Grand Canyon Mystery

Congratulations, Grand Canyon--old as the ages and still stirring up controversy and intrigue! I read this article in the New York Times today with great interest, not just because it’s about one of my favorite places, but also because it reminds me of one of my favorite quotes: 

“The fairest thing we can experience is the mysterious” —Albert Einstein

Taking pleasure in reading about scientists' continuing disagreement on Grand Canyon's geologic age isn't to say I don’t appreciate advances in science or that I don’t make the effort to research the name of a plant or the origin and age of a pottery sherd. But there’s something about the unknowable that holds magic: When we can put a label on a thing or explain it thoroughly, it loses a bit of its wildness.

But no matter if science determines whether Grand Canyon is old or young (geologically speaking), it will always be grand enough to hold many mysteries.

And after all, isn't it mystery that beckons us onward, inspiring us to travel, to write, to paint, to understand?

Living with deadlines

Aspens in autumn, Flagstaff, Arizona

Getting projects done on time is definitely a big part of a writer’s life. Someone once suggested to me that I should start referring to my deadlines as “lifelines.” His reasoning was that even thinking the word “dead” was bound to create negativity and stress. I saw his point. Furthermore, saying “I'm working late because I have a lifeline” would better reflect that writing is my livelihood, something that supports me.

But the new terminology never stuck, and years later, I’m still saying and thinking “deadline,” even though other options abound. Due date? (Working on a book is a bit like a pregnancy and delivery, especially the labor aspect.) Completion date? (Blah.) Target date? (Nope—creates a sense of anxiety that I might miss the target.) I’d like to call it a “freedom date,” but that may lure my focus away from the project at hand to the fun that beckons beyond it. 

Try as I might to create balance—put more life into a deadline—things still tend to come to a standstill when my focus narrows to one project, one date. Less urgent projects (and blogging) get shoved to the side. Personal trips are cancelled. Creativity leaks away from other areas like cooking and gardening. Life dies a little bit.

The idea that a word or label creates its own reality might be considered New Age, but it isn’t new. For centuries, humans have uttered mantras and prayers. Across different cultures and religions, creation and completion is linked to sound or word or logos—om, amen, shalom, salaam. We shout “Abracadabra” to create magic, or write “I will [fill in the blank]” a hundred times when we (or our schoolteachers) desire change. Words hold power. 

Hemingway said that he once revised a passage 39 times in order to “get the words right.” I haven’t yet found the right word or phrase to replace “deadline.” But I’d like to think that I continue to add more awareness to the term. Death, after all, is just another transformation. It’s as essential to life as winter is to the cycle of seasons, an in-gathering of energy before a fresh burst of creation. Without a deadline, I’d probably keep tinkering away on the same old project instead of beginning something new.

Deadlines. Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.

Take a Hike: Cathedral Rock

Cathedral Rock Trail is a classic Sedona hike.

Cathedral Rock, a monumental red sandstone formation in the center of the Sedona area, is one of the most-photographed scenes in Arizona. The classic view is along Oak Creek from the west, at Crescent Moon Ranch and Red Rock Crossing. (Scenic Red Rock Loop Road leads to this day-use area, a great spot for a picnic or a gentle stroll along the creek.) 

But it’s possible to climb to the very heart of the Cathedral’s sandstone spires, beginning from the formation’s northeast side. Some people say that the spires are where Cathedral’s vortex energy is concentrated. If you’re curious about Sedona’s vortex sites, a hike here is the perfect opportunity to see for yourself if all the buzz about Sedona’s special energy is mere hype or a genuine phenomenon.

For the trailhead, drive south on State Route 179 from its intersection with State Route 89A. At 3.5 miles, turn right at Back O’ Beyond Road and continue a half-mile to the parking area on the left. If you’re afraid of heights or unsteady on your feet, think twice about making this moderately difficult hike. Though it’s a mere 1.5 miles round-trip, it’s steep, with ledges and toeholds in some places. In places, the trail travels over bare slickrock; the forest service has marked the route with numerous rock cairns.

Once you arrive at the top, you can enjoy the views of the Chapel area to the east. Look for the two red rock spires known as The Nuns. To the west, Oak Creek’s meandering route is marked by a green band of trees that turn gold in autumn. A short scramble south leads to the base of the tall spire in the center of Cathedral Rock, known as The Mace. Do you feel the vortex vibe? Or is it simply the exhilaration of making an invigorating hike to an amazingly beautiful place?

