Sandstorm, Canyon de Chelly and Rock Point

Being from the Midwest, I had never seen a real sandstorm until today. I had danced to Sandstorm plenty of times, but Friday’s sandstorm was a whole lot different. After spending the day working on science methods with the teachers, at 3:30 p.m. we left for Chinle, a small city about 45 miles south of the school. What to me looked like a thick brown fog reduced visibility substantially, and the mesas on the horizon which we were able to see so clearly the day before looked like dim red shadows in the distance as the swirling sand distorted them. At one point during the drive, the sand was so thick that our visibility was reduced to about 15 feet.

Canyon de Chelly (pronounced ‘duh shay’) was a sight to behold. Many people who have seen both the Grand Canyon and Canyon de Chelly hold the view that Canyon de Chelly is just as aesthetically beautiful, if not more so, than the Grand Canyon. After hiking around the expansive canyon for several hours this weekend, I am not surprised. And what is even better about Canyon de Chelly is that the mainstream tourist crowd has not yet discovered it, leaving it much more pleasant than I imagine the Grand Canyon would have been on an August weekend such as this one. Interestingly, many (if not most) of the tourists staying at our hotel were from European countries.

Behold the beauty of Canyon De Chelly.

Derek, Eileen, Sarah and I had the good fortune to have an amazing Navajo hiking guide Sunday morning. Reavis, 20 years old, reveled us with stories of growing up in Canyon de Chelly, as well as stories of the history, culture, and geology of the land. He showed us hieroglyphs of the ancient people who had lived there thousands of years ago, as well as the ruins of the cliff-dwelling Anasazi indians. At one point during the hike someone asked him about the Navajo creation story, and he proceeded to give our group a 45-minute account of what the Navajos believe. A great storyteller, we were in awe he told us the story that his grandfathers had told him. I have always heard about native Americans and their connection with the land, now I can say that I have seen this philosophy first-hand.

Monday morning and afternoon was a busy time for us as we helped the teachers transform their classrooms from dirty, dusty rooms with clumps of furniture all over the place into something that discerned a classroom. We did everything from moving desks, tables and chairs from one room to another to scrapping the paint off of students’ desks to mopping. Ah yes, the glory work of being a teacher.

This evening, we hiked up a mesa called Rock Point. Rock Point is the highest point of altitude in Rock Point according to Patrick, a Navajo who was on the hike with us. From the front of the mesa it appears nearly impossible to reach Rock Point, since the front of it is basically a cliff on a 90 degree angle. However, our friends knew a back way, which, though it was not necessarily simple, was a way which we could climb the 250 foot peak without rocking climbing equipment. A stray dog and friend of ours, whom we have named “Trouble,” was even able to make the trip with us. Looking down at the world, everything seemed so small. The four mile run that I had done in the morning looked like it had covered hardly any land at all; cars appeared to be driving at a snail’s pace. Rock Point rocks.

View from atop Rock Point.

Rock Point.

M.D.