Arizona Highways, June 1978

              fq&f;fts
UDLY PRESENTED BY RIZON~
HWAYS
ARIZON~ HIGHWAYS
JUNE 1978 VOL. 54, NO. 6
Marvin Beck,
Director of Publications
Tom C. Cooper, Editor
\,Vesley Holden, Associate Editor
Richard G. Stahl, Assistant Editor
Gary Ben.nett, Art Director
Shirley Mum.maw,
Circulation Manager
Bruce Babbitt, Governor of Arizona
Arizona @ D~partment. of ·•
Transportation
I ' '
William A. Ordway, Director
Oscar T. Lyon, Jr., State Engineer
Board Members
Robert M. Bracker, Chairman, Nogales
Armand P. Ortega, Vice Chairman,
Sanders
William " Bilf' Erdmann, Member,
Casa Grande
John S. Houston, Member, Yuma
E. J. "Charlie" McCarthy, Member,
Kingman
Ralph A. Watkins, Jr., Member,
Wickenburg
John W. McLaughiin, Member,
Morenci
In This Issue
A special 46-page salute to the Rim
Country.
2 The Marvelous Mogollon Rim
Sights, sounds, personal adventures
and warm recollections plus an
informal guided tour of Arizona's
unique northern highlands.
14 No Strangers to the Land
Amidst a special color portfolio of Rim
Country images, a conservationist, an
outdoor writer, a landscape photogra­pher
and a wildlife artist join with the
editors in ari. exploration of scenes
and senses.
Arizona Highways is pub l ished monihly by
the Arizona Department of Transportation .
Address: Arizona Highways, 2039 W. Lewis Ave .,
Phoenix, AZ 85009 . $8.00 per year in U.S. and
possessions . $9.00 Canada, Mex i co and
P.U .A.S countries, and $10.00 elsewhere; single
copies one dollar each. Second Class Postage
paid at Phoenix, Arizona, under Act of March 3,
1879. Copyright© 1978 by the Arizona Depart ­me
nt of Transpo rtation .
(Front cover) Ldoking across . hundreds of
miles of pines, day's end becomes a sunset
extravaganza on Mt. Baldy, eas t ern boundary
of Arizona's marvelous Mogollon Rim.
David M uenc h
Don Dede ra
From the Editor·: Don Dedera is eminently qualified to write an article on the
Mogollon Rim. A long-time conservationist, Don was on the Multiple Use Advi­sory
Council of the Tonto National Forest for eight years. He served on the Ari­zona
Conservation Council, and was involved in early efforts to set aside the Mt.
Baldy Wilderness Area in the White Mountains. As a columnist for the Arizona
Republic, he won the Ernie Pyle Memorial Award in 1958, and for the past 10
years has been a free -lance writer ... producing a number of books and over 400
major articles, many of which were on the Arizona outdoors.
Nevertheless, when an editor asks a writer to do an article, his first clue as
to what might be expected in the finished product is the enthusiasm with which
the writer accepts the job. In Don Dedera's case, words like excited, eager, and
wholehearted are not exaggerations, for the Rim has fascinated Don since the
40s and his first trip there as a Boy Scout. By nature, Don is an easy-going, quick
to smile, fun to talk with sort of a person ... but mention the Mogollon Rim and
he bubbles like a mountain stream, and radiates an energy that comes from first­hand
experience with this beautiful land .
What started out to be an article about the Rim expanded itself into an issue,
and before we were done it included a round-table discussion (a " Mogollon Sum­mit,"
of sorts), with Wes Holden and Dick Stahl of our editorial staff, and such
notable nature authorities as Ben Avery, conservationist and former outdoor
writer for the Arizona Republic ; Josef Muench, world-renowned photographer
and one of our long-time contributors ; and Larry Toschik, wildlife artist and
partisan Mogollon devotee, who makes his home in the shadow of the Rim's
mighty ramparts. Don drove over from his home in San Diego, where he now
lives, especially to moderate and take part in this conference.
This was a "fun issue." It was fun for us to put together and, with Don
Dedera as your guide, we think you'll find the stories " The Magnificent Mogol­lon"
and "No Strangers To The Land" just as much fun to read .
- Tom C. Cooper
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Allow six weeks for a change of address. Send
in the old as well as the new address including
ZIP code. Telephone (602) 258-6641 .
The editors will not be responsible for unso­li
cited manuscripts , photographs, artwork, or
other materials sent for editorial consideration .
1
A High Country
Adventure
by .
Don
Dedera
2
Austin doesn't look much like our
idea of an an astronaut. Those space
pilots of the 1960s were lean, intense,
programmed - with an eye on the
Moon. Austin is stout, serene, extem­poraneous
- in tune with Mother Earth.
He is a full-blood Hopi Indian.
Yet surely he is in command here. He
serves as captain of what seems to be a
capsule of wood, metal and glass float­ing
beneath cottony clouds through the
azure sky over central Arizona. Our
senses tell us, we fly. Actually, the
atmosphere flows past us. Our altitude
is 8135 feet above sea level. That would
be the 8075-foot elevation of Baker
Butte, plus the 60-foot height of the
fire lookout tower. While Austin makes
small talk, his gaze darts out to distant
horizons . He reinforces his eagle eyes
with binoculars, and if he sees what
looks like trouble, he plots compass
bearings with instruments on a table
chart . Austin's job is to watch for
smokes, and to report them to the
Happy Jack Ranger Station up the road
to Flagstaff. One call from Austin, and
the firefighters will come running.
The Coconino National Forest has
been closed for two weeks because of
dry, hot weather. Now the fire hazard
is relieved by soaking summer showers,
and we are Austin's first visitors in 18
days. Froin Highway 87 north of Pay­son
we've turned east for a couple of
miles on the Old Rim Road, then right
through a gate, and along the rocky
switchbacks to the top of the butte. In
low gear we've urged the sedan slowly
along forest floors lush with ferns , wild
strawberries, and blooming columbines
and roses. Oaks and conifers crowd the
narrow canyons and march along the
ridges to the clearing for the tower, and
to a small green cabin, the home of John
and Lena Hale, the regular fire lookouts.
They are away on vacation. Austin is
the relief lookout for several towers
along the Tonto Rim .
The Rim . It never ceases to shock the
preconceptions of Arizona newcomers,
and quicken the pride of Arizona old­timers.
"It simply cannot be Arizona." She is
newly from Connecticut and opinion­ated.
"Arizona is sand, cactus, lizards
and desert! Not . .. this!" Her gaze
follows Austin's through the big slanted
windows in every direction to densely
forested uplands almost as far as the
eye can see. On this day the vista easily
takes in the scatter of buildings at Star
Valley 20 miles away. There is Diamond
Point with its sister watchtower as plain
as a cow on a front porch. Off to the
southwest, the highest hump of Camel­back
Mountain marks the site of Phoe­nix,
85 straightline miles. And
incredibly, that faint range beyond, and
beyond, and beyond a dozen purple
highlands .. . that is the crest of the
Santa Catalina Mountains, hard by
Tucson (145 miles). On clear days from
Baker Butte it is possible to see the Hopi
Mesas rising from the Colorado
Plateau. In all, the. panorama reaches
257 miles north and south.
And virtually ali the vast vision in
a sweep east and west is forested
upland . The Mogollon (Moe-gee-on)
Rim. Alias, the Tonto Rim. Nicknamed
by those who know it best, simply, The
Rim ; And some would add, God's
Country .
t: 0 10 20 MILES
My friertd from The Nutmeg State,
on her first exposure to the Tonto Rim,
wonders where she should spend her
three weeks of vacation.
;'That's not enough time to see 1t all,"
I tell her. "That would be like spending
one week in Connecticut, one we.ek in
Massachusetts, and one week in Maine.
You could overlay New England on a
similar scale map of the Rim Country,
and the Rim would reach from Hartford
to New Brunswick."
She pouts: "That's not a valid exam­ple.
There's so much to see in New En­gland
and so much open space between
anything out here, you should be able
to just zip through and not miss any­thing
important."
I sigh . Okay, milady, here is a Rim
Country "zip-through" not missing
anything important. (I hope.)
