The Legend of the Indian Blanket

When passing on the freeway, if you know what you're looking for, one can spot a red-painted pictograph high on the cliffs. The glyph is sixteen feet across and four feet high, resembling the shape and design of an Indian blanket. It beckons to an earlier day before the freeway existed, and to a world much different than that of today.

The paint has been dated at 250 years old. If that is true, then the glyph could possibly be associated with the Pahvant, a band of the Paiute tribe. The legend itself does not come to us through the Paiutes, but through the local settlers that arrived in the 1850's.

According to the legend, many years ago a group of Paiutes were traveling through the area on their way to a winter camping area when the baby of one of the ladies passed away. Sadly, the mother had to bury her baby and move on. During the winter she was troubled with the thought of her baby being alone in the cold. She returned to the burial site during the spring and painted a blanket on the rock face. This way the baby could use the blanket when she was lonely and cold.

The following is a another depiction of the legend, written by Kathleen Lillywhite for the St. George News:

“According to legend, many years ago a Paiute Band traveled to a winter camping area. The frozen winter sun slipped behind a row of tamarisk shadows, and a baby girl was born. One little breath, then the wind swooped up the baby's cry. The mother held her close, wrapped her in a shawl and stroked the tiny body until it was cold.

“Using a dead branch that hung from a cottonwood tree, she dug a shallow grave at the base of a towering wall. The river babbled music to the weeping mother's sad song. The water gushed by as she slipped her baby into the earth and pushed cold dirt into a mound and covered her.

“Not many moons elapsed before the mother took up her basket of little clay paint pots―a pigment mixed of hematite mineral for the color red and blood, milk and honey as a binder. Combining urine to make a medium of liquid paint, she brushed colorful strokes to paint the blanket on the rock partition above her baby's grave. The loneliness was covered by a blanket to keep her baby warm.” ♠

Photo from across the canyon.  Arrows point to two different painted blankets.

Sources

Lillywhite, K. (2016, September 25). Ancients day; 100 hands of Moqui at Fremont Indian State Park. St. George News. https://www.stgeorgeutah.com/story-series/days-series/ancients-day-100-hands-of-moqui-at-fremont-indian-state-park/article_016aa8d0-93e9-5817-8de2-7d360d29628a.html

State of Utah Office of Museum Services. Sheep Shelter [brochure]. https://site.utah.gov

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.

Indian Peaks

There's always been something about the Indian Peak Range that has intrigued me. I can see it everyday as I drive home from work. It looms in the far distance—mysterious, enticing. The peak itself rises like a pyramid, and although it is 58 miles away, it is pronounced and prominent. I've been out there a couple times, but the area is so vast and so remote that I have barely scratched the surface. 

Rob and I drove out yesterday evening. It is a long drive—2 hours and 15 minutes to be exact, nearly all on dirt roads. By the time we reached our campsite we had seen wild horses in the distance, three antelope sprinting across the road, a group of deer disappear into the scrub oak, a lone coyote run up the hillside, and a small herd of cow elk disperse ahead of us. Every animal we saw seemed skittish. 

Wild horses.

Our drive was a lonely one. We didn't pass a single vehicle. There was the occasional cabin, and cattle all over the place. What a dry, dusty place to put a cow! Water would have to be hauled in. 

Indian Peaks is full of criss-crossing paths with interesting names like Rustlers Road, Jockey Road, Cougar Spar and Arrowhead Pass. We turned from one road to the next as we climbed in elevation. Juniper trees were replaced with scrub oak and the occasional pine. Here is where we saw the elk. 

Indian Peak.

I thought the knob on this hill had a SMALL resemblance to the Devil's Tower in Wyoming.

We chose to camp beneath the shadows of Indian Peak. The wind had been blowing all day and here was no exception. To the north-east ran a prominent butte that attracted the eye. The top of it reminded me of the Devil's Tower in Wyoming. To the east sat a wide valley with another mountain range on the other side. We still hadn't seen another soul. It was a lovely place to be. 

The sun was already setting by the time we set up camp. The wind was brisk. Rob had a big piece of plywood he fitted to the bed of his truck to cover the ribs. He placed a tarp over that, then a thick foam mattress. We slept on the pad in the bed of his truck that night, under the stars. We heard a couple of coyotes barking, but the wind was too swift to hear much. 

We slept in the back of Rob's truck.

As I slept that night I thought about the Paiutes who used to live out here. It seems like such a remote place to live when you're traveling on foot. Somewhere out here is a Paiute cemetery. I once asked an elder where it was and he wouldn't tell me. He said it was mostly over-grown with sage brush and would be hard to find. They plan on letting it be reclaimed by nature. 

The Paiutes roamed this area and considered many places sacred. Somewhere in this area is a rock called “po-ar-imp timp,” a stone believed to possess magical healing powers. The Indians would come to the place of the rock and camp several days. After putting a pebble from their home creek onto this magical rock, they would place their sick atop where they would miraculously be healed. 

Another such stone had the opposite effect. It was called Death Rock and was located in a different location in the Indian Peak Range. This was a flat rock about twenty feet across, and it is said that if you bedded down here at night, you'd not wake up alive. Not only did healthy men die here, but sometimes they would bring their elderly who couldn't keep up with the movements of the tribe. They would make a bed on the rock and by morning would be enjoying their “happy hunting grounds.” 

