ARIZON~ HIGHWAYS
VOL. 59 , NO. 9
In the trade, its called editorial mix. That's journalistic
jargon for something for everybody. And that's what we've
tried to assemble in this September issue. We begin with
the infinite optimism of Arizona's Resident Space Artist,
Bob McCall. In guiding the editors of Highways through his
spacious Phoenix studio, McCall revealed himself as a gentle,
warm, open philosopher whose deep religious commitments
have him and his w ife designing 360-degree faceted glass
windows for the Valley Presbyterian Church.
Then John Annerino takes us on a wet ride down Central
Arizona's someti mes wild river, Rio Salado, or the Salt . In
just a few well chosen words and a dozen photographs, John
involves us in the spills and chills of running a rocky
chute-the-chute.
Next we take a backward look
at the mining tow ns of Globe and
Miami in the big-shouldered uplands
east of Phoenix . Their major
industry - copper - depressed by
the general national recession,
those old towns have kept up
their spirits by recalling booms and
busts of other days. Native daughter
Maggie Wilson chooses the
cheerful view .. . with the help of
artist Bill Ahrendt.
Want more mix ? Well, stir in a
dash of the Southwest's sauciest
spice, Capsicum annum, better
known as chili. Better yet, order the
combination plate from Arizona's
foremost chili head, Joe Jordan.
When it comes to chili, Joe can
take it, and Joe can dish it out.
The Sea of Cortes, page 38
Chlll Pepper, page 32
Our farewell story, we on the editorial s taff believe,
amounts to a stunning environmental mes sage . Arizona's
nearby saltwater playground is the Sea of Cortes, to the
South in Mexico. Through the fresh , sensitive, compelling
photography of Jeff Kida, Jim Tallon, Alan Benoit, Jim Hills,
Arizona Highways (ISSN 0004-1521) is published mon lhly by lhe Arizona Department of
Transportation. Subscription price $15 a year in U.S. and possessions, $18 elsewhere; single
copies $1.50 each, $2 each outside U.S. Please send subscription correspondence and
change of address information to Arizona Highways, 2039 West Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ
85009 or call (602) 258-6641.
Space Artist, page 2
Down the Wiid Salt, page 16
Mountain Mining, page 22
SEPTEMBER 1983
(Front c over) Space Flight .
A masterwork by master
space artist Robert McCa ll
of Paradise Valley, Arizona ,
captures the freedom and
euphoria astronauts will
experience in a not-toodistant
future, when space
stations will no longer be
just the stuff of dreams. Oil
on can vas 48 x 60 inches.
(Inside front cover) In Desert
Nocturne space artist Robert
McCall stret ches the imaginat
ion with his visua li zation
of a trave ling ci ty-like system
of the futu re hoveri ng above
Arizo na dese rt. Oil on
maso nite, 24 by 30 inches .
Pete Mortimer, and others, and the insights o f science w rite r
Carle Hodge, we remind us all that even a vast sea is a
fragile, precious resource.
Yes , w e look a bit different this month- this colorfu l
contents page for example. Not to w orry. Fo r nex t month
we'll return to a more traditional forma t for ove rs i ze v iews
of Cabeza Pri eta, an Ari zona game refuge ne arl y as b ig as
Connecticut with not one permanent resident .. . an oblique
view of backpacking in the Grand Cany on . .. a nd a close -up
look at the newest of the Cowboy Arti s t s and their work .
- Don Dedera
Second class pos tage paid at Phoenix, Arizona. Postmaster: Send address changes to
Arizona Highways, 2039 West Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009. ©Copyright 1983 by the Arizona
Department of Transportation. Reproduction in whole or in part without permission is prohibited.
The magaz ine is not responsible for unsolicited materials provided for editorial consideration.
A rizona H ighways M agazine/ I
ARIZONA S RESIDENT
SPACE
ARTIST
Robert McCall
by Pam Hait
Prologue
Edwards Air
Force Base. 4:30
a.m ....
Night grips the
ch ill California
desert as a caravan
of 20 National
Aeronautics and
Space Administration
(NASA) station
wagons, vans,
and some machines
looking like gigantic
praying mantises position themselves
along a roadway. Inside the vehicles,
white-suited men peer anxiously at the
black sky as others in similar dress check
and recheck emergency equipment.
Above them, out of sight, the spacecraft
Columbia hurtles 17,000 miles an
hour through the void toward a rendezvous
with Earth. Anticipation, anxiety,
exhilaration infect both crews: those on
the dry lake bed and those orbiting the
Earth.
An artist, wrapped in a parka, bends
over his sketch pad. His hand pushes char-
. coal rapidly across a page. Bob McCall,
whom scientist-author Isaac Asimov calls
"the nearest thing there is to an artist-inresidence
in outer space," works swiftly
to record his impressions. Like the Napoleonic
artists he admires, McCall is doing
what he loves best: drawing history at its
most heroic.
The sky lightens: black to navy blue to
golden peach. Warm sunrays relieve the
night chill.
Suddenly, a sonic herald shatters the
silence. A double shock of thunder echoes
as America's space bus pierces the
21 Arizona Highways Magazine
McCall's Hail Columbia, April 12, 1981,
preserves a proud moment in the
history of our country: the first successful
space shuttle launch. Oil on canvas.
42 by 62 inches. (Opposite page) Robert
and Louise McCall at work in their
Paradise Valley studio.
skin of Earth's atmosphere. From somewhere
a disembodied voice broadcasts an
unemotional minute-by-minute report of
the craft's reentry.
When the blunt-nosed bird glides at
last to a perfect landing, the Earthmen
roar exultantly. The shuttle is home. Safe.
Deftly, McCall captures it all: the spacecraft
coasting to a halt ... the vigilant
ground crew dressed in protective garb .. .
the enormous fans clea ring the air . . . the
crane purging the space vehicle of deadly
gases . .. the great long reentry scorch on
the craft's once-white skin .... McCall
sketches moods. He describes, defines, fills
his book with dramatic testimony . . . all
to tell the story of space conquest to a
waiting world.
4/ A rizona Highways Magaz ine
In his Paradise Valley, Arizona, studio,
McCall talks about space - his favorite
subject -his philosophy, and his art.
"Man's future lies along the space
frontier," McCall says. "I search constantly
to convey feelings of awe, my kind of love
for the whole subject." Since the 1950s,
the search has carried him from launch
pad to aircraft carrier deck, from desert
landing site to simulator shuttle cockpit,
from control center to fighter planeeverywhere
but outer space. But he hopes
even that will come to pass.
"I've completely altered space," he
admits. He perches on a stool before a tall
paint-splattered easel. The large unfinished
canvas shows a city suspended in
air. "I do not use blacks or blues. I use
warm colors in high key to communicate
the beauty of space. I make it more
appealing. I am aware I do it, and I know
the space I paint today is unrealistic. But
it doesn't trouble me a bit to take this
license with reality. Space is a wonderful
environment. And, as we understand it,
we will see it isn't hostile. To me, space is
optimistic. I believe man has created beauty,
and he will continue to see beauty.
"I am equally intrigued with the past
because, who knows, maybe it is all happening
simultaneously in some cosmic
way."
While some are content to be men for
all seasons, McCall seems a man for all
worlds.
"I think if you get a cosmic view, somehow
you can perceive cosmic mankind,"
he observes. "That's why I believe every
text continued on page 11
The starship Enterprise,
(above) as depicted
by McCall for the movie Star
Trek, the Motion Picture.
McCall served as a consultant
on the popular film. Acrylic
on masonite, 3 by 4 feet.
(Right) This multi-talented
robot McCall created for the
Disney film The Black Hole,
for which he received screen
credit as art director.
TwtN
Air< C.VSl-+ION
T~'Rv srE'« !.
Charcoal a n d line sketches,
(above), i nclude a p r eliminary
d ra w ing o f the Black
Hol e robot on p age 5 and
" power packs" fo r that movie's
human character s.
(Right and far r ight ) Two
elements of a master study for
McCall's space mural C osmic
View, displ ayed in the Smith sonian
Institution , Washington,
D.C. Acr y lic o n canvas.
6/ Arizona Highways Magazine
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"My fascination has always
been with things, but things
must conform to what
people can do. These
vehicles I paint are often
just dreamed up, but are
based on the logic that
people are going to be in
there ... man is going to
control them."
Arizona Highways Magazine/7
(Top) Horizons: The Prologue and the Promise is McCall's latest work, a giant 35-by-72-foot
oil on canvas mural. It will make its debut October L 1983, in the Horizons Building at
Disney's EPCOT Center in Florida. In McCall's words: "It represents the flow of civilized man
from the past into the present and toward the future .. . an optimistic view of the history of
human civilization." (Above) The Horizons mural in progress, from the grid overlay of the
master study to the initial charcoal rendering. (Right) Details from the Horizons mural include
McCall's daughter, Cathy, his grandson, Christopher, and son-in-law Craig Foster.
(Far right) Louise and Robert McCall at work on the Horizons mural at Disney's Hollywood
studios.
81 A rizona Highways Magaz ine
Arizona Highways Magazine/ 9
Jules Verne would have loved these incredible floating cities McCall has set in the Arizona
desert country above, and the Grand Canyon, below. "When I finished painting the
Grand Canyon in a standard fashion," says McCall, "it didn't do anything special for me ... So
I did something with it." Top painting: Hyperion, oil 18 by 27 inches. Bottom painting:
Grand Canyon from the South Rim, oil on canvas, 40 by 60 inches.
101 Arizona Highways Magazine
text continued from page 4
educated person should have a course in
astronomy so he can recognize-really
get a clearer picture-of the universe and
of its limitlessness and how infinitesimal
mankind and our world really is. When
you get this view, you can accept certain
things. I believe life is teeming throughout ·
the universe, and you and I represent only
an indescribably small bit of that life.
Indeed, there are worlds being extinguished
out there in that limitless space ... whole
planetary systems ceasing to exist in supernova
events. Yet we take ourselves so
seriously. I feel it helps us not to take
ourselves so seriously, if we have this
broader concept."
He looks around his studio, filled with
futuristic art, intriguing artifacts, stacks
of slides, books, and magazines. He points
to the poster he did for the motion picture,
2001: A Space Odyssey. The weird wheel
structure McCall painted for Stanley
Kubrick in 1967 today remains synonymous
with that classic film . "My fascination
has always been with things," he points
out, "but things must conform to what
people can do. These vehicles I paint are
often just dreamed up, but they are based
on the logic that people are going to be i·n
there ... man is going to control them."
As he speaks of space and man's future
in it, he glows, peppering his sentences
with words like optimistic, fantastic, and
gee whiz!
His enthusiasm for space exploration
runs as high today as it did in the 1950s
when, as the leading aircraft artist of his
time, he first shot off a letter to Life magazine
asking to represent it on the day
a spacecraft went to the moon. Even then
McCall saw the stars as his final destination.
Why not, when he even looks the part:
sandy hair touched with gray. Square jaw.
Open, thoughtful countenance. Like the
space crews he documents, McCall blends
unusual talents into an average-looking
package. In an age when even astronauts
conform to government standards, his
appearance uncannily fits the mold.
Beginning with the Mercury mission,
progressing through Gemini, Skylab,
Apollo-Soyuz, and the shuttle, McCall
played the artistic Boswell to the space
program's Johnson. Unwittingly, he became
artist for the age of space.
His artwork details each stage of the
space program. One sketch in particular
shows the room where the astronauts suit
up. It is small, plain. White walls. White
tables. Space suits laid out precisely. Two
recliner chairs covered with white vinyl
await the team. Angles, lighting, texture,
tension, excitement . .. McCall brings to
life this all-white world with deft black
strokes.
