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Desert labyrinth: Lines, landscape and meaning at Nazca, Peru

Article  in  Antiquity · December 2012

DOI: 10.1017/S0003598X00048298

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Desert labyrinth: lines, landscape and
meaning at Nazca, Peru
Clive Ruggles1 & Nicholas J. Saunders2

The shapes drawn out by the famous Nazca

lines in the Peruvian desert are at their most
evident from the air—giving rise to some
famously fantastic theories about their origin.
The new understanding offered here is the
result of a piece of straightforward brilliance
on the part of our authors: get down on the
ground, where the original users were, and see
where your feet lead you. Using stratigraphic
and taphonomic reasoning to decide which
lines were contemporary, they discover an
itinerary so complex they can justify calling
it a labyrinth, and see it as serving ceremonial
progressions.

Keywords: Peru, Nasca, Nazca, first millennium AD, geoglyphs, landscape

Introduction
Landscapes are concepts as well as physical places. As we move through them we engage
our social and cultural precepts, inventing and elaborating, emphasising or disregarding
natural features, and bestowing ever-changing meanings on the arbitrary configurations
of significance that we perceive. Topography becomes toponymy, reflected in, and
acknowledged by, a layering of material traces. Few places epitomise these processes in
a more palpable—or a more contentious—way than the desert of coastal southern Peru.
The Nazca pampa, 220km2 in extent, is one of many arid desert plateaux that separate
the habitable river valleys of the region. The part known as the Pampa de San José is famous
for its palimpsest of pre-Columbian geoglyphs (lines, geometric designs, and zoomorphic
figures). In fact, geoglyphs extend over the entire Nazca pampa, making it a unique example
of the social construction of landscape, and of landscape as ongoing social process. Yet
its status as an icon of international cultural heritage (Dı́az Arriola 2000) is matched by
its nature as one of the world’s most fragile archaeological landscapes, and exacerbated
by endless speculation on the origins and purpose of its enigmatic desert markings. Tensions
between investigation, preservation, development and tourism, existing since the 1970s,
1
School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester LE1 7RH, UK
2
Department of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of Bristol, 43 Woodland Road, Bristol BS8 1UU, UK

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resulted in access to the pampa being restricted, and also help to explain an almost 20-year
absence of in situ investigations after the mid-1980s.
The geoglyphs are primarily associated with the Nasca culture (c. 100 BC–c. AD 700) and
were produced, broadly speaking, by picking up or sweeping aside the oxide-darkened desert

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pavement of small stones to reveal lighter, sandy soil beneath (Silverman & Proulx 2002:
172). The theories that have attempted to explain these designs on the desert are a roll call of
shifting twentieth-century obsessions, von Däniken’s (1969) supposed alien landing strips
being by far the most notorious example, albeit globally influential in heightening public
awareness. Reiche’s (1968) astronomical-calendrical interpretation remains a dominant
public narrative at local and national levels within Peru. More reasoned interpretations,
grounded in Andean material culture and world-view, postulate connections to water and
irrigation, walking, ceremonial activity, ritual clearing, kinship, and concepts of radiality, as
well as astronomy in limited measure (Reinhard 1987; Aveni 1990, 2000; Rodrı́guez 1999;
Johnson et al. 2002).
Clusters of hill-top geoglyphs in the nearby Palpa valley area, north of the Nazca desert,
have recently been mapped from the air (Sauerbier 2009; see also Arnold 2009) and,
significantly, investigated on the ground using a range of archaeological techniques (Lambers
2006; Reindel et al. 2006). This important advance has tied Palpa’s geoglyphs to material
culture (Reindel & Wagner 2009), and revealed both to be typically Nasca, and thus coeval
with the almost identical, though larger-scale and more densely-packed, desert designs of
the Nazca pampa.
Our investigations seek to explain this scale and density. While we acknowledge in general
terms that the Nazca geoglyphs were in some way a vivification of indigenous concepts of
obligation to create and maintain ritual and social space (Silverman 1990a: 451–52; Urton
1990), we have not followed exclusively any prior theory. Instead, we adopted two distinct
yet complementary approaches—one sensorial, the other technological.
Reconnaissance began in 2004, and established an 80km2 study area towards the south
and west of the Nazca pampa bordering the valley of the Nazca River, where the ceremonial
site of Cahuachi is located (Silverman 1993; Orefici 2009a). Over a period of five years from
2007 we conducted an intensive and systematic investigation of the geoglyphs in this area,
south of the most sensitive parts of the Pampa de San José but still a fragile landscape with
restricted access.
As Nazca’s desert drawings were created and used by people who walked on and had
an intimate relationship with the pampa, we attempted to develop our own equally haptic
(tactile) familiarity with the landscape in order to appreciate the physical and perceptual
relationships that may have influenced geoglyph production, use, and abandonment. The
authors have spent more than 150 days in the study area walking over 1500km in the
process. To make scientific sense of our subjective experiences, we gathered and analysed
data on the physical structure of the geoglyphs and their cultural and environmental context,
following well-established practice pioneered by investigators such as Clarkson (1990). In
short, we combined an experiential mode of inquiry with satellite digital mapping and a
detailed scientific examination of the material evidence.
During the first fieldwork season we relocated a remarkable and previously unreported
desert drawing, initially encountered by CR in 1984 and still undocumented. This provided

