The writings, some even in English are interesting to see. Whoever the traveler was, the reason they chose this particular sandstone bluff is because of a large spring at its base.
Regardless of the writings, the part of the monument that grabbed me was the cliff dwelling on the top and the walk to reach it. A pueblo supporting maybe 1500 people used to exist up top.
Now, I’ve learned to be careful about using water and still a couple of quarts plus drinking water is typical for me; that’s not counting washing clothes. The Indians who lived there didn’t wear the kinds of clothes that take well to washing and I’m guessing they washed themselves down near the spring. Still, there would have been children too small to carry water or reach the hand- and toe- holds cut into the steep bluff sides. There would have been a few people who were unhealthy who couldn’t make the trip and I’m hoping they let the really old people off from carrying their own water. In my mind’s eye all I can see is a stream of people like ants climbing up and down to the spring, carrying water, on their backs maybe, to the top.
And that’s not all they carried. The people were mostly hunter-gatherers and all that food would be carried up top too. The energy needed to move all that food and water and the bodies involved in moving it all, boggles my mind.
What did those people gain by living up there? Once I climbed up and stood on the top of that bluff, I knew one thing they gained. I experienced a sense of magnificence standing on what felt like the top of the world. There was also a sense of smallness and how nothing a person actually is. And I felt a sense of belonging in a way that was much different than belonging to a family or a community. I felt like I belonged to the landscape I saw in the same way a tree or a snake belongs, there would be a place for me if I chose to fit into it.
(Argue all you will about how man changed the landscape as soon as he picked up a rock from here and moved it there, or how killing an antelope upsets some balance of nature. And then consider the rabbit that digs a den or the ants that build mounts a foot or more high. How about rattlesnakes, common out here, that kills to eat?)
I took the backway up to the top, using steps, and took the front way, using a switchback, coming down. The ruins are quite near the steps. Excavation started a long time ago however there are only a few exposed rooms. Others were back-filled, as happens at many places, to preserve them.
As I approached, I saw two people inside one of the rooms. They were clearly conferring and then doing something to the wall in front of them. Later I found out the guys are called “Living Treasure Masons”. Isn’t that a wonderful name? I personally would have died to have such a job.
One of the men was willing to talk. When the pueblo was first excavated, photos were taken of every item found and every wall after it was dug out and cleaned up. Now photos are taken before restoration starts and after it is finished. The men, using a picture of the originally cleaned up wall, were taking broken or fallen rock off the floor and fastening it back into place, using a mix of mud and water as was originally used.
The talkative one showed me a rock that had fallen out. Because of the photo, he knew it had broken when it fell and where it went in the wall. He assured me not only would the rock be replaced but also both parts would be stuck together before returned to the wall. I’ve often wondered about restoration and how real it actually is, and now I know.
The pueblo is back toward the broader part of the bluff and my trail led me toward the front where the spring is located at the base. What I saw was mostly polished stone. I know nothing of rocks except I like looking at it. There is much to read about the geology of the area however my mind turns into a sieve when it comes to remembering any of it. Whatever kind of stone is up there, it changes from sand color to white. I was there mid-afternoon and the sun glistened on it. Everywhere I looked was below me; a long way below me. There is enough rock around to feel safe however I wouldn’t want to be up there with a wind blowing.
And the trail itself is pretty amazing. Someone has etched lines to indicate the path. In places steps are chiseled out of the stone. However, wind and water and whatever have weathered the marks and worn the steps so in some places the marks are nearly missing and the steps slide into one another.
I’m not an antelope, I’m slow and cautious and not very nimble. For a bit, up there on top of the world, I too was wild, free and boundless.
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