Pawnee Buttes

We're most definitely on our way home now and could, if we pushed it, be home in a couple of days. Yesterday we arrived in Riverton, Wyoming and will be in Montana tonight. The face of spring keeps changing according to where we are: while it still included slowly greening trees in Taos, a multitude of birds and perennials pushing up shoots in Fort Collins where we spent the weekend, it presented itself more severely in the high plains we crossed yesterday on our way here: only the huge drifts left behind snow fences on otherwise mostly snow-free pastures and open range showed the amount of progress that has taken place. Words like 'winter storm warning' have started to appear on weather forecasts in areas we had hoped to pass through on our way home, so that we changed to a less beautiful but likely safer route: we will not drive through Grand Teton and Yellowstone this time. Still: the sun is shining in Riverton this morning, and how could I not be curious about a town with the grand name Thermopolis, about an hour's drive north of here? There is still much to see, and beauty can be found in the most unexpected places.

It's been a while since my last post from Bandelier National Monument, and I haven't yet written about our visit to Taos and the Taos Pueblo, but I think I'll leave that for the time being and move on to Fort Collins which we left yesterday. We had never been to Colorado, and since the son of Johann's cousin now lives there with his wife it gave us an added incentive. Colorado, 'the colourful state' (one of its nicknames) is indeed another jewel in the crown of states we have visited so far. The drive north from Taos along the scenic road through the mountains showed that time and again. Eventually we had little choice but to bite the bullet and plunge into the heavy traffic in Denver, but it didn't take too long until even a busy highway like the I-25 got less busy again. By the time we reached Fort Collins, about an hour north of Denver, driving was quite relaxed again.

Looking west from the back door

We didn't know anything about Fort Collins except that it was a university town with a population of about 150,000, and we were surprised to find ourselves in an almost rural area when we left the interstate. Wolfgang and Jill's house backs onto a wetland dedicated as a recreational area by the city, and we were entertained by a concert of red-winged blackbirds, ducks and geese, frogs and, at night, howling coyotes. In the morning we took a walk through this small paradise with its boardwalks and gravelly trails and found people enjoying the space walking their dogs, fishing and – judging by the tracks – horseback riding and biking. Yet this is only about fifteen minutes from downtown and the university where our relatives teach. What a perfect place to live!

Wolfgang presented two options what to do on Saturday to show us more of the area: go to the mountains to snowshoe or drive east to visit the Pawnee Buttes, both about an hour and a half away by car. While the mountains always beckon (me, at least) we both were not keen on seeing any more snow than we had to: there had been enough of it at home this winter, and we might well find more on the way home. No, this time it would be the plains. 

Remnants of Keteo's past

Hwy 14 led straight – really straight! - east, and Johann finally had opportunity to see bigger chunks of farmed land again. Irrigation is prevalent closer to Fort Collins where water is more plentiful, and we saw many freshly plowed (!) and then cultivated fields. Corn is grown for silage, big piles of it feeding dairy herds, cattle and sheep feedlots. To us it looked as if corn is grown continuously. We also saw stacks of large alfalfa bales. Further east it changed to strip farming: strips of winter wheat alternated with land left fallow. For Johann this was interesting because he first encountered this when he worked on a farm in Montana in 1973. In Canada this practice has become less common.

After about an hour's drive we passed through a cattle guard and turned onto a gravel road, following the signs for Pawnee Buttes. By now the landscape, flat as a table at first, had become more pleasing, at least to me: undulating, low hills gave the eyes something to sweep to and rest upon, and small outcroppings of rock in the short-grass prairie provided more variety. I love the muted colours, even at this time of year; strangely, the longing for lush green is missing for me here. A few forlorn-looking, long abandoned buildings reminded of a time when people were still living in the small town of Keota and these grasslands hadn't been so empty of human habitation. It was strange to see street signs where hardly any houses were standing any longer.

A small herd of antelope was grazing not far from the road. Curiously they gazed at us for a few moments before moving a little further away. With their cream-coloured coats with black markings they are handsome animals, and it was special to be able to watch them watching us. 

The road curved up a small hill, and suddenly the Buttes lay before us, rising like ancient buildings from the plains below. They are remnants of ancient plains that have eroded away, leaving the buttes standing in isolation. About 90m high they can be seen from afar, light in colour in the lower part, with steep sides, they are topped by harder, a bit darker material. A true landmark, they look impressive even from a distance. Wolfgang explained that they and in fact this whole area feature in James Michener's novel 'Centennial'. I read it many years ago but don't remember much of it. I will do so again now, the setting so fresh in my mind.

