Knowing What to Look For

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

We had been told that there were Indians in the region so upon entering this scarcely populated area of the Southwest, we pulled our mounts to the side of the trail, checked our ammunition, laced our holsters to our belts and continued our journey into the unknown. I call this region unknown only because I had never been here before. Have you ever gone somewhere and had the feeling that you had been there before? Well, this wasn't one of those times. I was moving into uncharted territory other than the fact that a friend had told me what to expect.

Based on those expectations I selected a five shot revolver as my sidearm just incase we ran into quarrelsome Indians. I usually carry a forty-caliber semi automatic hidden beneath a flapping shirttail but a revolver will fire under almost any condition as long as you keep your bullets dry. This world we were descending into was dusty and not an ideal place for a gun that would easily jam under such conditions; therefore, the revolver was my choice for this trip.

We began the last phase of our journey traveling on foot. The trail was steep and unforgiving to an errant step or stumble. Our mounts would have to stay tethered at the top of the canyon rim as we explored an area almost entirely forgotten by our busy world. After adjusting our backpacks and lacing our boots tight we questioned one another just to make sure that nothing of significance was being left behind. What more did I need besides a rope for safety, a camera to record our trip, a gun for protection and a good friend to share the experience? How about a little water, a headlamp in the event we were delayed beyond dark and a bulging pocket of cashew nuts for that burst of sustained energy to make the climb back out of the canyon? These items were all accounted for along with a lot of other things I won't take time to mention.

A message stenciled on the back of my brain said, "Leave only footprints and take nothing home except pictures as you visit these fragile areas of past civilizations." We weren't even leaving footprints to retrace our path as we hiked on the sandstone slickrock of southern Utah. Some geologists have referred to these slickrock formations as "wind blown and rain swept" but I think it has mostly been wind blown because there is little evidence of rain. Route finding was easy because little stacks of rocks called cairns were placed here and there to mark an otherwise invisible trail across the sandstone landscape leading down into the canyon.

My partner led the way and I lingered behind about ten feet eating cashew nuts and drinking cold orange juice as we proceeded down the trail. I might as well drink the orange juice while it is still cold. Besides, nourishment left in my pack can't give my body strength.  If I'm going to carry it I might as well carry it where it will do the most good; in my stomach. Kaye, my wife and hiking partner just gave a disapproving expression when I explained my reasoning for starting my munching so early in the trip. She said nothing else and I assumed that she was following that old rule of hiking logic . . . don't criticize until it is too late for your partner to turn back.  Sort of like marriage.

I was excited to finally be going to explore the Indian canyon-dwelling called Moonhouse. My only lingering mental frown was that all those I love and hold dear weren't here with me, talking, sharing, and just being together. But soon my thoughts focused on the steepness of the terrain below.  I chose a crisscross method of descending the slope, cutting across the sandstone diagonally working my way down a little at a time. My partner chose the sit and slide method. She wore an expensive pair of hiking boots that were advertised as being able to cling even to moss covered granite yet she scooted her way down the slope on her backside. I passed her and came to a feature called a pour-off. That is where the rain water reaches a vertical drop and spills over the edge like a waterfall. I tied a nylon strap to a rock and dangled the end over the edge so Kaye would have something to hold onto as she negotiated the drop-off. The rest of the hike was filled with breathtaking vistas of a harsh canyon divided by a ribbon of green trees meandering along the bottom creek bank.   

As we descended deeper into the canyon we were so focused on our footing and making sure that we remained on the correct path, we didn't see the Indian ruins in plain view built into the wall across the canyon from us. A feeling of slight embarrassment would grab our attention later when we climbed out of the canyon and realized that the Indian dwellings were right there in front of us all along. I was just amazed at how the dwellings blended into the landscape unless you knew what to look for. If those Indians had high powered rifles they could have picked us off like rabbits in a cage. If nothing else, they could certainly have seen us coming from a long way off.

But we continued our hike down to the canyon floor and up the other side until we came over a rise and there it was. Instantly we felt as though we were on hallowed ground. That feeling came over us even before we entered the first dwelling. Families had lived here. Children had been born in these rooms. Crops had been planted, grown and harvested in the canyon below and stored in granaries high in these crevices. Ceremonies had been preformed and burials took place as the struggle for life continued through the years. We had planned to spend an hour at the ruins but stayed four hours instead.

Ancient Indians didn't choose this place for the view or live here seeking an easy lifestyle. They most likely chose this secluded barren place for safety and peace. According to the archeologists these dwellings were constructed around 1200 A.D. and inhabited until about 1450 A.D. No one knows why they left or what happened to them. Assuming the findings of the archeologists to be correct, these people conducted the business of life for two hundred and fifty years here in this remote and unforgiving region. Like I mentioned earlier, they didn't choose this place just for the view. Why did they come here? Why did they build here? Why did they remain for two and a half centuries? Why did they eventually leave . . . leaving behind their pottery, their tools, their sleeping mats, and their history? The answers are blowing in the wind.

As we prepared to leave I pulled out my pistol and fired a five shot salute to the people of this land, a people I admire and reverence for their ability to survive in such a harsh environment. Not counting the echoes down the canyon, I was certain I heard a sixth shot. How could a five shot revolver deliver six shots? I turned and asked Kaye how many shots she heard. "I wasn't counting but I felt them all," she said, as we gathered our packs and prepared to leave this enchanted canyon where the past and the present collided. Maybe we weren't as alone as we thought. Climbing back out of the canyon we couldn't help but turn and look back across to the other side at the mud, stone and sand structures tucked under the overhangs. We were amazed that those structures hadn't been visible to our eyes as we hiked into the canyon. We just didn't know what to look for before. Maybe that is what life is about . . . knowing what to look for.