Peñasco Blanco: Observatory

During our visit to Chaco Canyon, we hiked 3-1/2 miles from Pueblo Bonito to Peñasco Blanco, sitting atop the bluff some 300-400 feet above the canyon basin. I had wondered why these villages were sited in such disparate places. Why was Peñasco on top the bluff and Bonito at the base of the cliffs? It wasn’t until I returned to Las Cruces and had time to stick my nose in my reference books that I got an answer. Peñasco was an observatory – of sorts.

Astronomy was important to the Chacoans and many of the pueblos are precisely aligned to some aspect to the solar cycle or the lunar cycle. Astronomy apparently had a major influence on customs, rituals, and ceremonies.

Peñasco Blanco, Spanish for white bluff, is called by the Navajo “tableland tapering to a point house,” an apt description of the great house sited above the confluence of Chaco Wash and Escavada Wash.

That, however, does not tell the story. Peñasco is in perfect alignment with Pueblo Bonito and Una Vida, along a straight line eight miles long. All three were built in the mid to late 800s.

What truly makes Peñasco unique is its alignment to what astronomer’s call the lunar major standstill. I’ve tried to find out what that means, and it gets complicated quickly. The moon does not orbit the earth in the same plane as the earth orbits the sun, a plane called the ecliptic. If it did, we’d have an eclipse every two weeks. Instead, the moon’s orbit is tilted about five degrees above the ecliptic.

The lunar cycle from one major standstill to another is 18.6 years and the cycle was first measured and explained by Hipparchus, the Greek astronomer who lived from 190 to 120 BC, so there’s nothing new about it. It all has to do with very complex celestial mechanics that govern the orbit of one body around another [moon and earth] while under the influence of a third body [the sun].

Here’s the technical definition ... “As the earth travels its annual orbit around the sun, with its rotational axis tilted at about 23.5° from the vertical, the sun’s declination changes from + 23.5° at the summer solstice to -23.5° at the winter solstice. Thus, in the northern hemisphere, the sun is higher in the sky and visible for a longer period of time in June than it is in December. It’s why we have seasons.

“Unlike the sun, the maximum and minimum declination reached by the moon varies. This is because the plane of the moon’s orbit around the earth is inclined those five degrees to the plane of the earth’s orbit around the sun, and the direction of this inclination gradually changes over the 18.6-year cycle, alternately working with and against the 23.5° tilt of the earth’s axis.” [Source:Wikipedia]

At the standstill, the moon appears to stand still in the sky for a brief period before changing directions and moving oppositely, either north or south.

Keep in mind this has nothing to do with the phases of the moon. It just means, if you stand facing the north star, how far to the south of it is the moon at its zenith. Sometimes, at an equinox, it appears farther north than you might expect it to be. Other times it’s farther south, just like where the sun peeks over the Organ Mountains in June and December.

I’ve taken time to mention this because we have loads of instruments to measure precise angles and times and computers to do calculations to however many decimal places we desire. The Chacoans had none of this, and yet their calculations were just as precise. It’s built into the architecture of Peñasco Blanco and Pueblo Bonito. Anna Sofaer, director of the Solstice Project Survey [in Kendrick Frazier’s book, People of Chaco] said, “It suggests the Chacoans may have favored these particular angles (lunar standstill) in order to incorporate a geometry of the sun and moon in the internal organization of the buildings.” An illustration in Frazier’s book refers to “inter-building bearings” that correlate to the orientation of individual buildings to the cardinal directions and to the lunar major and minor standstills. There are walls in perfect alignment not only with the cardinal directions and standstill angles but also with other walls in other pueblos. How Chacoans achieved such precision is unknown but marvelous to contemplate.

Observant Chacoan holy men, whom Park Rangers referred to as Sunwatchers, would have noticed the relationship between eclipses of the moon and its standstill cycle. They perhaps used their observations to establish precise dates for major festivals and ceremonials, so vital to the sacred rituals of the society.

What binds a society, then and now, are adherence by individuals to a community-accepted body of behavior and beliefs. We often hear people talk about the decay of our society. What actually does that mean, except individuals no longer choose to conform? It puts the society in flux until a new belief system emerges to unify the community.

Archeologists assume Chacoans used solar and lunar cycles to reinforce societal behavior. For instance, we were told during the full-moon lecture at Pueblo Bonito, at the solstice, the date was set for a ceremonial during which people recommitted to the community, “to do good.” If they failed to hold the ceremony and the people had been “bad,” the sun would continue south and the earth would die. The recommitment assured the sun of the people’s devotion to each other and the world, and it began its return.

What was practiced at Peñasco Blanco was ancient when the great house was new. We were assured by the Ranger, it is still part of today’s puebloan ceremonials, so sacred it cannot be talked about publicly less it offend the sun and it continues south on its journey through time.

Posted by Bur Russo

Cretaceous Fossils: Older than Chaco

There are things in Chaco Canyon older than the stone ruins. The stone from which the pueblos were built was cut from the 400-foot-tall sandstone bluffs remaining where the wash has eroded them.

The sandstone formed from a seabed of 60 to 80 million years ago. Any examination of the sandstone quickly reveals things that look like twisted, corroded rebar. It’s not.

During the Cretaceous a shrimp-like crustacean burred into the sandy seabed, creating a network of tunnels. To keep the tunnels from collapsing from sea wave motions, these crustaceans cemented sand particles to the walls.

