"Are there any petroglyphs in the area, with spiral forms on them, that I can hike to?" I say.
"Sure," the park ranger says. "Over there, there is a rock with a bunch of petroglyphs on it."
He points out to the west into a vast valley of the Painted Desert. 'Over there' doesn't really seem quite specific enough.
"How far over there?" I said.
"Oh, not too far, really. You just got down the trail that starts over there..."
There's that 'over there' again. But he seems to be pointing a lot closer this time.
"...and hike down to the valley floor and head toward those hills over there and it's a large boulder at the base of one of those hills," the ranger says.
"Is there a trail that goes there?" I ask.
"No, but it's easy. Just head toward those hills once you get to the desert floor."
'Those hills' look to be about three to five miles away. It's around 8:00 a.m. in October. Cold but it'll warm up. Clean blue sky.
"So I can just bushwhack over there? No problem with that?"
The ranger smiles. He's in his early 30s, trim, with a beard, wearing the standard Government Issue cotton polyester uniform of the U.S. Park Service. No hat.
"No, it's no problem. Have a good time." His smile is genuine it seems.
"Thanks. I appreciate it. Spirals, right?"
"Yep. Them and a lot of other symbols on that rock."
Cool, I think.
"Well, I think I'll hike out there with my camera and see. Thanks again."
"You bet." He's still smiling. Seems like a nice guy.
I go to the truck and load up. Not too much. Tripod, Rollei, water. And I head off to the trailhead. Well worn and well maintained. You got to give it to the Park Service, to keep things ship shape. The walk down is easy. Still just above freezing but warming up. The sun is bright and good. I look off toward the boulder the ranger talked about. I think I see the hills he was pointing to. Has to be them. No other hills in the direction of 'Over There.' The air is crisp and easy on the lungs. No wind. No tourists. Just the trail and me.
I get to the level valley floor and begin navigating around the base of a few small hills that rim this flat expanse of the Painted Desert. The red, white, yellow and blue strata of the hills are beginning to become more noticeable as the sun rises. Easy to see how this area got its name. To the west, I think I see the hills the ranger mentioned. Maybe just a couple of miles. It's warming up. I take off my winter jacket and sling it through my camera case strap.
After an hour of walking, I can see a large boulder toward the north end of the Over There hill. As I approach, I can't see anything of note, but then I begin to see things. Yes. There. Petroglyphs of many types and sizes: spirals, circles, zig zags, lizard shapes, hand prints, human stick figurers, all carved into this boulder.
There is much speculation of what these prehistoric carvings signify. Some speculate that they are messages back and forth between people, like a bulletin board. Others think they are designation of boundary lines. Ancient gang taggings.Perhaps though, they were made because the Ancient Indians of these parts, just wanted to. M. Scott Peck, in his book on his travels to Scotland and his exploration of the stone megaliths there, came up with a revolutionary proposition on why Pre-Celtic people made Stonehenge, and Avebury and The Standing Stones of Callanish. It wasn't to do primitive astronomy or to make places of worship. Maybe, he speculates, they dragged the stones and build the Cairns in the pursuit of making Art.
Perhaps these Ancients here too, carved the petroglyphs for similar creative reasons. They found a good rock, easy to find, easy to carve, and had at it. I saw a big rattler recently he thinks. I think I'll put it on the rock. I love the sun she thinks. I think I'll carve it on the rock. I realize that I am here, he says. Maybe a hand on the rock will let others know that. I see God all around me, she says. A circle seems to say God best.
Red filter. Long exposure. F22. Maximum depth of field. I pop a few exposures then I leave the camera on the tripod andclimb another nearby boulder and have some water. I look over at the rock covered in symbols and marvel at its diversity of images.
Whether they were messages or tags or memoirs on a rock or Fine Art of the ancients, they are bits of wonder to me today. And wonder is what I search for in Art. In God, too.