The 1909 Arizona Gazette article claiming an underground citadel beneath the Grand Canyon was a fabrication, yet its only accurate section—the Hopi emergence tradition describing how humanity emerged from an underworld through the Sipapuni—is a genuine cultural belief that has been documented by ethnographers for over a century and remains practiced today, demonstrating how a hoax can overshadow authentic cultural heritage.
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They Debunked the Canyon Cave for 100 Years — What the Hopi said was living underneath
Added:April 5th, 1909.
Phoenix, Arizona territory.
It is a Monday morning and the news boys are moving bundles of the Arizona Gazette onto street corners the way they do every morning. And nothing about the weight of the paper suggests that this particular edition will still be argued about more than a century later. The front page carries a headline in stacked capitals. Explorations in Grand Canyon.
Mysteries of immense rich cavern being brought to light. Below it, the story of a man named G. Concincaid who had found high in the sheer wall of the canyon the entrance to an underground citadel.
Tunnels running for hundreds of feet, chambers cut from solid rock, artifacts that did not belong on this continent.
And behind it all, the story said, the money and the men of the Smithsonian institution. Readers finished the article, folded the paper, and waited for the follow-up. There was no follow-up. Not the next morning, not that year, not ever. And a century later, when people finally began writing to the Smithsonian to ask about the two men named on that front page, the institution answered with something stranger than the story itself. It has no record that either man ever existed.
The newspaper is real. That is the first thing you need to hold on to because almost everything else in this story will be contested. The April 5th, 1909 edition of the Arizona Gazette survives on microfilm. You can order a scan of it today from the Arizona newspaper archives. You can read every word.
The article describes a mainland expedition financed by the Smithsonian and directed by a professor S. A. Jordan following up on a discovery made by an explorer named GE Concincaid who was traveling the Colorado River alone in a wooden boat. It describes an entrance nearly 1500 ft down the canyon wall, a long main passage with chambers branching off it like the spokes of a wheel. A stone idol seated cross-legged with a flower held in each hand. Copper implements hardened by some unknown process, urns, graneries, and rows of mummified remains wrapped in dark fabric. It estimates the complex could have sheltered 50,000 people. It presents all of this not as rumor, but as an active, funded federal scientific operation already underway. So, one of two things is true. Either a newspaper invented two men, a federal expedition, and an underground city out of nothing, printed it on its front page, and then never mentioned any of it again. Or something else happened. Hold that choice for now because the strangest thing about the article is not the cavern, and it is not the mummies, and it is not the vanished men. The strangest thing is the last few paragraphs, the part almost nobody reads, the part both the believers and the debunkers skip on their way to the fight. We will get there, but first you need to understand what the canyon already was, long before a Phoenix newspaper decided to put a city inside it. In 1882, the United States government published a scientific monograph about the Grand Canyon that reads, "In places like scripture." Its author was Clarence Dutton, a captain in the United States Army, a geologist with the newly formed United States Geological Survey, and a protetéé of John Wesley Powell, the one-armed veteran who had first run the Colorado River through the canyon 13 years earlier. Dutton was not a mystic. He was a career military scientist writing an official government survey, the tertiary history of the Grand Canyon District, monograph number two of the USGS. And when Dutton stood on the rim and tried to name the enormous isolated rock formations rising from the canyon floor, formations the size of mountains, he did not reach for the names of senators or generals or railroad men. The way American surveyors named everything else on the continent. He reached for gods.
He named one but Vishnu temple. He named another Shiva temple, Brahma temple, Zoroasta temple. He wrote that the butes resembled the great religious architecture of the east. that no other comparison was adequate to what he was looking at. And the government ctographers who came after him extended the tradition. Isis temple, Osiris Temple, the Tower of Rare Chaops Pyramid, Horus Temple. These are not fringe names. They are the official names printed on United States Geological Survey maps and they are printed on those maps today. Open the official map of Grand Canyon National Park on your phone right now and you will find the gods of Egypt and India scattered across northern Arizona in federal type face. 27 years before anyone claimed there was Egypt beneath the canyon, the United States government had already written Egypt on top of it.