As the ocean receded, heavy particles of iron, mercury, and other minerals suspended in the water settled into the and filled the crustaceans’ abandoned tunnels. The particles hardened as the seabed dried. The time and the weight of sediments laying on top compressed the sand into sandstone.

So while the crustacean is long gone, its home remains ... just like the Chacoans.

Posted by Bud Russo

If Only The Walls Could Talk!

Type I Wall Type II Wall

Type III Wall Type IV Wall

If these walls could talk what would they say? We’ve all heard that before, but a Chaco Culture NHP, I really wanted the walls to have the power of communication.

We toured Pueblo Bonito, the largest of the great houses, with Ranger Adrian Jones, who talked of the history of the pueblo. He pointed out the four types of walls found in the canyon.

The walls at Chaco were first just slabs of sandstone laid in such a way as to reinforce each other. The wall was relatively weak and would support only a single story. It was also as rough on the outside as it was in the center of the core. But construction evolved at Chaco over the 3-1/2 centuries it was occupied. Builders began to face the rough Type I wall with a veneer. With each successive style ... there are four types of walls ... the veneers became smoother, stones fit tighter, and there was increasing artistry in the construction. “Ah,” I thought. “I see.” Only I didn’t.

Ranger Jones told us, after building the walls, the Chacoans plastered them inside and out. That sort of made sense, too. Lighter colored plaster increased reflection from light sources. Plaster made a smoother wall. It gave the building a uniform consistency.

Why, then, would the people have gone to so much trouble to build walls with beautiful veneers if they were only going to plaster over them? Were they just building styles that reflected changing generational ideas of how things were done and have no particular significance, including artistry? What was the purpose of investing so much time and energy in something no one would see? Was it sort of like a woman wearing fancy underwear no one but her ever sees just because it makes her feel good? Was there a self-serving satisfaction the builders derived knowing beneath the plaster lay their remarkable work?

Or ... is there something more going on? Is there meaning in the distinctive patterns, meanings we can not know? Something of which we are unaware and can never fathom just from looking at the walls?

I sat and studied the patterns. I might as well have been watching paint dry for all the good it did me in expanding my understanding. I photographed each style in various pueblos and I look at them now ... each style is represented in the blog from Type I to Type IV, left to right ... and all I see is artistic architecture that I might find anywhere someone is working with sandstone. You be the judge and help me understand the why.

Posted by Bud Russo

First Impressions: Chaco Culture NHP

Chaco: the name evokes ancient mystery. Chaco: home to Americans from approximately 850 A.D. until 1150 A.D. Then ... so the early theories go ... they disappeared. Vanished. Of course, they didn’t. In the face of insurmountable drought, they migrated to land where they could live. They became today’s Acoma and Zuni. Those who traveled south to Paquimé live at today’s Casas Grande in Mexico. The Chacoans didn’t disappear. They are with us today.

But the mysteries surrounding Chaco persist. We came to Chaco May 15 to learn what we could about this fascinating remnant of human history. The Ranger, in his recounting, tells us they who how Chaco came to be and when, but they don’t know why.

Chaco canyon runs southeast to northwest. Water drains from higher elevations to the south into the wash that formed the mile wide canyon, cut through hundreds of feet of sandstone. The Chaco River, as the dry bed is known, when wet, drains into the San Juan and finally the Colorado. The sandstone bluffs are the result of sand bedding ancient shallow seas that covered the central part of what today is North America.

Within the canyon proper are a dozen great houses, immense stone pueblos. They range from Wijiji in the southeast about a dozen miles to Pueblo Peñasco in the northwest but high atop the bluff. This was the center of the universe for these people and it was the focus of power that controlled more than 40,000 square miles and more than 100 other pueblos across the Colorado Plateau and San Juan Basin.

With so many villages and so much land, you’d think Chaco was inhabited by tens of thousands of people. That wasn’t so. Total population ranged closer to 2,000 upwards to maybe 8,000 [and that number is contested]. Pueblo Bonito, the largest great house with over 700 rooms, may have been home to less than 200 people.

As I digest all that I saw and experienced, I will write more. But for now I have more questions than answers. I wonder about these people; who they were, why they chose this place to live and for what purpose. I am convinced something special took place here. Life wasn’t static. Society evolved over 3-1/2 centuries, more than 10 generations. The actual meaning of what when on here is lost in time.

No matter how carefully scientists search, no matter how they analyze and compare data, we will never really know the full story of chaco.

Posted by Bud Russo

Lake Valley Clings To Its Colorful Past

If you’d visited Lake Valley in the 1850s, you would have seen mostly flat, grassy plains, low rounded hills, and the majestic Black Range ensconced on the horizon. You might have thought the valley serene, even idyllic.

Then in 1878, a rancher named McEvers or perhaps a prospector named Lufkin found silver ore. It was however low-grade, not much more than 40 ounces or 2-1/2 pounds of silver for every ton of rock dug. Remember, in those days, there were no electric or steam-driven mining machines. Dug meant pick and shovel, a hand-hammered drill, and maybe some dynamite, which had been invented in 1867.

In 1881, J. Whitaker Wright arrive in Lake Valley with George Daly, an Australian immigrant. The two men, along with George Roberts, formed the Sierra Grande Silver Mining Company. Their efforts to exploit the silver was frustrated because there appeared to be none but the low-grade ore.

Meanwhile, Apaches, led by Nana, decided the ranchers and miners had been in their homeland long enough and began raiding. They burned a rancher’s home and kidnapped his wife and children. George Daly led a group of miners in retaliation. His efforts cost him his life.