The parking area was surprisingly full for an area so remote and only accessible by gravel road, but it turned out to be a gathering of scouts, so that explained it. Hiking trails lead up to and around the buttes, a hike of 6 or 8 km, depending on how much of the surrounding badland-like gullies and ditches one wants to explore. We were just a bit early to see the diverse plant life; only here and there some new green growth was visible. Two or three weeks from now it will look quite different already. Some areas on and around the buttes are off limits in spring until the end of June to keep the nesting sites of raptors and other birds free from disturbances. 

The eastern butte was not subject to these restrictions, and supposedly it is possible to climb to the top accessing it from the north side. Johann and Wolfgang tried to find the right place to do that but failed. I stayed back and sat on a rock at its foot, happy to let the magnificent landscape, the vast sky, work on me. It felt as if time had ceased to exist, as if I should be able to see herds of buffalo roam these plains, the only sound the flute-like song of the meadowlark and the grass stirred by the wind. 

The wind had indeed become quite strong, and dark clouds were moving in from the west and north, threatening rain. We didn't linger much longer and made our way back to the car, richer by yet another experience.

Bandelier National Monument

It didn't take long until we had left Santa Fe behind us this morning on our way northwest to Bandelier National Monument that protects an area where the Ancestral Puebloans of a later era (between about 1150 and 1600) had built their homes. The lady at the visitor centre in Santa Fe had urged Johann to visit this place because it is so beautiful.

We enjoyed the drive there already, quickly leading us into more mountainous scenery on Hwy. 285 towards Los Alamos. Colourful sculpted cliffs, juniper and pinion pine dominated the landscape, the high snow covered peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range greeted from the distance, and shortly before the final descent to the park we stopped at an overlook that afforded a great view of the Frijoles Canyon, the part of the park we'd visit to see the pueblos.

We stopped only briefly at the visitor centre to pick up a map and get some information: the sky threatened rain, and the ranger urged us to go for the hike now because it would get busier as the day progressed; we could take in the exhibits and introductory video about the park after we returned.

The main (loop) trail is about two kilometres in length, and about halfway through there is the option of taking another trail to the so-called Alcove House, a sheltering cave more than forty metres above the valley floor that can only be reached by climbing four ladders. We were planning to take this second trail as well, but I wasn't at all sure that I would climb those ladders.

The trail map has corresponding information for markers along the way. We had stopped at the first three or so when the sky got ominously dark; we decided we weren't too far from our truck yet to go back and get our rain jackets, which proved to be a wise decision. First, however, the sun came out again, and it felt like spring. Trees along Frijoles creek to our left hastening towards the Rio Grande were starting to show some green.

This area was covered in about 200m of volcanic ash after an outbreak of the Valles Caldera further north in Bandelier park 1.14 mio years ago. This formed the tuff of which much of the area is comprised, a soft volcanic rock that has a 'Swiss cheese look' because of its many eroded cavities. The Ancestral puebloans who came here around 1150 made use of these features by widening the holes to so-called 'cavates', small caves that were used for living quarters, storage, and to keep animals, most notably turkeys. Not only did they provide meat but also feathers, which were made into soft, warm blankets and sandals. Dogs were kept as companions.

The puebloans grew corn, squash and beans in the valley using different techniques to preserve precious moisture. Seeds were planted deep, and grid gardens were built: depressions surrounded by a low stone wall to retain some of the day's heat in a climate where night temperatures could drop by 15 or 20 degrees. Areas rich in pumice, a very light, porous rock, were sought out to grow crops. The pumice acts like a sponge, absorbing moisture and releasing it slowly, and it was also used as a mulch for that reason.

Men were responsible for hunting, building houses and weaving while the women ground corn, cooked, looked after the children, made pottery and looked after the maintenance on the dwellings, like applying plaster. Part of the houses were built into the walls, while other pueblos were built on the valley floor. We saw an example in Tyuonyi, a circular pueblo site that had stood two to three stories high. In the plaza that is surrounded by the pueblo are also three kivas, round ceremonial rooms built into the earth. These were used for religious ceremonies. Six poles held up the roof beams which were covered in plaster to make it strong enough for people to stand on. The only entrance was via a ladder through the roof. Kivas are still used by modern-day pueblo people. 

The buildings we saw today have not been lived in since the 1500s, but for the pueblo people they are not abandoned: the spirits of their ancestors are still alive here, and all is sacred to them, as indeed is everything in nature.

View of Tyuonyi from above

We were able to enter some of the cavates – the openings in the volcanic rock enlarged by the ancient pueblo people – via short ladders, saw the 'longhouse', living quarters three or four stories high in the cliff walls, the holes from the roof beams still visible and a marker for the different stories. In the area of the longhouse many petroglyphs cover the walls, some of them are now believed to have held meaning beyond what seemed obvious. We thought we recognized a dog, a turkey, snakes, maybe a turtle with a human face, and the spiral shape that has significance for so many indigenous peoples.

