Johnson Jon!!!!

I really do miss spending time on the Navajo Reservation. The people, despite whatever difficulty is going on in their lives, take time every day to enjoy all they have, willing share with whoever crosses their path. I watched Johnson, as he was confronted by that BLM sign. The silent pause had George and I wondering what was going to happen next. Being self centered, we thought this was about us, had we said the wrong words, something that had caused him to rethink turning us loose in Slim Canyon. As quickly as he had stopped at that sign, after filling us in on his dilemma, separating the many layers for us, of what he was confronted with, just as quickly started back up the trail. Not another word was said of this, he picked up where he had left off, telling us about this canyon, about his family, of the Navajo Culture. As we got deeper down into the canyon, George and I were awe struck with the subtle beauty of this place. The gateway, a large rock formation, sits on the center of the trail, blocking any view of what lay beyond. As we made our way around, the trail no longer was so rugged. It had been a steep climb down to this point, places in the rock carved out as hand and foot holds. On the other side of this stone mushroom, the trail was gentle, continuing maybe another 30 yards to the canyon floor. We could see that times, water had rushed through this canyon. Johnson told us, rains from miles away would find their way, and for us to be aware. All around us we saw the evidence, uprooted Cotton Wood trees, large bolders, left behind, by the force of water rushing through. Once inside the canyon, we turned right, hiking in about a mile, to what would be the first, of many ruin sites on the south facing cliffs. On the north facing cliffs, Johnson told us of Ancient Anastasi burial sites. On the sheer rock face we saw a Kachina, and several cave openings. Beneath our feet, among the cactus, are thousands of pottery shards scattered about. We came to a gate, and once again, Johnson, looked it over for any sign of tampering before unraveling the wires that held it shut. We’re on a small plateau, a pasture, then rounding a bend, we see a herd of horses, about 5 or 6, with a black stallion at watch off to the side. Again Johnson stops, he leans on his shovel appearing deep in thought. After a few minutes, he tells us of having turned them up into the canyon, he tells us of all the difficulty he has had with them. He said they would not let him get close enough to rope. Winding our way up the trail, the herd of horses disappear into the canyon. At about a mile or so up, at the base of the south facing cliff, we see the first Ruin Site. Johnson directs us to an area a little bit beyond the site, where we can make camp. He does not walk with us, walking instead down into the dry wash, and starts to dig. George and I drop our gear at the spot he pointed out, then double back to the ruin site, amazed by what we see. We don’t stay long in the site, soon moving down to where Johnson had started digging. What we saw next blew our minds. Johnson had dug about a 2′X 2′ hole in the sand about 2 1/2′ deep. He had just finished as we walked up, and were told to watch. For about ten minutes we stood there with him, watching the hole fill with water. He told us he needed to start back up, took a drink, wished us well, and started back down the trail. George and I walked back to the place Johnson told us to make camp.

Pictures of Slim Cannon