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83
670
a

17
83
668

LC48
83
666

83
664
LC51
e

83
662

83
660
d

x
83
658 a

83
656 c

83
654
LC53
874
872
868
864
862

866

870

876
860

4
4
4
4
4

4
4

Figure 1. The labyrinth in context: features in the wider landscape and covering a broader chronology. All mapped geoglyph
features are shown, but footpaths are omitted for clarity. Dots mark rows of small stone piles. Lighter lines indicate the sides
of washes. Drawing: Deborah Miles-Williams.

some unique insights into the placement of geoglyphs in the landscape, and their design
and intended use. In this paper, we focus upon this design and its broader implications for
understanding the human use of the Nazca pampa and the cultural significance of its desert
markings.

Experiencing the unexpected: a labyrinth recognised

Line Centre 51 (LC51; Figure 1) is one of a cluster of nine ‘line centres’—prominent points
in the landscape from which many linear geoglyphs radiate—noted by Aveni (1990: 48,
68–69). It is situated at 486736 8366376 and elevation 416m, about 4km north of the

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83
668

17

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83
666

18 6 B
16
V
83 E
664 C
A
R
W

O
8
e
83 X
662
866
864

870
868

872
4
4

4
4

4
Figure 2. Plan of the ‘LC51 labyrinth’ showing washes. Drawing: Deborah Miles-Williams.

Nazca River valley and almost directly across the valley from Cahuachi. However, LC51 is
anomalous. It has only one narrow radiating line, to the south, plus a triple line—one wide
line flanked by two narrower ones—extending to the NW.
On 5 June 1984, while investigating LC51 as part of a statistical investigation of radial
line azimuths (Ruggles 1990), CR began walking the central line of the triplet to the NW
out from the centre, and in doing so began what might be described as a personal rite of
passage. This central line (A in Figure 2), narrowing steadily from some 5.5m wide at the
start (O), reaches a point 230m to the NW beyond which a 40m-long section has been
completely washed away. However, the very end of the line—now only 1.1m wide—just
survives beyond the far side of the wash (B). Here it turns two right-angled corners to the
left and then returns as the parallel line on the SW side (C). Following this line revealed that
it does in fact turn left again at its SE end, passing directly in front of the start of the wide
line (see Figure 3) and then turning again to form the other parallel line on the NE side (E).
Continuing to follow the line, a succession of sharp corners was encountered, each of
which suddenly revealed a further straight segment heading off in a new and unexpected
direction. Ever-longer segments led progressively further away from the central focal point
and then back again tantalisingly close. After 15 such corners came a unique feature: a tight
curve (16). Beyond this were three long straight segments which, breaking the ‘out and