We slept in the back of Rob's truck. 

That night I had a dream that a bobcat jumped on top of my bag. I literally tried yelling for Rob to get it off, but my voice and body were paralyzed. The wind continued to howl and played all sorts of games with my mind. 

Morning came and I stayed in my bag long enough for the sun to warm the air. We ate a bowl of granola in the cab of the truck and then packed up. 

Beginning our hike to the top of Indian Peak.

Today would be the day I would climb to the top of Indian Peak. I had dreamt of it for a long time. I have asked a lot of people and have never met anyone else who has climbed it. Was it too remote? Too insignificant? Too hard? 

For me there was a fascination with the peak. I don't know why. It doesn't even top 10,000 feet. I don't know that it is on anyone else's bucket list. Usually if I ask anyone about Indian Peak they will ask, “Where's that at?” 

So we packed up camp and drove a couple more miles along the dirt road until we were on the north side of the peak. For some reason or a fence cuts the peak in half, running all the way from the north side to the south. Our hike would be easy if we just followed the fence . . . or so we thought. 

View looking east.

Mountain range running north.

There was never an easy moment on this hike. Although the line between the beginning and the peak was only one mile, the true path to get there was extremely steep, full of bush-whacking. 

Even before we began the ascent, Rob knew he had made a mistake wearing shorts. By the time we had covered a third of a mile, the skin below his knees was marked with bloody scrapes. 

We sat down on a rock and rested for a few minutes. The path to this point was intermittent, and probably nothing more than a game trail. It more or less followed the fence, but growth of mountain mahogany and thickets choked out much of the path. 

Trail getting steep.

We dropped into a small saddle and then the slope really got steep. Any semblance of a path disappeared. 

It was at this point that Rob decided to turn back. The decision was not made lightly. If a medical emergency were to happen with me, I would be difficult to find. The hike was proving to be too much for Rob. 

I continued on, determined not to stop until I reached the summit. At this elevation the wildflowers grew in abundance, their delicate petals being whipped in the wind. 

I made my way back to the fence-line and was pleasantly surprised to find a trail. By now the steep route passed through pine trees. It was a sign I was getting higher in elevation. I startled a lone pine hen and it flapped into the air. 

This stretch of the climb required all my effort. As you may recall, I have had several health issues this last year and intense sport has been something I have struggled to do. Climbing uphill has been difficult. In fact, this hill right now was undoubtedly the toughest hill I had climbed all year. 

I was determined there would be no medical emergency. At the same time, however, I could see little yellow dots floating in the air. At another time I felt light-headed. But I pushed ahead, hoping the summit was soon. 

. . . and at last I arrived! 

Indian Peak summit, elevation 9790 feet.

Geological survey marker.

From the summit looking south.

The summit of Indian Peak stands only at 9,790 feet above sea level. As expected, I was the only one up there. The wind blew furiously. From the top I could see a lot of mountains and valleys that I didn't know the name of . . . except Wheeler Peak in the Snake Range. That was in the northwest, covered in a haze of dust. 

I laid down and took a five-minute nap. It was a difficult, but satisfying one-mile climb. In that one mile I ascended nearly 2,000 feet. Nothing shabby about that. 

I took a final look at the territory below. Remote and isolated. How did the Indians live here without even a horse? But it seemed like a great place for a deer to live. Plenty of room to wander and plenty of time to let their antlers grow thick and wide. Maybe that's why the Indians stayed out here. ♠

 

 

Paiute Powwow (from an outside perspective)

For me it is the rhythmic pounding of the drums that draws allure. Pa-POOM, pa-POOM, pa-POOM. Over and over. Pa-POOM, pa-POOM, pa-POOM! And then the shrill scream of the singers, like a pack of wild coyotes screaming in the night.
 
I believe tonight was my fourth powwow. I arrived at the Paiute tribal grounds just ten minutes before the grand entry. It didn't go as planned.
 
Participants and onlookers gathered in a large circle on the grass, beneath shade huts and on chairs and feet. Beyond all of us, a beautiful backdrop of red hills that are iconic of Cedar City.
 

A tall man with two long dark braids stood and addressed the crowd. He had bad news. He announced that his uncle, Bryant Jake, had died just 45 minutes ago and they were postponing the grand entry until 7:30 so family members could go to his house and pay their respects before they took the body away.
 
This took me off-guard. I met and talked with Bryant just a few months earlier. He was dying from cancer, but looked fairly healthy the day I saw him. I asked him about an old burial site west of town, and he—rightfully so—was reluctant to tell me much about it. There are very few people left who know the location of that site.
 
During the time of powwow, the beating of drums and high-pitched chanting reverberates over the hills and can be heard through all the neighborhood. It can be a surreal experience. Bryant Jake lived just a couple blocks away. No doubt that as he lay dying at his home, it was as if the spirits were calling him to his eternal home.
 

