I spent two nights and three days in Chaco Canyon recently. I keep a journal during my travels, which is a mix of the mundane and the inspired (when we’re lucky). Links to related sites are at the end. mjh

www.flickr.com mjhinton’s Chaco Canyon photoset

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Here I am, in the middle of nowhere – again. I’m in the outback of New Mexico in a far corner of Chaco Culture National Historical Park. To my surprise, the Chaco campground (CG) is full. I know that shouldn’t have been a surprise, especially since the number of campsites has been reduced because of some emergency involving the restrooms. Still, it is a Tuesday in mid-May. Foolish optimist that I am, I thought there would be room for me.

The day started slowly, as they usually do. After the paper and walking Lucky Dog, I finally started loading the camper around 10:30am. Yesterday, I put the camper on and popped it up to find it wasn’t wet inside, in spite of a leak directly over the bed. Then it rained for an hour or so. This morning, when I pulled forward in the driveway enough to incline the camper, a few gallons of water ran off the roof or out of the camper, I’m not sure which. Some water stood where the mattress would have been before I learned to keep it pulled away from the bed platform.

Oh, well, a necessary reminder that the camper leak is not self-healing and that I will need to put the tarp over the camper. Well, except tonight, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

So, I loaded up, showered and ate and hit the road about 12:30pm. I decided to come the southern route, saving the newly paved north road for my exit after a few days of predicted rain. Normally, I wouldn’t think of heading to Chaco in a rainy week, but this time I was excited about being in Chaco in the rain.

I stopped in Grants for gas, cigars and coffee. Came up the Milan route, past the tailings pond, the spleen of Uranium County. Jas. says you can get a reading on a Geiger counter driving along that route. It spit rain before I got to the old South Road, about the time I first spied Fajada Butte, perhaps another 30 miles straight ahead. At one point on the old road, a group of Park Service employees – all seemingly Navajo – appeared to be gathering or moving small stones. I waved hello.

I sniffed for wireless access at the Visitors Center (VC) – still none. And none reaching the road from the employees’ residences.

And so, I arrived at the CG around 4:30pm. I would never try that on a Friday, but, come on – Tuesday? A sign announced “Campground Full.” I stopped at the on duty host. “Yes, we’re full,” she said by way of greeting. “Any suggestions?,” I asked. She offered me a flier with a few alternatives – 16 miles back the way I came or 39 miles north to Angel Peak. Angel Peak is beautiful, if you can ignore the whine of the oil pumps. (Chaco just narrowly escaped a similar fate.)

For my 40th birthday, a group of my friends joined me in the Chaco group campsite to celebrate. They shaved my head – at my request – in ritual sacrifice and blood-letting. At a trailhead, as we divided food and water and prepared to hike, a young couple asked if we were a church group. “The way you all share food” seemed to be the indicator. I pulled off my bandana to show my gleaming white scalp.

Now, 12 years later, there’s no room at the inn for Markus. My time is past.

This happened once before. On that occasion, the host told me to pull in behind her RV. “If anyone asks, you’re my nephew,” she instructed. This host is less inviting, but she already has two RVs on her spot, with another host across the road. More hosts than ever with fewer spaces than ever.

What to do? I headed south and out towards the Kin Klizhin outlier. This is an unmarked and rugged route, but I’ve driven here a few times before. I’ve never seen so much orange globe mallow – vast, rich fields – as well as a diversity of other wildflowers. It is the peak of spring. I’m glad I came this way.

Kin Klizhin sits on a rise over a formerly friable area that still has a remnant of a dam, which the road breeches. (I wonder if any archaeologists weep at the sight.) Out of the truck, I leaned into the wind on the trail up to the ruins. No matter how tightly I pulled the chinstrap of my hat, it still managed to blow off repeatedly, garroting me. In sandals, I looked constantly for rattlesnakes and ants.

Kin Klizhin has a multi-story kiva, the proverbial round peg in a square hole – or, rather, a round hole inside a square peg. It appears that as the kiva walls rise, they also taper inward, making the kiva something of a pot instead of a cylinder. Of the outliers I’ve been to, it is the most remote and worn down. Casamero has even less standing, but it is closer to pavement. Pueblo Pintado is probably the most accessible outlier. Kin Bineola may be the most magnificent.

