The Abandoned Lands...A Journey Through the Colorado Plateau: The fusion of geology and architecture, part 2

For today's post on the Abandoned Lands I am jumping into my personal "Wayback Machine" to revisit a hike I did in 2003 on Cedar Mesa, the western edge of the Ancestral Puebloan "fertile crescent". The crescent was (and still is) a highly productive agricultural area, and supported a large population between about 600 - 1,300 AD. We didn't do this hike on our more recent trip, but I thought it fit nicely with my theme of the fusion of rock and architecture. It remains one of the most memorable hikes of my life.

Access is the death-knell to Ancestral Puebloan ruins. The closer they are to roads, the more likely they are to be destroyed by pothunters and vandals (both of whom are the lowest of human beings). To see these wonderful ruins, we had to walk a total of eight miles, and that doesn't count the required climbing to approach the ruins themselves. There was only a trail of use to follow.

The trail began in a shallow canyon with an ephemeral stream. After a mile or so, the canyon deepened, and the first of the ruins appeared (above). It just goes to show how I can miss significant sights sometimes, by realizing that the ruin above is famous, and is found in posters and art exhibits. It's called the House on Fire Ruin (or some variant), and I totally missed the effect of the crossbedded Cedar Mesa Sandstone that flares out above the dwelling. Check out this page (or this one) for an example of a shot taken with a photographer's eye

The ruins in the canyon (there are eight or so of them spread over three miles) are in surprisingly nice condition, with intact walls, doorways and ceilings.

The dwelling in the pictures above and below even has an intact stairwell. This particular ruin is relatively inaccessible; people can get to it, but it requires a somewhat vertiginous crawl up some precariously perched logs on an 8 or 10 foot overhang. I haven't managed it yet in two tries (because I knew I had to get back down, and wasn't sure of myself).

Some of the alcoves don't have dwellings (anymore) but they do have pictographs, including the hand prints below. These messages communicate to me the humanity of a single individual who lived in this place 700+ years ago.

 There are also ghostly dancing figures...

I talked in previous posts of the frustration of having ruins that have been stabilized and "cleaned up". One starts to lose that sense of personal discovery (my so-called Indiana Jones effect; it's addictive and not really good archaeology). Of course it makes sense that a park with high visitation would never leave artifacts out in plain sight. They would disappear quickly. Here, miles from the end of the road, people have decently left things in place for others to see.

 The remnants of some kind of woven yucca fibers, a moccasin maybe?

Corncobs, minus the corn (rodents are very active in these ruins). The Ancestral Puebloans subsisted on maize, beans and squash, with the occasional supplementary meat provided by rabbits, deer, and bighorn sheep.

The upper canyon held what was to me one of the most fascinating dwellings I've run across (below). It's in a side canyon choked with willows and brush. Except for the fact that I knew a dwelling was up there somewhere, I never would have fought my way through the brush, but I did, and I almost missed the ruins anyway. The logs sticking out of the sheer cliff (and the small dark openings) were my only clue. I got the impression these people did not want to be found...

As we drew closer, more walls appeared, molded seamlessly into the vertical cliff. The walls hid a series of small alcoves into which rooms had been constructed. Instead of a single room perched on a block of rock, this was a small pueblo complex with at least seven or eight rooms. The upper log sticking out of the cliff was probably the brace for a ladder that accessed the rooms even higher up the cliff.

We shimmied up the log to access the pueblo, and were surprised by how much space was present behind the outer wall.

The walls and doorways were remarkably well preserved. The lintels over the doors were still encased in the adobe, and in many places, the fingerprints of the builders were preserved.

 The logs forming the ceilings were unchanged, except for generations of cooking fires.

 Roof intact, plaster coverings intact, wood unburnt...this was one of the best-preserved pueblos I've ever seen.

