Tent Rocks

"Did you hear that?" I asked my friend Sara. "I swear I heard kids laughing,"

"No, sorry. I didn't hear anything."

It was a beautiful day; the sky was a beautiful azure color with fluffy white clouds dotted among it. The weather was perfect. It wasn't freezing or pouring, like it frequently can be in Albuquerque, nor scorching hot. It really was the perfect day to climb Tent Rocks. The sun gently beat down on us, unlike the brutal Atlanta sun that tries to burn you down where you stand.

Sara and I, along with some of our classmates, teacher (Marty), Scott, and tour guides were about to climb Tent Rocks, a holy site for Cochiti Native Americans. The government took over Tent Rocks and made it into a National Park. However, there was a slight problem with the government's plan. The park was on a Cochiti Reservation, which meant that no one could get to the park without the Cochiti's permission. The Cochiti ultimately compromised by allowing people to travel into their reservation for a fee, with Cochiti serving as guides/rangers for the park. This compromise allowed the Cochiti to (1) make some money, and (2) at least be able to supervise the tourists and prevent them from damaging the holy site.

Our group's trip was the result of students begging Marty and Scott over the years visit the Cochiti. We spent our first day in Albuquerque attending the Gathering of Nations, which is the largest gathering of Native American tribes Today, we were going to climb Tent Rocks, the location of the original Cochiti village, before the Spaniards drove them out.

Before we started climbing, we had to burn incense and ask the Cochiti ancestors' permission to enter the sacred land. It was immediately afterwards that I had heard kid's laughter, even though there were no children in sight. Later I learned that it was not rare for people - usually Native American - to hear or see things such as this, at a holy site. Scott told us that when he was taken to the ancient village for the first time, he heard drums, yet his guide did not. Other people have reported other noises such as whispering, drums, and laughter. However, we weren't at the actual village's remains, which is where people usually had these kinds of experiences.

Climbing Tent Rocks, we didn't talk very much. We were overwhelmed by the beauty of this gorgeous landscape. I was so distracted by the amazing view that the meaning of what I thought I had heard would not sink in until later.

At one point the canyon between two of the towering rock peaks was so narrow that we had to go one at a time to squeeze our sweaty bodies through the narrow crevice. The sandy surface that we walked on swirled around our feet when we walked, sending the sand inside and all over our shoes. We didn't care. The rock walls were curving all around, as though they couldn't make up their minds which direction they wanted to go. The thin grey, pink, and brown bands of stripes stretching all along them horizontally intrigued me. What had happened in this land so long ago that had caused those bands, those layers, to form? Had there once been a body of water there? I had no idea.

At one point I noticed a four-foot long snake carved into one of the sand-colored rock walls. It reminded me of the snakes on my Navajo bracelet that my cousin Meryl had given to me years before.

Our guide pointed out a red-tailed hawk to us in the distance. This sighting was a big deal, since hawks are sacred to Native Americans.

As we walked we occasionally saw other climbers, too. It made me sad that this land, so precious to these people, had become just another tourist attraction on a vacationer's to do list. Why did the government take this holy place from these people? The government didn't even own the land that this place is on!

W finally reached the top of Tent Rocks. The view was gorgeous! The canyon stretched below us, seemingly going on forever. I could pick out people below us, looking like tiny dolls. There were huge boulders stacked on top of each other like a block tower created by a giant child. The tops of the boulders looked like birthday hats, or small tents.

I also wondered why the sides of the rocks were so smooth. It was almost as if someone had taken giant sheets of sandpaper and sanded the rocks down. All of this flooded my mind as I took in the impressive and stunning view that lay in front of me.

Really far below us I could barely make out the tiny black dots of the few cars in the parking lot, including our van. In the distance, we could see a crest in the bumpy top of the rocks where the ancient Cochiti village remains were located. That area was restricted, however, due to its importance to the Cochiti people.

The view reminded me of the view from an airplane, when everything looks like it is a part of a child's play set.

Looking down was somewhat frightening, as there was nothing to catch me if I leaned off the edge too far. I would go tumbling down over five hundred feet, sliding down the steep inclines, banging into the occasional tree that dotted the landscape, slamming into the rock towers. It seemed like an incredibly painful way to die. I decided to leave a safe distance between myself and the edge.

On the way down we jumped from rock to rock. It almost became a game to us. Who can jump down the fastest? Well it probably was not going to be me. Before I knew it, we were back on the ground and on our way to have lunch with one of Scott's Cochiti friends.

On the way the way back to our hotel, all that was in sight was the rolling fields and hills commonly found in Albuquerque. Being used to the hustle and bustle of Atlanta, I was amazed at the peacefulness and tranquility that existed along our drive. We went miles without even seeing a car. We passed the huge, obnoxious dam that became the butt of many of our jokes. It was clearly out of place among the nature surrounding us, like a coal miner just coming from the mines would be among royals. I'm reminded of this sometimes at night when I sit on our back porch, enjoying the solitude and tranquility of the quiet darkness, only to be interrupted by the loud roar of private planes heading to the nearby airport.