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.

Sedona is for the Birds

Last night, while I was making pizza to the sounds of Mozart, a warbling song drifted in through the open windows. In the deep twilight, I couldn’t identify the singer by sight, but it seemed like the bird was responding to the violins playing on the stereo. Spring has brought a symphony of birdsong to our backyards and “neighborwoods,” the local nickname for the Coconino National Forest boundary that encircles Sedona.

Being so close to national forest, we host a mix of species, shy spotted towhees shuffling beneath bushes in search of insects, scrub jays scolding loudly from pinons, the occasional kestral silently watching for rodents or smaller birds from a branch or telephone pole. A popular neighborwoods walk is to climb Sugarloaf, a red sandstone butte in West Sedona, where white-throated swifts zoom past hikers’ heads.

Deeper in the forest, the liquid song of the canyon wren is sweet music to hikers' ears. These small reddish-brown wrens (about five inches long) hop in and out of rocky crevices and boulder piles in search of insects. The male’s song is a descending, flutelike tew-tew-tew-tew-tew-tew. Females usually choose nest sites hidden in the rocks, though one little mother raised her brood inside the room of an ancient cliff dwelling at Palatki. She tucked her nest in the hole from a roof beam, and her four offspring grew up under the watchful eyes of the site’s rangers and hundreds of visitors.

Cliffs and ledges in Fay Canyon, Sedona

Rocky canyons like Fay, Boynton, and Long also echo with the piercing cries of hawks and peregrine falcons, a threatened and endangered species (TES). Peregrines nest on the ledges of Sedona’s famed rock formations—the second highest concentration of breeding pairs in the state. Where canyons climb to higher elevations, acorn woodpeckers drill holes in ponderosa trunks to store row upon row of acorns, then spend most of their time relocating and defending their accumulated wealth. (Nature’s metaphor for modern life, perhaps?)

With nearly two hundred avian species, from tiny black-chinned hummingbirds to bald eagles, Sedona is a paradise for birdwatchers. Most birds nest here during summer, then spend winter months in Mexico or Central and South America. Seventeen are on the TES list, many of these—including the Southwestern willow flycatcher and belted kingfisher—dependent on riparian areas, the lush environments of Oak Creek, Beaver Creek, or the Verde River.

Some of the best places for birdwatching near Sedona are Red Rock State Park, the wetlands (reclamation ponds) west of town, or the Page Springs Fish Hatchery. Today is the final day of the area's top nature-themed event, the Verde Valley Birding and Nature Festival held each April. Whether you're an experienced birder or a beginner hoping to learn a little more about the feathered musicians in your backyard, the "Birdy Verde" is a fabulous event with workshops and guided field trips throughout central and northern Arizona.

Being a naturalist wannabe, I've made an effort over the years to study Sedona's flora and fauna. And yet every spring I find myself needing to relearn birdcalls or distinguishing marks. Binoculars sit by windows, and field guides pile up on shelves and tables along with a notebook and pen. After hearing last night's anonymous warbler, however, I've decided it's okay to remain in appreciative ignorance. Sometimes, not knowing can be sweeter. As psychologist Eric Berne once said, 

"The moment a little boy is concerned with which is a jay and which is a sparrow, he can no longer see the birds or hear them sing."  

As a writer who travels, I'm often too quick to put a label on the things I see. Sometimes it's better simply to enjoy them.

The Secret of the Senses

Cliffrose near Walnut Canyon National Monument

When I’ve spoken to other writers about making their work more sensual, a few have jumped to conclusions, thinking I’m suggesting they change their manuscript from a memoir or mystery into a romance novel. What I mean is this: Whether you’re writing a romance novel or a travel story, involve the five senses in your work.

I learned this simple technique at the very first writing workshop I attended, about 25 years ago. At the time, I’d published poetry and corporate materials, and I'd finished a romantic suspense manuscript that had just been politely turned down by Harlequin. The workshop leader, Richard Jewell, was published across a multitude of genres and markets, and his advice was universal and easy to implement. To date, it remains the most valuable workshop I’ve ever taken.

