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Experiencing Canyonlands with Author and Naturalist Craig Childs
On October 15, 2008, I roused myself early enough
in the morning to see the full moon, as it descended behind the
Moab Rim. In anticipation of the first day of my three-day
intensive writing seminar, I drove to the
Moab Arts and Recreation Center. Unlike the many public
activities at “Confluence
– A Celebration of Reading and Writing in Moab”, 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
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 microenvironments.
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.
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 during the pre-European
contact era 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.
