Arizona Highways, December 2008

              D E C E M B E R 2 0 0 8
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
Featuring the words of Larry McMurtry, Terry Tempest Williams,
Tony Hillerman, Bill Geist, Clive Cussler, David Roberts & Diana Ossana
Historic Blizzard:
NAVAJO RESERVATION
Backcountry Skiing:
SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS
IRONWOOD FOREST
NATIONAL MONUMENT
A W I N T E R P O R T F O L I O
7 Wonders
of Arizona
T H E
contents december 2008
14 Winter Wonderland
Spectacular portfolios are pretty typical in this magazine.
For this one, which features the seven natural wonders of
Arizona, we’ve included the words of seven writers who are
every bit as impressive as the photos. EDITED BY KELLY KRAMER
36 Another Natural Wonder
Ragged Top Mountain is the geological crown jewel of
Ironwood Forest National Monument, but the tree for which
the park is named tells an even greater story. The ironwoods,
which can live to be 800 years old, are survivors, flourishing
in wet times and dying back during droughts. They are, as
our writer points out, a more honest symbol of the culture
of the Sonoran Desert than the saguaros that live
on a million postcards. BY CHARLES BOWDEN
PHOTOGRAPHS BY DAVID MUENCH
42 It’s All Downhill
Like hitting the slopes at Snowbowl
or Sunrise, the best thing about
backcountry skiing is the ride down —
it’s all about the race to the bottom.
Unlike traditional resorts, however,
there aren’t any chairlifts in the
outback. BY WILL WATERMAN
PHOTOGRAPHS BY RYAN
B. STEVENSON
48 Manna From
	 Heaven
In December 1931, Northern Ari-zona
looked more like Siberia than
a backdrop in a John Wayne Western
— drifts up to 15 feet high blocked
roads and left thousands of Navajos and
Hopis on the brink of starvation. Many would
have died if it weren’t for the six Army planes
that dropped 32,000 pounds of food and supplies into
random snow banks across the reservations. BY LEO BANKS
Features
Photographic Prints Available
n Prints of some photographs in this issue
are available for purchase, as designated in
captions. To order, call 866-962-1191 or visit
arizonahighwaysprints.com.
GRAYING GRACEFULLY Every juniper has a
silver lining of hoarfrost after snow settles in
Monument Valley. Photograph by Jack Dykinga
n To order a print of this photograph,
see information below.
FRONT COVER The sunrise gleams through pon-derosa
pines in the Apache-Sitgreaves National
Forests. Photograph by Morey K. Milbradt
n To order a print of this photograph,
see information below.
BACK COVER Skiers trudge up the San Francisco
Peaks with their telemark skis. Photograph by
Ryan B. Stevenson
• Points of interest in this issue
2 EDITOR’S LETTER
3 CONTRIBUTORS
4 LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
5 THE JOURNAL
People, places and things from
around the state, including
a cozy place to spend the
holidays, one of Arizona’s most
important sculptors, and the
50th anniversary of Scottsdale’s
iconic ice cream parlor.
52 BACK ROAD ADVENTURE
Rock Springs to Cordes:
Looking for a Sunday drive?
This quiet road is slow-going,
scenic and not far from a
delicious piece of apple pie.
54 HIKE OF THE MONTH
Lost Dog Wash: There aren’t
a lot of places in Metro
Phoenix where you can
disconnect from the city.
This trail in the McDowell
Mountains is one of the few.
56 WHERE IS THIS?
PHOENIX
Sedona
McDowell Mountains
Mogollon Rim
Grand Canyon
National Park
Petrified Forest
National Park
Ironwood Forest
National Monument
Monument Valley
Rock Springs
Lockett Meadow
Scottsdale
Havasu Falls
Saguaro
National Park
Departments
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
C O N T R I B U T O R S
by Robert Stieve editor’s letter
If you think it’s
tough skiing
downhill, try
going uphill —
through the
woods. See
page 42.
WE HAD A HARD TIME GETTING IN
touch with Larry McMurtry. Writers
with Oscars, Pulitzers and Golden
Globes on their mantels aren’t usually
hanging out at Starbucks or Einstein’s.
Our plan was to get his thoughts on
Arizona: What inspires him? How
has the state influenced his writing?
Those kinds of things. Kelly Kramer
was our writer, and she did everything
she could, but it wasn’t happening. So, she put him on hold and
called Diana Ossana, who, coincidentally, co-wrote the screen-play
for Brokeback Mountain with Larry McMurtry, the movie for
which they won their Oscars.
Diana Ossana is another gifted writer — she lives in Tucson
— and we wanted Kelly to ask her the same questions. During
their conversation, Larry’s name kept coming up, and Kelly
finally mentioned that she’d been having a hard time connect-ing
with him. “Hang on a second,” Diana said. “He’s in the other
room. Let me see if he’ll talk to you right now.” That’s when
Kelly overheard: “Lar, I’m talking to a young lady from Arizona
Highways. Can she ask you a few questions?” It took some sweet-talking,
but Kelly got the interview, and then finished her chat
with Diana. After that, she talked to Tony Hillerman, Clive
Cussler, David Roberts, Terry Tempest Williams and Bill Geist.
All seven writers are featured in this month’s cover story. We
figured that if we were going to showcase the seven natural won-ders
of Arizona, we needed commentary from seven writers who
are equally impressive, and these are some of the very best. Of
course, words are only half of the story. Along with the writers’
insights, we feature 22 pages of stunning photography. That’s not
unusual for us, but when the portfolio is zeroed in on the state’s
most beautiful places … well, this piece is something special.
As you’ll see, most of the photos feature snow. There’s even a
rare shot of the white stuff at Havasu Falls, which, despite last
summer’s flood, is still one of the state’s seven natural wonders.
The other six were easy picks, too. Narrowing it down was the
hard part, and no doubt some of you will be asking: Where’s
Canyon de Chelly? What about Kartchner Caverns? Where are
the Chiricahuas? Good questions, but we had to draw the line
somewhere, and this is our version of the magnificent seven. If
you’d like to plead your case for those that didn’t make the cut,
we’ve cleared out plenty of space in our e-mail inbox.
Perhaps some of you will argue for Ironwood Forest National
Monument. It’s not as familiar as the Grand Canyon or Sedona,
but its namesake is the elder statesman of the Sonoran Desert.
As Charles Bowden writes in Another Natural Wonder, “There are
ironwood trees in the monument that first bloomed when the
Magna Carta was being signed and Genghis Khan was explod-ing
out of the grasses of Mongolia into the nightmares of Asia
and Europe.”
The trees are more than just old, though. They’re also con-sidered
a keystone species. Chuck, who ranks with the writers
in our cover story, explains it much better than I, but essen-tially,
it means that more than 500 life forms benefit from the
ironwoods’ existence. The trees are the lifeline of the ecosys-tem,
and because of their own ability to survive — flourishing in
wet times and dying back during droughts — life goes on in this
natural wonder. On the surface, an essay about gnarly old trees
might seem a little cerebral, but this is one of the best stories
you’ll ever read. It’s a survival story. The first of two in this issue.
The second takes place in Northern Arizona.
Like the ironwoods, Native Americans have learned to sur-vive
the extremes of Mother Nature, and the winter of 1931 was
one of the biggest tests. That year, it snowed for months. Drifts
up to 15 feet high blocked roads and left many Navajos, Hopis,
Utes and Zunis without food. At the time, Superintendent John
Hunter of the Fort Defiance Indian Agency estimated that 16,000
Navajos were at risk. “It’s hell, that’s all,” he told reporters.
In Manna From Heaven, you’ll learn about the storm and the
six Army planes that dropped 32,000 pounds of food and sup-plies
into random snowbanks across the reservations. It reads
like a scene from McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove, or maybe a
Hillerman novel. Either way, it’s a story with a happy ending,
which seems appropriate this time of year. Happy holidays, and
thanks for spending another year with Arizona Highways.
— Robert Stieve
rstieve@arizonahighways.com
RYAN B. STEVENSON
D E C E M B E R 2 0 0 8 V O L . 8 4 , N O . 1 2
Publisher WIN HOLDEN
Editor ROBERT STIEVE
Senior Editor RANDY SUMMERLIN
Managing Editor SALLY BENFORD
Editorial Administrator NIKKI KIMBEL
Director of Photography PETER ENSENBERGER
Photography Editor JEFF KIDA
Art Director BARBARA GLYNN DENNEY
Deputy Art Director SONDA ANDERSSON PAPPAN
Art Assistant DIANA BENZEL-RICE
Map Designer KEVIN KIBSEY
Production Director MICHAEL BIANCHI
Promotions Art Director RONDA JOHNSON
Webmaster VICTORIA J. SNOW
Director of Sales & Marketing KELLY MERO
Circulation Director NICOLE BOWMAN
Finance Director BOB ALLEN
Information Technology CINDY BORMANIS
Corporate or Trade Sales 602-712-2019
Letters to the Editor editor@arizonahighways.com
2039 W. Lewis Avenue, Phoenix, AZ 85009
Governor
JANET NAPOLITANO
Director, Department of Transportation
VICTOR M. MENDEZ
Arizona Transportation Board
Chairman S.L. Schorr
Vice Chairman Delbert Householder
Members Robert M. Montoya, Felipe Andres Zubia,
William J. Feldmeier,
Barbara Ann “Bobbie” Lundstrom,
Victor M. Flores
International Regional Magazine Association
2006, 2005, 2004, 2002, 2001 Magazine of the Year
Western Publications Association
2006, 2004, 2002, 2001 Best Travel & In-transit Magazine
Arizona Highways® (ISSN 0004-1521) is published monthly by the
Arizona Department of Transportation. Subscription price: $24 a
year in the U.S., $44 outside the U.S. Single copy: $3.99 U.S. Send
subscription cor­respon­dence
and change of address information
to Arizona High­ways,
P.O. Box 653, Mount Morris, IL 61054-0653.
Periodical postage paid at Phoenix, AZ, and at additional mailing
office. CANADA POST INTERNATIONAL PUBLICATIONS MAIL
PRODUCT (CANA­DIAN
DISTRIBUTION) SALES AGREEMENT
NO. 41220511. SEND RETURNS TO QUEBECOR WORLD, P.O. BOX
875, WINDSOR, ON N9A 6P2. POST­MASTER:
Send address chang-es
to Arizona High­ways,
P.O. Box 653, Mount Morris, IL 61054-0653.
Copy­right
© 2008 by the Ari­zona
Department of Trans­­por­­tation.
Repro­duc­tion
in whole or in part with­­out
permission is prohib-ited.
The magazine does not accept and is not responsible for un­solicited
ma­ter­ials.
For more coverage of the Grand Canyon State,
check out Arizona Highways Television, an Emmy-award
winning show hosted by Robin Sewell. For
broadcast times, visit arizonahighways.com and click
the Arizona Highways Television icon at the bottom
of our home page.
highways on tv
Produced in the USA
800-543-5432
arizonahighways.com
JEFF KIDA
While shooting It’s All Downhill (page 42), Ryan
Stevenson flew solo for the first time. That is,
he worked without the accompaniment of his
photographer father. And it wasn’t always easy.
“There was a fresh blanket of snow, and when
the skiers started coming down the hill, I sank
about waist-deep, so that I could hardly move,”
Stevenson says. “It took me a couple of minutes
to get free and keep my camera equipment
up. I had the same problem the whole day.” In
addition to Arizona Highways, Stevenson’s work
has appeared in Sports Illustrated, National
Geographic, the Arizona Daily Sun and The
Arizona Republic.
RYAN B. STEVENSON
A native of Connecticut, Leah Duran had never
been to the Sugar Bowl before writing this
month’s dining piece (page 7). “I was struck
most by its inherent simplicity, the great food,
prices and service,” she says. “It was a wonder-ful
slice of local history and a nice change of
pace from the hectic nature of day-to-day life.”
She was also impressed with the staff’s effort
to create a family-friendly atmosphere. “The
owner was very helpful, and I got the impres-sion
he really cared about what he was doing,”
Duran says. In addition to Arizona Highways,
Duran has also written for SPIN magazine and
the Cronkite News Service.
LEAH DURAN
Although he’s been writing for about 30 years,
longtime Tucsonan Charles Bowden says that’s
not the profession he thought he’d end up in.
“I was down to 50 bucks in my pocket and need­-
ed money,” he says. “I never knew I’d fall in love
with it.” When Bowden visited Ironwood Forest
National Monument (see Another Natural Won-der,
page 36), he says he gained his inspiration
from the tree’s ability to survive in such a harsh
environment. “In an inarticulate organism like
this one, I had to imagine what it was like being
them in order to truly understand them.” In ad-dition
to Arizona Highways, Bowden also writes
for GQ, Esquire and National Geographic.
CHARLES BOWDEN
Morey Milbradt was raised on a dairy farm
in Minnesota. He’s been a photographer
for almost two decades, but until six years
ago, he also worked as a crane operator on
construction sites. “I guess I sort of stumbled
into photography,” he says, “and I’ve been
self-taught ever since. While shooting the Sugar
Bowl for The Journal (page 7), he faced some
real challenges. “Capturing the ambience of
the restaurant was easy,” he says. “I got stuck
when it came to choosing which flavor of ice
cream I wanted.” In addition to Arizona High-ways,
Milbradt’s work has appeared in National
Geographic and Reader’s Digest.