But the government surveyors were late arrivals and they knew it. Roughly 80 mi east of the canyon rim on three high desert mesaes stand the villages of the Hopi. One of them, Aribe, has been continuously inhabited since around 1100 AD, which makes it one of the oldest continuously occupied settlements anywhere in North America. It was already 3 centuries old when Columbus sailed. It was already 6 centuries old when Dutton stood on the rim naming rocks after other people's gods. And the Hopi have always said something specific about the Grand Canyon. Not vague, not poetic, specific.
They say that humanity did not begin on the surface of this world. They say that before this world there was another and before that one others still. And that when the world before this one was destroyed, the people climbed upward out of the earth and emerged into the present world, the fourth world, through an opening. That opening has a name, the Seapuni, and it has an address. It is a real physical visitable place. A large travatine dome built up by a mineral spring on the floor of the gorge of the Little Colorado River, a few miles upstream from where the Little Colorado meets the main Colorado in the depths of the Grand Canyon.
To the Hopi, in other words, the idea that people once lived beneath the Grand Canyon was never a legend. It was geography. It was the location of the front door.
Sit with the structure of the tradition for a moment because it is not a campfire story. It is a cosmology with an architecture. The worlds before this one were not abandoned casually. In the tellings the hopey have chosen to make public. Each previous world was destroyed because the people living in it lost their way. And each destruction was survived by a remnant who were taken downward into the earth and kept there while the surface was unmade and remade.
The first world ended in fire, the second in ice, the third in water. And each time the survivors did not flee across the land, they went under it.
When the fourth world, this one, was finally ready. The people did not walk into it. They climbed into it upward through an opening in the earth, and the opening was in the canyon. The direction of human history in the Hopi account is vertical. We are not natives of the surface. We are immigrants from below and the port of entry has a street address in Arizona and they did not treat it as a memory to be filed away.
They kept going back.
For centuries, Hopy men made a ritual journey from the meases down into the canyon along a route called the salt trail. And if you have never stood at the head of that gorge, the word trail is doing generous work. The route drops thousands of feet through cliff bands of limestone and sandstone into the gorge of the little Colorado. A descent serious enough that modern hikers with modern gear treat it with fear.
Hopy men made it in sandals carrying offerings, moving through a sequence of named shrines and stations, each with its required observances to gather salt near the confluence and to visit the sepapuni itself. The salt was real salt carried home and used. But the journey was never about groceries. It was a return. a descent back toward the door conducted with the specific gravity of people visiting the place their whole species came from. The details of what is done and said at those stations the Hopi have deliberately kept private because in Hopi practice the deepest knowledge is not published. It is held.
The anthropologist Misha Titf of the University of Michigan, who lived at Aribe in the 1930s, documented the salt trail pilgrimage as a living institution, not folklore, a dangerous physical journey undertaken by real men in his own lifetime. Public tellings of the emergence tradition also described something else. Something worth sitting with. that during the destruction of earlier worlds, the people survived by being taken underground and sheltered there beneath the surface by beings the Hopi describe as the ant people until the world above was made livable again.
Sheltered underground between worlds beneath this exact landscape. And here is where the physical record starts to lean in the same direction as the tradition, which is not something anyone expected. In 1933, workers in the canyon began finding small objects in caves.
Figurines, each one made from a single willow twig, split down its length and folded with astonishing economy into the shape of a deer or a big horn sheep.
Some of them had been pierced through the body with a second tiny twig like a minccher spear. They were found in caves high in the red wool limestone. Caves that in some cases sit hundreds of feet up sheer cliff faces. caves that are genuinely difficult and dangerous to reach even with modern climbing equipment. And the caves held nothing else. No fire pits, no tools, no sleeping areas, no bones from meals.
Nobody ever lived in those caves. People climbed up to them at real risk to their lives, left the figurines, and climbed back down and did not return.
When the figurines were finally radiocarbon dated, the results came back between roughly 3 and 4,000 years old.
Robert C. Uler, who served as the research anthropologist for Grand Canyon National Park, excavated one of the richest of these sites, Stanton's Cave in 1969 and confirmed the pattern.