The Rim Country in many places is
just that: the southern rim of the Colo­rado
Plateau. By extended definition the
Rim scribes a grand escarpment reach­ing
in lazy S-shaped arcs from 9000-
foot-high Bill Williams Mountain, in the
vicinity of the Grand Canyon, all the
way to New Mexico, where it is inter­sected
by the San Francisco River and
then continues as the Mogollon Moun­tains
deep into west central New Mex­ico
... some 300 miles in all. Not
only do these uplands impart a
cooler climate, the Mogollon intercepts
prevajling patterns of moist air off the
Pacific Ocean and the gulfs of Califor­nia
and Mexico. Clouds forced to rise
along the Rim unload summer rain­showers
and winter snowstorms. So,
along the Rim, precipitation may qua­druple
that of the desert - thus succor­ing
a wild ecology of antelope and elk
and beaver and cougar and watercress
and iris and trout and pike and fir and
quaking aspen:.
The Rim, in Arizona, rather logi­cally
divides itself into four parts.
Northernmos-t, and on the far western
end, are the forests and high mesas
around Williams, Flagstaff, and the Red
Rock Country, typified by Oak Creek
Canyon; then to the south extend the
Mingus and Bradshaw mountains sep­arated
by populated valleys such as
Verde, Prescott, Peeples, Chino and
Bloody Basin; then eastward the Rim
presents its boldly scalloped escarpment
for a hundred miles; and then, another
90 or so miles to the border with New
Mexico, the highlands come to be called
the White Mountains, with 600 miles of
trout streams and such evocative place
names as Show Low, Mouf).t Baldy,
Beaverhead Lodge and the Coronado
Trail.
Think of it all as a region where, in
defiance of the old saying, people can
really do something about the weather.
In warmer seasons, when the south­ern
deserts turn uncomfortably hot,
temperatures in the mountain meadows
of Arizona rartge from 40 to 77 degrees,
on the average.
Within this vertical variety, a steer­ing
wheel becomes a weather dial. The
motorist's choice is cactus to cortif er,
water skiing to snow skiing, catfish to
brown trout, lizard to antelope, all in a
half-day drive. In a climatological sense,
the journey equals a trip from Mexico
to Canada.
In other geographical theaters the
spring season arrives abruptly from
behind a frosty curtain; like the gala
opening of a one-act play fresh out of
Milwaukee. The standard plot calls for
soft rain, robins, daffodils and green
leaves everywhere at once.
But along the Rim Country spring
doesn't burst upon the stage. This pro­duction
takes time. Vast backdrops
must be rearranged. The introduction of
springtime may cover several months,
influenced by altitude, aridity and adap­tation.
Spring begins where the rivers
. merge, and the season unfolds up the
Salt, up the Verde, up the Tonto, up
the Little Colorado, up the San Fran­cisco,
up the Blue, in search of warmth
arid moisture. Where they exist, life
quickens. in March, the first sign of
spring may spangle a slope below the
Rim with golden poppies. April cos-
(Below) Watching for smokes . .. from
numerous fire towers hig h above the trees,
ale rt eyes constantly guard th is sanctuary of
mill ions of tal l pines reaching to far horizons.
Herb and Dorothy McLaughlin
5
(Clockwise from top) Meteor Crater east of
Flagstaff; th e stark beauty of Sunset Crater;
Lowell Observatory, Flag staff, where the 'canals'
of Mars were traced.
6
Earth Magician shapes this world .
Behold what he can do!
Round and smooth he molds it.
Behold what he can do!
Piman song
Josef Muench
tumes the sage of.the Colorado Plateau.
May parades bliie flag~ across the
Apache National Forest, _and drapes the
roadsides with purple lupine. And
finally, June warms the 1500-year-:ald
bones of the bristlecone pines clinging
to the San Francisco Peaks, highest in
the state.
A few years ago, in. one national sur­vey
or another, Flagstaff was. nominated
as one of the seven most desirable envi­ronments
for human habitation in
America. I've never lived in Flag Town,
myself; although I've dbne my share of
the tourist things there. Some twice.
Such as feasting on fry bread and rii.ut­ton
stew with the Navajo Indians dur­ing
the Fourth of July P_ow Wow. Or
watching the hang gliders so~r across
the cinder cones out toward ,Mount
Elden. Or taking a we~kday lumber inill
tour; courtesy of Southwest Forest
Industries. Or mingling with the spirits
of the prehistoric in Walnut Canyon
cliff dwellings.
For all of the science fo:tion about
space travel for ordinary citizens, likely
you will nev.er get any closer to the
moon than the landscape around Flag­staff.
The idea has inerit. It was on these
volcanic slopes that Astronaut Neil
Armstrong practiced his "giant leap for
mankind," that would become man's
first footfall on the moon's dusty sur­face.
so until tickets go on sale for moon
junkets, the next best opportunity is an
expedition to landmarks of keen inter­est
to _astronomers and space pioneers.
Flagstaff has craters of both impact and
volcanic origin. For more than a decade,
these lunar-like formations have been
outdoor geology classrooms for astro­nauts~
testing grounds for experimental
vehides, and realistic rehearsal theaters
for lunar exploration.
According tb the moon walkers, little
imagination is required to think of Sun­set
Crater (a national monument) as a
inoon feature. An extinct volcano, Sun­set
erupted just 900 years ago, oozing
lava 300 feet thick ih some places, and
ejecting tremendous billows of ash.
8
The face of the moon is pocked by
impact craters ranging from an inch to
400 miles in diameter. Forty miles east
of Flagstaff is the earth's best known
impact wound, Meteor Crater. It was
created perhaps 50,000 years ago when
a lump of nickel and iron streaked in
from space. All of the Southwest must
have quaked when the meteor struck
with more power than hydrogen bombs.
Today the scar remains - nearly a mile
across and approximately 600 feet deep.
Here, also, the moon men trained. You
may join them in a three-mile rim walk.
The solar system has been the spe­cialty
of Flagstaff's Lowell Observatory
since 1894; six telescopes; Lowell's
early work on the planet Mars assists
in today's Mariner space probes. On
weekdays there are afternoon tours.
Everybody's favorite in Flagstaff,
itself, is the Museum of Northern Ari­zona,
now grown to a major research
center from an obscure anthropology
laboratory. No admission is charged for
entry to the exhibits of prehistoric
human cultures and to displays of mod­ern
arts and crafts. The museum gift
shop offers a splendid collection
of native American products for sale.
And why not? A necklace of silver and
turquoise may grace a Connecticut
neck .
That I know of, the road doesn't have
a special name. Just Forest Highway
Three. I wish it could be given a more
descriptive handle: "The Trail of the
Tall Ponderosas," maybe.
(Above) High country lakes abound with a
variety of exotic bird life.
Jim Tallon
(Left) Waiting for a big one. Dog Town
Lake below Bill Williams Mountain.
Peter Bloomer
(Left) Summer means fish ing at
Woods Canyon Lake.
Herb and Dorothy McLaughlin
(Above) Stoneman Lake, nestled in the crater
of an old volcano.
Herb and Dorothy McLaughlin
, (Left) A proud old remnant of the early
pioneer days in Pine, circa 1870.
Jim Tallon
9
Ice-topped haven of the Gods, San Franci sco
Peaks, highest point in Arizona, from Oak
Creek Canyon. · ··
Soon after leaving Flagstaff the
newly improved highway traverses
classic ponderosa country - shallow
lakes, grassy meadows, copses of aspen
and oak, and everywhere the horizons
ragged with the silhouettes of pines and
sister conifers. Growth rings indicating
450 years of age have been counted on
weathered stumps. Many of today's
virgin ponderosa stood tall during the
U.S. Civil War. ·
· The once-tortuous path of trader,
trapper and cowman now streaks for
10 miles past the reflecting pools and
water recreation facilities of Upper and
Lower Mary la~es, to Mormon Lake.
Once a pasture for ~airymen, the lake
is said to have formed when hooves of
cattle cqmpai:ted the so:l Other, smaller
lakes a.,ppeal to the eye and heart.
Ashurst and Kinnikinick are azure
ponds ideal for picnicking;.Willow Val­ley
Lake and ~ong Lake are favored
fishing holes for scrappy bluegills and
trout. ·
But of all the lakes, Stoneman is the
curiosity, covering. the floor of· a small,
collapsed volcano. The "lake is a half­mile
wide, handsomely bordered by
reeds and brush. All around, in a nearly
regular circle, the crusted edges of the
crater rise 200 feet. · ..
The paving of Forest Highway Three
has greatly changed Happy Jack, the
timber camp and ranger station 40 miles
south. of Flagstaff. A rowdy bachelor's
bivouac when town was st.ill a three­hour
drive, Happy Jack is now a com­muter
target for family men, Soine get
thei~ mail at " America's second-small­est
post office," 24 square feet of floor
area.
