Stalking the sacred needs determination

Jerry Bodie, center, rides his horse Wednesday afternoon as his group approaches Thoreau, NM during the eastern Navajo Nation Council delegates annual ride to the Council Chambers in Window Rock [photo by Jeff Jones / Independent]

By Kathy Helms
Diné Bureau

MOUNT TAYLOR — We rode out of Tohajiilee Monday morning full of enthusiasm and with our trusty steeds raring to go.

Residents waved from their doorways as we trotted by. Appreciative motorists sounded their horns and a local ambulance watched over us as we headed down the right of way toward Interstate Highway 40.

In the distance we could see a house sitting high atop a hill, huge puffs of smoke billowing out behind it. I thought maybe the house was on fire.

Ray Ashley, who is in charge of maintenance at the Navajo Nation Council Chamber, was riding beside me. Concerned, I pointed to the smoke. “What do you think that is?” I asked Ray.

He took a long look. “Indians!” he stated emphatically, and we both broke into laughter.

You have to have a sense of humor when you’re participating in the Council horse ride. It takes your mind off the inevitable aches and pains.

By the time we reached Mount Taylor Monday afternoon, a light drizzle had begun to fall. The horses caught their second wind and up the mountain we went.

From the interstate, parts of Mount Taylor look gray and barren. In reality, there is lush green grass, tall stands of aspen, blue spruce forests, and lots of tranquility. We encountered two, maybe three vehicles.

After nearly 5 miles, we reached our campsite. The rain had increased but was not unbearable. At this point, we had 14 riders. Delegate Jerry Bodie consulted everyone to see whether we should stay the course and ride another 5 miles up to the lookout tower or wait for morning and warmer weather. We kept going.

“This is what we Navajos call a ‘female’ rain,” Bodie said as we rode along. It was light and constant, not a drenching downpour, and to the Navajo way of thinking, a blessing. Two herds of deer and one non-alcoholic “wild turkey” greeted us.

It felt good to be alive.

When we reached the lookout tower, located at over 11,000 feet above sea level, we were soaked to the skin, the wind was blowing strong, and the word “hypothermia” sprang to mind.

Visibility was down to just a few feet, which was fine by me. I failed to see anything “sacred” about a mountain top covered with cell and microwave towers. To top it off, none of the riders could get a worthwhile signal on their cell phones.

That’s technology for you.

While we were standing there shivering and wringing water out of our leather gloves, our spirits dampened, Delegate Bodie pointed to the south. “That’s the part of the mountain that’s considered sacred,” he said. “That’s where we make our offerings.”

As we strained to see through the fog, a strange thing happened. It was as though the sky began to separate. One by one, the cloud banks rolled away, and like some majestic crossword puzzle, the mountain — washed clean by the rain — revealed itself.

Beautiful. Awe-inspiring. Beyond words.

Feeling at peace, we remounted and headed back to camp, where dry clothes and a hot meal awaited us.

It was a good day after all.