The Lonely Giants

An Aussie Looks at Arizona

It would be nice to say that my fascination with Arizona, like Saul's conversion on the road to Damascus, was instantaneous, but that was not the way it happened. Indeed, my first impressions were of heat, dust, and unending miles of desert, and I felt that here was a harsh and unforgiving place I would be only too glad to leave. The sight of the Grand Canyon changed all that. I was quite unprepared for the staggering impact of this vast abyss, with the Colorado River coursing far below, looking like a narrow, carelessly tossed ribbon. One look at the tortured earth with its myriad of multicolored rock formations and I knew that my long trip from Australia had been worthwhile. On my first visit to Arizona, I like most inexperienced travelers had packed enough clothing for a world tour. There was no contingency for which I was unprepared. It was only when the handle came off my case under the strain that I came to have doubts about my foresight. This was bad enough, but, as time passed, I also realized that I had brought with

"I particularly liked the splendid names scattered so prodigally over the map, among them Grasshopper, Punkin Center, Friendly Corner, Arsenic Tubs, Bullhead City."

me a number of illusions about myself. I'll mention only one.

This was that I spoke English which rivaled in clarity that of Professor Henry Higgins. But I soon discovered the truth: in Arizona and elsewhere there were some people-it is hard to admit it-who found it difficult to understand what I was talking about. This was brought home to me when, after I had expressed an opinion I thought was crystal clear, a listener asked, "What did he say?" while another turned to a friend with the query, "Did you understand him?" To which the friend responded, "Sometimes."

It made me listen more critically to the way I spoke, and I was forced to admit the presence of an Australian drawl. The experience served also to make me conscious of the different American accents and the variations in the meaning and pronunciation of many words.

Other problems plagued me. For instance: where are the best places to eat? What foods should I order, and how much should I tip? Where are the places of interest, and how do I get to them? Many strangers came to my aid, for often they are the only ones to whom appeals for help can be made. Here the people of Arizona rate well in their courtesy to the visitor in their midst. There was, for example, the diner who insisted on offering a ride to a hotel which was close at hand, even though the only thing we had shared was a meal. Then there was the manager of a Scottsdale hotel who, when told in casual conversation that one of his self-service machines was absorbing money at an alarming rate but with no return, insisted on providing a refund. I was impressed by the attitude of this person who unhesitatingly took the word of someone unknown to him. I made sure I returned to the same hotel on my next visit.

While the services and facilities of hotels in Arizona were very good, one area in particular presented me with problems. This was the complicated system of taps and levers that controlled the flow of water into the baths.

My first attempt resulted in a deluge from above. Eyeing the shower narrowly and keeping my head out of the way, I tentatively pushed another lever, which released near-boiling water on my hand.

Bathing was a chancy business, for the bath plug often remained open so that the water disappeared as fast as it ran in. Then, if I switched to a shower, the plug closed, so that it became a close-run thing between finishing the shower and swamping the bathroom floor.

To make matters worse, each hotel, for some strange reason, seemed to have a different system, so that the mastery of one proved irrelevant to success with another.

While I had some reservations about bathrooms, I had none about the people of Arizona, for their candor and openheartedness impressed me greatly.

A group I found especially likable were those who made their living from the land. It seemed there was something special about these honest, down-to-earth people who resembled in so many ways their counterparts in my country. When I listened to them as they talked about their work and the problems they faced, I felt that here was the heartland of Arizona.

Many other things about the state delighted me, but I particularly liked the splendid names scattered so prodigally over the map, among them Grasshopper, Punkin Center, Friendly Corner, Arsenic Tubs, Bullhead City.

Another thing that pleased me was the readiness of sober citizens to put on pioneer or Western gear and take part in reenactments of history. That their picturesque clothing at times owed more to Hollywood's version of life on the frontier than to anything else in no way disturbed them, even if they were aware of it; for their main interest appeared to be the fun of dressing up and reliving the past, satisfying a nostalgic yearning for a way of life in which things were simpler and problems often had ready solutions.

"Their picturesque clothing at times owed more to Hollywood's version of life on the frontier than to anything else ..."