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Figure 3. The view northwards from the central mound O. Wide line A can be seen stretching off to the left, with a narrow
segment (D) passing directly in front. Photograph: Clive Ruggles.

back’ rhythm, swept out beyond and around the remainder of the figure before revealing
the final unanticipated element. After suddenly narrowing down to a mere 0.5m in
width, the path transforms into a tight spiral (X), winding into the centre and out again and
leaving the walker, after traversing a little over 4.4km, just 60m from the original starting
point (see also Figure 4). The plans in Figures 1 and 2 are based upon survey data collected
in 2007. Tables 1a and 1b list the basic data on length and orientations.

Discussion
The term ‘labyrinth’—in the sense of a single path leading to and from a centre, constantly
disorientating the walker along the way, as opposed to a branching maze with choices of
path and direction (Kern 1982: 13; Aveni 2000: 220)—seems wholly appropriate here. The
labyrinth was clearly designed as an integral whole. It was evidently built with great care
and consistency, every part constructed with a level surface of small stones and a regular
bank of larger stones on each side. The width remains a constant 1.1m throughout, apart
from where it widens out on approach to the central focal point (O) at one end and narrows
through the spiral (X) at the other. All the segments are straight apart from V–W, which has
a slight kink, suggesting perhaps that the final corner (18) and spiral (X) were built before
being joined together. The whole figure is situated on relatively flat ground between 414 and
418m in elevation, the only significant undulations being two low mounds, one that forms
the focal point (O) and the other at the turning points of the inner paths to the north-west

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Figure 4. Aerial view of the central and SW part of the labyrinth, showing the central mound O and paths A, C and E
extending to the WNW; the spiral X; segments G, H and J passing ‘behind’ (to the south of ) the central mound; and access
path e extending away to the south. Photograph: Clive Ruggles.

(B, 5, 6). As a result, the labyrinth as an entity is invisible, and therefore ‘hidden’, in the
landscape.
Yet its overall design is asymmetric and, as viewed ‘externally’, is completely unaesthetic—
at least to Western sensibilities. It is certainly not representational in any obvious sense, and
does not correspond to any motif known from Nasca iconography (Proulx 2006). A ‘bird’s
eye’ view, such as Figure 2, is therefore useless for understanding the meaning of the design;
a sense of participating in a meaningful activity only emerges by walking. The design itself
directs the walking experience, while the structure (i.e. the width of the path and the nature
of the surface) shapes that experience for the mind and body (e.g. Ingold 2004: 321).
Was the labyrinth unique? Probably not. Nevertheless, it is clearly unusual: within the
immediate surrounding area of several square kilometres, where narrow lines and paths
are typically between 0.4 and 0.7m in width, wider lines and trapezoids are several metres
wide at least, and we have found no other curves or spirals. Fragments of comparable line
segments are, however, found in an area some 700m to the south (around x in Figure 1),
which indicates the likely existence of a similar construction or constructions, now almost
unrecognisable. This emphasises how fortunate it is that the integrity of the LC51 labyrinth
has not been compromised. All but one of the corners survive, including the unique curved
corner 16, despite the fact that over 10 per cent of the figure has been washed away. The
original position of corner 18 can easily be deduced from the two straight path segments
leading up to it.

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Table 1a. ‘LC51 labyrinth’ basic data: corners.