The last leg of the highway, Happy
Jack to Cllnt's Well, is enough to restore
the pure joy of motoring to anyone.
Other than the road itself, no work of
man is visible for 15 miles. No bill­boards.
No roadside enterprises. Little
traffic.
"The Trail of the Tall Ponderosas."
Sho~ld we get up a petition?
Egad. Three weeks for the Rim Coun­try.
Plenty of seasoned vacationers
believe that three weeks is insufficient
for full appreciation of Oak Creek Can­yon
alone, where the stream and its
tributaries have cut 1200 feet into the
bright red Supai sandstone, the buff
limestone, the white Toroweap sand­stone,
and the black and gray lava. The
resulting ragged chasm is made of
'/
I
/
,i
---,\ _
(Above) Dedicated to the spirit of
William " Buckey" O'Neill, and the
Rough Riders of the 1st U.S. Volunteer
Cavalry. ·
Camera Center
frowning cliffs, bronze buttes and sym­metrical
shelves interrupted by soft
green forests. Where the creek is born
as springs, the water is of ideal quality
and temperature for hatching rainbow
trout. And in its race over 16 miles, Oak
Creek bottomlands are rife with maples,
oaks, sycamores and other deciduous
trees. In April the lower, wider portion
of the canyon blooms riotously among
(Left) Where copper was king, Jerome -
precari ously balanced on Cleopatra Hill.
David Muench ·
(Left) The historic camp on the Verde is today
a popular museum.
Woodward
11
orchards of apples, peaches, plums and
pears. Mermaids shoot the rapids at
Slide Rock. Photographers never seem
to tire of Coffee Pot Rock. Jeeps are for
hire for prowling remote viewpoints. A
dozen public campgrounds maintained
by the Forest Service absorb the fleets
of wheeled minihomes of visitors seek­ing
side jaunts to adventure.
Here's one: You drive 28 miles and
several towns southwesterly on U.S.
89A. It snakes up to the lively ghost
town of Jerome, mostly clinging but
somewhat sliding, on the steep slopes
of Cleopatra HHI. Supposedly doomed
when its billion-dollar copper mines
shut down, Jerome has outlived its obit­uaries
and become a retirement village
and tourist attraction.
So, my Connecticut Yankee friend,
you have seen something of that part
of the Rim Country surrounding Wil­liams,
Flagstaff and Sedona, and now
you're itching to move on.
Try going south a little to Yavapai
County. It rivals Massachusetts in size,
and smack in the center prospers a most
convenient base camp: Prescott. It's as
historical a place as there is to be found
in Arizona - the first territorial capital
- established in 1864, among rolling
granite mountains a mile high, near
newly discovered placer gold fields.
"Robert Groom was the first sur­veyor,"
a chronicler has written. "And
while it is said he placed a spot of phos­phorous
on his dog's tail to guide him
home from Whiskey Row each night,
he was able to lay his streets straight
come morning."
The pattern persists to this day -
streets cross-hatched around a charm­ing
and peaceful square, dominated by
an upright courthouse chock-full of pio­neer
tales. The large log building which
housed the first legislature still stands,
as one element in the Sharlot Hall
Museum complex. Prescott itself is a
town for strollers, if only to admire the
well-kept Victorian, Queen Anne, and
Georgian Revival homes along tree­shaded
Pleasant Street.
12
Each curious visitor can assemble his
own almanac of Prescott flashbacks ....
... Prescott might have remained the
Arizona capital but an early-day legis­lature
opted for Phoenix, when a Pres­cott
booster failed to answer roll call.
He couldn't attend that day's session
because a lady-of-the-evening had
swallowed his glass eye.
... Prescott's first saloon was set on
the bank of Granite Creek, "but the
sight of water made the customers
sick." The building was moved to Mon­tezuma
Street, Others followed, Thus,
to this day, the street is called Whiskey
Row .
. . . The town's first eatery boasted of
a "deluxe" menu. There was fried veni­son
and chili for breakfast; roast veni­son
and chili, chili and beans, and chili
on tortillas for lunch; and from 4
o'clock on, plain chili for supper.
. .. Women were scarce, leading to a
want ad, "By a middle-aged man, pretty
soon - a wife, not under 25 years of
age and little on the lazy order; fond
of reading; just enough of ambition to
keep herself clean and look after the
household; dean, comfortable home to
go into i everything handy; very little
work to do; washing put out. A lady
on the slender side preferred; about 36-
inch bust measure; don't care if she has
not the second shirt to her back, if she
only has sense enough to not be spoiled
by being cared for tenderly when sick.
Ladies that may imagine themselves the
least bit susceptible to being hypno­tized
by gentlemen roomers in a neigh­borhood,
need not apply."
The countryside around Prescott also
abounds in history. Yavapai National
Forest takes in more than a million
highly mineralized acres: a rockhound's
paradise rich in pyrites,' turquoise, gar­net,
mica, amethyst, onyx, travertine,
jasper, agate, petrified wood, and native
copper. Ghost towns await: Crown
King, Cleator, Bumblebee, Oroville,
Stanton, Octave.
And Walker ...
... South of Prescott in the Bradshaw
Mountains, Walker is little more than
The boulder-strewn moonscape of Granite
Dells, north of Prescott on U.S. 89.
Gill C. Kenny
a collection of vague stone foundations
and piles of weathered lumber. But not
to Mrs. Alvina N. Potter, author of The
Many Lives of the Lynx. The carefully
researched book repopulates Walker
with the 3000 people who staked
claims, found mates, built homes, bore
children, and sought wealth in mines
called The Accidental, Bill Coty, Vine­gar,
Emma, Golden Fleece, the Cash on
Delivery - glory holes dotted among
the live oak and wild grapevines.
There are times when I believe that
the handsomest vista in the Rim Coun­try
is the Chino Valley, about 20 miles
due north of Prescott on U.S. 89. The
road worries through the boulder­strewn
moonscape of Granite Dells,
wanders along the west side of Granite
Creek, and wraps around a rolling
calendar-poster bowl filled with bald­face
cows, frame farmhouses and fields
of pinto beans. When the golden ban­tam
corn is in sugar and the jalapefio
peppers are in heat, Chino is a place to
stop for fresh produce and restoration
of mental health.
People who live in such exquisite
beauty, to me at least, seem to acquire
( or perhaps the word should be, retain)
qualities of refreshing whimsy and
wonderment. The Chino paper is chock
full of stories that tell about the bright~r
side.
Front page bright - "It's fun watch­ing
our Valleyite widow chase one of
our Valleyite bachelors. She chases him
the way our dog chases squirrels - not
to catch him, but to see him go."
Filler from page 6 - "The other day
a city · man screeched to a halt and
honked his horn and yelled at one of
our well-known Chino Valley farmers,
!Do you take orders for firewood?' And
don't you know that our farmer neigh­bor
looked at that dty slicker and said,
'Well, l do have some wood cut to fire­place
length, and sometimes I do sell it.
But, mister, I don't take orders from
nobody.'"
For Rim Country residents, that just
about says it all.
continued on page 34
16
A pause for reflections .. . Red Rock
Crossing, Oak Creek Canyon.
David Muench
(Following panel) Red Rock overlook,
Oak Creek Canyon.
David Muench
Avery. I'd hope that this new breed of environmentalist would keep in mind
that nature is not a sweet, kind and gentle little lady. Nature often is cruel and
brutal. Life is cheap. Trees, animals, streams, mountains - even people - are
subject to nature's laws of survival. At tiines nature wreaks havoc beyond any
power of humans.
Toschik. I wonder if we'd be thought old-fashioned to discuss the spirituality
of nat4re? I mean, I've come to feel such a kinship with the plants and creatures I
sketch and paint. They seem to harbor spirits of their own, and I try to ·relate to
them. · ·
Avery. And places! Why, one of my unforgettable places of the Rim Country
is a cabin porch about dusk when an old friend was trying out his turkey caller.
And doggone if a big hen turkey didn't leave her roost in an old pine tree and peel
down into the canyon - maybe looking for a poult she thought was in trouble.
For me, the Rim is full of those places with a personal spiritual' importance.
Muench. I know how you feel. One evening up on the Rim I unrolled ~y
sleeping bag and lay down only to be shocked by a ferocious growling nearby. The
beast circled all around me, snarling and generally letting me know I was an
intruder. I pointed a flashlight, got a glimpse of eyes, an.cl suddenly the animal
was gone. That's one place 6n the Rimi remember! . .
