Montezuma Castle

National monument since 1906, offers a royal treat to 850,000 visitors a year. Unfortunately, some of them don't drive 11 miles farther up the road to see Montezuma Well, also part of the monument. The scenic "well," a sinkhole surrounded by acacia and juniper trees and fed by a spring, irrigated those ancient crops and today shelters an abundance of wildlife. But not fish. Although the well looks like the perfect fishing hole, no potential fillets swim there, ever.

"The unique thing for visitors is that Montezuma Castle is in such good shape, is so old and is so real," National Park Service Ranger Robert Del Carlo told me one summer day. "There's been some stabilization done, but 90 percent of it is original, what the Sinagua built." It's best to see the exhibits in the visitors center before taking the tour, he advised. "That way you get an idea of who the Sinagua were and how they lived."

New exhibits, installed in November 2002, explain the Sinaguan civilization within the context of world history, emphasizing the Indians' efficient use of local natural resources.

Visitors haven't been allowed into the castle's fragile rooms since 1951. Instead, they view the pueblo from below, walking a level, self-guided, one-third-mile trail. Lush trees, most notably towering Arizona sycamores with their distinctive mottled-white trunks and maplelike leaves, provide welcome shade.

When a visitor asked why the Sinagua built this dwelling so high up, Del Carlo said it was just "an opportunistic choice." The huge overhang was there, and they took advantage of it for protection from summer heat and, because it faces south, to catch the warmest of the sun's winter rays. A gradually inclining ridge partway up the cliff inspired Del Carlo's theory that the Sinagua walked up along that, then climbed ladders to the rooms, which measure about 10 feet by 10 feet - overall, about the square-footage of a modern-day three-bedroom house. Del Carlo said there are handprints and smoke stains on interior walls, along with ax marks on the wooden beams.

Visitors come from all over, some more than once. "I was here before," said camera-toting Rob't Hart, a civil servant in Holland. "I have a picture of the castle hanging in my study, and I wanted my boys to see it." His wife, Xandra, gazed up the pueblo and kept an eye on 8-year-old twins, David and Marnix, who had abandoned castle-viewing for the antics of a plump rock squirrel.

Down the trail, the scant remnants of "Castle A"-probably destroyed by fire-hug the base of the cliff. Larger than its sister pueblo, Castle A rose six stories and had 45 rooms.

Savvy tourists go on from here to Montezuma Well, where contemporaries of the castledwellers lived. Here 92-year-old Jack Beckman, a volunteer for 30 years, tells visitors stories not found in guidebooks. Some time back, he said, a medicine man told him that 8,000 years ago

there was a pueblo at the bottom of the well, and that it was a place of "emergence." Today, Beckman added, "Apaches, Hopis, Navajos and Pimas come to the well to obtain some of its 'sacred water,'"' presumably to be used in ceremonials.

The 368-foot-wide, 55-foot-deep circular well formed 11,000 years ago when the roof of an underground cavern collapsed. Clear spring water that remains at 76 degrees year-round feeds the well, but the water's concentration of carbon dioxide (due to percolation through the limestone) measures hundreds of times that of a normal water environment. No fish can tolerate the water, but algae love it, and so do leeches, turtles, water scorpions and tiny shrimplike amphipods. Muskrats like it there, too, along with foxes, snakes and Canada geese, teals and mallards. Visitors view the well from along a paved one-third-mile trail. Stone steps lead down to a waterside oasis away from the sinkhole. Steps also take visitors down to the well, past a smoke-blackened cave ruin and the "swallet," a crack where the water flows 150 feet through the rock wall to the other side. There, ancient farmers channeled the water into irrigation canals. After climbing back up from the swallet, visitors sometimes relax on shaded rocks to watch for animals - and catch their breath. "Listen . . . and watch the steps," advised one middle-aged rock-sitter. "You'll hear them coming back up before you see them." And sure enough, moments before the tops of their heads appeared, we heard the huffing and puffing of out-of-shape climbers.

A two-for-the-price-of-one attraction, the well and the castle offer an intriguing glimpse of the people who lived in this high desert long before the first white settlers arrived. And long before Montezuma's day, too. The emperor of the Aztecs never knew what he missed. AH LOCATION: 90 miles north of Phoenix. GETTING THERE: From Phoenix, take Interstate 17 north to Exit 289; follow signs 2 paved miles farther to monument. The well is 11 paved miles farther north on I-17; take Exit 293 and follow signs. HOURS: 8 A.M.-5 P.M. daily; closes 7 P.M. Memorial Day to Labor Day. National monuments are open all holidays. FEES: $3, adults; free, 16 and under. No additional admission at the well. ATTRACTIONS: At the castle, a visitors center with exhibits, bookstore, brochures, rest rooms; a shady creekside picnic area with tables. At or near the well, a staffed information building, rest rooms, a grassy, tree-shaded picnic ground with visible canals. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: (928) 567-3322.

OTHER INDIAN RUINS NEAR TUZIGOOT NATIONAL MONUMENT

About the same age as Montezuma Castle, imposing Tuzigoot crowns a ridge and housed 225 people; it once had two to three stories, but today only the ground story remains. There are two paved quarter-mile trails, a small museum and bookstore. Located immediately north of Clarkdale. Take Interstate 17 Exit 287 and drive west on State Route 260 to Cottonwood. In town take Main Street north toward Clarkdale and follow signs. Summer hours, 8 A.M.7 P.M.; winter, 8 A.M.-5 P.M. Closed on Christmas Day. Admission: $3, adults; free, 16 and under. (928) 634-5564.