It was when they brought Daly’s body back to Lake Valley, the miners found the motherlode at a depth of 40 feet. I am reminded of a scene in Paint Your Wagon, where the vagabond miners are digging a grave for a compadre killed in a wagon accident, only to see gold glittering in the dirt. The response is hilarious if crude. And I wondered if Lake Valley silver was found that way when Daly’s grave was dug.

However, it worked out, miners excavated what became known as the Bridal Chamber and found a vein of silver so pure it was assayed at thousands of ounces per ton. One writer referred to the mine as having walls of pure silver. The Bridal Chamber gave up $2,775,000 in silver, becoming known as the richest silver mine ever found.

Of course, that’s when the trouble began. A rich strike brings more miners to town, sort of like vultures drawn to a corrupting carcass. The quiet town grew to have upwards of 4,000 residents, mostly men. So there were nearly two dozen saloons and a few bordellos. There were also “legitimate” businesses – general stores, hotels, drug store, barber shop, post office, livery, stage line, and assay office. There were also a church, school, and doctor in residence.

In a short time, miners had dug hundreds of shafts looking for more of the elusive silver. To keep cash flowing for mining operations, Wright and Roberts apparently salted areas or convinced naive investors the ore was richer than it was. These promotions made Wright a multimillionaire, while it made paupers out of many investors. By 1882, Robert’s fraudulent promotions threatened the company, and he sold out to Wright. Meanwhile, Wright’s questionable promotions led to a conviction of stock fraud in London in 1902, and he swallowed cyanide, committing suicide in the courtroom.

But I’m ahead of my story. In 1893, President Grover Cleveland changed the standard upon which paper money was based from silver to gold. Not only did silver prices plummet, the change also contributed to the Panic of 1893, a major economic depression that tipped the scales on many Lake Valley businesses. Silver mining was pretty much done by then.

Besides all the mining activities, ranching had remained a major industry in Lake Valley. Cattle in large numbers bring in rustlers in large numbers. Bob Alexander, in his book, Desert Desperadoes, recounts an episode of “door-bustin’ roundups at Lake Valley, Hillsboro, and Kingston.” The roundup was led by Major Albert Fountain and was intent on rooting out and destroying rustlers, led by John Kinney, whose Lake Valley ranch served as headquarters for the outlaws. The gunfights that followed were brutal. One newspaper reported alleged escaped prisoners were shot to pieces.

So went life in Lake Valley, a town in decline. One night in 1895, a man named Abernathy, a disgruntled and perhaps drunk customer of William Cotton’s saloon, set the bar on fire. Tinder dry wood and high winds fanned the flames, which consumed nearly all of Main Street, including the Keller, Miller & Company mercantile. Today, you know exactly where that store stood. Its safe sits in the dirt right where it was after the fire burned itself out.

Like all ghost towns, Lake Valley was never totally abandoned. Its life simply ebbed away every so slowly. Mrs. Blanch Nowlin, who became the local dealer for Conoco, lived in her house on Railroad Avenue until 1982. Pedro and Savina Martinez bought the Belle Hotel next door. He lived there until his death in 1994, having been a Lake Valley resident for 90 years.

During World War II, manganese was mined in the town, but that too was mined out and abandoned in the early 1950s.

I thought about this history as I walked the remains of the town. The Bureau of Land Management is responsible for Lake Valley [along with the still remaining Sierra Grande Mining Company]. The BLM restored the 1907 schoolhouse and turned it into a museum. Mrs. Nowlin’s Conoco store was the original school built in 1880. It’s awaiting a new roof and other restoration. I looked in at the chapel, where Episcopal services were held until the 1970s, and examined the remains of the Keil House and Dr. Beal’s House. The Nowlin and Martinez houses are privately owned and undergoing stabilization, efforts to prevent them from collapsing, so they might be opened to visitors.

Bob Denison, resident BLM manager, took me in his ATV to see the Bridal Chamber and other mines still on private property. I saw what’s left of the manganese ore processor. I saw head frames standing above a few of the 430 mine shafts dug throughout the area. One mine, the Last Chance, is home to bats and monitored by the state, watching for white-nose syndrome. Another, Denison told me, is the den of a mountain lion. None of them ever produced silver as rich as the Bridal Chamber, which has mostly collapsed as its timbers have aged.

Time is not kind to the remnants of our history and, unless someone values Lake Valley at lot more than it is now, it too will fade away, leaving behind decaying piles of lumber and melting mounds of ancient adobe. And that will be too bad because at Lake Valley, we can examine our colorful past and know better the roots from which we have grown.

Posted by Bud Russo

Branigan Cultural Center Hosts Archaeology Day

Can you dig it? April 2 is Archaeology Day at the Branigan Cultural Center in Las Cruces. Kids of all ages can learn how to make arrowheads, grind corn, make a rope, weave fabric, coil a clay pot, create paint ... all the while learning about the importance of archaeology to unearthing the past. No charge for getting you hands dirty from 10 am to 2 pm. Archeology Day is sponsored by the Branigan, BLM, CARTA, City of Las Cruces, National Park Service, U.S. Forest Service, Mesilla Valley Weavers Guild, and NMSU. More info at www.las-cruces.org/museums or call (575) 541-2154.

Posted by Bud Russo

When "The Stones Speak" We Just Have To Listen

The Stones Speak

Nancy King

Atelier Books, Ltd, 2009

ISBN 978-1-934690-18-5

Ever hear the phrase, “If only the walls could talk”? Usually someone says that when they’re in a room where a prior conversation has taken place and the speaker desires to know what was said.

