Seeing through different eyes

      It is a physiological truth that we do not see with our eyes; we see with our brains. Images that pass through our lenses are literally projected upside down on the retinas of our eyes just as was done by the lenses of old-time view cameras. Fortunately, soon after birth our brains learn to flip the images over so that the world makes better sense. It would be rather inconvenient to go around holding your coffee mug upside down. Never mind going up the down escalator. That way leads only to insanity. So, in effect, your brain says, “Who you gonna believe, me or your lyin’ eyes?”
   But the phenomenon is more than physiological. We tend to see only what we can recognize and put into context. In Yellowstone, I was watching an elk emerge from the tree line to graze in the meadow. A nearby woman asked, “Are you watching that big brown thing?”  She wasn’t near sighted, as far as I could tell, but she did not “see” an elk because she did not recognize it as an elk.

This big brown thing had just emerged from the lodgepole pines.

    This applies to a plethora of absolutely common things that we fail to recognize or “see” simply because we do not know their names. Most of us are occasionally unable to see the trees for the forest. In this specific instance, the elk emerged not just from “the tree line” but from a forest of lodgepole pines. If you don’t know their names, trees are just trees. Or big green things. Tree geeks know that lodgepole pines are called that because the plains Indians used their long, straight trunks to support their teepees. So, this tree has not only a botanical identity but a cultural one as well.

   All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that the world is a much more fascinating place if you know what you are looking at. How can you appreciate the cultural significance of a lodgepole pine if you don’t know how the plains Indians once lived and why it was absolutely vital for them to have portable housing? (I like to think of them as early RVers.)

   Now, worldwide there are more than 100 species of pine of which 36 are native to North America. Each species has a similarly fascinating story to tell. Or, it might be fascinating if you had any reason whatsoever to care. Sticking with the lodgepole, though, you may be aware that, paradoxically, forest fires are essential for its survival. Tightly sealed cones require the intense heat of fire to open them up and scatter the seeds.   

   In 1988, lightning started the Great Yellowstone Fire that burned almost 800,000 acres, about a third of the entire park. Our family watched newscasts in horror as places we had visited and loved were overwhelmed by towering walls of flame. The iconic Old Faithful Inn was saved only by heroic efforts and a last-minute shift in the wind. Even so, where most people saw destruction on a massive scale, forest managers foresaw the imminent renewal of the lodgepole forest. The lodgepole is an arboreal phoenix, if you will, that rises from its own ashes.

   In 1990 we returned to a radically changed landscape in Yellowstone. Vast groves of standing dead trees in addition to all the downed timber. But also something quite remarkable. Vast gardens of colorful wildflowers thriving in the spaces newly opened to sunlight and millions upon millions of new lodgepole seedlings. At a ranger talk, a visitor wanted to know how they had managed to replant all those trees in just two years. The ranger patiently explained.

   Shirley and I have benefited significantly from ranger talks and tours over the years. At Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Arizona, for instance, we have repeated the 20-mile Ajo Mountain tour several times. The first time, I drove our RV as Shirley read from the guidebook.

   The next year we signed up for the guided tour in a park van because the rutted, rocky, washboard road had threatened to vibrate our RV into all of its constituent parts. The tour was led by a professor of geology from Colorado State University who demonstrated that there is a great deal to be learned from looking at plain old rocks. (You know, those big hard things.) What are the characteristics of basin and range topography? How does the Sonoran Desert differ from the Chihuahuan, the Mojave, and the Great Basin? We had failed to see all those young volcanoes, cinder cones, basalt flows, and giant craters on our self-guided tour. Of course, we had seen it all before without actually “seeing” any of it. The tour was a real eye opener, so to speak.

   The experience was so enriching that in subsequent years we signed up for what was nominally the same tour but led by different specialists. The ethno-botanist explained not only the differences among the various cacti but how they and other desert plants were used by the native peoples. The cultural anthropologist pointed out the vestiges of ancient Indian diversion dams and the irrigation ditches down in dry stream beds and how Indian boys were sent alone, as a rite of passage, to make salt at the Sea of Cortez and bring it back for their people. An ornithologist explained that Harris’s hawks hunt in packs like wolves, how the Gila woodpecker makes a dry nest in the damp interior of a saguaro cactus, and that the curved bill thrasher sings multiple songs like its cousin the mockingbird. A photographer tried to teach us to see and compose more effective images and how to make better use of the way the early morning light strikes the mountains creating texture and contrast. An artist passed out pads and colored pencils and had us draw things we saw in the desert on the theory that to draw it clearly you had to look at it more closely. Some of us, indeed, began to see more clearly but that didn’t necessarily improve our drawing skills.

