Towards the end of the Herpetology tour to Arizona with World Life Global Safaris, we took a detour to the wrongly named “Grand Canyon“. I say this, not because it’s not grand (it is), nor because it’s not a canyon (it also is) – I say this because I believe it should be called the “Holy Fuck Canyon“, after what I exclaimed the first time I saw it.
If you’ve ever climbed a mountain before, pat yourself on the back, then take a seat, son. That mountain was just peanuts compared to the absolutely unfathomable scale of the Grand Canyon. No photo in the history of man could do it justice, and I’m not good enough at writing to try, so just believe me when I say – shit’s big.
Now you may be asking yourself the question – where are the cave paintings in the Grand Canyon? Aren’t they mostly in Africa? You’re right, good pub quiz knowledge right there, but the cheapest I could figure out trips to Africa to go see the oldest cave paintings set me back £2000 per person, and I have to start making financial choices if I want to get ✓ Project Bucket List done in the timeframe of 4 years.
So, when I pulled out a book that mentioned that the native american tribes of the Navajo people had decorated their picturesque landscape with paintings (pictographs) and etchings (petroglyphs), I decided that, whatever it took, we’d go out of our way to see them.
Unfortunately for me and my fat little sausage legs, that meant a hike, and it meant a hike down the Grand Canyon.
We arrive at Bright Angel Trail, one of the most popular trails on the south side of the canyon. This gentle walk is only 8 miles, except it’s not gentle, it’s fucking brutal, with an elevation change of 4,380 feet, the equivalent of 365 flights of stairs. That’s absolutely stupid, and whoever built the Grand Canyon should take a long, hard look at themselves.
The hardest part of the incline is right near the beginning of the trail, so you’ll be merrily walking downhill before you realise you’ve got a “let me hurt you” number of feet behind you that you need to climb back up.
I’m sure you can guess – I say this from hindsight, not from foresight.
I’d found online that there’s a pictograph of 6 red reindeer, a short hike past the first tunnel, once you’re on the trail in a place called Mallery’s Grotto. There’s debate about who painted these figures, and when, that range from 400 to 4000 years ago. The leading theory is that the Huvasupai people, who once lived where the Grand Canyon National Park now sits, used them as trail markers to get in and out of the canyon.
We start walking down and pass through a pretty neat tunnel, but there are no markings anywhere to be seen. Perhaps this doesn’t count as the trail yet? There must be another tunnel. We walk some more, gleefully encouraging the people gasping for breath on their way up. At no point does it occur to me that this might be a snapshot preview of my near future. We get 0.8 miles, just past the second tunnel, when we decide that, perhaps, we missed the pictographs, and it would be a good idea to turn around and head back up.
We’re not idiots – you see.
It’s 45 degrees (the temperature, not the incline), when we start the climb, and my first solid thought, just 15 seconds into walking, is the word “shit“. I don’t know what the actual incline is in those first 0.8 miles, but it’s brutal. In the ravaging heat of the Arizona summer, the word “wake-up call” springs to mind yet again. Ahead of me, everybody else begins to speed up, and I find that it’s not just an ache in my legs and my cardiovascular system, but a full-on slowing down of movement.
It’s like trying to run in a nightmare, even if I wanted to, my legs aren’t moving like they should. I know that I can make it, but we’re having to take more and more breaks as we climb up.
Back when I was a spry 18-year-old, I used to be in much better shape than I am now. Apart from eating better and walking a lot more, I used to go on long cycle trips and do multiple hikes a week. In my head, most of the time, I’m still that same 18-year-old, with the faint outline of abs, and a collarbone you could cut cake on. One sedentary lifestyle and two hundred and fifty-eight cookies later, here I stand (or sit, I guess).
And on that depressing note, we reach the first tunnel on our way back, and I decide to hook up to Google and see if I can figure out where these pictographs are. Lo and behold, as promised, right past the first tunnel, up there to your left, on the underside of a cliff – those 6 godforsaken reindeer stare back at me, wavering in the distance as I blink the sweat out of my eyes.
I don’t even have a good picture; they were that far away. Oh, and here, let me tell you the worst part of this all. This is a picture from the start of the trail. See that tunnel? The pictographs are right behind them. It takes about 5 minutes to walk to it. We were down there for nearly 2 hours.
Right, after all that whinging, I think it’s time for a positive spin. Here. The Canyon wasn’t just brutal climbs and missed reindeer. It’s also home to something I didn’t expect: one of the most moving things I’ve ever seen.
See, there’s a little place just East of the Bright Angel Trail called the Desert View Watchtower, a 70-foot-tall stone building that sits along the edge of the Grand Canyon, meant to resemble an Ancestral Puebloan watchtower. It’s majestic, and visitors to the Grand Canyon can stop by and head inside for free to explore the artwork of a very special artist, Fred Kabotie.
Fred Kabotie passed away in 1986. He was a Hopi painter who, early in his life, was forced by the US government to attend the Santa Fe Indian School, to adopt white Christian ways of thinking. A teacher of his encouraged him to use his native culture as inspiration for his work in school, and so a successful career as a painter and educator spiralled out into the desert around him.
One of his most renowned pieces of work is the interior of the Desert View Watchtower, a set of Awatovi murals that are supposed to replicate the traditional Hopi wall art.
I could not possibly describe the feeling of climbing up the stairs and entering the central room in the tower, but I’ll try:
Awe.
Overwhelming awe.
To be completely surrounded and enveloped by the magnificent murals cast up against every wall, ceiling, staircase, surface, and see story after story represented by a people who were subjugated against. I spent time at the Autry Museum of the West during my visit to Los Angeles, and was able to understand just how many horrors the indigenous people went through.
Whether that level of understanding contributed to the surge of emotion I felt when entering that room, or whether it was just the sheer sensory overwhelm of the place, I can’t tell you. What I can tell you is that it made me feel what I was told seeing a Rothko would make me feel.
Whereas this item on the list was originally about seeing cave paintings dance in firelight in some vague attempt at reconnecting with ancestors, this felt like a wholly spiritual experience. It was like I’d been witness to something deeper than expected.
I’m going to include pictures I took of the pictographs below. And, just like the Canyon itself, no photo of Kabotie’s murals will ever do them justice.
Oh, and Bright Angel Trail – go play in traffic, I hate you.
You can read about the other adventures that took place during our time in Arizona at any of the links below. Get ready for cowboys, Navajo, tarantulas, horse riding, and secret paintings in the Grand Canyon!
- Herpetological Study in Arizona ✓ – Herping through Arizona meant snakes, scorpions, acid toads, tarantulas, and a very special Gila Monster – and I loved every second.
- Hold a tarantula ✓ – I’d avoided spiders my whole life, until the Arizona desert and a wise old traveller talked me into letting a tarantula crawl across my hand.
- See Monument Valley ✓ – Cowboy hats, lassos, rattlesnakes, and Monument Valley sunrises… Arizona gave me the Wild West I’d always pictured, and then some.
- Ride a Horse ✓ – First time on a horse, and I picked Monument Valley at sunrise. Epic mesas, wild dogs, and a guide who hunts drones for fun. The Wild Wild West!