By Bruce Becker.
“Anyone can do the things I’ve done if they’re willing to live the life I’ve led.”
~ Fool’s Crow
Jan and I had just crept down a remote 4×4 road for an hour in eastern Utah and were now hiking into a canyon system with no trail, down a very rugged drainage. Picking our way down, I hopped off a boulder and in mid-air I saw a rattler coiled up below me. It struck as I landed, and I instantly jumped back up on the big rock I’d hopped off of and looked to see two beads of venom on my heavy leather hiking boots. Luckily the snake’s fangs hadn’t gone clear through my boot. That snake shook me up more than any of my bear encounters. I feel a certain affinity toward bears. We’re both mammals. But snakes are another story. I might be able to reason with a bear, but there’s no reasoning with a snake.
After a pause, we continued down the drainage, and when we reached the canyon floor, I tore off a six-foot length of day glow construction ribbon from the small roll I always carry in canyon country and anchored it upon a prominent boulder so on our way back we’d know which trailless drainage we’d come down. The canyon had a tiny intermittent stream in it that we splashed through at times for a few miles. Then we glimpsed a ruin, high in a deep alcove, and went closer for a better look.
There was a large juniper growing on the edge of the alcove, whose dangling roots made it easy to climb up to the alcove. There we saw the ever-present pottery shards and also pieces of woven yucca sandals, a rare find. And there was a kiva, dug into the floor of the alcove. This kiva was quite unusual because the roof was still intact on it, being out of the weather under the overhanging ceiling of this deep alcove for centuries.
Most important of all the elemental symbols common to ceremonies is the underground chamber where such rituals are held, the kiva, a Hopi word meaning “world below.” Long ago during their migrations, the people had no homes, so they dug shelters in the earth, roofed over with brush and mud. As their migrations slowed, the people began to settle and grow crops and build houses, but they still dug pits to store their corn and to bury their dead.
Eventually they began using them for sacred ceremonies, and they came to be called kivas. Round or rectangular, they were sunk deep, like a womb, into the body of Mother Earth. A small hole in the floor, symbolically, led down into the previous underworld, and the ladder opening in the roof symbolically led out to the world above. The Tewa word for this hole in the floor is sipapu, meaning “path from the navel.” The ladder represents the reed up which man climbed during his emergence.
Here then, is the whole structure of the multi-world universe: the sipapu leading down to the place of beginning, the sunken firepit representing the First World made by fire. The altar, the Second World. The level on which the ladder stands, the Third World. And the ladder that serves as another sipapu to the present Fourth World outside the kiva.
We sat quietly for some time, thinking of the people who lived here and what their life must have been like, as a pair of golden eagles circled above us, the guardians. After a time, we continued down the canyon heading east, climbing over chokestones and occasionally wading through pour-over pools, our boots tied around our necks. We discovered a narrow slot canyon, the entrance of which was obscured by trees and thickets. We squeezed through the slot and saw that it opened up into a beautiful box canyon with towering cliffs on all sides. There were ruins high in the alcoves in these cliffs, with no apparent access that we could see.
We camped that night by a lovely little spring with grass growing around it where we stretched out under the stars. The next day we continued down-canyon, seeing many petroglyphs and many ruins high in the cliffs along the creek we followed, the canyon getting deeper with soaring cliffs on both sides. We swam in a few deep pour-over pools on this hot spring day before exiting the mouth of this canyon, where we turned south for a mile or so.
There were no trails here, making the use of compass and a topo map essential. We eventually turned west and entered another canyon with an even larger stream flowing down it. These streams dried up as they left their canyons, soaking into the desert floor. This canyon soon became deep and dark, with even higher cliffs on both sides. A few miles in, we came upon a small cluster of cliff dwellings that apparently had been used for many years, judging by the huge middens on the canyon floor below the dwellings. Midden is the term used for a refuse pile.
The metates were made in solid boulders and were very deep, grooved so by the years of use, grinding seeds and corn in them. There were many small corn cobs lying about in most all the ruins we visited. There were granaries that we could see on deep ledges up even higher on the cliffs. This appeared to be a place that was relatively comfortable to live in. There were seven kivas here, indicating a place of permanence.
There was a beautiful shady spring there with good, sweet water still flowing down into the canyon’s creek. We decided to camp there for the night, and we picked watercress by the spring to eat. That night the moon was full, and the cliff dwellings were visible above us. The only sound we heard was the trickling of the little spring and a coyote yipping now and then up above the canyon.
We left this small community in the morning, and I picked up an arrowhead that I saw lying in a pool in the creek. As we climbed up and out of the canyon, we found a hawk skeleton in a brush thicket. I think it came down for a rodent and broke its neck in the thicket. The skeleton was complete and had been there a very long time.
Once out of the canyon and on top, we navigated back to the truck with the compass and topo map. Tired but thrilled by our long hike and having fun reliving our adventure together.
Bruce Becker is a flute maker, retired masonry contractor, and horse trainer who has lived in Crestone since 2005.