In spring and summer, the Sonoran Desert can be a formidable challenge for a hiker. The temperature can sometimes soar to 115 to 120 degrees. Shade and water are in short supply. I spent a lot of time on weekends in 1989, when I lived in Scottsdale, Ariz., trying different hiking trails, and I frequently thought about the native American Indians who lived and somehow thrived in this hostile environment.
An archeologist friend told me he had come across a very early cliff dwelling that was one of the most pristine in the area, and swore me to secrecy as to its location. He said when he first entered it three years earlier, he found a woven sandal, meticulously crafted around the time of Christ, almost as if the occupant had vacated the place the previous day.
After working up a map to find the dwelling, I drove as far into the desert as I could, then hiked about six miles to a narrow canyon. It had a nice stream that formed several quiet pools with cottonwood trees alongside, each about 20 feet high and seemingly somewhat out of place. To the side was an acre or so of cultivable land. So the residents had water, fish, shade, a source of fuel and cultivatable land, all in the middle of the desert, where such commodities are pretty scarce.
But I couldn’t see where the people lived. There were no caves, buildings or cliff overhangs. I used my binoculars to scan the canyon walls and that was when I saw a slight variance. Dirt mixing with the rain of a million years had left black streaks that started at the top and tapered to the bottom, but my eyes were drawn to one area where the black marks started at the bottom and moved to the top — a sure sign of a fire.
A short walk took me to the cave entrance, which was more of a slash than a typical opening. So well did it blend in with the canyon wall, I came close to missing it altogether. When I went inside, I was a bit disappointed because the cave only extended about 15 feet into the rock. The ceiling was originally a white chalky substance, but countless campfires had left the center and front portion deeply blackened. It looked somewhat like a front room or parlor, and I found steps at the rear that led to the next level.
My disappointment vanished when I found myself ready to enter a 2,000-year-old, split-level house with a main room downstairs and two rooms in the second level.
The living area was a cavern about 20 feet high and 50 feet wide. The doorway was about 4 feet high with a wooden beam supporting the upper portions. I was amazed at the design and workmanship, and I circled it several times before entering. I sat on the floor of the main room and tried to imagine the energy and ingenuity that went into building such a structure in such a location, and my admiration for these ancient ones soared.
Moving back to inspect the wooden door brace, I glanced to the side and spotted a ghostly imprint of a hand, frozen in the mud. With no written language, the builder had used his hand as his signature. I gently fitted my own hand into the imprint and tried to connect with the person who so long ago had stood on the exact same spot. Although no vision materialized, I felt the presence of a people long gone.
Outside, I sank down on a hillock just outside the entrance. Occasionally I could hear birds twittering in the nearby cottonwoods, and then I started noticing more signs of man. A flash of blue in the dirt was a small nugget of turquoise, a mineral not found here, suggesting a trade route to the north where it is found in abundance. Nearby, a multihued piece of abalone shell was visible, pointing to the possibility of a trading partner with the coastal tribes, 300 miles to the west. I picked up a palm-sized rock near the entrance that had been intentionally fractured to form a serrated edge as sharp as a knife, and pondered how many hides this scraper had worked. A few orange colored pottery shards were visible in the dirt as well as slivers of obsidian, the litter of a knapper creating projectile points.
I looked about me. It was a wonderful view; high cliffs, a bubbling stream, grassy meadows, stately trees and a comfortable dwelling. This is all that most of us want out of life. Were they so different from us? Not really, but their culture was survival-based while ours is aimed at comfort. As I slipped on my pack, I tried to imagine the person whose handprint I touched living in my world, and then I tried to imagine me living in his. It was good food for thought for the long hike back to the truck.
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