Day 35: If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal

Day Thirty-Five: If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal

7/15/11:

When I learned that Noah, Yelena and I were going to be helping out the Grand Canyon Archaeology crew, I expected a job of glamour and glitz. Of course, I ended up thwacking at rocks, which was infinitely better than anything I had imagined.

The Grand Canyon archies were stabilizing the Tusayan Ruins, one of the major archaeological sites in Arizona. Located near the end of a road that wound by the lip of the South Rim, the Tusayan Ruins were a partial excavation of a pueblo dating from A.D. 1185. None of the structures of the Tusayan Pueblo had been reconstructed, and the room blocks that were excavated by an archy crew in the 1930s stood just below knee level. The horseshoe-shaped ruins appeared to have only been inhabited for about twenty-five years by thirty people or less; the pueblo included storage rooms, living quarters, a plaza and two kivas (spaces used for ceremonial and religious rituals). The Tusayan Ruins were excavated to serve as an interpretive archaeological site—allowing the many Grand Canyon tourists to experience the history of the surrounding area and peoples.

The stabilization undertaking we were working on occurred every five to ten years depending on the state of the room blocks. The whole point of stabilization was to maintain the excavated walls of the room blocks, which meant paying detailed attention to rock placement and the overall appearance of the ruins.

Which is why I found myself crouched in a room block with a spade and a trowel, hammering at rocks. In order to stabilize the ruins, we had to know which rocks were sitting loose and needed another seal of cement. Thus, I had been impelled to push, shove, lean on and otherwise forcibly jostle the excavated wall (within reason--more than anything, the crew wanted to preserve the original room block rocks). When a stone popped, I marked its placement on recent photographs of the ruin, noting its measurements and angles so that it could be returned to its exact spot. Similarly, when the cement binding stones together appeared weak, I was instructed to have at it with various sturdy implements until the sealant had been chipped away and could be replaced with fresh mortar.

The Grand Canyon archies called out helpful bits of advice as we made our steady progress, and crouching in the dirt, I didn’t bother to contain my satisfaction after wedging free a particularly troublesome rock. The Grand Canyon archies, like almost everyone I’d encountered in the national forest and park services, were both knowledgeable and genuinely happy to be doing what they were doing.

The tourists, however, continued to disconcert me. In the KNF, I was used to carrying out my work in unbroken (and beautiful) silence. Sweating, muttering, and struggling with rocks, I was not thrilled to be surrounded by a constant stream of curious people, many of whom assumed I was an expert archaeologist (so very, very false). I will not deny, however, the relished moments that came with photobombing a good number of vacation pictures. Yelena, Noah and I, fussing with our rocks, will undoubtedly be sealed into photo albums all around the world.

Finishing up in Grand Canyon National Park, we headed back to Williams briefly before hitting up a party in celebration of Joe and Quentin in Flagstaff. Hanging out with fellow Kaibabites outside of work was particularly entertaining, and only after a good few hours did Quentin, Noah, Joe and I head for home.

Crammed into the back of Joe’s truck with Mr. Long Legs himself, Quentin at the helm and Noah beside him, we delivered a rousing rendition of Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al” to anyone within hearing distance. Laughing, I spent the rest of the ride home pondering why, indeed, I was so soft in the middle now.

Then again, I guess my life isn’t so hard.

And yes: if you'll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal.

Photos: 1. & 3. Tusayan Ruins 2. Tusayan Ruins’ interpretive sign 4. Noah, Quentin, Joe and me at Parson's Creek earlier in the summer