MOREY K. MILBRADT
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
the Journal P E O P L E D I N I N G L O D G I N G P H O T O G R A P H Y H I S T O R Y N A T U R E T H I N G S T O D O
editor@arizonahighways.com letters
Mad Scientist
Of the 12 areas mentioned in your piece
[Endangered Arizona, August 2008], I’d
like to comment on one: uranium
exploration in areas outside of Grand
Canyon National Park. I’m aware of at
least one public meeting in Flagstaff
(there have probably been many) where
there wasn’t a balanced discussion of the
impact of uranium exploration/develop-ment.
The geologists at that meeting,
those who support exploration, were
trivialized by the opposition. The point
that’s never brought up is that the
environmental impact of this mining
(extremely rich ore concentrated in very
small areas) is controllable. Economic
“pipes” associated with this ore are few
and far between. In terms of threats to
wildlife, there’s no comparison to the
wildlife devastation that accompanies
windmill and solar farms. Windmill
farms are known for the destruction of
the larger birds of prey. It’s thought that
windmill farms in Northern California
kill several thousand raptors per year
(golden eagles and red-tailed hawks are
high on the list of casualties). I guess
those deaths are for a good cause, so we
don’t hear about the downside of that
green energy source. As long as uranium
mining is conducted in a responsible
manner outside of the park area, I have
to disagree with the message of death
and destruction associated with uranium
mining that’s implied in your article.
E.V. Reed, geophysicist, Tucson
Singing Her Praises
Thank you, and kudos to Ms. Lisa
Schnebly Heidinger and Joel Grimes for
their outstanding article [One for the
Books] in your August [2008] issue. It
brought back memories of several visits
to the bookstore, and of Winn Bundy
herself. The story had just the right
touch. It even took note of the nonsag-ging
mesquite bookshelves. Singing
Wind Bookshop is one of Arizona’s
many treasures.
Ken Berge, Rochester, Minnesota
Thanks Again and Again
I’ve been getting your magazine for 15
years. We live in California and give a
gift subscription to our son who lives in
Litchfield Park. Ironically, we get your
magazine as a Christmas present from
an aunt who lives in Prescott. Go figure.
We’re also birders who visit your state
every spring, if not more. Anyway, so
much for our background. Thanks for
putting the little Arizona map back in
the front showing where your articles are
located. Thanks for the “Photography”
page in The Journal — I love the hints,
especially about the waterfalls. Thanks
for showing photos and giving some
background on the contributing authors
and photographers. I find this very
informative, and it makes the articles/
photos more interesting knowing who
wrote/photographed them. And thanks
for such a great magazine with such
awesome pictures. We keep some, and
give others to friends and relatives when
we’re done.
Patricia Shoupe, Frazier Park, California
Old Favorites in the Old Pueblo
Ah, the restaurant memories. While I’m
sure you’ve heard from readers protest-ing
your exclusion of their favorite
restaurant, for me, the April [2008] issue
featuring your 25 favorite restaurants
created a much different response. As a
freshman at the University of Arizona in
1960, I lived with my 82-year-old great
aunt. Every week we’d dine out at her
two favorite Tucson restaurants, The
Lariat and Buffem’s Family Restaurant.
Unfortunately, these personal old
favorites have been consigned to
Tucson’s restaurant history but will
forever remain in the fond “pigment” of
my imagination.
Ron Rinker, Harbor Springs, Michigan
If you have thoughts or comments about
anything in Arizona Highways, we’d love to
hear from you. We can be reached at editor@
arizonahighways.com, or by mail at 2039 W.
Lewis Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona 85009. For
more information, visit arizonahighways.com.
contact us
GARY LADD
Reality Check
I want to thank you for the Endangered Arizona article in your August
2008 issue. It’s obvious that people from all over the world love and
appreciate the glorious places revealed in your magazine. Although reality
sometimes hurts, knowledge of how these places are threatened can
inspire us to find ways to protect them. Good work!
Diana Minton, Arcata, California
Narrow
Escape
Lake Powell is
famous for its
fleet of house-boats.
There are
some places, how-ever,
that can be
explored only in
a kayak or canoe.
n For more
information,
call 888-261-7243
or visit
pagelakepowell
tourism.com.
U.S. Postal Service
STATEMENT OF OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT, AND CIRCULATION
Title of Publication: Arizona Highways Publisher: Win Holden
Publication No.: ISSN 0004-1521 Editor: Robert Stieve
Date of Filing: September 29, 2008 Managing Editor: Sally Benford;
	 address below
Frequency of issues: Monthly Complete mailing address
Number of issues of known office of publication:
published annually: Twelve 2039 W. Lewis Ave., Phoenix,
Annual subscription price: (Maricopa) AZ 85009-2893
$24.00 U.S. one year
Owner: State of Arizona
206 S. 17th Ave.
Phoenix, AZ 85007
Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders owning or holding
1 percent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities: None
The purpose, function, and nonprofit status of this organization and the exempt
status for federal income tax purposes has not changed during preceding 12 months.
ISSUE DATE FOR CIRCULATION DATA BELOW:
Nov. ’07-Oct. ’08 Oct. ’08
Average no. Actual no.
copies each copies of
issue during single issue
preceding published nearest
12 months to filing date
EXTENT AND NATURE OF CIRCULATION
A. Total number copies printed 191,607 186,534
B. Paid circulation
1. Outside-county, mail subscriptions 166,736 152,365
2. In-county subscriptions -- --
3. Sales through dealers, carriers,
street vendors, counter sales and
other ­non-
USPS paid distribution 11,161 11,242
4. Other classes mailed through the USPS -- 5,428
C. Total paid circulation 177,897 169,035
D. Free distribution by mail
1. Outside-county -- 204
2. In-county -- --
3. Other classes mailed through the USPS -- 4
4. Free distribution outside the mail 2,547 	 4,551
E. Total free distribution 2,547 4,759
F. Total distribution 180,444 173,794
G. Copies not distributed 11,162 12,740
H. Total 191,607 186,534
I. Percent paid circulation 98.6% 97.26%
I certify that the statements made by me are correct and complete.
Win Holden, Publisher
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
MOREY K. MILBRADT
FIFTY YEARS AGO THIS MONTH, Jack Huntress and his family
sat around the breakfast table and developed a menu for an ice
cream parlor they planned to open in Old Town Scottsdale. They
called it the Sugar Bowl, and on Christmas Eve 1958, it officially
opened to the public.
A few things have changed since then. For example, you won’t
find penny candy or the restaurant’s original spun-wire chairs,
but you will find the same menu and the same overall feel — it’s
the kind of place where Richie, Potsie and Ralph Malph might
have hung out.
Caroll B. Huntress
III, who bought the res-taurant
from his uncle
Jack in 1985, says people
want connecting points
to the past. Something
recognizable. “We’re
part of the fabric of old
Scottsdale, and every-thing
is changing around
us. All these new condos
and fancy restaurants and
expensive retail stores are
going in, but we’ve been
able to survive, and the
community has certainly
helped support us.”
Huntress attributes part
of the Sugar Bowl’s suc-cess
to its nostalgic atmo-sphere,
which includes
metal Coca-Cola signs,
antique teacup displays
and pastel pink walls.
Although the interior
echoes a slower era, the
service is fast and friendly. And even though a scoop of ice cream
no longer costs 50 cents, almost every item is priced under $10.
Among the favorites are tea sandwiches paired with homemade
soup. There’s also a meatloaf sandwich, a classic peanut butter
and jelly, and — for those with a taste for adventure — a cream
cheese sandwich with sliced green olives.
“That’s an oldie,” Huntress says. “We’ve kept it on there
because that’s part of our history.”
In another effort to stick with tradition, the Sugar Bowl’s
original 13 ice cream flavors are the only options, with the
exception of a rotating “Treat of the Month” flavor. It’s popular,
but the restaurant’s signature dessert is the Top Hat Sundae,
which consists of a fresh-baked cream puff filled with vanilla ice
cream and drizzled with hot fudge.
“I think people get a real kick out of our Gosh-Awful-Gooey
Banana Split, too,” Huntress says. Keep a napkin handy for this
one — it combines Turkish coffee ice cream with caramel sauce
and red raspberry sorbet with marshmallow sauce, all topped
with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry.
The menu isn’t the only piece of history at the Sugar Bowl. In
1963, Bil Keane, the creator of The Family Circus, began featur-ing
the restaurant in several of his comic strips. Like Keane, who
usually orders vegetable soup with tea sandwiches, other long-time
customers — even if they haven’t visited in more than 20
years — still remember the menu.
“People come in and say, ‘Thank goodness the Sugar Bowl
hasn’t changed; thank goodness you’re still here,’ ” Huntress says.
It’s a link to the past and maybe the future.
With Huntress’ son, Caroll B. Huntress IV, interested in man-aging
the restaurant someday, the elder Huntress is optimistic
the Sugar Bowl will stick around for “at least another 30 years.”
“We plan on being here for a long time,” he says.
n The Sugar Bowl is located at 4005 N. Scottsdale Road in Scottsdale.
For more information, visit sugarbowlscottsdale.com or call
480-946-0051.
	
	
	
— Leah Duran
How Sweet It Is
If fruitcake isn’t your thing, grab a sundae at the
Sugar Bowl in Scottsdale, which celebrates its 50th
anniversary on Christmas Eve.
D I N I N G
theJournal
P E O P L E
JOHN WADDELL LOVES NAKED PEOPLE. But
not in a vulgar way. When he says, “Take off
your clothes and dance,” as he did to a group of
college students in the ’70s, he’s probably going
to immortalize you in bronze.
Those students who were willing to pose for
Waddell became one of downtown Phoenix’s
most prominent pieces of art: a series of statues
outside the Herberger Theatre named Dance.
Then, and now, Waddell aimed for one goal: to
show people beyond a superficial appearance.
“In our culture, we have so many
stereotypes of how a person should
look that we overlook the beauty
of how a person really does look,”
Waddell says. “In my philosophy, I
honor the uniqueness of each person.”
A decade before Dance, Waddell
made a name for himself with a monu-ment
paying tribute to four young
girls who died in a church bombing in
Birmingham, Alabama. That Which
Might Have Been, Birmingham, 1963 is
Waddell’s rendition of how those girls
would have looked as women.
What’s so striking about Waddell’s
sculptures isn’t the physical attractive-ness
of the people — bronze has a
way of putting everyone on an even
playing field — it’s how they make
you feel their beauty through move-ment.
And after devoting most of his
life to art, Waddell still hasn’t lost his
passion for the portrayal of what is
truly beautiful.
“I’m 87. I work 12 hours a day,
every day, and I love it,” he says.
Today, Waddell and his equally
artistic wife, Ruth, find inspiration
in Cornville, a small town outside
of Sedona. The area is a sacred place
for Waddell, whose backyard and
sculpture garden are surrounded by
mountains and hushed by the sound
of nearby Oak Creek.
“I believe it’s a channel, an open-ing,
for artists that have lived before to
come back,” Waddell explains. “And so, in my
own work, I feel that I’m supported by artists
of the past. You no longer can say, ‘I did this.
This is my work.’ You just have to say, ‘It came
through me.’ ”
For the past 10 years, Waddell has been
working on a 40-foot relief of people in various
forms of ascension into the heavens titled The
Rising. The more than three-dozen figures have
yet to find a home outside of Waddell’s studio,
and like some of his other works, will most
likely be placed outside of Arizona.
In the end, John Waddell believes the secret
to maximizing any talent is to always be refin-ing
it appropriately through diligent practice.
“I feel that as an artist, or a writer, or a
dancer, or even a physicist, you have to keep
your tools as finely developed as possible.”
n For more information, visit artbywaddell.com.
	 — Lauren Proper
Alice Cooper
by Dave Pratt
C E L E B R I T Y Q & A
Au Naturel
He’ll sculpt your nude body, but
don’t ask for his e-mail address —
world-renowned artist John Waddell
is old-school with some amazing
new projects in the works.
AH: If you were trying to
convince the Rolling Stones
that Arizona is one of the most
beautiful places in America,
where would you take them?
AC: Sedona, Oak Creek Canyon,
Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon, the
Painted Desert, Meteor Crater and
Monument Valley. On the second
day …
AH: Tell us about “Christmas
Pudding.”
AC: Our annual Christmas Pudding
is the best. The variety show rocks
every year and benefits the Solid
Rock Organization. This year, we
will be at the Dodge Theater on
Saturday, December 13.
AH: Which is creepiest: scorpion,
rattlesnake or Gila monster?
AC: Scorpions. Rattlesnakes are
polite enough to let you know
they’re around. Gila monsters
are notoriously slow. Scorpions
are troublemakers. They have no
boundaries. Let’s not even bring up
black widows.
AH: What are some of your
favorite places to rock ’n’ roll
in Arizona?
AC: We’ve played every major
venue, from Jobing.Com Arena to
the patio at Cooper’stown. You
put up the stage, sell the tickets,
and I’ll be there. My band will
play anywhere … but it’s gonna
cost you.
