El Morro inscriptions and ruins

We stood peering up at one of the inscriptions on El Morro, a gigantic sandstone monolith in New Mexico. The words read, “Paso por aq[u]i el adelantado Don Ju [an] de Oñate del descubrimyento de la mar del sur a 16 de Abril de 1605.”
Translation: Governor Don Juan de Oñate passed through here, from the discovery of the Sea of the South on the 16th of April, 1605.
To put that engraving in perspective, the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620, and Shakespeare was born in 1564 and died in 1616.
It was the oldest inscription we’d ever seen except for Ancestral Puebloan rock writings, some of which also adorned El Morro, probably because an Ancestral Puebloan community, Atsinna, occupied the bluff from about 1275 to 1350 A.D.
In 1453, on the other side of the world, the Ottoman Turks conquered the Byzantine Empire and closed the Silk Road. The trading network covered more than 4,000 miles and operated for about 1,500 years, linking Asia, the Mediterranean, Africa, and Europe.
Spain still wanted the riches they’d obtained through trading, so in hot competition with Portugal and other European nations, they sought a different route to Asia by sailing west.
Instead of Asia, they landed in the “New World,” at least new to them. Their landfall was disastrous for the Incas and Aztecs, those complex civilizations which had flourished in Mesoamerica.
By then, the Spanish had three goals: Gold, Glory, and God with God often shunted in favor of the first two. After overthrowing the Aztec Empire in 1521, the Spanish soldiers built Mexico City, their capital, on top of the destroyed Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan.
Rumors circulated about cities of unimaginable wealth located in northern Mexico, so in 1538, Viceroy Antonio de Mendoza sent out a scouting party from Mexico City to verify the accounts.
Marco de Nizza, a Franciscan friar, led the party. As his guide, he was accompanied by an African slave, Estevanico, as well as indigenous people from northern Mexico. They trekked across the desert, hoping to find the rumored cities of gold.
While Nizza performed Easter mass in Vacapa, he sent Estevanico and a group of Sonoran natives ahead.
They were attacked, and Estevanico and others killed. Instead of risking death himself, Nizza only went far enough to see the Zuni Pueblo from a distance.
He named it Cibola and returned to Mexico City, relating stories of golden, multi-story buildings with turquoise studded doors.
When the viceroy heard the reports of the Seven Cities of Cibola, he organized a large expedition, headed by the conquistador, Francisco Vázquez de Cornado.
They explored the area a year later and found adobe pueblos, shining golden in the sun instead of buildings crafted from gold.
Those early expeditions to find the Seven Cities of Gold opened the Southwest to European exploration, and over the next 200 years many people stopped at El Morro because of the large pool at its base.
They watered their animals, filled their water vessels, and drank deeply themselves.
While there, they inscribed their names on the sandstone. More than 2,000 inscriptions, from the Ancestral Puebloans to 1906 pioneers and soldiers, cover the bluff.
A few women also left their marks, including Sarah Fox, 12 years old, traveling with the Rose-Baley caravan to California in 1858.
Later, she survived an attack against the caravan on the Colorado River although she was shot in the side by an arrow. The attack left eight people, including Sallie’s stepfather and five other children, dead and 12 wounded.
The government designated El Morro as a National Monument in 1906, and 120 years later, on a beautiful spring day, we stared up at the inscriptions, referencing a guidebook written by Abby Mogollon.
We noticed some places on the monolith’s face had been rubbed bare and later found out that in the 1920’s the first superintendent asked his men to “erase” any inscriptions after 1906 because they were considered graffiti.
We spent a long time studying the inscriptions and then started up the Headland Trail.
In the visitor’s center, the ranger had shown us a map of the trail across the top of El Morro and warned, “It gets pretty rugged, but the trail is marked.”
I later thought he should have worded the warning more strongly, such as, “If you have any fear of heights whatsoever, stay with us in this beautiful center full of fascinating books.”
However, I wanted to see the Atsinna Pueblo, so off we went. The trail ascended 242 feet over switchbacks. The rangers had incised the trail across the rocks, but huge puddles obscured some of the markings.
I only got lost once, and Ted and Kenidee, our little dog, came back to show the way.
The view from the top was spectacular, but I only caught glimpses as I negotiated the path. By the time I made it across, Ted was relaxing on a rock, chatting with a couple.
“How are you?” The woman stood as I came nearer.
“Better now.” I bent down to pet Kenidee.
“I told them,” my hubby said, “if you could do it, anyone could.”
“I’m a little afraid of heights,” I admitted, straightening.
The man, who wore a patch over one eye, said, “I’m more than a little afraid.” He stood to join his wife. “I’m terrified, but we’re going to do this.”
I stared after them as they inched across the top of El Morro, wanting to call out, “Don’t do it. Come back! There are so many good books in the visitor’s center.”
And, yes, the Atsinna Pueblo was worth it, especially since the trail down had steps and railing.