Arizona's Space Artist
McCall completing the final stages of his mural Cosmic View at the
Smithsonian Institution. While the visions are futuristic, the grid technique
McCall uses to achieve his visualization is centuries old.
Arizona Highways Magazine/ 11
Arizona's Space Artist
(Above) At mission control in Houston, McCall sketches the action during the Apollo 15
moon-shot. At right in photo are astronauts Joe Allen, foreground, and Dick Gordon. (Right,
below) McCall's sketches of astronauts John Young, right, and Bob Crippen, suiting up for
the first shuttle flight in 1981. (Right, above) Shuttle Launch No. 7, watercolor, 1572 by 20 inches.
Sally Ride rode the shuttle this trip, and became the first American woman in space.
But already; change occurs. When the
next shuttle tears through the atmosphere
on its way to space, coveralls will be worn
by the crew, McCall remarks. Space suits
will be stowed on board. Shirt-sleeve
space travel will be upon us.
Thanks to NASA, the reality of space
exploration grows more accessible. But
for the present, McCall's feet are on the
ground, bringing space home. Millions of
people today; for example, draw inspiration
from a six-story-high mural he did
back in 1976 for the Smithsonian's National
Air and Space Museum. He recalls he
couldn't get an overall view. "I knew I was
following a master sketch, but when the
scaffolding came down, and I got to see it,
I thought. This may be fantastic."
He admits, "The scale of a mural does
12/ Arizona Highways Magazine
something special. And if the imagery is
glorious ... well, it has additional impact."
Impact .. . inspiration . .. glorious imagery
... those were what Walt Disney Productions
wanted. Disney sought immensity:
a 19-foot-by-60-foot mural for the new
Experimental Prototype Community of
Tomorrow (EPCOT) Center in Lake Buena
Vista, Florida. Readily; both McCalls
accepted the assignment. To create that
size, McCall and his artist wife, Louise,
moved to Burbank, California, for six
months during 1982 and 1983. There, in a
sound stage just off Mickey Avenue and
Goofy Boulevard, they dreamed, planned,
and produced Horizons: The Prologue and
the Promise.
Stepping into the sound stage at the
Disney studios is like walking into a deep
lagoon. The darkness soothes. By the far
wall stands McCall in a paint-splattered
jumpsuit and cowboy boots. Stage lights
brighten. A vast, multicolored canvas
appears, spanning the entire wall behind
him.
A family; near the right center of the
mural, greets the future, hopefully gazing
at a city suspended. Behind the family;
pilgrims-people of all periods and
cultures-form a river of humanity surging
toward tomorrow. Beyond, luminous,
limitless galaxies spin into space. Framed
by a sweep of clouds and a riot of Louise's
wild flowers, the mural radiates unadulterated
optimism.
The Acropolis, a Buddha, the Eiffel
Tower, the Tower of London .. . all are
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part of his vision. He gestures toward a
cμpcake tin filled with colored paints. "My
palette," he says.
"This is my most ambitious mural," he
relates, "because it encompasses a great
deal of subjec't matter. In a wonderful way
things happen unexpectedly, which makes
it more scintillating. For instance, that
star field came out more contrasty than I
had planned. And I love it." He steps back
and scrutinizes one last unpainted area.
"My fondest hope is that it is a good
painting, that it is esthetically successful."
He pauses and moves the tall ladder he
uses to paint from when he's not riding a
camera boom. "It is the evolution of man's
achievement. Look over here. I painted
myself and my family into the mural.
There's Louise, and there I am, and there
are my daughters and their families . .. . "
"How does it feel to have made such a
tr~mendous contribution to the space
effort?" McCall is asked .
"I ~top at the word 'tremendous.' But,
gee, to have made a tiny contribution, to
Arizona's Space Artist
have opened a window on some key facet
of the universe, to have made it a little
clearer for somebody is a very, very heady
thought."
"Things are changing very rapidly," he
says. It's constant change that fires his
imagination. In the last few years, his
vision has even surpassed NASA. McC ~ll
takes giant leaps into outer space from a
springboard of conjecture stubbornly
anchored in the concrete of technical
awareness. When he suspends entire cities
in a pastel space, he ties his dreams to
logic. He paints silent cities without people,
yet the human spirit persists so strongly
that the plazas teem with multitudes.
He reacts to the sound and the fury, the
pageantry and the majesty of space with
unabashed enthusiasm and delight. "Seeing
what is possible helps me fantasi ze about
the future . Being there enables me to get a
greater grip on the technology. Of course
there are times when I have been scared, a
little frightened about the situation I am
being thrust into; but I am so entranced
Long-Distance Call
We dialed a special 900 number set up by TRW yesterday to have one last
listen to Pioneer 10 as it passed the orbit of Neptune, departed the solar system
and ventured where no man-made object has ever been, out among the stars.
Pioneer's voice, uttering a musical series of beeps, was amazingly clear, considering
that it has been traveling 11 years, is 3.5 billion miles from home and its signals,
at the speed of light, need four hours to get here. It has hazarded the giant rocks
of the asteroid belt and radiation levels 500 times the lethal dose for humans, but
sounded just as insouciant as Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia have led us to
expect. No wonder the folks at TRW, which built Pioneer 10, were proud and
wanted to give their incredible voyager a day of recognition on earth. There was
a SO-cent charge for the call, but it was, worth it. And we don't even mind if
someone, somewhere ~lse out there, was eavesdropping.
- Wall Street Journal,]une 14, 1983
14/ Arizona Highways Magazine
that I would not want to be anywhere
else."
It's obvious. McCall is having an affair
with space and with the contrivances man
rockets into the Great Unknown as his
emissaries. He's been a witness to it all;
yet .... "It's always the first time' for me.
Each trip generates new enthusiasm. Each
space shot is a shot in the arm."
EPILOGUE
Research only partly explains why
McCall waits throughout the chill of a
desert summer night for the space shuttle
tq toμch down. He's lucky to be there. It
took some doing before he was allowed to
accompany the emergency trucks. He recognizes
the danger: fire, explosion, deadly
fumes.
When he's permitted to leave the van,
he finds a place to sit, glad for his NASA
baseball cap shielding the glare. His sketches
show President Ronald Reagan and his
wife, Nancy, waiting to welcome the returning
heroes. Another depicts his impressions
of the moment when the door opens
and the shuttle crew steps forward into
the dazzling California day.
In his early years McCall's sketches and
paintings were pure reportage, momentous
events filtered through the sensitive
lens of his mind. But as the space program
matured, so did his artistic insight. His
work progressed from eyewitness. recording
to visionary art.
The artist shares impressions as well as
facts. His feelings as a space fan, his
thoughts about other landings, and his
knowledge of incredible flying machines
all come into play as he covers these historic
times. Like the astronauts and cosmonauts
he knows on a first -name basis,
he dedicates himself to executing his
mission: to take land-locked people - who
might never dream of sailing among
galaxies- along with him on fantastic
voyages. .
In some respects, then, McCall is really
the ultimate tourist. Everywhere he travels,
from Edwards Air Force Base to Houston
to Cape Canaveral to his imaginary cities
of tomorrow, he sees a won'drous future.
Perhaps his vision is our promise. 0
Pam Hait, of Scottsdale, Arizona,
a frequent contributor to
Highways, has also written for
Ladies' Home Journal, McCall's,
Sunday Woman, and The
American Way.
He dedicates himself to executing his
mission: to take land-locked
people - who might never dream of
sailing among galaxies- along with
him on fantastic voyages.
(Top) Apotheosis of Technology, oil on canvas, 6 by 6 feet. links the
present with the future through McCall's use of classical symbols and
futuristic concepts of spacecraft and gravity-free cities floating i.n space.
(Left) Louise McCall captured Sally Ride's shuttle adv~nture with .
June 18, 1983-The Day of the First American Woman m Space. Acryllc
and line on paper. 31 by 20 inches.
Arizona Highways Magazine/15
(Right) Hearts racing, muscles
straining, drenched crew
members and their captain, Tom
Townsend, far left, whoop and
scream as they fight to stay
aboard their raft through one
of the major rapids on the Upper
Salt River.
(Below) Quartzite Falls thunders
warning of its awesome power
and deadly currents. The water
plunges over two 15-foot drops
creating currents that will hold
people underwater for minutes
at a time. Portaging is the only
option at Quartzite.
Down the Wild Salt
Photography and text by John Annerino
Cool spring evening. An upstream
wind whirls sparks from
our campfire into the gloom. The
faint chiming of cicadas strains
above the roar of the river. Normally
enchanting, moonglow in this
high desert and canyon country
now casts a haunting, ephemeral
light over the wild river as it boils
and surges down the dark throat
of Salt River Canyon.
Even at night we see why this
river bows not to humankind, only
to nature. Huge cauliflowers of
white water tumble into the black
holes of the river. Each of us silently
wonders what it would be like to
plunge into that dark maelstrom at
night. We only wonder, though. We
six embark tomorrow on a fourday
journey down one of the last
John Annerino of Prescott,
Arizona, is a free-lance photojournalist
currently working on a
book about his wilderness runs
through the Grand Canyon.
Running the Upper Salt River combines fast-paced
white water action, pristine wilderness scenery,
and the special camaraderie known to those who
challenge the forces of nature and survive.
(Clockwise from top, left) Rick Alexander, thrashed
by churning rapids, struggles to right his overturned
kayak. Barbara Saltmarsh and boatman Jim
Zook warm their freezing feet at a noon campfire.
A tipping paddle raft dumps crew members into
the freezing maelstrom. Reward for a short hike: a
Walnut Creek cascade in Salt River Canyon.
Down the Wild Salt
trul y wild rivers in the l and west of
the Mississippi River.
In his heart he
heard the newly
awakened voice
speak, and it said to
hint: "Love this river,
stay by it, learn from
it." Yes, he wanted to
listen to it. It seemed
to him that whoever
understood this river
unrunnable a t anything over 15,000
cfs. According to Flagstaff boatman
Tom Townsend's calculations,
it is now running at 6700 cfs-triple
the average April flow (yet, nowhere
near its all-time high of 117,000 cfs
set in March, 1941).
If ever that proverb "You never
go down the same river twice" rang
true, it is now- camped here in the
howling, moonlit depths of the
Salt. Head boatinal'}. Mike Young
echoes the sentiments of the crew :
"This isn't the same river we ran last
week ." His deep, resonan t voice
carries above the symphony of river
and wind, fire and insects .
No. The river has peaked at
16,000 cubic feet per second (cfs)
earlier in the day. To put that in
practical terms : some consider the
Upper Salt too dangero us to run
over 7000 cfs. Others consider it
- -- - . - -
and its secrets,
wonld understand
much more, many
secrets, all secrets.
-Hernaann Hesse
Clearly, this will be a wild ride
once we put on the river. And no
doubt we will put on this river,
whatever the flow. A wild river has
a way of seducing boatmen into
believing they can mold its elegant
features into their desires. Only this
river will use its awesome, unbridled
power to unmask the jester in
any man or woman fool enough to
think he or she can conquer it.D
White water rafting is an unforgettable adventure. Th e adrena lin rush, the action and
excitement of the big rapids is why river runners throw themselves upon the mercy of
th e river gods. But for those who have ventured down those twisting canyon-guarded
courses, the Upp er Salt also holds indelible memories of quiet moments, of shared
experiences, and special people.
(Clockwise from top, left) Head boatman Mike Young looking over the river map and
p lotting the day'S run. Sandy Ho we rowing an oar boat for the first time. Tom Hu ecksteadt
celebrating his J Oth birthday- providing yet another re~son for a party. Th e quiet of
early morning on the river. Assistant copy editor Bob Farrell recoverirlg from Huecksteadt's
birthday over a cup of camp coffee. Eric Foge l relaxing in s till water after a grueling set of rapids.
