Hidden Canyon

We search for a route over the rim of the canyon, but find nothing more than steep slickrock. The white face of the stone rounds at the rim, but quickly precipitates downward, sure to kill any man or beast that ventures over its edge.
 
To get here we pushed through wild manzanita and jumped over prickly pear cactus. I almost stepped on a blow snake. We can see our intended destination, an alcove up the narrow gorge, but a short and stubby chasm blocks our passage. We work our way down-canyon, always looking for a chute to the bottom.
 
At length we find an opening and slide down a channel of tangled scree and rock. Standing firm on the floor of the canyon we encounter a rivulet of water slowly meandering through the willows.
 

It feels remote down here. Tall wild grass grows along the floor and up the steep sides of the narrow canyon. Now and then a cottonwood tree takes shape along the bank and stretches upward, searching for sky. Bulrushes flourish along the swampy bottom. Light-footed skeeters float atop small puddles of water.
 
Coming around an elbow in the canyon we find an old Indian ruin perched high upon the cliff. Many of the walls of this ancient fortress are still intact, while others have tumbled. The location seems to be well hidden. I realize that as we were on top looking for a way down, we had stood directly over the ruin, never knowing it was there.
 
We continue up-canyon through many of the same obstacles: thick vegetation and rocky terrain. On our left the short and stubby chasm, on whose rim we had stood earlier, merges with our canyon. We climb up and over a bank to avoid a captured pool of water inside a stone pothole.
 
As we inch closer to our objective, the climb grows steeper and we fall to all fours, walking like bears up a dry stream bed of slickrock. Light rain begins to fall and we quicken our step. We push through another thicket of scrub oak and suddenly arrive at our destination.
 

Inside this hidden alcove sits a nearly perfect 800-year old Anasazi dwelling. It is rectangular in shape, with three rooms. Enduring on the east face is one door and one window. Other than two sections of walls that have collapsed, this ancient home appears much the same as when it was abandoned.
 
A close examination of the walls shows that the rocks were not cut as precisely as other ruins I have seen. But the mud-mortar that was used to fill the chinks and gaps has been well crafted to create relatively smooth edges. Small rocks have also been mixed in to fortify the paste.
 

My favorite part is the roof. Larger branches, probably two inches in diameter, serve as cross-beams, firmly planted within the adobe walls, and on top of those, positioned perpendicularly are a series of smaller branches, thatched together tightly with no gaps, and topped with mud. By looking at the condition of the lumber you would never guess it was eight centuries old.
 
I wonder the exact purpose of the rooms. Did they use them to sleep? Being a short person myself, I'm not sure that I could lay down and sleep comfortably inside one of these rooms. What did they sleep on—hard ground or perhaps a bed of twigs or leaves? And what about the mice that ran freely and burrowed in the dirt? Or the bats that nested on the eaves of the cliffs above?
 

Nearby are several metates and a mano, the grinding stones used to make corn meal. I also find a portion of a corn cob. I try to imagine where they grew their corn. Did they plant their crops on the flat plains above the canyons where soil was better, or perhaps down by the stream where water was more accessible? I know that when harvest season came, their dried corn became a precious commodity. Often I have seen granaries built within the hollow of a rock, high on a cliff and inaccessible without rope or ladder.
 
On the ground next to the structure is a broken piece of pottery. It is slightly curved and painted the color of ochre, with six dark diagonal lines. The fact that the sherd is colored, rather than black and white, shows that it was created during an advanced period. Judging from the slight curvature, I am guessing that this piece belonged to a larger olla, perhaps used to carry water or cook food.
 

We retrieve our lunch from my camouflaged day-pack and begin to build sandwiches, eating them while sitting on a log. It begins to rain lightly as we eat, but the overhang of the alcove keeps us dry. I can't help but to think of those who used to live here and how this large recess in the rock was their little haven. Not only did it provide a place for them to sleep and cook, but also protection from those who might want to harm them, or steal precious commodities.
 
We finish our sandwiches and load everything back into the pack. By now a few tiny drizzles of water tumble down the overhang. I am anxious to get back to the vehicle before the storm becomes too big and washes out the dirt roads. We push up a steep slope through wet leaves that slap across our clothing. The alcove behind us disappears and as we crest the hill we fast-forward 800 years to the present time. ♠