An old report of a Spanish inscription caught the attention of author Scott Thybony. It dates to 1666 and is likely the oldest recorded such inscription in Arizona. He decided to investigate and, in this month’s installment of his Canyon Commentary, Thybony describes setting out to find a spring along the ancient trail from Hopi to Zuni.
A break in the weather gives me a chance for a midwinter road trip. Years ago I read a report about a spring the Hopi call ,“Siovahu.” It lies along the old trail from the Rio Grande to the Hopi pueblos and has what may be the oldest inscription in Arizona. Time to take a look.
The highway I follow keeps changing names depending on whose land it crosses. An official sign reads, “Hopi Code Talker Highway,” and a few miles later it changes to “Navajo Code Talker Highway.” Same road, different name. Checking the topo map on my phone I locate the spring, then switch to satellite view and still miss the turn. I take my chances on what appears to be a driveway ending at a cluster of hogans, old trailers, and dead cars kept for spare parts.
An older Navajo couple, sitting in the warm sunlight, looks surprised when I say hello in their language. They’re thinking missionary or government official, I suspect, and appear relieved to learn I only want to visit the spring. The man directs me up a seldom used dirt track.
At the head of the canyon lies a spring box of fine stonework and an open vein of water disappearing into the sand. Nearby, names and dates crowd the rock surfaces, some quickly scratched and others showing skilled chisel work. Old inscriptions lie mixed with modern graffiti, leaving me to wonder how long it takes for a peace sign from the 1960s or the name “Freddy Boy” to be considered historical. A hundred years seems about right. The cliff face takes time to read, and the Spanish inscription remains elusive.
Finally, I climb around a boulder and find the words written by Pedro de Montoya on April 20, 1666. The inscription was carved by a literate man living at a time when few Spanish settlers could write their own names. Returning to the truck I start down the canyon and soon notice a dog standing alert. It’s looking across the road to where the guy I spoke with earlier is hiding among the rocks. He has been keeping an eye on me, curious to see what I was doing.
My investigative travels now focus on the identity of the man who carved the centuries-old inscription. I head to El Morro National Monument where historians have reported another Pedro de Montoya inscription. Trying to be helpful, a volunteer at the visitor center directs me to the wrong section of cliff. A snow squall adds to the difficulties, and after a three-hour search I let it rest. Two months later I return with an accurate location and find the name – or what remains of it. Overwritten by later inscriptions it takes a careful inspection to sort out.
From the written sources, I’ve learned Pedro de Montoya served as a close aide to the governor of New Mexico. He was also among the soldiers sent to protect Acoma Pueblo from Apache raids only three weeks before he carved his name at the spring. Then I come across a reference to a site the archeologists call Casa Quemada adjacent to Kuaua Pueblo at Coronado Historic Site. They have identified it as the Montoya family hacienda and found evidence of intentional burning, probably during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680. Originally the residence of his grandfather, it eventually passed down to Pedro.
On a trip to Santa Fe I stop at the Coronado visitor center and find an exhibit on Casa Quemada. It displays lumps of burned adobe, a thimble, and a ring recovered from the Montoya home. The artifacts provide a few clues to the past, but the documentary evidence remains thin. When Pedro de Montoya carved his name on the rock at Siovahu, he left behind the most solid evidence we have of his life.
Scott Thybony is a Flagstaff-based writer. His Canyon Commentaries are produced by KNAU Arizona Public Radio.
