Shumway, Arizona

Old schoolhouse in Shumway, Arizona.

During the early summer of 1839 Mormon missionary, Elisha Groves, passed through the Wisconsin countryside. He stopped to visit a couple of men working at a sawmill. 

“What brings you to this part of the country?” one of them asked. 

“I'm a preacher,” answered Elisha. 

Half jokingly the other man asked, “What do you preach?” 

In a solemn manner Elisha answered, “I preach Jesus Christ by the power of God.” 

After pondering the preacher's statement, one of the young men replied, “That sounds alright. If you do that, we will listen.” 

Elisha Groves bore witness to them that the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored to the earth and showed them a copy of the Book of Mormon. They were very interested and asked if they might read it. Elisha said they could, and also invited them to a meeting of the young church. 

Charles Shumway.

One of these young men was Charles Shumway, probably thirty-three years old at the time. He seemed very impressed with the message of Elder Groves and took the invitation to heart. He read and studied the Book of Mormon and prayed about it. He felt it was true, but was not one to accept things blindly.

During one of the meetings held by the Elders, a mob broke in and threatened to kill Elisha Groves. When Charles saw what was happening “it came to him all at once as if someone had spoken to him, that what the missionary was telling him was the truth, and that he must defend him.” 

Charles Shumway stepped between Elisha and the mob and said, “If you commit this terrible crime, it will be over my dead body!” The mob backed away, hindered in their purpose. Those in the little meeting were left in peace. 

Charles Shumway was soon baptized as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and never looked back. He became a strong and faithful member of the church and could be depended upon to carry out many difficult tasks as the young church pioneered westward. 

In the years that followed, Charles became a body guard to the prophet Joseph Smith in Nauvoo, and later led the first group of wagons over the frozen Mississippi River as they began their trek to the West. He arrived in the Salt Lake Valley two days before Brigham Young in 1847. In Utah he helped settle the Sanpete Valley, Payson, South Cottonwood, Mendon, Wellsville, and Kanab. 

In 1880 he moved southward into Arizona, following his sons who had driven a herd of cattle there the previous year. They lived in Concho, a small town west of St. Johns where the church had bought property. They began to have trouble with some of the Mexicans and Indians already living in the area so they decided to move again. 

Silver Creek as it runs through Spring Valley, now called Shumway Valley.

This time they moved further west to a place called Spring Valley, so-called because of the abundance of springs. He purchased land and water rights and this became home to two Shumway families. Charles built a house, constructed a gristmill, planted orchards and remained here the rest of his life. The town would later be renamed in his honor. 

To be sure, Charles Shumway and his family were not the first to settle on the banks of Silver Creek. The towns of Snowflake, Taylor and Shumway are all side by side, and all are along Silver Creek. James Stinson, a non-Mormon, had a ranch at the current location of Snowflake. He was bought out in 1878 by William Flake, a Mormon. James Pearce, also a Mormon, arrived six months prior to Flake and squatted on land at present-day Taylor. 

Old Shumway Gristmill.

Shortly afterward Pearce found some land a few miles upstream on Silver Creek that he felt could be irrigated. A man by the name of Felix Scott had a small farm there and Pearce traded it for two cows. The men labored to till the ground and plant what they could during the last few months of summer. They scooped out dirt and built a dugout. It was in that humble home that Elizabeth Pearce was born—the first baby born in the future location of Shumway, Arizona. 

Undoubtedly, the Stinson's, Pearce's and Scott's were not the first families here either. When the Denham family moved to Shumway a decade later, they lived in an “old rock house for a while which was in the lower part of the field near the old Indian ruins where a number of skeletons and pottery ha[d] been dug up.” 

Another old-timer had this to say about the previous settlers in the valley: “There were several large burial grounds which were the remains of what were undoubtedly fortifications. In the valley were also remains of an old canal along the hillside and ruins of an ancient village which had a considerable population at one time. The possibility has also been advanced that this valley had been a battlefield between warring tribes. The burial grounds had been violated by vandals searching for pottery which the Indians placed at the head of their dead and also by archaeologists who dug up the skeletons and used them for scientific purposes.” 

