A Welcome Respite

Sure, there’s some historical significance to the Coronado National Memorial. Famed Spanish explorer & would-be conqueror, Francisco Vázquez de Coronado, entered the present-day United States nearby in 1540. But the great thing about Coronado is its role as an oasis.

Now before I go any further, let me say that I really liked Arizona. It was my first big state tour west of the Mississippi, and I really loved that trip. There’s an awful lot to see and do, it’s really a beautiful state. But it is freakin’ hot.

Coming from the cool Northeast, I had a really hard time adjusting to the blast furnace of southern Arizona (see my post on Chiricahua). Saguaro is a desert, Organ Pipe is the hottest spot in America, and Tucson and Phoenix are scorching blacktop heat islands. But Coronado was great. It’s situated on the northern side of the Sierra Madre, meaning it doesn’t get the full blast of the sun. The ground is also moister than the rest of the state, probably because of the mountains and the geological implications of the water table. The place is quite cool and surprisingly lush. A stop at Coronado is a welcome respite for those circling through Arizona’s national park sites.

The park’s HQ has some antique chain mail on display, the rainfall has created a wet cave up the slope (reminiscent of Gollum’s lair in The Hobbit), and there are some enjoyable, windy roads through the nearby mountains (I advise a sunset drive, really beautiful views abound). Just don’t pick up any hitchhikers….

I know, it doesn’t sound particularly exciting. But it is a nice change of pace.

[I didn't own a digital camera when I visited Coronado. Pic courtesy of the National Park Service.]

Links:

Coronado National Memorial

Coronado’s Exploration into the American Southwest

Coronado Trail Scenic Byway

Google map of Coronado

Barky Faces Death

I have traveled all over the country. I’ve hiked in forests and mountains and brush and swamps and beaches. I almost always hike alone, therefore I have to be very well prepared. I plan my trips carefully, carry the right gear, dress for the weather (current and potential), and stick to the trails. I’ve seen too many idiots hiking in flip-flops, and read too many stories of people getting lost in blizzards. There are many ways I may end up leaving this world, but dying in the wilderness due to unpreparedness, that’s not for me.

At least, that’s what I used to think.

My trip to Arizona was the first time I took two consecutive weeks’ vacation and visited multiple park sites on a grand tour. I was excited, of course. Arizona would be great. It has the most NPS sites of any state in the country and, best of all, it has deserts! One of the great joys in touring this country is walking terrains one normally doesn’t see. New England is known for rolling hills, deciduous forests, urban jungles, and snow. There are no deserts in New England, and there probably won’t be any in our lifetimes, unless we initiate a global apocalypse or something. My trip to Arizona would be the first time I’ve ever walked in a desert.

After weeks of planning, I landed in Tucson, checked into the hotel, and hit the sack. First on the list for the AM: Chiricahua National Monument, home of fantastic rocky spires, eons worth of erosional glory. I had plenty of water, salty snacks, light clothing, sunscreen, wide-brimmed hat, good shoes, and a dogged determination that I would walk at an uncharacteristically gentle pace, fully in line with the challenges of the environment. I hit the Echo Canyon loop trail (only 3.1 miles long, much shorter than my normal day hikes, again being cognizant of the heat) with great excitement.

After less than a mile on the trail (the downhill leg no doubt), I thought I’d die.

Something was seriously wrong. I was drinking enough water. I was pacing myself. I was just exhausted! I had never felt so bad walking on a trail in my life. I had to stop every 100′ and catch a breather. Nearly every step was a chore. I finally hit a point of near-panic when the thought hit my head: beautiful scenery be damned, I was going to die on this very trail. Here, thousands of miles from home, far away from family and friends, a stranger in a strange land, I was going to die. At least the next hiker would find me, perhaps my sunburnt corpse would be saved from the buzzards.

It was at that very moment that I heard the sound, a sound that I’ve only heard on television and in the movies …

Some time ago, I heard this theory: “There are two ways to hear a rattlesnake. If you hear it and see the tail, you have a story to tell your friends. If you hear it and see the head, no one will ever hear your story.”

As you have undoubtedly guessed, I spotted the tail. It was about a foot from my left shoe, darting into some low shrubbery.

I think most people would have panicked. For some odd reason, I found this comforting. If my time was up, it would have been the head of that rattlesnake, not the tail, and I would be dead. I was not going to die that day, I was convinced of that. All that was left was getting my head back into the game and focus my attention on getting out of the bad situation.