Arizona Hi ghways Magazine / 19
Signal and I'll come to you
m 'lad. Communicating by
handkerchief semaphore for
dates with cavalrymen
brought in as strikebreakers
was a fascinating pastime
for young ladies in the
Globe, Arizona, of 1917.
Author and Globe native
Maggie Wilson carries on
the communications
tradition today. Maggie,
whose family came to
Globe in the 1880s, was
a columnist for the Arizona
Republic and now
free-lances full-time.
...
' .
' - .
Yoo Hoo, Old Friend!
Reflections on a Copper Camp's Past
"What makes you people from Globe
and Miami think you are such hot stuff?"
a friend from the rival copper mining
town of Bisbee keeps asking.
He says when two Globe natives get
together, they spend a whole evening "of
brag, brag, brag! And all you've got to
brag about is the accident of being born
in just another copper camp!"
He's right, of course. We do boast about
our birthplace. But we don't call it just an
accident; we call it a happy accident to
have been born there. That galls him even
more.
We are proud of our forebears. They
managed to surmount formidable odds to
establish a town and then to hang on
through thick and thin, tall grass and
lean beans, and the vicissitudes of those
two most cyclic of industries: copper and
cattle.
It's like this, old Bisbee Friend:
Globe City (grandly called in days of
yore) was born in the 1870s slap dab in the
middle of rough, all-but-inaccessible
mountains. This isolated expanse of real
estate was also Apacheria, the land of
hostile Indian bands. By any assay, Globe
qualifies as mother lode of frontier history.
The men and women who pioneered
the fledgling town on the boulder-strewn
banks of Pinal Creek were a daring and
determined lot. They had to be, else they'd
not have lived to tell the tales we boastfully
repeat. As it was, many early prospectors
never hit pay dirt. They died along
the deep creek beds, on the high mountain
passes, and in the lonely canyons
surrounding the district. But lured by silver
(it was first a silver camp) the hardiest
arrived, survived, and thrived.
And so we brag of a town built on
quaffs and laughs, skills and chills, crafts
and grafts. We brag of our town's history
with its elements of comedy, melodrama,
and persistent tragedy.
Why, just think, Bisbee Friend, of the
enterprise displayed by one early merchant.
Globe City, founded on an Apache Indian
reservation, was ceded to white settlers
by the government. Until that was done,
the sale of liquor was prohibited. So a
certain entrepreneur sold potatoes for a
buck apiece, and threw in a free pint of
whiskey as a sort of early-day Welcome
Wagon. History records that the business
by Maggie Wilson
Illustrations by Bill Ahrendt
, ...
/ I •
prospered exceedingly . .. until all the potatoes
ran out.
As though we knew them personally,
we talk of King S. Woolsey, Geronimo,
Scout Al Sieber, Billy the Kid, the Apache
Kid, Black Jack Newman, the Lewisohns,
and the Guggenheims. And of such latterday
folk heroes as Governor George W. P.
Hunt, Ross Santee, and Slim Ellison. As
though they existed only yesterday, we
talk of the brothels, the boardinghouses,
the hanging trees. We tell stories, striving
to repeat them exactly as told us. Surprisingly,
these oral traditions usually jibe
with historical accounts.
Of them all, I like this tale told by the
late Bob Reill because it's so -it's so -well,
it's so Globe-ish:
When Central School- a two-story marvel
of brick, gables, cupola, columns, and
a little railed porch- was built in the 1890s,
it immediately became the center of controversy.
It had been built within 400 yards
of a disreputable house. It was suggested
that the madam and her harem should
move. The bartenders' union held a different
view and presented it in a written
petition to the sheriff. The union's request
text continued on page 27
by Maggie Wilson
The Ups
and Downs
/
oi Mountain Mining
Globe, Arizona, against the backdrop of the Apache Mountains
to the north and the Pinal Mountains to the southwest,
retains the fl avor of an old-fas hioned Western mining camp. It
survives today, without the original mines th at made it boom, as
Gila County's main residential and trading center.
A copper-colored hill side at the northern limits of town
shows where the Old Dominion Mine once fl ourished on the
Western frontier. And, in a sense, died with it. Like gravestones
marking the past, dark skeletons of the mine's headframe and
abandoned buildings loom above black slag heaps and weathered
dune-like tailings dumps.
Broad Street, the town's main thoroughfa re, is a paved
ox-and-mule trail. Winding and uneven, it casually shadows
Pinal Creek through a canyon cutting the foo thill s on which the
camp was built. The street meanders because early settlers,
armed with six-guns, defi ed surveyors' attempts to relocate their
shacks from the twists of the original trail.
Except during hard rains, Pinal Creek is dry. Its waters
have seeped underground to flood the Old Dominion, but sylvan
touches of sycamores and cottonwoods still grace creek banks.
Five years before the town's genesis in 1876, the Army drove
4500 Apache. Indians onto reservation lands considered worthless
for any other purpose. That reservation included what was
to become Globe.
A globe-shaped silver boulder gave the camp its name.
Within a 20-mile radius men rushed to gather riches despite
22/A rizo na Highways Magaz ine
threa tening Apaches. Soon, a 12-mile strip containing precious
metal was taken from the Indians and given to the whites.
In the beginning, Globe sprouted tents and shacks. Its greatest
problem was its isolation. For 22 years no rail fac ility drew
nearer than 120 miles. Mules and burros toiled over the most
difficult mountain passes in the territory, transporting ore west
to San Francisco. Ox teams creaked through Apache country to
fe tch merchandise from Silver City, New Mexico, to the east.
The silver boom lasted fo ur years. But before the metal
played out, rich copper ore emerged . In 1881, as copper capitalis
ts grew interes ted in the dis trict, the Apaches uprose, bolted the
reserva tion, a ~d began killing and plundering.
Globe fran tically appealed for military protection, but received
none. Until the surrender of Geronimo in 1886, trails to the camp
were so dangerous, only the most intrepid traveled them.
With Indian uprisings curbing competition, the Old Dominion
Copper Company built a small smelter and collected the best
copper claims in the di strict. The camp bragged th at all the
United States copper coins in 1886 were minted from metal
ex tracted at Globe.
Even so, it wasn't until 1895, when the Lewisohn broth ers of
New York bought control of the Old Dominion and invested
millions, that Globe became an important copper producer.
In 1898, a branch railroad - th e Gila Valley, Globe and
Northern -chugged in from a junction at Bowie. A memorable
Globe event : it emancipated the area from its isolation and
....
provided a faster, cheaper method of hauling ore and ingots.
(Later, during the building ~f Roosevelt Dam in 1910, a
tortuous dirt road, now known as the Apache Trail, was carved
between Globe and Mesa. Though originally designed to haul
supplies from both points to the damsite, it served afterward as a
route to Phoenix that took only two days. Not until 1922 was
a highway opened linking Globe and its neighbor Miami to
Superior, Phoenix, and the world outside.)
For 25 years after the arrival of the railroad the Old Dominion
ranked as one of the world's great copper producers, though
the Lewisohns eventually sold control to Phelps Dodge.
During the early 1900s Globe reached its prime, calling itself
"Capital City of the County with the Copper Bottom."
A Wild West metropolis of 20,000, it boasted 50 dance halls
and saloons that never closed. In one week, the operator of a
North Broad Street soft drink stand witnessed three murders.
And miners, from their new union hall, gaped while spreeing
cowboys herded a wild-eyed steer through the plate glass window
of a luxury gambling house.
In 1909, the camp of Miami grew up seven miles west on
copper deposits much larger than the Old Dominion's. In 1917,
1700 miners struck for a closed shop. Strikes were nothing new
(the first was in 1896), but this one during wartime involved the
International Workers of the World- or Wobblies - harboring
Socialist sympathies. The Globe Rangers armed. Martial law
was declared. And into barracks atop the slag dump at the Old
Dominion, the 17th Cavalry encamped. They and infantrymen
stayed two years while skilled hardrock miners left the town
forever.
Cattlemen, too, knew trouble. With ranges overgrazed and
depleted by drought, the San Carlos Apache Reservation, long
occupied by white men's cattle, suddenly was restricted to Apache
livestock. White herds were withdrawn.
(Below) Founded in 1885, the Old
Dominion Mine (background) at Globe
was a long-time copper producer. It was
closed in 1941, then resold. Today it is
once again producing a valuable product:
water for mining and milling operations.
(Left) Men at work in the Old Dominion
Mine in 1890. Arizona Historical Society
Library photo
When the Great Depression hit in 1931, the Old Dominion
slammed shut its doors, as did other mines in the area. Pumps
stopped, and the big mine filled with water. Miners knew the Old
Dominion would never be worked again. Later, when the Miami
mines reopened, many Globe miners trekked there to work.
After World War II innovations in mining and technology
wrought other changes: underground mining gave way to open
pits; smelters gained acid-collecting plants and lost the acrid
smell of sulfur smoke; and new technology brought cleaner ways
to process ore. Cattle growers replaced purebred Herefords with
leaner crossbreeds in response to diet-conscious consumers who,
like Jack Spratt of the nursery rhyme, will eat no fat .
Life in Globe-Miami seesaws. There are ups and downs - all
subject to the economic cycles of copper and cattle. The natives
philosophically accept booms and busts. They feel at home with
peaks and valleys.D
Arizona Highways Magaz ine/23
(Preceding panel, pages 24-25} First Train to Globe, oil,
36 by 48 inches. Isolation and slow mule transport were replaced
in Globe in 1898 when the Gila Valley, Globe and Northern
Railroad arrived. Copper mining was revitalized when rail
transportation of ore and ingots and supplies proved
economical. Courtesy Mr. and Mrs. Ron Stanley.
26/ Arizona Highways Magazine
(Above} Many Globe area ranching families came from Texas.
The men usually made the trek first, leaving the job of
bringing the family to their young sons. Sometimes they
arrived with little more than a milk cow, a wagon, a dog, "a
trusty rifle, and a strong faith in God." Oil, 36 by 36 inches.
Courtesy Mr. and Mrs. Ron Stanley.
text continued from page 21
read, in total, "Move the schoolhouse'.'
Reill and his boss were hired by the
board of supervisors to measure the distance
between school and brothel. According
to Reill, "We measured uphill, downhill,
as the crow flies, around corners and
portal-to-portal."
The calculations completed, Reill's boss
marched off to the house to confront the
madam. He told her the 400-yard limit
extended four feet into her parlor, "so you
will have to confine your work to the
back rooms." Case closed.
At about this time, a man from Missouri
rode into Globe on a burro. Down
to his last few cents, George Wiley Paul
Hunt waited tables in a Chinese restaurant,
in those days the lowest job in town, and
shoveled muck in the heat of the Yuma
stope of the Old Dominion Mine, where
there was so little oxygen the candles
scarcely burned. Within 10 years, he became
one of the town's leading merchants, a
bank president, mayor of Globe, and a
territorial legislator. In 1912, citizens of
the new state of Arizona elected George
W. P. Hunt as their first governor. And
they kept on electing him, for seven terms.
And we tell stories of holidays celebrated
long before our time.
The first Christmas party in Globe, for
example. In 1876, (or maybe 1877) when
enough families with children moved into
the tent town, a "you-all-come" invitation
was circulated.
The party site was the Knox-McNelly
saloon, one of the finest in the Southwest,
with its oak and mahogany bar, mirrored
backbar adorned with glass chandeliers
and vases, and array of brass spittoons.
Not to mention its gambling tables where
faro, roulette, monte, and poker were played
24 hours a day.
