A Navajo Lake in Paiute Territory

When I first moved to Iron County twenty-seven years ago, I was baffled and somewhat amused that Navajo Lake should have such a name. My hometown—over 300 miles away—was just thirty minutes from the Navajo Reservation. There were no Navajos over here, I assumed. Therefore I concluded that Navajo Lake was so named only because it had a good ring. 

Carmen Clark, Chairwoman of the Shivwits Band of the Paiute Tribe had similar feelings. Commenting on a proposed bill that would rename many landmarks that indigenous people find offensive, she said, “Why is it called Navajo Lake when the Navajos weren't even in this area? It should have a Paiute name.” 

Navajo Lake sits in the northeast corner of Kane County, Utah.

For those unfamiliar, Navajo Lake is located in a picturesque setting on the Markagunt Plateau at an elevation of 9,200 feet. It is nestled in a little valley, surrounded on all sides by pine trees. The lake was formed by a lava flow on the eastern side of the valley. An interesting detail is that there is no stream running out of the lake. Instead, the water seeps into an underground drainage that emerges at Cascade Falls, over a mile away. 

Nowadays the lake is used primarily for recreation. Near the shores are a couple of campgrounds, a lodge and several private cabins. The waters are stocked with three varieties of trout. Last summer our family took kayaks on the lake. Despite the popularity, Navajo Lake retains a peaceful setting. 

Recreation is now popular, but not overwhelming, at Navajo Lake.

But it wasn't until a few years ago that I learned the story behind the naming of the lake. And, no, it wasn't named on a whim. And, yes, there were Navajos in the area at the time. 

The story was told by Joseph H. Pollock in 1930, one of two surviving men at the time who were part of a posse to round up a group of thieving Navajos. As the story goes, it was October of 1869 near the town of Kannara when a passing camper with his span of mules woke up to learn that during the night his animals had been shot full of arrows. A posse was quickly summoned, and as they pursued the tracks they learned that just two and a half miles north, the Indians had taken a large herd of horses.

Joseph Henry Pollock (right) poses with his brother, Samuel.

With two natives as their guides (presumably Paiutes) they headed east and climbed nearly 2,000 feet to the top of what is now Kanarra Mountain, passing through Blue Valley. Near a head of a fork of the Virgin River, they spotted an Indian who quickly disappeared into the gulch. Then they found a horse belonging to one of the townspeople, unfortunately full of arrows. Just before they got to Black Rock, they found a horse mortally wounded. Further on they found six more dead horses. 

They came to a big mountain north of the lake where they made a grisly discovery. This horse was not dead, but was full of arrows and hamstrings cut out. There, darkness overtook them and they paused to build a fire and decide their next move. It was decided they would continue the chase until the thieves were caught. 

Pine-covered hills on the north side of Navajo Lake.

They walked along the high ridge on the north side of the lake (but at this time they didn't even know the lake existed) and then stepped off their horses to lead them down the steep embankment. As they approached the east side of the lake, one of their Indian guides could smell the smoke of a campfire. As they came up and over a small knoll, they could see the fire and horses tied up. 

They hoped to surround the camp, but unbeknownst to them, they were being followed by a dog, and with a barking alarm the Navajos fled into the darkness. Shooting ensued, but no one was killed. The horses were quickly gathered and the posse, needing a break, led them to a nearby meadow where they had a quick bite to eat. This was their first meal since they left Kanarra and it was now one o'clock in the morning. 

They decided to camp there, someone always standing guard throughout the night. When daylight came they learned they were next to a large lake. The picturesque setting must have surely surprised them. The two friendly Indians with them gathered up moccasins, blankets, bows and arrows that were left behind. The Navajos were never caught. 

Rough road to Navajo Lake, probably around 1930. (photo courtesy of Sherratt Library, Special Collections Department.)

From this expedition, the lake would later be known as Navajo Lake. But what was it called before 1869? To the white man it wasn't known. It was the Southern Paiutes who were familiar with this territory and knew this mountain up and down. What was their name for it? 

William Palmer, a local historian who was very close to the Paiute people, gave this insight: “The Indian name for the lake was beautiful and it had a poetic connotation. The old Indian trail ran along the top of the ridge north of the lake and overlooking the body of water. Being situated between two high ridges and protected thus from stiff winds, the surface of the lake is not much ruffled. From the trail above, the sky is clearly reflected in the water and the lake appears to be filled with clouds. The Indian name was “Pah-cun-ab” which means cloud lake, or a lake of clouds.” 