AH: Sunrise or sunset?
AC: Sunrise. I’m an early riser.
There’s nothing prettier than the
desert at 6 a.m., with the golf ball
teed up high and the rabbits and
coyotes running all over the golf
course.
— Dave Pratt is the host of the
Dave Pratt in the Morning show on
KMLE 107.9 FM in Phoenix.
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
P H O T O G R A P H Y
I N M E M O R I A M
Esther Henderson Abbott
1911-2008
EXPOSE YOURSELF
When photographing sunsets, the
incorrect exposure is sometimes the
best exposure. By bracketing expo-sures
in 1/3- to ½-stop increments
above and below the light meter’s
recommended “correct” exposure
settings, you can create very evoca-tive
images. Besides conveying an
interesting mood, bracketing also
ensures a successful shoot and
provides editing options later. Digital
photographers, who can see the re-sults
immediately, also should bracket
exposures to ensure the future option
of “stitching” two slightly varied ex-posures
together, combining the best
shadow details and highlights. It’s
good insurance that costs nothing.
P H O T O T I P
editor’s note: Look for Arizona Highways
Photography Guide, available at bookstores
and arizonahighways.com.
For more photography tips and information, visit
arizonahighways.com and click on “Photography.”
online
ARIZONA HIGHWAYS RECENTLY LOST a good friend.
Esther Hen­derson
Abbott, the photographer whose sce-nic
images of Arizona graced the pages of this magazine
stretching over seven decades, passed away in August at
the age of 97.
An independent woman among the male-dominated
ranks of landscape photographers, Esther more than
held her own with the likes of Ansel Adams and Josef
Muench. During the halcyon days of Arizona Highways’
rise to prominence as the state’s official travel magazine,
her images helped create an international following for
the high-quality color photography it featured. For 28 years, she
lived and worked in Tucson, where she met and married rival
photographer Chuck Abbott.
Esther’s story is full of twists and turns. She once said, “I was
born in Oak Park, Illinois — you know, the flat land — and I
always wanted to go where there were mountains.” Eventually,
she would have mountains, but not until she and her widowed
father journeyed across America in search of a suitable career for
the 16-year-old high school graduate.
She started out in show business, working as a dancer in
nightclubs and speakeasies in New York City during the
Depression. But after the repeal of Prohibition, Esther grew
weary of city life. “So many people, so much pavement,” she said.
“I hadn’t even seen a green tree outside of Central Park in a long
time.” Again, the mountains were calling her.
An “over-the-hill” dancer at age 23 with only $239 to her
name, Esther pulled out the New York City phone book to
search for a new career. She found a listing for the New York
Institute of Photography and enrolled in a three-month course in
basic photography. She then set out in search of a job.
In a 2003 interview, Esther recalled the fateful decision that
led her to Arizona. “My dad said, ‘Let’s follow Horace Greeley’s
advice and go west.’ So we did.”
After sojourns with studios in Norfolk, Virginia, and San
Antonio, Texas, the Hendersons finally arrived in Arizona in
1934. Driving through small, dusty towns along their route,
they’d stop to look in the windows of photo studios to size up the
competition and see if there was room in town for a good pho-tographer.
“When we got to Tucson, I looked at the work in the
window and I figured, well, here’s the place for me,” Esther said.
Shortly thereafter she met Abbott, who also had recently
moved to Tucson. He was a handsome guy — 15 years her senior
— making a living photographing important Easterners who vis-ited
Tucson’s dude ranches and resorts. Chuck and Esther mar-ried
three months after they met, and together became one of the
most prolific husband-wife photographer teams in the annals of
this magazine.
In 1963, with two sons, Carl and Mark, they uprooted and
moved to Santa Cruz, California. For most of the past 45 years,
Esther had been a volunteer for the Salvation Army, working
tirelessly, packing food bags for the homebound, helping fami-lies
in times of crisis, and teaching Bible history and music to
children. Even into her last years, Esther played the piano at her
church and entertained in rest homes, despite being older than
many of the residents.
In her final hours, Esther was at home, surrounded by her
family. At her request, they sang So Long, It’s Been Good to Know
You. She admitted to having lived a full and wonderful life. She
was in no pain and wasn’t dependent on any medications. She
was resolute, saying she was ready to go “home.” She died peace-fully
on August 22, 2008.
— Peter Ensenberger, director of photography
theJournal
FOR BOB KITTREDGE, FOREST HOUSES RESORT IS MORE than
a collection of funky stone and wood rental houses along Oak
Creek. It’s his childhood home and the repository of his family’s
history. Walk into the office, and you’ll see memorabilia he’s
unearthed, including his own baby bottles, glass milk contain-ers
and a miniature replica of the motorcycle his dad drove in on
— one of the first built by Harley Davidson.
Bob’s father arrived in 1930 with his brother, a pet monkey, a
baby coyote and plans for a “citadel in the woods.” The brothers
bought the 20-acre property for $60 an acre and built The Barn,
now guest lodging, to house a team of Percheron draft horses
that dragged the logs used to build the Log House, the brothers’
first house.
Both of Bob’s parents were artists. His father, also named Bob,
never attended high school but apprenticed himself to a sculptor
at age 14. Ambling down what was once the canyon road, Bob
Jr. points to the Studio House, a guest house with north-facing
clerestory windows that served as his parents’ studio.
Bob Sr.’s preferred medium was stone, and Bob likes to say his
father graduated from stone sculptures to larger, livable works
of art. He built the Rock House as a rental trial balloon in 1946,
and five more houses over the next 10 years. He quit building
for good in the 1970s, out of frustration with Coconino County’s
newly minted building codes. The resort now includes 15
houses, which range from a studio apartment to a rambling, five-bedroom,
multistory structure.
When Bob Jr. took over the property in 1982, it was closed as
a resort. He reopened the resort in 1987 and has run it ever since.
His daughters now sleep in his old room.
“It’s been a lot of fun for me to fix it, work on it, improve it,”
Bob says. “I’m trying to maintain Mom and Dad’s style, struc-ture
and ambience.” That means no streetlights, no televisions
and no telephones, except for one public pay phone. Even cell
phones don’t work. A confirmation letter advises guests: “Here at
Forest Houses, we offer you absolutely nothing to do. You must
kick back and relax.”
Bob has known some of his guests for 30 years. He thinks of
them as friends. “People can vacation anywhere,” he says. “They
will come back to a place that greets them by name.”
n Forest Houses Resort is located at 9275 N. Highway 89A in Sedona,
and is closed in January and February. For more information, call 928-
282-2999 or visit foresthousesresort.com.
— Kathy Montgomery
Little Houses
If you’re looking for a cozy place to hang your
stockings this month, Forest Houses Resort in Oak
Creek Canyon features 15 rental “cabins,” and they
all have fireplaces.
L O D G I N G
MOREY K. MILBRADT
MARC MUENCH
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
WHEN COUES WHITETAIL DEER ARE ALARMED, they flip up
their brown-topped tails like a stop sign at a school crosswalk,
revealing the underside’s warning white. From a distance, this is
often all that people see of the
deer — a shock of white hair
retreating at 40 mph like a tou-pee
in the wind.
Among hunters, the Coues is
known as one of the most elu-sive,
camoflauged and hyper-vigilant
quarry. Given how
inextricably its name is linked
to the words “prey” and “game,”
it’s no surprise. Call it survival
of the skittish.
Unfortunately, this means
most of us know nothing
about the secret lives of Coues
— their complex pheromonal
language, their handwriting of
scratches and scrapes.
Whitetail deer are ubiqui-tous
in America, but Coues
(named after Arizona orni-thologist
Elliott Coues, prop-erly
pronounced “cows,” but
popularly pronounced “coos”)
are smaller and confined to
Southeastern Arizona, Mexico
and New Mexico.
Coues communicate
through an olfactory Morse
Code, secreting pheromone-scented oils from various glands.
Their forehead glands release an oil they rub on branches to
announce “I am here.” Tarsal glands on the hind legs emit a
strong odor that indicates age and gender. And with each step,
interdigital glands emanate a personal perfume that helps them
track each other.
Coues also make handwriting-like markings, with bucks
being the primary authors. To mark their territory, bucks strip
bark off trees with their antlers, a process called “making a rub.”
They also scrape the ground to expose the earth, then urinate on
the scrapes and surround them with twigs anointed with fore-head
oil. This is Coues shorthand for: “I am a dominant male. If
you are a buck, get out of my territory. If you are a doe, I can be
reached at the tall sycamore scented with light musk and the
tang of urine.”
Coues do have an auditory language, too. Fawns and their
mothers bleat to each other, and adults grunt and snort to warn
their compatriots of danger. Only bucks, however, display
a sound pattern pricelessly called the “grunt-snort-wheeze.”
Them’s fightin’ words.
	 	 	 — Keridwen Cornelius
theJournal
50
y ears ago in arizona highways
T H I S M O N T H I N H I S T O R Y
■ On December 14, 1928, the U.S. Senate overwhelmingly
passed the Swing-Johnson bill, which authorized the
construction of Boulder Dam (now called Hoover Dam) in
Northwestern Arizona.
■ On December 25, 1881, the Bird Cage Theatre in Tomb-stone
opened its doors, and by 1882, The New York
Times reported that “the Bird Cage Theatre is the wildest,
wickedest night spot between Basin Street and the Bar-bary
Coast.”
■ On December 30, 1857, Lieutenant Joseph Christmas
Ives and his crew headed north from Fort Yuma in the
Arizona Territory aboard the steamship Explorer for a
study of the Colorado River. During the expedition, Ives
led the first party of European settlers to the bottom of
the Grand Canyon.
For Deer Life
Coues whitetails are rare, but their elusive nature
allows them to survive in Southeastern Arizona,
despite being in the crosshairs.
N A T U R E
A Navajo prayer affirms, “In beauty, I walk, with beauty before me,
I walk, with beauty behind me, I walk, with beauty above me.” In
our December 1958 issue, we set out to prove that sentiment with a
collection of large color photographs that illustrated the magnifi-cent
beauty of Arizona.
nature factoid
MONTEZUMA QUAIL
The Montezuma quail just might be
the Michael Jordan of the bird world.
When threatened with danger, a
Montezuma quail freezes to blend
into its surroundings. But when some-thing
comes too close for comfort, the
bird leaps with great force and ex-plodes
into flight. Some Montezuma
quails have been measured jumping
more than 6 feet straight up.
TOM VEZO
TOM VEZO
Flying High
Kitty Hawk might be the birthplace of aviation, but
in the early 1900s, Tucson embraced the fledgling
industry and etched its own place in history.
H I S T O R Y
IT TAKES AN INGENIOUS CITY TO GET DEEMED AN OFFICIAL
landing site for military aircraft and heralded by the Saturday
Evening Post as “an ideal place for aviators” before it actually has
an airport. But such was Tucson in the early 1900s, when it push­-
ed Arizona to the forefront of the fledgling aviation industry.
In 1910 — two years before Arizona became a state —
Charles “The Bird Man” Hamilton dazzled crowds when he flew
the first plane over Tucson. The next year, the Old Pueblo made
headlines when it became the meeting point for two pilots com-peting
to be the first to fly across the United States in 30 days or
less. Such an ambitious feat proved impossible, but the fanfare
again put Tucson in the limelight.
Soon after, the Tucson Chamber of Commerce started an
Aviation Committee — a bold move considering the city had no
airfield, nor any residents with planes. In 1916, O.C. Parker, an
undertaker with considerably loftier goals, became mayor and
was determined to construct an airport in his city.
Meanwhile, World War I Army fliers stationed in California
and Texas were praising Tucson’s flight-friendly climate. In
the spring of 1919, Army General Billy Mitchell sent a letter to
Mayor Parker announcing that Tucson had been named one of
32 official domestic landing sites for military aircraft. So (hint,
hint) it might be a good idea to actually build said landing site.
The whole thing was thrown together quickly. All it took
was $5,000, a plot of land on 6th Avenue (where the Rodeo
Grounds now stand), a few mules to lay the unpaved runway
and a World War I hangar transported from Nogales.
On November 20, 1919, Tucson’s New Macauley Field became
the first municipally owned airport in the country. A plaque
at the Rodeo Grounds still commemorates the occasion when
“Swede” Myerhoff piloted the inaugural flight.
The airfield soon outgrew itself. Military and civilian flights
were increasingly in demand, and famed aviator Charles Mayse
attracted pilots by launching the city’s first flying school.
So the nation’s first municipal airport was moved southeast
of the city, becoming the nation’s largest. (It would later become
the first airport in the country to offer regular night flights.) It
was rechristened Davis-Monthan Field, after Lieutenants Samuel
Davis and Oscar Monthan — two Tucson WWI-era pilots killed
in plane crashes.
On September 23, 1927, Charles Lindbergh arrived in his
Spirit of St. Louis to dedicate the new airfield. To honor the
occasion, local florist Hal Burns presented Lindbergh with a
life-sized monoplane, dubbed the Spirit of Tucson, constructed
entirely of cactuses and ocotillos. Now that’s ingenious.