Some of us respond well to inspiration, some to nagging. I respond to practicalities and tools, and Jewell matter-of-factly shared several over the course of a couple evenings. Incorporating his suggestions, I revised my manuscript and sent it to the next publisher on my list. It sold.

Are you ready for the secret?

Ground your words in the reality of taste, touch, sound, smell, and sight, and they will come alive. Incorporating the senses in your writing is a bit like cooking, however. If you add too many seasonings, or too much of one spice, the dish will be unpalatable. Instead, sprinkle in the senses in proportion to how we use them.

Because most of us are visually oriented, sight—describing how things look—will be the dominant flavor. Very likely, you’ve incorporated the visual sense intuitively, without having to think about it. You may have even overdone it—too much description and not enough dialogue, for example. The danger of engaging so much with the virtual world is that we rely more and more on the sense of sight. Without including the other four senses, our writing can become as flat as our screens. 

Though sounds may be harder to spot in your writing (just as we often don’t notice the sounds around us once we’ve become habituated to them), we rely heavily on our sense of hearing. Does your fictional heroine respond to a footstep in the dark? Does your travel story include the sound of the wind or the pulsing beat from a nightclub? Include a sound on each page of your story.

The sense of touch--the itch of wool against skin, the slick coolness of a glass of ice tea--should pop up every couple pages. Smell and taste are more challenging to incorporate, especially if you’re writing nonfiction, but a dash of these every few pages will add immediacy to your work: the bitterness of stale coffee, the heady vanilla-like scent of a blooming cliffrose.

When you engage all five of the reader’s senses, you’ve opened a doorway into your world—the one you’ve created on the page (or screen)—and the reader becomes an active participant. 

Try it. I know it sounds simple, but what have you got to lose?

The View From Sedona

Oak Creek, Sedona, Arizona

Among the pitfalls of writing for a living is that you can find yourself in an echo chamber, spending too much time in front of a computer, cut off from your subject and isolated from your audience. Even if you’ve never needed to supplement your writing income with a day job (lucky you!), getting out in the world can bring a fresh perspective, or at least a few good anecdotes.

One of the most entertaining encounters I had while working on Sedona’s busy retail strip was with the guy looking for The View. He burst into the gallery a bit disheveled and out of breath. “Where’s the view?” he demanded. “People told me there was a view here.”

Bear in mind there are only three ways in and out of Sedona, each considered scenic routes. After a few questions, I learned that he had arrived via the Red Rock Scenic Byway, which winds between several monumental red sandstone formations, including Bell Rock, Courthouse Butte, and Cathedral Rock. If he didn’t spot a “view” along that route, I wasn’t sure I could help him.

I suggested a couple possibilities, somehow managing to refrain from adding the suggestion he get his vision checked. After he left, I realized it was his inner vision that that needed examining. Chances are, he had heard about Sedona from someone, and he traveled here with a particular vision in mind. For me, it was a lesson in how expectations can close us off from experience.

Expectations, familiarity, busy-ness—all these can cloud perception and separate us from the things we love, both people and places. When we take a vacation, we vacate our everyday lives. And when we travel with an open mind and open heart, we feel a renewed sense of discovery and enthusiasm. But we don’t need a plane ticket to make every day a discovery.

Today, plant a seed, smell a wildflower, enjoy the sun on your skin. Do something you’ve never done before, or try approaching something familiar as though you’re a traveler seeing it for the first time. Open your eyes and heart to the majesty of your familiar earth home. As T.S. Eliot wrote: “[T]he end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

Happy Earth Day!

The Writer's Craft: Learning From Failure

I’ve always been more intrigued by questions than answers, and I find the fluteplayer image painted or carved on cliff walls throughout the Americas (but most famously here in the Southwest) particularly evocative. Is the fluteplayer a traveling salesman, a supernatural being, or a specific individual? Does he symbolize fertility, rain, seeds, music, or a particular ceremony? 

Fluteplayer pictograph near Sedona, Arizona

I had a lot of time to contemplate these questions while acting as a volunteer docent at Palatki, near Sedona, leading tours of alcoves containing centuries of rock art. One afternoon, a set of possibilities magically shaped themselves into a children’s tale. Thus far, it is the only time in my writing life that I felt visited by a muse. I decided that destiny was playing its hand, and a couple weeks later I sent off the completed manuscript for Kokopelli’s Gift expecting great things: a major publisher, a fat advance, tons of sales, maybe even tie-in products like notecards or refrigerator magnets or, heck, why not a Kokopelli stuffed toy?