Location
Elevation
Point E N (m asl)

Central terminal 486732 8366385 417

Corner 1 486563 8366595 419
Corner 2 486558 8366588 419
Corner 3 486724 8366376 418
Corner 4 486742 8366392 418
Corner 5 486563 8366607 419
Corner 6 486540 8366586 418
Corner 7 486717 8366329 416
Corner 8 486787 8366361 417
Corner 9 486626 8366678 420
Corner 10 486636 8366688 420
Corner 11 486789 8366414 417
Corner 12 486802 8366422 417
Corner 13 486647 8366795 420
Corner 14 486661 8366802 420
Corner 15 486811 8366427 417
Start of curved segment 487086 8366559 419
End of curved segment 487088 8366567 419
Corner 17 486666 8366821 421
Corner 18 486439 8366598 415
Slight kink 486516 8366491 412
Start of spiral 486679 8366326 412
Last surviving part 486684 8366341 413

The labyrinth in context

The LC51 labyrinth does not exist in isolation. The wider area (see Figure 1) is strewn with
geoglyphs, pathways and other features such as rows of small, regularly spaced stone piles or
cairns (as distinct from clearance piles), marked by dots in the figure. Several straight lines
cross the path of the labyrinth and a number of crossing points exist where the horizontal
stratigraphy is sufficiently well preserved to indicate the relative chronology: for example,
where one line cuts across another at a crossing point, with its side banks unbroken, it clearly
post-dates the other. There are three main points of interest:

r The line marked a in Figure 1 is a segment of a long narrow line running directly
across the pampa to the Mirador, a substantial hill and major line centre some 8km
away to the NNE. The horizontal stratigraphy at the three crossing points shows
that the labyrinth post-dates this. It is possible, therefore, that the labyrinth also
post-dates many, and perhaps all, of the long lines joining line centres on opposite
sides of the pampa.
r Six faint lines, bunched in pairs, radiate out westwards from a line centre (LC48) some
200m to the east. Four of these cross the labyrinth several times while the re-
maining pair run up towards its northernmost corner (17). It is evident from the

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Table 1b. ‘LC51 labyrinth’ basic data: segments. All angles are in degrees and lengths are in metres.
Orientation (True azimuth)
End point End point
Segment (inner) (outer) Length Width Outward Inward

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A Central Corner 1 269 5.5 –> 1.1 321 141
terminal
B Corner 1 Corner 2 8 1.1 221 41
C Corner 2 Corner 3 270 1.1 142 322
D Corner 3 Corner 4 24 1.1 49 229
E Corner 4 Corner 5 280 1.1 320 140
F Corner 5 Corner 6 31 1.1 227 47
G Corner 6 Corner 7 312 1.1 145 325
H Corner 7 Corner 8 76 1.1 66 246
J Corner 8 Corner 9 356 1.1 333 153
K Corner 9 Corner 10 14 1.1 46 226
L Corner 10 Corner 11 314 1.1 151 331
M Corner 11 Corner 12 15 1.1 59 239
N Corner 12 Corner 13 404 1.1 337 157
P Corner 13 Corner 14 16 1.1 65 245
Q Corner 14 Corner 15 404 1.1 158 338
R Corner 15 Start of curved 304 1.1 64 244
segment
S Start of curved End of curved 11 1.1 Curved segment
segment segment
T End of curved Corner 17 492 1.1 301 121
segment
U Corner 17 Corner 18 319 1.1 226 46
V Corner 18 Slight kink 132 1.1 144 324
W Slight kink Start of spiral 232 1.1 135 315
X Start of spiral Last surviving 122 0.5 Curved segment
part
Total length 4405

horizontal stratigraphy at the crossing points that four of these radial lines, and by
implication all six of them, also predate the labyrinth.
r A 900m-long line c joins the labyrinth centre to a large line centre (LC53) to the
south. It runs straight except for a small but significant (c. 7◦ ) change in direction
on the intervening ridge (point d)—the only place from which both ends are
simultaneously visible. It is tempting to see this path as a ‘means of access’ to the centre
of the labyrinth.

Line c appears to connect the labyrinth to a broader contemporary network of geoglyphs

and thereby back to the Nazca Valley and in particular to Cahuachi, some 4km to the south.
The various lines at multiple line centres such as LC53 were clearly added and elaborated
in stages, and the horizontal stratigraphy indicates that line c was a relatively late addition.
The broader chronological evidence in the area suggests a sequence of construction in which
successive geoglyphs were built extending out from existing ones, but connected back to the
existing line centres.

