Hovenweep and Monument Valley

After that great moonrise in Mesa Verde, we stayed in the small town of Cortez, Colorado, and woke to have breakfast in the company of a lovely married couple--he was from Ireland, she was from England (proving world peace is a possibility, friends)--who recounted how hard the government shutdown had been on foreign visitors.  Their stories included asians and europeans in tears at the Grand Canyon, not for its beauty, but because their itineraries, booked months ago, allowed for only a day or two at that special place, and they were being turned away.

Luckily for this couple, their trip to the States was for three months, and they had been able to work around the shutdown. In fact, it had been a blessing for them, as they had simply gone other places -- Havasu Falls, Canyon de Chelley, Monument Valley, etc. which were not dependent on the whims of our Government.   They were astounded at the beauty of those places, and amazed that they had not really heard of them before the shutdown forced them to look about.

After enjoying their company, we headed out to Hovenweep National Monument. It is about as remote as a place can be, and relatively small. There were almost no people there, except one retired couple from Boston.  The Monument consists of a 2-3 mile loop hike around some very lonely ruins, but the place has a beauty and mystery all its own. Very little is known about these people, and they were only there for a short time, but their hard work remains these 6 centuries later.  Star-watching here would be something truly spectacular, but we had to make do with a mid-morning hike. Here are some of the photos.

Initially I was surprised by how much color the desert held this late in October, but then realized we were just coming out of a very wet monsoon season, and were getting the tail end of the desert's blooming celebration of that gift of life.

The ruins surround, on all sides, the shallow canyon you can see in the picture above. They are few in number, but something about the remote location makes that seem exactly right.

The house to the right and low in this picture is something else.  Talk about making use of what nature gives you.

The kids seemed to have a good time, chasing lizards and enjoying the cool air. Hovenweep is not as high as Mesa Verde here, so while it was chilly, it was not cold, perfect for exploring.

From Hovenweep we headed for Bluff, Utah, and a surprisingly great lunch at the aptly named Twin Rocks Cafe and Trading Post.

Well fed, we headed straight for Monument Valley, the approach to which is one of the great roads on the planet. If you don't believe, me, you will just have to go see for yourself, but in the meantime, the photo below gives pretty good evidence.

I really love this place. It has a timelessness and presence that defies any cliche we try to impose.  The Navajo Nation citizens that live here may now drive trucks and engage in tourism, but you can viscerally feel that little of real meaning, both about the spirit here and how human beings interact with the land, has changed in thousands of years. 

The tall spires, sandy soil, towering cliffs, and tough desert flora and fauna limit what people can physically do here, but also cause their spirits to soar, like the ever present ravens, on updrafts of light and color and silence that seem to touch eternities.

We drove the dirt road loop, a bouncy, rutted affair, through the tribal park, stopping more times than we could count to take in the views.  On one occasion, Keegan, rifle ever at hand, jumped out and pointed at a glass sided tour bus of 15 or so people, shouting "stop or I'll shoot." In unison, each of those 15 passengers shot their hands in the air, the universal sign of surrender.  He thought he was the living personification of John Wayne's bravado, and grinned like a cheshire cat. We had to honor that spirit with a quick stint atop a horse, owned by a friendly young Navajo, who seemed to enjoy sharing him and telling us about his home amidst these giant cliffs of red. 

The timing for our drive was perfect, with the evening sun slanting in across the horizon, lighting everything up in a warm glow that brought the sandstone alive.

Before the sun set fully, we raced back to the mittens overlook, to take in last light over those iconic monoliths. Here is what we saw:

Knowing that the moon had come up full in Mesa Verde the night before, we decided to wait and see where it would come up here.  Slowly, all of the tourists left, until we were virtually alone in the growing darkness, with even the gate of the park shut behind us.  In that silence and quiet, broken only by the wind blowing and an occasional straggler, our patience bore fruit. 

There is nothing quite like this place under the light of a full moon. I can think of only one other time in my life where I had chills run up my spine as I took pictures (bear encounters excepted, of course).  That was in 1997 when, after a horrific day of driving hours on end, we pulled into Yosemite National Park at three in the morning, under a full moon and cloudless skies.  Not a soul stirred, only we weary travelers, and it was as if we had walked right into an Ansel Adams photo, silver glinting off hardened granite walls, contrasting with the dark shadows of cliff clefts and the white cascades of falling water, almost aglow in the moonlight.  

This night was one of those nights for me, where planets align and all is right with the world.  I will not forget it until my dusk darkens into night,  and I will always know that man passes through here like a fleeting breeze, but the desert and its beauty endures.