’s veracity. His vision presaged the contemporary trend toward natural color schemes for Southwest houses.

Before leaving the Petrified Forest National Park, I came across the Painted Desert Inn. In 1947, Fred Harvey brought his famous "Harvey Girls" to the Painted Desert Inn, operating it as a hotel and restaurant for many years. In 2006, the National Park Service completed a major refurbishment of the original buildings, which are open for food service and souvenir shopping today. Gone now, are the only overnight accommodations anywhere in the park. I would not be surprised to find that this is the only national park to close its gates at sundown, reopening again after sunrise each day.

As I exited the park, the ranger on duty at the booth asked if I had collected anything during my visit. I answered, “No, I don’t believe in it”. Carrying with me a copy of Craig Childs' new book, “Finders Keepers – A Tale of Archaeological Plunder and Obsession”, I had lost all desire to collect artifacts or natural objects from any public land. OK, I do admit to bringing one souvenir piece of Redrock home each time I drive to Moab. If each of us collects only a few rare items, soon there will be no natural or ancient artifacts for humans to find and contemplate.

Now, when I find a potsherd in the desert, I observe it, photograph it and then return it to its place of origin. Unburied by my boot heel, it shall lay there until it welcomes its next visitor. If the next "finder" is also a "keeper", it shall be, "Goodbye, in-situ potsherd". With the fragility of desert environments, it is best to conduct one's search along established trails or in dry-washed arroyos. There, your boot can do no further damage. And if you do find a piece of hard-baked white ware, with indigo lines painted on to its white glaze, you will know its beauty immediately. Once removed from its rightful place, its value is nil. It may have taken eleven hundred years for our potsherd to make it from its original camp to a floodplain in the desert. I believe that each artifact is imbued with the Spirit of the Ancients. With that knowledge, one can see that the spirit accompanying that potsherd chose to bake there in that wash. Until the keeper found it, the spirit of the potsherd waited patiently for The Flood to carry it further on its journey. Having that potsherd in one's dresser drawer does not further the cause. Simply put, humans should not abscond with ancient potsherds, nor pieces of petrified wood, for that matter.

After seventy-two more miles of driving on I-40 East, I arrived in Gallup, New Mexico. Gallup is a regional center for Indian Country, with a business district that speaks to its long history. Pawnshops, Indian art galleries and trading posts occupy many of the old brick buildings in town. Drawn out over Old-66, the town appears larger than it is. If one drives only a mile north or south from the highway, there is more desert to see than there is city. Still, with Old-66, newer I-40, plus the BNSF rail line all running through town, Gallup is the largest transportation and lodging center between Flagstaff, Arizona and Albuquerque, New Mexico.

As I drove through town late that May afternoon, there were vehicles everywhere. On either side of the old highway and along the center median, I saw huge wicker baskets resting in truck beds and on trailers. Although there was not a hot air balloon in sight, it was obviously a rallying point for hot air balloonists. As if it were a normal occurrence, many balloonists were testing their propane gas jets right in the middle of the highway. Within a few blocks, I had passed the balloon-less balloonists and once again had the road almost to myself.

With sunset about an hour away, the light was low as I pulled away from the corner of Highway 66 and Second Street. On my right was a long block of gritty buildings. To my left, I saw an Amtrak train stopped at the Gallup Amtrak Station. Originally built as the El Navajo Hotel in 1918, the train station now shows a more contemporary front to motorists. After stopping for fuel, I headed east on I-40. With Chaco Culture National Historical Park as my targeted resting place, I hoped for a long dusk to light my way.

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By James McGillis at 07:13 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link