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The east–west ridge containing points a, c, d and x represents the northern extent
of the Cahuachi viewshed—points in the landscape intervisible with Cahuachi’s tallest
pyramids. The LC51 labyrinth represents an incursion onto the wide flat pampa out of
sight of Cahuachi that stretched northwards and eastwards towards the Andean foothills,
the direction of the main source of flash-flood water flow down onto the pampa.
Very little diagnostic pottery, or indeed pottery of any kind, was found either on or
close to the various segments of the labyrinth. This stands in stark contrast to the relative
frequency of sherds on some of the longer lines, pathways and line centres in the surrounding
area. Indications from the ceramic analysis within our study area—for example, the fact that
some of the earliest Nasca sherds have only been found at line centres—seem to confirm the
chronological sequence suggested by the horizontal stratigraphy and we tentatively conclude
that the labyrinth should be assigned a date during or shortly before the Middle Nasca period
(c. AD 450–550).

Walking and viewing

If the labyrinth was built to be walked, who walked it? The lack of surface ceramics might
be taken to imply that very few actually did. However, this absence may indicate that the
labyrinth was scrupulously cleaned, in contrast to those geoglyphs that were abandoned in
the process of construction or elaboration—where utilitarian ceramics are commonplace
and mollusc-shell food waste is present—or later used as pathways.
The labryrinth’s width presumably constrained walkers to single file, and the lack of
damage to the sides of the path (and especially to the narrower spiral) demonstrates that it
was walked with extreme care. This argues against any form of ‘mass walking’. The physical
integrity of the labyrinth is better explained by occasional walking, by an initiate, pilgrim,
shaman or victim. It is also plausible to suggest, though impossible to prove, that the
labyrinth’s significance lay in metaphysical correlates associated with spiritual beliefs, rather
than repeated use by humans. A final possibility is that its cognitive integrity was compro-
mised at an early stage, and that it was abandoned or forgotten soon after construction.
A conceptual understanding of labyrinth walking is certainly worth attempting (cf. Aveni
2000: 212–22). For instance, in the case of the LC51 figure, it is remarkable that, despite the
lack of symmetry, there is a complete avoidance of the cardinal directions (to within about
23◦ ), and furthermore that in the case of the E–W axis the zone of avoidance coincides
with the arcs of sunrise and sunset. This implies that it was important to avoid walking
directly north or south, or towards sunrise or sunset, perhaps for ideological reasons relating
to cosmological principles. If this testable pattern is repeated elsewhere, then it argues in
support of purposeful sky-oriented cultural activity (cf. Ziólkowski 2009).
A more fundamental question is: ‘which way should the labyrinth be walked?’ Walking
the figure today provides no clear answer, since an equally impressive, if different, sequence
of unexpected experiences results from walking the whole figure in the opposite direction
to that described above. For those progressing ‘inward’ (i.e. from X to O in Figure 2), the
spiral could have provided a rite of passage into the ‘world’ of the labyrinth (cf. Ingold
2007: 56), while the widening central line provided the climax as the central mound was
finally approached. The widening is evident only when the line is walked, since it counters

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Figure 5. The view SSE-wards along line A towards the central mound O. Photograph: Clive Ruggles.

