Every year, hundreds of racers from around the world gather in northern Chile with their all-terrain motorcycles, jeeps, quads and buggies. They race in circuits for hundreds of miles around the Atacama Desert, carving tire tracks into one of the driest places on Earth.

What many of those racers potentially ignore is that the Atacama was once a canvas for ancient Indigenous peoples of South America. Starting 3,000 years ago, those Indigenous people carved vast figures of animals, humans and objects on the desert’s slopes. Known as geoglyphs, the specimens at Alto Barranco in the Tarapacá region stand out for their remarkable preservation.

But it is in that very location that both authorized and illegal off-road racing has occurred.

Imagery made with drones and released last month by Gonzálo Pimentel, an archaeologist and president of the Fundación Desierto de Atacama, a Chilean nongovernmental organization, highlighted the accumulated damage to what he calls the “the desert’s history book.” Vehicles — also including trucks from mining operations — run roughshod over the geoglyphs in Alto Barranco and other zones of the desert, scarring them with hundreds of tracks.

“When we saw the drone footage, we couldn’t believe it,” Pimentel said, noting that several key figures were now barely recognizable. The worst part, he added, is that “the damage is irreversible.”

Faced with the increasing destruction of Alto Barranco’s art from off-road drivers and other encroachments, and potential damage to other desert regions of archaeological importance, activists say governments at all levels of the country are not doing enough to preserve them.

“It’s a tragedy,” said Luis Pérez Reyes, director of the Regional Museum of Iquique, who credits a love of the geoglyphs as a child with inspiring him to become an archaeologist.

The Atacama Desert receives rain only a few times a year. The intense sun and harsh conditions make plant and animal life almost nonexistent. That has left the desert virtually untouched, Pimentel said: “This landscape has stayed the same for 25 million years.”

The exceptional climatic conditions have made the desert not only a treasure for archaeologists but also an irresistible arena for extreme sports enthusiasts. And now, “just like the geoglyphs, vehicle tracks will remain there,” Pimentel said.

The damage to the geoglyphs also comes at a high cost for those who rely on income from guiding archaeological tours of Alto Barranco. Luis Araya, a resident of Tarapacá, said that included more than 30 families. “It makes me sad, frustrated, powerless,” he said.

Marcela Sepúlveda, president of the Chilean Society of Archaeology, noted that big signs had been placed around archaeological zones to prevent damage, meaning that drivers should be fully aware of what they’re heading into. “The geoglyphs are gigantic,” she said. “No one can claim they didn’t see them. That’s impossible.”

Pérez Reyes began raising formal complaints in 2017 about the damage to geoglyphs caused by the rallies. Since then, he and residents of Tarapacá have gathered evidence, monitoring the riders who venture too close to the ancient figures. But he said the government continued to approve major racing events.

Organizers of one large race, the Atacama Rally, denied any responsibility for the damage to Alto Barranco, which they had last raced near in 2022. Gerardo Fontaine, director of the Atacama Rally, said that all participants knew their route, were tracked by GPS and were alerted if they went off course. He added that the race organizers set the routes, which were then approved by regional authorities.

“The real issue is with drivers who ride rented motorcycles in the desert without permission,” he said. “No one says anything to them.”

Daniel Quinteros Rojas, a regional official, approved the 2022 rally on the condition that the racers stick to preestablished roads. But he said the rally organizers did not turn over GPS tracks followed by the drivers after the race, so officials could not determine whether the drivers could be linked to any observed damage, Quintero Rojas said.

“We found an institutional weakness in our ability to monitor and address these impacts,” he said. For that reason, he added, no rallies have since been approved in Tarapacá.

Fontaine responded that the cost of turning over the GPS tracks to authorities was prohibitive for both the rally and the government. “Authorities are welcome to sit with us during the race and see that the competitors are following their maps,” he said.

After the 2022 race, Pérez Reyes filed a complaint with judicial authorities in Tarapacá that claimed the rally’s route had overlapped with archaeological sites, along with photos of racers passing through dunes near legally protected areas. Since the complaint was filed, no one has been penalized.

The latest Atacama Rally, on Sept. 7, moved to Tierra Amarilla, which is about 600 miles from Tarapacá. In a statement sent to regional authorities a month before the event, the National Monuments Council warned that the rally route crossed 16 areas with important archaeological and paleontological sites. The council asked the race organizers and the regional authorities to provide more information on what measures would be taken to prevent damage to those areas.

Those who damage archaeological sites in Chile can face more than five years in prison and fines equivalent to more than $14,500, according to the Ministry of National Assets. But José Barraza, the director of cultural heritage for the Tarapacá region, said that in many cases, complaints were dismissed or investigation files were left open because of lack of evidence, as catching someone in the act is a challenge in the vastness of the desert.

“There are no license plates, no faces,” Barraza said.

The latest drone images caught the attention of Chilean federal authorities. Marcela Sandoval, Chile’s minister of national assets, said officials had visited Alto Barranco to start an investigation. However, she noted that prosecuting those responsible would pose challenges, as many of the tire tracks on the geoglyphs had been present for years.

For now, the government is convening experts to develop strategies for raising awareness among desert rally enthusiasts, to protect the remaining undamaged geoglyphs and to improve signs around archaeological areas.

“The government’s responses have always been reactive rather than preventive,” Pérez Reyes said. Throughout the desert, he said, there are dozens of informal motorcycle and jeep rental businesses for racers who venture into the desert on their weekends with no supervision.

Pérez Reyes added that several of the geoglyphs that inspired his interest in archaeology as a child would soon no longer exist. But he said he believed that displaying the bleak images at his museum could help raise awareness of the enormous ancient treasure that lies in the Chilean desert dunes.

“The intention was never to do it this way,” he said, “to create a museum of ‘never again.’”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

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