A powwow is a gathering of many Indian tribes. Here there were Shoshone, Ute, Navajo, different bands of Paiute. In the past I have seen Aztec from Southern California and a tribe from Canada. A drummer near us this evening came from Kansas. I have a pretty good feel of how the local Paiute look, as well as some of the Ute and Navajo around the state, but as I walked around the grounds, it was obvious that there were many from distant places, whose facial features and skin tone were different.
 
It is also interesting to note the difference between Natives and Anglos. We, the Anglos, are curious. We come with our big cameras and phones to record the event. The Natives just participate.
 
I talked with a white guy from Dallas, Texas who had a camera and was filming a documentary on the local Paiutes. For the last three years he has interviewed members and attended other tribal events. Of particular interest he has followed the recent controversy where our local school board voted (to the ire of much of the community) to change the “Redmen” mascot at the local high school.—I will note that I saw a local Paiute lady wearing a Redmen sweater at the powwow.
 

When the grand entry began, the drums began to beat and a long line of men, women and children from all the different tribes made their way into the inner circle of the grounds, some walking, and others stomping their feet in dance. They wore regalia of feathers, bells, tall moccasins and costumes of color. Some painted their face. One of the men wore a headdress. A woman wore a leather shawl and twirled like a flamenco dancer. All in all, it was a beautiful sight.
 
At the lead of the long procession marched the veterans holding three different flags, including that of the Paiute Tribe, state of Utah, and United States. I am always impressed at how the Natives are so patriotic. And to be a veteran is held in high regard among the community.
 
As the the evening continued, more dancing, singing and drumming ensued. I believe there is a competition for each of these, as there are tags with numbers attached to the regalia. I will admit that I don't understand everything that goes on at a powwow, but I am trying to learn more each year.
 

I did notice, however, that they pay high respect to their elders. At one point they brought an elderly lady in a wheelchair and her family into the circle and honored her by talking of her and singing to her. (When I say “sing” I mean they beat on the drums and the drummers made their high-pitched shrill that is typical powwow music.) Sometimes the singing just sounds like beautiful noise, but sometimes I can tell there are words in there, most likely of native tongue.
 
Upon observing the elderly lady's family, I noticed that several were Anglo, meaning some of the kids probably inter-married. This is a microcosm of their culture as they have had to adopt many of the white-man ways over the past 170 years. Say what you'd like about inter-racial marriages, but within two or three generations, usually one of the two races is usually wiped away from the family culture. I couldn't help but to feel a twinge of sorrow for the old lady, knowing that more than likely, it will be the Paiute culture that disappears from her descendants.
 

As a person who is curious of history and culture, I have always been fascinated with the powwow and how it relates to the native people, which in this case is the Paiute. There seems to be powwows spread across the western United States, yet I don't believe the celebration is indigenous with each of the tribes that do it. From my understanding, the powwow originates with the Plains Indians, who are very far away from Cedar City.
 
So, if the powwow is a transplant to the Paiutes, then when did it come and what sort of dances did they do before it arrived? And furthermore, does the powwow do justice in carrying on local traditions, or does it aid an environment where local traditions and customs are inadvertently lost?
 

I asked around a bit and got a few answers. The first powwow held in Cedar City was in 1980 in commemoration for the tribe being restored its Federal recognition. I believe they have had powwows every year since then.
 
A tribal friend told me that in the past they held Bear, Round, and Sun Dances. She has seen pictures of them dating to around the 1940's. She said they used to wear buckskin, made of deer, and that she recalls her grandmother sewing gauntlets, which are a type of glove made of leather.
 

I think it is very difficult to know which dances and traditions are indigenous to the local Paiutes here in Cedar City. From what I understand, even before the white man came, they were very poor and nomadic. Does that mean they had few customs of their own? I don't know. Perhaps they met with bordering bands, such as the Shivwits or the Pahvant, during times such as harvest and held celebrations. What interactions did they have with their distant cousins, the Utes? I believe the Bear Dance is of Ute origin.
 
The more and more I observe Native people, I realize that they tend to cling to each other. Their tribe affiliation becomes less important. There are so few of them that they strive for strength in numbers. This makes sense to me. So, therefore, even though a powwow may have originated on the Plains, this is irrelevant. A powwow is an excuse to get together and celebrate their similar heritage.
 
I found a quote that substantiates this idea: “A powwow is a gathering, it's a celebration. A powwow used to be to welcome the spring or you'd have a powwow after a good harvest, or you'd have a powwow for a celebration, or if someone was having a significant birthday. Now-a-days powwows are year round, any weekend, any calendar you can find powwows somewhere in the U.S. Or Canada. For me, a powwow is a gathering to see old friends and to make new friends.” (Tina Calamity, The Spanish Trail Suite Interviews)
 

As the evening moved forward, the shadows on the dancers grew longer before they completely faded away into the darkness of twilight. But now the big field lights came on the dancers continued to dance and the drums continued their beat.
 
There are still a lot of questions that remain unanswered for me, but that's alright. I go with the flow. But one thing I am sure of is that it is no coincidence that Bryant Jake died on this day at this time, with all his family members here. I'm sure the spirits were on the other side, being summoned by the rhythm of the drums, the shrill of the scream, and the jingling of the bells to bring him into the next world. ♠