The Journey to Keet Seel

Keet Seel Canyon, Navajo National Monument

Not long ago, I read a travel story about Keet Seel, an Ancestral Puebloan site within Navajo National Monument, located about 20 miles south of Kayenta, Arizona. The author’s take on this very special place is that it was an arduous, unpleasant trip and, though the ruin was impressive, it wasn’t worth the effort of getting there. I was astonished.

The facts of the article were absolutely correct. Yes, it is a difficult hike. It’s 8.5 miles (one way) in summer, when it’s hot as blazes and when, after July, afternoon thundershowers can turn a hike from just plain hot to hot, humid, scary, wet, and chilly. (Personal experience speaking here.) The author mentioned such miseries as flies, livestock, sand, lack of water, and a steep exit from the canyon. He neglected to mention the quicksand. (Also personal experience.)

But the reward for the hike to Keet Seel was being able to enter one of the most magical places I have ever visited. This Ancestral Puebloan village, occupied 700 years ago, is tucked into a sheltering alcove, and it looks as though its residents simply picked up walked away. Part of the magic is that Keet Seel can only be visited in the presence of a ranger, and only by five or fewer people at a time. The spacious coolness of the alcove is impressive. The quiet is awesome. These qualities would be lost in a crowd of people. And who knows what else might be lost at this historic site (or along the route) if hundreds of people tramped through daily.

The author’s chief complaint was that Keet Seel is open to hikers only in summer months, and he directed his displeasure toward the Navajo Nation, which administers the monument in partnership with the National Park Service. Personally, I’m thankful that the strenuous nature of this journey keeps the experience rare and special, and grateful that local tribal members have chosen to limit access this way. Keet Seel is not an appropriate “sacrifice site,” a term coined by an archaeologist in reference to cultural sites that are opened and promoted to the general public in order to educate or entertain. Though Mesa Verde’s Cliff Palace is magnificent, it has lost an ineffable something because of the crowds who visit there. The long hike to Keet Seel, on the other hand, is an opportunity to let go and prepare to be transformed. We need both types of places.

At least, that’s my perspective. And as I re-read that article about Keet Seel, I realized how much travelers’ (and writers’) perspectives can differ. One person’s paradise can be another’s ho-hum. A big part of this is the expectations and experiences we carry with us like baggage when we travel. And I think that as a culture, we’ve gotten used to things that are easy and comfortable. When I write travel stories, I think it’s important to report things accurately—the difficulty of a hike, the expense of a popular destination. But I also believe it’s important to look at things with an unjaded eye, to make room for magic. There can be a fine line between being discerning and being dismissive.

Now that summer is here, Keet Seel is open once again to day hikers and backpackers. (Advance permits are required.) If you don’t like flies, or heat, or challenging hikes, you can "settle" for easy canyon-rim trails with great views. But if you’re ready to let modern life fall away as you walk through Navajo land, and then enter an ancient village with fresh eyes, put Keet Seel on your bucket list. 

Sedona's two summers

Prickly pear cactus blooms

At the local chamber of commerce, they boast about Sedona’s four-season climate, something special in this desert state. But by my count, Sedona has five seasons. We experience two summers (something we share with Phoenix, Tucson, and other Sonoran desert cities): a hot and dry foresummer, followed by the monsoon, marked by higher humidity and fierce afternoon thunderstorms. 

April might have been the cruelest month in Chaucer’s world, but here in Arizona, it’s May.

Summer seemed to blow in overnight to central Arizona, dropping the humidity below 15 percent and drying up tender spring wildflowers. Nearly every day is hot and windy, and the scent of smoke is in the air from four wildfires burning in the Prescott and Tonto national forests. The small community of Crown King (near Prescott) was evacuated a couple days ago. The national weather service posts red flag warnings (when conditions are ripe for wildfire) almost daily.

We face a long stretch until monsoon-pattern rain rides in like the cavalry and rescues us from the tinder-dry conditions. Fire restrictions are in place on every national forest in the state.

That’s the big picture. Meanwhile, we have little annoyances as well, and some of the littlest are the most annoying. If you hike in the Four Corners area, you know I’m talking about cedar gnats, nasty little creatures that are hard to see (hence, their alias, no-see-ums) but leave huge welts when they bite. Cedar gnats make hiking in piñon-juniper woodlands an ordeal for about six weeks every spring. They find every patch of exposed skin, leaving red bites at the vee of a collar, the edge of a sleeve, or along the hairline. Searching for moisture, they’ll fly into hikers’ eyes, nostrils, and mouth. The wind keeps them away for the most part, but as soon as it’s calm, they come out in droves.

The dry foresummer also drives forest dwellers into neighborhoods in search of water. A few days ago, a bobcat walked across the yard. Smaller creatures try to escape the heat by sneaking indoors. I found an angry scorpion in the living room Sunday night, brandishing his tail at me. (I scooped him up in a glass and took him outside, where I hope he’ll stay.)

