E SC A P E . EX P LOR E . EX P E R I ENCE
Looking for Autumn Leaves
and a Cool Breeze? Pick Up
This Issue and Hit the Road!
GHOST TOWNS: A PORTFOLIO
THE STORIED HISTORY OF THE ARIZONA RANGERS
A GRAND CANYON ADVENTURE: 4 GIRLS, 2 NIGHTS, 1 TENT
HAUNTED HAMBURGER ...
THE FOOD IS SCARY GOOD
WHY LOY CANYON TRAIL
IS SOOOOO ... BEAUTIFUL
NEVER SLEPT IN AMADO?
THERE’S REALLY NO EXCUSE
14 FALL DRIVES
It doesn’t matter where you’re from, autumn is special.
Even people in Vermont get excited about fall color.
We’re no different in Arizona. The weather is beautiful.
The leaves are more beautiful. And the combination
adds up to a perfect scenic drive, whether you hop in a
car or hop on a bike. Either way, this story will steer you
in the right direction. EDITED BY KELLY KRAMER
24 TOWN SPIRIT
Ghost towns are pretty common in Arizona. Not as
common as canyons and cactuses, but they’re out there.
With that in mind, and the fact that Halloween is on
tap this month, we decided to send one of our photog-raphers
out to capture the spirit of some of the state’s
most intriguing ghost towns.
A PORTFOLIO BY KERRICK JAMES
32 MAIDEN VOYAGE
About a year ago, our Cronkite intern came to us with an
idea: “Send my girlfriends and me to the Grand Canyon.
We’ve never been up there. We’ll camp and hike, and
I’ll write the story from a college girl’s perspective.”
Eventually, we agreed, to which our intern replied, “Oh,
by the way, none of us has ever camped or done a major
hike before.” At that point, we probably should have
pulled the plug, but we didn’t. BY LAUREN PROPER
PHOTOGRAPHS BY PETER SCHWEPKER
38 TOO TOUGH TO DIE
The catchphrase most often linked to Tombstone works
just as well for a group of rugged individuals known as
the Arizona Rangers. Now in their fourth incarnation,
the current Rangers are more obscure than their prede-cessors,
and instead of enforcing frontier justice, they
spend most of their time directing traffic. It’s not
glamorous, but these folks are keeping alive a
legacy that dates back to the 1800s.
BY TERRY GREENE STERLING
PHOTOGRAPHS BY JOEL GRIMES
◗ It rarely happens. The setting sun
casts a shadow of West Mitten directly
onto East Mitten, while a full moon rises
over Monument Valley. According to the
photographer, capturing this image re-quired
research, trigonometry and some
luck. This astronomical event won’t
occur again until September 10, 2038.
PHOTOGRAPH BY TED HENDY
FRONT COVER Quaking aspen trees don
the rich colors of autumn, lining a road
with shades of gold, bronze and scarlet
in Eastern Arizona’s White Mountains,
near Water Canyon.
PHOTOGRAPH BY RANDY PRENTICE
BACK COVER A basalt wall offers an aus-tere
backdrop for a vivid display of aspen
trees in the Coconino National Forest’s
Kachina Peaks Wilderness, north of
Flagstaff. PHOTOGRAPH BY W.D. WRAY
Photographic Prints Available Prints of some photographs in this issue are available for purchase. To view options, visit www.arizonahighwaysprints.com. For more information, call 866-962-1191.
• POINTS OF INTEREST IN THIS ISSUE
TALK TO US: In this month’s issue, we feature a port-folio
of ghost towns (see page 24). We’re in the process
of updating our popular book, Arizona Ghost Towns
and Mining Camps, and we’d love to hear about some of
your favorites. We can be reached at editor@arizona
GET MORE ONLINE:
A few months ago, we relaunched our Web site. If you
haven’t checked it out, you should. The new site is user-friendly
and features everything you need to know
about travel in Arizona, including more scenic drives,
like those in this month’s cover story. We also feature
hiking, lodging, dining, weekend getaways, photo tips
and so much more.
Our 2010 online photography contest is under way.
Details can be found on our home page.
For a daily dose of Arizona Highways, visit us on
Facebook (www.facebook.com/azhighways), Twitter
(www.twitter.com/azhighways) and Flickr (www.flickr.
2 EDITOR’S LETTER 3 CONTRIBUTORS4
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
5 THE JOURNAL
People, places and things from around the state, including
an old-time prospector who’s still hoping to strike it rich,
a hamburger joint in Jerome that’s loaded with spirit —
or spirits — and the best place to shack up in Amado.
44 SCENIC DRIVE
Box Canyon Road: About four months ago, a lightning
fire touched this scenic drive. Turns out, it was just
Mother Nature working her magic.
46 HIKE OF THE MONTH
Loy Canyon Trail: Depending
on who you’re with, this just
might be the most perfect
hike in Arizona.
