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January 2008 - Posts
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The Navajo Nation is larger than some European countries. It encompasses 27,000 Square miles (70,000 sq. kms.) in the states of Arizona, New Mexico and Utah. It is the largest Indian reservation in the USA, but to the Navajo people it is their homeland and their own sovereign nation.
When you visit the land of the Navajo Nation, you can see why it was allocated to them by the US government. Most of it is arid, barren desert country useless for agriculture and only marginally useful for grazing cattle or sheep. The early European colonists to this area ceded the Navajo tribe the lands that they considered worthless. Yet, this area contains some of the most unusual and beautiful natural scenery in North America.
As you drive across the arid plains of the Nation, you typically see only a few scattered cattle and sheep grazing on the sparse vegetation. Occasionally, you spot an isolated mobile home set far back from the highway. An old water tank on stilts towers above its roof. Abandoned cars, appliances and debris are often scatterd about. Sometimes, the igloo shape of a traditional Navajo hogan stands near the mobile home.
I asked Harold why there were so few modern homes constructed on the Navajo lands, He explained that only the tribe can communally own the land. Individual Navajo residents can lease land for 99 years, but cannot own it or sell it. The banks will not loan money for the construction of a home that they cannot repossess or sell, so they do not finance houses. Since they can repossess mobile homes, they are willing to finance them.
Of all the beautiful natural scenery on the Navajo Nation, perhaps the most spectacular lies near the border of Arizona and Utah in Monument Valley. Here, massive red sandstone mesas and delicate pinnacles rise hundreds of feet straight up from the vast plains. Monument Valley is one of the great natural wonders of our planet and it all belongs to the Navajo Nation.
Many local Navajos work as tourist guides in Monument Valley or as merchants selling crafts and souvenirs to the many visitors. Some of them are employed by the tribal council while others are independant operators. Harold Simpson is both an independant guide and an entrepreneur owner of his own Trail Handler Tours business. 
We spent several days visiting Harold. He proudly showed us his spectacular homeland in Monument Valley. We spent the night in the traditional Navajo hogan that was used by his father, a local shaman or medicine man, for various religious ceremonies. The next day, he took us on a backcountry jeep tour of nearby mystery valley and its many ancient cliffside ruins.
As the sun was setting, Harold parked the jeep before a great natural alcove rising a hudred feet or more up the side of a rock wall. He disappeared into the shrubs at the base of the wall. Moments later, we heard the steady throbbing of a drum and the lilting sonorous chant of an Indian song echoing from the natural acoustic amplifier. The sound of this ancient traditional music echoing from the rock wall as the sun set on the spectacular natural scenery created a sense of reverence and awe that cannot be described. Harold, an accomplished drummer and singer, was serenading us.
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We visited Yosemite Valley in the early spring. The waterfalls were magnificent as the meltwaters of a record accumulation of winter snow filled them to capacity. We were headed east to the lands across the Sierra Nevada Mountains and ultimately to Death Valley. Tuolome Pass was still closed and not expected to open for several weeks, so we drove north in search of an open pass across the mountains. Along the way, we heard that the snow plows had recently opened the road through the Sonoran Pass. We decided to try it.
The roads to the Sierra Nevada passes all have long approaches from the western side. They struggle through miles of foothills before they begin to snake their way up the slopes of the mountains. We spent the better part of the afternoon driving through those sparsley populated foothills and into the dense pine tree forests on the mountain slopes. The sun set behind us and the shadows grew denser beneath the giant trees. We began searching for a refuge where we could find accommodations and a good meal.
Aside from a few isolated hunting cabins, we saw no signs of habitation in the wilderness. We grew tireder and hungrier as we climbed higher up the mountain. At last, we came to an isolated lodge whose signs offered lodging and food. Unfortunately, the place was fully occupied, and we found no refuge for the night. Fortunately, the owner directed us to an even more isolated hunting and fishing camp further up the slopes. He said they might have some cabins that we could rent for the night. We decided to press on, as it was already getting dark.
We found the camp a few miles off of the main road beside a mountain stream. It consisted of two main lodges surrounded by a dozen small cabins and an empty horse corral. It looked deserted. We were relieved to see two men seated on the veranda of the larger lodge. 
They wore faded jeans and well-worn work boots of the type favored by cowboys. The larger dark-haired man with the bushy moustache wore a plaid flannel shirt. The shorter, thinner man wore an old white "cowboy" shirt with black piping and pearl buttons. He also wore a string tie with a turquois clasp. Both men wore leather belts with large silver buckles and traditional "ten gallon" cowboy hats.
