In the late 1980s, Luke Laeser and I began collecting information, stories and even perceptions about climbing on the Navajo Reservation. We were surprised by what we learned.

Shiprock

My first experience on Navajolands had been photographing Shiprock in 1989. A young Navajo in a Thriftway, the local convenience store, told me it was no problem camping out near the enormous stone. He even said I could climb the spire if I wanted, noting that several climbers had been spotted on the tower that day. I bought a can of beans and said,"No thanks." After all, I didn't have a partner. I didn't think any Navajo could offer me the use of land like that, but I wasn't sure. I returned to my campsite and quietly went to bed, but I didn't sleep a wink.

Testing the Waters

Over the next few years, Luke and I made a handful of non-climbing visits to the reservation (as well as one climbing trip). In general, none of the Navajos whom Luke and I talked to minded us visiting the reservation and recreating. Recreating tourists are the least of their problems.

In 1992, we made an automobile tour of the reservation and stopped in Todilto Park, near Window Rock. We stopped the car for a few minutes to admire Venus Needle, one of the better known towers of the desert. Luke Laeser and I knew—at least we thought we knew—that climbing was "off-limits" on the reservation. So, when a Navajo gentleman who lived at the base of the tower asked us from his front porch if we'd like to climb the shaft, we nearly flipped. The man's name—we later learned—was Leo Watchman. He died in 1993. He had been a highly respected Navajo politician and was the former director of the Navajo Health Care Services. He lived in Todilto Wash and his family held the "grazing permit" to the area.

Watchman told us he could let us do the climb. More importantly, the Watchmans were simply happy that we'd talked to them. Many climbers had come to their land over the years, ignored them and climbed the tower. No polite "hellos." No "may Iotas. Not even a thank you—just a lot of climbers showing how rude they could be. Leo and his son, Leo Jr., also explained how tribal lands were set up, and that climbing was OK if climbers got the local landowners' permission.

Before long, Luke and I had completed a new route on Venus Needle (A4J, 1993, page 153), staying in one of the Watchmans' houses and parking our two cars in the family compound.

Even though Leo Watchman was high up in the government and well respected by his people, I decided to call around and find out if what we had been told was correct. In an interview Nathaniel Boyd, a right-of-way agent with the Navajo Tribal Parks and Recreation Department, told me that while climbing is prohibited in certain places, such as Canyon de Chelly and Monument Valley, it is not prohibited elsewhere. If a person is interested in visiting the reservation for climbing, Boyd recommended the official route, which is to ask for permission from the grazing-permit holders wherever the climbing objective is located, exactly what the Watchmans had told us. "A permittee," said Boyd, "has domain over that land and is the person to ask for permission when seeking a climbing objective."

After that, Luke and I went all over the reservation. We asked for and won permission from grazing-permit holders to climb a spectrum of virgin towers, including The Tombstone, an untouched pinnacle as tall as Moses Tower in Canyonlands National Park (AAJ, 1994, pages 61-3).