When we were visiting my mom in Nevada last month, one of the activities she arranged for us to do was to take a guided tour of Grimes Point Archaeological Area. Grimes Point lies about an hour an a half east of Carson City, near the town of Fallon. For much of the last 10,000 years, a lake existed in the area — making it an attractive place for native peoples to settle. Fluctuating water levels resulted in multiple distinct areas and layers of occupation. Today, the site sits sort of out in the middle of nowhere, with no sizable body of water in the immediate vicinity.

Petroglyphs

Grimes Point has two main draws: Hidden Cave and the Petroglyph Trail. Hidden Cave is only open a couple of times a month, so we’ll have to do that on another trip. The Petroglyph Trail is always open, but we had a special guided tour. I’ve seen petroglyphs in a number of places in Arizona and New Mexico, but never in as high a concentration as there is at Grimes Point. Just about every sizable rock had some sort of rock art on it, and many were practically covered. Some of the oldest petroglyphs (roughly 8,000 years old, I think) have been almost entirely reclaimed by the desert, and are only visible from certain vantage points or in certain light. (Most petroglyphs in the American Southwest are created by scraping the dark patina — known as ‘desert varnish’ — off of rocks. The ‘varnish’ is redeposited over time, meaning that the oldest glyphs are now almost the some color as the surrounding rock.)

Cupules

We saw quite a range of iconography and techniques. Some of the earliest carvings are deep snake-like grooves and little round depressions known as ‘cupules.’ Later work ranges from seemingly abstract geometric symbol and designs to things that are more obviously representational: animals, people, and the like. Some motifs are similar to glyphs at Petroglyph National Monument and others I’ve seen, but the style is completely different (as one would expect from different cultures living in similar but distant areas). One particular example is the spiral — a motif the seems to be pretty common across the southwest. Spirals I’d seen before have very thin lines, lots of rotations, and are quite compact. The one spiral we saw at Grimes Point was constructed from a very wide line that only makes two-and-a-half or three rotations.

I took lots of photos on our walk, many of them attempts to capture the same glyphs from different angles. I cut the collection down quite a bit, and posted 22 pictures in a gallery. Click any of the photos above to view the whole set.

This book is a collection of excerpts from the writings of pioneer archaeologists from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and early twentieth centuries. It includes such milestones as Schliemann’s excavations at Troy, Champollion’s deciphering of Egyptian hieroglyphs, Bingham’s discovery of Machu Picchu, and Carter’s opening of the tomb of Tutanhkamen. This is but a small sample of the more than sixty excerpts covering major archaeological discoveries in Europe, Asia, Africa, and South and Central America. The writings are fascinating for their main content, but also for what they reveal about the evolution from wealthy relic-hunting antiquarians to methodical, scientific, and scholarly archaeologists.

The style, quality of writing, and intended audience vary from piece to piece — some are quite easy to read and understand, while others are intended for scholars of a particular specialty and era. For the latter type, reference materials such as historical atlases are quite helpful. In many cases, there seem to have been maps, diagrams, or other illustratory material present in the original texts which have not been reproduced here. Ceram would have done well to either remove references to plates and figures, or to actually include those referenced in the excerpts. This editing misstep aside, I found this to be a fascinating — although at times difficult — read.

This account of the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamen was written following the first season of excavation by Howard Carter and his team. As a result, it is a snapshot of the processing of the tomb in progress; the contents of the entryway and antechamber have been cataloged, processed, and removed, but work has not yet begun on the annex, storeroom, or sepulchral hall. The mummy itself still lies within its stone sarcophagus, inside multiple levels of sealed shrines.

Carter’s account strikes a good balance between describing the beauty of the artifacts and explaining their historic and scientific significance. Similarly, he writes about his own conflicting feelings: the eagerness of discovery versus the methodical demands of science. Fortunately science wins in every case.

In addition to providing information about Tutankhamen’s tomb, Carter gives us a good picture of the state of archaeology in the early 20th century. He describes many of the techniques used for excavation, recording, cataloging, and preservation. He also talks about the relationships between him, his core staff, and the hired diggers. This was still the era in which locals were hired as grunts. The way they were treated and regarded would be regarded as racist today. However, Carter (by his own account) seems to have treated them fairly. He was also not the sort of archaeologist who sat in the shade with a cool drink, waiting for an important find. He — as well as his patron, Lord Carnarvon, when he was on site — was intimately involved in most of the dirty work.