I wouldn’t camp near the outlier, but I figured somewhere out here I’d find a spot. I’m around the bend from the outlier. I stepped out of the truck to inspect this spot and immediately leapt backwards, inches from a rattlesnake. Granted, this little critter was not quite 18 inches long, but alive and unexpected. I couldn’t decide if he was rattling or the wind was blowing his rattle. (Each time I’ve gotten out of the cab since, I’ve reminded myself “watch for snakes!”) No doubt, it is illegal to camp here. If you call this camping. In fact, I’m in a spot barely off the road. The wind is as fierce as the wind gets in Chaco, so I haven’t even popped up the camper. The first time I brought this camper to Chaco, nine years ago, the wind tore the canvas sides loose and I had to go home. Instead of risking that again, I’m in the cab of the truck, where I ate, now I type, and soon I’ll sleep. I’m snug, though the truck rocks now and then with the ceaseless wind. So far, no rain, which is definitely good this far out on a rutted road. I’ve actually been in worse campsites. I have no neighbors, not even coyotes. Most of the birds have been mourning doves (sigh). (A later examination of my photos revealed a horned lark, a “common” bird I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.) Still, I had a magnificent view for a few hours. I watched the sun play on the distant ridges which surround Chaco Canyon. Straight ahead, Huerfano was bathed in sun long after nearer cliffs.

I just opened a beer. I’ve never drunk a beer behind the wheel of my truck – well, not since college. It’s dark (the outside and the beer) and I’m not going anywhere. I wonder if this is an arrestable offense. I’ve never seen another vehicle on this road, but wouldn’t this be the time.

I’ll see how I feel in the morning, probably at first light, even earlier than Lucky gets me up at home. I may leave Chaco sooner than expected. At least, I’ll see some ruins and hike a trail for wildflowers. If I feel like following this absolute solitude with a packed CG, I may look for an early vacancy.

When I close the laptop, after my eyes adjust a bit, I can see the dark bowl of the land beneath a slightly lighter sky. It is almost the new moon. Some stars peak through the cloud cover. The wind howls on. I may be asleep before the Simpsons would be on.

Wednesday May 15, 2007

I slept fitfully, waking every so often to see stars all around me along the horizon. The wind rocked me back to sleep each time. Once, I dreamt someone was walking past the truck. He turned his head slightly so that I saw the side of his face. The scene was lit by headlights, but when I checked mine, they were off. This doesn’t make sense, I thought. The dog stirred and I shushed him and then wondered, “where’s the dog?”

I awoke before the dog this morning – at least, I hope so. There was a long red smear along the horizon in the direction the truck faced. I drove back to Kin Klizhin to pop-up for coffee and cereal. Hmmm – good. The sun rose farther north than I expected. I no longer need heat in the truck, though I haven’t shed any layers. (Actually, I was surprised how warm I was last night, but this AM, I got cold when I got out of the cab.)

I just got back from another tour of Kin Klizhin, watching for snakes along the way. Saw what must have been a tiny scorpion – first I’ve seen in Chaco. Several varieties of white flowers are especially radiant this morning. I don’t recall them from just 12 hours ago.

There is a downside to a short drive – not enough time to re-charge my laptop battery. So, back to pen and ink for a few pages to be transcribed later.

This morning, I drove back from the outlier through vast fields of globe mallow. I arrived at the CG about 9am. “You’re back,” said the hostess. I asked about departures. “It’s still early yet.” I’ve known people to clear out of camp soon after dawn, usually with no regard for the noise they make in the process.

I drove around to a couple of empty sites and waited to talk to another host who was talking to a man who had claimed a half a dozen sites for a large group of 4th graders arriving later. I almost took off at that bit of news plus my irritation at the land grab – he seemed undecided about just how many sites to claim.

I asked the host what the chances were for a site. He only has two teeth in the front of his lower jaw, the mirror image of a rabbit’s incisors. It would take him four times as long to eat an ear of corn as you or me. I think, “I need to see my dentist when I get home.” “Well, checkout isn’t until 11am.” He seemed to suggest I hang loose for 2 hours, while I knew full well that sites could be snatched up at anytime. A little negotiation with the site hoarder got me #25.
Now it is evening and for the last 3 hours, two dozen 10-year-olds have been screaming and running pell-mell, often in spite of wind, rain and lightening.

On the other side of me, a woman has a new 4-door truck with an equally new and white popup. Only she hasn’t popped up for whatever reason. Perhaps to enhance the acoustics of the recorded American Indian flute she plays so loudly I can hear it over here. Is she trying to drown out the kids or the storm? This is the opposite of last night’s solitude and quiet.

Back 12 hours to my arrival in #25 this morning. I pulled the tarp over the camper, perhaps to the amusement of my neighbors – I felt like the proverbial one-armed wallpaper hanger. Then I popped up and made coffee. After that, I slathered myself in sunscreen – even I wear sunscreen in Chaco. I hopped on my bike and left my site at 10:30am.