Of particular interest were the Indian people of Arizona. I would have liked to visit some of their reservations, but I was unable to do so. With the sad history of the Australian aborigines in mind, I hoped that these resilient descendants of an ancient race were living with dignity and that they retained as far as possible their traditional customs. What I did observe, and it seems to me to be quite admirable, was the growing community interest in aspects of Indian culture, which has resulted in a better understanding of a remarkable people. The number and variety of books on Indian life, the study and encouragement of tribal arts and crafts, the use of Native American themes in painting and sculpture, the displays at institutions such as the Heard Museum in Phoenix, and the continuing archeological investigations of ancient sites reflect this public interest and concern. Since that first trip to Arizona, I've returned several times, and this has helped me to realize that the arid areas of the state have a fascinating life of their own, far removed from my first impression that they were places to avoid.

Such was my ignorance that I knew little about even the cacti which survive so tenaciously in their inhospitable environment, nor was I aware of the different varieties and the flowers they produce. My first sight of saguaro cacti-some "like death's lean lifted forefinger" and others resembling giant candelabra-has stayed in my mind, while knowledge of the adaptability of birds and animals to their surroundings has opened my eyes to the ceaseless struggle for survival of the creatures of the desert. The desert is not to everyone's taste, however, and many tourists spend most of their time in and around the cities. The surprise is that cities are there at all. One minute there is the desert, the next, an urban center with all the facilities for modern living. And they are not artificial places but are solidly based, with community participation in their development and diverse cultural activities. The development of Phoenix and its environs must rank as one of the great success stories of modern America. Its meteoric increase in size and population and the variety of jobs that have been created are astonishing and reflect much credit on the enthusiasm and drive of its citizens, both past and present. Grave problems, of course, arise from an expanding population, among them the demand on limited water supplies, urban congestion and accompanying air pollution, the impact of increasing numbers of people on the fragile wilderness areas. But these problems are recognized and, one hopes, may not prove insoluble.

Cowboy Artist

Still, I gained the impression that the issue of water conservation did not have the importance in some people's minds I would have expected. I found myself gazing thoughtfully at well-manicured lawns and golf course expanses as green as the fields of Ireland, and I wondered about the artificial lakes, delightful to the eye but seemingly prodigal in their use of water. I suspect that in the long run it must be in the schools that the need for water conservation is brought home. There, perhaps, a climate of opinion can be created that in time will pervade the community, strengthen the hands of legislators, and cause the wasting of this vital resource to be regarded as unthinkable.

A word about tourism, which is so important to Arizona's economy and doubtless will become increasingly so. In my opinion, all those people whose job it is to encourage tourism deserve to be congratulated. The services they provide are first-class. Arizona excels in the distribution of promotional material. The information so generously provided has been invaluable to me and no doubt to countless others.

I shall end by trying to analyze what I like best about Arizona. I have not found that to be easy, for the state represents many things to different people, and I speak as an outsider whose views may well be superficial.

What appeals to me most of all is that it is a state of such contrasts. There are cool, green forests as well as austere deserts; snow-capped peaks and broad plateaus; wilderness retreats and verdant farmlands; modern cities and ancient Indian ruins; high-tech aqueducts and the remains of prehistoric irrigation ditches. And that is only a start.

Perhaps I shall not see Arizona again, but it is pleasing to know that whatever the future holds, I have only to turn the pages of Arizona Highways and it will seem as though I have never left this state with its mixture of harshness and beauty and its friendly, outgoing people.

Bernard Dean, a retired teacher of English, lives in Melbourne, Australia, and occasionally writes travel articles. Phoenix is his favorite city in the American Southwest.

Bob Boze Bell, a Kingman native, is both a wellknown artist and a radio personality in the Phoenix area.

THE DESERT'S MYSTERIOUS LEGACY Lonely

The desert surrenders nothing easily, least of all its secrets. That is why Boma Johnson, Bureau of Land Management archeologist, has spent an entire decade tracking its remote stretches for clues to its ancient inhabitants. A quiet, contemplative man, Johnson is at peace in this desolate terrain, a region so forbidding that the Spanish explorer Juan Bautista de Anza called it tierra del muerto-land of the dead. But to Johnson, the spirits of the past still live here in a mysterious stone legacy scattered across the land: rock cairns, dance circles, power rings, and hundreds of "drawings" on the desert floor that have remained secret for thousands of years. These mammoth, mystical designs are what we have come to see.

