Navajoland (part 2)

AT THE END of the previous episode, I had found myself driving into the night after an uncanny occurrence at Ship Rock—an occurrence that still puzzles me. Did I reach Four Corners as I had hoped? No. Did I find a place to put down for the night? Yes. It all worked out. My plans now were to explore the heart of the Navajo nation of Diné Bikéyah for a week of photography and enlightenment. I was ready. The dogs were ready. Who knows? Maybe we’d encounter another raven on a fencepost.

hhhhhhhh

 Life on a Trading Post 

I WOKE UP to blue skies in the morning, having spent the night in the dirt parking lot of the Teek Nos Pos Trading Post, which is situated in the middle of nowhere. Toby’s digestive problems seemed to have abated, but as a precaution, I went into the store to see if they had any canned pumpkin. A young Diné clerk saw me roaming the aisles and asked if he could be of assistance. His name was John. He wore a T-shirt with a large photograph of Geronimo and three of his warriors brandishing Winchester rifles, titled: The Original Homeland Security: Fighting Terrorism Since 1492. 

        I liked him already.

        “I’m looking for canned pumpkin,” I said. “For my dog.”

        While John searched the back storeroom, I ambled over to the coffeemaker to pour a cup of freshly brewed coffee. I was relishing the first sips when he returned to say there was no pumpkin to be found.

        “I’m very sorry,” he apologized. “They might have it at the market in Dennehotso.”

        Dennehotso (pop.700) was forty-eight miles down the road—in a direction I had not planned on going. So, I thanked John for his considerable time and made my way to the checkout counter, where an elderly woman—John’s great aunt—rang up my coffee. I felt a bit sheepish for having camped in their parking lot and I offered to pay. She simply waved it off. No charge. It was a humble, gracious moment: a reminder of the generosity that can be found, even in the most remote places.

TEEC NOS POS ("Trees in a Circle") consists of the trading post, a gas station, post office, a DMV office housed in a mobile home, and a scattering of sheep ranches. It’s the trading post that holds it all together. A century ago, the Navajo Nation was dotted with hundreds of trading posts that served as hubs for economic and social functions. They were largely owned by Mormon families and became the primary means for exchange of goods for the Diné. They would bring in their wool, handcrafted rugs, baskets and jewelry, and trade them for essential goods, literally everything from ranching implements to underwear. They were the Walmart’s of their day, providing a one-stop-shop for the community. Cash was seldom used, as the trading posts kept detailed ledgers of debts and credits. In addition to their economic role, trading posts also served a vital social function: a place where locals could visit with their neighbors; gossip; play checkers; stay connected with their community. However, times have changed. Only a few are still operating today.

Teec Nos Pos in the 1920s.

Staples and dry goods... but no canned pumpkin.

Entrance to Hubble Trading Post

ANOTHER TRADING Post that I visited was the Hubbell Trading Post, located 130 miles south of Teec Nos Pos. The founder, John Lorenzo Hubbell, was 25 years old when he purchased the property in 1878, building and expanding the enterprise over the years to remarkable success. Following his death in 1930, other family members continued to operate the business until it was acquired by the National Park Service and designated as a National Historic Site. It is operated today by a non-profit organization whose purpose is to maintain its historical relevance, and where visitors can observe demonstrations of traditional Navajo craftsmanship, including the making of jewelry, blankets, and baskets. 

        The NPS Visitors Center is in a grove of cottonwood trees adjacent to the trading post. I paid a visit and browsed through the interpretive exhibits that told the story of the Hubbell family and their trading enterprise, which they had operated for a century. The Park ranger behind the counter was an amiable gentleman, a Diné, who had grown up on a ranch near Fort Defiance. He recalled boyhood yarns of going to trading posts with his father to barter cow hides for food staples. Back then, he said, there were only two dozen posts still operating on “the Rez” (his term, not mine). Today, there are only a handful. In that respect, it is good to see the NPS preserving Hubble for future generations.   

Hubble Trading Post.

John Lorenzo Hubbell

A room of Navajo blankets.