Highways. America once was iargely populated by informal naturalists -
farmers and other outdoo.r workers. Is there something about f he Rim Country
that intimidates city folks these days? ·
Muench. I hope so. lt can still be a wild and woolly piece of ground.
Avery. For which I give thanks. I think an iq,.portant part of oμtdoor recrea­tion
carries risks to life and limb. Life can be intense, when there's an' element of
danger. Myself, in my retirement · years, I've taken up climbing mountains with
ropes.
Toschik. The other side of that is the replenishment that city dwellers may
take from unspoiled areas where the scenery 'is soft on th~ eyes. Mor~ than ever
Americans need the serenity which comes from cpmni.unicating with the · truth of
nature. There's nothing phony about a giant fc1llen tree, decaying into humus and
' giving life to seedling trees. l f~el kindship with the tarantula and with the buz­zard
and with the rattlesnake. They aU must s·truggle - just as that pine tiee and
juniper tree are locked in combat for survival right outsicle our window: I think
the pine will win be.cause it's taller and gets inore sunlight.
Josef Muench
. Avery. The juniper will win. If we come back a hundred years from now,
the junipe:r; will be there, and the pine will be gone. .
· Highways. Maybe something can be said :_ at this tin,-ze of natiorial self-criticism
- about the beneficial effects of human activity in the realm of nature.
Avery. It's a valid point. Before Arizona was settled, there was only one
natural lake in all of the Territory: Stoneman Lake up on top of the Rim~ Now
there are dozens of man-made lakes forming refuge for fish and game. When I
was a kid, Arizona fishing was fair to ·poo~. Now, under goqd management, it's
some of the best in the West. · · ··
continued on page 20
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The Land continued from page 16
Muench. If I had my way, we'd stop improving the roads. I've come to seek
out the little roads that slow me down to five miles an hour, because I'm forced
to take the time to observe.
Toschik. And Joe, I'd emphasize observe. Don't snap a branch if you don't
have to. Don't so much as kick over a rock. A whole community of life prospers
beneath a rock, and the lichens growing on the side may be centuries old. Parents
should teach their children outdoor manners that are as important as indoor
manners.
Avery. It's been my experience that there is no closer bond than that created
between parents and children in a great big old country like this. My kids learned
to swim in those pools over by Kohl's Ranch. We still talk about the first black
bear they saw, and about finding a clump of beautiful coral 5000 feet above sea
Beautiful means 100- mile tree -packed vistas from the aerie heights of
the Rim', and a spring freshet on the Black River voic ing miniatu re
cascade sounds. Beauty is little thi ngs, too : a flu ffy seed head
caressed by a cool mountain breeze, and a furry animal no bigger than
the palm of your hand.
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level, and about the first time they caught their first wild trout with a fly, down
in Shelby Canyon.
Highways. And once you introduce kids to that sort of adventure - you'd
better get ready, because they'll sure be full of questions.
Muench. Some answers they must discern for themselves. After all these
years, I find myself talking out loud to the little flowers and gentle ferns that
appear in my camera viewfinder. It was a sobering yet somehow poetic experi­ence
one day in the 1930s to take a photograph of a great, gnarled tree right on
the edge of the Rim; the picture appeared in Arizona Highways. Then last year
I went back. I found the place where the tree had clung to the rock, but the tree
was gone . . . not a trace. Lightning? Disease?
continued on page 26
Water wonderlands of the high country, the haunts of fisher folk, where
dragonflies doze in the warm sun and small lake creatures seek the
coolness of the shadowed depths.
(Following panel) Along the high parapets of the Rim , height
and distance take on startling new dimensions.
Josef Muench
23
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The Land continued from page 23
Highways. Ben, throughout your career as an outdoor writer you've defended
the concept of multiple use management of public lands . . . what about the futur.e?
Avery. We're going to have to intensify our management of these resources.
Ranching, hunting, picnicking . .. and scores of other activities may coexist in
harmony, but we know that recreational use potentially is most destructive. We're
especially ·challenged to minimize the impact of too many people concentrating at
sensitive areas, such as boggy meadows. On the other hand, the Rim today is a
classic example of man's use improving the forest. Thinning dense stands of trees
for pulpwood over the past decade has greatly improved the health and beauty of
the woodlands. I've always maintained that beauty, too, is a manageable resource .
C:
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' Ranching , hunting, picn i cking and a score of other act ivities co-e xist in
harmony here on the Mogollon Rim ... where beauty is a manageable
resource.'
27
Highways. In recent years it's become almost a trite expression - by studying
nature, human beings can learn about themselves. What are some of your intro­spections
. .. ?
Toschik. Well, for one thing, by and large we are brought up to believe that
human life is unique . Truth is, we share the same metabolism with warm-blooded
animals . We share the same bone structure with birds, with amphibians. Their
physical marvels are no less. In an eagle it is our thumb bone which spills air off
the top of the wing to keep the bird from stalling. We think our thumb is nifty.
So is the eagle's. There's another aspect. In our superior way, we assume that
happiness is solely a human emotion. I swear I have seen birds flying the ridges
of the Rim Country for the sheer joy of flying .. . not going anywhere in particular,
just loving it.
continu ed on page 33
Th e d ra ma of sunrise over Ha wle y Lake , the shadowed peace of a
bracken/ spru ce fo re st - del igh t s for th e eye as well as the spirit, high
in th e Whit e M oun t ains of eastern Ar iz ona .
David Muench
(Following pan el ) On the top of Mt. Baldy in eastern Arizona
. . . replen ishment for the soul.
Wa1ne Davis
28
Mogollon continued from page 12
When you've soaked up your share
of the Old West around Prescott, make
your escape eastward via one of several
routes to Camp Verde. Tarry a while in
Camp Verde. Go see Charlie's Quilt.
It's just about the most exciting object
in town, with a remarkable story:
In 1847, one Adeline Jones of the
state of Missouri accepts the marriage
proposal of Samuel C. Dickenson. In
these days a bride is expected to fill a
hope chest with her handiwork. Miss
Adeline cards, spins, and weaves cotton
from her father's farm in southern
Iowa. This becomes the main, white
portion of the quilt.
Then, red, yellow and green applique
in a rambling ivy pattern is sewn onto
the quilt by six of Adeline's brides­maids
. They stitch their initials along
the border of the quilt.
The Civil War catches the Dicken­sons
and their three boys living in a
no-man's land - Missouri. Dickenson
goes off to command a Union company
in battle against some of his cousins.
Adeline and the boys are left unpro­tected
in the path of Quantrell's
Raiders. Everything of value is hidden
away in a big old hollow tree . By war's
end many of the household goods are
ruined, but the quilt is as good as new,
except for a few brown stains.
Adeline dies before her boys are
grown. Dickenson then marries Nancy
Green, one of the bridesmaids who
made the quilt. Together with 13 other
families, the Dickensons make up a
wagon train west.
They are four months on the trail.
All good housewives of this period
regularly air their bedding. One method
is to drape the quilts and blankets on
bushes. Deep in Indian territory,
Grandma Nancy sees Charlie's Quilt
being carried off by a naked red man.
$he shrieks. The menfolk give chase.
The Indian drops Charlie's Quilt.
The Dickensons arrive in Arizona in
1875 and take up homesteads near
Camp Verde. Many years later the
Dickenson family heirlooms are divided
34
- the quilt to Charlie - and ultimately,
Charlie's son, George, offers it for pub­lic
display. Go see it, at the Fort Verde
Museum State Park.
Inquire locally about the road up Fos­sil
Creek to Strawberry, and if the
reports are good, fill up · with fuel,
check your spare, and set off on one of
the noble motoring adventures of your
life. (The timid, and those with vehicles
not suited for back-country driving,
should take the paved Zane Grey
Highway.)
Let me share a short story with you.
Tom and I ought to know better. We've
been going time and again to the Rim
Country, and we know that we
shouldn't explore a remote area without
plenty of water, and we are well aware
that the pressure cap of the 1944 mili­tary
surplus Jeep does not make a firm
seal on the radiator.
But foolishly we turn away from the
dense groves of cottonwoods along the
Verde River, and press across the undu­lating
foothills under Hackberry Moun­tain.
It' s some 17 miles of winding, but
not very steep dirt road pounded into
corduroy by half a summer's traffic. But
heck, we're young, and equipped with
fiberglass backsides, and we know that
when the dust lies heaviest in our
throats, relief resides in our little ice
chest.
There ' s a big left turn up Fossil
Creek, and still no trouble over the silty
track through the mesquite and salt
cedar and arroweed.