Concerning Charles Shumway, I couldn't find a lot of detail of his time in Shumway. He remained there for the balance of his life, except for a brief return to the Kanab area. Before his death he was ordained a Patriarch by Apostle Henry Smith. He died on May 21, 1898 and was buried in Taylor (because Shumway didn't yet have a cemetery) alongside his wife, Louisa Minnerly. In later years he would be joined in burial by another wife, Elizabeth Jardine. 

Grave of Charles Shumway in middle.  Wives Elizabeth Jardine on left, Louisa Minnerly on right. Taylor, Arizona Cemetery.

Charles and Louisa Minnerly Shumway.

The little community took on the name of Shumway in 1891. That same year they received a post office and a district school. The town sought to honor the stalwart pioneer that lived in their midst. The year before he died, Charles was celebrated as the oldest living survivor of the first pioneer company of 1847. 

Over the years new families moved into Shumway. Of interest is that of Llewellen and Sybil Harris. In 1895 they planned to move to Old Mexico, but after having issues at the border, they returned to Mesa, Arizona. Sybil's health took a turn for the worse, so they left the heat and headed for the mountains to a town called Linden. They lived there a few years while she regained her health, after-which they moved a few miles north to Shumway. There they built an adobe house and lived until Llewellen's death in 1906. The interesting connection is that Sybil was the daughter of Elisha Groves, the missionary who baptized Charles Shumway in 1839. 

During his time in Shumway, the following story is told of Llewellen: “The Indian missionary, old Llewelyn Harris, probably knew the Indians better than anyone. For many years he had labored as a Mormon missionary to the Navajo and Hopi Indians and was almost like an Indian himself. About once a year he would load his scrawny pony with camp gear, including such items as blankets and food, camp utensils with an axe and shovel and go off into the mountains or desert for days at a time. He would return with a sack filled with roots and herbs and under his direction his wife would concoct a number of tonics, bitters and salves which he had learned to make from the Indians with whom he had labored as a missionary. Many of these remedies were surprisingly effective in curing the aliments of the people.” 

Family of Llewellen and Sybil Harris.

Some of the best descriptions I found of Shumway in earlier days came from Albert Minnerly Shumway, a grandson to Charles. In his autobiography he states: “The small town of Shumway, where I was born, lies in a beautiful valley located on Silver Creek in northeastern Arizona. Unfortunately there is no record, and no one seems to know who discovered this valley. Whoever it was must have been impressed by the many clear sparkling springs of water which lined the stream from the point where it emerged from the canyon at the upper end of the valley to its confluence with Showlow Creek at the lower end of the valley. The length of the valley is approximately one and one half miles, while the width varies from about one half to one mile. Because of the many springs, the valley was first called Spring Valley. The settlement was named Shumway after my grandfather Charles Shumway who settled there in the year 1882.” 

Albert further expounded on the geography: “The town is surrounded on the east and south and southwest by a mesa or flat-topped tableland. This mesa was formed of lava and volcanic ash which ages before had poured from the butte, a small volcanic cone with an almost perfect crater in the top. This butte is located on top of the mesa, about one mile south and west of the valley. Silver Creek rises from a large and beautiful spring located about ten miles southeast of Spring Valley and just above what is now the Bill Bourdon Ranch. This ranch was at one time the headquarters ranch of the old Indian scout Croyden C. Cooley who lived there for three years before returning to his ranch in Showlow. The stream had cut a gorge through the tableland or plateau and the canyon was the part which lies between the Solomon Ranch and our valley. There were many holes in the rimrock on the east side of the canyon. These were called “devil dens” and the big boys loved to scare the small boys by telling them that the devil actually lived there and had been seen by them. 

“Half a mile to the north and slightly to the west on the road to Taylor is what we call Bald Hill, there being no trees on the slope facing the valley. This side of the hill was quite steep and was a good place for sleighing. The road passed over the top of the hill and it was here that we always looked for the first appearance of those whom we were expecting or any other traveler who might be coming our way.”

View of Shumway Valley.

After reading stories from some of the former residents, it was now my turn to give an accounting of Shumway. I have longed to come here. Charles Shumway is my great-great-great grandfather and I have always been interested in places connected with my heritage. 

The small community is located just a few miles south of Taylor. There are no businesses, but ample farmland and green pastures nestled inside a little valley. Silver Creek runs through the middle of the valley providing ample water for livestock and irrigation. 

Old Shumway Schoolhouse.