Another name the Paiutes gave was “Pa-voo-weap,” which was the name of the valley or basin which holds the lake. There is also a third name, “Pang-ap-its,” which translates to “water babies.” 

The phenomenon of water babies is interesting because I have seen it documented in two other areas of the country that are far from Navajo Lake. Sometimes there may be a small variations in appearance, but most of the descriptions are the same. 

Photo from Paiute Restoration and Gathering Powwow in Cedar City.

According to Palmer, he had first-hand accounts from older members of the tribe who had seen the creatures in Navajo Lake. The Paiutes said they were near half human, half bird and half animal. Their skin was dark, like that of an Indian's, and their hair black, with long tresses that hung over the shoulders. Dark brown hair also covered their bodies. Their feet were webbed and they could fly, swim, or walk on the water like a man. 

One distinguishing feature that made them uniquely eerie was their cry. When they hurt, they cried like a baby. No matter what the Indians did, they could not kill them. If hit with an arrow, the Pang-apits would flutter around and cry like a baby, then fly away. 

Palmer states: “In the moonlight these creatures could be seen in large numbers walking around over the lake splashing and whipping the water with their wings like they were having a real sporting time. About the time the Mormons came these strange creatures disappeared and have never been seen in the country since.” 

It would be easy to dismiss water babies as a myth if it weren't for the first-hand accounts and also due to stories from other locations. It is a very fascinating feature associated with the history of Navajo Lake. 

Today the lake is a favorite spot for anglers and boaters. Very few of them know the history of how it got its name, nor do they know the older Paiute name. When they camp on its banks at night, I'm sure they don't listen for the crying shriek of a water baby. ♠ 

 

Depiction of water baby, by Savanah Lacy.

 



Sources  

Palmer, W. R. (1951). Forgotten Chapters of History (Vol. I & II). Merill Library and Learning Resources Program. 

Webber, Megan. “It should have a Paiute name: Shivwits chime in on state bill proposing name changes of landmarks.” Cedar City News, 29 December 2020. https://www.cedarcityutah.com/news/archive/2020/12/29/mrw-it-should-have-a-paiute-name-shivwits-chime-in-on-state-bill-proposing-name-changes-of-landmarks-offensive-to-native-americans/#.Y_-x7h_MKUk.

Navajo Basin

We descend a steep path that quickly connects with another trail. We proceed east and are slightly gaining elevation again. Off to our right, just out of sight, we can hear the West Dolores River tumbling over rocks. Within three-quarters of a mile, the forest opens up and we are at the shores of Navajo Lake.

At 11,160 feet high, and flanked on both sides by monster mountains, this blueish-green body of water is a sight to behold. Gladstone Peak and its prominent rocky summit dominate the backdrop. I reach down and wiggle my fingers in the frigid tarn.

As far as we know, there is no-one else up here. Just the sound of gently lapping water and a breeze with a hint of high-mountain chill.

We continue on the trail around the lake and across a field of talus where we see a yellow-bellied marmot prowling about the rocks. It waddles to a bed of plucked forbes and lays down, without much concern that we are watching him.

A high-pitched squeal comes from another direction and we squint to discern where it came from. Then, the squeal comes again, but from a slightly different angle. I catch a glimpse of a small tawny animal scampering through the rocks. Then he stops. He has the twig of a leaf in his mouth. When he stands, I detect the large mouse-ears on his head and quickly learn that there is a colony of pikas here. He quickly disappears into the debris of talus.

Near one of the bends in the trail, there are the remains of what appears to be a mountain goat. Most of the flesh has deteriorated to the skeleton, but some of the white fur remains, being short and stubby like the wool of a sheep. This discovery surprises me, as I had read nothing of mountain goats in the area. But it could be nothing else. The habitat is perfect for them.

We walk toward the east side of the lake to a stand of pine trees and find a perfect spot to pitch a tent next to the river.

At the west end of the basin, fresh water oozes from the lake and begins anew the West Dolores River. Jordan jumps from one stone to the next and makes it safely across.  Being less sure on my feet, I use a large and bulky tree branch that I find in the river to help me across.

