Once upon a time a king consulted geomancers to find the best place to locate the tomb of his beloved wife. The first one he asked recommended a place that, when he went to inspect it, seemed to him very inappropriate. So when he went to look at the suggestion of the second geomancer he was wary. He told officers in his revenue that he would climb the mountain alone to check it out. If they saw him wave his white handkerchief it would mean that he was displeased with the proposed site, and they should immediately kill the geomancer.
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Standing here and looking out over the valley, you have the same view a Mogollon would have had, centuries ago. For thousands of years, groups of nomadic people had used these caves to provide temporary shelter. Until, in the late 1200s, some people of the Mogollon culture decided this would be a good place to call home. They built rooms, crafted pottery and raised children in the cliff dwellings for about twenty years. Then the Mogollon moved on, leaving the walls of their homes still standing.
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A king and his queen are buried here, an unexpected sight in a country where much of ancient history has been forgotten, ignored, rewritten or even erased.
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The early morning clouds hung so low over the forest that we couldn’t see the tops of the trees. And we certainly couldn’t see any howler monkeys! Just like us it seemed, they like a lie-in on a miserable morning.
