Discover the serene beauty of Indian Canyon, where nature and culture intertwine on an enlightening pilgrimage through the desert landscape.
Contents:
Connecting with the Ancestral Past at Indian Canyon
Upon my descent into the Palm Springs airport, the striking contrast between the snow-covered peaks of the San Jacinto Mountains and the flat desert floor captivated me.
At the heart of this unique landscape lies Indian Canyon, a sacred oasis replete with palm trees, winding streams, and the occasional croaking of toads. This enclave serves as the enduring yet delicate core of the Agua Caliente Cahuilla Indian tribe, where I find myself embarking on a spiritual pilgrimage.
The trail map outlines Murray Canyon, classified as an easy two-hour hike leading to the Seven Sisters, a twelve-foot waterfall nestled within Indian Canyon. The path traverses a stream for one-and-a-half miles. Following a recent rainy season in Southern California, I faced the challenge of a two-foot water crossing. What would I do? Was there a fallen tree to bridge the gap? Alas, none appeared.
The trail crew, three men laboring nearby, observed my hesitation as I halted, wearing shorts and a tank top, clearly over-prepared for the muddy trek. They cheered me on, urging, “You’ve got this!” I plunged into the icy water, effectively soaking my shoes and socks.
Cleanse Herself
As I continued my pilgrimage through Indian Canyon, I recognized that such a journey necessitates sacrifice. My intention was to disconnect from the digital realm—cell phones, the Internet, and teleconferencing—and immerse myself in the rich sensory experiences of nature.
Today’s admission fee was wet feet and a resilient spirit, both of which I possessed in ample supply. Upon reaching the other side of the stream, I raised my arms and let out a victorious whoop, earning laughter from the trail crew.
Little did I anticipate that this was merely the first of ten water crossings I would encounter during my hike.
Earlier in the week, I had participated in Desert Modernism Week, celebrating Palm Springs during its atomic era in the 1950s and 60s. This period marked a time when the nation’s prosperity mirrored its vast opportunities—imagine a fusion of James Bond and the Jetsons. Palm Springs boasts the largest collection of mid-century modern architecture in the United States.
Luxury landmarks permeate the area: the Frey House, built into the hillside; the Tramway Gas Station, exemplifying modernist architecture; and the Twin Palms Estate, where Frank Sinatra famously hosted lively soirées.
I contemplated what motivated these visionaries to establish their legacies in the desert. These iconic structures and upscale residences demanded considerable resources to construct. What inspired them? What was the spark?
A Sense of Place
Lydia Kremer, owner of the public relations agency “Vortex,” drove me in her Lexus SUV back to the trendy Ace Hotel, where I was staying during my visit. I inquired about her favorite aspects of Palm Springs.
Her reply evoked a deep connection to the land: the people and community—the sense of place. “The spirituality of the mountains and desert—their harmony resonates with me,” she stated. “While many see the ocean as cleansing due to the negative ions it releases, the desert holds a similar allure for me.”
Eric Nash, an artist from the Desert Modernism movement whom I met at the Backstreet Art District, captures iconic California imagery, including the orange 76 gas station orb, a nostalgic homage to our enduring relationship with automobiles and oil.
Having relocated from Illinois a decade earlier, Eric finds inspiration in the openness, beauty, and tranquility of the desert landscape.
“The desert is dangerous,” he reflected, “akin to the ocean. It presents a striking contrast to the vast expanse. People often gravitate toward oceans, mountains, or deserts—I am drawn to the latter.”
At that moment, I was simply a hiker with drenched shoes, attuned to the vibrational energy of earth, sky, and water. The fragrant aroma of California sage lifted my spirits, prompting me to gather a handful.
Lizards Scatter in Indian Canyon
I observed small lizards dexterously navigating the granite rocks. Surrounded by honey mesquite, jimson weed, and yucca plants, I was embraced by the fragrance of sage, inspiring a pastoral vision of a solitary Cahuilla Indian medicine woman carrying a hand-woven basket. Her dusk-toned skin reflected wisdom, and her hands exhibited a discerning familiarity with healing plants.
Imagining her as my guide into the ancestral practices of her people, I sensed both her warmth and strength.
I asked for permission to gather sage. She considered my request and affirmed that it is indeed a part of my home as well—“Be gentle,” she advised.
From her satchel emerged a mortar and pestle, and she began grinding the aromatic leaves and stems of the sage. “This scent will evoke pleasant memories,” she shared, “though it is old, it carries value. Carry it with you on your journey.”
Vision Fades
As my vision faded, I noticed a couple approaching with a determined stride. The woman asked, “Is there a place in Palm Springs where I can get my hair cut?” In that moment, I yearned to share the herbal remedy I had just received. “Please, take some. It will soothe you.”
Instead, I reluctantly reentered the digital realm, retrieving my cell phone, pleased to find a signal. I called Lydia, the public relations professional who had driven me earlier, providing the woman with much-needed assistance—a different kind of healing.
“You know how women can get when their hair isn’t right,” the man accompanying her remarked with a wink as they departed. I continued my gentle uphill ascent toward the Seven Sisters waterfall.
Along the hike, towering California Fan Palms (Washingtona filifera) stood sentinel at intervals. Their elegant skirts rise to heights of 60 feet, enveloping me in a sense of security and protection, reminiscent of being a child in the company of grandparents.
Seven Sisters
I persevered until I finally reached the Seven Sisters waterfall. The flowing water mirrored my state of mind—fluid, graceful, and constant.
Finding a flat granite rock to recline upon, I gazed skyward as a jet left a contrail. The sound of rushing water interrupted my Zen moment, leaving the pulsating energy of life coursing through my being—earth and sky.
In that tranquil setting, nothing else existed. The moment engulfed me with a profound sense of release.
“Are you a local?” the tribal ranger inquired as I emerged from my two-hour hike, perspiration lining my brow and hair disobediently splaying beneath my visor. I turned my head, uncertain if he was addressing me. “Uh, no, I’m not from around here,” I responded with a hint of cheerfulness.
“You must have a twin,” he said with a smile, his keen eagle eyes crinkling in mirth as he hopped into his white Ford pickup and drove away. My heart raced with excitement as I caught another glimpse of my Indian mentor disappearing into the palm oasis.
Checking my backpack for the sage, I breathed a sigh of relief—still there. I inhaled its pungent aroma; the sweet scent awakened memories and visions of the past, merging my physical existence with the virtual world and contemplating my place within it.
