Our outlook on life improved the further we drifted away from Chinle Wash and like the scenery which was spectacular our mood changed for the better. The San Juan cuts through the Mexican hat anticline which itself looks somewhat like a great Indian blanket with brilliant shades of Permian reds, browns, and white with sheer walls that rise straight up from the edge of a fast river. As we floated into the canyon the first natural formation we encountered was a Perched Meander. In our research of the San Juan, we had found that this is a wonderful but short hike created by the changing course of the river over the centuries. We stopped and while I watched the canoes, Hidalgo and Corey made the hike up a hundred feet to the bed of the ancient river. Water had not flowed down this small meander for millions of years yet it looked just like any riverbed, without the water. A quarter mile circuitous hike and they were back down to the active river bed. This of course was followed by a further walk back up the bank of the river in order to return to me and the canoes.
Four foot rapid was the next challenge. It is not a drop off but rather a short section of river where the water drops four feet in elevation over boulders and gravel. For many novice river runners this is the first rapid they encounter, which is why it is remembered by many despite its tame appearance. As the river flows on toward eight foot rapid the river runner encounters a distinct optical illusion. As the alternating colored rocks rise out of the river at a decidedly steep angle the river drops down through those layers. It appeared incredibly steep and actually it was, but the angle of the rocks made it appear alarmingly so. Then suddenly we were at eight foot rapid. The river forms a huge round pool, dammed up by the rocks that are washed in from a side canyon that enters there. After entering the pool, the three of us took our canoes across the river to the rocky beach. A paddler was attempting to line up a seventeen foot tandem canoe in order to run the rapid. Naturally we decided to watch from the shore.
The river there loses eight vertical feet in elevation, spilling over a narrow deep chute though boulders. Much of the river then piles against a trailer house size rock, splitting the river in half. It was a perfect rock in the middle of the stream waiting for out of control boaters at the bottom. The paddler had already portaged all the gear stored in the front of his boat. Sometimes this is a great idea, to remove some of the weight but the weight still has to be balanced. Generally a paddler has better control with most of the weight in the front of the canoe but this paddler was in a hurry and decided against unpacking the back of his canoe. As he lined up on the chute, the current pushed the canoe sideways. Panicking, the paddler managed to turn the canoe completely around and he ran the rapid facing upstream. Somehow, the canoe shot off to the left at the bottom of the rapid, which is where he wanted to go anyway. But from where the three of us were, we had no idea whether he made it. After dragging our canoes out of the water and tying them off, we took off down the bank to see what the result to the hapless canoeist was.
Returning to our canoes, we all three ran the rapid with little incidence, however missing the rock at the bottom proved a little more difficult for me. I thought it was like riding a huge roller coaster with the last few feet of the track blocked by a barrier. Then half way down I realized that there were smaller routes to be taken on the left side. My years as a high school athlete helped me as I muscled my way to the left and the safety of the beach. Hidalgo always went first in order to rescue anyone who swamped their boat in the rapid but this time it was unnecessary. This time we easily ran the rapid. We were becoming better river runners.
The Sorceress Raven
A few more miles and rapids later we were searching for a camping spot above Mexican Hat. I flopped down on the sandy ground, river left, and heaved a huge sigh of relief. “We really should have scouted that last rapid. It was deceptive, it didn’t look like a rapid at all but I almost lost it when I got too far to the right. If I had known how scary that last rapid was, I would have tried to walk around and made one of you guys hike back up and bring my canoe around. My heart was in my throat the whole time. I don’t know that I will be good for anything for the rest of the evening.” I of course, was teasing; the rapids on the San Juan are tame by anyone’s standards.
The guys laughed and Hidalgo replied, “You never know what you can do until you try; besides I would have caught your canoe at the bottom if you had turned it over.”
“What about me?” I asked indignantly.
“You are a good swimmer,” replied Corey with a smirk, “We knew you could make it to shore.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said smartly, “But a little less confidence and a little more assistance on the next rapid would be appreciated.”
With that response, I stalked off carrying the dry bag with a tent. Corey and Hidalgo agreed with a look, agreeing that it might be better to get busy helping me set up the camp, and let me cool off a little. They enjoyed pampering me and at times I enjoyed being the helpless girl in the group.
We were pleased to find ourselves alone at the campsite, a large sandy area about fifty feet from the river with some small cedars that provided shade until the sun dropped below the canyon rim. The small trees allowed us the option to tie down our belongings. Most of the other river runners that floated past us traveled on down to the town of Mexican Hat in search of cold drinks and warm showers.
After unpacking our canoes we dragged them up to the camp, turned them over and tied them to the trees. We then proceeded to unpack the tents but hesitated when we noticed a fast change in the weather. The sky above us seemed to swirl in a large circular motion, growing darker by the minute. Evidently, we were directly under a huge thunderstorm.
I had set up Corey’s and my tent but it was still empty and within the second before I could tie it off, the wind hit and it started to roll across the ground. Tent stakes were never used as they were basically worthless in the soft sandy soil. In the windy southwest, we had discovered long ago that it was better to tie the tent to shrubbery or lacking vegetation to fill it with coolers and heavy objects to keep it from blowing away.
