2/9/2010 5:22:00 PM
Tim's Cave: The tale of a continuing search for the past
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When they were young, Tim and Andy both had an interest in photography and often kidded one another that a particular picture one or the other had taken would end up in Arizona Highways. This photo, taken by Andy on the afternoon of the day he discovered Tim�s Cave was published, along with others, in the February 1992 edition. Photo by Andy Seagle
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Diagnosed with cystic fibrosis at a young age, Tim Seagle (left) fought the genetic flaw every day of his life, never letting it come between him and his brother Andy�s (right) searches for the lost world of the Sinagua.
Photo by Dr. Courtney Seagle |
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Andy Seagle's 32nd birthday was to be a special day.
Not only would it be his first helicopter ride -- his first opportunity to take aerial photographs in Sedona's scenic red rock country from something other than a fixed wing aircraft -- it would also be a chance to visit his happy place.
Ever since he was a child growing up in Tucson, Andy Seagle had spent his summers, spare weekends and just about any time he could catch a ride, searching for Indian ruins, from the air and on the ground.
For the first few years he made the trips with his dad, Dr. Joseph Seagle, and his older brother Tim. Later on, it was just Tim and Andy making the trip. Eventually it was just Andy.
Ever since he was in high school, Tim kept meticulous records of the ruins he and Andy discovered along with any and all artifacts they came across. For Tim, scouring the canyon walls, ravines and hilltops was an all-encompassing passion, not to mention death-defying struggle.
Eight years older than Andy, Tim was always the lead "archaeologist." Andy, although much younger, was the stronger of the two and the expedition's porter, lugging packs of supplies, cameras and whatever else Tim felt necessary for their daily searches.
Andy was the stronger because Tim had cystic fibrosis, a genetic disease that made his every breath an act of shear determination. As the two clamored about the red rock in search of ancient clues and forgotten treasure, Tim was slowly drowning in the thick mucus that filled his lungs.
Since he was 12 years old, Tim relied on chemistry as well as a machine to help clear his lungs each morning and night, so he might walk another day.
Undeterred by his genetic fatal flaw Tim enrolled at the University of Arizona where he began taking archaeology classes.
Then in the summer of 1969, Tim went to the Museum of Northern Arizona, where he had an opportunity to do some real archaeology with some real archaeologists.
One of those archaeologists was Peter Pilles, who would one day become one of the preeminent names in the study of the Sinagua, the mysterious people whose leftovers Tim had spent the last 10 years sifting through.
But in 1969, it was Tim Seagle who had the knowledge when it came to the sorting out the landscape in and around Sedona. On one trip he had the privilege of introducing Peter Pilles and another archaeologist the now famous Honanki ruin.
Andy and Tim continued making trips together when time allowed, traveling as far as Chaco Canyon, N.M., always searching for clues to the past.
In 1975, the trips the two took together came to and end. Tim lost his battle with cystic fibrosis.
The last trip the two made together was to put Tim's ashes in a place where the Sinagua could watch over -- beneath the first dwelling Tim discovered, a place he called simply Ruin Number 1.
For Andy, Tim's passing left an empty place in his life -- an empty place that was filled only by continuing the search he and his brother had begun.
In the years following Tim's death, Andy spent his spare time and money, first on foot and later hitching rides with any pilot who would fly him out across the landscape, for a bird's eye view.
He also moved to Phoenix, become a master audio recorder, working with such musicians as Paul McCartney, Tony Bennett and George Strait, and began hiking Squaw Peak almost daily.
On one of his 7,000-plus hikes up the peak he met Nancy Nenad, a kindred spirit when it came to the mysteries of the Arizona's historic and prehistoric cultures.
As they got to know one another, Andy shared his stories of Tim and their travels thorough the red rocks.
And he shared his desire to get a bird's eye view of the red rocks in something that was lower and slower than an airplane -- something that was more camera friendly -- like a helicopter.
On June 19, Andy's 32nd birthday, Nenad gave Andy a certificate, redeemable for a chartered helicopter ride.
On the morning of July 21, 1991, they and two other passengers left the Sedona Airport for a 45-minute excursion to photograph area ruins and visit Tim's ashes.
Transfixed by the experience, and not wanting it to end, Andy bought another 15 minutes near the end of the flight.
"We were having way too much fun," he says.
The helicopter was making a sweep around Loy Butte, when a relatively small hole in a shear rock face appeared. As the helicopter lined up with the opening the five people aboard stared for a second in awe, then began screaming into their headsets.
"We just happened to have been at the right height, flying close enough and slow enough. The second we saw it, we all knew what we were looking at," Andy says.
What they saw was a cave that had lain undisturbed since the Sinagua last used it some 750 years earlier. In it were four pots and two baskets, resting on the dusty floor, exactly where their previous owners had left them.
The pots were huge. One was three feet in diameter. The two smaller ones held nearly 20 gallons apiece. And one of the baskets was painted -- a find so unique for the Verde Valley, there is nothing to compare it with.
"It was magical," Andy says.
The Forest Service, on whose property the cave was located, was notified as soon as the helicopter landed back at Sedona Airport.
But regardless of the jurisdiction, Andy felt he had some ownership in the cave, that it was in fact a gift both from, and to, his brother Tim. He called the Forest Service and asked if he could come to the cave when the archaeologist first entered.
Little did he know that the man whose decision it was to let him come along was none other than Peter Pilles.
After explaining how it was he came to discover the cave, his travels with his brother and why he felt he had a right to view it up close, Pilles asked, "Was your brother's name Tim?"
A week or so later, Andy, Nenad and Pilles entered the cave.
After an afternoon spent photographing and mapping the cave floor Pilles told Andy that it was also necessary to assign a name or a number to the site, and if was all the same to Andy, Pilles thought it would be appropriate to call it Tim's Cave.
Andy couldn't have agreed more.
Today the pots and baskets are on display at the Museum of Northern Arizona, where Tim and Pilles first met. Pilles still works for the Coconino National Forest, Nenad remains a close friend and Andy is still trying to sort it all out.
"I'm still putting two and two together," he says. "I have tried to be logical and rational about it all. But that doesn't always work. Looking back it has seemed like it was Tim who was manipulating the discovery.
"Part of the magic of the experience is all the parallels. There is Tim and Peter's connection,
and the fact that the cave overlooks Honanki and the landscape on which Tim's ashes now rest.
"And there is the parallel I couldn't help drawing between Tim and the Sinagua. For Tim, everyday was a struggle to survive.
"I often wondered what went through Tim's mind. Did he think, "By God, if they can survive so can I." In the end, though, his world was not so different from theirs. They, too, died young."
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