A legend says the people emerged through a hole
in the Mother Earth.
It is the place of beginning.
It calls and we must come.
Zion Canyon is the center of a mustic land
created by the gods with water, wind and time.
They carve their treasures from the stones laid down
across a million years.
They are called "Anasazi," but that was not their name.
They are "Hi-Sat-Si-Nom," the Acient Ones.
They came here near the time of Christ
and stayed a thousand years.
They came from the south across the great sea
emerging at last to the realms of living earth.
Oh, Great Spirit, whose breath gives life to all creation
hear my words.
With a token of mother corn
I ask your blessings come to me.
Giver of life, Earth Maker, look at me.
Let the rays of sun strike my skin and make me clean.
Bless my path in the circle of life.
Lead me to the center of the sacred hoop
the place of our beginning...
the womb of the Earth Mother.
The Anasazi flourished here 1,200 years.
Then suddenly, they were gone.
They abandoned their homes of wood and earth and stone.
Was it drought or fear or invaders from beyond?
We do not know.
The time of the changing had come.
By the late 17th century
the Spanish had invaded the mystic land
claimed her treasures and conquered the native people.
Ah, rapido, Indios, rapido!
Muevele, muevele!
Todo el dia- muevele, muevele!
Ay, Dios mio...
His Holiness, the Pope, entreats us to attend
the heathen with kindness, but gold has become God.
I came to save souls from hell
but I fear hell has ascended upon us.
It is an ill wind that parches our souls in this forsaken land.
In the summer of 1680
an Indian holy man inspired the most remarkable revolt
in the history of the native Southwest.
His name was Po'pay.
His runners carried knotted strings of yucca fiber
to the people in the Spanish mines.
Untying a single knot each day
Pueblo slaves counted the time
until they turned on their oppressors.
For 200 years, the land remained unknown to the outside world.
Only the people knew that Earth Maker had placed quardians
to protect the sacred treasures.
It was a place of prayer and visions
a place of beginning
a place of the spitits.
Today you have met Kai-ne-sava.
He has played a trick on you.
He is fond of pranks.
He lives in the canyon of the spirits.
We cannot see them.
We know them only by the signs they give us.
The owl reminds us that death is lurking near.
This is also the realm of Wai-no-pits, the evil one.
He too plays tricks and can destroy us.
Hidden at the heart of this land
is a place the Indians call "I-u-goon."
It is near the place of beginning.
Nephi Johnson was the first white man to explore
the unknown realms of the upper Virgin River.
He was a Mormon missionary, living among the Paiute Indians.
It is September, 1858.
Brigham Young sent me to explore
the source of the Pa'rus River, east of Timpopweap Canyon.
It is a strange and remarkable place.
Stone towers stand in council like ancient patriarchs.
Monolithic temples, with altars and thrones
rise through the clouds like shrines to the drvine.
The Paiutes have warned me the unknown canyon
is the domain of Sinawava and supernatural spirits.
I am awed by the majesty of God's creation.
I was told the Indians are afrid of this place
but it is I who find myself unwilling to challenge
the probability of their superstition.
The Mormons gave the canyon a new name.
They call it "Zion"
the place of peace, harmony and devotion to God.
In the fall of 1912, an Indian guide named To-ah-keem
brought Turvey' Danose
to the unexplored realms of Zion Canyon.
In a way, Danose personified the photographers
naturalists and explorers who would follow.
I was headed for Santa Fe when I heard about this place.
I discounted the exaggerated claims.
In truth, they were too modest.
Nothing prepared me for what I found.
It is a journey through time.
The entire history of the earth is written
in poetry of rock and stone.
I came to take photographs
but I am haunted by a curious legend of a sacred cave
and hidden treasures in a place they call
"the center of the Earth."
I can neither describe nor capture the splendor
of this creation.
We move in a world of colors that defy imagination.
I am awed by the grandeur of this place.
My eyes are assaulted at every turn
but expectation tortures my imagination.
what if the legend is true?
Are there places yet unknown?
Is there a sacred center of the Earth?
To-Ah-Keem has agreed to guide me to the deep recesses
of the inner canyons.
I am certain he knows more than he's willing to tell.
Only after great persuasion does he agree to take me
where no white man has gone before.
To-Ah-Keem!
All of the photographs were lost.
Turvey' Danose never returned to Zion Canyon.
He died in obscurity.
Nancy: The canyon calls to us-
it's hard to explain-
like a voice in the wind.
Doug and I come often.
Climbing here is dangerous.
The rock is soft and unpredictable.
But there is something-
the scale of the cliffs, the majesty of the rock-
it's just irresistible.
In spite of the risk and the danger
we are drawn again and again to the heart of this land.
To the geologist
Zion Canyon is a "curious formation
"etched by natural forces
in layers of Mesozoic sediment."
To the native people
it is a creation of the Great Spirit.
Science describes the process of erosion
by water, wind and time.
A legend says the earth was created
when the sky was shattered by the light.
No one can escape the display of geoglogic history
nor can they resist the spiritual power of this place.
Geology interprets what we find here
but it cannot explain our feelings.
Science gives us answers
but meaning must come from our hearts.
Amidst these treasured temples, time does not exist
and for a fleeting instant here, we touch eternity.
We are awed by the patient process of creation
and the endless forces of nature.
But who can behold these treasures
and not see the hand of God?
Come on, guys, come on!
Come on! Come on!
Boo!
What is it?
Wait for me.
Come on, you guys, come on!
Come on.
Drop it there, son. Let's go.