 Diné Bikéyah 

THE NAVAJO are unique in the American Southwest. They share a distinct DNA and language with only the Apache and are believed to have arrived here in the 15th century—considerably later than other tribes in the region. The words “Navajo” and “Apache” are Spanish translations of what the local Zuni-Pueblo people called them. The names stuck and are still used today. However, the Navajo call themselves “Diné,” and the Apache are “Ndé,” both of which translate to “The People” in their respective dialects. (I utilize both “Navajo” and “Diné” since they have the same meaning.)

        Both the Navajo and Apache can trace their genetic and linguistic roots back to NaDené-speaking tribes in Alaska and northwestern Canada—three thousand miles away. What prompted some of them to splinter off and come to the Southwest is unknown. But around seven centuries ago, that’s what happened, and where they evolved into the Navajo and Apache people that we know today. You may recall that I had earlier put forth (in Part 1) that Navajo folklore claims their ancestors were brought to the Southwest on the back of a giant, mythological bird. When you think about it, metaphorically—and Navajo culture is rich in metaphors—isn’t that what occurred? There’s a grain of truth in every myth. 

        The first recorded contact with Europeans was in 1583 when a Spanish expedition came upon one of their villages. Shortly after this encounter, they began to acquire horses from the Spaniards—initially by theft—which was a tremendous game-changer. Procurement of livestock followed, especially sheep, and the Navajo settled into a lifestyle of ranching. Life was good—except for the troublesome White settlers who were moving into the neighborhood. For over two centuries, the Navajo resisted the armies of first Spain, and then Mexico. Ultimately, it would take the full force of the U.S. Army to subdue them in the 1860s. This was an extremely dark period in Navajo-American relations, cumulating with the atrocities of the Long Walk.   

        A peace treaty signed in 1868 allowed the Diné to keep their ancestral homeland so long as they did not take up arms against the United States. This was a pivotal moment. Should they resist their oppressor, or conform? They chose the latter—but on their own terms. Yes, Congress designated their land as a tribal reservation. But they would be officially recognized as a sovereign nation within a nation. This arrangement functions similarly to how our states operate, with the Navajo people having their own government, laws, and jurisdiction over their territory. Today, Diné Bikéyah spans 27,000 square miles with a population of 250,000 (another 50,000 live off-reservation). 

THE HOGAN has been the primary home for the Navajo for centuries. It has a hexagonal shape, with walls made of notched cedar logs and a dirt floor. The doorway ALWAYS faces east, a purposeful design rooted in spiritual beliefs. When entering, it is customary to walk in a clockwise direction around the central fire pit, never counterclockwise. This ritual movement is imbued with cultural significance, reflecting their harmonious relationship with the natural world. Although increasingly more Diné are living in Western-style homes, some still maintain a hogan on their property for traditional ceremonies.

GRAY MOUNTAIN, an 91-year-old Navajo elder, is surrounded by his great-grandchildren, sharing stories passed down through generations. This image, published in a 1948 edition of Life Magazine, holds historical significance as Gray Mountain would have been a child when he endured the Long Walk. Tribal elders continue to impart wisdom and preserve their heritage through oral storytelling.

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When researching for this trip, I came across a first-hand account of a man from Kentucky who had married a Navajo woman and lived on the reservation in the 1980s. His perspective, as an outsider immersed in the Diné culture, offers a compelling insight...

"My first wife was Navajo. We met while stationed in Germany; came home on leave and were married on the Rez. After serving (discharged), we moved to the Rez and lived in a hogan with no running water or electricity in the middle of nowhere with my wife’s family (moving in with wife’s parents is tradition). The Navajo are a proud people with many lasting traditions that they still hold onto today. For everything that they’ve been through—or I should say, everything White settlers put them through—they remain intact. 

"One thing that stands out is that the family structure is matriarchal. The oldest mother or grandmother is the leader in the family. A family unit consists of four clans with the mother’s being first, followed by the father’s clan, then the maternal and paternal grandparents. You would give the same respect for any mother in a clan as you would your own mother. And anyone else in that clan would be your brother or sister, grandfather, grandmother, and so on. That’s what I admire most about the Navajo people: their family bond is strong. Respect for elders is paramount. Your wealth is not determined by how much you own, or how shiny that new car may be. Your wealth is determined by your family, health, happiness, and spirituality."