— Keridwen Cornelius
ARIZONA HISTORICAL FOUNDATION
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8
theJournal
If taking great photos of
Arizona’s “Seven Won-ders”
interests you, be
sure to check out the
new listing of Arizona
Highways Photo Work-shops
for 2009. We’re traveling to
Sedona, Grand Canyon, Monument
Valley and Saguaro National Park,
as well as other beautiful places in
Arizona and around the West.
n Information: 888-790-7042 or
friendsofazhighways.com
November 6-December 22: The Polar Express comes to life this
month on the Grand Canyon Railway as the train travels from
Williams to the “North Pole,” where Santa and his reindeer
await. Enjoy hot chocolate and cookies on the evening ride to
the Canyon while listening to Chris Van Allsburg’s magical tale.
n Information: 800-843-8724 or thetrain.com/polarexpress
Fiesta in Tumacácori
December 6-7: The traditions and
cultures of the Tohono O’odham,
Apache and Mexican people are
on display at the 38th Annual
Fiesta de la Tumacácori, which fea-tures
more than 50 crafts and food
vendor booths. Entertainment in-cludes
ballet folklorico and Apache
Crown dancers, basket weaving,
tortilla-making demonstrations
and the music of the region.
n Information: 520-398-2341 or
nps.gov/tuma
Prescott Holiday
December 6: Visit Prescott,
Arizona’s Christmas City, as it
dresses for the part during the
54th Annual Courthouse Light-ing
Ceremony. This longtime
tradition features a student
choir and Christmas caroling.
After the ceremony, experience
a Frontier Christmas at Sharlot
Hall Museum.
n Information: 928-445-3122 or
sharlot.org
EDWARD MCCAIN TOM BEAN
Tucson Street Fair
December 12-14: This month
Tucson celebrates its 38th
Annual Fourth Avenue Winter
Street Fair, one of the premier
street fairs in the country.
Sponsored by the Fourth Ave-nue
Merchants Association, the
fair offers more than 400 arts-and-
crafts booths, 35 gourmet
food vendors, entertainment
and a special kids area.
n Information: 520-624-5004 or
fourthavenue.org
Photography
Workshop
DAVID H. SMITH
All Aboard the Polar Express
T H I N G S T O D O
December 31: Celebrate New
Year’s Eve by joining the
countdown to 2009 at the
Weatherford Hotel’s traditional
pinecone drop. Beginning at
10 seconds to midnight, the
giant pinecone descends from
the top of the hotel to street
level. Afterward, the party con-tinues
as revelers ring in the
New Year.
n Information: 928-779-1919 or
weatherfordhotel.com
Pinecone
Drop in
Flagstaff EDWARD MCCAIN
Offer expires December 31, 2008. Use promo code #5812. Shipping and handling not included. You can also visit our retail location at 2039 W. Lewis Ave. in Phoenix.
Holiday cards, books, jewelry, clothing, calendars ... shop
now and save 25% OFF our most popular gift items.
Shop online at arizonahighways.com or call 800-543-5432.
What’s in Store
Coasters COAH8 $18.00
CCCN8 $17.95 XREG8 $9.95
Holiday Cards
Pinecone Jacket $89.99
FEMG8 $6.95
FESR8 $30.00
FEBW8 $26.99
Serving bowl,
triple condiment
server, chile
pepper mug
Classic Wall Calendar CAL09 $9.99
Images Book AGVH8 $39.95
Southwestern
Pendant and
Liquid Silver necklace
JPEN8 $248.00
Western Handbag WBAG8 $195.00
A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
Winter
Wonderland
spectacular portfolios are pretty typical in this magazine.
for this one, which features the seven natural wonders
of arizona, we’ve included the words of seven writers who
are every bit as impressive as the photos. Edited by Kelly K ramer Cheops Pyramid and Isis Temple
at Grand Canyon National Park.
Photograph by Randy Prentice
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
efore you pick up the phone or plan
a march on our offices, let us say right
upfront that we know what you’re
thinking: Where’s Canyon de Chelly?
What about Kartchner Caverns? Where are the
Chiricahuas? We understand the questions, but trying
to pick just seven natural wonders in a place like
Arizona is like asking Ma and Pa Walton to pick their
favorite kids. Well, in that case, John Boy, like the
Grand Canyon, might be obvious, but what about
the rest? It isn’t easy, and there are certainly other
natural wonders that could have made our final cut.
Nonetheless, we’ve come up with seven places that are
unique to Arizona. Although you’ve seen them all before,
there are plenty of photos in this piece that’ll take your
breath away — the snow shot of Havasu Falls is an
absolute rarity. Of course, we could have stopped there.
Instead, we interviewed some of the most talented
writers in America, all of whom have an affection for
Arizona, and added their words to the mix. No doubt
you’ll get some beautiful cards this holiday season,
but few, if any, will measure up to ours. — R ober t S t ieve, e di tor
b NICK BEREZENKO
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
“Humility is a companion in arid
country. The stillness of these wide-open
spaces is a reservoir for my spirit.
I remember what matters and what
does not.
“Within the searing summer heat,
one comes alive in the coolness of eve-ning.
It’s here, under a canopy of stars, I
begin to understand why most animals
in the desert are nocturnal. Perception
deepens. Under the full moon, deep blue
shadows give way to a different kind of
seeing. Nothing is as it appears.
“In the last three years, my hus-band,
Brooke, and I have been living
in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, as far away
from the desert as is imaginable, with
602 inches of snow last winter and long
stretches of subzero temperatures. The
Northern Rockies and the Tetons, spe-cifically,
have their own beauty. But I’ve
missed the serenity and starkness of the
desert. I return often, and I am struck
by what a few days in the red-rock land-scape
calms in me.
“Again, it’s the stillness that I find so
restorative and the bare-boned beauty
of slickrock and sage. My composure is
rooted in the desert. Soul-peace.
“Arizona and Utah are sisters on the
Colorado Plateau. My memorable expe-riences
in Arizona are both grounded
and fluid in the Grand Canyon. I love the
stratigraphy of time — deep time — that
exists in the Canyon. I love being on the
Colo­rado
River as it bends and twists
through red-rock walls that rise upward
like praying hands. And I love the sinu-ous
quality of the Vishnu Schist that’s
reminiscent of Henry Moore’s sculp­-
tures. Take the memory of being at the
confluence of the Little Colorado and
the Colorado River, where the Hopi
speak of Emergence. The pale turquoise
water that merges with the red water of
the mighty Colorado is a place of trans-formation.
Again, the word ‘humility’
comes to mind. If I could speak to the
desert, I would tell it, ‘Thank you.’ To
me, it speaks no words. Only stillness.
The desert teaches me again and again
how to listen.
“My hope for the desert Southwest is
that we might come to understand the
meaning of restraint. It’s not easy liv-ing
in the desert. It’s a harsh and frag-ile
landscape. Therein lies much of its
beauty. But it requires sacrifice. We forget
this. I am fearful for the desert because of
our excesses: how we use water or, more
accurately, how we waste water; our love
affair with lawn; how we overbuild.
“My fear for the desert Southwest
resides in our collective complacency.
If we’re going to protect the integrity of
the desert, then we must maintain a col-lective
vigilance within our desert com-munities,
honoring the nature of this
fragile landscape.
“Who can say what the human spirit
will be crying out for 100 years from
now? My instinct says we will be crying
out for space and time. In the desert, we
find both. Wild open space revives the
memory of unity. Through its protection,
we can find faith in our humanity.
“Who is speaking on the side of time?
Deep time. And who is considering the
soulful existence of other creatures? I
believe we need to extend our notion of
community to include all living things,
not just our own species.
“Color, form and light. These three
components of the desert are always
changing. It allows us to do the same —
change.
“The minimalism of the landscape
differentiates the desert from other
places. No trees. Little green. A recon-figuration
of everything one is taught
about Beauty.
“Time and space. In the red-rock
canyons, time creates space — an arch, an
eye, this blue eye of sky. We remember
why we love the desert. It’s our tactile
response to light, to silence and to still-ness.
Hand on stone — patience. Hand on
water — music. Hand raised to the wind
— the birthplace of inspiration.”
— naturalist and author terry tempest wil-liams
is a utah native and travels extensively
throughout the desert southwest. she is best
known for her 1991 book, refuge: an unnatu-ral
history of family and place.
{ G r a n d C a ny on }
It’s one of the seven natural wonders of the world. And no wonder: Scientists recently discovered it might have taken 17 million years
to carve those mile-deep, labyrinthine gorges. The result was well worth the wait.
for more information, call 928-638-7888 or visit nps.gov/grca.
n to order a print of this photograph, see page 1.
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
Terry Tempest Williams …
“My relationship to the desert is one of erosion and
stillness. It’s the erosional beauty of the landscape
that inspires me. It’s the erosional quality of
the desert that strips me again and again of
all that is not essential.
PAUL GILL
MOREY K. MILBRADT
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
{ s ed on a }
Rust never looked so good. Once voted the most beautiful place in America, this wonderland of red rocks
(courtesy of oxidized iron) is at once a spiritual destination, adventure hotspot and art mecca.
for more information, call 928-282-7722 or visit visitsedona.com.
n to order a print of this photograph, see page 1.
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
Clive Cussler …
“I’ve always been fascinated by
the history of Arizona. You’d be
surprised by how many shipwrecks
are actually buried in the state. The
government once commissioned a
tugboat to be assembled at the mouth
of the Colorado River. While it was
being worked on, it started to sink. I
believe it’s buried somewhere under
the shore. I’ve been looking for it with
a metal detector.
“The desert looks barren to most
people, but part of its beauty is morn-ing
— the sunrise — and then, later,
the sunsets. Spring and fall are mag-nificent.
My wife and I like to eat out-side.
She’s from Connecticut, and we
both find that the only things here
that scare the tourists away are the
heat and the desert.
“It’s easy to say that my favorite
place is Sedona. I’ve taken friends
driving around on back roads, to
Bisbee and across the state. Visitors
used to have a Wild West mentality,
but that doesn’t exist as much any-more.
The people in Arizona have
good values — they’re good people.”
— clive cussler is a paradise valley
resident, underwater explorer and
the author of dozens of best-selling
adventure novels.
“Years ago, a friend of mine and I used to trample
out in the desert, looking for lost mines. One day,
we were out in the desert and came across 10 or 12
buildings that were still there. We talked to a fellow
in a nearby town and found out that half of the town
had died. Twenty-five years later, we went back,
and the whole place had been swept clean. I took
a bottle of bourbon.
PAUL GILL
RANDY PRENTICE
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
Red Rock Crossing, Oak Creek, Sedona
Photograph by Bob & Suzanne Clemenz
n to order a print of this photograph, see page 1.
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
{ P e t r i f ie d F or e s t N a t ion a l P a r k }
This trove of petrified wood and Triassic fossils is a time capsule more than 200 million years old.
Set amid the Painted Desert’s lunarscape, the multicolored crystallized trees are as stunning as they are scientifically significant.
for more information, call 928-524-6228 or visit nps.gov/pefo.
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
Larry McMurtry …
“I grew up in Texas, where it was
very dry and hot. I was a plainsman,
not a desert person. But then, when
the state introduced irrigation, it
became more humid. I like the dry
heat — it doesn’t bother me at all. After
I had heart surgery in 1991, [writer]
Diana Ossana and her daughter took
me in. I had a long recovery and sat
and looked at the mountains. I had a
bookshop here for a while, and now I
spend more time here than I do any-where
else.
“I’m not one to go too far north of
Tucson. It’s a Sonoran city and has
all the big-city amenities, including
good food and a variety of cuisines.
It doesn’t have enough bookstores. I
like Tucson, though, because of the
pace and because of the weather. You
don’t have to give up very much of
your energy fighting the city as you do
in Los Angeles, Chicago or New York.
It’s a city, but it stretches all the way
to the Tanque Verdes. It feels much
more lazy and much less stressful.
“I haven’t written about Arizona.
I like it here — I enjoy it. But I’m an
old man. I’m 72, and I’ve written 42
books. It would be unusual to write
another novel. The desert hasn’t much
inspired me, but it’s been a very com-fortable,
refreshing place to live.”
— larry mcmurtry is a best-selling novel-ist,
screenwriter, essayist and book
lover. he is best known for his pulitzer
prize-winning novel, lonesome dove.
“I first started coming to Tucson in the 1960s. Then I began to visit regularly in the
1980s. My son [James] was a student at the University of Arizona before he drifted
off to become a musician. I stayed a lot because of the sun — it’s what drew me here.
GEORGE H.H. HUEY
TOM DANIELSEN
JACK DYKINGA
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
{ h a v a s u f a l l s }
With its robin’s egg blue pools and cascading russet cliffs,
this Shangri-La tucked in the Grand Canyon might be the most photogenic waterfall in the world.
for more information, call 928-448-2121 or visit havasupaitribe.com.
n to order a print of this photograph, see page 1.
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
“To someone like me who grew up on
elm-shaded green lawns in the Midwest,
much of the desert landscape looks to me
rather like a gravel pit — a very hot gravel
pit. But Arizona’s not like any other state
at all. The desert, the architecture, the
furniture, the flora and fauna, the col-ors,
the clothes and boots, all seem quite
different and very connected to the Old
West. Phoenix, however, all fairly new
and congested, is like any other place —
like Florida, say, but without the ocean.
