It was our second attempt. Our first try in 2004 failed. We had started our campaign too late, and I couldn’t take the heat. I knew I was losing the battle after the first half-hour. Sheer determination carried me all the way – to the bottom. It was only another quarter mile to White House Ruins, but it might as well have been a thousand. The Arizona sun had defeated me. Emptying the remains of a bottle of water over my head, I fought my way back to the top of the canyon.

This year we planned better. We setup our headquarters and slept in Chinle, just a few minutes away from Canyon de Chelly and the White House Ruins Trailhead. As the sun climbed above the horizon, our feet were already climbing down the steep path. This time we would taste victory.

We weren’t the first ones into the canyon that day. A family was just emerging from the depths as we began our descent. Switchbacks over slickrock led down the side of the cliff. Several benches along the way tempted me, but the cliff faced due East. My opponent was already focusing light and heat directly on our path.

Memories of our earlier attempt came back to me as we passed points on the trail. The tunnel at the beginning with the cool breeze that deceptively gave me false hopes of success. A large rock that cast a shadow where I vainly tried to squeeze into the minimal shade. Photo ops that went unappreciated because my brain was too cooked to comprehend their beauty. Lastly, the only shaded bench. It sat under a tree and marked the end of my futile efforts.

This trip was different. I passed these markers with energy in reserve. Halfway down, a young Navajo passed us on the trail.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

I managed to get out a short answer as he swept past.

He called back over his shoulder, "I’m from across the street."

He quickly disappeared down the trail. Probably just acclimated to the altitude I thought. Although my steps were not as springy as his were, my plodding was still steady.

The trail flattened out and became easier on the canyon floor. The walls provided welcome shade and cooler air. This time we reached our goal. Just like the one in Washington, this White House was surrounded by a fence to keep people out. The cliff dwellings were built by a people that the Navajo call the Anasazi, which means Ancient Ones. I could see why they picked this spot for their settlement. There was water, fertile soil, and the protection of the cliff walls. It also had cool air. They may not have held that last benefit as a high priority, but I would have found it essential.

Our friend on the trail had arrived before us and setup a display of his artwork. He showed us pictographs painted on small slabs of stone. We purchased one, a picture of the ruins, to take home as a trophy of our success. The memory was personalized by his signature on the back, Calvin Bia.

We didn’t stay long. Back on the trail I knew the heat was intensifying as the morning faded. I had won this time, but the Arizona sun was not a forgiving opponent.

The trip back to the top was strenuous, but satisfying. We celebrated with a root beer float in Chinle. The pictograph trophy is proudly displayed on our library shelf.