But the months of May and June aren’t all bad. The sun sets late, and the long evenings feel like bonus time. Nights are cool, perfect for sleeping with the windows open to the tangy/spicy scent of the desert. Wildflowers have given way to jewel-bright cactus blooms.

Seasons remind us that change is inevitable, and that most everything has its pluses and minuses. In the world of freelancing, for example, it seems like every contract is balanced by a stack of rejection letters. (I read once that dedicated magazine freelancers sell about 10 percent of their work.) But after years of sweating the dry spells, I’ve learned that the rains eventually return.

A writer's bookshelf

Centuries ago, book ownership indicated that a person was of high status. If that were true today, I’d be at least minor royalty. (The Countess of Coconino County, perhaps?)

Over the years, I’ve given away boxes and boxes of books. Even so, I still have so many books that it's chore to move them. Ounce for ounce, I’d say my biggest haul is reference books. Yes, the web has many resources for writers, but sometimes (when I’m hiking, for example, or dashing across the room to identify a bird singing outside) going online isn’t convenient. Plus, I have what could be described as an ambivalent relationship with my computer. Or maybe, after reading books and writing books for most of my life, I simply enjoy picking up a book and flipping through the pages, even if it’s just to look something up.

For a book author, the reference bible is the latest edition of the venerable Chicago Manual of Style, now in its sixteenth edition. For magazine articles, it’s the Associated Press Stylebook. I own both, as well as a glossary of words and expressions. I’ve noticed that my glossary use is related to the number of years I’ve been out of school—maybe needing help remembering the difference between “affect” and “effect” is one of the early effects of aging … which eventually affects us all (just practicing, sorry!).

A good dictionary isn’t as essential as it once was, thanks to all the great resources online, but I’m happy with my Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. Other books I use include a brief etymology guide for sleuthing the origins of words. (I’d prefer the 20-volume Oxford English Dictionary, but that would fill a shelf all by itself.) Roget’s Thesaurus is helpful when I’m at a loss for words or, more likely, when I find myself repeating the same ones too often. I occasionally need to refer to my French and Spanish dictionaries. And I’m still schlepping around my Harbrace College Handbook, a handy grammar/composition guide I’ve had since, well, college. Yikes.

The internet has opened up vast doorways for research … often to my dismay, when I go online to find a quick answer and realize I’ve spent a half-hour or more following a tempting trail of breadcrumbs. A site I especially like is howjsay.com for pronunciations of words. Even after all these years, those little symbols are difficult for me, especially the ones used by Wikipedia.

I also have shelves and boxes of maps, atlases, and project-specific information such as field guides. I find regionally published books especially useful, such as the field guides produced by Grand Canyon Association and Western National Parks Association. For cookbook projects, I use Joan Whitman and Dolores Simon’s invaluable Recipes Into Type.

I realize that my life would be more Zen-like if I could rely entirely on the internet. But these are old friends, moving with me and helping me write dozens of articles and books. When I first starting freelancing, buying reference books represented an investment in myself. Seeing them on the shelves or opening one and breathing in the scent of ink and paper evokes a multitude of past experiences and projects, and holds the promise of more.

As Cicero once said, “A room without books is like a body without a soul.” I read that in a book somewhere.

Grand Canyon’s Wild Side: The North Rim

Grand Canyon's Point Imperial on the North Rim

Road trippers, buckle your seatbelts: National Park facilities on Grand Canyon’s North Rim are due to open next week. (Officially, the park’s North Rim is open May 15–October 15, but Mother Nature has the final say.) This news is sweet relief for desert dwellers. Phoenix temperatures are expected to top 100 again by the end of the week, while on the North Rim it’s 30 degrees cooler.

Higher than the South Rim by 1,400 feet and shaded by boreal forests of spruce, fir, and aspen, the North Rim can receive more than a 100 inches of snow each winter, forcing the closure of State Route 67 and park facilities. By mid-May, the snow is gone, meadows and aspen are greening, and Grand Canyon Lodge throws open its doors to welcome visitors.

Only one out of ten park visitors make it to this side of the canyon. Though it’s only 10 miles away from the South Rim’s Grand Canyon Village as the raven flies, to get to the North Rim takes five hours by car or shuttle or at least two days of hiking.

For the lucky few who venture here, that means natural quiet, fresh pine-scented air, and a relaxed pace. Many of the North Rim’s scenic highlights are strung like gems along the paved Cape Royal Road, which travels 20 miles across the Walhalla Plateau. Even along this popular scenic drive, trails are seldom crowded. (One of my favorites, short but sweet Cliff Springs Trail, starts near the end of the road.)