“I like the people: free, self-reliant indi-vidualists.
My favorite is Charlie Cham­-
berlin, mail carrier. The mail comes into
the Peach Springs post office, and Charlie
delivers it.Leading a mule train packed
with mail, food, appliances — you name it
— down the sheer cliffs of the Grand Can­yon,
he delivers the mail five days a week
to the Havasupai Indians living 2,500 feet
below, at the bottom of the Canyon.
“Oh! And the Scottsdale Community
College mascot is the artichoke — the fight­-
ing artichoke! Funniest in the land.”
— bill geist is a best-selling author and has
been a correspondent for cbs sunday morning
since 1987, chronicling interesting people and
places across the united states.
Bill Geist …
“I’ve made about a dozen visits to Arizona, and my first business trip was about 20 years ago.
Among my favorite places to visit are the Grand Canyon, Tucson, Bisbee, Sedona and the
Cubs’ spring training location in Mesa.
RANDY PRENTICE GREG BINON
PAUL GILL
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
Havasu Falls, at the Grand Canyon
Photograph by Larry Ulrich
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
“My main focus has been the search
for Anasazi ruins and rock art. They fas-cinate
me. I spent a lot of time in Arizona
while I was researching my book, Once
They Moved Like the Wind, which focused
on the last 25 years of the Apache Wars,
particularly in Southern Arizona and the
Sierra Madre. I sought out every single
place where significant things in that
history happened. Previous historians
hadn’t bothered going into Mexico —
into the Sierra Madre — because if you go
during certain times in the marijuana
harvest, it’s incredibly dangerous. But
there are places that are stupendous and
pristine — they’re vestiges of the Apaches
themselves.
“I spent about three years visiting
Aravaipa and Fort Bowie, but there’s a
place just across the border, in Canyon
de los Embudos, where Geronimo sur-rendered
to Crook. No one really knew
where it was, but we figured it out. There
were photographs from a Tucson pho-tographer,
who had the nerve to go out
with Crook and photograph surrenders.
There were mountains in the back-ground,
and embudos, which means fun-nels.
We were able to triangulate exactly
where the surrender took place. A
Mexican family in the area had never
even heard of Geronimo.
“Earlier this year, I visited Canyon
de Chelly for the sixth time. It’s one of
the most beautiful places in Arizona.
The Indians thought they could never
be attacked there. When Kit Carson
marched through, he broke the back
of the resistance, but there are a few
little-known stories about how some
300 to 500 Navajos hid out atop Navajo
Fortress Rock, which is now completely
off-limits to Anglos. I climbed about
two-thirds of the way up about 10 years
ago. It was a real climb.
“I’ve spent about 20 years being a seri-ous
climber in places like Alaska, which
is the place that spoke to me the most. I
ignored the Southwest, with the excep-tion
of the few obligatory visits to places
like Mesa Verde and the Grand Canyon.
Those places felt too regulated, too much
like museum pieces. In 1987, though, I
went into some canyons in Cedar Mesa,
then in Bullet Canyon and Grand Gulch.
I found ruins that hadn’t been restored.
I found corncobs and yucca knots lying
in the dirt. It was as though a light bulb
went off — the preservation was so per-fect.
These were some of the most pris-tine
ruins in North America.
“I did write a book about Anasazi
ruins, In Search of the Old Ones. Normally,
when I’m done, the landscape goes
somewhere else, but in this case, my
quest continued. Every spring and fall,
I’ve come to explore canyons that are
new to me. With the Anasazi, there were
several things that spoke to me. They’re
great climbers, and I’ve seen some cliffs
that I can’t believe they got to without a
real aesthetic motive.
“The Navajos and Apaches were not
an aesthetic people. They were a nomadic
people, which is an entirely different
thing. I don’t go out into canyons and
look for old hogans. It’s hard to find any-thing.
Archaeologists seldom find any
vestiges of Apache existence. The tribe
built wickiups that never lasted more
than a season or two, and they never
raised horses — they stole them instead.
“I do find — in places like Tucson,
Globe and Bisbee — that the bitterness
about the Apache Wars remains. There’s
still some inherent racism against the
Apaches. Geronimo was the last holdout
in the war, and the cruelty of the Apache
persecution is still felt today. You go to
the Navajo Reservation and Monument
Valley, and there are people selling jew-elry
and frybread and rugs at back-to-back
stands. There’s no equivalent on
the Apache reservations. They don’t do
tourism.
“I spent a lot of time on the San Car­-
los Reservation in the White Mountains.
It took a lot of diplomacy to go hiking
where Geronimo had been. There are
still a lot of reservations between us —
between the Apaches and the white-eyes.
There’s no monument to Geronimo.”
— david roberts is a mountaineer and the
author of 17 books on that topic and the
american southwest. his work has also
been published in national geographic.
{ mo g ol l on r im }
This 200-mile-long escarpment crests Central Arizona, forming a serene region that’s home
to the largest ponderosa pine forest on the planet. The views from its sandstone bluffs stretch as far as Four Peaks, near Phoenix.
for more information, call 928-477-2255 or visit www.fs.fed.us/r3/coconino/recreation/mog _ rim/rec _ mogollon.shtml.
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
David Roberts …
“I’ve made around 100 trips to canyon country, and dozens
of trips to the Navajo Reservation. The country around
Navajo Mountain is the most beautiful, but no one goes
there, because you need a permit from the Navajo Nation.
NICK BEREZENKO
MOREY K. MILBRADT
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
“The quality of light in Tucson is
extraordinary, and it’s affected my
day-to-day existence drastically. I
didn’t realize until I moved here how
light-sensitive I am. I have so much
physical and creative energy, and
I’ve been everywhere in the state —
to Flagstaff, to Winslow, the White
Mountains, Phoenix, Douglas —
and it’s hard to pick just one favor-ite
place. I just love the Southwest
so much. As soon as I hit the open
road, it doesn’t matter which way I’m
going, it’s just a magical place. I lived
in Austin for just under a year, but I
was drawn back here. It’s about light
and clarity.
“Once, I rode my bicycle along
the rim of the Grand Canyon. I was
floored by that. My father was an
Italian immigrant who came to the
United States at the age of 13. He
came to Tucson for the first time
when my daughter was 5. He grew
up in a little mountain village in
Northern Italy, and yet, he was fas-cinated
by the mountains. He said,
‘My god. This is beautiful.’
“Larry [McMurtry] drove my dad
to Canyon de Chelly on the Navajo
Reservation. My father was, essen-tially,
a little mountain-town peas-ant,
but he was fascinated by the way
the Navajos live without running
water or electricity. He couldn’t stop
talking about it. He died unexpect-edly
— about six months after that
trip — but I know he was mesmer-ized
by how hearty and spiritual the
Navajos are.
“It’s safe to say that this landscape
has strongly influenced my work —
probably more than anything else.
During the various miniseries I’ve
been involved with, along with
Brokeback Mountain, it’s played a big
role in location scouting. Visuals in
those stories are so critical to the
characters and how they’re formed.
“I raised my daughter, Sarah, here,
and I think the quality of the light
and the landscape has influenced
her greatly. She’s a designer and a
very visual person. She owns her
own business and remodels exist-ing
buildings at all phases — even
through to the end, when she chooses
colors and decorative elements.
“I was in Rhode Island with her a
few months ago, and someone asked
her if she could do this or that. She
said, ‘I feel like I’m capable of de­-
signing anything.’ I think that’s
because of Tucson, because she
learned to appreciate light here. I’m
convinced that this landscape has
formed my child and her worldview,
especially now when I think of how
accomplished she is — now that she’s
a grown woman.”
{ s a g u a r o n a t ion a l p a r k }
More than a million saguaros spike the landscape of this 143-square-mile park, which boasts the highest concentration
of saguaros in the world. There’s simply no better place to marvel at this Sonoran Desert icon.
for more information, call 520-733-5153 (rincon mountain district) or 520-733-5158 (tucson mountain district), or visit nps.gov/sagu.
n to order a print of this photograph, see page 1.
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
Diana Ossana …
“I came to Tucson from St. Louis in 1977. I was 28 and pregnant and looking
for a new start. I’d been out once — in January — and I was fascinated that
it was the middle of winter and I could wear shorts. There’s something very
special about Tucson. It’s large, but small enough that it has a small-town
feel. It’s surrounded by mountains and set on a mesa, with views of the
lushest desert in the world — full of flowers and greenery, without the
dense, thick underbrush. And the sky is so, so blue.
JACK DYKINGA
JACK DYKINGA
— diana ossana is a writer and frequent
collaborator of larry mcmurtry. to-gether,
they collaborated with author
annie proulx on the screenplay for
brokeback mountain, for which they won
an academy award.
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
“I first came to Arizona in
1945. The war was still on, and
I came back to the United States
on a hospital ship after I was
injured. I made my way out to
the Navajo Reservation and came
upon a healing ceremony. The
thing that touched me most,
though, was that the ceremony
wasn’t only focused on wounds.
It was focused on restoring the
individual to peace and harmony
— to encouraging people never
to be angry with anyone else.
I grew up in Oklahoma, where
Seminoles and Potawatomies
were my neighbors. When I met
the Navajos, I was delighted and
charmed — and I still am.
“Once, during one of my sub-sequent
visits to the reservation,
I rode in a Navajo parade. They
offered me a horse, and I could
tell immediately that it wasn’t
my kind of horse. It was a buck-ing
horse. So, instead, I rode in
a pickup truck, and the Navajos
gave me a name: Haastin. That
loosely translates to ‘Old Man
Afraid of His Horse.’ ”
{ monument v a l l e y }
Wind has played tricks on the rocks in this flatland, whittling them into fantastical shapes such as fortresses and mittens.
Stark, cinematic and stunning — it’s the classic image of the Wild West.
for more information, call 435-727-5874 or visit navajonationparks.org/htm/monumentvalley.htm.
n to order a print of this photograph, see page 1.
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT TTTTTTTT
Tony Hillerman …
“I’m drawn to the desert and to the desert Southwest because of the empty spaces. I like looking out
and seeing miles and miles of nothing. And, of course, I like the people. I dearly love the Superstition
Mountains and the Arizona landscape. Mostly, I like Navajo Monument.
JACK DYKINGA
KIRK OWENS
— tony hillerman lives in albuquer-que,
where he’s surrounded by open
spaces. he’s the author of numerous
best-selling novels, essays, children’s
books and articles, many of which
focus on navajo life and culture.
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
arly one morning, I left town
for the future.
The mountains walk across the
land, a jagged horizon of peaks —
Roskruge, Pan Quemado, Waterman,
Silver Bell, Ragged Top, Sawtooth,
Samaniego Hills. The air hangs with
heat and dust. Desert trees and cac-tuses
huddle in this oven. A 12-foot
ironwood tree stands like a ghost, a few limbs barely in
leaf. The battered canopy shelters two young saguaros, one
only a foot tall, from the sun. The nearby patch of prickly
pear is yellowed and the pads thin and wrinkled. The light
breeze seems empty of even a hint of moisture. On the
peaks nearby live the last native desert bighorn herd of any
real size in the Tucson Basin. The city center itself roars
less than an hour away.
This is the place where what we claim to be meets what
we are. In 2000, we created a new national monument
here, named it Ironwood and then, as if exhausted by that
effort, all but abandoned it. There are few signs announc-ing
the monument and scant personnel. Smuggling and
illegal immigration have taken a toll in cut fences and litter
— which join 5,000 years of Native American marks on
the ground, including some big arrays of petroglyphs.
Memories beckon. Decades ago, I hunted snakes on
these dirt roads on those velvet summer nights after a rain.
Awhile back, I stumbled up a slope with an archaeologist
surveying the rock images scratched out by earlier
humans. We stared out at the
developing valley to the east while
surrounded by stone announce-ments.
And then, by instinct, we
clambered up to the top of the
small knoll and found an ancient
camp we sensed would be there. It
boasted a spectacular view, and neither one of us thought
this was an accident.
The place is a lesson book, one that, at first, seems
slightly dull, and then in time becomes irresistible. The
slope before me is dotted with dead paloverdes slain by
the drought. The bony limbs dot the bajada like skeletons.
Saguaros stand mute under the sun, the folds between
their ribs tight from years of little rain. The creosote is
brown, the ground a mix of rock fragments and beige soil.
Here and there are ironwood trees that look more dead
than alive. The bases of some are quite large, but the limbs
are mainly dead and droop to the ground. At first, these
trees barely catch the eye. They seem stunted and strug-
Ancient Art
Ancient Hohokam petro-glyphs
adorn granite
boulders in Southern
Arizona’s 129,000-acre
Ironwood Forest
National Monument.
Another Natural Wonder
Ragged Top Mountain
is the geological crown
jewel of Ironwood Forest
National Monument, but
the tree for which the
park is named tells an
even greater story. The
ironwoods, which can live
to be 800 years old, are
survivors, flourishing in
wet times and dying back
during droughts. They are,
as our writer points out,
a more honest symbol of
the culture of the Sonoran
Desert than the saguaros
that live on a million
postcards.