The Longhouse

Petroglyphs; turkey on the right (?)

Meanwhile the dark clouds were now joined by strong gusts of wind, and soon we felt the first raindrops. We sought shelter in one of the cavates for a bit, and in typical April fashion the rain quit after a few minutes and the sun attempted to peek between the clouds again. We had arrived at the end of the guided walk and the spot where the trail branched off to the Alcove House high in the wall. There was no question that we'd walk the half mile and see it, and we kept going even though the wind now pushed sleet at us. Several groups of people were coming back already, and nobody was walking in our direction at the moment. Our pants were wet, and my hands were getting cold, but it wasn't long before we stood at the bottom of the high cliff that was the destination of our walk. Sleet and rain had stopped for the time being. 

A young woman was looking up, a bit undecided: her mother, who was with her, obviously was not inclined to go up while she really wanted to but was scared to do it alone. 'Oh, you can come with us,' Johann said. 'We are going.' We? I wasn't so sure of that at all. Again my fear of heights made itself known. The ladders were wet, and high, and while going up was not so much a worry the first step or two down would be, for sure, and there was no way to avoid that once I was up there. On the other hand, I really wanted to see what it was like ... The first ladder – the only one I could see from where I stood – looked sturdy and reliable, like the short ones I had climbed to get into the cavates earlier, and, encouraged by Johann and our companion, I started climbing. I counted the rungs, thinking it might be helpful when I came down again to know when I was getting close to the bottom: 19 rungs for this one. Stone steps connected this ladder with the next one which rose even higher from the small platform: I think I counted 28 rungs this time, but am no longer quite sure. Two down, two to go: the third one was slightly shorter than the second one, and the last one had only maybe eight rungs – nothing to it.

It was an amazing feeling to be so high up and imagine the people who had once lived here, who had to haul up everything they needed in baskets or clay vessels. The Alcove House holds a small kiva, but at the moment it is under renovation and can't be entered - too bad; that would have been really special. 

 

After we had gazed down the valley and (I with reluctance) straight down to where the young woman's mother was waiting we returned the way we had come. The ladders posed less of a problem than I had feared, although I was glad every time when I could grip the upper rung instead of the side beams. The smooth wood felt good and solid in my hands, and I had mastered my fear yet another time.

The walk back to the visitor centre felt like the Easter walk poem from Goethe's 'Faust': 'Freed from the ice are stream and brook ...' The little creek to our left, the budding maples and gambel oaks, green grass, sunshine (yes, again): it was lovely.

The visitor centre was a great source of more information with its interactive displays depicting life in the pueblos as it must have been hundreds of years ago. We were so glad we had come! 

A visit with Georgia O'Keeffe

 

Today was a change of focus for us: no nature, no landscape rugged or lovely, but a day of enjoying the architecture and arts of Santa Fe. We came unprepared, Santa Fe a station on our way. Much can be said for having some knowledge of a place, knowing which buildings, which areas, to seek out for their historic interest or beauty, but sometimes the best way to meet a new place is to be ready for anything. This is what happened to us in regards to Santa Fe. All I knew was that I wanted to visit the Georgia O'Keeffe museum; having seen an exhibit of her art in Vancouver several years ago I was curious what more I could find out. I had liked her art with the bold colours and interesting close-ups and perspectives then and hoped to find that confirmed and broadened now.

Our hotel is about 5 or 6 km from the centre right on Hwy 14 where we travelled yesterday, and armed with a city map we drove right to the centre of Santa Fe and found a parkade. I was surprised how easy it was to walk there; obviously it hadn't quite sunk in before that this is an old town, not planned on a grid like more modern ones, and despite the wide streets leading there it is still a relatively small city with a population of about 70,000. We were equally unprepared for the wonderful architecture, so different from any other city we had seen so far, at least here in north America. The adobe buildings in their warm desert colours spoke to me right away, and the laid-back atmosphere made it a pleasure to walk and look at houses, churches, shop windows, and anything else we encountered on our way.

We split ways for the beginning of the day: I wanted to visit the museum while Johann, not interested in Georgia O'Keeffe, was headed for the visitor centre to gather some information about Santa Fe, the surrounding area and any pueblos we might find in the vicinity.

I learned a lot about the artist, not only from her paintings but also from a video where she talked about her life and art. I think part of the reason why her art speaks to me is because I, like her, love this landscape that has, holds, emits so much light.