We stopped at the old schoolhouse. It has been restored in recent years. We peered inside the window and could see school desks and pictures on the wall, but the door was locked and we couldn't go inside. I secretly hoped that someone driving past would stop and offer to unlock the doors and give us insider tips on what to see. But that didn't happen. 

Our hotel in Taylor had an old brochure in the lobby that gave information on the schoolhouse. It gave two contact numbers: one for Barbara and the other for Shirley. I called both numbers, hopeful that they could let us in. Only one of the numbers worked. An old man answered the phone and when I asked for Barbara he paused and then responded, “She's been gone for two years now.” I felt bad and now realized that our brochure was out of date. 

But it gave useful information on the schoolhouse. It is the only brick one-room school still standing in Arizona. Construction began in 1900 and was completed in 1904. The bricks were made locally. The school bell rang three times each morning to announce the beginning of another school day. One teacher taught grades 1-8. The school was also used as a church and hosted community activities. 

Old bridge behind the schoolhouse.  Probably crossed Silver Creek at one time.

The school closed in 1947 and students attended class in Taylor. Over the years it sat in disrepair and it wasn't until 1997 that the process of restoration began. 

We walked around the building and imagined what it would have been like a hundred years ago. On the north side dozens of students have etched their names into the bricks. Some had dates and the oldest I found was from the 1930's. There was a horseshoe pit and old farm equipment set out for display. Behind was an old bridge that I'm sure crossed the creek at one time. A few cottonwood trees provided shade and a white picket fence surrounded the perimeter. 

One of many etchings on the schoolhouse.

Horses across the road.

Across the road some horses fed in a field. They didn't seem to mind when I took their picture. The roads in Shumway (there are only two of them) are narrow and see little traffic. 

We drove to the other side of Silver Creek and up onto the rim. It provided a great view and gave proof that it is a very fertile valley. 

We then took Shumway Road toward Taylor. I knew there was more to the valley that I just didn't know. It was hidden from my knowledge. Where did Charles Shumway live? Were there old buildings still here from the 1800's? Are there names carved into any of the rocks above the valley? 

As we drove past farmland, each was posted as no trespassing. Cattle grazed in pastures. Mailboxes leaned next to the road. A tire swing hung from an old cottonwood tree.—Who lived there? Were they Shumway descendants? I knew they still lingered because I saw the name on a billboard along the highway. Many of these questions I would never know, but was satisfied for now with my visit. 

Old tree with tire swing.

One of the earliest settlers of Spring Valley was Wilson Glenn Shumway, who was a brother to my great-great grandfather, Peter. Wilson moved to Shumway close to the same time as his father, Charles, leaving the little settlement of Concho where they had problems with Indians led by Geronimo.

Wilson raised his nine children in Shumway and remained there all his life. He lived on a small farm of 10 to 12 acres and had an orchard that produced tasty fruit. He was very involved in church and other civic responsibilities. 

Zane Grey, the famous Western novelist, used to be a frequent guest in the home of Wilson Shumway. Grey maintained a cabin under the Mogollom Rim and the stage route from the rail station in Holbrook to the Mogollom Rim passed directly through Shumway, and even more specifically, stopped right in front of Wilson's home. 

By this time Wilson was an old man and Zane was in the dawn of his career. They sat for hours on his front porch, Wilson telling stories of the Old West and Zane intently listening. 

Wilson Shumway and family.

In 1912 Zane Grey published his novel Riders of the Purple Sage, which was very disparaging toward the Mormons. Wilson was furious and felt Grey had betrayed him by misrepresenting the church. All of the kids greatly anticipated Grey's next visit, hoping their father would give him a tongue-lashing he would never forget. 

To their disappointment, the next visit from Zane Grey was a quiet one. They had a friendly conversation on the porch and there was no tongue-lashing to be seen. Wilson later said that Grey apologized to to him for saying so many mean things about the Mormons and promised to never do it again in any of his novels. 

Wilson lived another dozen years. His wife passed away in 1924 and he surpassed her by nine months. The night before he died he asked his son, Wallace, to come and release him with a Priesthood blessing. Three hours after the blessing he said, “Here she is after me already.” He passed away peacefully the following morning. 

Shumway Cemetery.

Grave of Wilson Glenn Shumway.

