There were numerous camera shots and videos we had seen of an ancient North Rim ruin that was a popular swoop for the helicopter tours. They would swing in, sometimes in a small parade of two or three at a time, to capture a view of the remote site, just below the upper ledges of the Rim. The archaeologists had a question; how much were the vibrations and down-wash of helicopters impacting the site?
John sought and secured a seismograph from the EPA, about the size of a milk can and almost as heavy as a FULL milk can. We put together a team (of three) to take it over to the North Rim (via helicopter) and the plan was to settle it into place and take readings over the course of a day. We grabbed our packs and one sunny morning, we lifted off of the helipad.
It was a short flight, and soon we were clambering off, at a safe distance from the ruins and any aerial reconnaissance that might tip off the air tour companies that something was afoot. We set up a secluded camp above the Rim and then, hoisting that canister, scrambled down to the largest of the several structures which remained intact through the centuries. While many air tours had flown past, it was obvious that very few folks had been here since the Anasazi had carefully assembled the chunks of limestone.
The seismograph was big, and heavy, and the room we were trying to set the seismograph up in was small and – awkward. It was finally decided that I, as the smallest of the three team members, should have the honor of entering the ruin and settling the unit into place. I squirmed through the small entrance, being ultra-careful not to bump anything. Sweating and dusty, I finally managed to stand inside the cubicle.
John and his buddy, an archeologist, hoisted the seismograph and handed it over the wall, which was about five feet tall. I grabbed hold of it and tried, oh so carefully, to set it at my feet. I flipped the switch and a deep internal growling indicated it had begun its work and was capturing every tremor and vibration of the structure – as well as my shaking nerves, no doubt.
Now, time to get out, but that big canister I had so carefully placed now semi-blocked the narrow entrance I had squeezed through. We debated options, one of which was trying to go up and over the wall (bad idea) or repositioning the seismograph, but there were not too many options.
I looked at the entrance/exit and decided to very carefully go for it, thinking small thoughts and trying to curl my frame, much thinner at the time, into a slither. I was getting ready to make my move when – gravel slipped – I lost my balance – the seismograph decided to bite me – I hardly know what caused it. I lurched, at any rate, and came within an inch of slamming into one of those ancient walls. It was just the sort of disaster we were trying to prevent helicopters from causing!
John and his friend grabbed me in panic mode, and I slowly stabilized myself, heart thudding. We looked at each other and the brief panic subsided. I eventually managed to extricate myself, thank goodness, channeling my inner Anasazi.
We breathed a sigh of relief as we headed back toward camp. The air tour helicopters continued their fly-bys, and did not seem too concerned that a few folks had accessed this remote location. We did try to hide in the trees as much as possible, ducking when they roared by. A few had actually swung by as we were placing the heavy beast-unit, and we wondered what their thoughts were as they spotted humans at this remote outlook.
As we were relaxing that evening, playing hackeysack with pine cones in the failing light, John looked over at me and smiled. “That was just a test tremor to make sure the seismograph was working. Now we have a benchmark.“ The other fellow laughed, too, but it was clear he was just glad the task was done.
I had visions that night of trying to slowly piece together walls that had withstood the test of time, but had come close to succumbing to my momentary imbalance. It was a relief to get the seismograph out late the next day, with no further mishaps, and hoist it back onto the helicopter for the flight home.
As I recall, that slip of mine was pretty clear on the seismograph and roughly equivalent to any helicopter fly-by – but then, they might have moved a bit further back and away from the ruins when they saw us poking around.
Mi Mayan Hamaca 