I took only these two photos from the entrances from a distance

I rejoined Johann, and he was very eager to show me something quite extraordinary he'd seen earlier. He led me into a yard – open, unattended – with an amazing collection of old, elaborate doors, marble elephant statues, carved wooden columns and many other items, some secured with chains, others not at all, a sign asking not to take any photos. From there we entered a building, again just with a sign not to take photos, but no-one in attendance, with wooden chests and other antiques – hundreds, if not thousands of beautiful antiques from different parts of the world. Whatever could this be? The sign above the door said 'Seret and Sons', and when we rounded the corner and finally found a 'real' entrance we were treated to an even more wonderful collection of furniture, precious stones, and beautiful carpets from Afghanistan, Persia, south America and other places. It was like walking into Aladdin's cave. Check out their website: it is worth looking at!

http://seretandsons.org/

Next we visited the state capitol, an impressive, lavishly outfitted building – the only round state capitol in the US, informally known as 'the roundhouse' - with its interior walls of New Mexico Travertine marble and a huge art collection of artists living and working in New Mexico on display on all four floors. I would have loved to stay and see much more of it, but at some point my saturation point for art had been reached, and I couldn't take in any more. 

Johann was quite happy as well to take a walk through town, have a look at the oldest church structure in the US, the adobe church of San Miguel, built in 1610, and slowly find our way back to our car. To my surprise I was more exhausted than after the hike up Turtleback Mountain.

The plaza, another nice space, reminiscent of plazas in South America

The Lensic Performing Arts Centre, first built in 1931

Burro Alley

Tomorrow will find us on the road again, but not for a very long drive: we plan to visit Bandelier National Monument and spend the night in Espanola, which would only be half an hour's drive from here without the detour. 

Taking the slow road from T or C to Santa Fe

With a whole day ahead to reach Santa Fé we left T or C in the sunshine yesterday morning. With only about 330km to cover we could take our time, so we decided to take the slower route for part of the way. We left I-25 to switch to Hwy. 1, a paved but narrow road leading by the Bosque del Apache bird sanctuary. While the thousands of sandhill cranes who winter here have left already the wetlands along the Rio Grande still provide habitat for many birds during the summer and a place to rest for migratory birds.

We were mainly looking for a place to walk on a travelling day, so we stopped at the first of the hiking trails, still south of the visitor centre, the 'Canyon Trail'. 

The soft sand on the first part of the trail was not so easy to walk in but provided a good workout. At the trailhead kiosk we found a map to explain different features along the way, but many of them were not really relevant yet since it is so early in the year. Still, plants are starting to green up, and after a bit of rain the day before the soft sand showed tracks of coyote and, according to the description in the trail guide, a kangaroo rat, its dragging tail a line drawn in the sand. A few birds, too, were around, though the only ones I recognized were swallows. 

The trail followed the canyon with its eroding sculpted walls, so soft that they are almost more gravelly than sandstone. The map alerted us to a wall with thousands of tiny holes: here, bees have burrowed into the rock to build their hives, the tunnels often no more than 10 cm deep and widening into chambers. 

The trail zig-zagged to the top of the canyon where an overlook provided a good view of the marshlands near the visitor centre. 

Unfortunately we didn't have time to explore more of this bird sanctuary, which is sought out by people from all over the world, we found out, but it was a nice stop on the way. Had we stopped at the visitor centre before embarking on the hike I'd likely have opted for a different hike, somewhere in the marsh, to see the spring migratory birds that have arrived already.

Near the small town of San Antonio we re-entered I-25 to head for Albuquerque for a fuel stop at Costco. Glad to have an alternative to passing through this city of more than half a million people we headed for Hwy. 14, the so-called Turquoise Road, another one of the many beautiful scenic byways. 

 

While we didn't have time to explore it at length we much enjoyed the slower pace, much less traffic and rugged beauty of the landscape. Hills covered in juniper and pinion pine, the growth much denser than where we passed through in the morning, the green more prevalent than the pale yellow, pink and grey of the flats, high, snow-covered mountains in the distance, colourful rock outcroppings – it was great advice from a friend to send us on that alternate route to Santa Fe.

There are several little towns along the way, mining towns at one time, but now quite changed, from ghost towns to artist communities. 

We picked one to look at a bit closer and chose Madrid, which proved to be a good choice. Many of the old houses have been restored and are now homes for galleries, shops and restaurants; others are left standing the way they were, looking as if they were gazing back into a distant past where life was much different and other hopes and dreams were lived out in them.

We visited one of the shops to look at the art work and learned that all of it is being crafted by local artists who live in the pueblos along the turquoise road. Materials, too, come from here, but only in part. No longer is turquoise mined in large amounts in the US; much of it comes from China where still big deposits are being mined. Turquoise was only one of the stones used by the pueblo people. Traditionally they also used sea shells that were acquired in trade, and we saw some beautiful examples of the orange spiny oyster shell jewellery made here.

It was early evening when we reached our hotel on the outskirts of Santa Fe, and we looked forward to visiting this old town with its special architecture in the morning.