Canyon de Chelly

Getting to know Canyon de Chelly is somewhat like getting to know Egypt: you don’t get very far into it unless you have a guide. It’s Navajo land, in the middle of the Rez, so it’s not like other national parks. The canyon is huge and multi-armed and, though it’s managed by the U.S. Dept of the Interior, the land is owned and farmed and inhabited by Navajo families. We drove along the south rim, armed with a slick NPS brochure and park ranger advice, but only got as far as schmoozing with craft vendors and peeking over the cliff edge, down to the canyon floor.


We spent that night at the park’s campground (free, unsupervised, home to lots of hungry dogs, source of water for many local families), then, the next morning, hired a guide to hike with us down into the canyon. James Yazzie, maybe in his late 40s, grew up in the canyon, went to trade school, worked as a welder in Alaska, does traditional dancing at pow-wows, has a big family. He knows the place. We hiked with him for 4 hours along the canyon floor. It was wonderful. We waded and hopped back and forth across the river, looking at petroglyphs and ruins, examining tracks, walking by peach and apple orchards and corn fields, getting a feel for the canyon. There were not many people, since the farmers move up to the rim in winter, but, as the sun got higher, jeep tours began passing us. Also, a park ranger and what James called a “livestock ranger” drove up looking for a “mean” brindle steer that had been roaming the tamarisks, Russian olives and willows. Why did they want it? What were they going to do with it? Both were unclear, even to James. He didn’t think they would find it unless they hired some local kids to run through the thickets looking.



After we came out, we went to the flea market in Chinle, then ate a Navajo taco and posole at the Junction restaurant. Then we headed west across the reservation toward Flagstaff. (Andy)