BY CHARLES BOWDEN
PHOTOGRAPHS BY DAVID MUENCH
|
|
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
gling. They are both of those things. And ancient, also.
Ironwood Forest National Monument teaches life about
life. Its namesake tree is renowned for a meaningless fact:
The wood is so dense it cannot float. This seems of little
significance in a desert of dry rivers. The tree is so larded
with toxins that botanists consider it essentially nonbio-degradable
— a stump can linger for 1,600 years. At first,
the stands seem beneath notice, the leaves crabbed and
small, the limbs drooping and frail-looking. The spring
bloom of rose-tinted flowers is passed and now in the June
heat the desert bakes and waits for the summer rains that
may or may not come. For a decade, they have largely not
come. That explains the dead paloverdes and the beaten
feel of the land.
I wander the hillside to a large ironwood. The base tells
a tale of near death. The scars of two diebacks are evident,
times when the tree gave up any hope of leaves and flow-ers
and looked like a corpse. From these scars new limbs
race up, like saplings, with smooth gray bark. That is what
the hillside teaches: survival.
The ironwood (Olneya tesota) is the elder of the Sonoran
Desert. It evolved, we think, 8 to 15 million years ago,
and an individual can live 700 to 800 years. The words
roll so easily off the tongue and yet a life lasting 800
years is beyond our comprehension. There are trees in
the monument that first bloomed when the Magna Carta
was being signed and Genghis Khan was exploding out
of the grasses of Mongolia into the nightmares of Asia
and Europe. During such a voyage through life, an indi-vidual
tree may endure several all but lethal droughts,
the dry times that slaughter paloverdes wholesale. But
then paloverdes at best manage to live 200 years. They
come and flourish and then, in a severe drought, they die.
But the ironwood rolls on and on. Flourishing in the wet
times, dying back in the dry times, and returning once
again to taste the life of this place. I rub my fingers on the
trunk, look up into the small clusters of leaves.
I’m being seduced by a landscape that human beings
normally pass by, the kind of ground often filed away as a
wasteland. Years ago, I made a dry camp west of here and
gathered up some dead ironwood limbs to grill a steak.
I wince at this memory. But I changed, and so will the
rest of my kind. The sense of trackless land, of endless
desert, of some kind of void where one act could never
really have consequences — all this was a lie the evening
I lit that fire and seared a beefsteak on hundreds-of-years-old
wood. Now it is very difficult to even entertain this
lie. Ironwood Forest National Monument, about 129,000
acres cobbled out of state and federal ground and shaped
like a gerrymandered congressional district, is a kind
testament to the tick of a lethal clock in this region. The
wood I gathered was not merely old, it was a lifeline, and
my act cut this line.
Part of the logic behind this monument flows from sci-entific
research on ironwood trees. They are, in the lan-guage
of science, a keystone species. What this means is
that more than 500 life forms in this stand of ironwoods
profit from their existence. Seedlings growing beneath
them are buffered from extremes of heat and cold, as are
saplings. The temperature beneath an ironwood is at least
6 degrees warmer in winter. As a legume, they put nitrogen
into the soil. They provide roosts and nesting sites for
birds. And, of course, the seed-eating birds
pepper the ground beneath their canopies,
and that forms good nurseries. Rodents and
other animals come to eat fruits cast aside by
the birds, or trapped by the web of roots
when violent storms send sheets of water
across the land. Seedlings then sprout in this
sanctuary.
I stand on the bajada that flows west from
the Silver Bell Mountains. Behind me are
the debris and sounds of a copper mine, an
enterprise that squats in the middle of the
monument. Off a mile or two on the bajada
lie the ruins of the old mining camp, a place
where scholars found an unseemly number of liquor
bottles. None of this disturbs me as I walk through the
ironwood forest. Ideally, this place would be pristine, but
then it would not be true to us or our times. Still, the
monument is two things: beautiful and vital.
The sweep of land before me seems as fresh as that
first morning in Eden, an expanse of saguaros and trees
and arroyos fingering down into the hot valley below. It
The Jagged Edge
The serrated peak of the
monument’s crown jewel,
Ragged Top Mountain
(left), stands like an an-cient
guard over a forest
of mature saguaros.
Extreme Elements
The smooth gray bark of
an ironwood branch
(above) juxtaposed with
a single wildflower on
the rugged desert pave-ment
offers a Sonoran
Desert still life. |
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
requires constant work to remember that the office tow-ers
of downtown Tucson are an hour away. What I hear
and feel are the trees, ancient, humble-looking
trees. Ironwood is essentially,
to varying degrees, everywhere in the
Sonoran Desert, and is a much more
honest symbol of its culture than the
saguaros that live on city seals and a mil-lion
postcards. Ironwood is not simply
life against death; it is life amid death.
I walk over to a tree 30 feet tall and
festooned with bare, dead branches and
some faintly green limbs. A mature
saguaro races up through it and towers
at almost 40 feet. Maybe 200 years ago,
this ironwood sheltered the seedling that
became this saguaro and by that fact
made its existence possible. Sprawled
against another part of the ironwood is
the skeleton of a saguaro, a mass of ribs
bundled and pale against the ancient
wood. The scene looks beautiful and
alarming and comforting all at the same moment. I stare
out into the huge valley to the west and imagine some
kind of serenity. I look at the ironwood wounded by
droughts but alive right before my eyes, at the dead
saguaro leaning against its limbs, at the towering adult
saguaro, and I am snapped back into a war zone.
This sensation persists for hours as I wander the monu-ment.
Slowly, I come to believe in the half-dead trees and
have doubts about the city where I live. Of all the monu-ments
I have known, I think Ironwood might be the only
one in the entire American archipelago of such reserves
that actually matters — a place where the things we deny
are made evident and a place where the will to face things
and persist, that can-do spirit, is the very atmosphere
floating over the landscape. A beauty emerges, that low-key
but honest beauty, like the kind we see in stark Shaker
furniture or hear in the bare, simple chording of old folk
songs. I sit down and am struck dumb by the mosaic of
small stones in the beige soil. I examine the natural litter
under the ancient ironwoods as if I were visiting a kind
of desert Library of Congress where all the materials that
explain life have been gathered and preserved.
I stumble upon a huge cristate saguaro, a mutant rarity
with its normal top distorted into a fan. No one is sure why
this happens. The cristate looks to be 40 feet tall and has
15 to 20 arms. A huge ironwood spreads out at its base, the
tree that enabled the saguaro to survive when young and
eventually become this tower in the desert. The cactus is
in full flower, and soon the fruits will become litter under
the protecting shade of the ironwood, where birds and rats
and other creatures will feast on them and the seeds in the
fruit will be scattered, and, if lucky, find shelter under an
ironwood, and possibly in 200 years also tower over the
landscape. This strange assemblage is that scenic moment,
the frame that for years to come will be photographed by
my kind as a spectacular visual statement of the desert. I
do not object and I linger because there is a weird beauty
to the tree and the cactus.
But my eye is drawn off into the desert where smaller
ironwoods, ones that look more dead than alive, brood on
the desert floor. I walk toward them. They have become
my real scenic vista.
Life is an open book here. And now it is time to read
this book and finally understand where we really are.
Necessary
Nursemaid A humble
canopy of ironwood trees
(above, left) provides shel-ter
for saguaro seedlings,
protecting them from the
blazing desert sun and
cold winter nights. Even­tually,
mature saguaros
tower over their nurse-maid
plants.
Desert Denizens
Barrel cactuses and a
chainfruit cholla (above,
right) thrive in the harsh
desert environment of
Southern Arizona’s Silver
Bell Mountains.
Silvery Sunset
A silhouette of the Silver
Bells (opposite, below)
sits be­low
a bank of storm
clouds hovering in the
blush of day’s last light.
Location: 30 miles
northwest of Tucson
Getting There: From Tucson,
go west on Interstate 10 to
Marana. Take Exit 236 and
turn left onto Sandario Road.
Drive .1 miles, then turn right
onto Marana Road and head
west 5.8 miles to Silverbell
Road. Continue on Silverbell
Road to travel through the
national monument. Return
to I-10 on Sasco Road.
Travel Advisory: Access roads
are rough and conditions
vary; a high-clearance,
four-wheel-drive vehicle
is recommended. There
are no developed facilities
in the monument.
Warning: Sasco Road
crosses the Santa Cruz River,
which at times might be
impassable. During summer
monsoon storms, some
roads are dangerous due to
flash floods. Use extreme
caution when traveling
through the monument.
Information: Bureau of
Land Management, 520-
258-7200 or blm.gov/az
|
| |
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
IT’S
ALL
DOWNHILL BY WILL WATERMAN
PHOTOGRAPHS BY RYAN B. STEVENSON
like hit ting the slopes at snowbowl or sun­rise,
t he best t hing abou t backcoun t ry
skiing is the ride down — it ’s all about
the race to the bot tom. unlike tradi­t
ional resorts, howe ver, t here
aren’t any chairlif ts in the
ou t back , just rocks and
trees and the occasional
avalanche.
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8
his is going to be good!”
Ilan, my skiing partner, predicted
excitedly. We were staring out a thin
motel window at huge, cottony snow-flakes
falling in downtown Flag­staff.
Behind us, the room’s faded
carpet could be seen in patches
between an array of backcountry
ski gear — collapsible shovels,
avalanche probes and beacons, backpacks and GORE-TEX cloth-ing.
Early the next morning, we were headed to Lockett Meadow
to “trail,” or ski uphill, a few thousand feet, and then, depending
on the depth and stability of the snow, ski back down.
We’d come from Prescott through a powerful low-pressure
system that blessed Northern Arizona with 3 feet of snow. The
back end of my Nissan Pathfinder rattled with the sound of tele-mark
skis. At a glance, telemark skis look a lot like downhill skis.
They’re very different, though. Telemark skis flex differently and
are fitted with free-heel bindings and adhesive skins that allow
radically steep ascents and off-trail “tele” turns. In other words,
telemark skis allow adventurers to ski/climb uphill in search of
deep snow in remote areas — away from the busy ski lifts.
This kind of skiing can be dangerous, because, in addition to
the remote locations, trails aren’t maintained in the backcoun-try.
Nonetheless, we felt safe enough on this trip because there
wasn’t much of a snow base when the recent storm deposited
its light, low-moisture snow, which means we didn’t expect an
avalanche. While we weren’t sure we’d be able to ski a snowpack
that hadn’t had time to compact a base, we
couldn’t resist the chance to try.
The next morning we “skinned” 3 miles
and 900 feet up Lockett Meadow Road. Skin-­ning
means climbing uphill with skins ad­-
hered to the bottoms of the skis. Our ski tips
nose-dived into the powder as we passed
trees slumped under heavy white gowns of
snow. Rays of sunshine occasionally darted
through the breaks in the storm, but dark
clouds dominated the sky. Ilan broke the
trail, which can be difficult in deep snow.
Over the years, he’s climbed and skied
mountains in Alaska, Washington and Northern California, and
last year logged about 100 days on his skis. So, it made sense that
he ski ahead.
At Lockett Meadow we took a break, resting our legs while
sitting on a rubber-covered metal picnic table underneath a snow-drenched
ponderosa pine. It was freezing. We wrapped our heavy
down jackets around our GORE-TEX parkas and grabbed a snack.
While taking sips from nearly frozen water bottles, we studied a
topographic map and planned our next move.
Ilan and I had recently spent three weeks backcountry skiing
in the Teton Range, on the border of Wyoming and Idaho, so I’d
assumed my legs would be able to take this beating. Still, I was glad
to be resting. We decided to zigzag our way up the western side of
Sugarloaf Mountain — another 900 feet in elevation. We carb-loaded,
put on our skis and packs, and took off up the wind-scoured slope.
“
MOVIN’ ON UP
Before they can ski
down, Ilan Harari and
author Will Water­man
hike up the re-cently
coated slopes
(above). Compact,
low-moisture snow
leaves crisp powder
with little chance of
avalanches, one of
the dangers of tele-mark
skiing. After
trekking uphill,
Harari (right) strips
the skin off his tele-mark
skis in prepara-tion
for the descent. T
now blew in our faces as we
crisscrossed Sugarloaf. Like
switchbacks on a mountain
hike, crisscrossing on skis
makes steep grades less
demanding. After climbing
diagonally across the slope at
a 45-degree angle for about 25 feet, we
delicately turned our skis to an opposite
angle and continued. The wind pum-meled
the slope, creating shallow snow
cover that made our skis slip on brush
and fallen trees. Pushing forward, we
glanced at the top of the mountain, as
well as the views behind us.
When the clouds cleared and we could
see Humphreys Peak, we were amazed at
how prominent and rugged it looked
with fresh snow from a heavy winter
storm. Humphreys and its neighboring
peaks faded in and out of view because
of the low clouds. On the east side of
the peak, the clouds were breathtaking
— like a snowy staircase leading to the
Inner Basin. We stopped again and
enjoyed the view before continuing our
ascent. My legs were aching from the
workout. Sugarloaf proved much harder
than we’d anticipated.
After reaching the top, and making a
final push up a sparsely covered 35-degree
pinnacle, we found ourselves out of the
wind and comfortable again. The sum-mit
of Sugarloaf was wind-loaded with
the snow that blew off the west side. We
couldn’t wait to see the eastern side.