   The downside to repeating a tour, though, is that sooner or later you will hit a dud. It is just the risk you take because of the seasonal nature of ranger employment. Sensible people prefer not to work in the Everglades in the summer when the mosquito population is high and serpents of various malignity are more active. Or in Glacier National Park when the snow is way up to here and the temperature is way down there. So quite a few rangers, being sensible people, take off-season positions in more desirable locations. Some rangers, though, have permanent positions that require them to hang around regardless of temporary unpleasantness. Those rangers tell us they actually like the conditions we think of as unpleasant. But we have never believed any of them.

   Each season, therefore, brings an influx of newbie rangers who, though generally bright, are required to learn all kinds of things in a great hurry so they can respond to touristy questions. The most frequently asked in any park is “Where are the restrooms?” Some questions are more challenging. “How do you tell a staghorn from a buckhorn cholla?” Some are just impossible. “Where do you keep all the bison at night? Why don’t you move the animal crossing signs so the animals will cross in places more convenient for viewing? How long does it take for a deer to grow into an elk and then become a moose? What time does Old Faithful go off?” We heard that last question at Grand Canyon, about 850 miles from Old Faithful.

How long does it take for a deer...

to turn into an elk and...

then into a moose?

   Your teachers probably encouraged youthful curiosity by asserting that there is no such thing as a stupid question. Your teachers were just being kind. In the lounge, they actually love to laugh with each other about the questions they get in class. “If the speed of light is 186,000 miles per second, what is the speed of dark?” But I digress.

   Shirley and I tend to sympathize with young rangers because they usually make up with enthusiasm what they lack in experience. The brighter ones will confess that they just arrived from Someother National Park and are not yet up to speed. Perhaps someone in the crowd knows what that bird is. Someone always does. 

Ajo Mountain has a distinctive profile. The tour runs along the base

and into some side canyons.

Basin and range topography is characterized by a series of ridges

with flat plains between.

A newbie ranger might not recognize or be able to

pronounce phainopepla but somebody in the crowd can.

No matter what part of the country you are from, 

you probably recognize this bird.

Two ladies from Northern British Columbia were excited

to see this exotic bird. They don't have any way up there.

Harris's hawks hunt cooperatively like wolf packs.

The BC ladies knew this was a coyote, not a wolf.

This is often mistaken for a diamondback rattlesnake but it's just a bull

snake we watched chase a packrat into its nest. 

The packrat said, "What do you mean just a bull snake?"

And how do you tell a rabbit from a hare? Why 

would you care? Just call it a bunny and no one will

argue with you. Note that there are no antlers so

it is not a jackalope.

The gila woodpecker makes a nest in a saguaro cactus.

It is damp in the new house so it can't be occupied until the next season.

Meanwhile, she enjoys feeding on the berries of desert mistletoe

that has a marvelous perfume that can be detected

from quite a distance.

Most of the time, ocotillos look like bundles of dead,

thorny sticks.

But the tiniest amount of rain can stimulate growth 

and rapid blossoming.

Then, like trees in the Midwest, their leaves turn red

and gold before they go back to being dead sticks.

This can happen several times a year.

We hiked back into Arch Canyon

Our guide pointed out that it could have been called Double Arch Canyon.

Cacti sometimes develop genetic mutations called crestations.

You start to see them more often once you know what you are

looking at.

This is an organ pipe cactus that reaches the northern limit of its

ranger in Southern Arizona. There are numerous other cactus varieties

and an unbelievable assortment of flowering desert plants. This is why

the Sonoran Desert is called the Green Desert.

   As with the Ajo Mountain Tour, we have taken the half-day tour to Quitobaquito Springs more than once. The first time, the park van took the dirt road that parallels Mexico Rt. 2 just a few yards across the border fence. We heard about its special features that help deter the use of vehicles by the drug cartels. Our guide pointed out the different kinds of cactus, a hawk sitting on a nest in a saguaro, and how plants adapt to the salt flats through which we passed. At the springs, there was extensive discussion of the importance of the oasis dating back 16,000 years as a vital outpost on the Old Salt Trail used by Indians and the Devil’s Highway used by the Spanish since Fr. Eusebio Kino in 1698. Then, after the Gadsden Purchase, how a trading post was established by Americans who dammed the spring to create a pond and planted an orchard of pomegranate and fig trees. The orchard is still there today though quite overgrown as it reverts to nature. You would never see it unless it were pointed out. We were introduced to the salt-tolerant pup fish in the spring-fed stream and the endangered mud turtles in the pond. Our guide drew attention to evidence that the resident owl had recently been hunting. She identified some nutrient-rich wolfberries along the trail so we sampled a few. She assigned the names of actual Spanish and American pioneers to tour members and gave us scripts to read out loud explaining their roles in the history of Quito so that we could begin to see things through their eyes. Then we climbed the hill to the historic cemetery to visit the graves of some of the characters we had portrayed.