 

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THE PHOTO above depicts Navajo Code Talkers during World War 2. The Marine Corps recruited men from the Navajo Nation to serve as radio operators in the Pacific Theater against the Japanese. Since the Diné language is unwritten, complex, and infused with metaphors, it proved to be the perfect medium for transmitting secure battlefield communications. A short message could be coded, sent, and decoded in 20 seconds. And the code was never cracked by the enemy.

YOU CAN BOOK this deluxe hogan in Monument Valley. It comes with modern amenities such as a bathroom, electricity, hot water, and WiFi. Since tourism is such a prominent driver of the local economy, the COVID Pandemic hit the Navajo especially hard.  

A MURAL in Shiprock portrays the havoc that COVID wreaked on the Navajo, with a per-capita death rate four times the national average. Their healthcare system was completely overwhelmed and aid from the federal government was slow to arrive. It was the neighboring Apache Nation who was the first to step up and provide supplies and resources. Masks were still required in public places during my visit (Oct 2022).

MILLENNIAL NAVAJO, Ryan Allison, aka Dirt Rhodes. He grew up on rock ’n roll in Fort Defiance, but turned to country music when he started writing songs. "Country music stories are so vivid, which is why I think my people, the Diné, have identified with it. They are storytellers." Dirt Rhodes recorded his first album in 2020 and is currently playing gigs across the Southwest. I downloaded some of his tunes for trippin’ across the Rez.

SHERWIN (at right), a retired schoolteacher now living in Albuquerque, shares a fond moment with James (left), a Diné artist who had been one of his former students. Sherwin had spent much of his career teaching in Chinle and remembered James fondly. They literally bumped into each other in Canyon de’Chelly, a heartwarming reunion between teacher and student—and I was there to capture it in a photo. 

A RANCH near Monument Valley catches the last light of the day. Literally 30% of homes in Diné Bikéyah lack electricity and running water, largely due to the Navajo’s remote, rural lifestyle and the high cost of power grid expansion. The Navajo Tribal Utility Authority, with assistance from the American Public Power Association, has launched a program to bring power to at least 200 isolated homes per year. 

 Mexican Hat 

WHEREVER I travel, as a timeworn climber, I still goggle at potential ascents up jagged mountains, sheer rock walls, towers, spires, crags, you name it. It gets in your blood. You can’t help it. Generally, it’s all about aesthetics: the tallest; the best locale; the cleanest line...  But sometimes it’s about the rock formation itself—something bizarre, for example. Like Mexican Hat: a sixty-foot diameter sandstone toadstool precariously balanced high over the banks of the San Juan River. It was just begging to be climbed.   

        Enter Royal Robbins. He’s a household name among climbers: a Yosemite Big Wall legend and visionary pioneer of modern rock climbing. And in the spring of 1962, he found himself in the Desert Southwest, face to face with Mexican Hat (to the theme song of “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly”). It must have been an irresistible sight for Robbins. With a rack of pitons, he nailed his way out to the rim of the hat, using delicate direct aid, hammering one piton after another into a dubious crack in the roof. But when he grappled over the rim and onto the summit, there was a big surprise awaiting him: a small cairn and a metal pole. Somebody had beaten him to the summit!

        Nearby residents eventually came forward and claimed that Norman Nevills, a whitewater river guide, had bagged Mexican Hat way back in the 1930s with a Navajo friend, Fred Yazzie. Incredibly, they had used a long ladder to reach the summit. Then an old photograph was made public, dated 1934, showing Norman atop Mexican Hat with his wife, Doris. By all accounts, they had used a log or some other makeshift implement to gain access to the top. So, maybe Norman had climbed it more than once? We’ll never know because he and his wife were killed in a plane crash in 1949—thirteen years before Robbins’ ascent.

        Once Robbins had put The Hat on the map, it became a must-do for many climbers. Its psychedelic shape alone gave it celebrity status of sorts: a locus for high-spirited wall rats and their zany antics. The summit has seen everything from costume parties to a photoshoot of naked climbers for an ad spoof promoting "Clear Lycra" attire (a poke at the spandex-clad “sport climbers” of the 1990s). Artifacts have also been left behind for future ascensionists: a photograph of a topless biker chick on a Harley; a fifth of Jack Daniels with a hand grenade duct-taped to it… Every community has its outliers. 

