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A Step Back in Time

By Susan Oloier

Found in: | Outside | Where to Go |

In traditional Puebloan theology, legend recounts the story of Spider Grandmother who sealed the righteous away to save them from a destructive flood. She then created a hollow reed that climbed toward the sky, and it emerged in the Fourth World at the sipapu, also known as a portal. People clambered up the reed into this world, emerging from the opening. Belief dictates its point of origin at the Grand Canyon.

Justin and I stooped closer to the kiva to eyeball the elusive hole. Nothing. Nevertheless, we deferred to Ranger Tim, taking him at his word. After all, he wore the mask of authority: a web of wrinkles erupting from the corners of his dipping blue eyes like a merit badge. He reminded me of the actor Geoffrey Rush.

We journeyed to Mesa Verde National Park to take a guided tour of the ruins. Cliff Palace, to be precise. The largest of the cliff dwellings, with only five 10-foot ladders, it seemed like a doable expedition for Justin and his fear of heights. We converged at the overlook with 50 other people to step back in time with Ranger Tim. "Bad lungs, bad heart, bad knees, bad attitude - don't go," he announced with a warm grin on his face.

Justin and I, who lay claim to hikes throughout the United States, exuded confidence in descending the 100 steps carved into the rock, along with the five ladders that pepper the trail. Looking at some of the others, I wasn't so sure. Especially the barrel-bellied man donning a cable knit shirt and polyester pants.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs and the end of the subsequent winding trail, we arrived in clear view of the dwelling. We settled comfortably on a slab of sandstone to glean a history from Tim. "This used to be oceanfront property," he said with a realtor-style sweep of the hand. The geology is a mix of spongy sandstone and shale slides. Seep springs form as water slips across the smooth and hardened clay shelves. Ancient Puebloans planted and grew "the three sisters" there: corn, beans, and pumpkins. Tim directed us to a balcony above the dwellings, "the first bank of the Pueblo," he said. With an overabundance of crop, the ancestral people stored excess harvest there; 75 percent of the kivas were used as storerooms.

"Can I ask a question?" Justin whispered to me. He wanted to know the lifespan of the people. It was pretty bleak. Men lived to 40, while women stuck around for a mere 30 years. I refrained from telling him that I wouldn't be sitting beside him at Cliff Palace if we had been alive in the 1200's.

With all questions answered, we meandered over to the dwellings. We stood among the atavistic characteristics of the place: the puzzle-pieced stone walls like ancient and wrinkled faces, the mud and ash mortar holding the structures together. I examined the view through primeval eyes, casting them out to the kiln-fired hills, emblazoned with burnt umber and sepia hues from the receding winter and the fires that have haunted this area for the past 15 years.

We lingered to hash over more history and to lay eyes on petroglyphs etched into the walls of one of the buildings. Before we knew it, our hour was up, and it was time to head back to the parking lot. We formed a single-file line to the three consecutive ladders that led us out of the canyon. "I don't like all those crooked steps," Justin panicked at the sight of the ascent. I promised to stay right behind him to curb his fears. He was not alone in them. A few adults projected an inaudible eek at the prospect of climbing out. As we waited our turn for the ladder, we happened upon the formally dressed man. He had propped himself against one of the walls; his barrel belly rising and falling as he choked in deep breaths of air.

"I'm a day starving," Justin declared as we meandered back to the vehicle, reviewing the highlights of the day. Before the tour, we wanted to explore other aspects of the park: the Farview sites, perhaps a drive around Mesa Top Loop. But our stomachs dictated our path. We went for food instead, knowing we would return again soon.