Grand Falls of the Little Colorado River
The long dirt road which takes you to the Grand Falls of the Little Colorado River, is just inside the edge of the rez and is not marked by any road sign. Instead I look for a white sign with blue trim which announces “Grand Falls Bible Church. At the bottom of the sign it quotes a stanza of verse from the Book of Revelations “His voice is as the sounds of many waters” It is here my friend and I turn off the paved road and begin the long bumpy journey along the wide washboard road. It is a very long and bumpy road and in bad weather it would probably be impassable in my Honda Civic. The road ends suddenly when we come to the Little Colorado River, churning water the color of chocolate milk it is carrying so much mud. There is road on the other side of the river but we are not crossing the river this season.
We scramble to the hilltop, walking on the cliff above the river, looking down on the series of waterfalls filling the river from bank to bank. There are dozens of miniature waterfalls about three and four feet high all across the river here, many of them jammed with logs washed from much further upstream. The logs have to come from somewhere else, the bleak landscape here has almost no trees. The roar of all this tumbling water is tremendous. My friend and I have to shout to be heard above the roaring water even though we are standing beside each other. A small flock of horned larkspurs fly low above the river; close enough to the miniature waterfalls so that their feathers get splashed. The larkspurs dive, swoop, soar, and barrel roll, lifting suddenly above the river and then above the cliff as they cavort and play, ariel acrobats. We walk along the hill to the main falls which are huge and multilayered, tremendous amounts of water spilling over the cliffs to the gorge below.
The sight is so gorgeous I take dozens of pictures. We slowly circle the cliffs enjoying each and every view of the Grand Falls. The sight is breathtaking and patiently following the footprints in the sand we find a route down to the base of the falls, close enough to get wet from the spray. While Jerry and I enjoy the spectacular falls and tremendous roar, a young Navajo boy of maybe twelve or fourteen comes bounding down the trail and proceeds to climb on the rocks like a mountain goat. When he strolls by to say hello I offer him some trail mix and a granola bar. The young lad declines.
The Navajo boy’s name is Tyler, and he asks us if we have seen any good birds today. Tyler lives just beyond the hill and comes to the falls two or three times a week. His grandfather always wants to know what kind of birds he has seen. That is why he comes to the waterfalls — to spot birds for his grandfather. I ask Tyler if he knows the name of the falls in the Navajo language. Tyler fumbles nervously holding a silver crucifix he wears on a chain around his neck, replying that he would have to ask his grandfather or aunt. They would know. He relates to us a story told to him by his great grandmother about why his family now lives on this side of the river. When his grandfather was a little boy he and a friend were herding sheep, fording the river during a shallow season, flock following behind. For some reason the boys crossing the stream made a local rancher nervous as the young Navajos got closer. The rancher fired his pistol in the boys’ direction. When the boys went home and told their parents a war party was organized, the rancher was murdered and his house burned down.
Tyler asks if we would like to see the ranch house. “All that is left is the chimney,” he says. We return to the vehicles. Me beating up my little Honda Civic some more and Tyler riding his ATV, fishtailing all over the road and using any good sized bump as a launch ramp. We come to a set of small ruins, chimney made of the same sandstone slabs which comprise the local hills, all that remains of a long ago conflict. Pottery shards are scattered across the base of the hill. The rancher was not the first human being to call this hill home. Tyler talks to us about ruins and petroglyphs in the area, pointing to local landmarks. He tells us where to find the antelope.
When it is time to depart I offer Tyler a copy of my book Shadow of the OhshaD. He stares at the photo of the jaguar on the cover, takes the book from my hands as if it is made of gold. If only everybody looked at my books that way. Tyler made my day.
We drive away, retracing our long bumpy route back towards the paved road. While we shake and jiggle inside the car, my friend points his finger out the window to where a golden eagle hovers on the edge of a small ridge, using an updraft to stay in one place. The eagle is beautiful and I hope Tyler sees it too; it is probably just the sort of bird his grandfather would like to hear about.