That’s sort of the idea behind Nancy King’s novel, “The Stones Speak.” King who holds a PhD and has written a number of non-fiction books about drama, language, and storytelling, has produced a spell-binding story about Naomi, a dancer who auditions for a troupe soon to tour Europe. She is selected as the only dancer and gets involved with Eric.

When a man, like Eric, invites an impressional woman, like Naomi, to travel alone with him to Europe, nothing good can come of it. And nothing does. The philanderer abandons the now-pregnant Naomi in Italy and she is forced to return home, humiliated.

So that’s where the story starts and, as it plays out, we slowly find out what happened to Naomi after her return to the U.S. We see her struggles in relationships where she lives in Santa Fe, a woman in her mid-60s, and we finally come to understand her as the story is resolved.

There is enough conflict in the story to keep you turning pages and enough resolution to satisfy anyone desirous of a “they lived happily ever after” ending ... although this one is not saccharin-filled.

If you’re looking for an evening or two, sitting on the patio enjoying our early spring weather, you couldn’t pick a better companion than “The Stones Speak.”

Posted by Bud Russo

Museum of Art Features "Organized Spontaneous" Sing

On Saturady (Feb 26) a 100-voice choir presented an “organized spontaneous” sing at the Las Cruces Museum of Art. The choir consisted of members from NMSU Choirs’ University Singers, Masterworks Chorus, Mesilla Valley Chorale, New Desert Harmony Singers, and Oñate High School Choir. Interspersed around the exhibit of Michael Naranjo sculptures, they slowly gathered together to perform. Here’s one of the selections ... City Called Heaven ... with Guo Ying as soloist.

Las Cruces is certainly blessed with talent and wonderful music.

Posted by Bud Russo

Happy Green Chile Cheeseburger Trail To You!

Hey! It’s time to hit the Green Chile Cheeseburger Trail. If you’re a carnivorous gourmand, you just have to dive into this adventure and explore the trail with us.

When the Green Chile Cheeseburger Trail was opened in 2009, it had nearly 50 restaurants ... many with more than one location. What that meant was you could try a different burger at nearly 100 different dining venues. We’re told, about 8,000 residents, visitors, and restauranteurs checking out the competition weighed in. I suspect they weighed more on the way out, too!

New Mexicans ... like me ... sorry, but Cheryl’s a vegetarian ... just can’t get enough of a juicy, thick New Mexico beef patty grilled to perfection, then swathed in Cheddar or another favorite cheese, and topped with enough New Mexican green chile to set off the restaurant’s smoke alarm. Just the thought has me salivating so much, my keyboard thinks it’s been hit by a tsunami!

[Credit time: We took the map from the New Mexico Tourism Department's web site. Thanks for the loan.]

Ok. So here’s how the trail works. Restaurant owners can register their burger at the New Mexico Tourism Department web site. Then ... starting at 6 a.m. on March 1 ... think of it, green chile cheeseburgers for breakfast!!! ... you can sign in at the web site ... www.newmexico.org/greenchilecheeseburger ... and vote. Voting is open until 6 p.m. on March 31. But ... here’s the catch ... you can vote only once ... unless you have multiple email addresses. The rule says only one vote will be accepted from a specific email address.

So ... Chomp around until you find the green chile cheeseburger that reminds your taste buds of Anna Pavlova whose rendition of the dying swan in Swan Lake was so tender, it’d make you cry ... or Glen Campbell plunking your heart strings with one of his touching love songs ... or the Green Bay Packers winning the Super Bowl. Then vote.

There are no prizes. The chef of the best green chile cheeseburger gets nothing but the satisfaction of being King ... or Queen ... on the hill until the next time we wander down the trail.

I have my favorite and I’m voting for what I consider the best green chile cheeseburger in the country. Yeah, I know it’s only New Mexico, but they sure don’t know how to make’em anywhere else but here.

Good huntin’! Good eatin’! Compadres.

Posted by Bud Russo

Mile Markers Are Giving Me a Great Education!

Can't tell you how much I'm learning! Having to research and write 260 Mile Marker radio features this year is quite a challenge, but it's turning into a fascinating education. There are so many interesting people who live ... and have lived ... in New Mexico ... so many stories, some funny, some tragic, some dramatically violent. I'm working on a story about a sheriff who got into a gunfight with drunk cowboys who would not relinquish their guns. The sheriff was killed. One cowboy was killed, two were wounded, the fourth escaped unharmed. One cowboy was gut shot so he couldn't run. The other two got away, but later were captured. All three were executed. The sheriff's deputy became sheriff. Now that was pretty normal for New Mexico in the 1800s. What sets this story apart is ... oops. If I tell you now, will I have to shoot you? Listen to our Mile Markers on KRWG in Las Cruces, KENW in Portales, or KSJE in Farmington ... or catch up on our New Mexico tales at our web site ... explorenewmexico.biz. We post all the Mile Marker stories the week after they've been broadcast. Have fun. I certainly am.

Bud Russo

Doña Ana Poised For Future as Tourist Destination

The wagons churned along the Rio Grande over El Camino Real, advancing only a dozen miles or so each day. Travelers stopped at camps or parajes between Mexico City and Santa Fe. Most of those camps are distant memories, lost in the shifting sands of the desert and the changing course of the river. One of the camps has persisted into the 21st century. We know it as the village of Doña Ana.

