Antelope Canyon

By Lisa McCormack Tajak

        As we bumped along in the white tour van crossing the terra cotta colored Arizona desert I began to reconsider my choice of this excursion. I looked over at my husband and my son and envied their excited smiles as we were launched airborne over a particularly jarring crater. They looked back at me with expressions of concern noticing my clenched fingers around the support pole.
        “Mo-o-o-ommmm!” Joe teased. I had vetoed his request to sign-up for an extreme dune buggy experience in Sedona for a more subdued hike through Antelope Canyon near the Utah border. 
        But now I found myself racing across the desert in a V-formation caravan of vehicles driven by our Navajo tour guides. I felt uncertain as I watched our driver, Lillian, gunning the vehicle even though she was barely able to see over the steering wheel. With a deep inhalation I willed my spine to stay intact.
        Within minutes the vehicles slowed and synchronized parking yards from a small opening in a rocky hillside. Lillian opened the door and instructed us to disembark and follow her. The sun’s heat radiated the land and I looked down with anticipation at my gray hiking boots already dusted with orange sand. 
        Lillian gathered us around her to set the ground rules for the afternoon, emphasizing a plea to respect this sacred land. She told us the story of the young Navajo girl who found the canyon while looking for her family’s sheep. For decades the area had been freely open to all visitors and then, due to a string of violations and mishaps, had been taken over by the Navajo Nation. Now visitors could only enter the area with a tribal guide. 
        “For example,” Lillian continued in her self-assured tone, “the reason you weren’t permitted to bring any bags or backpacks on our tour is due to a history of visitors deciding that it was acceptable to spread the ashes of their dead loved ones inside. Very disrespectful. We bury our dead in the land and we had to have a medicine man come in to clear the souls from the canyon.” Lillian meant business.
        The interior of the canyon was captivating. Intermittent light filtered through the ceiling as we walked in awe from cavern to cavern. The group automatically spoke in hushed voices or not at all as we allowed the intervals of light and darkness to wash over us. Lillian would stop us occasionally to show us how to take vertical panoramic photos or to point out a spot where if we stood just right the incoming rays made us look like we had the wings of angels. 
        She told foreboding stories. In 1993 eleven hikers had been killed in a flash flood that pushed a 40 foot high wall of water through the canyon. Navajo park rangers were now stationed far up the “wash” and in the event of a downpour we would be evacuated. Other vandals shot rifles inside the canyon to experience ricochet and left bullet holes in its walls. These stories were told with a heavy heart.
        As we traversed through one chamber Lillian indicated that National Geographic was banned from the area due to an incident in the early 2000’s. The Navajo initially sanctioned NG to film the flooding of the canyon for an upcoming article. Without prior authorization the production team bored into the cave walls and mounted camera equipment leaving scarring holes in the sandstone. 
        Lillian then motioned to me to stand by her near the damaged wall while the others continued ahead. She tenderly touched the wound with her fingers and motioned for me to do the same. 
        “Their cameras were washed away in that flood. They were never recovered.” Then she turned to me with a soulful look in her eyes. “I call that karma.”
        “I do too.” Gazing back at her our eyes met in a moment of deep understanding.
        Soon it was time to walk back to our transport. The guide ahead played his flute and haunting music floated and danced with the waning light rays. I walked in solitude and was filled with awe at the unexpected gifts of the day. I placed my palm on the wall near the entrance to leave a blessing and realized reciprocity. Antelope Canyon poured its mysterious light into the lantern of my heart. I looked out at the setting sun, a breeze blew, and the gentle desert sand kissed my face good-bye.