The main reason for the road is an
antique power generating station still
very much a part of Central Arizona's
electrical grid. By means of a flume,
which clings like a trapeze to the south
wall of Fossil Canyon, water is drawn
high off Mogollon Mesa and forced
through turbines to spin generators. It's
after leaving the Irvine station that the
Fossil Creek Road jumps sharply. The
old Jeep labors in its round-toothed
second gear. No guard rails here!
Merely a vertical bank on the right and
' Once ancient groves of trees w ere set aside as
places of worship . .. .' The ponderosa forest
of the Mogol lon Rim .
Josef Muench
the brink of eternity on the left. We
don't mind that either. Tom's a former
fighter pilot, shot down to parachute
behind enemy lines over Normandy, so
a thousand foot drop doesn't faze him
a bit. I grab quick glances leftward -
wow, what vistas down and over! Now
the wheezy vehicle calls for low gear,
and the little flathead four sends an
alarming message back to the tempera­ture
gauge: boiling hot. Then, barn! The
pressure cap lets go and a spout of
steam and water erupts from the hood
and pours over the windshield.
We have to stop, of course, halfway
up Fossil Creek Hill. Let the engine cool.
Then gingerly remove the faulty cap.
And refill the radiator.
What with? With every single one of
those cool cans from the ice chest, that's
what! We, grown men, nearly weep, but
the refreshments get us across the last
spectacular grades of the pass into
Strawberry Valley, where water is plen­tiful
enough for the irrigation of tidy
fields of sweet corn, pole beans and
muskmellons.
And there's even a little store that
sells ice cold radiator fluid in 12-oll,nce
cans.
The "town" of Strawberry brings an
interesting story to mind, too. The boy
and I are fugitives, this summer, from
city buildings. I, from an office. He,
from a private, expensive school. He is
7 years old, and I, at this time, some 30
years older. We're trying to become
acquainted.
We've put away hot cake breakfasts
at the Strawberry Cafe, and now we are
walking back to our temporary cabin
on the Fossil Creek Road. The morning
sun burning through the backs of our
shirts tells us we're late in our fence­building
project, but about a mile down
the pavement we decide to tarry · at the
Strawberry Schoolhouse.
The oldest standing school in Ari­zona,
the Strawberry building today
still teaches a lesson to us all.
Imagine it is 1886.
(Left) Treescaped ramparts of the
Mogollon Rim.
Wes Holden
(Below) The old Strawberry schoolhouse dates
back to 1885.
Herb and Dorothy McLaughlin
The menfolk determine the exact cen­ter
of the Strawberry Valley. There, to
be fair to all, they decide to raise the
structure.
They fell, square and set huge pon­derosa
pine logs, and cover the one
room with a shingled gable roof. The
fixtures likewise are Spartan: rough
wood benches, a potbelly stove, a shelf
of books, slates for writing. Classes
open in the fall.
Far from a supply store, the teacher
hoards her chalk like a miser, gold.
Each precious stick is accounted for, and
used to a nubbin.
One day a whole piece of chalk dis­appears.
Next day, another. And then,
another.
"Someone is stealing chalk," the
teacher tells the class. "Who is it?"
But no pupil confesses. The teacher
sadly locks away her chalk, and ponders
over a problem to perplex a Solomon.
Then an eraser vanishes. Also stolen.
"This cannot continue," the teacher
admonishes her students. "There is a
thief in our midst, and every one of you
will be under suspicion until he is iden­tified
and punished."
Still there is no clue leading to the
criminal.
One morning soon afterward the
teacher puts her gold watch on her desk.
That afternoon, after recess, the watch
is gone. Furious, the teacher keeps
school in session after hours to pursue
a child-by-child interrogation. Singly
they are summoned to the front of the
room.
"Are you the thief?" the teacher asks
each one. The oldest boy, the woodcut­ter
and firebuilder, gets the worst of it.
He stands redfaced with embarrassment
as the teacher reads the Ten Command­ments.
But the lad does not admit to
the crime. Notes carried home complete
the shame - and every child of the dis­trict
is the target of unkind gossip.
Some kids receive further grilling from
parents. A few are even punished.
The teacher soon leaves Strawberry
Valley. The children grow up, and their
own children take buses to bigger
schools elsewhere. The roof of the old
schoolhouse deteriorates, and the walls
begin to sag.
Now imagine it is 1965.
Public-spirited citizens raise money
to restore the Strawberry School, to
open it as a museum to the public.
The gray weathered logs are shored
up and rechinked, and carpenters climb
into the attic to set rafters for a new
roof.
There, they solve a mystery nearly
80 years old.
The children of Strawberry pioneers
were not thieves. For in the attic is a
pack rat's nest containing bits of glitter
and glass, hairpins and coins, pieces of
chalk and an eraser, and a lady's gold
watch.
I recommend that you, too, go to the
Strawberry School. Take a child, and
tell the story. You'll become better
acquainted.
Stump-sitting is not listed officially
among America's leading participation
sports, alas!
But if stump-sitting were rightfully
recognized, it would rank very near the
top. Maybe even first. And the Tonto
Rim of Arizona would become famous
all around the world as The Stump­sitters
Paradise.
I am aware that the Rim, at present,
enjoys quite an opposite reputation, as
an ideal arena for energetic woodsman­ship.
In season, deer, turkey, and elk
hunters string out from Clear Creek
gorge north of Strawberry for 150 wan~
dering miles to the cedar hills beyond
Pinedale. Some hunt the precipitous
points, others climb Hardscrabble Mesa,
some stalk Myrtle Point, others circle
Christopher Mountain, some prefer to
glass the shadowed meadows, and
others choose to bust the chaparral
lower down. The Rim Country is so
vast and well-forested it can absorb
hunters like a setter takes on fleas. Any
37
hunter with an iota of gumption can
find isolation - and usually the best
game - within a mile of a road. For
those who pursue more challenging
quarry, the Rim offers some of the best
bear and lion hunting in the West.
Also better organized than the
stump-sitters are the fishermen. Lordy,
the fishermen. They clamber up and
down a dozen spring-fed creeks, troll
~an-made lakes and frequent places
with unlikely names such as Bear Flat,
the Bathtub, Blue Hole, Baptist Camp,
Hell's Gate and the East Verde. Every­body,
everywhere, is a fis~erman in the
Rim Country.
Betimes, the four-wheel drive buffs
and sco9ter fans find no shortage of
maneuvering room, anp. trailriding
hCJrsemen can travel all day and not
cross a paved road.
Students of the Western frontier can
imagine themselves almost living in the
romantic past; fleet cow ponies raced
down Payson's main street; Mormon
pl9ws bit into the piney humus at
Heber; and the Gr~hams and the
Tewksburys split the country around
Young in two, ·cattle men and sheep
men, bush and whacked one another
nearly to the last man in the Pleasant
Valley War. · ·
Botanists are still trying to complete
the catalogues of five climatological
zones. Insect collectors fill their speci­men
cases, and birdwatchers, their
notebooks. Photographers zoom from
the detail of a shocking red paintbrush
bloom to 100-mile vistas.
· And, then, there are the picnickers.
God love'em. And the archers, and the
skiers, and the painters, and the sailors,
and the connoisseurs of small­town
rodeos, and the sightseers, and
without end- the campers! tent-camp­ers,
truck-campers, trailer-campers,
they tarry along the Tonto Rim for as
little as a day ci~ as long as a summer.
And that still leaves stl.lmp-sitting
uncelebrated, and stump-sitters
undefined .
The sport is at once the easiest and
38
most difficult of all human diversions.
It is the art of doing constructively as
little as possible for the greatest good,
with the least effort for the longest
period of time. A stump is an unexcelled
place to engage in this pastime but a
cabin step will serve, or a store porch,
or a rock along a creek, or a fence rail,
or a lip of the Tonto Rim itself, hang­ing
over a thousand-foot drop to a
rolling panorama of timber and grass.
The object of the game is to relax
completely, and think an eternal thought
such as the invisible passing of the
Creator through the groves of quaking
aspen.
Now, therefore, I - a confirmed
stump-sitter - do hereby invite all fel­low
stump-sitters to the Tonto Rim of
Arizona. We shall not meet, we shall
(Right) The huge fantasy world beneath the
Tonto Natural Bridge. ·
Harry Vroman
(Below) A turn-of-the-century hotel still
welcomes sightseers at the Tonto Natural
Bridge, north of Payson.