Rt. 2 is just a few yards beyond the border fence erected to deter

the drug cartels. What? You don't think that would keep them out?

We were escorted by armed rangers and Border Patrol agents. A

reporter from Phoenix was sent to do a story on Quitobaquito. She 

became so distraught by the presence of armed men that she wrote

 about them instead of Quito. We see everything through the brains

 we bring with us.

The saltbush, or desert holly, deals with excessive salinity by 

excreting it through its leaves. All that white is salt crystals.

The ranger pointed to evidence that the resident owl had a successful hunt.

The pond, fed by a spring, was created to provide a reliable water source 

for a trading post. The "sacred willow" is on the far bank.

Pup fish can tolerate extremely high concentrations of salt in their water.

There is an interesting story behind each of the residents of the cemetery

if you know enough history to tell those stories.

   Shirley and I were so impressed by the whole experience that the next year we invited friends from Phoenix to join us on a repeat of the tour. It is a forty-five minute ride on a bumpy, rutted dirt road to the spring. The newly assigned guide did not see anything worth mentioning along the way. At the spring, we walked around the pond where some coots were paddling about in the reeds. Nothing to say about the construction of the pond (it is man-made), the "ancient willow" sacred to the Native Americans (which was planted by white settlers), or the trading post in the oasis, or the orchard nourished by the spring, or the people who had used the Salt Trail or Devil’s Highway. Even though we had not heard or done much, our guide lamented that there was “not enough time” to climb the hill to the cemetery before leaving. Probably because he did not know who is buried there or why they mattered. A classic instance of not yet up-to-speed. Major disappointment for those of us who knew the unrealized potential. Still, if you didn’t know what you could have been seeing, you probably didn’t miss having it pointed out to you.

   A totally opposite experience just occurred to me. We had signed up for a spring wildflower tour. But spring was late and the wildflowers didn’t get the memo informing them they were expected to attend. Our guide insisted we should go anyway so she could point out the places flowers would have been if there had been any flowers. Thus, we went to “see” things that were not actually there. We felt sorry for the person assigned to lead the tour. Now, she might have just canceled it or we might have said, “No thanks, perhaps we’ll come back in a couple weeks.” But Midwesterners are often encumbered by excessive civility.

   Even when a tour fails to meet all of our expectations, Shirley and I are usually willing to settle for spectacular scenery and amazing encounters with wildlife. The way we see things, it is all just a walk in the park.

     

     

     

     

     

           

       

Bandelier & Hovenweep: An Archeological Tour

    In conjunction with our 2021 visit to Mesa Verde National Park in southwestern Colorado, Shirley and I also stopped at Bandelier National Monument about an hour northwest of Santa Fe and Hovenweep National Monument on the Colorado-Utah border. All three parks are dedicated to the preservation of Ancient Puebloan Indian sites. We had been to Mesa Verde several times before on our way to and from other national parks in the Southwest or flyfishing north of Durango. This post is limited to Bandelier and Hovenweep. For Mesa Verde, please see the post for Dec. 4, 2017.
   Archeologists believe the Puebloans were preceded by and descended from nomadic hunter-gatherer people who roamed the area as much as 13,000 years ago. The evidence for these earlier people is basically stone spear and arrow points. (Archeologists can evidently identify differences in arrow heads as easily as a golfer can tell a driver from a putter.) There is far, far more evidence for the civilization of their descendants, the Ancient Puebloans, who established stable villages built of stone and adobe, made increasingly beautiful pottery, grew crops such as beans, squash and corn and left behind a treasure trove of artifacts. Most of those "artifacts" have been recovered from the ancient equivalent of garbage dumps and landfills.
   During the early Puebloan era, homes were underground pit houses lined with shaped stones and covered over with wood and adobe roofs strong enough to support people walking on them. Which they had to be because the door, which also served as a chimney, was in the roof. Pit houses as habitations evolved into kivas used for religious ceremonies and community activities. By about 1200 AD there were above-ground villages at Bandelier consisting of about 40 adjoining rooms arranged in a circle. Eventually there were even larger villages until some had grown to about 600 rooms with some dwellings rising as high as three stories. By the time the Spanish arrived in northern New Mexico, the Puebloans had already moved on to new homes along the upper Rio Grande. Today there are eight Indian pueblos north of Santa Fe where the current residents are probably descendants of the Bandelier people.

