With a few exceptions, my most recent adventure was more about the journey than about the destination. When I left Moab on Day 7, I intended to wander wherever whim led before eventually landing at a friend’s cabin in Arizona.
My original plan for that day included visiting the Matheson Wetlands Preserve, a nature conservancy located in Moab. An oasis formed along the banks of the Colorado River, the Preserve is home to over 200 species of mammals, amphibians, and birds.
The roads I had traveled through Arches National Park and other areas had given me long-distance views of several oases. Those green jewels embedded in miles of red rock and desert landscapes were natural treasures that far surpassed my brain’s creative files and childhood memories of oases from movies. I observed those scenes with deep reverence and respect. Each oasis was a vibrant, beckoning display situated among the bones of the Mother; each a representation of her womb, lush and ripe with life and promise.
The preserve would have provided an opportunity to immerse my senses in an aspect of the Feminine Divine that was familiar yet new. One of the few disappointments of my journey happened when I learned that most of the preserve was closed. Flooding in 2022 and 2024 caused extensive damage, and the regular access routes, which once offered boardwalks and safe trails, were not open. Those that were, were not accessible to me during this phase of my life, when an autoimmune disorder limited physical activity.
Page from the National Geographic Road Atlas showing the area around Moab, Utah [National Geographic]
I considered visiting Canyonlands, Dead Horse State Park, or driving the loop road through Manti-La Sal National Forest. Those options would have taken me to higher elevations and offered views of a different type of landscape. And bonus points: they also increased my chances of seeing wildlife, including elk, bears, and mountain lions. However, knowing how easily I lose track of time when hunting, I decided it would be best to head away from the area.
I bought a National Geographic Road Atlas for the trip, partly for nostalgia and partly because I am tired of my view and knowledge of an area being limited to a space the size of my phone screen. There was a third reason, as well: relying on electronic devices for planning is becoming increasingly unreliable. Old school maps are a better choice.
There was something pleasantly grounding and solid about sitting at a table with the atlas in front of me, looking at tourist sites along the road. Following lines with my eyes and fingers made planning for travel a more tactile, tangible experience.
Petroglyphs at Tse’ Hane’ [B. Rhodes]
Moving down the lines of US Highway 191, my eyes landed on Newspaper Rock State Historical Monument, about an hour south of Moab. As soon as I read a description of the petroglyph panel, I knew I had to see it.
During my travels throughout the Southwest, I frequently encountered historical sites or natural formations that were given English-language names by settlers. This country has been slow to acknowledge the disrespect of that practice, although changes have occurred. In 2024, following a formal request made by the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, the U.S. Board of Geographic Names restored the Cherokee name, Kuwohi, to Clingmans Dome in North Carolina. Even in the face of the darkness currently looming over America, I hope we continue to make such changes to honor the ancestors who first walked these lands.
The Navajo name for Newspaper Rock is “Tse’ Hane’” or “rock that tells a story.” There are over 650 art designs from various periods of imagery carved into Tse’ Hane’ by cultures dating back 1,500 years to the present century. Numerous sources attribute the creation of the petroglyphs to diverse cultures, but they are primarily cited as the Archaic, Basketmaker, Fremont, and Ancestral Puebloan cultures, which were active until approximately 1300 CE. Ute, Navajo, and Anglo people also left carvings in more recent times. The newer petroglyphs can be distinguished by their lighter color.
After leaving Moab, I drove US Highway 191 south, past more scenic countryside, some red rock arches, and a few tourist traps. I turned off 191 onto State Road 211 and drove west toward Bears Ears National Monument. It was a mostly straight drive through open range land. I was surprised by how quickly my mind adapted to the reality of cattle, sheep, and goats roaming at will while I was in Utah. Unfortunately, on 211, that meant seeing two calves that had been hit by cars. Judging by their remains, the ecosystem was a healthy one. Coyotes, wolves, and vultures were thriving.
The views along the road were incredible, and mostly of wide-open spaces. I felt grateful for ponytail holders and a ball cap, as driving with the windows down allowed me to experience the wild western wind up close and personal. The few trees and abundant wildflowers never ceased to move.
Newspaper Rock State Historical Monument site [S. Barker]
It was midmorning when I arrived at Tse’ Hane’. I parked my truck and walked the short distance to the viewing area. The sun was still to the east, so the large table rock seat in front of the petroglyph wall and the path were covered by shade. There was a fence intended to keep visitors from damaging the petroglyphs, and I walked the length of that to get a closer view of the carvings.
A few lizard sightings and a few hundred petroglyphs later, I sat down on the table rock and made myself comfortable. There was no more important place to be that day than right there, in the shadowed permanence of history.
There was no overwhelming divine presence, and the elemental energies I could sense had little interest in the comings and goings of human beings of any era. What I did feel was the immense weight of humanity’s presence in a location that had remained essentially unchanged for centuries. I wanted to sit with that presence to acknowledge and honor the ancestor connection. I also wanted to find answers to questions I had not even thought of yet. Once again, I lost track of time while hunting and spent more than an hour just being present.
I looked at the images, and tried to identify them. Deer. Buffalo. Goat or sheep. Elk. Beaver. Wolf or dog. Human shapes, some with antlered heads. Human footprints and bear footprints, many of which were polydactyl. An alien. Wheels and spirals, ladders and snakes, stars, and other symbols. There seemed to be no gender difference in the human imagery, but when my eyes finally wandered to the lower corner of the north end of the wall, I saw an image that appeared to be a human wearing a dress. I have no idea when that image was added to the wall, but it certainly had the energy of being a representation of a feminine being.
Petroglyph at Tse’ Hane’, possibly depicting a figure in a dress [S. Barker]
I wondered, too, about the purpose of the drawings. Was this an early artists’ colony? A place where weary parents sent their kids to play and stay out of trouble? Were they messages for other people? A community newsletter? An historical record?
Furthermore, what did each symbol mean? According to the National Park Service, “Modern American Indian groups’ interpretations include family or clan symbols, spiritual meanings, and calendar events. Some mark territory boundaries or migratory routes.” For now, my thoughts and the NPS information will be all the answer I have.
When the sun walked far enough across the sky that it was shining directly on the table rock, it was time for me to leave. As I drove back out to 191, I reflected on my expectations for that experience and whether they had been met. Maybe yes, maybe no. I left with more questions than answers, feeling fortunate to have photographs and journal notes that would allow me to return to those moments.
The Grateful Dead’s From the Mars Hotel album was the morning playlist, and the song China Doll came on just before I turned onto the main highway. I ignored the darker aspects of it and drifted into the openness of Jerry Garcia’s existential exploration, which matched the mood and feelings Tse’ Hane’ stirred into my spirit.
I am sure this line is carved into the dark wall of history at Tse’ Hane’: “All I leave behind me is only what I found.”
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