The manuscript limped back, rejected.

As the saying goes, this wasn’t my first rodeo, so I knew that I needed to detach, reprint, package, stamp, and send it to the next publisher on the list. And the next. And the next. And the next.

All tolled, I queried and pitched dozens of publishing companies, coming close only once before the book finally found a home at Kiva Publishing, a small company in California that specializes in Southwest-themed books. Owner/publisher Stephen Hill had a talent for matching up writers and illustrators, and he contracted a gifted artist from New Mexico's Santa Clara Pueblo, Michelle Tsosie Sisneros, to illustrate my story about a mysterious stranger who visited a drought-stricken village.

Though I’d expected fireworks from Kokopelli’s Gift, I received instead a small but steady flame that still burns. My articles and guidebooks have been ephemeral—useful to travelers I’m happy to say, but out-of-date in a month, a year, five years, whisked away by rack-jobbers or replaced by new editions. What pleases me most about Kokopelli’s Gift is that it's beautiful (thank you, Stephen and Michelle), and it endures (thank you, muse).

I might have given up on this story after the first round of rejection letters, but I once knew a novelist who sold a Gothic romance twenty years after writing the manuscript, when Gothic fiction resurged in popularity. The obvious moral is “never give up.” In other words, be committed. But there’s an equally important corollary to this moral: Don’t mistake attachment for commitment.

If you’re attached to your story, you may not make necessary revisions, or you may resist tailoring it to a publisher's needs. If you’re attached to a particular outcome—being published, getting a six-figure advance—a sense of failure is likely after a few tries or a few years, and you’ll probably throw in the towel.

But how can you be committed and detached at the same time? 

For most of us, this is one of life’s greatest questions, and there’s no easy answer. Like an archaeologist searching for the past, you may need to dig deep to uncover the origins of your attachment. My attachments, I’ve found, are often responses to feelings of lack or fear. When you’re able to bring up an attachment and look at it in the hard, bright light of day, you can begin to free yourself. Then, with renewed insight, you can commit to your progress as a writer.

Flowers in the Desert

Poppies and phaecelia  in the Sonoran Desert

Spring brings improbable splashes of color to the rocky deserts of California, Nevada, and Arizona. Something about flowers blooming in an arid landscape calls to the human psyche. Photographers and travelers hoping for an iconic scene dial hotlines or check websites for wildflower reports. (Desert USA is a superb resource.) Gorgeous coffee table books by Larry Ulrich or Jack Dykinga get snapped up along with wildflower field guides. Many of us bring home seed packets, hoping to replicate Mother Nature’s annual surprise party in our own backyards.

What is it about flowers in the desert that speaks to us so? Certainly, they are a metaphor for perseverance. Or for finding beauty in unexpected places—a swath of golden poppies at the base of a rocky peak, a red plume of Indian paintbrush bursting from a split boulder. A flower in the desert also reminds us of the ephemeral nature of beauty and youth: Here today, dried sticks tomorrow.

Speaking from a writer’s standpoint, I think that the vision of a tender plant surrounded by cacti, dirt, and rocks creates a feeling of tension. It’s like starting a story in medias res (in the middle of the action), intriguing the reader with questions: How did this get here? What happens next? There’s a sense of impending doom, for you know this delicate flower won’t survive the harsh desert summer.

Or will it?

What I’m getting at in a roundabout way is that all types of writing, even nonfiction, can incorporate fiction-writing techniques to pique the reader’s interest or simply to entertain. Though I haven’t written poetry in many years, I still think about rhythm, consonance, alliteration, and other poetic techniques when I write travel pieces. Similarly, I’ve found that the ingredients of a compelling novel—tension, conflict, characterization, sensuality—often work well for nonfiction.

Maybe you’re writing a piece about an upcoming city council meeting, or a blog post about using Facebook for marketing. As you re-read the draft of your article, think of the wildflower in the desert that makes you stop and take a closer look. Have you unconsciously incorporated storytelling techniques in your work? Will readers feel compelled to stop and take another look themselves? Will they ask, "What happens next?" 