Frijoles Canyon. All the green down there suggests a good place to live.

   We spent four days at Bandelier in mid-June and can understand why anyone would be attracted to the place. From the tourist’s point of view, the Frijoles Canyon is just beautiful. Earlier residents, however, were probably interested in more mundane issues. Survival, for example. This is high, desert country so the first thing on your checklist has to be water. Got it. Materials for shelter? Check. Food? Check.
   We camped on the dry plateau above Frijoles Canyon at an elevation of 6,600 ft. in a forest of stunted spruce and pinyon pines. At night, the temperature routinely dropped into the 30s but by 8 a.m. or so it was T-shirt warm. And it was hot enough in the early afternoon to generate brief pop-up thunderstorms. On the third day, hail was thrown in at no extra charge.

Plenty of timber for construction and implements.

Reliable water essential for survival in the desert.

Even a picturesque waterfall near the confluence of

the creek with the upper Rio Grande.

   Down in the canyon, the Ancestral Puebloans lived along a stream where groves of stately Ponderosa pines still grow. The tall, straight trees made excellent roof beams. (Dendochronology, the study of tree rings, helps establish dates for the dwellings.) Plenty of wood for fuel, tools and other things too. Other plants supplied materials for sandals, rope, and woven baskets.
   Water also meant that game animals were bound to visit the area so crops were supplemented with meat that was dried for long-term storage. There is also evidence that they domesticated turkeys not only for meat and eggs but for feathers that could be woven together with yucca fibers to make warm blankets and coats. This, by the way, is a skill that is still practiced by modern Puebloans.
   We took the trail out to the series of cliff-side dwellings. Along the way we passed the Big Kiva. Archeologists note that it was reconstructed or repaired at some point because the bottom courses of stones are all beautifully squared off and shaped to purpose. The top portion, though, is made of rough stone just mortared into place and considerably cruder in appearance. It is rather like a once-elegant Victorian home that deteriorated over time and was then “repaired” by less affluent later residents. Because they were underground, kivas were relatively warm in winter and cool in the summer.

You may be able to tell that the bottom half of the wall is made of 

shaped stones. The top half is just rocks stacked and mortared into place.

Just for comparison, note the much higher level of craftsmanship in

this kiva at Mesa Verde.

   At the base of the cliff at Bandelier are remains of talus houses that rest on the stone, or talus, that had fallen from the cliff. The dwellings at Mesa Verde, on the other hand, are high up in huge, natural alcoves in the cliff face itself. The back walls of the talus houses were formed by the vertical cliff rock of ironically named volcanic tuff. It is not “tough” at all but quite crumbly so there are hundreds of naturally occurring caves, most of them rather small and shallow. Some of these were easily converted to storage space. Think of them as closets and pantries. These cave rooms, called cavates (cave-eights), were typically plastered with adobe and painted. They were not, however, big enough for use as living space. Archeologists speculate that the Ancient Puebloans used them to store at least two years of supplies to tide them over during the lean years.

It is easy to tell where dwellings once rose two or three stories high

along the cliff face.

Natural openings or caveates were often squared off

and made into more formal entryways, perhaps with doors

for greater security

Parallel lines of round holes indicate where roofbeams or vigas

once rested.

Some of the painted plaster is still visible after 1,000 years or so.

   In addition to tuff, other volcanic rock at Frijoles Canyon was probably an attraction to the prehistoric residents. There are plentiful deposits of basalt, a harder rock good for pounding tools such as hammers and for grinding corn. There is also shiny black obsidian that flakes easily to make sharp tools such as scrapers, spear points, and arrowheads.
   The remains of talus houses stretch for about 800 feet along the base of the cliff. Even where the houses have collapsed, you can easily see where the multiple floors originally existed. There are evenly-spaced holes about a foot in diameter that were hollowed out to support the vigas or roof beams. Vigas are still a defining characteristic of modern “fauxdobe” construction in the Southwest. So, it is clear even to the casual visitor that there was usually two or even three stories rising above the ground floor. In some places, there are ladders placed so you can climb to a cavate. The floors have been obviously smoothed and leveled so they can't be mistaken for natural caves. Some of these cavates have more elaborate squared off entrances defined by an outline of shaped stones around the natural opening. Tourists love to go in there and poke their heads out to have their pictures taken.