On January 15, State Senator Mary Jane Garcia hosted the grand opening of the De La O Visitors Center in Doña Ana, culminating many years’ work of the many descendants who claim the name De La O and creating a focal point for community activities and tourists.

During the festivities, Sen. Garcia asked a show of hands of those who have come from the original De La O family. The senator is cousin to many of the village’s residents. She pointed to one man and asked if he was De La O, to which he concurred. Said the senator, “I’ve known you 20 years and didn’t know you were De La O. Hello, cousin!”

Those attending the grand opening included Las Cruces Mayor Ken Miyagishima, several Las Cruces City Councillors,

representatives of Doña Ana County government, and other dignitaries. Unlike most other similar events, this one had the festive appeal of a family reunion.

Doña Ana dates to the late 17th century. The village, if if could have been called that at the time, was abandoned throughout most of the 18th century. According to Robert Julyan in his book, “The Place Names of New Mexico,” the governor of Chihuahua created the Doña Ana Bend Colony Grant to alleviate crowding in El Paso. But it was not settled until 1843 when Bernabé Montoya led thirty-three settlers to the site. They named their settlement after the semi-legendary Doña Ana, who may have been Ana Robledo who had fled south during the Pueblo Revolt, or Doña Ana María de Córdoba, whose ranch was nearby.

Whoever the name honored, settlers were determined to remain in their village, to farm and to thrive. El Camino Real ran through the heart of the village. It brought not only travelers and trade but also bandidos. It was also prey to

marauding bands of Apache. But it persisted.

Between 1845 and 1850, a decade before the village of Las Cruces was laid out, villagers built a church. It was about a hundred feet long and twenty feet wide. Its adobe walls were three feet thick and its windows high to prevent Indians and bandits from shooting at people sequestered there. Candles in chandeliers and sconces between the Stations of the Cross dimly lit the church. A single clerestory window above the nave close to the apse let in the early morning light to illuminate the altar during Mass.

During the Civil War, De La O opened a saloon about a hundred yards south of the church. Just north of the saloon, Werthheim opened a general store, and north of that was the residence of the Cavello family.

Those buildings have persisted into the present time, but barely. In the late 1970s, the church was about to be condemned and demolished. The adobe buildings down the street had faired better, perhaps because of their boxy single-story construction. The structures seemed destined to melt into history just as old adobe returns to the earth.

But the community, led by Sen. Garcia, had other plans. Over a decade, Doña Anans, including some at-risk youth, rebuilt the church. They made more than 17,000 adobe bricks to reconstruct one wall which had collapsed and to shore up other parts of the building. Using a design of local artist Jeannie De Lo O Carbajal, who designed the art adorning the I-25 underpass at Highway 320, artisans in Mexico built a new altar patterned on the original which had deteriorated too far to reclaim. They retained the church’s original vigas and corbels and conserved the original French paintings of the fourteen Stations of the Cross. The church today is used for special occasions, including baptisms and marriages.

Then restoration work shifted down Camino Real, which for nearly two decades has been called Cristo Rey, to the old saloon and adjacent buildings.

The L-shaped De La O saloon has been restored with two meeting rooms and the mirror-backed bar, just as it might have looked 150 years ago. Its adobe has been painted white and its walls hung with historical scenes of the village of two centuries ago. Behind the building is a brick placita with fountain, stone planters, and shade trees. The community now has a facility for activities, celebrations, and fiestas.

As funds permit, the Werthheim building will be restored as a mercantile museum and the Cavello house will become the site of a farmers’ market.

For those who think Camino Real is nothing more than two ruts in the desert, come to the village of Doña Ana and see what family can do.

If you’d like to see the restored historic buildings and walk along part of the original royal highway, take Exit 9 off I-25 and turn south on Thorpe Road (NM-320). At the modern Catholic church, Our Lady of Purification, turn left onto Dusty Lane, which bends around the church and becomes Cristo Ray Street.

Centennial Saturday at Mesilla Valley Bosque State Park

We started our next podcast yesterday when I interviewed Jan Kirwan at the Mesilla Valley Bosque State Park. A most interesting park, Mesilla Valley Bosque is soon to celebrate its second anniversary ... taking time to learn how best to serve the public. There is, of course, the nature story. The park has trails along the river and farther back in a drier part of the flood plain. I hiked both and found tracks of things we commonly see ... lizards, stink bugs, and birds. But then I found tracks of raccoon and javalina. There are beaver living near the park. I didn’t see their tracks but found a tree they had gnawed through. And one of the park rangers has photographed a bobcat. This is a great place for birders to see many of the 213 species that have been identified in the park or migrating through. I was treated to the sight and sound of a high-flying flock of sandhill cranes.

Besides nature, Mesilla Valley Bosque is developing events that teach about and demonstrate our culture. Rangers are centering this “mission” in their Time Travelers program, a living history event developed and run by Dr. Jon Hunner of NMSU. His college students don period costumes and play roles to teach 5th to 12th grade students about local history. It’s not all talk. Participants get to learn how to make tortillas, adobe and how to do the laundry without a washing machine. They learn arts and crafts like beading and are led in Native American dances by members of the Tortugas pueblo.

Saturday, December 4, marks the parks second anniversary and you can take part in Centennial Saturday from 2 to 4 p.m. The Time Travel date is 1912 as participants celebrate New Mexico’s 100th year as a state. Come on out and meet people from a century ago ... even President Teddy Roosevelt.

