UNTOUCHED BY TIME

Red Buttes, Sand Dunes, and Hogans Navajo Backcountry Close-up

TEXT BY JANET FARNSWORTH PHOTOGRAPHS BY BERNADETTE HEATH THE FIRST THINGS I notice about Tsaile and the Chuskas are the contrasts. Hogans coexist with the modern buildings of Navajo Community College. One small sign announces a traditional Squaw Dance while another advertises videos at the trading post. Even the Chuska Mountains appear contradictory, split between red and white sandstone cliffs on the bottom and pine-covered peaks on the top. Roof Butte, the high point of the Chuskas, tops out at 9,784 feet, and in October snow blankets its summit.

Tsaile (pronounced SAY-lee) stands silhouetted black and craggy against the rising sun. To the Navajos, this volcanic pinnacle symbolizes the heart of the Chuska Mountains, a range running more or less north and south along the Arizona-New Mexico border in the northeastern corner of the state. Photographer Bernadette Heath and I are here to experience a slice of Navajo life as guests of Will Tsosie. Will operates Coyote Pass Hospital-ity, a Navajo bed and breakfast inn in Tsaile. Visitors from all over come here to sleep on the floor of a hogan, go without running water and electricity

Navajo Backcountry Close-up

Will loads Bernadette and me into his small four-wheel drive, and we set out for a day of exploration. Bernadette claims the front seat so she can jump out and take “great shots.” I’m enthroned in the backseat amid the camera equipment and pic-nic supplies.

Will heads east out of town into the Chuskas on a dirt road following Tsaile Creek as it makes lazy S-curves through a grassy valley. The Chuskas serve as summer grazing grounds for sheep, and when Bernadette spots a herd close to the road, she yells, “Stop!” Will slams on the brakes, and Bernadette bounds out, camera in hand. The sheep raise their heads curiously, but before Bernadette can get a photo, two sheep dogs bolt from beneath a tree. With a low growl, one dog plants himself between Bernadette and the herd, while the other quickly moves the sheep over the hill.

Bernadette hollers for me to come distract the sheep dog threatening her, but I haven’t got a sign around my neck that says “Stupid.” I’m not going to let that dog chew on my leg so she can get a good shot. Disappointed, Bernadette grumbles and learn about the Navajo culture.

something about writers who won't sacrifice their bodies for the job as she climbs back into the vehicle.

The road becomes noticeably steeper as we drive through groves of aspens, golden with fall foliage, and peer down on tall fir trees reaching up out of deep canyons. We head north until we intercept Buffalo Pass Road, which leads us down from the forests back into the red sandstone at the base of the Chuskas.

The community of Lukachukai sprawls on the flat plain amid scenery strikingly different from the nearby mountains. The vegetation is sparse, trees few. Will abandons all pretense of following a road and heads for Lukachukai Wash, the main drainage system in the valley. We lurch along a cow trail until Will heads cross-country, pointing out remnants of an ancient Anasazi irrigation system as we bump past them.

We stop near a spring-fed trickle of water to let the fillings settle back into our teeth. The tiny stream cuts through the sandstone in a series of narrow waterfalls. Along these banks, the Anasazi gathered clay for their gray and black pots. Pottery shards dating from around A.D. 1050 to 1200 litter the ground.

I know many Navajos avoid the archaeological sites for religious reasons, and I ask Will why he is not uncomfortable showing us the Anasazi ruins.

"When I was very young, about nine or 10 years old, I took part in a protection prayer ceremony called the Monster Slayer Way. My cousin and I played the parts of the Twins in the ceremony. sharp, so you must never curse anyone. You will be protected, and because you played the part of Monster Slayer, you will be protected when you go among the old ruins.’ Back on board, we’re off for more exploring. Now a border of striped silver-blue and mauve clay appears below the red sandstone cliffs. As we get closer, it becomes small purple hills cut with sharp arroyos.

When I remark the countryside resembles the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest National Park, Will says he knows where a white petrified tree lies partially covered in the purple dirt. Up close, the variegated clay hill shows cracks in a textured pattern and large chunks of white sandstone.

Through a maze of twists, turns, and cow trails, familiar to Will but totally confusing to Bernadette and me, we end up back on paved road northwest of Tsaile and stop for lunch at Round Rock Trading Post. A faded sign proclaims it the oldest continuously operated trading post on the reservation, started in 1887 by Chee Dodge, first chairman of the Navajo Nation.

We eat our lunch under a “shade house,” a roof made of dry limbs supported by four posts. Two black dogs hungrily eye our sandwiches until Bernadette gives in and shares with them. The trading post is busy today, and customers stand around outside visiting.