In response to our questions, they said that the camp was not yet open for the season. In a few weeks, the horses would be brought up from the lowland pastures, kept in the corral, and rented as pack animals for hunters, fishermen and backpackers. The proprietor of the camp was in the lodge, they added; and surely, he could provide us with some lodging as all the cabins were empty. They were right. We managed to secured a cabin for the night.
We had eaten nothing since midday, and were quite famished. We asked the proprietor if his restaurant was open. No, he said, the cook had gone off fishing and he had no idea when he would return. The older cowboy with the bushy mustache overheard our conversation and offered, "We have some spaghetti left over from our dinner. If you would like some, we can heat it up for you."
His name was Bob and he introduced his diminutive partner simply as "slim". Bob owned a horse ranch in the foothills and slim was his hired hand. They were here to do some repair work on the trails, he explained. They had a small camping trailer at the edge of the camp. For dinner, he had made a large pot of spaghetti with venison sausage and mushrooms gathered in the surrounding forest. It was more than they could eat, so they had plenty left. He could go to the trailer, fetch the pot and return to heat it in the empty kitchen of the dining hall.
We readily agreed. The proprietor opened the dining hall. Bob brought his spaghetti, heated it on the gas stove and used a loaf of bread to make us some garlic toast. Perhaps our ravenous hunger made it taste better, but it was some of the best spaghetti we ever ate. The cowboys both seemed pleased that we were enjoying their meal.
We thanked them profusely for the chance meal, and offered to pay them for it, but they refused our money. They agreed, however, to our offer to buy them a beer. We managed to inviegle the proprietor to open his small bar, and ordered bottles of beer for all. Slim put several coins in the jukebox, and played some western music. He offered to teach the ladies how to dance the Texas two step. For the next hour, we danced, we sipped beer and we had a jovial time with our new cowboy friends.
We had a restful night after our suprise feast followed by the impromptu dance party. The next morning, as we were driving out of the camp, we saw Bob operating a backhoe and Slim leaning on a shovel. We stopped to bid them farewell and once again thank them for the dinner. They seemed genuinely pleased that they could help us and sad to see us leave. We will always fondly remember our two cowboy friends and their great spaghetti dinner.
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I frequently receive e-mails from folks in other countries asking me if they can visit an Indian reservation to observe the natives, to see their lifestyle, and to experience their culture. I am never sure how to answer such a question. It often seems like the writer lacks understanding for people's basic right to privacy.
Suppose I wrote to someone in the UK asking, "Can I visit an English village, see how the natives live, and experience their culture?" I believe the simple answer would be. "yes, as long as you don't peer through their bedroom windows and barge in on their church services popping flash photos." The same principles apply to Native Americans. Most reservations are open to the public, so you can go on them, and perhaps, see some of the residents. You must, however, respect their privacy.
An Indian reservation is the home of a specific Indian tribe. The members of that tribe have built their homes, their villages, their schools,their communal meeting places and their places of worship on their reservation. They enjoy nearly full autonomy within that reservation. They maintain their own government, their own code of laws, their own educational system, their own public services, and their own police force. Some members of the tribe choose to live on the reservation. Others do not. Most reservations are open to visitors, some have even built facilities designed to attract tourists. A few reservations are closed to uninvited visitors, because the residents value their privacy.
Long ago, colonists from other countries drove the Indian tribes off of their historic homelands, and forced them to relocate to the reservations. The lands reserved for the Indian tribes were typically unsuitable for agriculture and useless for economic development. Nevertheless, many tribal members choose to remain on the reservations, because that has become the civic and cultural center of their tribe. Other members of the tribe have chosen to relocate to areas where jobs are more plentiful or the lands are more fertile.
Most Indians are proud of their tribal heritage. They strive to uphold their traditional family and tribal values, and to maintain their cultural integrity. Unfortunately, some of the Indian reservations suffer from widespread unemployment and poverty. In some cases, this has fostered alcoholism, drug abuse, depression and domestic violence. Other reservations are blessed with natural resources or economic advantages that provide sufficient jobs and good incomes for their tribal members. On those reservations, the residents are able to afford a comfortable life with fewer social problems.
Some Indian reservations are strategically located near big cities in states that prohibit gambling. Astute tribal councils have used their unique sovereignty status to permit gambling on those reservations, and have built gambling casinos. These "Indian casinos" have provided good economic resources for the tribes and significant monetary benefits for all of their tribal members.
I have been on many Indian reservations throughout the USA, and each has offered a different experience.