On the west side of Shumway, across the highway, is a small dirt cemetery nestled among the juniper trees and wild grass. There is a modest headstone which reads: “In Memory of Wilson Glenn Shumway, Born Manti, Utah December 6, 1850; Died Shumway, Arizona, April 19, 1925.” 

Wilson was one of the earlier burials in the Shumway Cemetery. Prior to this era people were interred at the cemetery in Taylor. 

It is interesting to follow the course of a people and of a nation. Small decisions affect an infinite amount of people forever onward. And so it was with Charles Shumway, when in 1839 a Mormon missionary passed through the Wisconsin countryside and stopped to visit a couple of men working at a sawmill. ♠ 

 

Decedents of Charles Shumway in front of welcoming sign at Shumway, Arizona.

 

The Death of Alfred Whatcott (and what happened afterward)

The first European settlers arrived in the Panguitch Valley on March 16, 1864. They were hardy pioneers for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, most of them passing over difficult mountain terrain from Parowan or Beaver. Although higher in elevation, the valley seemed promising due to the relatively large water supply from the Sevier River. 

The new settlers hastily built “brush shanties and cellars” until more substantial accommodations could be built. A canal was dug to bring water to the fields. The townsite was surveyed and logs were hauled from the mountain. They named their new town “Fairview.” 

These early days were very grueling. Due to the difficulty of plowing and planting crops, coupled with the shorter growing season, the fall harvest was not as bountiful as they had hoped. And to make matters worse, the winter of 1864-65 was severe. Heavy snows blocked the passes before the local people could get their meager wheat harvest to the flour mills. They had to find other creative ways to grind their wheat. The men fished and caught whatever small game they could, but it wasn't enough to sustain the starving community. 

Old cabin in Panguitch Valley.  Mount Dutton in background.

It was during this time that a group of seven men made a journey over the mountain to Parowan to get provisions. The drifts were so deep that their light wagon and animals got bogged in the snow and couldn't move. Walking wouldn't do any good either because that, too, resulted in them sinking in the snow. 

A story that is now memorialized tells of the small group praying in a circle and then being inspired with the idea of laying quilts down and walking over the quilts. This they did, and to their amazement they did not sink in the snow. They continued all the way to Parowan where they successfully acquired supplies, which they brought back to the starving little town. 

Heavy snows resulted in heavy runoff the next spring. The heavy runoff in turn transformed the modest Sevier River into a swollen torrent that demanded caution and respect. The swollen river brought the first tragedy to the Panguitch community with the death of Alfred Whatcott. 

Cattle have always been a prominent scene in Panguitch Valley.

Alfred Whatcott was born in 1835 in Bethel Green on the east side of London. At an early age he became acquainted with grief and suffering. His father died when he was 7 or 8, then a few years later a sister died, and then a brother. By the age of 12 his mother died and Alfred was left an orphan. 

We don't know what Alfred did to survive during those difficult years after becoming an orphan, but we do know that at the age of 15 he became indentured as an apprentice on a merchant ship. He was bound for six years to Sed Nymph, a ship based in Stockton in northern England. 

Although the details of the story are lost in history, we know that in 1854 Alfred was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. This would be a decision that would change the course of his life. Also, likely in that same year, he met Isabella Paxton. They fell in love and were married three years later. 

In 1863 the young family decided to join the saints in Utah. They boarded a ship from England to New York City, rode the train to Nebraska, then walked the wagon trail to Salt Lake City. They first lived 230 miles south in Parowan. They weren't there long before they decided to move over the mountain and settle in Fairview in the Panguitch Valley. 

Sevier River.

That brings us to May 11, 1865. One account claims that Alfred Whatcott was attempting to cross the Sevier River with a herd of cattle. Another, more probable account, claims that he had already crossed the river safely to obtain a load of posts for the new settlement. Whichever the case, the river was swollen from spring runoff and as he attempted to cross the river again, most likely with a large load of posts, his wagon capsized and Alfred was thrown into the river, unable to make it ashore. 

No one else was there, so it is impossible to know the exact details of the incident. To me it makes more sense that he was hauling posts because as some can testify, fast-moving water combined with debris or logs can be a dangerous combination. Maybe he hit his head or got sucked under. The Sevier River, even in its most swollen condition, is not a gigantic body of water. Therefore, I think there had to be another factor that contributed to Alfred's drowning. 

