Cup and Channel petroglyph on a windy mesa ....

The Rive of time flows through me.....

A rainy day on the mesa.....

Cursebinder - Drifting

The perfect way to start a Sunday trek, packs ready, boots laced, and the vast desert stretching out before us. The morning air is crisp, the trail is calling, and somewhere among the rocks and canyons, ancient secrets are waiting to be discovered. Another Sunday, another adventure. Let the hunt begin!

The ancient pithouse stands in a clearing among the cedar trees, its weathered stone walls slowly surrendering to the relentless passage of time. Once a shelter, a home, a place where lives unfolded, it now stands as a fading reminder of those who came before us. The stones are crumbling, the walls growing weaker with each passing year. Soon, nothing may remain but a scattered pile of rubble, marking the very ground where people once lived, worked, and called this place home. Only the land will remember.

The wind began to pick up, gusting across the desert and driving the storm ever closer. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, and the desert seemed to hold its breath as nature prepared to unleash its fury. Pecked into the ancient rock, a handful of petroglyphs stood as silent witnesses to a world long gone. Tales from the past, etched into stone by hands that vanished centuries ago, their meanings lost to the passage of time. We stood there, studying each figure, searching for clues, wondering what stories they were meant to tell. Perhaps they marked a trail, pointed toward water, or held a meaning far more sacred than we could ever imagine. The wind whispered through the canyon, the storm drew nearer, and the ancient stories remained silent, guarding their secrets as they had for countless generations.

The storm rolled in from the west, sweeping across the Arizona desert toward southwestern Utah. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, slowly swallowing the desert sky as the approaching storm transformed the landscape into a magnificent display of nature’s raw power.

The view was spectacular. The canyon walls gleamed with fresh rain as storms rolled in and out throughout the day, casting ever changing shadows across the rugged landscape. Perched on the edge of a cliff, we located a Cup and Channel Petroglyph pecked into the stone centuries ago by hands long since turned to dust. What were they trying to tell us? Perhaps they marked routes to other villages, pointed toward distant water sources, or served some purpose we can only imagine today. There are plenty of theories, but no one knows for certain. The people who created these mysterious markings are long gone, leaving only their silent messages behind. The stone remains, weathered by countless storms and centuries of desert winds, guarding secrets that may never be fully understood