the apparent narrowing due to perspective and creates an optical illusion of parallelism (see
Figure 5). Whatever the intended direction— and both could have been equally important—
the low central mound was clearly the focus of the construction. Anyone standing on it
would have had a clear view of people moving round the whole labyrinth and, conversely,
the eminence itself can be seen from any position on the labyrinth.
The terminus of the labyrinth is physically a ‘dead end’, cut off from the focal point on
the hill by segment D (not labelled in Figure 2), which passes immediately in front. Perhaps
this served to emphasise the perceived separation between someone standing on the central
mound and someone walking the labyrinth. This would imply that the only ‘open access’
to the focal point was by the direct path from the south (c in Figure 1), a route that, of
necessity, crosses the labyrinth (at point e), at what appears to have been an open crossing.
Like the labyrinth, the central mound is devoid of pottery. In this, it contrasts strongly
with other small mounds in the landscape and in particular with line centre LC48, a mere
200m to the east, which contains numerous smashed pots. It is also unusual in not having
a hard ‘crust’ (‘desert pavement’) of small or moderate-sized stones, something that typifies
numerous small natural mounds. This raises the possibility that it is an artificial structure,
something that invites investigation by excavation.

Chronology, taphonomy and use

It is not straightforward to make a clear distinction between lines and paths. Many ‘lines’ on
the Nazca pampa are in fact well-worn paths, trodden down to a compacted sandy surface

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without well-defined edges; they are ‘basically’ rather than ‘purely’ straight (Lambers 2006:
71), sometimes with sinuous meanderings. In many cases, only their ‘basic straightness’ gives
any reason to suppose that they were pre-constructed as opposed to simply being created by
walking. Within our study area we have identified several instances where well-worn paths
deviate around topographic undulations, while the direct route preserves traces of a perfectly
straight ‘pristine’ line—avoided, presumably, because it was difficult or impossible to walk.
This suggests that some lines later became exclusively used as footpaths while others, once
constructed, were left relatively untouched.
It is reasonable to assume that footpaths crossed the Nazca pampa before the appearance
of Nasca culture: indeed, there is mounting evidence (e.g. Lambers 2006: fig. 32) that
some straight-line geoglyphs may have been constructed as early as the Late Paracas period
(c. 400–100 BC), characterised more typically by various distinctive biomorphic figures
found in the Palpa–Nazca region (e.g. Orefici 2009b: 96–99). Thus it was onto an existing
network of functional trails that Nasca people laid out a framework of ‘straight lines’ and
geometric designs which, while undergoing constant elaboration, appear not to have been
initially designed or used for everyday cross-pampa traffic. While it is likely that some
pre-Nasca footpaths were integrated into this framework, given the need for traversing
the pampa, the evidence suggests that pristine straight lines were conceived and laid out
so as to form what might be termed an ‘ideological grid’—in many cases connecting
radial line centres located at conspicuous points around the pampa but in themselves
purposefully ignoring the topography. Furthermore, their cultural value may have resided
as much in the process of construction, maintenance and elaboration as in their role as
loci for ‘ritual’ activity. If so, then the ‘linear perfection’ of such ideological lines was
part of the grid’s conceptual coherence, and demanded a pristine preservation that all but
strictly controlled ‘use’ would have compromised. (Furthermore, their state of preservation
suggests that even the use of contemporary footpaths was carefully controlled, as we argue
below.)
It cannot even be assumed that similar ideas and associations motivated the production
of geoglyphs during the 800-year Nasca period—in this sense, it is clearly unproductive
to regard them as a coherent entity (Silverman & Browne 1991: 209). Ideological
considerations would have continued to dictate how every new geoglyph creation or
elaboration should relate to what went before, but it is reasonable to assume that as time
progressed elaborations and superimpositions started to compromise rather than reinforce
its integrity.
By late Nasca times, however, it is likely that segments of the pristine lines had started
to be integrated on an ad hoc basis into the network of footpaths. The Nasca geoglyphs
can certainly be assumed to have lost their culturally specific ideological dimensions by AD
700, a point reinforced by the fact that after Wari influence (c. AD 700–900) declined, the
people of the Nazca region nowhere returned to Nasca symbols and styles (Silverman &
Proulx 2002: 280). It can also be assumed that throughout the period of local polities and
the Ica culture (AD 900–1438), the area’s still (mainly) ethnic Nasca population re-used
certain Nasca-period ‘straight lines’ as footpaths across the pampa, as well as continuing to
use age-old routeways, while perhaps forging new ones across larger geoglyph designs (see
also Urton 1990: 179).