A 10-foot tree was hauled from the Pinal
Mountains and decorated with colored
ribbons and candles. Placed beneath it
were presents and candy sacks. By party
time Christmas Eve, white muslin covered
the backbar and tables, the better, one
gambler said, "to clear the minds of the
pious."
Snow blanketed the little camp. Lanterns
illuminated rutted roads and rough
board sidewalks. Bachelor miners arrived
first and checked their guns at the door.
Said one who was known for his quick
trigger finger, "Any man who would start
a rumpus on a night like this orter be
strung up on the sycamore."
When the women and children shyly
arrived, Felix Knox, "gunman, gambler,
and gentleman" assured them the party
was for their benefit, and everybody would
be disappointed if they didn't enjoy it.
When Knox suggested a volunteer begin
GLOBE
the party with a prayer, a bearded stranger
took his stance beside the Christmas tree.
He recounted the birth of the Savior.
Women wiped away tears, and men struggled
to hide their emotions.
The stranger ended his monolog with:
Whether it be in cathedral hall,
Or the snowbound north where the
moose herds call,
Or out upon the raging main,
Or the boundless regions of our
Western plain,
The spirit of Christ abides in men.
With that selfsame spirit, we say,
Amen.
The stranger then walked to the door
and disappeared into the night. No one
knew who he was. No one ever saw him
again. But various versions of that ofttold
tale attempt to link the stranger with
the Carpenter of Nazareth, "the Master of
mankind's higher ideals."
Another notable day was Fourth of July,
1896. The mines were shut, the merchants
hard up, the town stone dead. No cannonades,
dances, speeches, parades, or
picnics. None, that is, until a husky young
miner absorbed a jug of red-eye and decided
to liven up the place with 25 pounds of
dynamite and a fistful of fuses and caps.
As he walked down the main street, he
casually tossed charges into the road behind
him, each shot tearing holes into the ruts
and shaking every shop and shack in town.
When a deputy sheriff showed up armed
with a Winchester, bystanders thought the
young miner as good as dead. But a whitehaired
old Irish woman, landlady of a
miners' boardinghouse, stepped briskly
toward the culprit.
"Keep back," he shouted at her, "or I'll
blow ya to Kingdom come."
"Yis," she snapped, "an' th' whole
worruld wud be sayin' ye did it to kape
from payin' th' week's board yer owin'
me."
She continued her tirade as she advanced.
Finally the miner suggested they talk the
whole thing over. In the shade of a nearby
porch he put down his dynamite box. The
old woman promptly sat on the dynamite,
covering it with her ample form and wide
skirts, ending the young miner's celebra- ·
tion of the Glorious Fourth.
The incident did serve to wake up the
whole town. That night, so the story goes,
everybody celebrated in "quite the regular
old-fashioned way."
Do I hear you saying, old Bisbee Friend,
that ancient history has nothing to do
with us? But it does. Those old-timers set
the pattern for following generations.
We've learned, you see, when the mines
are closed and cattle aren't selling; when
we're down and out, we simply all have to
start from scratch. We've been curing our
various itches with neighborly mutual aid
for more than a century now.
I remember the Great Depression. A
girl down the street was about to marry.
She desperately wanted a white wedding
gown. So my mother cut up her prized
linen brocade tablecloth and made a gown
that transformed the girl into CJ. radiant
fairy princess. Mom, practical to a fault,
then tossed in a dozen over-sized napkins
to boot, "because they may be needed
later for diapers."
That was the time, too, when we youngsters
gained reputations as sure shots. In
my 0wn case, my father gave me a rifle,
one shell, and instructions to, "Go shoot
a rabbit for supper." Well, with shells so
carefully meted out, I simply didn't risk a
shot without being sure it would mean
meat, not beans, on the table that night.
Those nights are still happy memories of
worthwhile accomplishments and decent
eats. (But each time afterivard when my
baby brother said his prayers, he thanked
God, not me, for the food. That made me
mad. But I was only six.)
Are you beginning to get the drift, Bisbee
Friend? That old Globe-Miami penchant
for arriving, surviving, thriving carries
over to each generation.
Now back to bragging.
We brag of our Texans, many of them
ranchers displaced by a drought in the
Lone Star State. We brag of our Cousin
Jacks, intrepid miners from Cornwall,
England. And of our Irish, Slavs, Montenegrins,
Austrians, Germans, Mexicans,
Chinese, Italians, blacks, and a group who
were called, by themselves and everybqdy
else, Bohunks, a contraction of Bohemian
and Hungarian.
In the 1920s, says Laura Petrosie, "Almost
no one had a mother who didn't speak
with a burr, a brogue, or an accent."
In the 1930s, adds Mitch Vu:ksanovich,
"The Mexican kids in first grade had it
easy. All they had to learn was English. I
came from a Serbian-speaking family. Mom
couldn't read or write any language. Where
she came from in the Old Country, women's
liberation was being free to work as a field
hand. So there I was, trying to learn English
from a room full of Mexican kids who
couldn't speak it either."
Laura's from one of those Texas families
we brag about; Mitch is from one of
those Yugoslavian families we brag about.
When Laur;i. was in second grade, her
mother refused to sign a petition to stop
integration of the schools.
"Mom said some people were against
integration because sotne children had lice,"
Arizona Highways Magazine/27
she recalled, "but Mom remarked if there
was a louse anywhere in the district, it
would find Miami, anyway. Routinely, Saturday
mornings were sanitation times at
the schools. After integration, many families
from Cananea, Sonora, Mexico, were
brought to the mines up here, and they
became marvelous citizens and friends."
Laura Ransberger Petrosie was born in
Clifton, Arizona, in 1914, and came to
Miami as an infant-"one of those relics
who arrived in a covered wagon with a
milk cow in tow, along with cuttings of
English tea roses and ivy that Mom had
brought from Texas in water-soaked rags
to plant wherever we settled.
"My father, Walter, arrived here first.
When we followed, my nine-year-old
brother drove the wagon and hunted for
meat en route. He later said he knew the
Indians were not on the warpath because
they wore the bandana headbands issued
to them on the reservation. Those headbands
marked them as tame, not hostile.
"During the flu epidemic of 1918, people
died like flies. Miami High School
served as a hospital. A common practice
was to break the sick person's fever with
whiskey or wine, lemon juices, and spices,
all heated together.
"Well, it was during Prohibition; lemons
were $1 apiece; mine salaries were $3
per day. A lot more folks would have died
had not the Italians and Bohunks been
making their own wines."
Mitch Vucksanovich's parents came to
the area in the early 1900s. Mitch was
born in a house built by his father, who
died when Mitch was an infant in 1932.
"Dad had invested in the C.W. Van Dyke
Co. because he thought the Old Dominion,
Miami, and Inspiration mines would go
broke, and the Van Dyke would be the
area's dominant mine," says Mitch. "It
just didn't work out that way.
"We kids worked hard- cleaning
saloons, selling papers, milking cows. The
mothers who ran boardinghouses worked
hard, too. I never knew I was poor until
somebody told me. I'm an old-timer around
here myself now, drug up by my own
bootstraps.
"I own four pretty good businesses, but
if I'd had my choice, I'd never have learned
English. I'd have figured, 'Why bother?'
But when I was on the school board 10
years ago, I fought bilingual educationfought
it hard, because now I know you
can't make it in this country if you don't
speak the language."
Another immigrant who arrived, survived,
thrived, and eventually learned
English was Black Jack Newman. When
he arrived from Poland in the early 1900s
he couldn't sign his name. The shift boss
GLOBE
at the mine couldn't spell it. Black Jack
was noted on the payroll simply as a "new
man." The name stuck.
It was said of Black Jack that he could
literally smell underground copper deposits.
He staked his claims on those that bore
a rich aroma.
When J. Parke Cummings arrived, representing
the Lewisohn mining interest,
he sought out Black Jack and bought his
claims. But the wily Pole included a clause
in the contract demanding perpetual royalities
on each pound of copper produced.
That deal launched Miami Copper Co.,
the townsite of Miami, and Black Jack's
own rags-to-riches saga.
But when we're really name-dropping,
we talk of the $2 cows Billy the Kid (William
Bonney) sold in the 1870s to Pat Shanley
who then established a ranch on Seven
Mile Wash with the Cross Up brand. Some
years later, in a secluded cienaga, Shanley's
ranch hands found some unbranded mavericks,
believed to be strays from the Cross
Up herd.
So Shanley established another ranch
with headquarters in that meadow (hear
Seneca, probably meant to be named
Cienaga) and adopted another brand, the
Cross S, saying that "the cross is for Jaysus,
but the S is for auld Pat hisself ."
Ross Santee, the late artist-author
(Opposite page) Italians and Apaches shared in the development of
Roosevelt Dam, Arizona's first great reclamation project, built
northwest of Globe on the Salt River. The Italians worked as stonecutters;
the Apaches, as roadbuilders. Leader of one of the Indian
crews was Chilchiwana, below.
Arizona Highways Magazin e/29
punched cows for the Cross S Ranch.
Maybe that is where he earned the reputation
for "getting more fee ling of the cowboy
West in a drawing done with a burnt
matchstick th an most artists can with a
full palette of colors."
"Anyways," Slim Ellison would say when
he told the story, "Shanley's range was 40
miles square and ran 25,000 head . But it
all started with the $2 cows from Billy the
Kid."
Ellison, another old-time 'poke and latterday
author, joined the no-breakfas t-forever
bunch this year and Globe lost its resident
storyteller deluxe . To use Sl im's own
vernacular, "a lot of folks wuz snifflin'
like pups in the red pepper patch when he
GLOBE
went and crossed the Great Divide'.'
Say, old fri end, did Bisbee ever have a
fellow who could single-handedly close
down a copper smelter for three whole
days and live to tell the tale?
Globe had one in Andre Maurel, a refu gee
of the Franco-Prussian war. He left
Marseilles and eventually arrived in Globe
in 1882 with his wife, Mari a.
A farmer and stonemason in France,
Maurel established a vegetable garden and
orchard on the banks of Pinal Creek. Came
the flood of 1891, and he rushed home to
find his wife wrapped around a mesquite
tree in four feet of rushing water. She
gripped a steamer trunk under one arm
and two children under the other. All else
was washed away in the flood.
Soon, Maurel established a tent-home,
new gardens, and orchards. But his peach
trees were right next to the Buffalo Smelter.
At night, the workers raided his fruit.
Andre hadn't survived wars, droughts,
floods, mine closings, and frontier life to
be put out of business by peach thieves.
So he picked all the peaches except those
on a tree nearest the smelter.
Then he went to town, bought crofon
oil and a syringe, and "needled every peach
on th at tree." That night, the workers
stole the fruit and distributed the loot.
Within an hour, all were so sick, the
smelter had to close. Croton oil, you see,
is a powerful purga tive.
Liv ing in one's own diggings was
nothing new to early silver
prospectors in the Pinal Mountains.
Some were destined for wealth,
others never hit pay d irt, dying in
the rugged mountain country, to
the last fierce ly de termined
to strike it rich.
Maurel wasn't bothered with filchers
after that, but he did have to assure town
customers that his own fruit for sale wasn't
loaded. His great-grandson Robert tells
that story to this day. So do a lot of the
rest of us. Another little example of copper
camp inventiveness.
Now, Bisbee Friend, one last item. Do
you remember when Marine Sergeant Jimmie
Lopez was imprisoned by Iranians
with the other Americans after the takeover
of the American Embassy? I'll bet
you do, because your Globe wife and I
were sure he'd come home a hero. And
you said-remember?- there we went
again, being supremely confident that the
boy was exceptional merely because he
was "another one of you Globe people."
And of course, as it turned out, Jimmie
Lopez had been heroic. He helped five
peopl~ escape during the takeover. He
refused to leave his post to join them.