Take a Hike: Long Canyon, Sedona

Overlooking Long Canyon, Sedona, AZ

I have a soft spot for Long Canyon, located about four miles northwest of Uptown Sedona as the raven flies. A story about hiking the canyon was the very first piece I sold to Arizona Highways magazine, back in 1999. But Long Canyon was one of my favorite places way before then, with its deep shade, candy-striped cliffs, giant manzanitas, and entertaining bird life.

Decades ago Long Canyon was a hideout for bootleggers. (Some well-meaning but misguided hikers removed the bootleggers' “trash” a few years back, so that bit of the past has been erased for history buffs and archaeologists.) Today, the canyon is a great place to hide out from the bustling shops and galleries in Sedona, offering a change of scenery, a moderate hike, and a breath of fresh air.

The Long Canyon Trail starts at an unpaved parking area off Forest Road 152D and leads through manzanita, scrub oak, and junipers as it gently climbs toward deeper forest. Ponderosa and piñon grow beside Long Wash, and after snowy winters, the musical notes of flowing water echo off the surrounding cliffs. The tall trees play peekaboo with the views as the trail continues to climb, ending at about four miles.

At certain times of the year, the last mile of trail can be obscured by snow or lined with a gauntlet of poison ivy, so I prefer to approach Long Canyon without an agenda. You don't have to hike to the end of the trail to find beautiful places to linger—a sandstone arch, a wide tributary scattered with rocks and pinecones, a cliffside perch perfect for watching the antics of Stellar jays and acorn woodpeckers.

Other than poison ivy, Long Canyon has only two drawbacks: tour helicopters that buzz overhead with annoying frequency on busy weekends and the Seven Canyons golf resort, which sprawls near the canyon entrance as out of place as, well, green grass in a desert.

Even so, the canyon remains one of the wildest places within a few minutes of Sedona. Here, it’s easy to imagine a mountain lion blending into the buff-colored Coconino sandstone cliffs high above, or a black bear nosing a mossy fallen pine. The last few miles of the Long Canyon Trail lie within the Sedona–Red Rock Wilderness Area, but mountain bikers can turn off the main trail for Deadman Pass, outside wilderness boundaries and scenic in its own way.

People occasionally ask why I write about Sedona’s hidden places instead of keeping them to myself. I believe that when I introduce someone to this wild beauty (especially someone who’s never hiked a wilderness before) that person becomes a potential defender of natural places. Yes, I'm hoping to recruit an army of tree-huggers.


For those who have already been transformed by the outdoors, stay tuned: I'll be writing about a hike or two every month.

The Writer's Craft: Spring Cleaning

George Orwell once said, “Good prose is like a windowpane.” Getting your prose to that state of clarity is, of course, not as simple as it sounds. Maybe that’s why Orwell also said, “Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a bout of some painful illness.”

Though spring is associated with fresh starts, writers need to polish and prune all year long. A few quick tips at making every word count:

Organize. Take a metaphoric step back and look at structure. Rearrange or toss out words, sentences, and even entire paragraphs that don’t support your story. If you’re in love with a section that simply doesn’t fit but you can’t bear to trash it, save it in a “Cuts” folder. Chances are you’ll never miss it and never return to it … but it’s there just in case you want to try it on for a different project.

Lose the deadwood. Can you say the same thing in fewer words? Helper verbs (was, been, have, could, does, etc.) aren’t always helpful. Take a closer look. Maybe you can even trim a letter here and there. (“Toward” is better than “towards.”)

Go for more color. Cut back on nonspecific verbs like “went” and aim for something better suited to character, setting, or story, like “raced” or “dawdled.” Trade in vague constructions like “There are” for something more pointed.

Retrain. Look for overused words or lazy habits. Make a list of your usual suspects and search them out. (Use your word processor’s Find feature if necessary.) Eventually you’ll recognize the offenders as you’re typing and replace them automatically.

Tweak, trim, and repeat until your prose sparkles. Self-editing is a skill that can be acquired through practice or with the help of a style guide. A classic is Strunk and White's The Elements of Style.

Which writer are you?