PALATKI RUIN/HONANKI RUIN

Best known for its well-preserved pictographs, some of which are 6,000 or more years old, Palatki encompasses two pueblos. One trail leads to the ruins, the other to the rock art. There are a small visitors center, bookstore and rest rooms. Located about 10 miles northeast of Cottonwood, then about 8 miles north of State Route 89A. On 89A, about one-half mile north of Milepost 364, turn left onto Forest Service Road 525, Red Canyon Road, and proceed to Palatki. To reach Honanki, bear left from FR 525 at its intersection with Forest Service Road 795. A high-clearance vehicle is recommended for this section of rough road. Neither site is recommended for younger than third-graders. Open daily, 9:30 Α.Μ.3:30 P.M. Admission is free, but a $5 Red Rock Pass is required when parking on the national forest land in Red Rock Country. Pass may be purchased at the visitors center. (928) 282-3854 or Red Rock Ranger District, (928) 282-4119.

leads to the ruins, the other to the rock art. There are a small visitors center, bookstore and rest rooms. Located about 10 miles northeast of Cottonwood, then about 8 miles north of State Route 89A. On 89A, about one-half mile north of Milepost 364, turn left onto Forest Service Road 525, Red Canyon Road, and proceed to Palatki. To reach Honanki, bear left from FR 525 at its intersection with Forest Service Road 795. A high-clearance vehicle is recommended for this section of rough road. Neither site is recommended for younger than third-graders. Open daily, 9:30 Α.Μ.3:30 P.M. Admission is free, but a $5 Red Rock Pass is required when parking on the national forest land in Red Rock Country. Pass may be purchased at the visitors center. (928) 282-3854 or Red Rock Ranger District, (928) 282-4119.

alongthe way KID CACTUS, His Spiky Friend From Arizona, Is DOING WELL, Thank You

WHEN I RETURNED TO SAN FRANCISCO FROM Arizona, I decided to put something on display in the apartment to remind me of the trip, which had been upbeat and educational. I had the usual souvenirs-a cup depicting saguaros silhouetted against a sunset, a small stuffed javelina keychain, and napkins from Big Nose Kate's Saloon in Tombstone. But I needed something more broadly symbolic and recognizable. It occurred to me that a cactus was the perfect choice. The cacti of Arizona had captivated my attention-and not just the saguaros, which tend to dominate the landscape with exhibitionistic chutzpah-but countless other varieties of every shape and size. Some cacti loom above the desert floor as dramatically as skyscrapers in the city, while others sport shapes reminiscent of barrels or hydrants. There are bushy, shrubby ones, cacti with tangled stems like green coral formations, others looking like kin to artichokes or with paddle-shaped joints. Many cacti appear tricked up with flowers as eye-catching as Fifth Avenue Easter bonnets.

So I bought myself a small potted cactus, making the choice impulsively rather than getting into an appraisal that would involve complicated and intricate comparisons. I brought the cactus home and put it near a window, where it would get whatever sunshine San Francisco's weather sees fit to dole out. To give the cactus a more intimate role in its new home, I decided to name it. You might think it's going too far to name a plant, but ever since it was discovered that plants can exhibit emotions, I have waffled in this matter. Considering that frontiersmen gave their rifles names-"Old Betsy," for example-it didn't seem so strange to name my plant. I wanted a name evocative of the West, specifically of Arizona history, and the first one that came to mind was Ringo. When I was a kid, Ringo was one of those perfect Western-sounding names. John Wayne was the Ringo Kid in Stagecoach. But the name has never been the same since the Beatles came along. I remembered once reading a description of Ringo Starr as looking like "an anteater on barbiturates," and I didn't want to have to think of that line every time I looked at my cactus. So Ringo was out. I finally came up with Kid Cactus, which I thought had the right ring. A cactus, I had assumed, would be self-reliant like the archetypal Western loner, so when I bought the plant, I hadn't been prepared for the complicated briefing I got on its care and feeding. This included a list of instructions about watering, light, soil, fertilizer, temperature, diseases and pests and how to get along with your cactus. But I didn't let it intimidate me. Indeed, I did want a relationship with my cactus, albeit a low-key one. I wouldn't go so far as to play Brahms for my plant, like some people do. What I wanted from Kid Cactus was just a touch of Southwest ambience, a reminder of Arizona, where the scenery at its best is as compelling as what you'll see in the Louvre. I should probably mention that there's not a single other plant in my apartment. Kid Cactus is strictly a solo act. I grew up in the backwoods of northern Idaho among thickly forested mountains, and when I came to the city it always seemed redundant to me when people filled their living quarters with ornamental greenery. For me, Kid Cactus stands as a stylistic exception, a symbolic acknowledgment of Arizona's seductive appeal. Kid Cactus-Ferocactus diguetii - has been here a good while now, and I couldn't be more pleased with his measure of self-reliance. He doesn't require food (maybe a bit of fertilizer every three months), litter, shots, toys or custodial attention. An occasional nip of H₂O and a little sunshine now and then keep him in tip-top shape. We coexist smoothly, he and I, and while I'm in no danger of becoming a horticulturist, I do enjoy the presence of this exotic and stalwart life form. Moreover, a glimpse of Kid Cactus invariably brings back pleasant memories of all his spiky kin in Arizona, a state where the cactus gets a lot of respect.