The Petroglyphs at Red Tank Draw
If you weren‘t expecting to see the petroglyphs it would be easy to hike right past them. To reach the petroglyphs you hike upstream, striding against the current of rolling boulders. The canyon meanders as it winds uphill, the canyon walls slowly close, red rock cliffs towering above. Water trickles atop the bedrock floor through a narrow passage known as Red Tank Draw. Then the canyon widens; splits, and the petroglyphs suddenly appear. These rock art pictures, only a short distance outside Sedona, Arizona, belong to the Sinagua culture; ancestors of the Hopi and Yavapai peoples and date back to 1200 AD. There must be a reason why the petroglyphs appear in this specific spot and nowhere else up and down a canyon which stretches for miles and miles.
Three red rock boulders are adorned with Native American rock art. One picture panel in the center dominates the proceedings; filled with astronomical symbols, spirals, mystical beings, and a herd of magic deer. One of these deer, or perhaps it is an elk, is easily the largest figure depicted. The body of the giant elk is football-shaped with four legs, a crooked tail, and a lower lip that juts out in a bovine way from the long snout.
It is the antlers of the giant elk which are the focus of attention. The antlers rise and branch, expanding, extending, and spreading outwards like dozens of fingers reaching across the landscape. The impression of the antlers is unmistakable to anybody who is familiar with maps. These antlers branch exactly like a river delta. This giant elk carved into stone is describing features of geology.
Other symbols are written into the rock; spirals which can denote direction or migrations. Spirals may also represent an inward spiritual journey on the metaphysical level. Round fat figures are pecked into the rock, resembling horned toad men. These horned toad men have their arms bent upwards as if they are boasting, flexing their muscles and showing off their round full bellies. One stick figure man is wearing a headdress which makes him look alien and otherworldly. His fingers and toes are drawn precisely but impossibly large, four fingers on each hand. One symbol can be identified from the Aztec codices, comprised of a cross surrounded by an outline; a symbol which stands for the planet Venus otherwise known as The Morning Star, one of the most important astronomical objects in Native American mythologies.
The most numerous symbols carved into the rock are the hoofed animals; deer, goats, and elk. The animals in this picture convey a sense of motion. The petroglyphs start with the elk in the lower left quadrant as the herd slowly rises across the panel in a clockwise direction. The rock art animals climb upwards, arcing across the top of the boulder, all the animals facing in the same direction, marching across the mythic landscape together. In the upper corner of the petroglyph panel there is a shaman in an antlered headdress copulating with a deer.
At first glance, there is nothing about this place which appears sacred. It is here that the canyon begins to widen, the rock walls lower, until gradually the sheer cliffs are replaced by small rounded hills. It is here that the canyons divide, redivide, and subdivide into dozens of little rivulets. The canyons, arroyos, and shallow gullies crisscross the desert hills. From the sky, I would expect the branching of canyons to resemble a river delta drawn on a map or the antlers of an elk etched into a petroglyph panel.
Native American culture had a tradition of communal hunts. People would spread across the countryside in a giant circle. The circle would cover every direction for miles and miles. Men, women, children, and elders would take their places; beginning to bang sticks, pound drums, shriek, and whistle as they moved slowly forward. Gradually the circle closes, one step at a time, the people beginning a slow, loud migration towards the center.
Many canyons join together before entering into the narrow chasm of steep sheer cliffs which form Red Tank Draw. The whole village is coming together here, banging drums, striking sticks, clapping hands, and screaming; the circle closing shut. The animals run before this terrible onslaught of humanity, rushing towards the narrow chasm of stone, the canyons channeling together into this one slender passage. Antelope and deer jostle shoulders as they dart between boulders. Hidden in ambush strong men wait for the animals to enter the trap. Javelinas snort and snuffle in a tight pack. Jackrabbits dart and weave. The men string up nets, pulling them tight from one side to the other, preventing escape, entangling legs and hooves. Men with clubs dart into the fray, wielding savage blows and quick death.
A herd of elk enters the narrow canyon, the bellowing of the giant beasts filling the red rock gorge. Men atop the cliffs drop small boulders hoping to crush skulls. Some elk fight back; kick and bite, head butt and trample, the huge brutes bursting past the frail barriers of net cords and human beings. Some elk escape, maybe a deer here and there. A jackrabbit scampers just beneath a sandal and lives another day. Other animals are not so fortunate.
As soon as the bloodbath ends, the people break down into specialized work units. Old, young, women, men, all have assigned tasks. Meat must be butchered. Hides have to be skinned with sharp precise stone knives and then tanned. Children stretch tendons into cords. Bones are harvested for tools. These communal hunts are so important in building a tribal identity. Imagine small dispersed bands of people harvesting wild grasses, flowers and seeds, enjoying the bountiful harvest of spring in small family units when Venus signals for folks to gather. These cooperative hunts provide fresh meat, material wealth for the home, material wealth for trade. Afterwards, the villagers exchange gossip and commerce. They celebrate with dancing, gambling, and flirting.
Perhaps.
Petroglyph interpretation is always a slippery slope. No one knows for certain how to interpret individual petroglyph symbols, let alone entire panels. Even Native American elders frequently disagree about the message which is being conveyed by different pieces of rock art.
So perhaps not.
But perhaps so and if it is, I like to think that after enjoying their carnivore feast the people would gather at the petroglyph site, where the red rock cliffs are still close enough together to make the voices echo. No drums are needed in such a tight space, the clapping of hands is brisk and sharp. The pounding of the dancers' feet provides a steady beat. Did voices rise in Sinaguan song of celebratory praise at this very place a thousand years ago? I always imagine the voices of the people rising as one as they thank the herd of petroglyph animals migrating across the mythic landscape. They sing the praises of the shaman in the antlered headdress, the high priest copulating with the spirit of the deer, a ceremony meant to ensure that the bountiful herds of game animals will return next spring; again and again. And again.
Deer were once human creatures who died and came back as higher beings. It is not easy being people, the burden of language is tremendous. Language puts strange thoughts in your head. It is easy being a deer. Their lives are beautiful and graceful. The deer voluntarily return each spring, these creatures who were once human and who are now higher beings. The deer return to celebrate Venus’s dance across the sky, willingly sacrificing themselves as food so that we may stay alive forever. The people gather where the narrow cliffs of red rock come together, clapping hands to the beat, stomping their feet in dance. The people celebrate by singing the words of a song whose lyrics are carved into stone.