As soon as news of Alfred Whatcott's accident reached the townspeople, several men answered the call and spent several days searching for the body to no avail. The news must have been devastating to Isabella. They were in a new and wild land and she was a mother of young children. She was pregnant with their fourth child. And now her husband was drowned and the body was nowhere to be found.

John Black.

Three weeks later a miraculous incident took place in the cabin of John Black, a brother-in-law to Alfred and Isabella. As he was working he looked up and saw Alfred standing in the doorway. 

“I thought you drowned?” John exclaimed with surprise. 

Alfred assured him that he was indeed dead, but had come to help them find his body. He explained that those searching for his body had passed by it several times, but couldn't find it because it was covered with posts. He revealed that the posts were hidden behind a clump of bushes around a bend of the river. He gave enough detail that John Black knew exactly where to go. Alfred then asked that some men be sent out on a raft to retrieve his body. After giving his message, Alfred Whatcott simply smiled and faded away. 

You can imagine the surprise of Isabella when her brother-in-law came with the news that her husband had just visited him. John wasted no time in gathering a group of men to locate the body. And sure enough, it was located exactly where Alfred described: beneath the posts that were hidden behind the bush. 

Having been three weeks, the body was quite decomposed. They chose to bury him on the shore of the river. Some time later his remains were transferred to the Panguitch Cemetery. It remains there this day and is the only Whatcott buried in the cemetery. Isabella gave birth to a baby son four months later. Not long after that they moved to Kanosh. 

Grave of Alfred Whatcott in Panguitch Cemetery.

This story has a couple different versions, but this account is given by Alfred's oldest son, Henry, who paid a visit to John Black before he died. Uncle John told the story the same as he always had, swearing it was true. Henry pressed him further asking if he was sure it wasn't a dream. “No,” he responded. “I wasn't dreaming. It was in the afternoon and I was as wide awake as I am now.” 

For me, personally, I love stories such as these. A deeper study of Mormon history reveals many stories of angels, clairvoyant dreams, faith, miraculous healings and visions. These stories build my testimony and give me hope that there is life after death, and attest to me that there is a greater purpose to life. ♠

 

Sevier River at dusk.  Sandy Peak in background.

 

San Pedro Market

One of the craziest, most chaotic markets I have ever seen is the San Pedro Market in the high elevations of Cusco, Peru. 

The market sprawled into all the streets surrounding the actual building of San Pedro. There was barely enough room to walk around. Vendors with fruits, potatoes, herbs, and everything else were overflowing onto the sidewalk while traffic on a single-lane road tried to push through. Horns honked. Exhaust blew. Pedestrians pushed through. A young boy urinated wherever he found room on the cobble-stoned street. 

I wished I could have taken pictures with my eyes, but I had to do the second-best thing⸺with my camera, trying to be as stealthy as possible. It was the people and their goods I wanted to capture, especially the Inca ladies in traditional dress, or with their babies wrapped on their backs. 

I looked at the food and filth and concluded that it was no wonder so many foreign tourists caught a bug while traveling to Peru. This food would be purchased and brought to the eating establishments where they would be prepared on a plate. 

Still, I was fascinated. 

Then we passed the meat section. Piles of heart, liver, hooves, jugular veins. It smelled the same as when I gut a deer. Blood and rotting stomach. It was here we saw chicken legs, skinned guinea pigs⸺and live bugs. 

At one point we decided to take a break on the steps of San Pedro Church, a 320-year-old house of worship watching over the market. Jenna and I plotted our next move when a foul and drunken man with dark hair and pudgy hands made his way toward us. He nearly fell over the guy next to us, then turned our direction and mumbled something in Spanish. I grabbed Jenna's arm, ready to protect her, but when he began to sway toward us, we quickly stood up and walked away. He spewed a few curse words, but we only smiled. As we gained distance we turned around and noticed he was getting lectured by a policeman. 

From one adventure to the next, we continued through the market, now passing through food being cooked. Ladies stood in front of large kettles with a fire lit below and steam rising above. Patrons sat on little plastic stools around the kettle and ate bowls of appetizing food. A common dish appeared to be rice with a drumstick and fried egg on top; or caldo de gallina, a brothy soup with noodles and chunk of chicken.

Some ladies grilled meat and others made juice. Ice cream was also popular. At the far end were booths of flowers. 

