In the newest installment of his Canyon Commentary, Scott Thybony heads into the Painted Desert for a much-needed reality check. After spending time among the wind-carved cliffs and hoodoos, he renews his appreciation for the real world with all its strangeness and wild beauty.
Long hours spent at the desk in front of a computer have taken a toll. My fourth cup of coffee sits next to me getting cold, my thoughts have dried to a trickle, and my eyes keep blinking to stay focused. Time for a reality check. I shut down everything and take off for the Painted Desert.
Many people prefer the virtual, willing to experience the world second-hand.
Given the choice between the real world and all the never-never lands around us, I’ll take the real. That choice goes back to one of the first lessons I can remember. When I was about 4-years old my mother gave me a snow globe as a present. “Shake it,” she said, “and your wish will come true.”
The next day I was bouncing on the bed with a towel tied around my neck playing Superman. I grabbed the snow globe off the shelf, gave it a good shake, and wished I could fly. Jumping off the bed with arms outstretched I did a belly flop on the floor. Ever since I’ve had a preference for the real.
Reaching the desert I follow a dry wash as it cuts through the cliffs. On early explorations I learned which washes would lead to the higher terraces. I had a two-wheel drive pickup then, which meant having to hit it just right with enough momentum to keep from getting stuck. Timing was key. During long droughts drifting sand could complicate route finding, and heading up a wash after a flash flood meant using a shovel to fill washouts and dig out the cut banks.
Times change, and on this trip I expect no trouble with a four-wheel drive and good suspension. Sand dunes border the wash, and soon a barrier ledge blocks the way. Taking a detour, I stop to inspect a rocky section the way a boatman scouts a rapid. The truck grinds up the steep grade, and the route continues through a barren expanse remarkably similar to photos sent back by the Mars mission rovers. Suddenly I top out on level ground where a wild, sand-drifted landscape spreads out before me.
An escarpment, running unbroken for forty miles, borders it. And everywhere dust storms have abraded the red cliffs and flash floods have scoured them. One promontory lies half-buried under sand dunes, and bedrock outcrops have become worn into smooth aerodynamic shapes. Exposed to the elements isolated spires have become hoodooed, weathered into weird shapes and capped with improbable forms such as petrified birds and flying saucers. I begin to think of it as a mythic world, then catch myself. Standing alone in a matrix of sand and stone, I find myself in a desert of the real. It’s not some other world, but the one we inhabit with all its strangeness and beauty.
Sometimes I’ve found myself reaching for an otherworldly explanation when a straight-forward one works just fine. An example of this came up in a conversation with a Hopi friend from First Mesa.
“Early in the morning,” said tribal judge Delfred Leslie, “someone reported an Anglo woman dancing in front of the shrine to Dawn Woman.” However sincere, her actions had broken tribal custom and law. As the Hopi police responded to the call, the woman jumped in her car and raced down the sandy track. She took a corner too fast, trying to get away, and flipped. Shaken by the accident, she was not seriously hurt.
“I guess she shouldn’t have been dancing in front of a shrine,” I told him.
He paused before responding. “Maybe,” he said, “she shouldn’t have been trying to outrun the police.”
After spending a few hours in real time, I leave the desert and head back to town.
Scott Thybony is a Flagstaff-based writer. His Canyon Commentaries are produced by KNAU Arizona Public Radio.