Wes Holden
not organize, we shall not elect officers,
and we shall levy no dues.
Stump-sitters, do not arise!
He's a large man in denims and
vVestern boots, snoozing on a cot on the
porch of a little shack. His sweat­stained
straw cowboy hat covers his
eyes. But hearing a footfall, he swings
off the cot cat-quick. Recognizing an
old friend, he extends a huge calloused
hand, and grins like a mule munching
cactus.
Bill Goettl is the very definition of
a big man, gentle.
After small talk, his visitor says,
"You know, Bill, you are probably more
responsible than any other force for
preserving the nickname 'Zane Grey
Country', for the Tonto Rim."
"Aw, I wouldn't say that," he
answers, "But I appreciate the recog­nition
that comes to me. It has been an
opportunity to be involved in' a project
where nobody loses. Those chances
don't come often to any man."
This part of the Rim has to be an
important part of every vacation plan,
just as it was an important part of so
many Zane Grey books.
It's anybody's guess whether Grey,
who died in 1939, would approve of
Bill Goettl's efforts. Grey fled Arizona
in a huff - in his words, "grossly
insulted."
But likely that will come to pass. For
if one trait has proved common to Grey
and Goettl, it's the ability to give sub­stance
to their dreams.
The Haughts had been Zane Grey's
guides. They led Grey after grizzly and
black bear, cougar, buck deer and tur­key.
Ed Haught remembered the
athletic handsome dude: "Zane was a
good rider, an excellent rifle shot, and a
might tougher'n a pine knot on the
trail."
After a few years of accepting the
hospitality of the Haugh ts, Grey bought
a piece of their homestead. He con­tracted
with them to build a cabin : one
large room 24 by 36 feet, a separate
kitchen, and spacious loft and porches.
Milled lumber was hauled miles from
Winslow. Much of the framing was
packed in by mule, a few rough-sawn
boards at a time.
Through the 1920s Grey used the
place as a retreat and studio. He sur­rounded
himself with cronies and ser­vants.
He paid generously for raw
continued on page 43
(Above) A mud-chinked and hand-hewn
survivor of the early days in
Hannegan Meadow.
P. K. Weis
(Left) The Little Colorado River near
Greer. Wi'ld flax once grew along its
banks , earning it the name Rio de/ Lindo
(Flax River).
Wayne Davis
(Left) Fishing from a rubber raft on
Blue Ridge Lake.
Herb and Dorothy McLaughlin
(Above) History-rich Tonto Creek.
Numerous Indian skirmishes were fought
here in the 1860s.
Jim Tallon
(Left) A bull elk, in summer pasture on
the Rim. He's the largest member of the
deer family native to the Southwest.
John Running
41
Ne ar Kohl s Ranch east of Payso n , th e all­season
State Hi ghway 260 o ffers a hos t o f Rim
Co untry s i ghtseeing adventures .
Herb and Dorothy Mclaughlin
Mogollon continued from page 39
material. By hi~ own estimate he spent
$30,000 researching the Pleasant Valley
War, basis of To the Last Man.
Grey's disenchantment with Arizona
surfaced in 1930 when he publicly
announced he was " shaking the dust of
Arizona from my boots forever." The
year before, he said, he had brought a
large party to the state, only to discover
the hunting seasons had been changed.
Controversy spread into the nation's
newspapers. By Grey's account, he
requested permission to hunt an outlaw,
stock-killing bear, as provided in the
new state game code. Permission was
denied.
" You old buzzard," Grey is supposed
to have told the secretary of the Game
C()mmission, "You are talking to Zane
Grey, the author."
And Secretary R. L. Bayless
responded: " I don't care if you're Bill
Grey or Henry Grey or Zane Grey, you
can' t have special treatment."
Grey left. He turned over his cabin
to friends. The place began to fall apart,
and by the early 1960s the cabin was
but a shell, ready to fall in or go up in
smoke .
Bill Goettl negotiated six years with
Grey' s heirs for the purchase. Although
well off as a refrigeration executive,
Bill chose personally to tackle the more
unpleasant chores . He helped clean out
the defiled fireplace, and clambered
over the rafters with a hammer. For a
decade now, the faithfully restored Zane
Grey Cabin has been open to the public
free of charge dawn to dusk, weather
permitting. It's tucked up beneath the
Rim, just a little north of State Highway
260 at Kohls Ranch .
Bill Goettl, in person, often leads the
tours.
He has stocked the cabin with a regu­lar
museum of Grey rriemorabilia : his
guns, his trophies, his Navajo rugs, his
chaps and clothing, his publications.
There' s even the Morris chair in which
Grey sat writing furiously in longhand.
And what of the future? a friend
asks Bill. How will the Zane Grey
Lodge, . now on the national register of
historic places, be preserved for
posterity?
"I don' t know yet how that can be
insured, " Bill answers .
" In the White Mountains of Arizona
is a forest larger than Delaware," I tell
m y New Englander. " Impressed?"
"Somewhat."
" Then what if I say that this forest
is adjacent to an equally vast Indian
nation, which in turn borders on yet
another forest the size of Rhode Island.
These are the dimensions of Apache
National Forest, the Fort Apache Indian
Reservation , and the Sitgreaves
National Forest. Some thickets qf chap­arral
cover more area than the District
of Columbia:"
" I' m impressed ," she says at last.
(A bove) Z an e Grey's cabin ,
no rth of Siate Hi ghway 26 0 nea r
Koh ls Ranch, where he dreamt
t he d reams th at spawned 13
mil li on copies of h is books.
Herb an d Dorothy Mclaughli n
(l eit) Au th or Grey's ca bin has
b ee n f ai thf ully restore d and now
fun c ti ons as a museum , ope n to
th e public fr ee of cha rge. .
Herb and Do rothy Mclaug h li n
43
Win e- like air and unda m med wate rs ... t he
m i nd-bogg ling wildern ess o f th e Littl e
Colorado Ri ve r.
Douglas E. Sechrist
The transportation baseline through
God' s Country is all weather State
Route 173, connecting to State Route
73. Show Low is a headquarters
town on the west; Springerville on the
east . Between and southward along
U.S. 666, the Coronado Trail, camp­grounds
and lodges abound. Important
to the area's success as a playground is
an enterprise run by a remarkable tribe
of original Americans, the White Moun­tain
Apaches. Some 20 years ago they
decided to develop their reservation as
a recreation paradise for their paleface
and other race brothers (at a small fee,
of course) . The scheme worked - pro­viding
employment to Indians and
income for the tribe. A measure of pros­perity
has come to the White Mountain
Apaches. Their kids are well fed, and
nearly all go to school. Encountered in
a trading post (such as Lee's at White­river),
Apaches are shy and faultlessly
polite. It's hard to believe that just three
generations ago they were the last to
reconcile themselves to European occu­pation,
retarding settlement of a region
larger than France and Germany
combined. ·
Fort Apache is a reminder of that day.
It was founded in 1870, and not aban­doned
until 1922. It is one of the very
few military camps of the West ever
besieged in a full-scale assault by
Indians. The old fort cemetery nurtures
junipers and Spanish daggers among
graves marked, "Unknown."
Even old-timers argue as to which of
dozens of White Mountain lakes and
hundreds of miles of streams provide
the best high country fishing. Some
swear by Big Lake, others by Luna,
Hawley, Becker, Horseshoe, Lyman, or
Sunrise. There are equally vocal cham­pions
of Black River, upper Eagle Creek,
and the Little Colorado.
If you're sound of wind, and have a
Reservation Permit to enter this
restricted wilderness area, you might
consider climbing Mount Baldy. At
11,590 feet it is Arizona's second high­est
range. Because Baldy's base is
around 9000 feet elevation, the hike
itself is relatively short. But hikers must
bear in mind that this rounded knob
catches 40 inches of moisture in an
average year, and there's wind all the
time. Baldy is spiritual restoration for
city psyches as well as sacredlands to
the Apache ... bog of watercress and
bluebells, great lava bluffs calving cin­der
slides ... a slope covered with
berries and hailstones ... wine-like air
... undammed brooks ... and at the
very top, Baldy is a 360-degree sweep
of mind-boggling wilderness.
Impressed?
So was trailblazing Army surveyor
and explorer Ca_pt. George M. Wheeler,
when he stood on Baldy 105 years ago.
He called the view "the most marvelous
beauty of form and color."
Think you can handle all this in a
three-week vacation? Then consider one
more Rim Country charm.
Civilization is 30 miles south, 6 miles
north, 8 miles east, 20 miles west.