Mesilla Valley Bosque State Park can be reached by taking Highway 359, Calle del North, in Mesilla ... right across Highway 28 from The Bean. Drive about 2 miles to the Rio Grande and, as soon as you cross the bridge, turn left into the park’s drive. There is a $5 per car park fee.

Posted by Bud Russo

Up close and personal with Carlsbad Caverns bats

The last two weekends have been absolutely amazing, providing opportunities to see both areas of New Mexico that were new to me and seeing a previously visited place in an entirely new way. At the end of September, Bud and I joined fellow members of the New Mexico Wilderness Alliance on a trip into Otero Mesa, the last great Chihuahuan Desert Grasslands in New Mexico. While there, we spent a day with Steve West, the alliance’s staff scientist. With Steve, we traveled to locations around the mesa and listed birds and plants we spotted. As an amateur birdwatcher, I was impressed with Steve’s extensive knowledge of birds. He helped those of us with less experience spot the important identifying marks for many species and soon even Bud could identify a Vesper Sparrow flying up from the grasslands along our path.

This adventure led to another the very next weekend. Steve told us about an on-going effort that stemmed from his college project 30 years ago: banding cave swallows at Carlsbad Caverns. My husband, Brian, and I were planning a trip to Carlsbad the very next weekend to see the bat flights, which occur in the evening during the summer as the thousands and even millions of bats leave for their evening feeding. It turns out that the bird banding happens in the late afternoon when the birds are returning to the caves and just before the bats depart. The highlight: seeing the bat flight from INSIDE the cave rather than from the usual tourist seating in the outdoor amphitheater. The deal was sealed: we planned our trip to Carlsbad.

We left Las Cruces, in the southern part of the state, at 8 a.m. and arrived at the caverns about noon. We ate a quick

picnic lunch, then bought our tickets for a trip do

wn into the caverns. My husband has been fascinated with these caves since childhood, watching movies such as “Journey to the Center of the Earth,” which was filmed there. This was our third trip, but he was just as excited to get und

erground as he was the first time!

If you have the knees, stamina and time, you should definitely travel into the caverns by foot through the natural entrance. This way you travel deeper and deeper into the caves, exploring the formations along the way. Without those three elements, the quick and easy way to the Big Room is on the elevator. You are transported to the cave floor in moments and walk into a unique destination.

We spent a few hours traversing the caverns, then, w

orried we would be late for our appointment with our banding expert, David Culp, we took the elevator back to the visitor center. At the appointed time, we met David and another volunteer who were waiting for us near the amphitheater. It turns out that despite the incredible opportunity the little bit of volunteer work affords, since they band swallows every weekend while these migratory birds are here, they are sometimes short-handed. It looked as though there would only be four of us, which is not enough to handle the work. Fortunately, a couple was waiting for the bat flight and was quickly recruited. Then, as we headed through the mouth of the cavern, a family that had driven from Albuquerque in order to see the caverns - they were from back East in Albuquerque for the Balloon Fiesta and had been told they just HAD to see the caverns, not knowing that they would not be allowed entrance after 3:30 p.m. - and were trying to get a peek through the entrance. They, too, were recruited with an offer they couldn’t refuse: not only could they at least come into the first section of the caverns, they would also see something very people others get to enjoy: the bat flight up close and personal.

Now 10 strong, we moved into position about eight switchbacks down into the cave. David explained our jobs and

assigned responsibilities. We had a long length of black netting attached to poles. It would be raised by two workers. Once a few birds were entrapped, the net would be lowered and others would carefully extricate the birds. Then David would measure their wing spans, tail length, weigh them, attach a band if it was the first time the bird had been captured, then set it free. It sounds easy enough, right?

The net went up and very quickly we had four birds caught, some holding quite still as though they knew that struggle would only make it worse. Others flapped about wondering what in the world had stopped them in their tracks, err, flight. David showed us how to carefully remove the birds from the net, encouraging them to let go of the net with their feet. Then a captured bird could be placed in a cotton bag while it waited to be banded. Sometimes birds were removed from the net q

uite easily. Other times it was difficult to determine which side of the net the bird had approached from - and therefore, which side of

the net to remove it. If we tried to remove birds from the wrong side, we only made them more entangled. Quickly, we became more proficient at our tasks and more confident in approaching the birds and calming them. In all, we captured almost 50 birds, with at least two-thirds being first timers who were banded. This allows the scientists to track the birds if they are again captured on the southern portion of their migration.

The highlight of the evening was quickly approaching. Brian was manning one of the poles while I worked to remove birds from the net. He told us he could see larger shapes flying about deeper in the cave and David confirmed that the bats were stirring. It was time to get the last birds out of the net and lower it for the evening.

As I struggled to remove a particularly entrenched swallow, I could hear a sound above and around me. I looked up to see hundreds of bats flying in wide swirls towards the cave entrance. It was hard to focus on the bird, which definitely deserved my full attention, when bats were flying so close. I was engrossed with their departure, but finally managed to extricate the patient swallow from the net, which was then immediately lowered fully to the ground.

Now I was able to focus all my attention on the spectacle around me. David showed us a ledge from which we would get the best view of the bat flight. From there, as the ba

ts flew higher and higher in a swirling pattern, they flew straight towards us before again moving higher. Bats by the thousands rose to the cave entrance, passing within inches of us. The sound of their wings was like water tumbling over rocks down a waterfall or, Brian said, like a burning fire.

