Experiencing Seven Mile Canyon Petroglyphs with Author and Naturalist Craig Childs
On October 15, 2008, I was up early enough in the
morning to see the full moon, as it descended behind the Moab Rim. In
anticipation of my first day at "Confluence – A Celebration of Reading
and Writing in Moab", I drove to the
Moab Arts and Recreation Center. Unlike the many public activities at Confluence, the intensive writing seminar was limited to only twenty-four individuals.
Moments after finding my group of seven fellow writers, we loaded ourselves into a passenger van provided by the
Canyonlands Field Institute. None of us knew our destination for a day of hiking and writing. Having renowned author and expert on the desert southwest,
Craig Childs as our personal guide for the day made those prospects even more exciting.
Heading north on
U.S. Highway 191, we crossed the Colorado River, then drove through the notch of the
Moab Fault, a deep gorge that features the main entrance to Arches National Park. Five more miles up the road, we turned west on
State Highway 313, which leads to Canyonlands National Park and Dead Horse Point, a Utah State Park.
Only a mile or two from that junction, our van
slowed and then our driver turned on to an unmarked road-stub. We all
piled out of the van, and then surveyed the surrounding area. Knowing
that Craig Childs had spent many months of his life hiking in and around
the Moab area, we were curious why he would choose what appeared to be
such an undistinguished spot to start our day.
Not knowing what to expect, we crossed the highway
and walked west toward a canyon wall, where the sunshine had begun to
warm the morning air. Once we reached a suitable place for our group to
sit and listen, we quieted down and Craig Childs, the master of the
canyons, spoke.
In
talking about the area surrounding the spot where we sat, Craig did not
mention the sporadic traffic along the highway, only fifty yards away.
Instead, he began a lesson in perception, inviting us to see these
canyons as he sees them. Juxtaposing Craig’s intimate description of
that landscape with the impersonality of what I saw as an unremarkable
roadside made me feel uneasy. I felt like he could see things that I
could not.
After cautiously placing myself into Craig’s
perceptual landscape, it became easier to see the uniqueness of that
place, which was one of an infinite number of potential stops along that
road. Having driven Highway 313 many times before, I knew that the
landscape along that road was itself a paradox. On one hand, the
highway meets our human needs to get somewhere. After passing photo
spots of drama and beauty, the road ends at the equally dramatic Dead
Horse Point. No one would dispute the beauty of the famous
visual attractions
near the end of the road. Yet, if one stops along the lower portion of
the road, he or she will also find an abundance of unique and beautiful
micro-environments.
After completing our first small writing exercise,
Craig stood and invited us to follow him around the far side of a large
boulder. There, only a few yards away, were many examples of
Native American rock art
incised into the desert varnish of the canyon walls. Unlike many of
the pictographs and petroglyphs that are visible from local roads, this
great art had remained untouched since its creation. According to the
style of that rock art, members of the
Fremont Culture
created it sometime between 600 and 1250 CE. If one needed a better
example of Craig Child’s contention that there is unimaginable beauty
available throughout the Canyonlands area, this art gallery, created by
grand and ancient masters humbled me into recognition and belief.
Soon, it was time to start our trek up the broad,
flat wash of Seven Mile Canyon. Again crossing the road, we gathered
beneath a cottonwood tree. Although Seven Mile Canyon is open to both
hikers and motorized vehicles, that morning we saw no one other than our
group for the first two hours of our hike. With non-native bulrushes
partially overgrowing the entrance to the canyon, the driver of a
full-sized vehicle would scrape off a lot of paint in order to run that
gauntlet and pass through into the canyon itself.
While walking up-canyon, we began to feel the warmth
and dryness of the desert environment. Frequent breaks for water
helped facilitate our passage along the soft sands of the canyon
bottom. Stopping in the shade of a cottonwood grove, Craig asked us to
take off our shoes and feel the canyon sands beneath our feet. Once
barefoot, each of us took off in our own direction. Our assignment was
to find a place to sit and write about the feeling of being in touch
with the canyon on that bright October morning.
After
a trailside lunch, Craig directed us towards a nearby, but partially
hidden canyon wall. After a scramble over some boulders, we arrived at
an intimate alcove, hidden from the sun by a massive overhang of Navajo
Sandstone. In such places, one intuitively accesses a faith in geologic
time. If, in eons of time, this stone overhang had not crashed down in
a pile of rubble, why should let go as we walked into this stone
sanctuary?
When seasonal rains visit, the spot where we stood
becomes a waterfall and receiving pool of a size and power that would
drive any human back to a safe distance. On this day, there was no
water pitching over the precipice and the receiving pool was dry.
As with our previous stop, we found one wall of our secret canyon alcove
covered with both Fremont Culture and Archaic Era rock art. Once
again, we found no sign that anyone had visited this sacred spot since
the last of the
pre-Puebloan Indians chipped and painted their artwork into these walls.
If you were to take the stone-age tools available to
the ancients and attempt to make your own mark upon these walls, it is
likely that you would quit before you created anything of note.
Scientists estimate
that each incised figure might take several weeks to complete. For
that reason, the defacement of more accessible rock art is often in the
form of bullet holes or surface scratches across the face of the
artwork. How and why did members of these ancient cultures take the
time and put forth the incredible effort necessary to decorate their
home canyons?
Our theory is that before European contact, there were times of lush abundance in the
Canyonlands.
Being efficient hunters and gatherers, good years allowed the ancients
to fill their granaries with enough food to take them through the
harshest of winters. In the best of years, their larders might be full
by summer’s end, leaving leisure time sufficient for the ancients to
pursue an activity that motivates almost every human culture. That is a
desire to tell their story to other humans and other cultures who might
later visit these canyons.
On a beautiful fall day, not unlike the one we spent
among their galleries, the ancients may have carved and painted the
story of their lives, their hunts and their spirit guides into these
sacred canyon walls. To me, it felt like they had just been there,
suspending their chipping and carving as we approached. Hearing our
voices, had they retreated to be with their ancestors, waiting patiently
for us to leave before returning to their timeless work?
Thank you to Craig Childs and the Confluence
Organization for transporting our group to a special place, where our
contemporary world and the Canyonlands of our pre-Puebloan Indian
ancestors converge. As with so many lessons in human life, we found
that the similarities between them and us are far greater than the
differences we so easily perceive.
did
not. After the racers pedaled furiously away, the PA announcer told us
that we would not see the leaders return from their fifteen-mile loop
for about an hour. Being a long distance bike-racing fan is like
working for the CIA. There is endless boredom, punctuated by occasional
action, when the riders return. If the race itself is a test of
endurance, for fans it is a test of dedication. 