Slowly I continued my way up the trail. Fortunately, the way back up was shady. It was still trouble going but, eventually, I plodded my way back to the rental car and headed to the hotel. A foot-long Subway sub and a gallon of water later, I hit the sack and slept 13 hours straight. I felt great the next morning, and headed to Fort Bowie, Saguaro, and all of the rest of the parks in Arizona without incident over the next two weeks.

It wasn’t until much, much later that it came to me. I live in Connecticut, mean altitude a whopping 500′ above sea level. Altitude at the entrance of the Echo Canyon Trail? 6,780 feet! Oof, no wonder I almost collapsed & died amidst the rocky spires of Chiricahua!

Nowadays, when I travel to high-altitude areas, I always take at least a full day to acclimate before taking to the trails. Fortunately, I’ve lived long enough to apply that hard-taught lesson.

[I travelled to Arizona before I bought a digital camera. These pics are courtesy of, and used with permission of, Roger Hall at photography.inkart.net. He has nice photos of other NPS sites, I may ask him to use more in the future. But don't just check out his photos, he does some really cool pen-and-ink scientific illustrations. Check them out at www.inkart.net. I hope he doesn't begrudge me posting his western diamondback rattlesnake ... I've actually ordered a copy for my den.]

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Links:

Chiricahua National Monument

Roger Hall Scientific Illustrations & Wildlife Art

Backcountry Advice from Retired Park Rangers

Google map to Chiricahua National Monument

Valiant Efforts in Preservation? Or Goofy Self-Serving Construct?

When I was a boy, I remember seeing pictures of the Casa Grande Ruins in my school textbooks. It would be in the American pre-history section, the “time before the Pilgrims” when the native tribes ran the place. Back then, I found it bizarre that a modern pavilion had been built over the ruins. The textbooks would talk about the great adobe homes of the early tribes, but they’d never, ever mention this canopy. The pictures were a bizarre mix of old and new that made no sense.

Twenty years later, when I finally arrived at the site in person, it still looked goofy. Obviously this canopy was intended to protect the ancient structure from the Arizona monsoons (an infrequent but torrential series of rainstorms), and I suppose that’s goodness, but it still seems as if it’s manufactured for our pleasure, like the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World. The surroundings made it seem worse: a gigantic Volde-Mart, replete with acres and acres of SUV-laden parking lots, sits right across the street. “Come and see the ruins, then spend your hard-earned cash on Made in China crap that will kill your pets and poison your children!!”

There’s actually a huge controversy in the American preservation movement. How far should the government or private interests go to preserve historical relics such as the Casa Grande Ruins? After all, entropy is part of human existence as well. Does this preservation serve the interests of history and culture, or does it simply serve the interests of developers looking to profit off a landmark? Should nature be allowed to take its course, or should we spend millions preserving relics?

There was a story on NPR this week about German castles. See, most of the great castles in Germany were destroyed in World War II. Now that Germany is back from the brink of destruction, they find they miss their castles. So they are in the process of re-building their old castles from scratch to house … shopping malls. Oh yes, there’s historical context for you. “And here, the Earl of Salzburg would enjoy an Orange Julius while his daughters leered at the 12-foot, half-naked himboes plastered on the windows of Abercrombie & Fitch.”

There are a lot of naturally preserved tribal dwellings all over Arizona, mostly cliff dwellings in places like Walnut Canyon and Canyon de Chelly. So you have to wonder why they went to such great lengths to preserve this one in 1932. Tourism, no doubt. But at one time native Americans lived in grand adobe buildings on the open flatlands, at the crossroads of enormous north-south, east-west trade routes. Casa Grande is the best example still standing on this continent. It fills an important niche in the physical historic record of the country.  In 1932, at the height of the Depression, it must have been hard to get the funding to build the canopy. I guess we should be thankful.

But to look at the site with its own personal pavilion, you have to ask yourself “is this too goofy?”

[I didn't own a digital camera when I visted Casa Grande. All photos are public domain, hover over each pic for source info]

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Links:

Casa Grande Ruins National Monument

Wikipedia Article on the Hohokam Period

Google map to Casa Grande

Trespassers

Tsegi. That’s what Canyon de Chelly is to the Navajo people. Home.