Ritual deposits sealed in darkness in places chosen precisely because they were nearly impossible to reach.
4,000 years ago, human beings were already treating the caves of the Grand Canyon as openings into something that deserved offerings. The cave excavated is worth pausing on because Stanton's cave turned out to be less a cave than a vault. Alongside the figurines, the excavation recovered the bones of Harrington's mountain goat, an ice age animal extinct for more than 10,000 years and driftwood carried into the cave mouth by floods of the Colorado so ancient that some of it returned radiocarbon results at the limits of what the method can measure. The cave had been collecting time layer on layer for tens of thousands of years. And somewhere in the middle of that stack four millennia ago, human beings began adding their own layer on purpose. Small animals folded from willow, some richly speared, placed in the dark. When the archaeology was finished, the park service welded a steel gate across the entrance. The stated reason was protection of the deposits and of an endangered bat colony that roosts inside. And both of those things are true. The cave is protected. It is also closed. Those are the same fact wearing two expressions. Now come back to 1909 because the timeline around that newspaper article matters more than the article itself. On March 12th, 1909, 3 weeks before the famous front page, the Arizona Gazette ran a short unremarkable item, reporting that an explorer named G. E. Kincaid had arrived in Yuma after traveling alone down the Colorado River in a small boat from Green River, Wyoming, and that he was carrying word of interesting archaeological discoveries. a setup piece, a seed. Then on April 5th, the full story, the entrance 1500 ft down the wall about 42 mi up river from the Altavar section of the canyon. The main passage running back into the rock. The cross-legged idol with the flower in each hand, which the article compares to Buddha, the copper weapons, the urns of unknown metal, the granaries still holding seeds, the mummies, the estimate of 50,000 inhabitants, the claim that Concaid had photographed everything because the article is careful to mention that he never traveled without his camera. The claim that Professor SA Jordan of the Smithsonian was now directing the work with federal funds.
the biographical flourish that Concaid was the first white child born in Idaho and had worked as a hunter and explorer for 30 years. And then silence, total immediate permanent silence. You have to understand what silence meant in the newspaper economy of 1909 to feel how strange this is. This was the era when a single sensational story was written for weeks, syndicated across the wire services, answered by rival papers, inflated by follow-ups, milked until the last copy sold. 2 years later, when a pair of local photographers named Emory and Ellsworth Cobb ran the Colorado with a motion picture camera. The coverage went on for months. In 1909, an underground city beneath the most famous chasm in America, excavated with federal money, should have been the story of the decade on every front page from San Francisco to New York. Instead, no other newspaper in the country picked it up, which in an America obsessed with archaeology and Egypt is itself remarkable. No photographs ever surfaced from a man the article insisted was never without his camera. The gazette itself never printed another word about the greatest discovery in the history of the continent, which it had just announced on its own front page.
Whatever the article was, its own publisher treated it from the morning after as if it had never run. And when decades later, researchers and curious readers began asking the Smithsonian Institution about the expedition, the answer came back flat and has never changed. The Smithsonian has no record of a GE concincaid, no record of an essay Jordan, no record of any expedition, no artifacts, and no evidence that Egyptian or oriental material of any kind has ever been found anywhere in the Americas. The institution received so many inquiries about that single 1909 article that it developed what amounts to a standard reply. Look at what else was happening in those exact years, though, because the article did not fall into an empty landscape. In 1906, Congress passed the Antiquities Act, which made it a federal crime to excavate or remove antiquities from government land without a federal permit. From that year forward, the only people who could legally dig anything out of the ground in a place like the Grand Canyon were credentialed institutions operating with government approval. In January 1908, 14 months before the article, Theodore Roosevelt used that same act to declare the Grand Canyon a national monument, placing the entire gorge under federal management.
