Down into Bandelier

I had fewer preconceived notions about Bandelier National Monument than any place I visited on this Southwestern tour. I expected more ancient villages, but had no idea what to expect.

Bandelier was the first NPS site on this trip to require a fee ($25 but waived by my annual pass). The ranger gave me the odd instruction of telling me to leave it on the dash when I parked. 

The stone buildings of the park visitors center, store and visitor center gave little indication of what hid behind them. Frijoles Canyon’s rim loomed 300 feet above on both sides. I could spot some of the ancient development, but not enough to know what I was in store for. The best part about a trip that ends up being about ancestral Puebloan villages is no two feel much alike. 

Bandelier was its own entity. While the stone remnants of a village near Frijoles Creek felt similar to others in the region, what the ancient settlers built into the canyon walls felt wholly unique. They had cut dwellings into the rock, and built others with support beams anchored in the stone. They carved these rooms with nothing more than stones sharper than the pockmarked walls of Frijoles Canyon. They cut logs to serve to anchor their homes into the canyon walls.

A larger pueblo sat in the middle of the canyon, but that ruin paled in comparison to the homes carved directly into the canyon walls. Any enemies would have a difficult time finding a route to enter the canyon, if they even knew it existed. The amount of development was staggering and still subtle.

Unlike some of the short-term residences I viewed in recent days, Bandelier could claim more than 400 years of continuous occupancy. Many different types of villages occupied Frijoles Canyon. Not far away, people from different tribes, likely descendants of those who lived here, lived in pueblo-style developments, a traditional way that I can only admire. 

Again, we think of New Mexico as new, but this way of living has survived through centuries, and predates European ships crossing the Atlantic.

I did not continue up to Alcove House, as I could see some snow moving into the Jemez region. I should have, since the snow did not impact the roads. Later that week, Alcove House would close indefinitely. after a falling rock led to a fatality. The rock a woman climbing the ladders and she fell 30 feet. It was a freak but tragic moment, no one’s fault. 

I could have gone that way. But I was awash in days of cliff dwellings, mesa-top villages and other feats of engineering. I walked to campground path along the west side of Frijoles Creek. After days of dried out arroyos and washes, the gurgles of the creek were highly welcomed. 

I didn’t see anything in the water but suspected they sustained a number of small fish and amphibians not often seen in this dry country. Life only needed a small bit of running water to endure. A walk along those waters provided the solitude as people swarmed around the dwellings in the canyon walls. 

Even in late morning, the narrow paths cut into the rock below the rooms were full of people. You could scarcely climb a few steps up a ladder without someone waiting at the bottom. I didn’t mind that – Bandelier had days of bigger crowds, when they actually turned away people at the gate – but it definitely takes away something from the experience, as you're always in someone's way. 

Still, looking back through the canyon, I could imagine Bandelier without its visitor center, café and park store. I could imagine the people living here, how the running creek gave them the water they needed to farm the canyon floor and carve an existence. 

I had time to sit and contemplate the canyon from its bottom as road crews moved a backhoe up and down the park road. As the road curved upward, Frijoles Canyon slipped from view, keeping the secret of several thousands of years of habitation among its hole-filled walls. 

Frijoles Canyon from above