I particularly enjoy the story of how he
wrote on his prison wall a gutsy little
message of defiance. "Viva la roja, blanca
y azul." Long live the red, white, and
blue.
Your wife and I couldn't have been more
fiercely proud of that boy if he'd been our
own. And in a way-in that supportive,
close-knit, clannish way-he is our own.
Hooray for oμr kids.
We can't help it, Bisbee Friend. We were
just born that way.
And some Globe-Miami folks, now
transplanted to other places, echo an earlier
plea: "It is my land, my home, my
father's land, to which I now ask to be
allowed to return. I want to spend my last
days there and be buried there among
those mountains. If this could be, I might
die in peace .... "
Geronimo said that of his homeland
not far from Globe, when he was dying in
Fort Sill, Oklahoma. The request was sent
in a letter to President Theodore Roosevelt.
Still exiled, Geronimo's bones remain in
· Oklahoma today.
I cry for the old renegade every time I
read his last words. I can't help that either.
I know the feeling. D
Bill Ahrendt studied art in
Europe and specializes in historical
subjects using the techniques
of the Old Masters. His studio
is in Pine, Arizona.
Eileen Roth hand-colored the
historic photography in this
feature. She is a free-lance
Ektachrome retoucher living in
Phoenix.
From The Globe Chronicle,
July 21, 1883:
The prisoners confined in the
jail, four in number, escaped last
Monday night by filing off the lock
on the cage and then digging a
hole under the wall. There does
not seem much probability of their
recapture. One of them left the following
epistle addressed to the
Sheriff:
In Jail, Globe City
July 18th, 1883
DEAR BEN: - I want to thank
you for all the kindness and favors
2. you have always shown me, and
© also my fellow prisoners. I regret
! to have to go away so surrepti~
111~
(Below) Cut into a hillside and barred
with canvas-faced wood, Miami,
Arizona's first jail opens its door for
business. Date unknown. Arizona
Historical Society Library photo
(Left) Al Sieber, center, foreground,
with Apache scouts in 1883. The
chap center, background, is Squaw
Mack who lived with the Apaches.
Sieber, who won fame as chief of scouts
with General Crook, worked with
Apache crews on building the supply
road to Roosevelt Dam. Arizona
Historical Society Library photo
tiously, but liberty is sweet to us
all, and sometimes laughs at bolts
and bars. I have been ready to go
for some time, but have deferred it
for reasons which it is not necessary
to state here. I shall leave the
country never to return (unless I
am retaken, which I shall try to
avoid).
My kind regards to Tom, and
to any friends who may chance to
enquire.
This is written in a hurry.
Please excuse errors. We shall be
well mounted and far from here
when you read this. We all join in
wishing you success in the future.
Yours, very respectfully, ~
BURT E. FULLER and Others ~
'°"®1111~
Arizona Highways Magazine/ 31
I
PEPP
by Lee Coe THESHCETHATATETHEEAST
Mention chili outside the
Southwest and conjure up a
painfully familiar comedy:
an unsuspecting tourist bites
into a murderous jalapef!o
concoction. His ears light up.
And, as he strangles, hilarity
convulses the ghouls who
laid the trap.
But it ain't necessarily so.
Matter of fact, Arizona's most
distinctive spice and flavor
can be mild. Mexican dishes
featuring this spice comprise
one of the fastest growing
regional cuisines in the nation.
The green and scarlet Capsicum
was one of many new
foods Columbus found in the
West Indies and brought back
to Europe in 1493. Chilli was
the Nahuatl Indian name for
this temperamental tropical
fruit, but, since it resembled
pepper in taste, it wound up
known as chili pepper.
Biased European palates
did not readily accept the
piquance of chili- at least
the pungent stuff first brought
from the New World. An exception,
the courageous Hungarians
added chili to their
larder.
Hot varieties of chili fared
better elsewhere. West African
communities, some Indo-
Chinese groups, Chinese in Szechwan, and
certain groups in Brazil led in chili addiction.
Some of their adventures in this field
of gastronomy are truly bold.
A plate in Rio, for example, may be
thickly spread with sizzling chili sauce
even before meat and black beans are
ladled on, to make sure the flavor is generously
distributed, and unavoidable. A
tender, non-asbestos mouth is seared, of
course, whereupon the pyromaniacal host
may suggest a colorless liquor called
Cachaca as an antidote. It turns out to be
32/Arizona Highways Magazine
The adaptable wild fruit
of the tropics has been coaxed
into a surprising number of
forms. Over a hundred varieties
now exist, from the mild
canning pimiento to the ferocious
Tabasco glorified in Louisiana,
to the chilitepines of
Mexico with which vaqueros
horrify tourists by munching
them directly from the
bush.
Well down on the pungency
scale is the Southwest's pride,
our traditional long chili,
which is not indigenous to
the desert. Conquistador Juan
de Oft.ate is credited with
bringing the first chili seeds
to what is now New Mexico
in the 16th century. A tropical
plant, it requires irrigation
in dry climes, but thrives
on sun and sandy river valley
loam. Picked green, it can be
eaten fresh (after roasting or
steaming to remove the skin,
stem, and seeds) or canned.
Left in the field past October,
it turns mild and scarlet.
Dried, it is ground into chili
.powder.
~ The standard Southwest
~~~j!~[t· ~ long chili is bred for flavor,
i;;i 0 hardiness, and piquancy. The
twice as fiery. And the merriment knows no
bounds. Meanwhile, the sufferer, eardrums
paralyzed, thinks surely a Brazilian court
will consider homicide justifiable ....
Capsaicin, a complex alkaloid, is the
active agent in chili and, not surprisingly,
its composition (C18H27N03) is similar
to the piperine (C17H19N03) which gives
black pepper its bite. The word "Capsicum"
itself comes either from the Greek kapto,
meaning to bite, or from the Latin word
for chest (the seeds in a chili pod are
set like jewels in a chest).
Anaheim variety established
itself as prime for California's
low altitude. Arizona and New Mexico
turned to larger, smoother hybrids developed
at New Mexico State University.
The uplifted (3000 to 5000 feet) semiarid
plains and river valleys of Arizona
and New Mexico are ideal for mild chilis.
Aficionados receive the finest specimens
from the Mesilla Valley, on the Rio Grande,
where the fruit was first cultivated 400
years ago, or Elfrida, Arizona's chili center.
From there they travel literally around the
world.
The chilis, grown as perennials in the
tropics but as annuals here, find these
areas particularly hospitable. Above 90
degrees flowers will not set into fruit, which
rules out lower and hotter areas like Phoenix
and Yuma. If summer rains and humidity
do not arrive on schedule, chili pods
develop poorly. But when all goes well,
the meat inside the glistening chili skin
may be thicker and more flavorful. Monterey
jack, cheddar, or Mexican goat cheese
combine with round, thin cornmeal tortillas
and chili into perfect nachos.
One catch-even milder strains are not
above an occasional traitorous surprise.
When in doubt, say experts, test with a
careful bite.
But some varieties don't deserve a test.
A ripe jalapefio or serrano chili, for
example, may leave enough dynamite on
a finger to blister a lip touched by that
finger. Rubbing an eye with a chili-tainted
finger can be a serious mistake. Two or
three good washings are necessary to
remove the irritant from fingertips.
History says chilis were grown widely
in Arizona in the late 1800s. But only
during the last few decades has it become
a significant commercial crop. Today, chili
consumption increases more than 15 percent
each year in the United States.
Chili seldom is sun-dried commercially
anymore. Pods now are oven-dried then
ground into powder, which may be mixed
with cumin and garlic. Specialty packers
also sell this mixture, as well as pure chili
in paste form, which retains more flavor
of the fresh fruit.
Many chilis never reach the table.
Instead, meter-long strings of the shiny
crimson pods (called ristras in Mexico)
serve as traditional ornaments for patio
and doorway. Residents think they keep
demons away. While growers try to make
a reasonable profit from edible chili, vendors
may mark up ristras 500 or 1000
percent. Moral: string your own chili.
Chili dishes number thousands. Recipes
abound in Western American and Mexican
households. The whole chili can be
roasted or steamed, peeled, and then stuffed
with almost anything savory: crab, beef,
nuts, or cheese. For chi/es rellenos, a favorite,
the whole chili is stuffed with cheese and
deep fried with an egg batter.
One national sauce of Mexico, mole, is
a blend of chocolate and at least three
chilis, of varying heat. Sometimes mole,
tastes like chocolate gone insane. But northern
palates favor turkey and other meats
served under this sauce-once the mouth
is cauterized. Novice cooks should be
forewarned . Chili can increase in strength
under some conditions. A salsa mild in
the evening may grow startling by morning,
numbing by noon. Yet no proper Southwest
home should be without a salsa fresca,
the most adaptable of hors d'oeuvres, a
simple mixture of fresh chili, tomatoes,
cumin, oregano, and a little salt or lemon
juice. The varieties are endless. Incidentally,
A late August
green chili harvest
in Elfrida. Chi/is
are picked by hand
then mechanically
conveyed to large
trucks for bulk
transport to nearby
canning plants
and produce
distributors. Most
red chi/is, picked
later in the season,
are dehydrated
and ground into
chili powder.
a good source for information is the International
Connoisseurs of Green and Red
Chili, P.O. Box 3467, New Mexico State
University, Las Cruces, New Mexico 88003.
No doubt, the chili is a unique food .
Hung as a memento of sunny desert days,
it graces home surroundings; eaten with
care, it pampers taste buds. Perhaps most
of all, chili is a tribute to the horticulturist's
art, which has tamed this wildest flower
of Arizona's garden.D
Lee Coe, Tucson, Arizona,
specializes in natural history,
travel, animals, and history. Her
articles have appeared in Reader's
Digest, Popular Mechanics, and
Desert Magazine.
Arizona Highways Magazine/33
Don't Call it
Latin Food
6y Don Declera
Good old Joe Jordan. How I admire that man. But even
more, how I adore his food .
Joe is a Mexican-American, and proud of it. His
Hacienda was one of the first Mexican restaurants north
of Van Buren Street in Central Phoenix. Through the
Great Depression, World War II food rationing, economic
booms, and social upheavals, Joe and his sons dished out
a cuisine variously described as Spanish, Latino, Hispanic,
Chicano, and Mexican.
"Order what you want," Joe always says. "You get the
same thing."
In the process of daily converting 200 dozen com tortillas,
a sack of flour, 175 pounds of cheese, four crates of lettuce,
a bushel of onions, and several jars of spices into tacos,
tamales, and tostadas, Joe has emerged the Southwest's
ranking expert on chili- that is Capsicum annum, better
34/ Arizona Highways Magazine
known as the Anaheim pepper - the long
green mild one which ripens red and provides
the foundation for a Mexican sa lsa.
We chili heads can pass judgment upon
an entire Mexican menu by tasting one
droplet of the sauce. True, Joe makes his
salsa in 60-gallon batches, but his secret
formula is as precise as a chemist's.
Joe was born in Ray, Arizona, a mining
town which no longer exists. Like many
men of all ethnic origins- but in the special
ways of senior Mexicans-Joe is
supremely proud of his family. Without
prompting, he brags about his wife, Mary,
and their three children- but especially
he boasts of his four grandchildren.
Joe also tells us about chili. He cracks
open a dry red pod with his thumbnail
and scrapes a bit of pulp from the crackly
skin.
"This is the only part of the pepper that
should be used," he says. "The stem is
bitter. The seeds are bitter. The skin is
bitter. Because the non-Mexican cook uses
rough-ground chili or powder, made from
the whole pod, much Mexican food prepared
at home is doomed to failure."