Bathrooms were of interest to me in Peru, and those at San Pedro Market were no exception. I paid the man at the booth 50 soles to enter, and he in return gave me a piece of toilet paper. The room I entered was large and had no door to separate it from the outside. Men and women alike entered inside. The room reeked of urine and feces. Although lines of enclosed stalls filled most of the room, there was also a line of urinals for the men, which was not covered at all. In my stall there was no seat on the toilet.⸺Completely squalid conditions for a food market! 

We ended our tour by walking through the artisan section. Here they have any souvenir a tourist might want: beenies, scarfs, coin purses, alpaca sweaters, Inca figurines and much more. There were no prices listed, so with everything we had to ask, then haggle. 

Eventually the market fizzled out and the normal chaos of Cusco streets filtered in. The market of San Pedro was definitely an experience we won't forget! ♠

 

 

Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata

We crossed the river on the old Inca Bridge and walked along a trail at the foot of a steep mountain slope. The trail, they say, is ancient and was used by the Inca to haul their quarried stone.

Just a few minutes into the hike we came across an old wall and structures. The rooms were made of gray rock and bushes grew within. The tops of the walls had collapsed. 

What a beautiful sight! To our right tumbled the Urubamba River, whose waters would eventually reach the Amazon. Humongous mountains towered all around. On the other side of the valley was the elusive Mount Veronica, whose snow-capped peak was now veiled behind a band of constant clouds. At times there were pockets when we could see a flank, or perhaps a quick glimpse of the summit. But in an instant it was veiled again. Mount Veronica towered at 19,334 feet. 

Urubamba River.

Village of Ollantaytambo.

In the beginning, the trail gained elevation slowly. Across the valley to our right we could see the town of Ollantaytambo and the massive ruins of the same name on the hillside. 

Our destination was the Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata, an Inca ruin near the crest of the mountain. We would be climbing over 4,000 feet to get there, and I prayed dearly that my body would allow me to do it. 

One of many old ruins on the trail to Inti Punku.

Trail to Inti Punku.

Village of Cachiquata in the Sacred Valley of Peru.

After the first resting point, which included a stone hut with shade, the trail took a sharp turn and began to climb even steeper. Here we could get see a shack where someone lived with a dog outside barking. It is mind-boggling to me that someone would live this far up. There were no roads anywhere near here! 

The foliage on these steep hillsides was not lush. From a distance they appeared bare, but walking through it was obvious that there was plenty of growth. Although we were above 10,000 feet, it reminded me much of what could be found in a desert: cactus, yucca-like plants the height of a human, and another plant similar to a manzanita tree. 

Ten minutes later we could hear the sound of flowing water. It was a rivulet shooting down the slope. It ran in a stone canal . . . one that had probably been in use for 800 years or longer. The Inca were masters of controlling water. 

Shaded rest-house along the trail.

The trail took a sharp turn and began to climb even steeper.

Shack located high on the mountain slope.

Here we could hear the sound of flowing water.

The Inca were masters at channeling water.

As we continued, the trail became steeper. We passed a team of Peruvian natives who were trotting down the hill with a group of pack horses. My guess is that they hauled them up for hikers. 

We passed the old quarry site where stones were hewn from the mountain and hauled down to the valley. The whole idea of the quarry being so far away blows my mind. Some of the rocks at Ollantaytambo are so big that they're considered megalithic. And how did they haul them down without pack animals like horses or oxen? 

We also saw a few thimble-shaped stone structures called chullpas. These were burial tombs used by a pre-Inca people. They are scattered around several places in Peru. Originally the corpses were buried in the fetal position along with some of their belongings, but nowadays the chullpas are empty. 

Chullpas.

Looking upward toward to old Inca quarry site.

Stone remains at the quarry site.

Around this point the slope of the trail really gave us a beating. I am no longer young, and health issues have taken a toll. We continued forward, albeit slowly. 

Much to our surprise we found cattle at this high elevation near 11,000 feet. The cows nibbled on grass and basked in the sun as if it were nothing. 

Beyond the cattle we came across another group of Inca houses. With the exception of the roof they were very well preserved. Each had a door and inside the room were several niches along the wall. 