I took a dive toward the tent but missed. Corey, who noticed what was happening, managed to do a fifty yard dash and stopped it from blowing into the river, but just barely. The wind picked up more and he was having trouble just keeping it from blowing out of his grasp. One of the poles snapped as the wind blew it flat to the ground.
Everyone scrambled to keep things from blowing away, but it was almost impossible. The sand that made up the area was all airborne in a maelstrom biting into our skin, stinging our eyes. After securing everything by tying bags, camp chairs and anything that could take flight to the small scrub trees, we took shelter under our canoes, curled up in the bow. Because of the foam seats, the men discovered that this was a very uncomfortable ordeal and the storm only increased in intensity. Lightning bolts hit nearby, causing a rumbling sound as the sound waves echoed off the canyon walls. We three intrepid boaters were pelted by rain and finally hailstones lay about us on the ground. Fortunately we were secure under our canoes out of the stinging sand and hailstones, but as the storm dragged on, I found myself letting out a blood curdling scream. Both Hidalgo and Corey grabbed something to protect their heads from the hail and crawled out from under their canoes and ran over to me. There they found me, a wide eyed and terrified girl.
“There are rattlesnakes in here with me,” I screamed. Hidalgo grabbed a paddle and Corey jerked the canoe over. There were no rattlesnakes. They were mystified, was it the wind making sounds like a terrified girl? No, I was terrified. I actually saw, what looked like, a rattlesnake sliding up my leg. I had screamed instinctually. A real rattlesnake would have bitten me.
We spent the next few minutes searching for any trace of a snake but could find nothing. The canoe was an empty shell and there was nothing in any of the bushes around me. Corey dragged his canoe next to mine and within only a few minutes the storm was over. It had disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.
&nbs
p; Hidalgo, attempting to calm me down, asked me a question. “What did you do with the amulet that William Owl gave you?”
“I left it at the ranch so I wouldn’t lose it,” I answered. My response brought a frown to Hidalgo. He was worried.
We ate sandwiches that night being too unnerved to prepare a real meal. Within a few minutes the wind suddenly subsided, giving us the opportunity to actually set up a camp. It took a lot longer than usual, darkness had already set in and figuring out how to set up our tent, with its broken pole was a challenge. Fortunately we had a roll of duct tape that was used to make emergency repairs. We wanted to be prepared just in case the storm returned.
Unfortunately Corey’s and my tent would never be the same, it was looking quite limp. It was obvious that it wouldn’t shed water in a hard downpour. We crammed the ice chest against the limp pole and with a little duct tape we taped the chest to the tent pole and were able to erect the tent. That night, we finally went to sleep exhausted both physically and psychologically, the three of us asleep with our camp gear inside our tents. We were not alone. High up on the canyon walls set a lone sorceress raven, looking down, laughing at us.
The Mexican Hat Restaurant
The next day we were exhausted, choosing to sleep in late and getting on the river late in the morning. Traveling only a few miles we camped early that evening across from the Mexican Hat rock formation that looked, indeed like a large Mexican sombrero. Finding campers along the Mexican Hat side of the river we paddled across the river to inquire about the couple who had stolen all the families’ personal items and hopefully to get a weather report. No one had heard a real weather report; furthermore they had not heard any reports of bad storms, only scattered afternoon thunderstorms, typical for this time of year. No one was aware of any recent storms like the one we had experienced.
The police had run the plates on all the cars that were parked and had been waiting for Overholt and his girlfriend right where they had left their car. If they had gotten away they would have made considerable use of the credit cards and cash, the car keys were nothing but a delaying action to keep campers from following them too closely.
Hidalgo made the comment, “Most people who run into law problems invariably get caught because they do stupid things.” Indeed they were stupid. There is no way to outrun police who are armed with radios and telephones. Many people who get out in the back country think that there is no law out here; actually it just takes a little longer to catch the bad guys.”
After floating past a rock formation that at just the right angle looks like Fred Flintstone sitting on a toilet, we floated past the dirt road that most raft parties use to take out and instead followed Dr. Douglas’s advice about floating under the Mexican Hat bridge and taking out at the steel ladder that had been constructed years ago against a bluff so that guests at the motel and restaurant could gain access to the river. Tying off our canoes we took care of the responsibilities first; loading fresh water into the water bags. All water on the river had to be taken with us in order to avoid a lengthy process of filtering and boiling the river water. Anyone who fails to follow this simple rule is doomed to spend days in agony due to stomach cramps and dysentery. The other major responsibility was for us to walk across the street to the trading company where everyone rented a shower stall with lots of soap and hot water. I felt like I was in heaven.
Returning to the restaurant that catered to tourist and river runners we discovered it was not very busy in the early afternoon. Navajo tacos were served up to Corey and me while Hidalgo preferred a traditional cheeseburger. Sitting at the table we could count four distinct languages being spoken. English, Spanish from the kitchen, German from the stiff looking couple in the corner and what we guessed was Japanese from several tables away. Corey and I spent some time walking around the place reading and looking at all the western memorabilia on the walls as well as enjoying the panoramic views of the river. Returning to the table where Hidalgo was sitting, Corey said he was feeling intoxicated. The air conditioning was doing wonders for him. I agreed.