It is no accomplishment to make the
hottest chili, says Joe. The go al of every
Mexican food restaurant is a condiment
(Top, left) Phoenix Mexican food
entrepreneur Joe Jordan with one
of his specialties: enchiladas con
salsa. The salsa, or sauce, has red
chili pepper as its main ingredient.
Jordan, a connoisseur of the chili,
insists on using only the pulp of
the fruit in his Mexican dishes.
(Left) Long red chili peppers
picked before the first frost of
the season most often are ground
into chili powder. A select few,
however, are strung into attractive
ristras and sold as decorative
items for Southwestern porches
and kitchens.
that pleases customers who relish sauce
as hot as sulfuric acid, and those who
prefer it mild as milk.
Joe insists the stuff is next to a wonder
drug-raises body temperature, relieves
cramps, stimulates digestion, improves
complexion, reverses inebriation, cures
hangover, soothes gout, and increases
passion . Joe would have us remember
that Albert von Szent-Gyorgyi won the
Nobel Prize in Physiology and Medicine
in 1937 by isolating from red peppers the
scurvy-fighting vitamin C (ascorbic acid,
C6Hs06).
Until World War II few Mexican cafes
prospered eas t of Santa Fe, but once Gls
discovered it, the cuisine rapidly grew to
national-even international popularity.
In fact, the suspicion lingers that unscrupulous
Mexican chefs laced their sauce
with addicting ingredients. During a postwar
Berlin crisis, Joe, via military transport,
shipped an entire Mexic a n feast to Germany
for squadrons of suffering Arizona
Air National Guard chili fiends .
Non-Mexicans in the Southwest today
rival their Hispanic neighbors as aficionados.
The first English word an Anglo
learns is " mama ." His first Spanish word
is "taco."
The trend accelerates. The few hole-inthe-
wall cafes of the 1950s multiplied into
chili dispensaries ranging from fast-food
franchises to posh Mayan supper clubs.
Perhaps it is still true in New York , "as
American as the hot dog," but Out West
it's, "As American as the bean burrito."
Not only in numbers but in diversity
have the Mexican eateries prevailed . The
pioneers offered beef tacos, bean tostadas,
cheese enchiladas, and, every Wednesday,
tamales. Nobody even agreed what to call
it. Timid euphemists misnamed it " Spanish
food." And a few well -meaning patrons,
not wanting to offend, asked for "Latin
food." (Pass the chimichangas, Brutus.)
Along with rising awareness, the term
"Mexican food" won out.
Once that was settled, Mexican food
transmogrified. Somebody whomped up
the turkey taco, with a stuffing of tomatoes.
Not to be outdone, the place across the
street invented a gree n chili burro, deep
fried . Uptown, a refugee from a stToganoff
cannery dropped a blob of sour cream
onto a hot enchilada (not bad), cottage
cheese got mixed into the guacamole, and
chopped olives were strewn across the
tostadas. Parmesan cheese, as Mexican as
Sophia, won favor as a taco garnish .
"For a while I fought it," says Joe. "But
m y business is giving people what they
want. So today, if a customer asks for a
scoop of raspberry sherbet in the middle
of his Sonora-style albondigas soup, he
gets it! "
They are winging it, customers and
restaurateurs. The cheese crisp (quesadilla)
has evolved from a thin cheesy tortilla to
a family-size Mexican pi zza oozing with
butter, two flavors of cheese, gree n chilis,
pimientos, and chipped beef .
Provincial specialties are increasingly
offered: chimichangas, flautas, chalupas,
and the like. These are akin to the betterknown
Mexican sandwich (invented by
the Earl of Taco in 1666). Legitimate Sunday
dishes from Mexico are huevos rancheros,
(country-style eggs), chorizo (spicy
red sausage), chiles rell enos (stuffed peppers),
empanadas de picadillo (stuffed
turnovers), gaspacho (so up of cold raw
vegetables), and ca/zones (literally "pants, "
biscuits shaped like men's trousers).
A word more about hot sauce. The
gunk can vary from four alarm to a sweet
red goo that institutionalizable madmen
dribble on TV dinners. Myself, I favor a
sauce rated about 9 .79 on the Ricardo
Scale-that is, if the beer is icy, and available
by the pitcher.
Probably the universal failure of Mexican
cookery is a gummy amorphous mass
called Spanish rice. It never should have
been allowed outside of Madrid. Leave it
on your plate, untouched. That advice, of
course, may be worthless . Because, for
sure, nobody ever tells me anything true
about Mexican food.
I've been given my share of bad advice
regarding political candidates, makes of
cars, and blind dates. But most consistently
I' ve been burnt regarding salsa
Mexicana.
But never at Joe's .D
Arizona Highways Magazine / 35
BOOKSHELF
Inquiries about any of these titles should be directed to the book publisher, not ARIZONA HIGHWAYS.
by Mary Lu Moore
SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN: A RIDE
THROUGH TIME. By James Swanson
and Tom Kollenborn. Arrowhead Press,
Phoenix, AZ. 1981. 210 pages. $12. 95,
hardcover. Available from: Post Office Box
1535, Apache Junction, AZ 85220.
"If success can be measured by what a
man leaves behind for posterity, Jacob
Waltz was one of the most successful men
in history. For Jacob Waltz, 'The Dutchman,'
left the world with perhaps the most
lingering legend of lost treasure ever told."
Thus the authors sum up the aura of
mystery, adventure, violence, and rumor
of lost treasure that surrounds the Superstition
Mountains of central Arizona.
Beginning with some prehistory and a
brief summary of Spanish exploration,
Swanson and Kollenborn concentrate on
contributors to the lore of the Superstitions:
hermit Elisha Reavis, pioneer prospector
and originator of elusive treasures Jacob
Waltz, Julia Thomas, the Petrasch brothers,
Adolph Ruth, "Doc" Rosecrans, and more,
including author Tom Kollenborn. There
are sections on geology, geography, and
chronology of the Superstitions, with brief
notes, acknowledgements, bibliographies,
and index. The authors, who have lived
in, explored, and written about the Superstitions
for some years, manage to bring
life and character to an area and its people.
AGAVES OF CONTINENTAL NORTH
AMERICA. By Howard Scott Gentry.
University of Arizona Press, Sunnyside
Building, 250 East Valencia Road, Tucson,
AZ 85706. 1982. 670 pages. $49.50,
hardcover.
The agave, or century plant, supplied
prehistoric peoples of the Southwestern
United States and Central America with
food, beverages (including tequila and
mescal), fiber for all types of useful
products, medicines, fencing, and even
shelter. And it continues to serve mankind
today. Dr. Gentry, formerly with the
United States Department of Agriculture
and now a research botanist with the Desert
Botanical Garden in Phoenix, is the
world's leading authority on the agave.
He has spent a quarter of a century studying
and cataloging its species. Written
for laymen and professionals, this welldesigned
volume encompasses chapters
on the agave's relationship with man, classification
and structure, geographical
distribution, and systematic accounts of
genus and species arranged by group. The
book also has a section on how to grow
36/ Arizona Highways Magazine
AGAVES
OF CONTINENTAL
NORTH AMERICA
HOWARD SCOTT GENTRY
agaves. There are extensive references, a
glossary, and an index. The descriptions,
which read like short essays, line drawings,
tables, maps, and photographs are all well
done and keyed appropriately to the text.
This definitive work on agaves will be of
inestimable value to anyone interested in
this useful plant, encountered in 136 species
in our Southwest and beyond.
SCENES IN AMERICA DESERTA. By
Peter Reyner Banham. Peregrine Smith
Books, 1877 East Gentile Street, Layton,
UT 84041. 1982. 228 pages. $14.95,
hardcover.
While tearing along Interstate Highway
15, the author, a professor of art history in
England, wandered off the freeway near
Baker, California. The desert sparked his
curiosity, and he became a true desert
"freak." Nearest and dearest to Banham's
heart is the Mojave Desert, but his book
also includes Arizona's Sonoran Desert
and arid areas in New Mexico, the Four
Corners region, and Wyoming. His reflections
deal not only with deserts, per se,
but with people who inhabited the desert
and left behind a legacy of artifacts and
architecture. Banham's account is personal,
humorous, rambling, and full of the visual,
psychological, and physical impacts of
the arid lands. We fault him only for mistaking
Yaquis for Papagos at San Xavier
Mission, and for not including maps and
more photos - in color - for the rest of us
desert freaks.
THE CACTI OF THE UNITED STATES
AND CANADA. By Lyman Benson. Line
drawings by Lucretia Breazeale Hamilton.
Stanford University Press, Stanford, CA
94305. 1982. 1044 pages. $85.00, hardcover.
Nearly 50 years of research went into the
preparation of this magnificent, exhaustive
source book on the genera and species
of native and introduced cacti. Professor
Benson, the world's ranking specialist on
Cactaceae, provides a short orientation to
the world of the cactus and a brief history
of individuals and institutions engaged in
extensive study of cacti. The study, which
encompasses all members of the cactus
family in the United States. artd Canada,
covers structure, physiology, classification,
evolution, ecology, history, uses, and
conservation of cacti. The book, arranged
by family, genera, species, and varieties,
includes separate sections on documentation
of research data, a glossary, references
cited, reference maps, and a meticulous
index.
ARIZON~ HIGHWAYS
JULY 1983 VOL. 59, NO. 7
Publisher-Hugh Harelson
Editor-Don Dedera
Copy Editor-Richard G. Stahl
Art Editor-Gary Bennett
Assistant Art Editor-Lorna Holmes
Assistant Copy Editor-Robert Farrell
Business Director
Jim Delzell
Operations Director
Palle Josefsen
Circulation & Marketing Director
Alberto Gutier
Governor of Arizona
Bruce Babbitt
Director,
Department of Transportation
William A Ordway
State Engineer
Thomas R. Lammers
Arizona Transportation Board
Chairman
Lawrence M. Hecker, Tucson
Members
Hal F. Butler, Show Low
R. R. "Bob" Evans, Mesa
Lynn M. Sheppard, Globe
Ted Valdez, Sr., Phoenix
Sondra Eisberg, Prescott
Arthur C. Atonna, Douglas
YOURS SINCERELY
Comments and questions from around the state, the nation, and the world.
Dear Editor,
Just when I thought it was time to pi\:k
a new spot for oμr upcoming vacation,
your July issue ;:irrived, beautiful and interesting
as always. There are places in this
vast country of ours I haven't seen, but
traveling through the pages of this issue
brought back the memories of the aweinspiring
beauty we encountered last spring
during our trip to the Verde Valley.
My wife and I came to know of this
"Heaven on Earth" several years ago when
my grandmother, who, having traveled
the world extensively, gave the simple
answer of Sedona, Arizona, when asked
what she felt was the most beautiful spot
in the world.
We camped at the side of Oak Creek
and were sorry we made reservations for
only five days. The drive through Oak
Creek Canyon to Slide Rock and Flagstaff
beyond will be one we'll ne~er forget.
Perhaps we will plan the entire two weeks
in the beautiful Verde Valley this year.
Dear Editor,
Rock Martinez
Redondo Beach, CA
Your July issue is superb. Having visited
Arizona a.lmost every month of the
year, I love the spring the best. My favorite
is Oak Creek Canyon.
I visited the Verde Valley; remember it
well. One drawback, these tired old eyes
had quite a time trying to read the map on
page 5.
Dear Mrs. Clauz,
Mrs, G. E. Clauz
Grand Rapids, MI
You are positively correct about the
illegible map. I couldn't read that type,
either. We'll not do that to your tired old
eyes, or mine, again.
- the Editor
Dear Editor,
Just received your July, 1983, issue with
the Verde Valley story. As usual the photography
and articles were tremendous.