Transportation here has been shank's
mare. All luxuries are backpack express.
Afoot is the only way out, even with
a broken bone, a timber rattler bite, or
a heart attack. I wouldn't have it any
other way.
My bedroll lies across an enormous
bear track. Mr. Bear, in this canyon a
day or two before, has been overturning
logs for grubs. Likely he will not return,
but my .44 makes a reassuring bulge in
my makeshift pillow of coat, poncho
and dry socks.
Now a quarter moon softly rides the
saturated scud flyirig low and fast out
of Mexico. Bending arms of water oaks
black out patches of buttermilk sky.
Over the hiss of the river beat the frog
songs and cricket rhythms and the
impassioned syncopation of an insom­niac
mockingbird.
My mind reviews a perfect day:
- The doe, first frozen where she
browsed, then bounding as if across
trampolines through the groves of
quakies.
- The trail, at one passage descend­ing
1500 feet in little more than a mile,
off the gray battlements of rimrock
through the lava slides, then by switch­back
across the final rump of the moun­t
a in before the canyon's alluvial
floor. The mileposts of descent: spruce,
pine, pinyon; raven, jay, wren; deerfly,
dragonfly, mosquito; hail, rain, mist;
gale , gusts, calm; strawberry, daisy,
columbine; challenge, struggle, peace .
- The river, returned to its banks
after spring flood, coursing through the
blossoming annuals, teeming with
boneytail in the pools and rainbow
trout in the rapids .
- One female mallard duck, quack­ing
in surprise and rage, as she walks
across an eddy, then crawls wing over
wing for altitude to escape the upright,
two-legged intruder in her private
grotto.
- A poetic half hour resting in a
stand of centuries-old pine: yellow
boles, crowned bowers, dynamic pos­tures.
A chance to think, and be
replenished.
- One evening feast: steak broiled
over hardwood coals, and a foil of
biscuits.
- Then dusk and darkness . Remem­bering
the Apaches who made their
summer rancherias here. Remembering
old Ben Lilly who treed 50 cougars a
year in this watershed. Remembering
the saga of Coronado, who passed this
way on to Kansas, 80 years before the
Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock.
Remembering tales of outlaws and cat­tle
rustlers who ran their booty up and
down these very rivers. Remembering
the legends of prospectors and settlers
who pressed back the frontier. Remem­bering
the story told by Freddy Fritz,
how his dad emptied his pistol in a
desperate battle with a grizzly bear .
And then to sleep.
Where am I? I'll not tell, because
when I go again, you may be there. This
is the Rim Country, the White Moun­tains,
with a thousand such places. Go
find your own ...
45
by Mary Lu Moore
Inquiries about any of these titles
should be directed to the book pub­lisher,
not ARIZONA HIGHWAYS.
Taken by the Wind; Vanishing Archi­tecture
of the West. By Ronald Woodall
and T. H . Watkins. New York Geo­graphic
Society, 34 Beacon Street,
Boston, Mass. 02106. 1977. 431 photo­graphs.
$29.95.
There are numerous good picture
books of western ghost towns. Taken by
the Wind differs from the usual offer­ings.
This volume is not divided by geo­graphic
area, but by topics, each with a
very readable historical introduction.
Our attention is focused on similar
architectural features or artifacts in dif­ferent
locations: barns, houses ( or even
just windows), schools, churches, store
fronts, farm and mining machinery,
fisheries, depots, and graveyards.
Devotees of western ghost towns may
question the emphasis of photographs
and text, since nearly half depict the
Canadian Northwest. Indeed, only three
of the fine color studies are from Ari­zona.
One man's North American West
is not necessarily that of anyone else,
however.
Not always mentioned in historical or
photographic treatments of the West
are the fishing and canning industries.
Nearly always included are military
forts. These trends are reversed here.
Emphasis is preponderantly upon the
Anglo-American pioneer, his successes
and failures, dreams and tragedies - all
reflected in the artifacts he left behind .
As T. H. Watkins states, "Pioneers. We
shall not see their like again." The
thrust of what the authors are trying to
evoke is similarities and differences of
style throughout the West. In our own
minds' eye, once we have become
attuned to looking for detail, we, too,
can supply our own favorite derelict,
whether it be in Arizona, New Mexico
or a Ukrainian settlement of Manitoba.
Many of the buildings pictured in
this volume no longer exist. Photog­rapher
Woodall's sensitive, agonizing
essay makes that clear. One finishes
absorbing this book haunted with an
unfulfilled sadness, such as that felt
Big Lake, once a slough , is now a haven
for lake trout.
Wayne Davis
at the passing of a dear friend . There
is a sense of urgency to cherish even
more those abandoned relics which we
now know, before they, too , are "taken
by the wind."
The Last Word in Lonesome is Me. By
John M. Scott, S.J . Our Sunday Visitor,
Inc ., Huntington, Indiana 46750. 1977.
111 p. $2.50.
Father Scott's narrative in our 1977
Christmas issue was very well received .
If you enjoyed his writing, you may also
like his latest book. It's a compendium
of thoughts, suggestions and ideas to
ward off "the most dangerous sickness
in America today" - loneliness.
American Western Art. By Dorothy
Harmsen. Harmsen Publishing Co.,
3131 E. Alameda Avenue, Denv e r,
Colorado 80209. 197 7 . 256 p. $35.00.
Are you a newcomer to the West?
Need a quick reference on a western
artist? This sequel to Harmsen's W est­ern
Americana may help you. In 1967
Dorothy and Bill Harmsen began col­lecting
western art in Denver. Their
collection now comprises 700 paintings
by 300 artists. How they began acquir­ing
their collections is discussed in Bill
Harmsen's introduction. Their first
book, published in 1971,included works
of 100 artists from their holdings. This
new volume contains photographs of
one representative work by each of 125
artists, illustrators and sculptors who
resided in the West or who were at least
captivated by its mystique. For each
artist there is a page of biographical
information and a good color reproduc­tion
of one of his or her most important
contributions. As is stated in her intro­duction,
Mrs . Harmsen had included
some of the more obscure western
artists and has done research to provide
data about them. The te ~t is written in
an easy, narrative style. A chronological
list of the artists and a selective bibliog­raphy
of publications on western art
and artists complete the volume. Its
main asset is quick identification of
lesser known portrayers of the West.
Ethnic Medicine in the Southwest.
Edited and with an introduction by
Edward H . Spicer. University of Ari­zona
Press, Tucson, Ariz ona 85 7 22.
1977. 291 p. $16 .50 .
Five prominent researchers examine
in depth the state of folk healing tradi­tions
in the Southwest. In his general
introduction, Dr. Spicer cited the need
for greater understanding of South­western
healing traditions by medical
personnel whose medical training does
not encompass this discipline. Four
ethnic groups are discussed within the
perspective of their community, neigh­borhood
or barr i o : a Black neighbor­hood
by Loud ell Snow; a Mexican
American barrio by Margarita Art­schwager
Kay, a Yaqui community by
Mary Elizabeth Shutler, and lower
income Anglos by Eleanor Bauwens.
These researchers, all University of Ari­zona
Ph.D.'s, discuss concepts of health,
disease, treatment, and health practi­tioners,
using many quotes from their
informants. Southwestern medical pro­fessionals,
ethnologists and folklorists
will be especially interested in this tech­nical
but thorough and fascinating
study.
Seris in Seriland. By Jim Lindell. Avail­able
from Jim Lindell, P.O . Box 112,
Dewey, Arizona 86327. 1977. 30 p.
$3 .50.
In a pleasant, conversational style,
Jim Lindell, a young Arizona trader,
presents his informal contribution to
literature on the Seri. Most of his atten­tion
is directed toward Seri ironwood
carvings and their creators. Lindell
gives us tips on how to differentiate
between authentic Seri work and Mexi­can
copies - although the difference is
becoming harder to discern . Other
crafts discussed include basketry, neck­laces
and dolls . The author also philos­ophizes
about modern Seri customs.
Fine line drawings of Seri crafts and
good though small color photos of iron­wood
carvings enhance the text. A brief,
annotated list of suggested readings is
appended . For those who are not famil­iar
with Spanish, a dictionary may be
needed for several important but unde­fined
words. For those wishing to know
a bit more about Seri crafts, this booklet
is just right.
