Mystifying in Walnut Canyon

Deep Mystery Lost & Found

Will the Sinagua people return to Walnut Canyon?

"Home is this moment and moments are always moving."

WHY DID THE NORTHERN Sinagua Indians living in the remote narrows of Walnut Canyon in the 14th century vanish? War? Famine? Disease? As I wander their neighborhood some six centuries after they abandoned it, I come up with my own theory: What if the Sinagua never really left?

Daybreak spills over the northern Arizona horizon this October 1 morning, spreading honeyed light across Walnut Canyon National Monument's Island Trail. Senses heighten with each step down the 185-foot stairway the Civilian Conservation Corps built in 1941, as I set out with photographer Geoff Gourley, his family, my brother John and his wife, Monica.

Above us, ravens flock in alarming numbers. Across the canyon built into rock frozen in mid-ooze, an inaccessible ruin basks in first light-a scene so commanding we are forced to stop and stare. How did they design a house to so perfectly capture dawn without a scrap of modern technology like, say, nylon ropes, climbing shoes or an elevator?

The sight triggers memories for my brother and me who grew up 12 miles from here. When our parents divorced and Dad moved to the east side of town, he and his new wife gifted us with a love of the place through long bike rides and walks along Walnut Canyon Road.

We continue into the canyon that Woodrow Wilson saved from looters by designating it a national monument in 1915, following the trail along light limestone dwellings. Everywhere, buxom cliff rose hangs from the rock, like a feathery Length: 1.6 miles (Island and Rim Trails combined). Elevation Gain: 185 feet. Difficulty: Easy to strenuous. Payoff: Up-close views of Sinagua ruins, rare plant and wildlife sightings. Autumn months bring spectacular color to canyon foliage. Getting There: From Flagstaff, take Interstate 40 7.5 miles east of Flagstaff to Exit 204. Take Walnut Canyon Road south for 3 miles to the canyon's rim. Travel Advisory: Bring plenty of water and wear sunscreen. The paved Island Trail begins and ends with a steep, 185-foot stairway. Additional Information: Walnut Canyon National Monument, (928) 526-3367; www.nps.gov/ waca/index.htm.

VANISHING TREASURES

A cliff-dwelling aperture in Walnut Canyon reveals the same ancient forest view that greeted the Sinagua on many October firsts. Their name means “without water” in Spanish.

boa, interspersed with verdant stems of Mormon tea, mustard weed, fernbush, wolfberry, Fremont barberry, hoptree and maroon-tipped prickly pear, all lining the pathway like an ancient strip mall, complete with apothecary, produce stand and hardware store.

Not only did the geology offer shelter in the canyon, up on the rim the mix of sand, volcanic ash and soil nurtured crops of corn, squash and beans. Clearly, the Sinagua had it all.

So why leave?

Early archaeologists believed the Sinagua built fortresses high above the canyon floor during a long war with invaders. Perhaps warfare drove them out of the canyon to join neighboring tribes like the Hopi. However, the only real evidence of violence uncovered so far are the bones of a woman in her 30s who died from an arrowhead through the rib cage.

As we complete the loop to Third Fort and head back up the stairs, the woman with the arrowhead haunts me. Was she just a Sinagua woman who met an unfortunate end, or was she the keystone of her community and the reason it disbanded?

When my dad died in 1982, my family migrated from the places we called home. As in Walnut Canyon, our dwellings suffered no catastrophic damage. Close examination would reveal only the remains of a good life. Still, we split and scattered to find new clans and places. We didn't vanish, but the loss of my father made us different people-no longer able to inhabit the same spaces, no matter how beautiful or bountiful.

We finish by exploring the short, flat length of the Rim Trail, where the Sinagua farmed. Agaves dangle with ripe fruit along the path, dislodged nuts from piñon trees pepper the ground, ponderosas bleed sap and walnut leaves drift to the creek bed below.

Back at the visitors center, we hear the clear sound of an Indian drum and long chant. We stop to find the drum, but it is hidden somewhere across the gorge. The greasy ravens circle overhead until the music fades, then swoop off down canyon.

At first, I think that everything is leaving. But then it seems to me that they're just starting a round-trip journey. It may take minutes or millennia, and they'll be different when they return.

But they'll be back. Just like us. Al