In New York and California, I visited Indian Casinos. I met Native Americans in those casinos, but most of them were dealing cards at the blackjack tables or were mixing drinks at the bars. I did not find much opportunity to experience Native American culture in the casinos.
In Florida and Washington, I visited tribal cultural centers that the governing councils had erected on their reservations. Each offered many exhibits depicting the history and the cultural heritage of the local tribe. I got the chance to meet a few members of the tribe. They were the museum guides and the staff of the cultural center. The interaction was brief and somewhat formal.
In New Mexico, I visited the Pueblo Cultural Center in Albuquerque. It offered a great museum depicting the history and cultural heritage of the various tribes in that state. It also offered traditional dance exhibitions, traditional foods prepared by Native American cooks, demonstrations of tribal crafts and a market for Indian made merchandise. I was very favorably impressed by that experience. I got to meet and speak with Native American craftsmen, musicians, dancers, storytellers and tribal representatives.
Two of the pueblos, or ancient adobe towns, that are preserved on Indian reservations in New Mexico are open to the public and tourists are welcome. Some of the pueblos, on reservations in New Mexico, restrict the entry of uninvited guests. Acoma, or "Sky Pueblo" is located atop a high butte, and has been preserved like an archeological site, but it is still inhabited by Indians of the Pueblo tribe. They welcome tourists and provide guided tours of their home in the sky.
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In the USA, we have long referred to the lands of our West as the "wide open spaces". By that, we mean they contain vast areas of open landscape with very few human inhabitants. They are true wilderness country.
Visiting New York City, Philadelphia, Chicago or Los Angeles, you will see only very densely populated and congested areas. Indeed, those parts of our country are not "wide open spaces". Much of the East Coast, most of the Gulf Coast, parts of the West Coast and most areas surrounding our major cities are heavily populated with sprawling suburban communities. Tourists that visit only those areas can easily believe that there are no longer any wide open spaces in the USA. That would be a mistaken impression.
The Western states of Utah, Arizona, Wyoming, Montana, Texas and a few others contain some extremely vast areas with very minute populations. The state of Wyoming has a landmass approximately the size of the United Kingdom with less than one percent of the population. Most of Wyoming's inhabitants occupy a few widely-scattered cities and towns leaving huge areas of wide open spaces.
I have traveled across southern Utah driving along a major highway where I saw no more than one or two other vehicles every hour. I passed many side roads that wandered into the surrounding hills. Their dirt surfaces were undisturbed by any signs of traffic other than a few animal tracks. One could easily drive into the wilderness and not be found for weeks. These are wide open spaces.
In Escalante Park, I traveled nearly thirty miles down a dirt track and saw not a single vehicle nor any trace of another human. I recalled that a lone hiker was stranded while exploring one of the many slot canyons in this area. His hand became trapped under a boulder, and he waited nearly a week te be rescued. No one found him. He finally managed to free himself by cutting off his own hand, then he had to hike nearly six miles before other hikers found him. These are definitely wide open spaces.
Last October, Steve Fossett, the world renown aviator, baloonist and adventurer, took off in a small airplane from a ranch in Nevada. He never returned. It is assumed that his plane crashed, so an ariel search was quicly begun. They never located him or the wreckage of his aircraft. His friends mounted a massive volunteer reconnaisance using satellite images. They managed to spot the wreckage of five aircraft never before seen. None of them were Steve Fossett. Some had been missing for thirty or forty years and were just discovered in the last few months! Now, that is real wilderness!
How can a land be so wild that airplanes can disappear and not be found for forty years? This part of the USA that lies in eastern California and Nevada is known as the basin and range country. It is a geologically tortured landscape that has been twisted and fractured by seismic forces for millenia. The area has nearly one thousand mountain ranges arrayed in nearly parellel lines running north and south. Some of the ranges are only a few kilometes long. Others stretch for hundreds of kilometers.
This mountainous landscape lies in the great rain-shadow desert east of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The peaks are typically composed of barren exposed rocks, devoid of trees, scantly covered with widely-scattered desert shrubbery and cactus. The valleys between the mountains are filled with flat expanses of sand and gleaming white salt deposits. Dry canyons, ravines and empty riverbeds carve its surfaces into barren labyrinths.
Las Vegas is situated in one of these flat desert valleys artificially made fertile via massive irrigation with imported water. Death Valley is situated in another one of these valleys, that retains its original dry barren beauty. There are a thousand more valleys similar to Death Valley throughout the basin and range country. This is really the epitome of the wide open spaces.
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