Johnson, who stands about six feet four, strides easily up a slope of sandstone rubble. As I scram-ble up the loose scree behind him, heat waves quiver across the terrain like restless spirits. Some-where on this sunbaked mesa lie the giant earth reliefs called the Ripley pley Complex. Clues to those who created them begin to emerge as we pass along a pre-historic Indian trail on the edge of a terrace. Flakes chiseled from quartz, chert, and volcanic stone litter the ground-remains of an ancient tool factory. Nearby are several stone sleeping circles. A jet black scraper lies partially buried in the tan earth. A massive stone hammer catches Johnson's eye. The archeologist stoops to examine it, holding the object up to the sunlight, then returns it to where it has lain for perhaps thousands of years. Suddenly, the air explodes with the fluttering of wings as a startled nighthawk rises from her roost on the ground. But I am even more startled by what lies directly before

Giants Lonely Giants.

(BELOW) Located on a mesa high above the Colorado River near Ehrenberg, the Ripley Complex comprises about 20 abstract figures around an enormous humanlike figure (BOTTOM) visible from the air. According to Mojave Indian legend, the huge geoglyph represents Mustambo, god of creation, around which are scattered symbols that have led archeologists to speculate that the site may have been a ceremonial healing center. BOTH BY HARRY CASEY us on the stony pavement of the earth. Johnson, chuckling at my surprised expression, says, “In Mojave Indian legend, this is Mustamho, the god of creation.” He-it-is a giant intaglio. A second stick like figure, smaller and much fainter, lies beside it. And to its right appears a cross design, its four points said to symbolize the four cardinal directions in Mojave cosmology. An enormous rock dance circle, connected to a series of trails, lies on a ridge directly above it. Johnson believes the entire complex was once a ceremonial healing center. “I am absolutely convinced there was a mesh here between the spiritual and the phys-ical,” says Johnson. “The Indian people don't delineate between the physical and the spiritual worlds. Generally speaking, they believe there's a continuum from one World to the other. So when there's a healing ceremony, they anticipate the presence of their ancestors-the spirit people to add their special powers, which would help in an emotional sense the person who needs healing.” About 300 such figures, varying in size, have been discovered in the Southwestern deserts: representations of humans, ser-pents, shamans, lizards, and mountain lions, as well as abstract geometric designs. Called geoglyphs, or desert intaglios, they were created by scraping aside the jet black stones of the desert floor and exposing the lighter soil beneath. The colossal artworks range in age from 150 years to more than 5,000 years; they extend for 265 miles along the Colorado River from Needles, California, to Yuma, Arizona, and eastward along the Gila River. Even older testaments to human presence also exist: long twisting lines of boulders set side by side in abstract patterns called rock alignments, some of which are believed to be 12,000 years old. Today, little would be known about these curious intaglios had it not been for Harry Casey, a Brawley, California, farmer, pilot, photographer, and amateur archeol-ogist. About a decade ago, Casey became intrigued with the designs after taking a number of archeology courses (which included studies of glyphs) from Imperial Valley College instructor Jay von Werlhof. Without sponsors or grants, the two, who had become fast friends, set out to doc-ument every geoglyph in the Southwest. Casey began flying the barren deserts of California, Nevada, Arizona, northern Mexico, and Tiburon Island in the Sea of Cortes, where he located “spoked wheel” alignments similar to the so-called med-icine wheels of the Plains Indians. The dauntless pilot photographed the designs by leaning out of the door of his Piper Cub and later by mounting a 35mm camera to the aircraft's step. In 1984, drawn by accounts of these ancient earthworks, I embarked with Casey on an aerial survey of the sites, which are best seen from above. From the farming community of Braw-ley, we head out in Casey's sleek Beech craft Debonair airplane, across the jagged peaks of the Chocolate Mountains on the northern fringe of the Colorado. Desert. Dry lake beds appear near vast white dunes that ripple across the desert like waves. A warm wind rises from the heated rocks of the canyons, playing havoc with the craft as we approach the green ser-pentine form of the Colorado River. The landscape appears stark and bewildering in the clear air. “Look out here to the left,” says Casey, dipping the wing in a steep turn. “See

