EDITOR'S LETTER

I went on a bender because of this issue. But it's not what you're thinking. It was a literary binge, of sorts, and by the time I was finished, I'd added more than a dozen used books to my stockpile — two came from Amazon, and the rest I found on eBay. They're all books by Ray Manley, and they're all in good shape; however, the best of the bunch is a mint copy of Ray Manley's Indian Lands, which was signed by Mr. Manley and Clara Lee Tanner, the book's author.

Both of them were longtime contributors. She was an esteemed anthropologist who specialized in Southwestern Indian arts and crafts, and he was a world-renowned photographer who, as a young man in the 1930s, dreamed of “capturing a few nature photographs worthy of being printed” in a fledgling magazine called Arizona Highways.

“In 1939,” he told us, “I bought my first 10-sheet box of Kodachrome. I studied my subjects well before exposing that film because a dollar a sheet was a lot of money to pay for film in those days.” Indeed. When you adjust for inflation, that's about $175 for 10 photographs. Nevertheless, the investment paid off. Of those 10 shots — images of an old cedar stump, the San Francisco Peaks and his wife, Ruth — three became covers for us. Not even Ansel Adams had an average like that.

For Mr. Manley, the covers were just the beginning. He would go on to become one of our legendary photographers, as well as a regular contributor to the Saturday Evening Post, Life and National Geographic. And then there were the many books, some of which I'd hoped to find in the library at our world headquarters.

For whatever reason, we had only one. From 1975. I had to keep looking.

I was curious about his books because I'd just finished reading a 7,135-word story that he'd written and photographed for our October 1965 issue. The subject was Canyon de Chelly, and I was thinking about republishing it in this month's issue. It took me awhile to get through the piece. Not because it was a slog. Rather, the words and pictures kept pulling me in, begging for resurrection. In the end, the decision to rerun it was easy. It's a wonderful story — a cornucopia of vowels and consonants and four-color photography — and it left me wanting more. I guess that's how benders get started.

One of the first things you'll notice about the piece is the people. Unlike most photographs of Canyon de Chelly, which focus on the area's spectacular rock formations and ancient ruins, the images in this story are of Navajo men and women herding sheep, weaving rugs, husking corn. The latter was one of Mr. Manley's favorites.

“One November,” he wrote in Photogenic Canyon de Chelly, “I had the good fortune to find a seventy-year-old blind man sitting among the cobs doing the only thing he could do to contribute to the family of his son and daughter who cared for him. There sat the bronzed old man amid piles of multicolored corn, stacking usable husks on one side and edible ears on another. The Indian's sense of humor had not diminished with the tragedy of his blindness and he could smile at the photographer who asked that he be allowed to take his picture.” Mr. Manley was with a Navajo guide when he got that shot. Although we never learn his name, he may have been a relative of Adam Teller, whose family has lived in the canyon for at least 200 years.

Because of his surname, you might think that Mr. Teller was destined to become a tour guide — that “Teller” was some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. But his career path is rooted in curiosity. As Matt Jaffe writes in He Knows What He's Talking About: “He learned at an early age that his interest in the canyon's history could help him earn a living. So, in 1976, he became the area's youngest Navajo guide.” “I'm part of a long line of storytellers,” Mr. Teller says.In our story, you'll learn more about the storyteller and the delicate balance between the traditional world and contemporary life. You'll also learn about the history of the canyon and its string of ancient ruins, including Mummy Cave, a place Matt Jaffe could see only from a distance. Back in the 1970s, however, Jerry Jacka had the privilege of going inside.

“We gained special permission from the National Park Service and had a ranger with us,” Mr. Jacka says. “He allowed us to climb up inside the ruin, and it was quite an honor to be able to get up there, as it's off-limits.” One of the photographs from that day is the subject of Inside Out. It doesn't show the grandeur of the ruin, but what a shot. “I was attempting to capture a view of what the Anasazi people would have seen as they looked out into Canyon del Muerto,” Mr. Jacka says.

Mr. Jacka, like Mr. Manley, is another one of our legendary photographers. Fortunately, I already have all of his books. I can't afford another bender.

ROBERT STIEVE, EDITOR Follow me on Instagram: @arizonahighways