The Spirit of Chaco Canyon, Revisited
On Wednesday, May 21, 2008, I hooked up my travel trailer and drove from Winslow, Arizona to Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, via Interstate I-40 and Gallup, New Mexico. During my transit, a cold front swept over the high deserts of Arizona and New Mexico, providing a forty mile per hour tailwind to my highway travels. Although I ate dust and sand every time I got out of my truck, the good news was that I got excellent gas mileage and the temperature dropped form 100 degrees f. to 65 degrees f. as I approached my destination.
Chaco Culture National Historical Park, my destination, is located over 
thirty miles off the nearest paved highway, regardless of which road you take to get there. If you are seeking an “off the grid” experience, with no mobile telephone, broadcast TV or electrical services, Chaco might be the place for you. Gallup, New Mexico is the nearest city, almost 60 miles to the south, so the night sky is about as dark as you will find in the lower forty-eight states.
thirty miles off the nearest paved highway, regardless of which road you take to get there. If you are seeking an “off the grid” experience, with no mobile telephone, broadcast TV or electrical services, Chaco might be the place for you. Gallup, New Mexico is the nearest city, almost 60 miles to the south, so the night sky is about as dark as you will find in the lower forty-eight states.Besides the allure of peace, quiet and solitude away from our over-amped contemporary culture, Chaco Canyon, lies at the axis of an ancient and long vanished pre-Puebloan culture, popularly known as the Anasazi. Having visited Chaco Canyon the previous autumn, I wanted to see and experience its stark beauty again, this time in the spring.
Winter and summer are the long seasons in the high deserts of New 
Mexico, but spring and fall often last only a few weeks. As I blew in to Chaco, along with the dust of a desert sandstorm, spring appeared to be over and shriveled spring flowers along the road evidenced the coming dry season. All of that was to change, even before I could set up camp.
Mexico, but spring and fall often last only a few weeks. As I blew in to Chaco, along with the dust of a desert sandstorm, spring appeared to be over and shriveled spring flowers along the road evidenced the coming dry season. All of that was to change, even before I could set up camp.From the west and south, clouds quickly began to build. Soon I saw virga, hanging like veils in the sky, with rain clouds following not far behind. By the time I unhooked, leveled and secured my coach, the rains started in earnest, not let up for the rest of the evening and on into the night.
The next morning, it was a cold 43 degrees f., as I made my way to the visitors’ center to pay my user fees and to get a recommendation for short hike, suited to the possibility of more rain. The volunteer in the center suggested the Una Vida ruins hike, which started from the parking lot where I had already parked my truck. Taking her advice, I shared the short trail to the ruins with a friendly couple, but saw no one else in the area until my return, an hour later. The north-facing masonry wall of a particularly building intrigued me. It appeared to have a face on it, created by its symmetrical windows and door. To me, it looked like a face one would see on a Hopi Indian kachina (or katsina) doll.
Above the Una Vida ruin (Una Vida means “one life” in Spanish), sheltered by a stone overhang, was a collection of well-preserved Indian petroglyphs. They stood out well for my camera in the morning light. Similar enigmatic rock etchings abound throughout the southwestern US. Because of their protected location, few acts of defacement or vandalism were evident here.
Upon returning to my campsite, I walked among the ruins of an ancient 
farmhouse, which lay beneath the overhang of a cliff, less than fifty yards away. Simply by readjusting my gaze to look for telltale signs, there too, I found ancient Indian rock art.
farmhouse, which lay beneath the overhang of a cliff, less than fifty yards away. Simply by readjusting my gaze to look for telltale signs, there too, I found ancient Indian rock art.Then to my surprise, I came upon what appeared to be a face staring out at me from the canyon wall. This little character, with sorrowful, yet knowing eyes and what appeared to be a large cranium made no sound and never moved. Still, his eyes followed me wherever I moved throughout his rocky domain.
Having traveled as much as I have in the southwestern US, I have learned to keep an eye out for the spirits that dwell in these canyons. Like the Egyptian carvings of the Pharaonic Period, were these silent sentinels formerly human, but now at rest in their stony abodes? On the other hand, are they non-physical spirits trying desperately to gain the 
attention of those humans who happen to pass their yearning, yet immobile countenances? Such is this place, Chaco Canyon, where people are rare, ancestral Puebloan spirits abound and history lays enigmatically all around, even in the public campground.