COMING YOUR WAY

With the summer season fast approaching, we introduce the delights of Arizona's mini-beaches, sit for a spell on the rim of the Grand Canyon, and take a nostalgic look at the Phoenix Indian School. At cool Flagstaff, we visit the famed Lowell Observatory. In May.

After a visit to some of the state's magnificent old theaters, we join the late author Thomas Wolfe on a tour of northern Arizona in the 1930s. From there we're off to the Fort Apache Indian Reservation in the White Mountains and the Boyce Thompson Southwestern Arboretum near Superior. In June.

A photo-history of Arizona's antique bridges accompanies a reminiscence on the deeds of the men who carved our state's early highways from rugged wilderness. Exploring the Highline Trail beneath the Mogollon Rim, we cross the path of the homesteaders and soldiers who frequented this area a century ago. In July.

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Lonely Giants

(BELOW, LEFT) Harry Casey and his Piper Cub have logged many hours scanning the desert in search of the curious intaglios. Casey and his former archeology instructor, Jay von Werlhof, are determined to document every geoglyph in the Southwest. TERRENCE MOORE (BELOW, RIGHT) Viewed from ground level, the Ripley Complex figures lose some of their definition. But from high overhead (OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW) a Maltese Cross design, dance circle, and series of trails become evident. (OPPOSITE PAGE, TOP) Known as the Fort Mojave Twins, this fenced pair of figures near Bullhead City, first recorded in 1852 by the explorer Lorenzo Sitgreaves, is thought to represent good and evil. ALL BY HARRY CASEY where those two old Indian trails come together in a Y?" My untrained eyes see only jagged, pitted arroyos and scrub brush. "Look again," he urges. shout over the roar of the engine.

Finally I spy what he's pointing at. Traced on a broad bare mesa, a lonely giant lies crudely outlined in the black gravel, like an eternal guardian of the trail. At his feet appears a faint but sophisticated design of two interlocking ovals-a fertility symbol that has been observed as far east as the lower Mississippi River Valley and as far south as Costa Rica.

A few fluted saguaros rise among the creosote and desert scrub, but almost no other signs of life are evident on the parched terrain below. What is visible, though, are hundreds of sleeping circlesancient campsites of the San Dieguitoans and Amargosans, and the Yumans who followed later. Soon, more of the giant figures appear along both banks of the river: the Blythe Giants, the Mystic Maze, the Shaman, the Rattlesnake, the Fort Mojave Twins, the mysterious Ripley Complex, and the Black Point Dance Circle, believed to be an ancient diagram of the sun, moon, and Milky Way galaxy.

"What makes the earth so black?" I "That's the clue to the designs," says Casey. "It's desert varnish. If the stones have been undisturbed for thousands of years, they remain shiny and jet black like crude oil. If you drive over them or slam on your brakes and skid, those marks will be there for thousands of years."

From the air, it is difficult to imagine that 10,000 years ago this forbidding desert was a lush paradise fed by the swollen streams of the rapidly receding Ice Age. Piñon and juniper flourished beside enormous lakes brimming with trout and freshwater clams. Giant sloths and bison roamed the valleys. Man the hunter had learned to master this bountiful wilderness, living in harmony with his gods. But as the lakes dried and the fish died and the game animals retreated into the surrounding mountains, Stone Age man looked to his shamans to reverse the drying trend.

Archeologists believe that both the geoglyphs and the much older rock alignments are expressions of the prolonged agony of a dying culture. "As the water sources disappeared, the crisis these people felt had to be severe," explains von Werlhof, one of the foremost experts on Southwestern geoglyphs. "This is the time we believe the shamans began to build the designs as an appeal to the spirits to bring back the Golden Age-the Garden of Eden they had once known."