After a recent (October, 1982) visit with
my wife and in-laws to see friends in
Sedona, and to visit the Grand Canyon
and Lake Powell, this issue really brought
back pleasant memories. I don't think there
is anything in nature that can quite compare
to a Sedona sunset, unless it's one at
the Grand Canyon after hiking up from
Phantom Ranch, or the beautiful vista on
Lake Powell after an afternoon trip to
Rainbow Bridge.
I hope the residents of your state realize
how very lucky they are.
Paul Solenick
White Plains, NY
Dear Editor,
Since my subscription to Arizona Highways
expires next month, I'd like to take
advantage of your special offer - no "discount"
offer for me as a not U.S. addressee
- by renewing it for two years.
Congratulations on the very high technical
quality of your magnificent magazine
and thank you for reporting about
the Grand Canyon State and sending colorful
bits of it to its lovers outside the
United States.
Rene Blaise
Saint Mard, Belgium
Pear Editor,
We spent a year in the United States in
1976-77, living in Springfield, Missouri.
We visited 34 states in all. Of these we
have no doubt that Utah and Arizona are
the most beautiful by far.
We made many American friends who
remain dear to us. What · better way to
keep the memory fresh than to receive
Arizona Highways each month. It is a
marveious reminder of a fantastic state
and of the friends who send it to us, Jeanne
and George Helfrecht. I know of no equal
to your magazine in Europe.
We hope to return one day, and until
then thank you and long may you and
your magazine prosper.
Dear Editor,
Mr. and Mrs. G. S. Pellow
Pellow, England
A fan of Arizona Highways for many
years, I am now a fan of Arizona's highways,
as well, after a recent solo motor
tour from Wickenburg to Prescott to
Payson, back-tracking to Sedona, through
Oak Creek Canyon and westward to Lake
Havasu City, on your highways.
Not all state highways, true - but,
short of providing a chauffeur, driving in
Arizona just couldn't be simpler: wellengineered,
generously divided highways;
extra wide shoulders at turns; and plenty
of anxiety-diminishing directional signs
to escort me to the points of interest and
roads I was seeking.
Thank you, Arizona, for making every
scenic mile of my trip so easy!
Dear Editor,
Sandy Adler
Pacific Grove, CA
It has just come to my attention that
my father (who was born in 1900 and
raised in Flagstaff and Kingman and could
probably tell tales of Arizona to keep you
going for years) does not receive your
magazine! Please rectify this. Enclosed is
a check for one year's subscription to be
sent to T. W. Devine, Laguna Vista, Texas.
Dear Editor,
Vicki Devine Fulton
Guadalajara, Mexico
As a long-time reader ( 40-plus years) of
Arizona Highways, may I suggest at some
time in the future you cover the subject of
hiking trails - in selected areas? There are
those who are interested in hiking, not
necessarily in camping. I am acquainted
with several handbooks on the subject,
but think you can provide a service.
Dear Mr. Paddock,
Robert H. Paddock
Madison, WI
It so happens we have a roundup of
hiking adventures in the works.
-the Editor
Dear Editor,
Your July issue prompted me to write
and thank you for bringing back beautiful
memories.
I compared the pictures we took to the
ones in the magazine. Montezuma Castle,
Montezuma Well, the chapel of the Holy
Cross, and the waters of Oak Creek Canyon
are the same pictures we have.
Thank you again for reminding me of
some of the great times we have had in
Arizona.
Dear Editor,
Marcia Masters
Huntsville, AL
The Jμly issue, the Verde Valley, photography
and text were superb. Scenery
was beautiful. The whole issue was
excellent.
I lived and worked at Jerome from 1919
until 1925. Those were boom years for the
Verde Valley.
I love Arizona Highways, and Arizona.
Dear Editor,
Alf Lansley
Chula Vista, CA
I have read Call of the Canyon by Zane
Grey, many times. I have tried to visualize
your Oak Creek Canyon. By Mr. Grey's
description in his book, I just knew it had
~o be beautiful. Now I know that it is!
Thanks to your beautiful pictures in the
July issue of Arizona Highways. It is truly
a lovely place!
With every copy of Arizona Highways,
I lose my heart again to your wonderful
state, especially when you feature that
grand Grand Canyon!
Mrs. C. Lynn
Gastonia, NC
Arizona Highways Magazine/37
C&-l.C.
SC.A t!3~
~~~cc.s
Coping on a Primitive ~rontier
With the great tides of spring, small,
silvery fishes splash ashore to nest, and
the annual battle of the birds begins on
Isla Raza. Elephant trees along the Baja
California peninsula flower rose-pink. On
a rocky islet called San Pedro Martir, tens
of thousands of blue-footed boobies huddle
over their eggs.
Life around the storied Sea of Cortes is
like none elsewhere; spring provides its
most magical moment.
Deserts rim other oceans. But most of
the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, as
examples, wash featureless, sandy flatlands.
Much of the Cortes, by contrast, is shouldered
by tnountains, huge, sere slabs swallowed
sudgenly by surf. There, the arid
shoreland slips into waters incomparably
rich in plants and animals.
So, the mystique of the desert and the
mystery of the oceans meet, casting a
spell many of us find indelible.
Cortes is as much a mood as a place: a
world of ghostly mirages and sun-baked
beaches. Novelist John Steinbeck, after a
scientific voyage through it in 1940, wrote
of timeless unreality. "The very air here,"
he scribbled into The Log from the Sea of
Cortez, "is miraculous, and outlines of
reality change with the moment. A dream
hangs over the whole region, a brooding
kind of hallucination." The air, indeed, is
so clear, astronauts often find the area the
only part of the continent unclouded.
Spaniards arrived in 1539, the year before
the conquistador, Coronado, entered
38/Arizona Highways Magazine
. HERMOSILLO
by Carle Jlodye
Arizona. They named it the Vermilion
Sea. The Sea of Cortes, the name poets
prefer, or the Gulf of California, favored
by map-makers, averages 100 miles in width
and divides the northwestern corner of
Mexico. From the delta of the Colorado
River, south of Yuma, it shimmers for
almost 600 miles, pointing down to the
Pacific like a long, gnarled finger.
Once, we are informed by geologists,
Baja California was part of the Mexican
mainland. But the peninsula was severed
by earthquakes along the San Andreas
Fault, the strip of subterranean chaos that
shakes California to this day. Seawater
surged in to fill the void.
At one time, until a series of recessions
and after the fickle Colorado changed its
course, the new Gulf reached as far north
as San Gorgonio Pass, in Southern California
. Today; it makes up a long, relatively
narrow trough, a shape that partly
explains the abundance and diversity of
the life it nourishes. The trough forms a
Tales of treasure and
beautiful Amazons first
lured Hernan Cortes to
the Vermilion Sea. (He
never found either of
them.) It was renamed
El Mar de Cortes (the
Sea of Cortes) in 1539
by explorer Francisco
de Ulloa.
0
15
L
"c
.Q
~
"Q')
E
~
funnel through which the tides, rolling
northward, increase in size. The tidal variation
at Puerto Pefiasco, near the northern
end, exceeds 20 feet, among Earth's
greatest. This tidal raceway churns through
a channel between Isla San Lorenzo and
the Baja Peninsula, named by early navigators
Salsipuedes (Get Out if You Can).
Tidal bores up the Colorado River delta
once were fearsome. In 1922, one swamped
a small river steamer. Eighty-six li ves were
lost. But the tidal scouring also forces
bottom water to the surface, serving as a
gigantic blender which churns ceaselessly
40/Arizona Highways Magazine
the basic fare for all the creatures of the
food chain. While such fish as the grunion
gorge on the tinier organisms, gulls
and terns and other birds feed on the fish.
Grunions, which are small silversides, are
the stars in a vernal drama.
Like a similar species on the Southern
California coast, Gulf grunion lay eggs
only in tidal sands and only at the extreme
lunar high tides of spring. This occurs at
night, when predator birds are inactive.
Swept onto the beach by a tidal crest, the
females, using their tails, quickly dig holes
half as long as their five- to seven- inch
bodies. Then the males cover the females
and fertilize the eggs deposited in the holes.
All before the next wave.
In a moment a stretch of beach along
the northern Sea of Cortes is carpeted
with a writhing mass of mating grunions.
At the next extreme hi g h tide, two weeks
later, water action hatches the eggs, and
the larvae are flushed out to sea.
The frenzy of the grunions may be
unparalleled, save for an avian Armageddon
under way not far away on Raza
Island. Bone-dry, white-washed with guano,
and sparsely vegetated with saltbush, Raza's
less than half a square mile in size. But each
spring it teems as the principal nursery for
Heermann's gulls and elegant terns, neither
a notably neighborly bird. As many
as 300 ,000 , returning after a year's absence,
covet the island. Although territorial battles
are not unusual in nature, scientists
say these may be unmatched in ferocity.
The gulls, dark gray with black tails,
arrive first. They breed and claw out nesting
spots in every niche. Then come the
terns, with pearl-gray bodies and blackcapped
heads. One night they attack, driving
away many of the gulls and destroying
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Birdlife swarms all over the islands of the Cortes -
feeding, breeding, and migrating to other areas of the Sea.
Several species nest nowhere else but on these halfdrowned
mountains, which split away from the Baja
Peninsula 10 to 15 million years ago. (Left) Nesting royal
and elegant terns crowd tiny Isla Raza, a protected
breeding ground for birds and mammals. Guided tours of
the sanctuary are arranged at Bahia de las Angeles, a
popular anchorage on the nearby coast of the Baja
Peninsula. (Below) A baby tern finds itself in no-chick'sland
between its parents, right, and a natural enemy,
a Heermann's gull, ready for antisocial behavior.
Young pelicans of the Cortes. The bodies
of these fuzzy, top-heavy hatchlings
will soon grow in proportion to their
large beaks.
Arizona Highways Magazine/41
Jim Hills
42/Arizona Highways Magazine
Twilight in the land of the Seri.
After facing a near-twilight
themselves (the Seri tribe was near
extinction in the 1920s) these
Indians of the Sea of Cortes are
making a comeback today with
income from ironwood sculptures
sold to galleries around the world.
hundreds of gull eggs. Some of the terns
seize a beachhead where they alight to
build nests and lay eggs of their own.
Gulls counterattack the following night.
They rout some terns, devour their eggs,
and recapture part of their territory. Next
is the terns' turn. And so the seesaw war
continues for many nights. No clear victors
emerge. Instead, both gulls and terns
somehow produce enough young to assure
survival of their species.
Human incursions, however,. almost
ended that perpetuation. Half a century
ago, a million or more gulls and terns flew
back each year to Raza-until egg hunters
decimated their numbers.
I had the privilege, one April, of visiting
the island with a knowledgeable
researcher, the late Lewis Wayne Walker,
the associate director of the ArizonaSonora
Desert Museum, near Tucson.
Mainly because of a museum campaign,
with help from the California Academy
of Science, the Mexican government
declared Raza a bird refuge in 1964 and
later extended similar status to all the
Gulf islands. Yet preservation is difficult
in remote reaches of a country where
human hunger prevails. Nonetheless, ornithologists
believe the battling birds of Isla
Raza will multiply.
Raza is one of the midriff islands, at
roughly the north-south center where the
Cortes is corseted to a crossing of less
than 40 miles. So narrow is it that, in
fair weather, sailors are never beyond view
of the islands which, like most in the Sea,
are the summits of submerged mountain
ranges, each different from the others.
Tiburon, the easternmost island, was
once the domain of the Seri Indians.
Although descendant tribesmen have
Arizona Highways Magazine/ 43
moved to the mainland near Bahia Kino,
they still feast on huge sea turtles and
bake cakes from the fiour of eel grass, a
marine plant.