After skiing across the top of the moun-tain,
we looked down at the deep snow
and a dense stand of ponderosas. We knew
we could ski between the trees in short
bursts, like we’d done many times in the
Teton Range, so we tore the skins off our
skis and headed downhill.
The snow was incredible. We dropped
our knees into the deep powder, occa-sionally
stopping to figure out how we’d
meander around the pines. Fallen trees
made for exciting jumps. It was thrill-ing,
incredible ... until, just before the end, we stopped short
at the edge of a 30-foot stone cliff. Below loomed a treacherous
gravel pit. Hazards like nature’s potholes are among the many
dangers of backcountry skiing or snowboarding.
We navigated back around the steep impasse to a ridge that
separated two more pits. Leaning back on our skis to stay aloft
in the deep snow, we dropped off a smaller cliff and skied safely
down to the car. We were spent and happy. Our ski tour had
lasted an exhilarating six-and-a-half hours, and now the warmth
of the car felt good.
The next morning, after spending the night defrosting in
Flagstaff, we awoke to blue skies and sunshine. Wearing our
still-damp clothing, we eagerly headed up the road to Arizona
Snowbowl for another day of skiing — this time on a bluebird day
with the sun warming our bodies and a chairlift doing the uphill
work. We couldn’t have asked for more.
n For information on backcountry skiing and snowboarding in the San
Francisco Peaks, contact the Coconino National Forest, 928-526-0866.
Beginners should not attempt off-trail skiing or snowboarding.
A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
’’’’’’’’’’’’’
’’’’’’’’’’’’’
’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
OUR
SKI TIPS
NOSE-DIVED
INTO
POWDER AS
WE PASSED
TREES
SLUMPED
UNDER
HEAVY
WHITE
GOWNS
OF SNOW.
CHAIR-FREE
Ilan Harari (left)
weaves between
trees and rocks
while skiing through
the forest on the San
Francisco Peaks.
Staying on your feet
is extremely difficult
in telemark skiing,
which Harari knows
all too well as he
loses his balance be-fore
taking a fall
(above).
S
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
he sight of American bomber planes
soaring over the Navajo Indian Res­ervation
would ordinarily conjure
images of war and destruction. But
desperate Indians saw the six Condor
bombers roaring overhead in January
1932 as saving angels.
The planes dropped food and sup-plies
to a population stranded by early
season blizzards that had turned the
high deserts and canyons of Indian
country into what one newspaper
reporter at the time likened to “a
Siberian tundra.”
The snowstorms began during the
third week of November 1931, and
by mid-January 1932, Northern Arizona and northern New
Mexico had come to a standstill. Drifts up to 15 feet high
blocked roads and left many Navajos, Hopis, Utes and Zunis
without food.
“Reports filtering in across the snowy wastes have been
that even pony trails from most of the trading posts have
been blocked,” noted The Arizona Daily Star.
The blizzards came so quickly and with such power that
many sheep died in their corrals, smothered by the snow
mass. Some Navajos reported seeing famished crows fly in
among herds and pick out the eyes of living sheep.
Most vegetation had been buried, leaving nothing for
livestock to eat. In a letter dated Christmas Eve 1931, Super­intendent
John Hunter of the Fort Defiance Indian Agency de­-
scribed “a sight that I shall never forget.”
Hunter came upon a Navajo woman and three little chil-dren
loading a few sheep and goats onto a wagon, intending
to take them where brush could be found. The animals had
been subsisting on thistle and coarse brush, which left their
mouths cut and bleeding.
“With what hope this family could further undertake the
task of saving these animals I am at a loss to understand,”
Hunter wrote. “The only answer could be that these few
sheep and goats represented all their possessions, and natu-rally
they were putting forth every effort to save them.”
The Gallup Independent reported that the situation “meant
inevitable and dreadful starvation, and the Indians were at
the edge of starvation themselves.”
Some reservation residents risked their lives to walk
through the drifts to the Hopi agency at Keams Canyon for
provisions. Then they hoisted supply packs onto their backs
and walked 25 miles back to their villages.
Even Navajos at Black Mountain, near the Utah border,
who’d escaped capture by Kit Carson’s troops in the round-
­up
of 1863-64, sent a runner to Fort Defiance to inform au­-
thorities of their suffering. Still living primitively and proudly
as resisters, these Indians had never before sought govern-ment
help.
In December 1931, Northern
Arizona looked more like Siberia
than a backdrop in a John Wayne
Western — drifts up to 15 feet high
blocked roads and left thousands of
Navajos and Hopis on the brink
of starvation. Many would have
died if it weren’t for the six Army
planes that dropped 32,000 pounds
of food and supplies into random
snowbanks across the reservations.


manna
from
he aven
By leo banks
{ Illustrations by David Hollenbach }
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
Superintendent Hunter estimated that 16,000 Navajos were at
risk, with “some 500,000 sheep entirely snowed in. It’s hell, that’s
all,” he told reporters.
The conditions trapped some travelers in the wilds, threaten-ing
their lives. On a hunting trip along the Mogollon Rim with a
group of Navajos, Philip Johnston, the son of a reservation mis-sionary,
recalled lying down on a sheepskin pallet as a blizzard
approached. By the time he woke up at dawn, the storm had
dumped its payload.
In the Los Angeles Times Magazine of October 15, 1933, John­ston,
who years later came up with the successful idea of using the
Navajo language for secure communications during World War II,
described what he saw as he and his Navajo companions awoke:
“Pushing aside their sheltering folds, I was startled by a cascade
of white powder, the icy touch of which galvanized my whole
body into frenzied action. Springing to my feet, I looked out over
an expanse of snow that came to my waist. Here and there tiny
mounds were quivering and shaking.
“Then, one by one, they erupted suddenly, and human figures
appeared as though summoned by a magician. Some were nude
except for the time-honored G-string; others were clad in flowing
skirts of bright calico.”
Forty miles of snow lay between the campsite and the hunting
party’s homes on the Little Colorado River. They’d packed food
for just five days, expecting to supplant that with piñon nuts and
venison. But the nuts had disappeared under the snow, and the
deer had fled to lower country.
Johnston and 14 Navajos embarked on the long trek. Their food
lasted only two days, after which they ate piñon nuts dug from the
nests of wood rats. But mostly they survived on jackrabbits, “which
our plunging horses could easily overtake in the deep drifts.”
After nine days, the group arrived, footsore and weary. “To this
day I am unable to contemplate a jackrabbit diet without violent
qualms of the palate,” Johnston wrote.
Gladwell Richardson, from a well-known Northern Arizona
trading family, also found himself in a bind when he tried to hike
28 miles from near Redlake to the trading post at Inscription
House. After a short distance, weak and exhausted, he knew he
was in danger, surrounded by “a grimly cold, bluish white world,”
and wolves.
In his 1986 memoir, Navajo Trader, Richardson wrote that
packs of wolves — which some contend had been eradicated by
1930 — migrated south from Utah in search of food and were
wreaking havoc on Northern Arizona.
Spotting the oval dome of an abandoned hogan sticking up
through the snow, Richardson dug his way inside, lit a fire and
went to sleep. A heavy thud awakened him. Opening his eyes, he
saw a big, gray wolf that had fallen through the smoke hole.
The animal raced out the door when Richardson jumped up,
yelling. But several more furry heads “with eyes that gleamed in
the leaping firelight” looked down at him from the smoke hole. He
drove them away by feeding the fire until it reached the hole.
The wolves pressed against the hogan’s walls. Richardson saw
a nose break through between the boards and “immediately
slammed a log against it, and a doglike howl was raised as it
scrambled backward. Then the hole behind the door became a
fighting pocket of maddened beasts.”
When their pressing weight broke through, the wolves burst
inside, all snapping their teeth. “The scene was unimaginable,” he
wrote. “An injured wolf going down bleeding was seized by a half-dozen
maddened jaws all at once. They piled on each other to get
at the fresh meat. The smoke hole was my only route to escape.
“Three times I leaped, with hands reaching for the log rim,
before I managed a hold. Desperately pulling myself upward
slowly, I knew if I fell now I would never make it again.” As he
held on, Richardson listened to “the crunching of teeth on bone
[that] went on for what seemed hours.”
The following morning, Richardson met two Navajos who
secured him a horse to ride to safety.
As January progressed, the dangerous weather showed no sign
of letting up. Temperatures plunged to 30 degrees below zero, and
bitter winds scored the landscape.
New Mexico’s Zuni Indians blamed winter’s anger on a deci-sion
by Zuni dancers to attend Hopi rain ceremonies the previous
October. “Now some of our Zunis say this was too much of a
slam at the inadequacy of Zuni rain gods,” according to Christian
Indian magazine, “so the latter brought about this storm to teach
the Zunis a lesson.”
At the urgent request of C.J. Rhoads, the commissioner of
Indian affairs, the Army Air Corps bombers, based out of March
Field in Riverside, California, arrived at Barrigan Airport in Win­slow
on January 16.
The area of operation ranged from the Grand Canyon to 50
miles east of the Arizona-New Mexico boundary, and from
Holbrook in the south to the Utah line in the north. Planes carry-ing
1,000 pounds of supplies and an Indian guide circled hogans
and trading posts with their bomb bay doors open.
Newspaper typewriters ground out overwrought descrip-tions
by the dozens, calling the planes “winged representatives
of the redmen’s Great White Father in Washington.”
But not everything went smoothly. The first packages drop­ped
exploded on impact, scattering packets of flour, beans,
salt pork, coffee, sugar and salt over wide distances. The air-droppers
solved this problem by using heavy paper and double
burlap bags secured with heavy cords.
With almost no communication, the drops came unan-nounced
to most Indians — until the roar of the big engines
shattered the eerie quiet of the snowbound villages.
Navajos who’d never seen an airplane up close ran terrified
back to their hogans. On January 18, the Winslow Daily Mail
reported that the sacks were usually left alone until one Indian,
usually an elder, tiptoed out to inspect them.
“Then he waved one of the bundles wildly toward the hogans,
and the Indians made a general rush for the sacks,” the Daily Mail
reported. They “hauled the provisions through the snow to their
hogans.”
Some Indians used smoke signals to attract the pilots’ atten-tion.
The Daily Mail noted that some villages received the drops
with “glad hand receptions,” adding that, “the moment the
planes appeared, crowds of Indians poured into the open to
wait for the Army’s flying bread line.”
At Cousins, New Mexico, trader Charles Cousins “jumped
up and down and danced around like a monkey at the sight of
the planes with food for his community.” One pilot reported
seeing an Indian, frightened by his passing plane, yet eager to
get at the food sack, run smack into the side of his hogan.
In the small village of Piñon, mission commander Lieutenant
Charles Howard watched an Indian man bolt from his hogan
and trace an arrow in the snow with his foot. The pilot promptly
bombarded the marker with a ton of food, but Edgar Miller, head
of the Hopi Agency at Keams Canyon, said the drop was prema-ture.
The Indian had not finished his message in the snow. He
had intended to add the words, “Piñon, 10 miles,” at the point of
the arrow. “Our crew are firmly of the opinion that if planes are
dropping bombs, we’d feel safe in being the enemy,” Miller wrote
to the Interior Department.
He added, however, that the Indians in his care appreciated
“the wonderful feeling of hearing the call, ‘Come and get it,’ and
being able to relax by a warm fire and absorb all your hide can
hold of the palatable food.”
After four days, and drops totaling 32,000 pounds, the Gallup
Independent declared the 11th Bomber Squadron “victors in their
battle to push back the hoary hand of winter.”
But many thousands of sheep and other stock, staples of Navajo
life, died from starvation, and the effects rippled through the
economy for a long time.
S.F. Stacher, superintendent and disbursing agent of the Eastern
Navajo Indian Agency, met with a group of destitute Indians near
Fort Wingate in mid-February 1932 to hear woeful tales of hun-ger,
stock loss and deprivation. The Navajos had walked to the
meeting through rain, mud and snow.
In a letter to Washington, D.C., Stacher wrote that of the 20
women present, eight had no shoes, stockings or moccasins. They
simply wrapped “their feet up in old rags, which were saturated
with mud and water, and the others had old shoes on that were
hardly worthy of the name. Some of their dresses were in rags.”
Even so, Stacher said, the Navajos displayed cheer, hope and
much courage. Throughout their dispatches with Washington,
agents across the reservation echoed that sentiment, marveling at
the bravery they witnessed in the face of a dire crisis.
As Superintendent John Hunter of Fort Defiance wrote: “The
Indians are meeting the emergencies in their usual very wonder-ful
way. I know of no people who can meet adversity, such as has
been visited on this country, in a more competent manner than
the Navajo Indians.”
n If you’d like to help feed the hungry this holiday season, please contact
the following organizations: Northern Arizona Food Bank, 928-526-2211,
nafoodbank.org; St. Mary’s Food Bank Alliance, firstfoodbank.org, 602-
352-3640; United Food Bank, 480-926-4897, unitedfoodbank.org.
“To this day I am unable to
contemplate a jackrabbit diet without
violent qualms of the palate.”

