PURSUING THE ELUSIVE TREE RING
by
Harry T. Getty

"This must be interesting work", remark the visitors to the Park as they gaze at the tree ring exhibit in the Park Museum, or after they have been introduced to the Park "tree ringist". And in the latter case the reply is invariably, "Yes indeed, it is very interesting work." The "tree ringist" has struggled in vain to think up some very snappy reply but it just doesn't seem to be forthcoming.

In order to be able to date our ruins by the tree ring chronology sections must be obtained from trees cut by the Cliff Dwellers. The field work consists of securing specimens in the form of sections, borings from beams, and charcoal from burned beams, firepits or trash mounds. To get these specimens one must either climb into cliff ruins, burrow into surface ruins that have long since been mounded over, or sink pits or trenches into trash mounds.

Working in the surface mounds would be rather dull and uninteresting were it not for the zeal displayed by rattlesnakes in defending the mounds against all comers. The writer has tried diligently to make those supple warriors understand that his purposes are entirely peaceful and scientific, but all to no avail. In one particular encounter when the margin of safety was the sum total of three inches the writer forgot all about his scientific purposes, threw dignity to the four winds, slipped automatically into reverse and made a very remarkable backward dash, much to the amusement of his companion. Needless to say, said reptile was soon on his way to the next world, while the writer, as calmly as possible, counted nine rings on its tail, finding them all very complacent* with no evidence of a drought period.

*Complacent rings—those which show a steady growth as a result of underground moisture from springs or seeps.

On all other occasions these serpents have given sufficient warning so that the intended victim was not so rattled. Then to, in working on mounds, one can always depend on Old Sol to make things hot if the snakes do not.

On a recent trip to a neighboring National Monument the writer would have been more comfortable and less tired if he had possessed the proverbial "snake's hips". Some of the timbers sought were in rooms that were situated in the bottom of the mound. Someone, who had very kindly dug out the rooms, exposing the beams, had very unkindly left narrow, bottle-necked passages. As the writer crawled on his stomach through one particularly low entrance, a bat, not being scientifically minded, whizzed past his head. Now while there is nothing terrifying about a small bat, yet the sudden and unexpected flight in that very dark underground room produced more or less the same effect as though a winged dragon had roared past. In another case where there was only room enough to turn around it was necessary to remove an assortment of human and animal bones before the work could be started. Even then bones crunched under foot as the work progressed.

Getting into and out of cliff ruins in the more remote parts of the Park usually taxes the ingenuity and strength. The shallow caves in which the ruins are located can be entered only after picking ones way down from the mesa top through the breaks in the thick sandstone ledges, or after laboring up from the bottom of the canyon over several hundred feet of loose talus slope. These slopes are often covered with a thick mantle of interlaced oak brush that easily tears ones clothing and is much more effective that any barbed wire entanglement. When scaling small sandstone ledges, holes and projections on the faces of the ledges lend their aid. Such an ascent is treacherous with a loaded tool kit, a saw, and a canteen.

A specific instance will emphasized the point mentioned above. On a recent trip an excellent ruin was espied high up on one of the canyon walls. Five or six beam ends seemed to project along the front wall. A week later a trip was made to this ruin in search of tree ring material. After a hard climb of nine hundred feet the writer stepped inside the beautiful masonry walls to find—absolutely nothing. The only things left were three small pot sherds and one little pole, two inches in diameter, with too, too complacent rings. Going back down the writer decided to try a shorter route over the sandstone strata. All went well until only a ten foot strip of rather vertical sandstone was left, with a narrow ledge on which to land, and a sheer drop below if the landing was not properly negotiated. The board of strategy decided that rather than retrace and take the long route it would be better to remove shoes and sox and attempt the ten foot strip. This method was adopted and the writer descended the cliff in approved simian style, gripping all projections and holes with toes and fingers.

On another occasion it was necessary to make a descent of a thousand feet to the bottom of the canyon and then climb back up the other side to a ruin located just below the mesa top. About one-third of the descent had to be made over sandstone that lined the steep-sided ravine, making a U-shaped sandstone trough that sloped at an angle of about fifty degrees from the horizontal. That doesn't sound so bad but just try it sometime with a pack on your back and a saw in one hand and only slight knobs and projections on which to get a footing. All was well on the descent but on the return trip trouble was encountered while ascending this stretch of sandstone. It had rained just a little and the sandstone was somewhat slippery, but even so, two-thirds of the sandstone was traversed without difficulty and we were congratulating ourselves. However, pride goeth before a fall—only it wasn't quite as bad as a fall in this case. By some queer trick of fate—the writer could not possibly have been at fault—the saw dropped from the hand that held it and slipped, slid and bounced its way merrily down to the very bottom of the sandstone stretch where it lay smiling up in an innocent and pained but nevertheless exasperating manner. As it happened, my companion had gone on ahead with the pack so there was nothing to do but retrace my steps all the way to the bottom to retrieve the errant saw. Once again a "tree ringist" conversed with himself in a strange and gruesome manner. The second ascent was made in good order. All this, of course, in the interest of science.

These incidents are generally exasperating at the time, but, they certainly break any tendency of monotony in life. However, not all specimens are complacent as it might seem from this article, nor are all the beams of juniper, which is not datable at the present time, except in rare instances.

There are quite a lot of Douglass Fir and Pinon beams with good datable records that make life worth while for the "tree ringist". It is a thrill that only a "tree ringist" can appreciate when he extracts a core from a beam, smooths off one side with a razor blade and reads from the series of small and large rings the struggles through which people passed whom the beam served, for the fluctuating years of drought and moisture affected both trees and men alike.