At the south end of the lake, the steep talus slope runs directly into the water and the only way to walk on that end of the lake is along a narrow trail in the rock. We make it to the south-east corner and begin looking for a narrow “beach” that Jordan spotted earlier. We learn that the only access is by bushwhacking through a mess of growth that is taller than my head. I use my feet to step on the supple branches, and bend them down to forge a temporary path to the “beach.” 

From this narrow strip of dirt, we can see Dolores Peak in the distance, and the wind rushes up the basin, striking my face. 

We continue exploring, now with intentions of circumambulating the entire lower basin. The river rushes quickly at our left, tumbling over large rocks, with lush vegetation on both sides. The Colorado Columbine seems to grow well here.

Scattered near the base of the slope are several old scraps of wood and a rusty fifty-gallon barrel. These are probably remains from an old mine. Judging from the slight indention in the contour of the rocky slope, we postulate that a mining adit was here at one time.

Not too far ahead, as we are following the river upstream, the entire river disappears. Jordan walks a little closer to discover that it is gushing from large boulder-strewn step in the basin. We walk beyond it and find that the river is flowing again.

Finding myself thirsty from the hike, I kneel down at the water's edges, remove my glasses and hat, and lower my mouth to the stream and drink from the cold water as it rushes quickly by. Then I dip my entire face below the surface, leave it there for just a moment, then pull it from the water and wipe off the excess wetness with my hands.

We walk upward to the edge of a hill where we have an excellent view of the entire lower basin. Above us is a large shelf of rock that separates the lower from the upper basin. I don't know what it looks like up there yet. We will find out tomorrow.

To our right, down the hill and then back up a slope of talus, there is a large path in the rock that angles downward, almost perpendicular to the hiking trail that is above it. It almost looks like one of those scrapes in the ground that some people attribute to aliens.

We hike toward it and find it is very large and heads toward the bottom of the basin. On the path, we find a rusty tin can and other old scraps of metal. I'm still not sure what the path is, but it probably had something to do with the mines. It seems to lead in a direction toward the rusty fifty-gallon drum and reclaimed adit that we found earlier.

At last we make it back to camp, and take a much needed rest. Before dusk I take another walk to the lake and watch the sunset while sitting on the rocks near the shore. The bright hues of a perfect sunset never materialize, but I watch as the sky grows darker and the clouds move in from the north. The breeze picks up and the lapping of the water becomes stronger against the rocks.

It is now the next day and we have just finished climbing to the summit of Wilson Peak. We have descended the saddle from Rock of Ages and are now standing in the upper Navajo Basin. Although we are beat and our feet are sore, we decide to leave the trail and explore the upper basin.

We walk down to the river, which is just a modicum of water flowing from the rocks. As near as we can tell, this is the very beginning. From here, the West Dolores River runs though the basin and then drops several thousand feet in elevation as other streams from the San Juan Mountains feed into it, eventually wending its way south-west toward the town of Dolores, where it feeds into the main branch of the Dolores River. From there it feeds McPhee Reservoir before making a journey through the rugged chasm of Dolores Canyon, now running due north, crossing Highway 90 at Bedrock, then taking in the clear waters of the San Miguel River. Then it takes a north-eastern direction and enters the isolated landscape of the Dolores Triangle, finally emptying into the mighty Colorado River near the Dewey Bridge. Put simply, this small, cold stream where we now stand is at the beginning of a very long journey.

The area around the stream is fertile with forbes and small grass, but no trees or shrubs like in the lower basin. Nearby, the water runs into tarn, or a small lake. The water is clear and blue, but what is interesting is that there is no outlet. Instead the water must go through a huge mound of of dirt and boulders.

I surmount the heap of rocks and as I get near the other side, I can hear the water flowing from deep within the ground. It sounds like noises coming from a pipe. The noise sounds hollow and it echoes.

Once on the other side, the river flows again and a carpet of green extends on either side.

Jordan tells me that if you soak your feet in the water for ten minutes and then lay down on the grass, it will help with aches and blisters. Supposedly he already tried it and lasted only two minutes.

I remove my socks and shoes and sit on the edge of a deeper portion of the fledgling stream. When I immerse my feet into the water, an instant shock seizes my entire body. It is freeeeeeezing! After only ten seconds, I pull them out, feeling a sensation between stinging and numbness. After going through this process about four more times, I decide that it is time to limp over (because I can't feel my feet) to the grass and lay down. I place a ball cap over my face and take a miniature snooze.