As we sat enjoying our food, an ancient Ford Pickup truck drove up into the parking lot. Several Navajos piled out of the back of it and began walking down the road in the direction they had come and an elderly Navajo couple opened the doors to the cab and in slow motion piled out. Nobody paid any attention but Hidalgo chewed his cheeseburger slowly, closely watching. The elderly couple walked into the convenience store. Hidalgo picked up his cheeseburger for another bite. Three minutes later they came out with a loaf of bread and headed back to the pickup. Hidalgo, who could now see the faces of the elderly Navajo couple, bolted out of his chair leaving Corey and I amazed.
Hidalgo returned a few minutes later with the elderly couple, sitting them down at the table with Corey and me. “I would like you to meet my mother and father,” said Hidalgo as Corey and I feebly reached out for hands.
Hidalgo’s father looked like a typical Navajo with well-worn jeans, a blue velvet looking shirt and a bandana tied around his head knotted on the side, holding back long strands of what had at one time been pure black hair. Now it was long strands of grey hair. A barrel chest and strong arms despite his advanced years, wrinkles on his face told a story of a man who had spent considerable time outside. He could have been a very formidable opponent in another time and place but the expressions his face produced were content and friendly.
His mother was thin and frail yet extremely articulate. She seemed quite different from the typical elderly Navajo lady. Not shy at all. Neither of them had a trace of the customary turquoise jewelry that most Navajos wear. Hidalgo was a little embarrassed and a little angry. “I have sent portions of every paycheck I have ever earned to you so you could live comfortably.” He held up the loaf of white bread while looking at Corey and me saying, “This was going to be their dinner.”
Hidalgo’s mother looked at Hidalgo and said in perfect English, “Yes that is true, however we, she gestured at Hidalgo’s father, are very rich by Navajo standards. Others needed the money more than we did. It is not in our nature to see others suffer when we can help.”
Hidalgo sat back into his chair perplexed.
His parents were the people that had imbued him with that driving force that made him want to learn and excel. He was a shining star in a sea of despair. His mother and father had worked with him from an early age teaching him not only Navajo culture but all that they knew from all cultures. They had invested vast amounts of their own lives in a process of learning all that they could, not only to help themselves, but to help those around them. They were still doing it. They had planned to settle for a few slices of white bread that evening so that someone else could also afford at least a slice of bread.
Like all of society around them, there were the desperately poor and those who had learned to work the system. To compete, to conquer, getting to the top was not a Navajo trait. In their culture people shared and they were not about to change thousands of years of their culture and nature just because the white culture surrounding them demanded it.
Hidalgo set the loaf of bread on the table and signaled the waiter to come over whereupon he ordered food from the menu for his parents. They ate ravenously. Afterwards, Hidalgo’s father reached over and picked up the shreds of lettuce that were left over on Hidalgo’s plate. They were starving, not leaving a scrap of food on their plates, prompting Corey and I to clean up the scraps of food left on our own plates.
Between bites, Hidalgo’s father says, “I grew up knowing it’s wrong to have more than you need. It means you’re not taking care of your people. Gathering wealth around you is a bilagaana custom, not ours.”
Hidalgo answered him, “We have learned to be very careful with our money and as you know I do share most of what I make with others but there is more to life than just living. It is a strange and marvelous world out there. We want to live in it not just exist in it.”
At that statement I said, “Jesus said to them, ‘Wa
tch out! Be on guard against all kinds of greed. Life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.’ Luke 12:19.”
Hidalgo’s father looked at me and said, “You are a very special person. You do my son honor by being his friend.
Afterwards, while enjoying coffee, Hidalgo got around to explaining what we were doing in Mexican Hat. His parents had learned long ago that Hidalgo could always be found doing something unusual, but floating down the San Juan River was something they had never imagined him to be doing.
“Well, there is really something far more important that we are doing,” explained Hidalgo. With that he went into an explanation of what we were doing on this river trip with a brief description of the Gallenas Canyon mystery Richard had encountered and the strange apparition they had seen from atop Comb’s Ridge.
Hidalgo’s parents just sat there listening quietly with an occasional head bob in recognition of their own ancient memories of such events. Hidalgo finally got around to telling them about the pictograph that appeared to him. At this point Hidalgo’s father finally got into the conversation. In broken English, sometimes drifting into his native Navajo, he proceeded to explain that the apparition was meant for Hidalgo. “You are likeminded people, you and the shape shifters, but opposites, perhaps you don’t cause trouble in your line of work but trouble will always be around you. Has it occurred to you that the apparition was not an apparition at all? Perhaps it was the real thing; perhaps the shape shifter was as curious about you as you are about it. It wanted to show you something, maybe how strong it is.” That was the second time Hidalgo had heard this theory and it didn’t set well with him this time either.
The Family at Serpiente Page 36