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The Wari and Inka (AD 1438–1532) were Andean mountain cultures, whose intrusive
presence into Nazca’s coastal region was marked, at least for the latter, by the imposition of
the Inka road system, whose geo-political imperial nature had little in common with local
Nasca trans-pampa footpaths. The co-existence of such footpaths and the Inka road would

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have been unremarkable inasmuch as the latter would likely have been available only for
those engaged on official Inka business (Hyslop 1984: 2, 248).
Spanish conquest and colonisation from 1532 onwards imposed a non-indigenous
political economy and transportation technology on the Nazca region, which gradually
reconfigured and re-valued at least some of the functional aspects of trans-pampa traffic.
From colonial times to the present, transportation moved away from that based solely on
walking, to one focused on horses and wheeled transport.
During the twentieth century, the discovery of the geoglyphs focused attention on the
zoomorphic figures and lines of ‘obvious’ astronomical significance in the Pampa de San
José area. The cleaning, tidying, and emphasising of these markings added another layer to
be interpreted, and their international fame attracted uncontrolled tourism which left its
own ‘line system’ in the innumerable tyre tracks cutting into the pre-Columbian geoglyphs.
Ironically, these and other disturbances were then fossilised into the landscape by laws
restricting access, and have now become part of the archaeological record.
Working within this broad interpretative framework, our project has generated a detailed
narrative in the southern portion of the Nazca pampa based upon a large matrix of
chronological relationships at crossing points informed by the analysis of ceramic and
other surface artefacts. This adds time depth as well as a considerably improved level of
detail to existing plans such as Aveni’s (compare Figure 1 and Aveni 1990: 48). (At the time
of writing, many wider geoglyph features can be identified on GoogleEarth, but narrow
lines and paths remain for the most part invisible.) In the immediate vicinity of the LC51
labyrinth we can identify several distinct episodes of geoglyph construction, starting with
the long-distance narrow ‘pristine’ lines passing right across the area; followed by line centre
LC48, built on an existing long-distance line, and the construction and elaboration of LC53
within clear sight of Cahuachi to the south; and finally the construction of the labyrinth
itself with a single ‘ideological line’ connecting it back to LC53.
A key issue that, surprisingly, has received little or no attention in the literature is that
many of the Nazca pampa’s lines and footpaths appear to be so little damaged. If we set
aside damage related to the passage of motor vehicles in recent decades, and also damage
by flash floods caused by successive El Niño episodes, it is notable that many centuries
of movement across the pampa have failed to destroy the physical integrity of numerous
narrow linear features. During Nasca times, in particular, when thousands of people may
repeatedly have crossed the pampa en route to the Nasca pilgrimage centre of Cahuachi
over decades or centuries (Silverman 1990b, 1993: 311–17), this would have represented
a significant challenge to the integrity of both lines and footpaths. This implies that a
considerable degree of control was somehow exercised over the ‘styles’ of movement of social
groups that presumably included children, the elderly, dogs, and llamas. Even comparatively
slight damage to a pristine straight line (such as a segment of the LC51 labyrinth) in
prehistoric times would have left traces plainly visible today. Such a tightly controlled
landscape, with a clear differentiation between meandering footpaths and an ideological

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grid of pristine straight lines and geometrical figures, itself suggests social differentiation in
terms of knowledge of and access to certain areas of the pampa. The LC51 labyrinth itself
is an epitome of controlled walking, and as such it clearly reinforces this general argument.