We took a break here⸺on the front lawn of these old homes. And what a view! Mount Veronica rose even more majestically from this altitude, now clearing up from cloud cover. We sat on the fluffy green grass that felt as soft as any bed. We sipped Gatorade and ate a candy bar. 

From here we now had a good, albeit distant view of the sun gate. The stone edifice appeared as a tiny silhouette on the top of the mountain, with a piercing hole on its face.⸺We were getting closer! 

Much of the trail had stone steps built into it, probably ancient in origin.

High-elevation cow.

Old structure along the trail, perhaps homes for the quarry workers.

Jenna takes a break on the "front lawn."

Mount Veronica, elevation 19,334 feet.

Mount Veronica on right and sun gate on the left.

We spent the next half hour completing the final ascent. When we arrived, it was probably the grandest view I've ever seen. Not only did we have a front-row seat to view Mount Veronica, but we could also see the other side of the mountain, further into the Sacred Valley. Our panoramic view gave sight to several other snow-capped peaks, each with their own rugged destination. 

Inti Punku, literally translated from Quechua, means “sun door.” The stone building, which I believe is unfinished, has a set of stairs leading to an opening in a wall. Crossing the threshold through the door brings the visitor into an open-air room, with walls only a few feet high. Beyond this ancient temple stands Mount Veronica, which, from the right angle, can be framed through the door. 

The Sun Gate possibly worked as an astronomical observatory. It lines up perfectly with the constellation Pleiades and is closely associated with Winter Solstice and the Andean New Year. 

Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata.

Looking south from the sun gate.

It is interesting that Inti Punku served as an inter-dimensional bridge between the world of the living and dead. I have heard other Native American myths of there being a portal to the afterlife and I would love to find the origin of these beliefs. 

My altimeter measured our elevation at 12,820 feet. We were not, however, the tallest peak on our hillside. To our south stood a very rocky peak and I noticed a well-used trail leading to it up the backside. It would be at least a couple miles one-way if we were to go there, but we had neither the time nor energy for that. 

We spent an hour at the sun gate, taking pictures from every angle imaginable. We knew we had to relish every second. 

The Sun Gate of Inti Punku Cachiccata should not be confused with the sun gate at Machu Picchu.

Looking east into the Sacred Valley and Ollantaytambo. Other high peaks in the distance.

Sun Gate as seen from inside.

For our journey down, we chose to go a different route. Instead of the long drawn-out route to the Inca Bridge, we chose one that descended immediately and came out at the village of Cachiqata. 

This path was not as well maintained as the other. In some places it might have been considered a mule trail and there were times we had to make a decision between a right or left fork. 

As expected, there was a lot of zig-zagging. Down below the trail we could see a group of three horses playing around and running through the bushes. A small herd of cattle fed on a grassy slope. 

There weren't as many Inca ruins along this section, although we did find another chullpa. But this route was great for displaying Mount Veronica. By the time the clouds had cleared out, her beautiful white flanks radiated in splendor. 

Lone horse seen on the hike down.

Looking back up the steep slope.

Feeding cattle on the middle slopes.

The rugged slopes of Mount Veronica were very prominent on the hike down.

The view as we began to approach the village of Cachiquata.

At last we arrived on the outskirts of the village. I was a bit nervous here because I didn't know if the trail led through someone's backyard or across their property. But we traversed without incident. 

We walked through someone's farm. We saw no one, but passed pigs, ducks and different-looking cattle. Some of the modest dwellings were protected by stone walls. A couple of school boys strolled in front of us. 

Farm animals in Cachiquata.

Then Jenna noticed the cemetery. There was no sign and no gate, but a couple dozen obvious graves. Since I can't pass up a cemetery, we cautiously stepped inside the grounds and looked around. Most of the burials were marked with wooden crosses or an oval of rocks. Some had flowers growing inside the oval and others were decorated with figurines of Jesus or Mary. Wild grass grew all around and there was no attempt to have it manicured. I didn't know if we were allowed to be there, so we only stayed five minutes, then continued on our way. 

At this point it didn't take long until we were on the valley floor. This was the Sacred Valley, a long corridor that has been sacred to the Inca for hundreds of years. Once again we crossed the Urubamba River and took the only road available back to Ollantaytambo. By the time we arrived in the village the sun had set and darkness had begun to move in over the mountains. ♠

 

Cemetery on outskirts of Cachiquata.