Deer Valley Rock Art Center

said Marilyn Sklar, the center's assistant director. “They were left by the Archaic, Hohokam and Patayan peoples.” Sklar explained the lack of pictographs at the site by surmising that the Indians did what made sense at that open location below a mountainside. Pecking the designs with stone tools was easier than making paint and trying to place more fragile colored pictures in spots protected from the weather.

“Not all rock-art makers in the Southwest were men,” Sklar said, a deduction that surprises visitors.

“Some was done by women-the result of such things as shamanistic activity and clay gathering-and some by children-relating to puberty rites. Did women make petroglyphs at our site? Perhaps. There may have been women shamans who made rock art here.” Making petroglyphs wasn't difficult. Sklar recalled an ASU graduate student who produced creditable results in about 40 minutes. Mimicking the ancients, he chipped through a boulder's dark layer of desert varnish, a thin coating (patina) of manganese, iron and clay, to reveal the lighter-colored rock beneath it. Voila, perfect rock art.

The student's creation appeared fresh, but what about the site's petroglyphs? How do we know just how old they are?

“We compare the subjects to other rock art or other media such as basketry or ceramics,” Sklar explained. “We refer to Native American stories and oral histories, as well as cultural evidence from archaeological excavations. We radiocarbon-date the rock varnish or lichen.” Ninety percent of the site's petroglyphs appear near the trail's end. Some are eroded and hard to see under the best light; others are obscured by random scratches and spots of orange, green and white lichens.

To acquire that good eye needed to appreciate the petroglyphs, take a guided Saturday tour, or spend at least a half-hour in the museum lobby. A computer station, across from the gift shop, previews the petroglyphs. Videos and exhibits explain rock art and the center's history. People can rent binoculars here, but “viewing tubes” along the path are permanently sighted on some petroglyphs.

The Archaic concentric circles, squiggles or wavy lines, parallel wavy lines and curvilinear designs I easily spotted are among the site's oldest rock art. The more “recent” are animal and human figures left by the Hohokam and Patayan.

What is A Petroglyph?

As to what any of them mean, that's the puzzle. Today's scientific approach considers, among other things, features in the surrounding terrain, the role of shamanism (could that inhuman-looking human figure represent a vision from a religious trance?) and whether the subject is gender-related.

“We will never know exactly what the glyphs mean,” said Sklar, “but archaeologists can learn some things about them and what they may have been used for. The rock art here could have been associated with the nearby prehistoric quarry, for example. It could also have been the result of ritual or ceremony, or associated with hunting or astronomy.” Sklar offered tips on understanding the art: Generally, the darker the petroglyph, the older it is. If a human figure has details such as fingers or facial features, it probably is Patayan. Stick figures, like the one maybe holding a child, probably are Hohokam. The Archaic people didn't leave human depictions at this site-that spiral and other geometric designs are probably theirs, along with some of the animals.

Sklar advises visitors to look down from the petroglyphs occasionally. I saw rock squirrels, scampering by the dozen, as well as colorful, aromatic flowers and bushes.

Next time maybe I'll see some of the diverse wildlife lured by the year-round water in the canal beneath the visitors center.

But despite the flora and fauna, petroglyphs remain the site's primary attraction-and the most puzzling of prehistoric legacies.

Who Made The Petroglyphs?

People who?

'Unique Water' of Sycamore Spring Makes a Home for Frogs and Plants

Sycamore SPRING SWELLS from a trickle to a stream beginning in a grove of old-growth sycamore trees before slipping into a shadowy slot canyon in the Arrastra Mountain Wilderness area northwest of Wickenburg in central Arizona. The state Department of Water Resources designates the spring as “unique water” because of the colony of plants that thrive there. Few people know that water bubbles out of this rock-paved, sun-browned stretch of desert where juniper, ocotillo and mesquite trees beg for rain Tom Danielsen, a biology teacher at Phoenix Community College, and his wife, Barbara, a registered nurse. Danielsen also works as a freelance wildlife photographer.

Rather than chance damaging their vehicle on the remaining 2.5 miles of rough road before reaching the trailhead, they park and walk the rest of the way.

Finding himself with an audience, Sredl explains his survey at a small pool near the springhead, after live-catching two leopard frogs that he later releases. The leopards, he says, are of specific concern because of a worldwide decline in frog populations. Lowland leopards are darker with more subdued spots than those found in the Midwest.

The dependable spring provides the means for survival, but only the fittest make the cut in the desert. The frogs synchronize their egg-laying with hatches of insects whose larvae stir in the microcosm of the pools. All game trails through the dry land lead to the spring, a stopover for migrating wild birds.

The road in and the trail itself are strewn with crumbled granite and boulders, so hikers should wear stout hiking boots to protect their feet. Sycamores mark the spring just downstream from where the trail arrives in Peoples Canyon. The springwater is sweet to drink, but treat it before drinking, because cows use the waterhole as well.

Plan a bird-watching safari in March and early April for sightings of migrating species. Or just enjoy the shade of the big sycamores and the soothing, tinkling music of the spring, in a wilderness place not that far away year-round and the land writhes in shimmering heat in summer. Yet Michael J. Sredl, a herpetologist for the Arizona Game and Fish Department, regularly hikes to the spring to study the frogs that breed there.

On this trip, he counts lowland leopard frogs that thrive in the pools inside the slot canyon fragrant with the scent of water and green things.

Accompanying him are Susan J. Sferra, a wildlife biologist for the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation, and Dr. Tim J. Flood, a medical doctor and epidemiologist with the Arizona Department of Health. Flood is also a backpacker and wildlife observer. The group has four-wheeled all the way to the trailhead.

Arriving soon after are