Conclusions
Deserts, like all landscapes, have their own languages that archaeologists must master if
they are to provide plausible accounts of the interactions between culture and nature. The
Nazca pampa is geologically distinctive, its own fragility having preserved substantive and
delicate surface traces of past cultural activity for at least 2000 years. For Nasca society, the
desert markings of those who had gone before—the ancestors— remained plain to see for
each successive generation or social group. The intensive superimposition of the pampa’s
geoglyphs suggests that for the Nasca, in a unique way, landscapes were woven into life, and
lives were woven into the desert (Tilley 1994: 29–30).
The practice of creating new geoglyphs over earlier ones was an ongoing process
which stopped, possibly suddenly, and for unknown reasons, leaving a variety of them
in different stages of completion. In attempting to discern the temporal sequence of
their construction, we suggest that an ‘ideological grid’ of pristine straight lines and
geometrical designs was superimposed upon pre-existing footpaths, and elaborated over
time. However, it also began to deteriorate, its integrity compromised by natural events
and also, increasingly, by processes of abandonment, superimposition, and partial re-use as
footpaths.
The LC51 labyrinth serves, we suggest, as an analogue for the wider Nazca pampa, where
many straight lines and geometrical features that are not visibly associated from one location
are nonetheless ultimately recognised as being connected as one moves along or around
them. The form of the LC51 labyrinth was not apparent, and its design and size were in
no way obvious because it was, and remains, ‘hidden’ within the local landscape. Apart
from being told of its existence, the only way of knowing and appreciating the location and
extent of the labyrinth was, and still is, to walk its entire 4.4km length: in other words, to
sublimate vision to embodied movement across the pampa, in a confusing and disorienting
sequence of direction changes, until one arrives virtually back at the beginning. The LC51
labyrinth may be a microcosm of a larger organising principle similarly ‘hidden’ on the wider
pampa, and whose conceptual significance emerges only from a combination of prior ritual
knowledge, styles of movement and glimpses of intervisibility.
It is clear that understanding the Nazca pampa’s confusing palimpsest of desert markings
cannot be achieved by importing Western notions and ‘big scientific ideas’ that purport
to unlock an enigmatic mystery. More useful, perhaps, is what Ingold has called “a more
grounded approach to human movement, sensitive to embodied skills of footwork, [which]
opens up new terrain in the study of environmental perception . . . and landscape formation”
(2004: 315). Vision is the dominant western sense of knowing the world, but for the LC51
labyrinth, and presumably other geoglyphs as well, it was partly elided in favour of physically
sensing the pampa by moving in single file along a continuous narrow line or pathway. Only
through in situ study of geoglyph taphonomy, and a constant adjustment of our theoretical
engagement with it, can a more nuanced appreciation be gained of an aspect of Nasca culture

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 Clive Ruggles & Nicholas J. Saunders

that has hitherto been unrecognised. Negotiating the space between sensoriality, technology,
and the ‘archaeology of the surface’, begins this long-overdue process.

Acknowledgements

Research
We are indebted for financial and logistical support to the Asociación Cultural Peruano Británica, Lima, and
particularly to the Cultural Director Marı́a Elena Herrera. Hearty thanks are due to our field collaborators Iván
Ghezzi, Marilyn Herrera, José Antonio Hudtwalcker, Johny Isla, Alberto Urbano and Gerald Zubiaga, as well as
to Alejandro Bocanegra and Rubén Garcı́a for their invaluable local assistance. CR also thanks Anthony Aveni
for introducing him to the pampa and, unwittingly, to the LC51 figure, back in 1984. We are most grateful for
the helpful comments of the referees.
Note: we follow authors such as Silverman and Proulx (2002) in using the term ‘Nazca’ for the modern place but
‘Nasca’ for the ancient culture. Locations were determined with Trimble Pro-XRS equipment using real-time
differential correction from OmniStar. Horizontal positions are quoted in UTM co-ordinates (zone 18S) on the
WGS84 datum, while all elevations are above Mean Sea Level (defined Geoid EGM96 [Global]). Where a point
is archaeologically well defined, both the horizontal co-ordinates and the elevation are considered accurate to
within 1m (68 per cent precisions as determined by the GPS being typically 0.3m in the horizontal and 0.5m
in the vertical).

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Received: 29 October 2009; Revised: 26 January 2012; Accepted: 19 March 2012


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