The official architectural style of Santa Fe is "fauxdobe"--

artificial adobe walls penetrated by false vigas or roof beams.

As the population grew, there were additional dwellings built around

an open central plaza. Rooms were pretty small by our standards.

   The biggest adventure in the park, though, is the climb to Alcove House. (The use of natural cliff alcoves dominates at Mesa Verde but there is only one at Bandelier.) As the name suggests, it is broad, deep opening in the cliff face that is still quite small by Mesa Verde standards. Alcove House is high above the base of the cliff and reached via a 140-foot ascent on ladders. Woohoo! Not for the faint of heart. Or those with heart issues. Or small children. But everyone we met established an instant sense of camaraderie. We shared advice. Don’t ever look down or out towards the open canyon. Don’t pause for selfies halfway up. Stay focused on what you are doing or you won’t live to do it much longer.
In the alcove are cavates with beam holes in the wall over them indicating where viga logs for roof supports would have been inserted. There is also a kiva right at the edge of the drop-off. “Oh, Great Spirit, don’t desert me now!”

Was Shirley daunted?

She was not. But you already knew that.

Alcove House is in the only large natural opening in the cliff face.

It was probably reserved for ceremonial activities.

The kiva up there sits at the edge of the opening.

The walls of the alcove have natural caveates and holes for vigas.

   There are fewer such challenges at Hovenweep. Though the basic stone architecture resembles that of Mesa Verde and Bandelier, the building sites are generally on the rim of the cliff rather than in alcoves or at the base. The reasons for this are quite simple. First, there are no naturally occurring alcoves to build in. Then, the canyon is relatively narrow and shallow so there aren’t many suitable building sites down there either. The main attraction for early residents may have been reliable water sources at the head of the canyon. Several stone towers suggest that the Puebloans were protecting something. It may have been their vital water sources from jealous or acquisitive neighbors. The towers resemble those built for both habitation and defense that appeared all over Europe during the Middle Ages. The names given to them by the Park Service (Stronghold House and Stronghold Tower) reflect this speculation about their defensive purpose.

There are no alcoves or caveates at Hovenweep so the residents took

advantage of whatever natural shelter was available.

All those shaped stones are doubly impressive when you consider

that the Puebloans had no metal tools.

   On the other hand, the towers might have been just an aesthetic preference. Showing off, as it were. Look what we can do. At Mesa Verde, there are towers back in the cliff alcoves where you would expect that the overhanging cliff itself was a sufficient defense. Besides, we have heard ranger talks based on varying anthropological theories: this was a harsh, challenging environment with different tribes and clans competing for scarce resources; or, this was essentially a peaceable, agrarian culture that thrived by cooperating rather than competing. Some anthropology is based on physical evidence--tree rings, pottery, arrowheads. Some is speculation.
   Shirley and I took the loop trail to the head of the canyon, followed it back along the far rim and descended into the canyon to cross and climb back to the trailhead. We can attest to its challenging environment. So could others. We met a couple about our age resting on boulders in the shade of one of the rare, stunted pinyon pines. She was rather red in the face and he was looking a little distressed so we asked if they needed water or help. Assured that they did not, we continued on. A few minutes later, we met three EMTs hurrying down the trail. Evidently, hikers ahead of us had reported concerns about the red-faced woman. Seniors often seek to avoid encumbering others with needless solicitude and will stoutly deny the gravity of their symptoms. (I know an old guy who had a heart attack down in Bryce Canyon but refused to let a minor annoyance like that keep him from climbing out.)

   The archeological evidence indicates that Mesa Verde, Bandelier and Hovenweep were built and thrived at almost exactly the same time (according to the tree rings) so there must have been a rather widespread cultural revolution underway similar to the burst of cathedral building in medieval Europe (Space aliens were undoubtedly responsible for all of it.) Likewise, at the end of the 13^th century, the Puebloans apparently all decided simultaneously that it was time to pack up and get out.
   My anthropological theory was inspired by the example of the red-faced woman. After giving it a go for a couple hundred years, the Puebloan women banded together and said to their husbands, “You know what, this ain’t nearly as much fun as you promised it would be. How about we find a place with more shade and water? A Holiday Inn Express with a swimming pool would be nice. Maybe order some Margaritas and Mojitos.” So, they all moved to Santa Fe.
   Shirley says the theory needs a little work. But she agrees that visiting the Ancient Pueblos was just a walk in the park.