        Debauchery aside, I made a point to check it out myself. A dirt road led to the Mexican Hat formation, and once parked, the dogs sprang out of the van with canine enthusiasm. We scrambled up loose talus and blocks, Toby leading the way with his superior agility (I swear, he’s part mountain goat), and in due course, we were stopped by an imposing rock wall. To continue would be sketchy, so this would be our turn-around point. I sat down in the shade provided by the wall, and the dogs followed suit. There was not another soul around. The view was remarkable; electric blue skies and slickrock canyonlands extending to the horizon. 

        Peering up at The Hat's towering presence behind me, I pondered Norman Nevills' daunting ladder ascent. The sheer audacity and mettle of the feat reminded me that whitewater river-runners and climbers are resemblant in many ways—living large in the great outdoors. Heck, I would drink a toast to it. Which got me thinking… I wonder if that bottle of Jack with the hand grenade is still on the summit?

View of Mexican Hat from where I parked the van.

Toby on bunny patrol.

Pulling the roof of The Hat. (Mountain Project photo)

The infamous Jack and grenade.
For emergencies only. (Mountain Project photo)

 Monument Valley 

WITHOUT a doubt, Monument Valley (Tsé Biiʼ Ndzisgaii) is a testament to raw, unyielding beauty in an arid setting. It’s no surprise that it served as the cinematic backdrop for countless films, including director John Ford, who utilized it for numerous iconic Westerns that have shaped how generations of moviegoers envision the American West. It is also sacred land to the Diné, some of which have called this five-square-mile Tribal Park their home for centuries. A few modest ranches are nestled among the towering buttes, where families live off the grid in harmony with nature, disconnected from the rest of the world.  

        Three miles outside the boundary of the Tribal Park, on Highway 163, lies the small community of Oljato (pop.200), which serves as the gateway to Tsé Biiʼ Ndzisgaii. Here you will find an assortment of souvenir shops (many closed due to the pandemic), motels, rental cabins, and campgrounds. I had booked a site at the KOA campground, which afforded me spectacular sunsets. This also proved to be an ideal base camp for the hiking and photo safari I had planned to embark on during my stay. Even the dogs seemed enthralled and eager to get on the trail. Every time I grabbed my hiking boots, their tails would start wagging. 

Merrick Butte from John Ford Point.

On the Wildcat Trail, a three-mile loop around West Mitten Butte. It was the only wilderness trail I could hike in the Tribal Park without a Diné guide. I added two more miles to the jaunt by taking a detour up a side wash. 

Navajo art from centuries ago.

Water break in the shade.

Sunset on Eagle Mesa. (Photo taken from my campsite)

Forrest Gump Point

MOST of us know the story of Forrest, the central character in the Oscar-winning film, Forrest Gump, where a child with physical and intellectual disabilities grows up to lead an extraordinary life. His gift at running fast leads to a football scholarship and meeting the president. Then he joins the Army and fights in Vietnam; receives the Medal of Honor; becomes a ping-pong talent and gains celebrity status; starts a successful shrimping business; becomes a millionaire from Apple stocks... But it was his childhood love, Jenny, who he really longed for in his life. And when she declines his marriage proposal, he snaps and embarks on a cross-country run that inspires the entire nation. When he finally stopped running three years later, he was in Monument Valley.

        The spot where Forrest stopped running is now called Forrest Gump Point, and surprisingly, it is now a somewhat popular attraction. I drove out there one evening to watch the sunset, parked atop a gentle knoll to witness a celebratory atmosphere unfold before me. About two dozen people from all walks of life had gathered, united by a shared sense of reverence. A group of lively young women in a Winnebago had pulled up, eager to capture the magic. One of them dragged a mattress out to the middle of the highway and posed dashingly as the sun dipped below the horizon, all the while her girlfriends laughed and took photos of her. The fact that this young lady was likely not born yet when Forrest Gump was made spoke volumes. Or as Forrest would say: "That's all I have to say about that."     

Tom Hanks as Forrest Gump.

Waiting for sunset at Forrest Gump Point.

                    PART THREE COMING SOON...