At the CG pay station, a man stands looking at the sign with the air of someone who isn’t really looking at anything. I ride up and say “excuse me” as I push my envelope into the slot. He turns to me, a fellow Boomer. I notice his necklace. “How’s it going?” I ask. “I’ve had better days,” he answers, and I wonder if it is just that the CG is full, or something worse. “And you will again – I hope.” “That’s the way it works.” I ride off and pause, thinking I could offer to share my site with him but not wanting to adopt him. My new best friend or my murderer? We’ll never know.
I paid my $8 at the VC. (An increase to $15 is proposed.) I asked about wildflowers. Another visitor volunteered Wijiji and Alto, though I’m guessing South Mesa. The staff suggested South Mesa (to Tsin Kletsin, which may be in line-of-sight with Tsin Klizhin).

The paved loop is an easy bike ride of about 9 miles (plus a mile each way between the CG and the VC). The ride is especially good on a cool, overcast and breezy day, like today. I stopped at Hungo Pavi for some photos like many I’ve taken before, no doubt. At Chetro Ketl, I thought about the colonnade, as I always do. There are about a dozen columns that were later filled in to form a solid wall. Before the remodeling, they were a unique feature in Chaco and one of several unduplicated features that hint at influence from the far south, which these features face.

I don’t recall noticing before that the outer wall of the plaza also has columns. It seems to me that pattern may be continued on the long back wall in the form of windows. This would have been an extra-breezy place.

I skipped Pueblo Bonito, as I often do (though I toured it last fall). Also skipped Pueblo del Arroyo. Lunched on 2 granola bars and one strip of fruit leather under a ramada at the end of the paved road, where the backcountry trail to Kin Kletso, Pueblo Alto, Casa Chiquita and Pueblo Peñasco begins.

About 1pm, I started up the trail behind Casa Rinconada, which passes several clusters of rooms that are radically below the Chacoan standard. The walls are very thin and crude; the rooms quite small. Was this Chaco’s trailer park? Who lived here and for how long?

The trail climbs South Mesa, adjacent to South Gap. The wildflowers were abundant and resplendent. I drank deeply of nectar, taking more photos of flowers than I had of ruins. A half-mile-or-less short of Tsin Kletsin, I turned back, mindful of the 4+ mile bike ride I still had left.

The last leg, as it were, is the toughest. And I had a head-wind, plus black clouds gathering over my shoulder. I pressed on with great effort and arrived at the CG a little after 3pm, with most of an hour of peace with a beer and cigar before the kids arrived and the storm soon-after.

As I cooked supper, I heard a girl in the near tent say, “I smell bacon!” At another time, several girls sang Hallelujah – Handel’s, not LCohen’s. One of them has a very strong voice. Later still, gathered around the fire, the whole group shrieks like coyotes. I couldn’t tell if they were responding to coyotes or just being wild themselves.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

I’m actually writing this on my 52nd birthday (Saturday, May 19, 2007). Therefore, two days later, my recollection is more suspect than usual.

Thursday morning, I woke up soon after 6am, even without the dog’s help. I puttered around. I read a few pages of Candide. I saw a ground squirrel, something I don’t recall ever seeing in the CG. And a couple of birds. Eventually, I packed up, dropped the top and drove away.

I stop at the Visitors Center to visit the bookstore. I pick a couple of books and a gift for Merri. I wonder what the Navajo cashier thinks when he looks at the old white guy with two turquoise rings, ponytail and blue bandana. New age hippie wannabe? Cuz I’m not – I’m just acclimated.

Over at the front desk, I see GB Cornucopia, the yogi of Chaco, a tall, striking man with a full white beard. I know of GBC, but have never met him. Too shy to introduce myself. I think, now, now is the time, just as he turns away to leave the desk and I turn to the door.

In the restroom, one of the toilets flushes endlessly. Deep in the desert, it sounds like the ocean sinking into the earth forever. I give it a jiggle. No finger in the dike will do it. I return to the VC to do my duty and report the problem. And there is Cornucopia again. He seems a tad more desiccated than last I saw him. I report the problem. “Yeah, we know about it. The guys who need to fix it are over at the campground dealing with the problem there. Thank you.” he says, taping the desk with a pen. I walk away wondering why they haven’t put a sign on the toilet, “problem reported.” Why are such little easy tweaks so obvious to me and so often neglected by others? How many more people will do their duty; how many more times will someone at the desk say, “we know. Thanks.” My friend Lisa, who knows Cornucopia, once observed that a difference between us is that when she sees something doesn’t work, she moves on while I think about why it doesn’t work and how it could be changed.