I looked at Brian and the others to see if their faces expressed the same sense of excitement and wonder as I knew mine had. We all sat in silence, except for when we just had to whisper to someone nearby about the intensity of emotion the experience inspired. I knew that this was one of those exceptional moments in life that will never be forgotten. It reminded me of scuba diving in Hawaii with Manta Rays, when they, too, looped about just in front of and above me. Incredible!

David had warned us that as long as we didn’t make any sudden moves, the bats would be able to avoid crashing into us. Brian says a bat wing feathered against his

cheek, which gave him a brief moment of personal interaction with these amazing creatures.

The bats, commonly called Mexican Freetail Bats, but more properly Brazilian Freetail Bats, will soon leave New Mexico and head south for warmer winter weather. Then in the late spring, they’ll return to Carlsbad Caverns and spend the summer. I know that Brian and I will be there to greet them, looking to again have the opportunity to see a marvel of nature within a finger’s reach.

Sorry, no bat photos are allowed at the caverns, so you'll just have to use your imagination!

- Posted by Cheryl Fallstead

Klipsch Museum Chronicles the Life of an Acoustic Genius

Even with my hearing deficiency, I can tell the sound coming from speakers the size of small chests of drawers is exceptional. The separation of the music from left to right is so distinct, it’s as if two different tracks were playing. And resonance from bass to treble bubbles forth in a rich palette of color.

The speakers are Klipschorn and the place where I’m listening to them is the Paul W. and Valerie S. Klipsch Museum in NMSU’s College of Engineering, specifically the Foreman engineering complex just south of the venerable Goddard Hall.

The museum was dedicated in 1997, when the Foreman building was completed, and, although the museum is more than a dozen years old, its treasures are virtually unknown by Las Cruceans.

Paul Klipsch undoubtedly deserves the recognition for the masterpiece speakers he created. He’s in the Audio Hall of Fame and the Engineering and Science Hall of Fame. NMSU’s School of Electrical and Computer Engineering was named in his honor. Of greatest interest to me is the fact Klipsch is also an Aggie. He graduated in 1926 when the university was still New Mexico College of A&M. I received my degree in 1966.

And then there’s Joe Creed, who also earned his degrees from NMSU. He’s Assistant Dean of the College of Engineering and Professor Emeritus. Before he retired, Prof. Creed not only taught but, as dean, was responsible for alumni relations with the college. That’s how he met the Klipschs and got involved in the museum.

Following graduation, Klipsch worked as a geophysicist until the beginning of World War II. He enlisted in the Army at the rank of Major and was assigned to the Southwest Proving Grounds in Hope, Arkansas, where he specialized in ballistics, earning several patents for his work. When the war ended he remained in Hope. His lifelong love of music undoubtedly contributed to his interest in building speakers, which he began doing in a tin building behind a dry cleaner.

The business prospered, perhaps despite its founder. According to Prof. Creed, “Paul Klipsch was more interested in building the best and most beautiful speakers he could and not just making money.”

Because his wife, Valerie, was so much a part of his life and the business, I’d be remiss if I did not include this story. Mrs. Klipsch was born in Austria and immigrated to the United States prior to the war. Since Hope was their home, I had to venture an obvious question: Did they know the Clintons? Prof. Creed told me, Valerie Klipsch was an accomplished pianist and taught piano in Hope. “She was, in fact, Bill Clinton’s piano teacher,” he says, “but she recommended he take up saxophone because his hands were too large for piano.”

Klipsch continued to refine and build even better speakers. His Klipschorn speakers are considered the best sound producing instruments of their time. Built for installation in a corner, the speakers use the walls as part of the bass horn to reach the high fidelity they achieve, proving it was possible to reproduce the sound of a live orchestra in a home. Their name, however, was not chosen by their designer.

In an 1999 interview, Klipsch said he made a sales call to a prospect in New York and was surprised to learn the man already know about his speakers. “We’ve heard about your corner horn,” the prospect said. “We call it the Klipschorn.”

n time, the Klipschs decided to retire and sold the business to Fred Klipsch, Paul’s brother. The business exists today, based in Indianapolis. The plant in Hope is also still there and the unique Klipschorn speakers are still being built there, albeit as special order items.

Paul and Valerie Klipsch had always had high regard for NMSU. They endowed a scholarship fund that supports about 45 students annually. They also had a small museum in Hope and decided to donate it to the university.

Enter Joe Creed. “Taking care of alumni was just part of my job,” he says. “That’s when I met Paul and Valerie and got involved with the museum. I was lucky to be here when they came to make their donation.”

He flew to Hope to accept the artifacts and memorabilia, rented a truck, and drove back to Las Cruces with the treasures.

That meeting led to a lifelong friendship, which continues to this day. While Klipsch died in 2004 at age 98, Mrs. Klipsch still lives in Hope. “I’ve been happy to be associated with the Klipschs,” Prof. Creed says, “because they are such gracious people.” He talks with Mrs. Klipsch frequently and often travels there to examine the newest items she’s found, since she’s constantly on the lookout for her husband’s earliest speakers.

When the Foreman building was completed, it had two spacious foyers. Prof. Creed convinced the university to make minor adjustments to the design of one of the foyers and turn it into space for the museum. There visitors can examine the various styles of speakers that came from the Klipsch factory, including the large, corner Klipschorn with its matched fronts in fine wood. Several of the speaker sets are wired to CD players so visitors can insert their music and listen to it. There are technical exhibits including a cutaway of the Klipschorn, an exhibit of the awards and honors Klipsch earned, photos chronicling his life, and a cabinet of his papers. Prof. Creed also rescued the office of the acoustic genius and has reassembled it as if Paul Klipsch has just stepped out for lunch.