To the south, San Pedro Martir is a
mile-square rock greened only by towering
cardon cacti, a larger version of the
Arizona saguaro. Each spring, still, San
Pedro Martir becomes the jammed, roistering
rookery for thousands of sea birdspelicans
and gulls, but mainly boobies.
Angel de La Guarda, or Guardian Angel
Island, hugs Baja. Largest of the midriffs,
it is the only one where the weird boojum,
44/ Arizona Highways Magazine
or cirio, has stalked ashore. Reminiscent
of dried, upside-down parsnips, boojum
trees rise from a single stalk, then branch
into slender waving wands that may soar
80 feet. Clusters of creamy flowers burst
from the tips of the tapers. Similar to
other flora and fauna restricted to the
region, the boojum acquired a special
ability. To conserve moisture, the boojum
usually is leafless. It puts out leaves only
after one of the infrequent rainfalls. ,.
The thick-trunked Baja elephant treeknown
to natives as copalquin-insulates
itself against drought with a gray-green
bark which peels off in papery sheets.
Adaptations vary. Bats catch and consume
fish. Two-foot-long chuckawalla
lizards, island-dwellers, store fresh water
in sacs in their bodies. When fresh water
is unavailable, which is most of the time,
the chuckawallas drink seawater, filtering
it through built-in desalting systems.
Along beautiful Bahia Concepcion, on
the Baja California side, south of Mulege,
oysters grow on trees - in a mangrovethicket
estuary. Although tiny and tasteless,
they are oysters.
Not all wonders are superficial. In the
The Sea of Cortes amounts to a vast warm water
aquarium, where sea life flourishes, as it has for
15 million years. (Left) In winter sea lions are
abundant in the upper reaches of the Sea of
Cortes, particularly around the midriff islands.
Seals also lend a primitive air to the placid seascape.
(Below) One of the stranger inhabitants
of the Sea is the diminutive puffer fish. When
attacked, he puffs himself up into a spiny mouthful.
(Bottom left) Steinbeck, in his Log from the Sea
of Cortez, speculated: "There must be some
fallacy in our thinking of these fish as individuals.
Their functions . .. are . .. controlled as though the
school were one unit." (Bottom, right) The 100-ton
blue whale is the ranking monster of the deep in
the Cortes. Other Cortes whales are the finback,
the sperm, and the gray whale.
Arizona Highways Magazine/ 45
Sea of Cortes-----------------------------------
The 400-pound bull seal, foreground,
eyeing author Carle Hodge, eventually
forced our writer to retreat to safety (see
text below). Travelers find them
delightful to watch. Other performers are
dolphins. Intelligent and friendly, they
live in the Sea of Cortes year around.
(Opposite page) These granite cliffs
extend a mile into the Sea, just north of
Caho San Lucas. There on the tip of
the Baja Peninsula, the currents of the
Cortes meet those of the Pacific.
past few years, researchers have discovered
off Guaymas- at some of the deepest
troughs of the Cortes-oddities they
could not have imagined. Down 6700 feet,
from a small submarine, they have witnessed
gigantic tube worms, strange bacteria,
undersea geysers, and petroleum oozing
from 600-degree "mineral mounds."
The earliest farers of the Sea returned
to tell of huge sea serpents and other
monsters. The only monsters that persist
are whales, mainly finbacks, up to 75-feet
long.
Seals abound. One summer day last year,
I snorkeled onto a rock off Isla Partida
where a colony was sunning. Sprawled
out were several cows, a pup or two, and a
46/ Arizona Highways Magazine
noisy veteran bull weighing around 400
pounds. In zoos, seals pose as lovable
animals that bark cheerfully and bounce
balls on their noses. I was unafraid. But
the· bull took exception to my visit. For 15
minutes he circled my perch, leaped in
front of me, grunted, and displayed impressive
teeth. Twice he came so close, I slapped
his head with my snorkel mask-before
beating a quiet, indirect retreat to my boat.
The real frustration was a recurring
thought: if I were killed there on that rock
that summer day by that seal, no one
would believe it.
Seals, whales, and sharks are numerous
in many seas. The residents that give
the Sea of Cortes its imprint are the
boojums, giant chuckawallas, and others
seen nowhere else.
Separated by deserts and oceans from
the rest of the planet, life in and around
the Sea evolved in peculiar ways.
On Isla Santa Catalina, southeast of
Loreto, prosper the world's only rattleless
rattlesnakes. Crotalus catalinenis flicks its
tongue and wildly vibrates its tail. Still - no
rattling. Herpetologists doubted the existence
of such a snake - until several specimens
were reported. Their only explanation
is that Santa Catalina must be so free of
predators, the reptile no longer needs a
warning signal.
One of the terminals for modern ferries
crisscrossing the Sea is La Paz, the lively
queen city of Baja. Within sight of her
harbor is one of the most fascinating of
the islands. Espiritu Santo, or Holy Spirit,
appears to rise from the Sea in long ledges,
like giant stairsteps.
Espiritu Santo is - or was - populated
by a unique breed of jackrabbits, black
with ears trimmed in cinnamon-red. For
years, those rodents were a tourist lure - as
such things are measured in the region.
(The only way to land on Espiritu Santo
or any of the other islands is by boat.)
Most jackrabbit species are gray or brown,
of course. Why should these be black?
Biologists remain baffled.
In theory, evolving animals should
assume the protective coloration of their
habitats. Espiritu Santo is not dark but
light in color. The riddle may never be
resolved. A few years ago, throngs of
American squatters secretly slipped onto
the island and began living off the land.
By the time they were detected and deported
by Mexican authorities, they had spitroasted
most of the rare hares. It is too
soon to say whether enough rabbits remain
to repopulate the island.
Changeless as the sea and its shore seem,
nothing in nature is immutable. Slowly,
as one reckons human life spans, the entire
Pacific Plate is inching northward. Entire
species vanish. Sometimes it is man who
deals the losing hand, as with the black
jackrabbits. Sometimes extinction springs
from an inexorable act of nature.
What led Hernan Cortes to La Paz in
1535 was the existence of black pearl
oysters. Prized by European royalty, pearls
made the port famous. Pearling continued
to be a major pursuit until 1940, when,
almost overnight, the oysters vanished.
Experts lean toward a theory that disease
invaded the oyster beds.
A hand-sized starfish called the sun star,
or Heliaster kubiniji, once thrived by the
hundreds of thousands in rocky tide pools
around the Gulf. John Steinbeck and his
colorful biologist companion, Ed Ricketts,
collected them in 1940 near Caho San
Lucas, at the southernmost tip of Baja.
They found more starfish beside a rocky
shore of Espiritu Santo, plus sulfur-green
sea cucumbers and the scampering brightshelled
crabs called Sally Lightfoots. Their
expedition turned up still other Heliasters
"virtually everywhere" off Puerto Escondido,
Tiburon, and elsewhere.
In the summer of 1978, suddenly, the
sun stars vanished. The cause: Scientists
suspect a slight but persistent shift in seawater
temperature made the animals more
susceptible to disease.
text continued on page 48
Conceivably, today, a great American seaport might be
bustling as an oil pipeline terminal, bulk shipper, gateway to
the Orient and South America, and industrial center, within
the state of Arizona, on the delta where the Colorado spills
into the Cortes.
But fate decreed otherwise. As explained in Arizona
Pageant, by Madeline Pare and Bert Fireman:
By 1853 it was apparent to many that the United States
needed to be released from the obligations assumed under
Article XI of the treaty providing for control of savage
Indian tribes. James Gadsden of South Carolina was appointed
American minister to Mexico. He was instructed to secure a
railroad route to the Pacific, and also to free the United
States from its responsibility for the pacification of the
boundary. Gadsden soon discovered that the magic medium
for negotiation with Santa Anna was money. After many
trials, he was able to secure a treaty which gave to the United
States 29,670 square miles which included the disputed Mesilla
Valley along the southern boundary of New Mexico and the
desolate desert region south of the Gila. This latter area was
so God-forsaken that Kit Carson declared that a wolf could
not make a living upon it. The price finally agreed upon was
$10 million. This treaty ... became effective in June 1854 . ...
For the new boundary survey following this acquisition,
the United States government appointed[William] Emory the
commissioner. He worked with the co-operation of the Mexican
team of surveyors, fixing a starting point on the Rio
Grande just above El Paso. The line was run from this point
west for 100 miles. After a jog to the south, it proceeded west
for some miles beyond Nogales. A dog-leg line ran northwesterly
from this point to a few miles south of the site of
Yuma, on the Colorado . . . . Gadsden, himself a railroad
speculator, was primarily concerned with obtaining a feasible
railroad route to deepwater on the Pacific. Having won
this concession with acquisition of lands south of the Gila in
Arizona and New Mexico, he did not press hard for a port on
the Gulf of California, although one might have been acquired
if the United States had been willing to pay greater tribute to
the avarice of Santa Anna.D
Arizona Highways Magazine/47
Twenty-five-mile-long Bahia Concepcion
is the most beautiful of spots along the
Baja Peninsula. The turquoise green and
blue waters of the bay turn a dramatic
red at sunset. There are many coves and
beaches available to campers.
(Inside back cover) Mass flights of birds,
such as this one off Tiburon Island,
are common throughout the Sea of
Cortes. Enormous numbers of birds live
around or visit the Cortes, including
terns and gulls, blue-footed boobies,
Canada geese, curlews, and sandpipers.
Jeff Kida photo
(Left) The cirio tree, or boojum, of the
Baja Peninsula survives in one of the
harshest climates in the world. (Above)
The Sally Lightfoot crab swarms the
uppermost rocks along the Sea of Cortes.
Beautiful, fast, and sensitive, it is an
impossible creature to creep up on.
(Back cover) Magnificent Salt River
Canyon, on U.S. 60 north of Globe, each
season of snow melt hosts a plunging,
raging river only madmen . . . and our
author-photographer would dare. (Read:
"Down the Wild Salt," beginning on
page 16.) Peter Kresan photo
text continued from page 46
Still, the most profound transformations
are wrought by man.
For millions of years, the Colorado River
freshened the waters of the upper Gulf
and infused it- through the silts swept
down -with nutrients to nurture its teeming
life.
A hard-working river, the Colorado. Its
waters support agriculture on thousands
of acres of desert. Harnessed, the river
generates great amounts of power for growing
cities and towns throughout the Southwest.
Consequently, less and less of the
Colorado's nutrient-laden water reaches
the Cortes Sea. (Although, this year, enormous
snowmelts in the Rockies will flush
a surplus of some 5 million acre feet of
water through to the Gulf of Mexico, a
48 / Arizona Highways Magazine
surplus 20 times greater than last year's.)
Some necessary minerals feed into the
Cortes as the river delta erodes into the
ocean. But not enough, insist biologists.
This could mean at some point the fertility
of the marine cul-de-sac will be substantially
decreased.
The most apparent change around the
Sea, however, has been in human population,
the past quarter-century. Tourists,
understandably, arrive in increasing numbers.
Natives seek tourist-trade jobs. Sleepy
towns, like Guaymas and La Paz, become
real cities.
Steinbeck wrote with some apprehension
- and correct prophesy - of the resorts
he envisioned ringing the shore. Could he
return, he probably would not appreciate
everything he saw.
Airplanes and paved highways have
brought even Cabo San Lucas, where tall,
sea-sculptured stone monoliths stand guard
at land's end, within easy travel.
Still, this is a matter of perspective. For
those of us who were not there in 1940, the
Sea of Cortes still is vast and uncluttered.
So long as there are uninhabited islands
and unexplored coves and beaches, that
aura of timeless unreality will remain.D
Carle Hodge has written about
the Sea of Cortes for more than 20
years. He is a Phoenix-based
science writer for the Arizona
Republic.