Carter wrote two more volumes as his work on the tomb progressed. I’ll have to get my hands on them, and read about the rest of the tomb’s treasures, including Tutankhamen himself.

This weekend, I decided to go visit Mission San Luis. The site is only a couple of miles from the FSU campus, but I somehow hadn’t made it there before. Since the official Mission San Luis website seems to be completely dead at the moment, I shall provide a very brief history of the site:

1633: Spanish Franciscan friars come to live among the Apalachee people.
1647: Non-Christian Apalachee revolt, killing Spaniards and burning churches.
1656: The friars and Apalachee attatched to Mission San Luis move to what is now Tallahassee. San Luis becomes the provincial capital.
1704: Fearing raids by the British, the inhabitants of Mission San Luis burn the structures and flee.
1983: The site of Mission San Luis is purchased by the State of Florida. Archaeological research and site reconstruction begin.

The Mission site seems to be very well managed. The visitor’s center and museum, while small, is very well done. In addition to displaying and interpreting artifacts, there are excellent diagrams, reconstructions, and interpretations of the archaeological work itself. One cool thing is a set of sliding glass panes that let you overlay various stages of excavation — and the associated data — on a plan view of the site. There are also recreations of two dig units in profile (as if you were standing in the pit, looking at the wall), that show important features as well as some artifacts in situ.
The site itself is also quite impressive. Complete reconstructions have been done of the church, friary, Apalachee community house (above), and a small Spanish dwelling. The buildings are furnished and appointed based on contemporary accounts and records of what was removed from the original buildings before they were burned. Excavation of the small Spanish fort has recently been completed, and apparently reconstruction of that is in the works. There must be some good money coming in from private donors to fund all this work. Admission to the site is free, and I can’t imagine that the state funds it this well. I’d wanted to ask about funding at the visitor’s center, but it was closed by the time I thought of asking. I wish more archaeological sites could get this kind of support.

Guidonian Hand

I found something very interesting on one of the interior walls of the friary — the painted hand at right. Sadly, there was no accompanying explanation, and the visitor’s center was already closed when I discovered it. Each joint of the hand is assigned a number, and what appear to be solfege (do, re, mi, etc.) syllables. There are also little snippets of shape-note notation next to the hand. I’ve never encountered anything like this in my music studies. Can anyone (musicologists — hint, hint) tell me anything about this diagram?
Update: My dad identified this as a Guidonian hand, after Guido d’Arrezzo, an 11th century musician and teacher. I remember talking about Guido in music history, but have no recollection of this diagram. I’ll have to see if I can find an explanation somewhere. Also, I realized there’s no scale in the photograph — the hand is probably 4–5 feet tall.

•The Field Guide to Lake Monsters, Sea Serpents, and Other Mystery Denizens of the Deep
•The Field Guide To UFOs: A Classification Of Various Unidentified Aerial Phenomena Based On Eyewitness Accounts
•The Field Guide to Bigfoot, Yeti and Other Mystery Primates Worldwide
•The Field Guide to Ghost and Other Apparitions
•Swamp Gas Times: My Two Decades on the UFO Beat

That’s it. His credibility is gone. In my mind, he is now irrevocably assigned to the ranks of Erich von Daniken and Graham Hancock. These are the guys you see on the Discovery Channel espousing the notion that early civilizations (ie: ancient Egypt and various Mesoamerican cultures) couldn’t possibly have built their great temples and monuments without help from aliens or Atlanteans (who came from Mars, anyway). Every time I’m browsing the history section of a bookstore and I see one of their books, I’m overcome by a cold rage and the desire to create a separate “Crackpot” shelf for their benefit.
So, I’m going to finish the book, even if I scoff the whole way through it. I’ve never deliberately failed to finish a book. Besides, he can’t butcher Leif Ericsson and the Viking voyages to Newfoundland, can he? Can he?

Interesting both for the modern-day discovery of shipwrecks and the historical accounts of pirates. However, the two parts don't fit together extremely well. They are related, but only occasionally explicitly connected.