I drove around the Downtown Chaco loop and stopped at the Casa Rinconada lot. With less gear than usual, I headed in the opposite direction from yesterday to walk south through South Gap looking for wildflowers, which I found in abundance, especially globe mallow, which I don’t think I saw at all on South Mesa. (How’s that for one long sentence.) I continued my mantra: watch for snakes. It’s a challenge to watch your feet and everything around you. Ahead, I saw the smear of orange that was the vast fields I’d driven through the days before. They drew me onward, farther than I planned to walk, ever hopeful for the one picture that might do the scene justice, ever doubtful I’d taken it yet. I took dozens of photos (almost 400 over 3 days).

The return took me in the direction most people face when they traverse South Gap as part of the loop with South Mesa and Tsin Kletsin. Coming up from the south, one sees Pueblo Alto high above the canyon walls on the horizon and then Pueblo del Arroyo right on the Wash. Eventually, Kin Kletso appears to the left (west) and Pueblo Bonito to the right (east). While this perspective is not as magnificent as the one from South Mesa, where one is almost level with Alto and looking down on Downtown Chaco, it is still quite nice. It is an opportunity to experience Chaco the way other visitors came to it a thousand years ago. Did they check in at Pueblo del Arroyo, perhaps for a ritual welcome or cleansing in that unique tri-walled kiva outside del Arroyo’s walls?

Back at the truck, I settled in for the drive home. I pull out to join the second traffic jam of the day on this loop.

Once more past the Visitors Center, where I hope they finally stopped that running toilet. Past the campground, halved by its own waste problems. At the north gate, I wasn’t surprised by the dirt road, though I was surprised by how much of the old washboard road remains and how little has been paved (only 3 of 16 miles). I stopped at the crossing of a wide arroyo to catch a glimpse of a dust devil. It grew as big and cylindrical as a silo, then blossomed into something more chaotic and stalked beyond my view. Ephemera. But then, isn’t everything.

When I finally hit the pavement, I couldn’t decide if is actually new – it looks old and is ravaged with potholes, which must be harder on a vehicle than the old dirt washboard. These 3 miles are testimony to what a waste of money and resources paving the road to Chaco is, but I don’t expect anyone in charge to see it that way. Who is getting rich off this foolish project? Later, on the road that has long been paved and potholed, I pass three clusters of workers and vehicles patching that road. I know they aren’t getting rich. Is shoveling asphalt better than drilling for oil? [Update 5/27/07: D’oh! That stretch has long been paved and there is NO new pavement so far.]

At US550, I turn right and east toward Albuquerque. My only stop is the gas station and MacDonald’s in Cuba; gas, coffee and fries. I know the route well enough to be ready for Cabezon to nod at me briefly through a gap. The Rio Puerco esta muy puerco y colorado from the recent rain along this stretch. I’ve never seen it like this, though the erosion testifies it has been a hundred times more furious.

In Bernalillo, I fall in with real traffic (almost 5pm). In an ironic moment, just before I-25, I look towards the Rail Runner train station and nearly run into the back of an 18-wheeler.

In Albuquerque, I take the frontage road to Menaul. Here, I meet Jesus. He’s standing beside the road with a sign that says “Hungry. God bless.” Stopped at the light, I contemplate the usual routine of avoiding eye contact by seeming intent on tuning my radio. It occurs to me I have several granola bars and some fruit leather at hand. Though feeding a street person is probably as bad for the environment as feeding wildlife, I’ve done that on occasion, too. I hand him some food. “God bless you,” he says, then asks, “You going fishing?” “No, camping.” “That’s what I’m fixing to do. Go up to Grand Junction. Get up into the mountains. The trees will sing to you up there.” I answer, “I know,” at which he gives me a look like maybe I’m crazy. “How’s that?” “I know, I’ve heard them.” We both look away, aware that this is the longest stoplight in America. “Where’s your dog? Can’t go camping without him or her.” I’m struck by the effort at gender neutrality. “I’m on my way to see him. Peace.” mjh

Related links

My Chaco Canyon Website
http://www.mjhinton.com/chaco/

My Outliers of Chaco Canyon Website
http://www.mjhinton.com/outliers/

My Chaco Photos
http://www.mjhinton.com/chaco/photos/

Chaco Canyon – a photoset on Flickr

Chaco Culture National Historical Park (U.S. National Park Service)
http://www.nps.gov/chcu

www.flickr.com mjhinton’s Chaco Canyon photoset