Monument Valley

On Thursday, I made three notable stops before I finally reached Monument Valley, a place I had wanted to experience for a very long time. I’d intended to make a swing through the incomparable landscape during my summer road trip, but didn’t quite make it. Although most famous as the backdrop for John Wayne westerns, the epic pillars of burnt red rock are a geologic spectacle in their own right.

I awoke in Farmington and started my day by taking in glimpses of Ship Rock, a volcanic diatreme formed by magma exploding through the earth’s crust at great velocity just outside the town of Shiprock in northwestern New Mexico. Because the rock is sacred to the Navajo, I could only view it from afar.

Then it was on to the Four Corners Monument, the point where Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah touch. There isn’t much to see except a marker on the ground. Around the perimeter of the site, booths are set up for Native American vendors to sell crafts and jewelry. I didn’t stay long, but the stop was worth going a few miles out of my way to be able to say I stood in four states at once.

The final feature I wanted to see before heading to Monument Valley was located just across the Utah border. Not another soul was in sight as I stood at the edge of a giant drop-off and gazed down at the San Juan River a thousand feet below and the two 180 degree turns it makes. These sharp switchbacks form the “goosenecks” for which Utah’s Goosenecks State Park is named.

Then, finally, at long last, I turned towards Monument Valley. The road twists and turns up dusty inclines and past an evocative rock formation that looks like an upside-down sombrero known as Mexican Hat, then suddenly straightens and begins a steady descent. On the horizon strange rock shapes create an alien skyline. I felt almost as if I were about to enter a Martian city. This was Monument Valley.

Once on the Navajo land, I booked a room at The View Hotel, an elegantly designed hotel perched overlooking the valley in which every room has a private balcony, then began the seventeen mile scenic drive for an up-close look at the rocks. I cringed a few times for my car as I bumped along the rough road, but mostly ogled the titanic, incomprehensible buttes and spires named after mittens, elephants, nuns, and totem poles.

I watched the sun set behind the valley from my hotel room balcony before dining at the hotel restaurant. Along with Navajo-brewed tea, I tried fry bread decked in vegetables, beans, and salsa. I got up early the next morning to watch the sun rise over the valley and hike the four mile loop around the West Mitten. A light overnight snow had dusted the valley floor and parts of the buttes. Slithery morning mist eventually gave way to a dense fog that cloaked the monuments. Even though I couldn’t see the monuments for most of my hike, I could feel their heavy, timeless presence.

Chaco Canyon

Exiting New Mexico’s population center, I veered north Wednesday morning towards the wild escarpments, canyons, and monoliths of the state’s northwestern quadrant.

About an hour north, I broke off the highway to visit tiny Jemez Springs and soak in the mineral waters at the rustic, riverside village’s municipally operated bath house.

Then it was on to the day’s main event. Chaco Canyon National Historic Park. Twenty miles off the highway, thirteen miles of which are rutted and unpaved, the park is not easy to get to. But the arduous drive has a huge payoff at the end.

A wide, shallow canyon opens up, guarded by sturdy Fajada Butte. Atop the butte, boulders aligned with the stars told ancient astronomers the seasons. These dates written in stone had great ceremonial and agricultural importance to the Chacoans, one of the most advanced early North American cultures.

Between about 800 and 1200 A.D., Chaco was the nexus of a far-reaching Pueblo network of over 150 great houses radiating out from the canyon. The numerous great houses in Chaco Canyon--the ruins of which are still preserved to this day--reached up to four stories tall and had hundreds of rooms.

While we have evidence of the Chacoans architecture, artwork, and craftsmanship we can only guess at the meaning of it all. Evidence suggests the canyon was a ceremonial and commercial hub with a rather small permanent population.

Cocoa and macaws found in the ruins suggest inhabitants had contact with South America. Fire beacons set at intervals high above the canyon floor enabled communication with outlying pueblos. But how and why no one can say for certain.

It is also impossible to say for certain why the great edifices were abandoned by about 1250 A.D. although analysis suggests draught played a role.

This incomplete backstory filled my mind as I descended into the canyon. Frozen snow sprinkled the rocks adding a chill to the ghostly emptiness. I stopped first at the visitor center where I learned I’d be about the fourth visitor that day heading into the canyon then proceeded around the canyon’s stops.

A (paved) nine mile loop visits five different sites. I hiked around and through the ruins of a few of the great houses, but lingered the longest at Pueblo Bonito. This was the largest great house and the ceremonial, administrative, and commercial heart of the lost empire.

Then I climbed through a crack in the canyon wall up to the rim where I followed a mile-long trail out to an overlook of Pueblo Bonito and back. Glorious views of the strange, sparse land and swirling, spaceship clouds abounded. Chaco Canyon is an astounding, barely-known place. I believe it deserves greater awareness in our continent’s history as well as in travelers' itineraries.