The museum is open Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 3 p.m. or you can call 646-2913 for an appointment. Prof. Creed is more than willing to share the stories embraced by the museum to anyone who is interested.

We all listen to music, but until your favorite composition resounds from a Klipschorn speaker, you haven’t really heard it. It’s worth the time to hear the difference and learn about the man who made it possible.

Posted by Bud Russo

An Encounter With Otero Mesa: Learning What Makes It Unique

I’m standing on a hillock in the middle of Otero Mesa, the last remaining Chihuahuan Desert short-grass prairie left on public lands in the U.S. I find it hard to comprehend how vast this grassland is. Knowing it’s 1.2 million acres just doesn’t do it. I turn in a slow circle and look out over the plateau. From where I am to the horizon in every direction there is the undulating grassland. Sixty-some miles to the north are the Sacramento Mountains. To the west are the Hueco Mountains and to the east are the Cornudas Mountains, which block my view of the Guadalupe Mountains farther east. The plateau within this triangle of mountains constitutes Otero Mesa.

The human footprint here is still relatively light. Ranchers lease much of the BLM-managed lands for cattle. Other than that, the land seems empty. It is anything but. Life, comprised of more than 1,000 plant and animal species, abounds everywhere I look.

Ever since joining the New Mexico Wilderness Alliance (NMWA) I had heard about Otero Mesa and I had wanted to experience it. On a weekend in late September, Cheryl Fallstead and I joined Nathan Newcomer, NMWA associate director, and about a dozen people at a campsite in the shadow of Alamo Mountain, the highest peak in the Cornudas.

Saturday most of the campers elected to hike the a steep trail to the summit of Alamo Mountain, some 1400 feet above the plain. They were promised a grand view of the entire mesa and were not disappointed.

Cheryl and I joined Steve West, NMWA staff scientist, to conduct wildlife surveys at several stock ponds out on the plateau. Otero Mesa is high on the Department of the Interior’s list of possible new national monuments and knowing the variety and extent of plant and animal life contributes to our understanding of the land and why it should be protected.

Instead of the grand view, we got up close and personal. We sited and identified more than forty of the 250 species of birds that call Otero Mesa home or which migrate through the area. I’m not a birder so this was an education, learning to tell the difference between a bunting and a warbler; a Vesper’s sparrow from a Brewer’s sparrow. I was more impressed with the raptors we sighted: the osprey, northern harrier, red-tailed, Swainson’s, and Cooper’s hawks. We saw waterfowl – red and green-winged teal, an American coot, and American avocet – and one magnificent hummingbird. That’s not an exaggeration. That’s its name: Magnificent.

We listed plants not yet identified in other areas on the mesa. I learned how to tell the difference between a croton and a winter fat plant and about the all-thorn or crucifixion-thorn tree. The trees we were looking at grow exceedingly slow and may have been more than a century old.

What was most obvious was the change in plant assemblages. In some areas there was an abundance of gramma grasses studded with yucca, indicative of healthy grassland. Other areas were carpeted with yellow snakeweed, mesquite, and prickly pear – signs of poor range management over the century or more cattle have been grazed here. How to give the land respite and let it recover are issues now being debated.

As evening arrived, we helped set up mist nets to trap birds, which West was banding. Each one he caught, he measured and weighed. He was excited to find and band an orange-crowned warbler and a cordilleran flycatcher.

There were other exciting moments during the day. We spotted several pronghorn, some single males and others with their harems. Pronghorns we were told are not antelopes but last surviving species of nine Pleistocene animals, which thrived as long as two million years ago. That may account for their strangely shaped horns and head that’s out of proportion to their bodies.

As the sun settled over the Hueco Mountains, we were treated to a delightful coyote howl. I expect the coyotes were simply letting each other know they were in close proximity, maybe on the edge of each other’s territory but, to me, they sounded more like an a cappella choir in four-part harmony.

Sunday was a day of exploring human history rather than natural history. Newcomer led our group up to the first bench on Alamo Mountain to see some of the hundreds of petroglyphs. Many of the rock-art creations are thought to have been made by the Mescalero Apache whose territory was near the area in the mid-1800s. Designs of horned characters and zigzagging lines may represent Apache deities of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. Drawings of horses suggest many of the petroglyphs date from the 1600s, although other artifacts and potsherds indicate native people have inhabited the area for thousands of years.

As you might expect, there was a wide range of artistry. Some rock artists could do no more than make stick figures; others had the competence to do remarkable images of fish, owls, bear paws, and what looked like a rainbow. He also pointed out a broad bowl in which archeologists have found pit houses and other evidence of human occupation. Newcomer said he expects scientists will find pottery, tools, charcoal from old campfires, and perhaps even human remains. We looked into the bowl from its edge and turned away. No one wanted to disturb an area that could enlighten us about those occupying the land long before us.

Our last stop was the remaining stone walls of the Butterfield Stage station, one of 140 stations along the trail from St. Louis to San Francisco. Perhaps impressed by the Native American rock art, a number of Anglos – maybe travelers, maybe cowboys – etched there names and the dates of their passing.

If our ride onto Otero Mesa was like venturing into a brave new world, our ride home was like leaving an old friend, one we’re sure to revisit time and again, certain each visit will reveal new wonders.

Posted by Bud Russo