Everyone’s a writer, or at least it seems that way these days. Blogs, Facebook posts, e-newsletters, self-published books…. I could go on, but for someone like me who’s old enough to remember how thrilling it was to break into print (i.e., ink on actual pages) and who’s still dreaming of writing a hardcover bestseller—well, the new reality can be a bit disconcerting.

I feel a bit like a traveler who suddenly realizes she’s hopelessly lost. But years of traveling have taught me that getting lost sometimes leads to great discoveries. First, I needed to discover—or uncover—what kind of writer I am. Or, in other words, who have I been all these years?

I’m not an artist. Some writers are. Terry Tempest Williams comes to mind. For me, her evocative prose triggers a spectrum of senses and emotions, and the visual images inspired by her writing linger long after reading. To reach out and touch someone … that’s art.

And I’m not a storyteller (but how I wish I were!): the writer who keeps you up past your bedtime so that you can read just one more page. Paragraph. Chapter. (Oh, wait—is that the sun coming up already?) Nora Roberts, John Grisham, Diana Gabaldon, Val McDermid…. I bet you have a list of favorites too.

Me, I’m more of a bricklayer: A blue-collar writer who approaches writing as a skill more than an art, as a job more than a calling. My dad was a union carpenter, and like him, I go to work every day and apply my skills to different projects. He helped build bridges or buildings. I’ve written novels and articles, press releases and brochures, technical manuals and poetry. I’ve worked for publishers, businesses, a film producer, and even other authors. And when writing gigs were thin on the ground, I took second jobs to learn more (proofreading, editing, page layout) or to earn more (retail, teaching yoga, housecleaning).

Many people think of writing as a purely creative pursuit. I agree in one sense: You have to be creative at how you pursue writing if you want to make it a bigger part of your life. If I waited for the muse to strike, most days, I’d just be sitting here. Waiting.

I prefer to think of writing as a craft. Tools, mentors, experience, luck, inspiration, hard work—take these “bricks” and over time you can build something that looks a lot like a career. Travel writer and bricklayer, that’s me. Now that I’ve settled the question of who, it’s a question of how. And why. Did I choose travel writing, or did it choose me?

Since the “hows” are pretty straightforward, I’ll start with those, in between writing about what I like best: traveling.

Sedona Vortex Sites

Airport Saddle vortex

Now that I’ve mentioned Sedona’s famous (or infamous) energy vortex sites once or twice, it’s time to go into further detail. And no, this has nothing to do with April Fool’s Day!

Right now, you may be blissfully unaware of the mysteries of vortices (plural for vortex). But if you visit Sedona, you’ll encounter scores of vortex-related books, souvenirs, tours and—if you’re fortunate—even a vortex or two. Among locals, there are as many skeptics as believers, so the best thing to do is keep an open mind and decide for yourself. Is the vortex phenomenon real, or—as a dear friend claims—is the only vortex in Sedona the one that pulls money from tourists’ pockets?

The buzz over Sedona’s vortex sites began around 1980, when they were identified by a local psychic named Paige Bryant (no relation). She pinpointed several locations around the Sedona area that amplified or focused particular types of energy emanating from the earth. Later writers expanded on her theories, and the majority concur that Bell Rock, Cathedral Rock, Airport Saddle, and Boynton Canyon are the most active energy sites in Red Rock Country, each with different properties.

I can tell that some of you are dismissing all that as “New Age hooey.” But here in Sedona, as elsewhere, the New Age is anything but new, blending aspects of such venerable world traditions as Native American spirituality, shamanism, Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Sufism. Several of these ancient traditions have incorporated geomancy or earth magic—aligning a doorway with the rising sun, for example, or building a chapel on a site already sanctified by long centuries of worship or pilgrimage.

No matter what camp you fall into, skeptic or believer, perhaps we can all agree on one thing: Sedona’s greatest magic is the way this breathtaking red rock landscape can awaken us to the enduring majesty of our Earth home. 

If you’d like to find out how to get to Sedona’s vortex sites or learn about some of their associated Yavapai legends, click here to read a story I wrote for Arizona’s travel council.

