It’s a warm morning and we enjoy breakfast at our beautiful campsite. It is a layover day and Ron and I decide to head up the main canyon, Three Canyon. It runs to the west and is about 5 miles long before terminating at a dry waterfall.

The canyon is broad at first, and narrows as we progress. Its walls are composed entirely of Navajo Sandstone and sometimes tower 600 feet on both sides. Even though it was a warm day, as the canyon narrowed, the temperature cooled.

We climb past several small waterfalls, usually dry, sometimes with a trickle. Small springs nourished a community of willows, scrub oak and tamarisk. The springs seep up through the mud or through cracks in the rock. We drink at a few rock sources and the water is sweet and cold. Birds, lizards and chipmunks keep wary eyes upon us. Crows and hawks soar right next to, or right above the cliffs, profiting from the warm air rising off the heated cliff face.

Ron and I stop for lunch in the cool of the shade. Afterwards we meditate for awhile. I rouse about 45 minutes later and decide to explore further. He decides to remain in stillness.

I pass several small canyons. I can look down them and see that they terminate in dry falls just a 100 meters away. The canyon is close now and the sheets of rock have several levels of design. The first level is the actual layers of sand, laid down long ago. These can be seen being swept back and forth as ancient windblown dunes were laid down and eroded. The next level of design is from the fracturing of the rock. Sometimes the compression waves make the rock look like big pieces of glass. Finally the discoloration from water running down the rock face provides another level of montage.

When I reach the top of the canyon, it is only 20 feet wide and 70 feet deep. The water channel enters through a slot from the mesa above. It spills into a large cauldron and then turns 90 degrees to cascade into a small pool that was surrounded by soft sand were I sat and rested. It appeared the sun seldom visited this intimate room.

As I looked around I saw a diagonal crack in the cliff face that could possibly offer a route to the top. I work my way up the rock hoping to summit. Half way, the route becomes very exposed. I notice 7 or 8 ancient foot holds carved into the sandstone. They were small, befitting Indians a millennia ago, and showed no signs of recent wear. Lichens and rock patina flowed without interruption across the rock face, into the footholds, and out again.

I weighed the risk to attempt to cross this exposed section against my curiosity to look around up top. Without companion or rope, prudence tipped the balance. The ancient ones kept their providence.