EDITOR"S LETTER

That Inn Was Far Out

Sometimes a story falls right into your lap. That's what happened a few months ago when I was reading a stack of letters to the editor. I'd just gotten back from the Grand Canyon, where, instead of hopping in a raft to run the Colorado, I ended up in the North Country Healthcare clinic with what felt like dengue fever. (I don't really know what that feels like, but it sounds awful.) The unexpected turn was a drag for obvious reasons, but it was compounded by the fact that my river trip was supposed to be made into a feature story for this issue. Although it's not unusual for a story to fall apart, finding a surrogate isn't always easy. Unless it falls into your lap, like the story about the Grand Canyon Inn.

Before opening Bill West's letter, I'd never heard of the Grand Canyon Inn nobody in the office had. Turns out, none of my colleagues at the Canyon had ever heard of it, either. And that's why Bill sent the letter. "My wife and I celebrated our honeymoon there in August 1962," he wrote. "It has long since been removed from the lodges on the South Rim. I never found out why. I'm sure those of us who enjoyed the hospitality there would be thrilled to read its history, and those who never knew it existed would be surprised to learn it had."

I agreed with what he was saying. Plus, we needed a story, which we assigned to Kathy Montgomery. In Is That a Swimming Pool on the South Rim?, she recounts the history of the inn, a place that was "shaped by colorful characters, a world war, a celebrity's son, the arms race and an act of Congress." And then there was the swimming pool, one of the most unlikely things imaginable, especially when you're standing on the South Rim today. As obtrusive as it must have been, it's easy to see why it would have been alluring to visitors. Nevertheless, the Grand Canyon is best experienced in its natural state. And the best place to do that, in autumn in particular, is the North Rim. Gary Ladd agrees.

Gary is one of the photographers we recruited to help prove our theory that autumn in Arizona is better than it is in Vermont. It's not more colorful here, but our season lasts a lot longer. I did the math: Their peak season runs for about three weeks; ours lasts for more than three months, beginning on the North Rim in mid-September and ending at Lake Powell in mid-December. You'll see some of that range in this month's cover story, which illustrates our state's most unique season. In addition to the dazzling photos of oaks, aspens and maples, we've included some insight from the photographers, and tips on how and when to shoot the various locations.

Colleen Miniuk-Sperry says the best time of year to photograph Canyon de Chelly is late October. "In the fall," she says, "Mother Nature adorns this wonderland with ribbons of yellow as the Fremont cottonwoods along Chinle Wash burst into rich autumnal colors." "Wonderland" is a great word to describe the canyon. Unfortunately, you'll need one of its antonyms to describe the sand dunes down the road.

Those dunes, the result of drought, increasing temperatures, invasive tumbleweeds and human impact, are wreaking havoc on the Navajo people and swallowing their homes. Literally. That might sound like the story line for a bad sci-fi movie, but it's a real problem. As Kathy Ritchie writes in Dune and Gloom: "In and around Navajo communities such as Tuba City, Leupp, Chinle, Kayenta, Tolani Lake and Teesto, dune fields shift in the wind and can literally move across the landscape approximately 115 feet per year. However, in a turbulent windstorm, they can move as much as 3 feet in a day."

For Lester Williams a.k.a. "Chee Willie" — and the many other Navajos whose homes are being threatened, that kind of movement can be devastating. In Chee Willie's case, the same dune that swallowed his four previous homes now looms over his fifth. Kathy saw it firsthand and says it's about 20 feet high. The sand is one of the many things she saw in the 10 months she researched this powerful story, which wouldn't have been possible without the help of Leanna Begay, a wildlife technician for the Navajo Nation Department of Fish and Wildlife. Thank you, Leanna.

Fortunately, her home isn't being threatened by the sand, but her grandfather's is. The danger isn't imminent, but if something doesn't change, his home could eventually go the way of the Grand Canyon Inn. Let's hope not. Although the world can live without a swimming pool on the South Rim, Leanna's grandfather needs a roof over his head. And so does Chee Willie.

COMING IN NOVEMBER ...

Saguaros, poetry, peregrine falcons and a historic look at Grand Canyon National Park.