Travelers from around the world visit the American Southwest for its spectacular canyons, solitary buttes and vast desert landscapes. And many of them have a fascination, shared by author Scott Thybony, with the rich cultural heritage of the region. In the newest installment of his Canyon Commentary, Thybony recalls a visit to White Mountain Apache country where he heard a story about a boy and his dog and the mountain spirits.
Invited guests fill the seats in front of the stage in Whiteriver, Arizona. They have gathered at the rodeo grounds for the inauguration of a new tribal chairman of the White Mountain Apache. The more traditional women, I notice, wear camp dresses made from yards of bright fabric.
Various bands take turns warming up the crowd. An Apache rock band leads off, followed by a Hopi high school band, then a mariachi band from Phoenix. When the Army band from Fort Huachuca finishes, a medicine man wearing sunglasses, a white Stetson, and a neon-orange vest gives the invocation. The preliminaries end with a gospel-singing Apache woman backed up by the high school Indian princess interpreting in sign language.
It’s May of 1990, and the weather takes a turn as rain blows in from the north. The young people begin to leave but the older women, some in their 90s, continue to sit unprotected. A few cover their heads with Pendleton shawls, but most show a complete indifference to the cold rain. I watch them, more fascinated by their stoicism than events on stage.
Next morning broken clouds hang on the Mogollon Rim as the storm trails away. I’ve arranged to meet Edgar Perry, the director of the Apache Cultural Center. My plan is to hike part way up Mount Baldy, a peak held sacred by the Apache. I ask Edgar about its significance, and he settles in to tell me about the origin of the mountain spirits known as the ga'an.
It was a time of hunger, he says, when a boy began to dream of where the hunters could find deer. The boy warned them not to skin the deer until he arrived. For the first two mornings, they followed his instructions, but on the third day, they skinned it without waiting. Their luck changed, and the hunters returned empty-handed on their next attempt. Determined to help his people, the boy set out with a black-and-white spotted dog to find more deer. They came upon a cave where the boy heard beautiful singing coming from underground. It was the song of the mountain spirits. Curious, he went to investigate.
During ceremonies, Edgar explains, the Apache perform a crown dance where the dancers embody the mountain spirits. They wear hooded masks and move around the fire bare-chested in deerskin kilts. “The sticks they hold represent lightning,” Edgar says, “and the crowns of wooden slats symbolize one of the four major clans—eagle, bear, elk, and snake. They are friendly spirits sent to protect the Apache people by Ussen, the Giver of All Life, the Holy Spirit.”
Picking up the story, Edgar says the spotted dog returned home without the boy. His grandmother grew worried and began to search for him. Following his tracks she reached the cave where a voice told her if she kept coming back her grandson would join her on the fourth day. But during the night, the grandmother became frightened and ran away. Gathering a large party of warriors for protection, she returned with the little dog. At night they heard singing and drumming from inside the cave. It kept moving closer.
Suddenly a dozen mountain spirits emerged and began to dance. As the Apache people watched, the spotted dog recognized the third dancer as the lost boy and ran up to him with his tail wagging. “Now I’m caught up with the spirit,” the boy said, “and I’m one of them. I will now work on behalf of my people.” Before the sun was up, Edgar adds, “The boy disappeared over the horizon with the other dancers following.” His little dog had to stay behind and watch them go.