 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8
THE FIRST RULE OF living-to-tell-
the-tale back-road travel
is to keep a full stomach. You
never can tell when you’ll
be seeing your next meal on
some of those remote jour-neys,
and it’s hard to negoti-ate
sand traps, lava flows and
mountain grades when you’re
thinking of chow.
So, on a brilliant Arizona
morning I took myself to
Rock Springs Café for a hearty
breakfast topped with a big
slab of the house specialty
apple pie. Just off traffic-laden
Interstate 17, the café is a time
warp into a quieter, less hur-ried
time than ours.
The second rule is to ask
a local whether a particular
stretch of road poses any par-ticular
challenges. Thus, I
asked the cheerful woman at
the cash register about con-ditions
on the old stagecoach
trail to Cordes, a town some
20 miles north.
“The old road? Oh, it’s fine,”
she said. “I came down it in a
big snowstorm just last week.
No problem.”
The third rule is to get a
second opinion, since one per-son’s
goat track is another’s
superhighway. I followed the
interstate frontage road along
the west side of the freeway. It
becomes Old Black Canyon
Highway at Black Canyon
City, where it branches off
to join the interstate. At the
Black Canyon greyhound race-track,
the old road joins the
old highway. Here it’s called
Maggie Mine Road, though
old-timers call it Dog Track
Road, joking that once upon a
time some engineer must have
turned a dog loose and fol-lowed
it with a road grader as
it loped over the hills.
The pavement soon ends,
and a sign announces that
Maggie Mine Road has offi-cially
become “primitive.”
There I met a local photogra-pher
and conservationist who
supplied that second opin-ion.
“You’re going to have fun,”
she said. “But watch out. The
first few miles are really rough
going. All the ATVs have worn
the dirt down to rock, and
there are lots of places where
the road is washed out. Don’t
break an axle.”
Both of my advisors, it
turns out, were right.
For about 5 miles beyond
the primitive-road sign,
Maggie Mine Road climbs
Rock Springs to Cordes
by Gregory McNamee photographs by George Stocking back road adventure
Looking for a Sunday drive? This quiet road is slow-going,
scenic and not far from a delicious piece of apple pie.
BRADSHAW BONANZA Luminous
green Arizona ash trees line Black
Canyon Creek, which winds through
the foothills of the Bradshaw
Mountains.
over three steep hills. Deep
grooves, worn by hungry tires
and rainfall, run along the
road, inconveniently deepest
just when the road is narrow-est
and steepest. None poses
any great challenge to high-clearance
or 4WD vehicles,
but the shallowest are enough
to stop most normal cars — or
at least normal drivers.
Apart from a pair of ATVs
thundering by, I had that first
5-mile stretch to myself. The
initial half-mile parallels the
interstate, separated from it
by a few hundred feet of rocky
canyon and thin air. The road
bends west at the crest of the
first hill, just north of where
Black Canyon proper stands
and Black Canyon Creek flows.
At that point the interstate
vanishes behind a wall of rock,
and the view is of the rug-ged
foothills of the Bradshaw
Mountains. The scene is text-book
Sonoran Desert — a
dense forest of saguaros, creo-sotes
and paloverdes hugging
the hillsides. In a few miles,
with a thousand-odd-feet ele-vation
gain, that ecosystem
gives way to another, where
junipers dominate.
The road sharply descends
into the next drainage,
Arrastre Creek. The creek-bed,
a jumble of boulders and
saguaros bounded by low
but steep rock walls, makes
for difficult navigation on
foot. That geography has not
daunted generations of pros-pectors,
who have staked
claims throughout the hills.
Here and there a jeep trail
enters the rough road, but oth-erwise
the landscape is nearly
pristine.
The road now bends around
another hill, then climbs along
the east flank of Black Canyon,
bouncy and rutted, amena-ble
to speeds of 10 mph or less,
unhappy at any higher veloc-ity.
Content to poke along and
enjoy the slowly passing scen-ery,
I whiled away three-quar-ters
of an hour climbing and
descending that nameless hill,
an ancient Indian fortifica-tion
barely visible on its crest,
before joining the Bumble Bee
leg of the road, about 5 miles
beyond the pavement’s end.
Bumble Bee Road allows
greater speed. I continued
along the shoulder of Black
Canyon, now a broad val-ley
where thickets of agaves
grow in profusion on the gab-bro
and granite hills. Those
rocks provide the foundations
for the dozen-odd houses that
make up Bumble Bee, a ranch-ing
center of old that this day
showed few signs of activity.
Neither did the rattlesnake
stretching across the road
near Government Spring, 3
miles up the road. I stopped to
encourage it to clear off, but it
didn’t cooperate. So I nudged
my truck to the intersection
with Forest Road 259, a mile
beyond the spring.
There, on a rolling plateau
below Townsend Butte, Black
Canyon ends. To the left, FR
259 continues west to Crown
King, or to the right, climbs
north to the crossroads ham-let
of Cordes. The casual pass-erby
might mistake Cordes
for a ghost town on weekdays,
but the place comes alive on
weekends, when the old gas
station does a thriving busi-ness
in antiques and curious
metal flowers.
The back road from Rock
Springs to Cordes runs
slightly more than 21 miles,
passing through a rugged,
memorably spectacular and
little visited corner of Arizona.
It makes for a perfect Sunday
drive, as long as you’re in
no hurry, which is just as it
should be.
ROCK SOLID In the old
town of Bumble Bee, many
of the homes were con-structed
of granite rocks
(above) taken from nearby
Black Canyon. In Cordes,
the old gas station (right)
is a hive of activity on
weekends.
n For more
back-road
adventures, pick
up a copy of our
book, The Back
Roads. Now in
its fifth edition,
the book ($19.95)
features 40 of
the state’s most scenic drives. To
order a copy, call 800-543-5432 or
visit arizonahighways.com.
travel tips
Vehicle Requirements: Maggie Mine Road is extremely rough and
requires a high-clearance, four-wheel-drive vehicle. Bumble Bee Road
and Crown King Road (FR 259) can be negotiated by ordinary
passenger vehicles.
Warning: Back-road travel can be hazardous, so beware of weather
and road conditions. Carry plenty of water. Don’t travel alone, and let
someone know where you are going and when you plan to return.
Travelers in Arizona can visit az511.gov or dial 511 to get infor­ma­tion
on road closures, construction, delays, weather and more.
Note: Mileages are approximate.
> From Phoenix, follow Interstate 17 north to Rock Springs and take
Exit 242 west to Old Black Canyon Highway.
> Follow this road north to the intersection with Maggie Mine Road
by the Greyhound Park. Maggie Mine Road intersects with Bumble
Bee Road about 5 miles north. The route continues to Forest Road
259. Turn right (north) to go to Cordes.
> From Cordes, continue north to State Route 69 or east to
Interstate 17.
route finder
AGUA FRIA
NATIONAL
MONUMENT
PRESCOT T
NATIONAL
FOREST
Agua Fria River
n
Kevin Kibsey
To Phoenix
Bumble Bee
Road
Maggie Mine
Road
Bumble
Bee
Townsend
Butte
Cordes
FR 259
BR ADSHAW MOU N TA I NS
Cordes
Junction
Crown
King
Rock
Springs
Black Canyon
City
69
17
FR 259
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8 A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S . C O M 
the bushes and trees. If the
breeze is strong enough, you’ll
even hear it moan through the
arms of the saguaros. Dawn
and late afternoon are the best
times to hit the trail. That’s
when you’ll likely encounter
wildlife such as deer, javelinas,
coyotes, rabbits, snakes, liz-ards
and birds. Don’t be sur-prised
if a lone coyote crosses
the trail ahead of you and
pauses to wonder why you’re
trespassing on his territory.
“We’ve seen all types of
native animals in the pre-serve,
except mountain
lions,” says Scott Hamilton,
the trails planner for the
McDowell Sonoran Preserve.
“We know the lions are there
because we’ve moved sev-eral
trails to skirt evidence of
their habitation. But they’re
shy, illusive creatures, and
my team and I have never
spotted one, although, we’ve
had reports from hikers who
say they have.”
Lost Dog Wash Trail is a
gentle uphill hike that mean-ders
and dips through a beau-tiful
wash. As the path climbs,
it reveals majestic views. At
the summit (a saddle between
Thompson Peak and a south-ern
unnamed peak), be sure to
stop at Taliesin Overlook for
a 360-degree panorama of the
Metro Phoenix area.
From the overlook, there
are several options. One is to
turn around and hike back
down Lost Dog Wash Trail to
the trailhead — a round-trip
of roughly 4.5 miles. Or, part-way
down, you can link up
with Ringtail Trail and cross
over to Sunrise Trail for a 5.3-
mile hike. Another option
is to continue from Taliesin
Overlook on Quartz Trail
to the Quartz/104th Street
Access area (5 miles), but
you’ll need to park cars at both
ends or be prepared to trek all
the way back.
The current trail system
strings together McDowell-
Sonoran Preserve, McDowell
Mountain Regional Park and
the Tonto National Forest.
The goal is to eventually
increase the size of the pre-serve
to 36,400 acres. “The
idea is to allow a corridor of
migration for animals from
the river to the preserve and
back,” Hamilton says, “as well
as provide some superb hiking
for nature lovers just minutes
from the city.”
by Jen Wolfe hike of the month
NO ONE SEEMS TO remem-ber
how Lost Dog Wash in the
McDowell Sonoran Preserve
got its name, although, it’s a
good bet that at some point,
someone lost a dog there. This
much is certain: You’ll defi-nitely
lose the feeling you’re in
the city in this vast expanse of
Sonoran Desert cradled by the
McDowell Mountains.
Lost Dog Wash Access is
part of a growing network of
trails on a 16,000-acre pre-serve
within Metropolitan
Phoenix. The access area has
plenty of parking, ramadas
and an up-close look at a rare
crested saguaro.
As you head out on the Lost
Dog Wash Trail, city noises
instantly fade into the desert,
replaced by bird song and the
soft swish of the wind through
Getting There: From Phoenix, go east on State Route 202 to State Route
101, and go north on SR 101 to the Shea Boulevard Exit. Go east on Shea
Boulevard for approximately 4 miles to 124th Street, turn north and drive
to the end of the street. Lost Dog Wash Access Area is clearly marked.
Length: 4.5 miles round-trip
Elevation Gain: 380 feet
Travel Advisory: If you’re heat tolerant, you can hike this trail year-round,
although it’s best to hike in early morning or later in the evening during
the hot summer months. Be sure to carry plenty of water.
Additional Information: 480-312-7722 or www.scottsdaleaz.gov/preserve
onl i n e For more hikes in Arizona, visit our Hiking Guide
at arizonahighways.com.
trail guide
There aren’t a lot of places in Metro Phoenix where you can disconnect
from the city. This trail in the McDowell Mountains is one of the few.
Lost Dog Wash BRIGHT AND SPINY On Lost Dog
Wash Trail, teddy bear chollas’ spiny
branches glow in the sunset, giving
them a deceptively soft, fuzzy ap-pearance.
Photograph by Greg Binon
ART ECO Designed by local architect
Philip Weddle, the eco-friendly Lost
Dog Trailhead building echoes the
slope of the mountains. Photograph
by Bill Timmerman
n
Kevin Kibsey
>
Salt River
McDOWELL SONORAN
PRESERVE
Shea Boulevard
124th Street
Scottsdale Road
Phoenix
Scottsdale
51
101
101
202 202
10
10
 d e c e m b e r 2 0 0 8
Insert Snowman Here
Sleigh bells ring, snow is glistening … it’s a winter wonderland. Yet this
park, which shares its locomotive name with a former mayor, is a year-round
hub, hosting summer concerts and art fairs. It’s located at the inter-section
of streets named after a tree and a peak — apropos for a moun-tain
burg. In the spirit of giving, here’s another hint: It’s located across
from City Hall, a convenient hop-skip-jump for the incumbent mayor, who
usually kicks off the season by lighting the city’s tree. Happy holidays.
TOM BEAN
Win a collection of our most popular books! To enter, correctly identify the location featured above and e-mail your answer to editor@arizonahighways.com — type
“Where Is This?” in the subject line. Entries can also be sent to 2039 W. Lewis Avenue, Phoenix, AZ 85009. Please include your name, address and phone number. One winner will be
chosen in a random drawing of qualified entries. Entries must be postmarked by December 15, 2008. Only the winner will be notified. The correct answer will be posted in our
February issue and online at arizonahighways.com beginning January 1. October 2008 Answer: Kinishba Ruins. Congratulations to our winner, Linda Saylor of Sierra Vista, Arizona.
where is this? editor@arizonahighways.com           
E D U C A T E .
M O T I V A T E .
I N S P I R E .
When you participate in one of the many photography
workshops sponsored by Friends of Arizona Highways, you’ll
learn from the best professional photographers in the business
while visiting some of the West’s most stunning landscapes.
For information on
upcoming trips, call
888-790-7042 or visit
landscapeworkshops.com.
PHOTOS CLOCKWISE FROM TOP: GARY LADD, HAL TRETBAR, SUSAN SILKEY
2009
WORKSHOPS
NOW ONLINE AT
landscapeworkshops.com