| long.
Yet as we sat about the campfire at the foot of Navajo mountain I argued
strongly for an extra day to make the long hard climb to the summit of old
Not-sis-an. It seemed foolish to be so close and not do the thing I had dreamed
of so long. It was at last decided that those who wanted to make the climb
could do so; the others would take the day to explore a nearby cliff
dwelling. There is a trail to the top of Navajo mountain, but when Clyde told us of the legend that a crudely carved image of the Navajo war god lies somewhere undiscovered on the slopes of the mountain, it seemed at the time better to choose our own route-one that had never been taken before-than to take the regular trail. So a little after dawn the next morning we were on the way up the long alluvial fan that spreads out from the eastern slopes of Navajo mountain. Although the climb was to be a long one, our time was short and we must make it to the summit and back before nightfall. We carried only our canteens and a light lunch. Rugged Climbing on Rocky Slopes It is doubtful whether we could have chosen a much more difficult route. With no trail to guide us, we pushed laboriously through dense underbrush, up narrow chimneys in the cliffs. Once after a particularly difficult spot over the rocks we came to a cul-de-sac from which there was no other exit than that by which we had entered so industriously. To retrace our steps was discouraging because we were all tired. And then to add to our discomfort, about ten o'clock in the morning a strong cold wind came up from the north. Now, even our rest periods were far from enjoyable. To travel as light as possible we had brought no warm coats. Thus, despite our fatigue, we were forced to keep almost constantly on the move.The top of Navajo mountain does not come to a convenient |
peak as
do conventional mountains, but is broad and sloping. Dense timber made it
difficult for us to know how far we were from the summit. Several times our
hopes of having at last reached the top were shattered with the sight of other
slightly higher ridges ahead. It was not until after noon, all of us nearly
exhausted, that we were rewarded with definite proof of our success-a Coast
Geodetic survey marker! Yet still because of the trees we could not get a clear
view of the country to the north. But after a short and much needed rest we started exploring toward the north slope and were not long in finding the point of vantage we wanted. On the crest of a talus of great broken granite boulders where the trees could not grow, we found an unbroken view of Wild Horse mesa and the fearsome Escalante desert. Tired muscles and sore lungs were immediately forgotten. Where No White Man Has Been Before us extended the rugged and treacherous regions of southern Utah where the Colorado river cuts a mighty gorge below its junction with the San Juan river. Territory surrounding the canyons of these two rivers is without doubt the least explored area in the United States. There are many portions of it that have seen no men since the days of prehistoric Indians, many of whose cliff dwellings nestle high in the faces of inaccessible cliffs.Wild Horse mesa, stretching some 60 miles into the distant haze, dominates the scene. Old timers call it Fifty-mile mountain. Zane Grey gave it the romantic name by which it is generally known. On official maps it bears the name Kaiparowitz plateau. Although the origin of this last name is uncertain, some believe it came from the name given by the Indians to the daring pioneer, Major Powell, who led the first |
 |
boat expedition down the Colorado river in
1869 and 1870. Powell had lost his right arm in the Civil war, so the Pahute
called him kai-par-utts, or "one arm." Only within the past 10 or 15 years have there been counts of white men ever having set foot upon its timber summit. For centuries its precipitous guarding cliffs had kept it an unknown land. In the summer of 1928 Clyde Kluckhohn, now a professor of anthropology at Harvard, led an expedition to the top of the mesa from the southern end. Staging on Navajo mountain, Clyde told us of that thrilling trip of abundant game, fine springs of fresh clear water; and prehistoric Indian ruins he discovered. He had found Wild Horse mesa a veritable garden spot. Yet as I gazed out across those endless miles of tortured rock I could scarcely imagine a paradise. I can never forget the impression that scene made upon me-a land of solid rock cut and worn by countless ages of erosion, not a tree or a sign of life to break the awfulness of its magnitude. I had then and still have, the feeling that I might have been gazing out across the surface of our long-dead moon. So broken. treacherous and dry, it seemed little wonder that no one had dared to explore it. That night as we sat around the campfire after the long and tedious descent of the mountain, we planned a future trip -planned as all lovers of the deserts and mountains always do-a trip to see what lies beyond that next range; and with us it will be Wild Horse mesa. |
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