Three Rivers Petroglyphs

One of the special places I discovered during my recent sojourn in New Mexico was the Three Rivers Petroglyphs Site.

I’ve always been a big fan of the petroglyphs and pictographs left behind by the ancient peoples of the Southwest. Religious rituals or prehistoric graffiti? Hard to say. I sometimes wonder what future archaeologists will make of the artwork found on railroad cars and inner-city walls.

I made it a mission many years ago, when I worked ski resorts in the winter, to spend a month each spring on the Colorado Plateau searching out ancient rock art sites, trying to see and photograph as many as possible before they were ruined or degraded by ignorant yahoos with shotguns and spray paint.

I’m still enthralled with these signs left from the people who came before us. That’s why I was so excited to find Three Rivers.  Three Rivers Petroglyphs Site has a LOT of rock art. Over 21,000 individual petroglyphs can be found here, most accessible along a rough mile-long  trail from the campground. The Jornada Mogollon people were the artists, decorating the rocks between 900 and 1400 AD. They also had a village nearby, which can be reached by another short trail.

I planned to camp when I got there, but when I arrived I found the BLM campground quite unappealing. A gravel lot with a few mesquite trees planted for shade, the sites were too close together and afforded little to no privacy. But I learned that there was a much nicer Forest Service campground, also called Three Rivers, just 12 miles away. I decided to check it out.

The Forest Service Campground was beautiful. All day long, though, for some reason, I’d felt uneasy about camping. My instincts were sending me red flags, but I didn’t know why. The area was fairly remote. Was I too close to the border to be camping solo?  I really wanted to stay, but the neon DANGER sign wouldn’t quit flashing in my mind. I equivocated with myself – if there were others camped there I would stay – safety in numbers – if not, I would have to leave.

The camping spots were spacious and inviting. I toured the campground. Someone was parked in the Host spot. I saw one other occupied campsite. The old gentleman relaxing in the sun there looked like Santa Claus. I got no danger vibes from him. I passed a campsite filled with a herd of mule deer. That’s my spot! I really wanted to stay there. I parked and walked down to the registration board to claim my campsite.

But the danger signals wouldn’t go away. Would a bear come and molest my camp? There were numerous bear warning signs, both in the campground and at the trailhead. I watched the heavy cloud of a winter snowstorm settle on the peak at the head of the canyon. Would the snow level drop and make it a cold and miserable night? Was it something else? I really wanted to stay and decided to ignore my uneasy feelings.

I set up my camp chair but didn’t set up my camp yet. I just soaked in the sunshine and reveled in the peace. Then I heard a horrifying scream, kind of a combination of a scream and a bray, immediately followed by the high-pitched singing of a pack of coyotes. The sound kept reverberating, incredibly loud, echoing throughout the canyon.

Wow. I think I had just heard a pack of coyotes kill a large animal. Were there wild burros here? The bray kind of sounded like a burro. Or was it a deer dying? It was one of the wildest sounds I’d ever heard. Now I REALLY wanted to stay. But I still felt so, so uneasy.

I reached into my truck to get out a bird guide to identify some of the songbirds fluttering around near my camp. As I turned around to close the door, I caught a glimpse of a coyote running up the hill, less than 20 yards away, He was a big mountain coyote, not a scrawny Wile E. desert coyote. This place was getting more awesome every minute! But, still… I learned a long time ago to listen to my instincts. But it was so wild and beautiful.

It was almost sunset, and I needed to commit. Just then, a man walked by my campsite. I think he was the campground host. In a distinctly unfriendly tone of voice, he said, “Oh, there is somebody staying here.” I said “Hi, how’s it going”, and he morosely replied, “I’m alive.”

OK, the red flags are flying. My instincts are screaming at me now. Suddenly the barren BLM Three Rivers Petroglyphs campground is looking good.

I stayed until sunset because I really didn’t want to leave, then headed up the road. As soon as I pulled away from the canyon, the heavy, leaden uneasiness I’d felt all day evaporated like a puff of smoke. I’ll never know why I felt so uneasy, but I’m glad I visited and didn’t stay.

Back at the BLM campground, there was only one other camper, another solo woman. It turned out to be a fabulous place to spend the night.

I’ll be back to Three Petroglyphs one day. I want to stay at that wonderful Forest Service campground on a day when my red flags aren’t flying, and hike the trail into the canyon.

I want to stay at the BLM campground again too, for another reason. I stopped at the Tularosa Basin Gallery of Photography in Carrizozo, a sleepy little town north of Three Rivers. It’s the largest photography gallery in the state of New Mexico, and I discovered a new favorite photographer, Wayne Suggs.

His night sky shots of the petroglyphs are some of the most incredible I’ve ever seen. After seeing his images, everything else in the gallery seemed inconsequential. His work is phenomenal. One day I would like to take a workshop and learn from this master, then go back to Three Rivers and photograph the night sky.