In 1919, it became a national park. The stated reason was preservation, and the preservation was real. But the effect was jurisdiction. From that point on, every question about what is under the rim of the Grand Canyon has a single gatekeeper. which caves may be entered, by whom, with what permit, for what purpose? Today, the park estimates that the canyon contains more than a thousand caves. Roughly 335 have ever been recorded. A fraction of those have been mapped, and the number legally open to the public without a research permit is exactly one. Cave of the domes on Horseshoe Mesa, one cave out of a thousand. Everything else is closed for reasons the park states plainly.
protection of artifacts, protection of bat colonies, protection of visitors, reasonable reasons, and a boundary is a boundary regardless of the reason on the sign. Here is where I owe you the strongest version of the argument against everything this story seems to imply because it exists and it is good.
The 1909 article was almost certainly a hoax. Not possibly. Probably. This was the golden age of yellow journalism when newspapers routinely printed inventions to sell copies and frontier papers were the worst offenders. America was in the grip of Egyptomania decades before Tuton Kamoon. The article has no by line. Its geography is conveniently vague and it's one precise number 1500 ft down a sheer wall describes a location almost deliberately impossible to check. A Grand Canyon historian named Don Largo spent years pulling the story apart, tracing its language and its details, and concluded that it was a fabrication likely composed inside the newspaper itself, stitched together from the era's adventure fiction and from things any Arizona newspaper man would have known.
The Smithsonian's records from that era are extensive, and neither Concaid nor Jordan appears anywhere in them. No physical object from the cavern has ever surfaced in 117 years. If you force me to bet, I would bet that no reporter ever met a man named GE Concincaid because there was no man named GE Concincaid. I want to say that plainly because this niche is full of people who will not say it. The famous article is almost certainly fiction and it still does not close the case because the hoax explanation only covers the newspaper.
It does not cover the canyon. Go back to that front page and read all the way to the bottom. Past the copper weapons and the mummies to the final section, the part with the smallest headline, the part that gets left out of every screenshot. The article ends by turning away from Concaid entirely and recounting what it calls the legend of the Hopi. It tells its readers that the hopey hold that their ancestors once lived in an underworld beneath the Grand Canyon. That trouble arose between the good and the wicked in that world below and that the people climbed out of it into the world above. That is how the article closes. And here is the detail that reframes the entire century of argument that followed. Out of everything on that front page, the expedition, the professor, the citadel, the idol, the mummies, that closing section is the only part of the article that can be independently verified. And it checks. It is a rough, garbled, secondhand rendering, but it is recognizably the hopey emergence tradition, a tradition that predates the newspaper by many centuries, that was documented by ethnographers before and after 1909, and that is still practiced today. Whoever composed the hoax, and it was a hoax, built the lie on a foundation of someone else's truth. He reached for the one real thing available, the actual belief of an actual people about that actual place, and used it as the loadbearing wall of his invention. Both sides have been fighting over the wrong part of the page for 100 years. The believers defend the citadel, which was never real. The debunkers demolish the citadel, which was never real. And the last paragraphs, the only true thing on the page, get buried under the rubble every single time. And here is the twist inside the twist. The detail that reframes even the Smithsonian's famous denial. The Smithsonian says correctly that it has no record of Concaid, no record of Jordan, no record of a cavern. That the Smithsonian's archives are not silent about the Hopi underworld. They are full of it. John Wesley Powell, the man who first ran the Colorado through the canyon in 1869, went to the Opie Messes the following year in 1870, lived among the villages and wrote about what he saw and heard there, publishing his account of the ancient province of Tusan in the national press in 1875. And in 1879, Powell became the founding director of the Bureau of Ethnology, the federal office charged with documenting the native peoples of the continent, housed inside and reporting to the Smithsonian Institution. For the next several decades, Smithsonian ethnologists, most exhaustively Jesse Walter Fuches, sat with Hopi priests and recorded their ceremonies, their clan migrations, and their emergence tradition and printed those records in the Bureau of American Ethnologies annual reports, which are official Smithsonian publications and which you can read today. Follow the shape of that. The institution's form letter, technically accurate, says, "We have no record of anyone finding an underworld beneath the Grand Canyon."
The institution's own shelves, meanwhile, hold decades of testimony, collected by its own first ethnologist and his successors from a people stating that they came out of one. The false part of the 1909 article appears nowhere in the Smithsonian's records. The true part appears in the Smithsonian's records over and over under its own imprint, gathering dust in the same building that mails out the denial.