47
~
Sincerely
NUMEROUS REQUESTS
W e reg ularly receive letters askin g
for information on articl es in past issues
of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS MAGAZINE. The
following notice from the Ariz ona
D epartme nt of Library Archives and
Publi c R eco rds should b e of inte r est to
all. - Th e Editor
ARIZONA HIGHWAYS 1977 INDEX
. NOW AVAILABLE
The index for all 1977 issues of ARIZONA
HIGHWAYS is now available for pur­chase
; the prices listed include postage.
Please do not send orders to ARIZONA
HIGHWAYS.
1925-51 .... . . ... .. .. . . Out of print
1952-61 ...... .. .. .. .. .. ... .. $5. 00
1962-66 .. . .. . . .. .. .. .. ...... $5.00
1967 . . ; . ................... $2.00
1968 .. . . . . . : . . ..... .. . . . ... $2.00
1969 . ... .. . . . . . ... . .. . .. . .. $2 .00
1970 . ... . ...... ....... . .. . . $2.00
l971 .. . ... ..... . .... .. ... .. $2.00
1972 .... . . . . . .. . . . ..... , ... $2.00
1973 .. ; . . . . .. . .. . ... . . .... . $2.00
1974 . . .. . ... . . ... . ... . .. . .. $2 .00
1975 .... ... . . .. . . . . .. . . ... . $2.00
1976 . ..... . ..... . .... .... .. $2.00
1977 . . ... . . . .. . . . . .. . .. ; . . . $2.00
Please make checks payable to ARIZONA
STATE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION and mail
your order to Department of Library,
Archives and Public Records, Third
Floor, State Capitol, Phoenix AZ 85007.
OOOOPS
Editor:
Something seemed out of order to me
as I admired Bill McKinney's (no rela­tion)
beautiful picture of White House
Ruin in Canyon de Chelly, page 11 of
De.cember's Arizona Highways.
Several of my stereo slides of the
same scene prove that the picture has
been " flopped" in publication. Hence,
to behold it as the scene actually
appears, one would have to view the
picture in a mirror.
Any thought of improving artistic
composition by reversing the picture
should have been overruled in the inter­est
of geographic accuracy. If it was an
error, watch it! Arizona and Western
scenery, especially Canyon de Chelly,
needs no rearrangement.
Alexis McKinney
Denver, CO
You are so right. Our apologies to
readers and Mother Nature. -The Editor
48
THANK YOU
Editor:
Your Arizona Hi g h w ays has got to
be the greatest example of capturing a
person's love of hature for others to
appreciate that I ' ve ever seen. Hav ing
been through Arizona once, your maga­zine
orily makes me wish I could have
stayed there longer.
. Being stationed with the military
(Army) in cold, often dreary, Germany
it's really great to get a gust of warmth
and happiness now and then from your
beautiful magazine . Keep up the fan­tastic
work!
Sp . 4 Valerie Walker
THE PLEASURE OF IT ALL ...
Editor :
I cim a subscriber to A rizona H igh­ways
and have no complaint, ortly praise
for a great magazine.
Am enclosing a poein I received from
m y sister who moved to Arizona from
N~w York State 1 year ago. The poem
tells pretty much her feelings for the
West, and must say we agree 100%.
We had made a trip to Arizona in Janu­ary
' 78 and enjoyed it very much.
Rudolph Kreck
Oneonta, N .Y.
W HY M E?
I watched th e sun go do wn agai n,
In this lan,d th ey call th e W est.
A n d tho' its fe el is ne w to m e,
It's th e land I lo ve th e best.
Ju st n ewly moved and t ra nspla n te d here,
The ro ots are quick to grow -
N o matter w h er e else I trav e[-
This is hom e, I k now.
That I s hould be so lu cky -
That I can really see.
Th.e Glo ry that God ha s g iv en -
I ask, Oh, Lord - W hy Me ?
Editor:
V era T . Hyer
A rizona C ity, A Z
PURE BEAUTY
We' ve been all hoping for an early
spring here in New England but just got
knocked down again with one more
storm . . .. So, as we stared at the beau­tiful
white stuff one more time (imagin­ing
what will soon be growing in its
place), it was a relief to see your April
issue, which ushered us all into thoughts
of spring! Just pure beauty. Thank you!
Judy Vantine
Al Roderick
Falmouth, MA
P.S . Can't wait to get back to your
incredibly wide open spaces!
MORE KUDOS FOR NPS
Editor :
This letter is to thank yoti for your
mo st recent A rizo n a Hi ghways. (March,
78) I have the greatest respect for the
National Park Serv ice; their facilities
and especially their people. Being a stu­dent
of the Civ il War, I have had many
opportunities to visit National Parks in
the East . However, I have a s pecial love
for Arizona. I vi sited your state a little
over a year ago and got to see many of
the National Monuments. When I
returned home, I immediately sub­scribed
to A rizona Hig hways to always
have some of the beauty and fascina­tion
of Arizona close at hand. I am so
glad to see the NPS get some of the
credit and recognition it deserves. The
ranger s always seem to have answers to
all my questions plus more. I wish i
could write each of them personally to
thank them for their time and patience.
But at least I can thank you for your
fine magazine.
Mary Donohue
Claymont, DE
35mm COLOR SLIDES
This issue: 35 mm sildes in 2" mou nts, 1 to 15
s lid es, 40¢ eac h, 16 to 49 sl i des, 35¢ each,
50 o r mo re, 3 fo r $1.00. A llow three weeks fo r
de live ry. Add ress: Slide Depart ment, A rizona
Hi ghways, 2039 Wes t Lew i s Ave nue , Ph oe ni x,
Ari zona 85009 .
M0-137 Sunset from Mount Baldy ... .. . .. .... Cov. 1
OC-196 Quiet pools of Oak Creek .... • ..•.. . . Cov. 4
MR-1 Mogollon Rim Vista . ... . .. . •.. • . . . . .. p. 2
L-347 Dog Town Lake .... ....... . .. . ....... p. 8
L-348 Woods Canyon Lake . .... •. . •. •.. • .... p . 9
L- 349 Stoneman Lake . .. . . . . .. . .. . • .... . .. . . p. 9
WL-208 A bird s' pa radise . . ....... . .• . . •. .... . p. 9
TC-480 Pine, Ar i zona . . ... . .... . .. .. . . •...... p. 9
MR-2 Magnificent Mogollon Rim . . . .... .... . . p. 14
OC-197 Red Rock Crossing ..... .. ....... .. ... p. 17
OC-198 Red Rock Overlook . . .. .. .. • ..•. . .. p. 18-19
MR-3 Vistas from the Rim . . .. • • . . . ..• ....... p. 20
WL-209 Smal l furry a nimals . . .. • . .• . . •..• ... .. p. 20
R 1-97 Black River . . ... . ... . • .•..• . .... . : . . . p. 21
M0-138 Horseshoe Lake ...... . .. .... .... .. ... p .• 22
L-350 Reed filled lake .. .. .. .... . ...... .. ... p. 23
MR-4 Parapets of Mogollon Rim ... . .. . .... p. 24 -25
M0-139 Lees Reservoir ............. .. ..... .. . p. 26
M0-140 Camping ................... . ........ p . 27
M0-141 White Mountain forest . ............... p. 28
L-351 Sunrise on Hawley Lake ... . .. .. . .. . ... p. 29
M0-142 On Mount Baldy ..... . ..... .• . ... .. p. 30-31
MR-5 Mogollon Rim meadow . ....• . .. . .. . . .. . p . 32
M R-6 Ponderosa forest .. ...... . ..... . ...... p. 35
R l -98 The Little Colorado . .. .. ... .. ... . ... .. p. 40
L-352 Blue Ridge Lake . . . . . ... . ..•..•...... . p. 4 l
CRK-100 Tonto Creek ...... .. .. . . • . . •. . •.• . .... p. 41
M0-143 Hannegan's Meadow . . .• ... .. ......... p. 41
WL-210 Bu ll e lk ......... .. ... .. . .. . .. ....... p . 41
L-353 Big Lake .. . ..... .. . • .. . .. . . . •. .•. ... p. 46
(B ac k cover) Icy crystal p oo ls sw irl amid th e
pai nt - box c ol ors of Oak Cr eek Cany on b elow
th e Mog ollon Rim, ne ar Sedona .
Darwin Van Campen
( Inside back cover) Cabin in the Valley of the
Pines, by Ted Bl aylock, evokes t he bittersweet
and ha lf f orgo tt en memories o f a lo ng ago
yeste rd ay in th e romantic back co un try o f the
Mogo ll o n Rim . Court esy Dr. and Mrs. J ames
Martin, Mes a, Arizo na.