Sedona's Top 3 Scenic Drives

The Mermaid at moonrise, from Red Rock Loop Road

Honestly, you can find stirring scenery in Sedona, Arizona, without getting in a car and driving around. But spring is here, complete with wildflowers, busy birds, and blue skies, and one of the best ways to take it all in is with a scenic drive. Here are my favorites: 

1. Red Rock Scenic Byway

This 7.5-mile “All American Road” is Sedona’s main gateway, State Route 179 from I-17 through the Village of Oak Creek. Officially, Red Rock Scenic Byway begins at milepost 302, where SR 179 crosses Dry Beaver Creek. Like many “creeks” in Arizona, this one is a rocky wash except during spring runoff, but even when dry it’s delineated by tall cottonwoods and white-trunked Arizona sycamores. A couple miles further, the new forest service visitor center is an ideal place to stop to pick up trail maps and a Red Rock Pass, as well as take a long look at the panorama ahead. The view encompasses Bell Rock, Courthouse Butte, and other brilliantly colored cliffs.

In recent years, SR 179 has been widened to a divided four-lane highway, with scenic pullouts and ample trailhead parking. The designated scenic byway ends at milepost 310, near the celebrated Chapel of the Holy Cross, but the scenery doesn’t quit. SR 179 passes along Sedona’s “gallery row,” including the creekside shops at Tlaquepaque, before ending at “the Y,” a double-roundabout intersection with SR 89A.

2. Red Rock Loop Road

Travelers entering Sedona from the west via SR 89A can turn right at milepost 368 for Lower Red Rock Loop Road, the beginning of a scenic 7-mile long side trip that skirts the base of 4,899-foot Scheurman Mountain before circling back to rejoin the highway. Though a short section of the loop is gravel, the route is accessible to most passenger cars, depending on weather.

The loop road edges Oak Creek, where some of the Sedona area’s first settlers lived. The Schuerman homestead is preserved at Red Rock State Park, at mile 3 along the loop. The park offers great creekside birdwatching and easy hiking trails with great views. covered sandstone cliffs.

Don’t miss the side-trip to Crescent Moon Ranch picnic area and Red Rock Crossing. At the stop sign, turn onto Chavez Ranch Road and follow the signs. The spires of majestic Cathedral Rock soar above and reflect in the clear waters of Oak Creek, an inspiring scene said to be the most photographed place in Arizona.

The loop road climbs a series of hairpin turns before passing Red Rock High School and rejoining SR 89A. Dirt pullouts are good places to stop for breath-taking elevated views of Cathedral Rock and Courthouse Butte.

3. Boynton Pass Loop

A visit to Sedona’s backcountry, where you’ll find hiking trails and prehistoric ruins, begins by turning north on Dry Creek Road from SR 89A. Turn left at the next two T-intersections. (A right at the second T leads to the acclaimed Enchantment Resort and trailhead parking for Boynton Canyon, considered a vortex site.) The Boynton Pass Road (FR 152C) is paved to the Bear Mountain/Doe Mesa trailhead. Depending on weather conditions, most passenger cars can handle the dirt road beyond, which ends at FR 525, Red Canyon Road. Turn right, and you’ll come to a fork. To the left is the bumpy 4.5-mile route to Honanki ruins (high-clearance recommended). The 2-mile gravel road on the right leads to Palatki Heritage Site, home to a 900-year old dwelling built into the cliffs of Red Canyon by the Sinagua Indians. With a reservation, you can hike to the ruin overlook or take a guided tour through rock alcoves marked with thousands of pictographs and petroglyphs. Palatki and nearby Honanki are maintained by Coconino National Forest. To complete the loop after leaving Palatki, stay on Red Canyon Road for 10 miles until it connects with SR 89A.

BONUS: Schnebly Hill Road

Schnebly Hill Road winds up to the Mogollon Rim, following a historic route that early settlers used to reach Flagstaff, then a trip of 2-4 days. The views are amazing, but after the first mile, the dirt road is primitive and rocky. Unless you have a high-clearance vehicle, it’s best to see this one by signing up for a jeep tour or on foot via the Munds Wagon Trail, a 4-mile hiking trail that parallels the road. The trailhead has ample parking, picnic tables, and panoramic views of Uptown Sedona. Whether behind the wheel or on foot, stop to admire the Cow Pies, mounds of red sandstone (another vortex, say some) with outstanding views that take in Sedona and the Verde Valley. Schnebly Hill Road begins at the Oak Creek Bridge roundabout, next to Sedona Pottery.