Nobody is lying in that arrangement.
That is what makes it worth staring at.
Every individual statement is accurate and the total effect is 100 years of everyone looking at the wrong thing. Now stack up what remains standing once the hoax is cleared away because it is more than you would expect. The names on the official government maps is Osiris, Shiva, Ra, placed there by federal scientists decades before the article because the rock itself made them think of temples. The Hopi tradition, older than all of it, that locates the emergence of humanity at a specific spring in a specific gorge inside the canyon. The salt trail pilgrimage documented by university anthropologists as a living practice, carrying hopey men down into that gorge generation after generation. The split twig figurines 3 to 4 thousand years old sealed by human hands into nearly unreachable canyon caves that were never lived in only visited only given offerings as though the caves themselves were the point. A thousand caves 335 recorded one open to you and the Cippapuni itself which you cannot visit. The Travatine Dome sits on Navajo Nation land in an area closed to casual visitation and the Hopi have asked that it not be treated as a destination. In 2017, when developers proposed a tramway called the Escalade to carry 10,000 tourists a day down to the confluence of the two rivers, steps from the most sacred landscape in the Hopy world, the project was fought and killed insignificant part because of what that place is. Whatever you make of any single item on this list, the composite is not nothing. The composite is a canyon whose underworld has been treated as significant by somebody more or less continuously for 4,000 years and which is now almost entirely off limits.
There is one more piece and I hesitated over it because at first it felt like a cheap shot. The standard reply, the one the Smithsonian sends to everyone who asks about 1909, rests on a simple foundation. Our records are complete and the records show nothing. And for most of my life, I would have accepted that foundation without a second thought.
Then in 2023, The Washington Post published a long investigation into the Smithsonian's own historical collecting practices centered on a physical anthropology division founded in 1903 by a curator named Alish Hud Lichka, 6 years before the Gazette article. What that investigation and the Smithsonian's own subsequent reckoning laid out and what the institution's leadership publicly apologized for was this. Across the 20th century, the Smithsonian amassed one of the largest collections of human remains on Earth.
More than 30,000 individuals, the majority of them Native American, most taken without consent, and critically acquired with documentation so poor that the institution itself has admitted it cannot fully account for how much of the collection came into its possession. I am not telling you the Smithsonian is hiding a citadel. I do not believe that, and there is no evidence for it. I'm telling you something narrower and better supported. The institution whose form letter is treated as the final word on what was ever taken from the ground in the American Southwest is the same institution that has now conceded in public that its own records of what it took from the ground in that era are incomplete. The denial may well be true, but it is not the bedrock it is presented as. It is testimony from a witness with a documented records problem about the exact period when the records were at their worst. I almost cut that section. What stopped me was the dates. Herdichka arrives at the Smithsonian in 1903. The Antiquities Act, which hands institutions like his the exclusive legal right to excavate federal land, passes in 1906. The canyon comes under federal control in 1908. The article runs in 1909. I am not claiming those dates connect. I am observing that they sit in a row and that every serious question about that row is answered forever by pointing at a hoax. And there was one more moment that would not leave me alone. In 1937, the American Museum of Natural History sent a real expedition into the canyon. And this one is fully documented. Its target was Shiver Temple, one of Dutton's great isolated butes, a flat topped mountain cut off from both rims for thousands of years. The expedition was led by Harold Anthony, the museum's curator of mammalogy, and the press coverage beforehand speculated in respectable newspapers that the summit might hold species sealed off since the ice age, a lost world in the middle of Arizona. It did not. Anthony found ordinary deer sign and ordinary rodents. And according to canyon law, evidence that Emory Cobb, the local photographer the expedition had snubbed, had quietly climbed the but first and left souvenirs on the summit for the scientist to find. The lost world of Shiva Temple was a bust and a punchline. But hold the year in your mind. In 1937, within living memory, the question was mainstream enough that America's premier natural history museum climbed a rock to check. The idea that the Grand Canyon could still be hiding something was not a fringe idea. It was a headline, a funded expedition, a curator on a rope. The fringe is not where the question started. The fringe is where the question was sent. That is the pattern. And once you see it, you cannot unsee it. A spectacular lie gets attached to a quiet truth. The lie is loud and colorful and eventually inevitably debunked. And when it collapses, it takes the quiet truth down with it, buries it in the same rubble.