It’s an odd sort of thing, and a great controversy I might add, that this national park site is also a home. Canyon de Chelly is not only home to many families of Diné (the real tribal name of the Navajo), but several of those families live in a truly traditional, simple manner, quietly farming the fertile soils of the valley floor, shunning modern conveniences and menaces. Thankfully, the Park Service in conjunction with the Navajo Nation restricts visitor access to the valley floor. I’m sure it’s a hard life, but I have great respect for the people who live it. Frankly, there is a lot of appeal in the simple life (and no, I’m not talking about a crappy reality show starring two talentless bimbos). Look at where our complicated lives have led us? Fat, lazy, conceited, arrogant. Perhaps a little simplicity is just what this country needs.

Canyon de Chelly is a gorgeous place. Absolutely stunning. I visited on a cloudy, drizzly day, and it was still a beautiful spot. The sandstone walls interact with daylight and cast a golden hue over the entire canyon. Climbing down to the canyon floor lifts one spirits, troubles are left on the canyon’s rim as you descend in golden splendor to a simpler, wholesome time. Of course, you have to turn around and go back up again, but for a while, you can just revel in the beauty of the spot. It can be downright spiritual (if you believe in such things).

This place does have “spiritual significance” written all over it. First, there’s the natural beauty. Then there are the old Anasazi ruins sitting in the niches of the canyon walls, direct reminders of native ancestors, ghosts of the past. These aren’t malicious ghosts, the aura given off (again, if you believe in such things) is good, as if these spirits are guarding over the inhabitants of the canyon, guarding over you as well as long as you respect the land on which you trod, as long as you respect the rights of the residents of this land. Then there’s glorious Spider Rock, which has special significance to the Navajo (and, I’m sure, to the tribes who lived in the canyon before them). I know I’m laying in the mysticism really thick here, but such are my memories of my visit to Canyon de Chelly. I’m quite fond of Native American spirituality, that special connection between man and the natural world that most religions pave over as they build their next UberChurch, or blow up with bombs strapped to the waistbands of their children.

I do have to say one negative about my visit. This was my first visit to a real Indian reservation, and frankly, I felt really uncomfortable. Although the Navajo reservation is better than most, there is a great deal of poverty and not much opportunity on Indian reservations in America. It’s painful to look at, for this is a people who were truly victimized by the country, and not just some folks who fell on hard times. These people have had hard times for hundreds of years, hard times because they were forced to have hard times by people who were afraid of them. And now we populate their reservations with fast-food outlets & alcohol, yet make such cumbersome rules that industry doesn’t have much of a chance (unless, of course, casinos pay off Congressmen to allow gambling, but that’s another issue).

I, a white suburbanite tourist, was clearly the outsider in the Navajo reservation, and I felt like a trespasser. The locals do look upon you with quiet contempt, contempt passed down through sadness from generation to generation. I don’t begrudge them their contempt, for it’s hard to feel anger at them when their people have faced oppression of some kind or another for hundreds of years. Contempt is part of their very being now, every generation knows full well of the damage inflicted upon previous generations, they are reminded of it on a daily basis as they live their lives. I know I shouldn’t feel guilt for the sins of my fathers, but I can’t help it. It’s my Catholic upbringing, I feel guilty about pretty durn near much everything. At least, in this case, there’s a reason.

I would like to see nothing more than all the native tribes of this country get out of poverty. I’m not a big fan of casinos, for they don’t add any value to the people or the country. I’d love to see clean industries, or efficient agriculture, or cultural attractions, or something viable, sustainable, and effective, in place at all of America’s Indian reservations to bring these folks out of poverty yet keep their cultural identity intact. Why hasn’t this happened yet? In this enlightened day and age, why are there still these pockets of poverty? It’s because no one’s trying, that what I’ll wager. I haven’t researched it fully, but I’m sure there are a lot of stupid rules and regulations about such things happening on Indian lands, and damn it, they should be changed. It’s a national embarrassment, to be frank.

It’s long past time we fixed it.

[Sadly, I didn't own a digital camera when I visited the Canyon. These photos are taken, with permission, from Scott Speck's Fine Art Photography. More terrific Canyon pictures, in large-scale glory, are here. He has a real interesting eye for photography, check out his site for more.]

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Links:

Canyon de Chelly National Monument

Fine Art Photography by Scott Speck

Navajo Nation Tourism Department (including horseback tours of the canyon)

Google map to Canyon de Chelly