With a square meal under our belts, minus a few bites for the dogs, we head east to Painted Cave. We are now in classic Navajoland, red buttes, pale sand dunes, and windmills. We pass two immense rock formations called Los Gigantes, Spanish for “the giants.” A plume of red dust follows our vehicle through dry washes and engulfs the cattle sharing the dirt track with us. When the valley narrows and red cliffs rise high on each side, Will stops and points up. “See it?” Squinting up at a cave near the top, I barely make out the rock walls of an Anasazi pueblo. Will assures me there is a sheep trail up the steep talus slope, so we start the climb. Though I’m doubtful there ever was a trail, Will and I eventually get to the cool shade of the cave and find Bernadette already taking photos.

The hundreds of handprints covering the sandstone walls explain the name of Painted Cave. Unlike the usual pecked designs, these hands are in bright clear colors of turquoise, yellow, red, white, and black.

Amid the handprints stand large figures (RIGHT) East of Los Gigantes Buttes the road leads past Painted Cave Ruins, an ancient Anasazi dwelling with a kiva and dramatic wall paintings of forgotten religious significance. These multicolored shamanistic symbols are sev-eral feet tall, and many have triangular tur-quoise bodies outlined in red. Pictures of animals and geometric designs fill the cave. The figures continue behind the rock walls of the ruin. Will believes they were painted before the Anasazi built their pueblo and might date from an earlier stage of the Anasazi culture known as the Basket-maker Period, about 2,000 years ago.

In the center of the ruin, a large pine beam protrudes from a sunken kiva. I try to imagine what ceremonies went on around campfires in this high fortress. What were the people like who left their handprints on the rock walls?

The wind picks up and the sun starts down as we return to Round Rock. Dust devils scurry ahead of us on the red dirt road, and the weathered sandstone features of Los Gigantes cast almost identical long shadows.

The Chuskas are changing, too. The dunes, now a purplish black as shadows gather in the valley, march up to meet the glowing, shimmering red cliffs still basking in the sunset. White rockslides cut through the black forested cap, and the snow-covered peaks above the timberline reflect the last rays of the sun.

We'll spend the night at the hogan of one of Will's aunts. If I've counted correctly, Will has mentioned about 173 different aunts today, and I ask just how many relatives he has. He laughs and patiently tries to explain the complex clan system to a belagana, a white person.

A Navajo is associated with four clans in all: the mother's clan, the father's clan, the mother's father's clan, and the father's father's clan. I look so confused that Will simplifies it for me. His mother's clan, the Coyote Pass Clan, is the most important one he belongs to. I understand now why his business is called Coyote Pass Hospitality. Will's family works with him, and the hogans belong to his extended family.

I wonder if I can sleep on the dirt floor of a hogan, but as soon as we arrive, I know it's not going to be a problem. Will's aunt, Annie Kahn, Navajo culture educator, offers a warm welcome and ushers us inside.

The hogan is bigger than it seems from the outside. Rugs cover the dirt floor, and a wood stove will provide heat if we need it. On the south side of the octagonal-shaped In room stands Annie's loom, where a small blanket hangs about one-third finished.

I'm struck by the peaceful, almost spir-itual feeling inside the hogan, and I'm im-mediately comfortable.

By candlelight, I spread my bedroll on a Navajo rug and quickly fall asleep. After 10 hours of jolting, exploring, and hiking, this hogan feels as luxurious as any hotel.

I waken to a howling 40 miles per hour north wind, and I know without sticking my nose out the door, the trip to the outhouse will be a cold one. Overnight the Chuskas have assumed a different personality.

The air is charged as storm clouds menace. Dust now blows in brown sheets instead of friendly dust devils, and sand dunes transform as we watch. An abandoned hogan sitting on one dune fades in and out of sight as the sandstorm tries to obliterate it. The shimmering red cliffs of last night exhibit somber earth tones this morning. The seasons have changed. Autumn is gone. Navajoland is settling in for another winter beneath Tsaile Peak.

Author's Note: To inquire about the Coyote Pass Hospitality bed and breakfast inn, contact Will Tsosie Jr. at P.O. Box 91-B, Tsaile AZ 86556; (520) 724-3383.

For information on visiting the Navajo reservation and obtaining required permits, contact the Navajo Nation, P. O. Box 9000, Window Rock, AZ 86515; (520) 871-6647. Camping fees are $2 per person per night. Backcountry permits are $5 for one person, $10 for two to 10 people, and $20 for groups of 11 to 18 people.