So thoroughly that even mentioning the truth afterwards sounds like mentioning the lie. That is what 1909 did to the Grand Canyon. For over a century, every question about what is beneath that landscape, every question about the closed caves, the 4,000-year-old offerings, the names on the federal maps, the pilgrimage that never stopped gets filed instantly under the mummies and the copper swords. Ask about the canyon's underworld in any serious room and watch the faces change because everyone in the room has heard of the hoax and no one in the room has heard of the sipper puni. Nobody had to plan that. Nobody had to suppress anything.
The debunk does the work by itself forever for free. The park gets a tidy story. The institution gets a form letter. The press gets an easy article about internet gullibility once a year every year. And the one group of people with an actual documented ancient claim about what was living beneath the Grand Canyon, the only claim on the table that was never debunked because it was never false, gets the strangest outcome of all. The hope he gets silence, which may in a bitter way be the only thing the hoax ever gave anyone worth keeping.
Because the silence keeps the crowds away from the places the hope he never wanted crowded. You have probably stood on that rim. 6 million people a year do.
You looked down into it and felt the thing everyone feels. the sense that the scale is wrong, that the place is somehow indifferent to you, and then you took the photograph and got back in the car. And here is what you were actually standing on top of, whether you knew it or not. Beneath your feet, somewhere in the mile of rock between you and the river, were caves nobody has entered in 4,000 years, still holding whatever was left in them. Off to the east, upper side gorge you cannot see from any overlook, was a dome of pale stone that 80 generations of Hopi have treated as the birthplace of the human race. On the map in your pocket, the bees below you carried the names of Egyptian gods put there by your own government scientists, and you never once wondered why. The canyon you photographed is the top layer of a place whose bottom layers were declared settled a century ago on the strength of debunking a story that was never the real story.
Next time, before you take the photograph, open the official map. Look at the names your own government printed across the canyon floor. Isis Temple, the Tower of Ra. Ask yourself why a 19th century army geologist stood at the edge of a hole in Arizona, and could only describe what he saw in the language of temples. Then find the thin blue line of the little Colorado coming in from the east and understand that a few miles up that gorge there is a dome of pale mineral stone beside the water that one of the oldest continuous cultures in North America identifies precisely and without embarrassment as the place where human beings entered this world. You cannot go there. That is probably right.
But you were never told it existed. And that is the part worth sitting with.
Whoever wrote the front page of the Arizona Gazette on April 5th, 1909 was never identified. No by line, no confession, no memoir. He invented an explorer, a professor, and a city. And then he did the one thing no one has ever explained. He ended his fiction with someone else's scripture. Of everything on that page, he chose to close with the hopy, with the underworld, with the emergence. the only passage a fact checker could ever verify and the only passage no one ever bothered to. Why? Why does a man building a lie reach for the truth to finish it? Why do the official maps still carry the names of gods? Why do the caves still give up willow twig animals 4,000 years old, pierced with tiny spears, sealed in the dark by people who climbed down and never came back? Why is the one part of the most debunked story in Arizona history? The part that was never the newspapers to tell. The Hopi never needed the article.
They had the trail. They walked it before the paper existed. They walked it while the hoax was being types set. And they walk it now down into the gorge to the salt to the dome beside the water, leaving what is meant to be left, saying what is not meant to be repeated. For everyone else, the underworld beneath the Grand Canyon is a hundred-year-old joke. For them, it is the address of the beginning. Because when you finally ask the question in the title, what the hope he said was living beneath the Grand Canyon, the answer was never mummies.
And it was never Egypt. It was us. All of us. That is where they say we came from. And in 117 years of shouting about that canyon, nobody ever asked them the only question that mattered. Not who was living down there.
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