The dwelling is referred to as the Wall Ruin, and it is 3.7 miles up the canyon. You may notice I'm not making a big issue about where the dwellings are located, but there are enough clues here to figure it out on the internets with a bit of searching. I want this place to be here 700 years from now, and even though these sites are legally protected, any idiot can destroy centuries of culture in a matter of minutes. I've even heard of morons who used wood beams from 700 years ago...as firewood.

I like to think that spirits of the ancestors still inhabit these places, and I like to think that they will make life miserable for those who abuse and vandalize their realm.

The next portion of our journey would take us into a different landscape, one that was largely ignored by the Ancestral Pueblo people, a place where it was too dry to grow crops and subsist off the land. We were headed into the Canyonlands.

Meanwhile, in the present day, I will be on the road for a few days, taking our students on a field studies excursion into the eastern Sierra Nevada and Owens Valley. See ya'll in a few days!

Accretionary Wedge #36: How does life affect geology? Surviving on the Colorado Plateau

There was a day this home was abandoned. There was a day that something happened, a decision was made. Were they under attack? Did people die? Or was it a moment that a family knew the crops had failed, and there would be no food that winter? Or no more water in the nearby streambed? Were they called away to another place by a chief, or a shaman? Lots of questions, questions that are hard to answer. But abandoned it was, along with hundreds or thousands of similar homes in the region. Abandoned for hundreds of years before others came into the region.

Tourists seek out these former homes, and many of them remark on the permanence of these structures, still standing after 800 years. I look at them and I think of the permanence of stone, maybe, but also the transitory existence of people and populations. Before the decision to leave, generations of people had lived in these structures, and throughout their lives they never thought of being anywhere else. They didn't plan on enduring whatever catastrophe or threat that led to the decision to leave. But leave they did. There are lots of hypotheses, but I feel pretty strongly that they finally exceeded the capacity of the land to support human populations. That led to whatever else happened, I suspect.

Accretionary Wedge #46, hosted this month by Knowledge Flocs asks the question: How has life or civilization been affected by geology or how has geology been affected by life? I pondered this question essentially for the whole month before sitting down tonight and writing this. I was out there on the Colorado Plateau a few weeks back, and I almost mindlessly snapped a picture that I didn't give a second thought to. It was part of the view from the Wahweap Overlook at Lake Powell on the border between Arizona and Utah, and I was snapping a series of shots to get sort of a panoramic record of the view.

Tonight it caught my eye. A coal-burning power plant on the shores of an artificial desert lake. What is the carrying capacity of this land? There are thousands of people living in the immediate vicinity, but there are lines of copper wire leading out like a web to literally millions of homes in the wider region, especially places like Phoenix or Las Vegas. Looking at the coal-burning powerplant is to realize that the present-day population is depending on sunlight that fell on plants 70 million years ago to survive. They are depending on water that used to exist only in a deep inaccessible canyon. And to propel their vehicles they import the remains of plankton and one-celled organisms that lived by trillions upon trillions 200 million years ago in oceans and seas that don't even exist on Planet Earth anymore. Their food in large part is grown in other states or other continents.

And we take for granted that we will be living here permanently. We barely ever give thought to the intricate web of connections and imported energy that keeps this civilization alive. What happens when a piece of the web breaks?

I ask in particular because of that white strip along the shoreline of Lake Powell. It's the bathtub ring of the reservoir. It doesn't look like much from my lofty perch, but that is a terrifying lake level if you are one of the watermasters responsible for providing an allotment of water needed to keep things going downstream. The Colorado is the most important source of water in this arid land except for groundwater, which is pretty much non-renewable and is being used up in many areas. The region has been suffering through a decade-long drought, and global warming is leading to changes that may intensify the droughts for the conceivable future.

There are limits.That is the effect of geology on human life in this region. There is only so much water, and there is only so much coal. And populations and societies are not stable. Some will last longer than others, but the changes will come. Will we know when the limits have been reached and act? Or will we be caught off guard, and realize we need to move someplace else? And where will we go?

I'm appalled when I hear politicians say that the most important questions facing our generation have to do with the marriage of the gays and how important it is to de-fund Planned Parenthood.