The North Rim’s most popular trail, the North Kaibab, leads into the canyon. Several other trails wind through rim-side forests, where wildflowers linger through summer. If you plan to explore beyond the pavement, you’ll want a high-clearance vehicle and a good map. Be aware that gravel and dirt roads in the neighboring Kaibab National Forest can be muddy into June. Check weather and road conditions before starting out. For the latest announcements from Grand Canyon, visit the park service’s web site.

Welcome to Grand Canyon’s wild side!

Take a Hike: Hermit Trail

View from Hermit Trail, Grand Canyon

Early May is a great time for hiking Grand Canyon. Spring break crowds have gone, and summer crowds haven’t yet arrived. Daytime temperatures on the South Rim are comfortable, and wildflowers are in bloom. 

For those new to hiking Grand Canyon, the corridor trails—Bright Angel and South Kaibab—are recommended. But if you're ready for a day hike that’s a bit farther off the beaten path, Hermit Trail is ideal. It’s steep but easy to follow, with a couple good day-hike destinations, depending on your time and abilities. Before your trip, it's a good idea to check the National Park Service web site for weather and trail conditions and for information about day-hiking. You can also find detailed trail information on the park's site.

The trailhead is located a few hundred feet west of Hermits Rest. From March through November, day-hikers can get to the trailhead via the free Hermits Rest Route shuttle. 

The trail descends steeply through the Kaibab, Toroweap, and Coconino formations, then levels out (but not for long!) on the reddish Hermit Shale formation at Hermit Basin. The trail is unmaintained and narrow in places, with sharp drop offs. When you reach Hermit Basin, you can find a shady spot beneath a juniper or pinon to relax and have a snack. At 1.5 miles, the signed intersection with the Waldron Trail makes a good turnaround point for a two- or three-hour hike.

For a longer hike, continue down the switchbacks to Santa Maria Spring, the 2.5-mile point. There’s a shady resthouse here (but don’t count on being able to get water at the spring). Some great views can be found from a rocky platform a few yards further along the trail, but remember that hiking out of the canyon takes roughly twice as long as it took to hike in. On the way back to the rim, stop often to enjoy the scenery—and to catch your breath.

A visit to Hermits Rest, designed by architect Mary Colter, is a good reward for your 5-mile hike. The building is an imaginative recreation of a miner’s camp. Inside is a gift shop and snack bar, and outdoors there's a lovely shaded patio that’s often visited by ravens.

The hermit immortalized in all these place names was Louis Boucher, a miner who began guiding tourists to his camp at Dripping Springs in the late 1800s. In 1912 the Santa Fe Railway developed Hermit Trail and set up tent cabins and a dining hall far below the rim near the Colorado River. Tourists traveled to the camp on muleback. The camp operated until 1930, supplied by an aerial tramway leading 6,000 feet down from Pima Point. If you stop at Pima Point on your shuttle ride back to Grand Canyon Village, be sure to peer over the edge, where you’ll be able to spot the outlines of the camp.

Views, history, and a great hike—a perfect way to spend a spring day!

Write What You Notice

Blame it on spring, but lately I’ve been on a kick about the ways in which writers—and everyone else—interact with the world. “Write what you know” is a common instruction for aspiring authors. Like most clichés, it holds a kernel of wisdom. But but don’t write only about what you know; write about what you notice.

Here in the West, it’s easy to get caught up in the larger aspects of being outdoors: the clear air and spectacular views, the aerobic challenge of mountain hiking, the attention-getting rocky terrain. Everything seems bigger and bolder. But here—like elsewhere—the real magic is in the microcosm.

Desert four o'clock, mirabilis multiflora

Nature reminds us daily to pause and look closer. We are surrounded by stories. A penstemon that was brown and dry a few weeks ago explodes with green leaves and a stem that appears to reach inches taller overnight. Heavy buds burst into bloom and bees follow, until the air vibrates with color and sound.

Look closer still: A nipped stalk might be the work of a javelina. Most Sedona visitors and quite a few locals have never seen a collared peccary, yet on nearly any trail you can spot its hoofprints, similar to deer tracks but smaller and closer together. Look for scrapes where a herd has searched for roots, or find scattered prickly pear parts, remnants of last night’s meal.

Look again at that prickly pear, and you might see a jumble of twigs, home to a woodrat (a.k.a. packrat) who cleverly arranges spiny cactus parts to discourage visitors. The nest, likely occupied for generations, may contain shiny treasures fallen from hikers’ pockets, or even pollens preserved since prehistoric times—a treasure for archaeologists. In so many ways, the world around us is interconnected, layered with stories.

“It is not a matter of miracles,” says Buddhist teacher and author Lewis Richmond, “but a matter of noticing.”

Opening your eyes, using all your senses, perceiving intimately—this is what separates tourists from travelers, whether you’re on the road to Grand Canyon or traveling the road of life. Write about what you notice, and your words are authentic, even inspiring. The everyday sparkles with the numinous, the deeper layers that call to our sense of beauty and connect us to the miraculous.