In 1984, while flying over the canyons of the Colorado River, von Werlhof and Casey discovered perhaps the most unusual of all Southwestern intaglios. Called the Fisherman, it depicts an animated figure dancing on water and pointing a spear at two fat fish.

"It's the most sophisticated figure I've ever seen, in that it contains so many elements, including the fish and a sun symbol," says Casey.

The Fisherman is no less awesome to von Werlhof than it is to Casey. The tip of the spear is composed of dozens of pieces of white quartz laid closely together like a mosaic. "That is a magical spear," von Werlhof proclaims, "a powerful, powerful piece.

To the Indians of the lower Colorado River, the intaglios are living shrines created by their ancestors. Boma Johnson, who is charged by the BLM with protecting the sites, has devoted years of study to the mythology of the Mojave and Quechan Indians, working closely with elders of these tribes to decipher the legendary figures. "When you ask the elders who made these, they always say, 'the Ancient Ones.' When you ask them who the Ancient Ones are, they say, 'As you become ready to know, you will know.'"

Though most sites are no longer visited by tribal elders, at least one glyph site is known to have been used for ceremonial purposes in the not-too-distant past. Some observers, according to Johnson, have in recent years noticed feathers, coins, buttons, and other offerings deposited in small piles of stones around the figure. Called Haak-Vaak, it lies at the base of a mountain near Sacaton, southeast of Phoenix. In his book, The Pima Indians, Frank Russell wrote that this crude stick figure was built to commemorate the slaying of Haak, an evil female giant who devoured children. In a translation of the Pima spirit song, "The Destruction of Haak," the people chant: Dazzling power has Elder Brother, Mastering the winds with song. Swiftly now we come together, Singing to secure control. Kovakova, kovakova, Kovakova, kovakova, Sing on the summit Of great Mo'hatuk Mountain.

This ancient stone altar, like dozens of other sites, now lies behind a protective fence, an unfortunate but necessary barrier to intruders. Despite the fence, however, such sites remain vulnerable, explains Johnson, part of whose job includes monitoring these special places for signs of encroachment.

In 1975, vandals lifted their motorcycles over a protective barrier at a remote desert site and rode in circles over an elaborate abstract design. Though archeologists restored the intaglio from photographs, they say it will never be the same. Nor will the sites that lie on the fringes of creeping subdivisions, nor those destroyed by careless off-road drivers.

History, too, has left its mark on these fragile desert sites. When armored units of the U.S. Army trained in the Mojave Desert in 1942, the tanks rolled over at least one geoglyph, leaving behind a headless figure. Numerous other sites remain today in military-controlled parts of the desert. The designs are impossible to study, since most of those areas are restricted to training operations and weapons testing. What are visible in the surrounding desert are contemporary "geoglyphs": circular targets for aerial gunnery practice.

Although few celestial studies have been made at the remote and scattered sites on the Southwestern deserts, at least one rock alignment along the Gila River accurately measures the summer solstice sunrise. Johnson and von Werlhof believe that at least a dozen other such sites may exist. Exactly how they work is not yet clear. What is clear is that new discoveries are being made all the time.

At the enigmatic Ripley Complex, just before Johnson and I descend from the mesa, something stops him dead in his tracks. A number of ancient rock cairns, each separated by a few hundred yards, meanders in a straight line for perhaps an eighth of a mile directly before us. "Ho! Look at this!" he exclaims, scrambling over a gully. "I've never seen this one before. It's a rock alignment, and it goes all the way over the edge of the terrace. See how subtle they are? We haven't even begun to discover what's out here. We're just getting started."

Author's note: In April, 1988, Boma Johnson discovered yet another geoglyph on a small hill about 75 miles west of Phoenix. The figure, a giant human form, is 297 feet long, almost the length of a football field. "At this time, it's the largest figure we've got," said Johnson. The earth drawing also is unusual because the rocks at the tips of its hands are covered with petroglyphs: spirals, crosses, and other designs. Johnson says it's one of the first times that petroglyphs have ever been directly associated with a geoglyph. "I suspect we'll find quite a few more things that we never conceived were out here."