48 WHERE IS THIS?
www. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om
2 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 3
Although photographer Kerrick James
doesn’t believe in ghosts, he did enjoy
photographing their many haunts
for this month’s portfolio (see Town
Spirit, page 24). “My greatest chal-lenge
in shooting ghost towns was to
go beyond merely documenting what
remains, after decades of desert sun
and storm have taken their toll,” James
says. “My desire was to make evoca-tive
images that had some measure of
spirit, of the lives that once inhabited
those buildings and townsites ... a hint
of the people surviving and searching
for their fortunes, far from home and
often far from comfort.” In addition
to Arizona Highways, James’ work also
appears in National Geographic Adven-ture,
Outdoor Photographer and Sunset.
TERRY GREENE STERLING
When veteran Phoenix writer Terry Greene Sterling
began researching the Arizona Rangers (Too Tough to
Die, page 38), she once again bumped into the ghost of
her grandfather, the colorful Arizona and Sonora, Mexico,
pioneer William Cornell Greene. Sterling never knew
Greene, who died when his son, Sterling’s father, was a
toddler. “Writing the Arizona Rangers story taught me
a lot about his historic persona, but as usual, I didn’t get a
window into his heart,” Sterling says. “The guy remains
a colorful — and distant — character. “ Sterling, an award-winning
journalist, is the writer-in-residence at the Walter
Cronkite School of Journalism at Arizona State University.
Her profile of Sandra Day O’Connor for this magazine
recently won a first-place award from the Arizona Press Club.
What do you get when you travel with a group of
20-something girls on their “maiden voyage” (see page
32) to the Grand Canyon? According to photographer
Peter Schwepker, it’s a great opportunity for some candid
photographs. “Because the young women were good
friends, they were a lot of fun to photograph and very can-did
around the camera,” Schwepker says. But that’s not to
say the assignment wasn’t without its challenges. After an
unexpected late-night camp setup, Schwepker was forced
to shoot in the dark. “Use of firelight, flash and headlights
helped,” Schwepker says. “We had expected to set up
camp during daylight, so it presented new problems for all
of us.” Schwepker’s work also appears in Time, Men’s Jour-nal
and The Washington Post.
today is the 17th day of July. For me, not for you. By the time you get this issue, it’ll
be sometime in September or October, but as I write my column, it’s the middle
of summer, the forecast for Phoenix is 112, and I’m looking at a lemon tree outside my
window. There’s a palm tree out there, too. Make that two palm trees. As much as I’d
like to think about fall color — the golden aspens in the San Francisco Peaks or the
red maples of the Chiricahuas — it’s a stretch.
It’s like that every month. In the magazine world, we go to press seven or eight
weeks before the date you see on the cover. That means when September rolls
around, we’ll be writing about the holidays. In August, it’s Thanksgiving. And right
now, it’s fall leaves and Halloween.
This month’s portfolio, a series of spectacular ghost-town images by Kerrick
James, touches on the latter, at least indirectly, and the fall leaves show up in our
cover story, which is all about scenic drives.
Any of the five drives can be appreciated at various times of the year, but autumn
is best. Of course, fall color is the main attraction for each, but you’ll also be able to
roll down the windows, smell the pines and maybe even catch a glimpse of some
wildlife. Elk are what you’ll want to look for in the San Francisco Peaks.
The route we spotlight winds through Hart Prairie, Lockett Meadow and Schultz
Pass. There are no guarantees about the elk, but rarely will there be a time when you
won’t be exposed to the magnificent golds of the aspens. That’s Northern Arizona.
At the other end of the state, we’ll tell you about the road from Portal to Chiricahua
National Monument. It’s a slow road, as any scenic drive should be, with a kaleido-scope
of reds and yellows, courtesy of the maples, sycamores, cypress, cottonwoods
and aspens. The wildlife is impressive, too. You won’t see any elk, but bears, bobcats,
mountain lions and deer are a possibility. Don’t get your hopes up, but maybe. Either
way, this is one of the state’s premier road trips. And so is a trek to the Grand Canyon.
In Arizona, there are two kinds of natives: those who have been to the Canyon,
and those who have not. Lauren Proper and her three Scottsdale girlfriends are
among those who have, but it took them 20 years to get there. Blame it on their par-ents,
or their own lack of ambition, but for whatever reason, these girls had gone
their entire lives without seeing the Seventh Natural Wonder. That is, until Lauren ROBERT STIEVE, editor
started interning for us last fall.
Interns don’t write a lot of feature stories for
this magazine, but when Lauren pitched the idea
of four girls driving to, camping at, and hiking
into the Canyon for the first time, we couldn’t
resist. We said yes. That’s when she said, “Oh,
by the way, none of us has ever camped or done
a major hike before.” At that point, we probably
should have pulled the plug, but we didn’t.
In Maiden Voyage, you’ll read about their experi-ence,
which, it turns out, required a healthy dose
of determination. Kind of like being an Arizona
Ranger. Although today’s Rangers spend most of
their time directing traffic, they’re intent on keep-ing
alive a legacy that dates back to the 1800s.
As Terry Greene Sterling writes in Too Tough to
Die, “Arizona Rangers wear cowboy hats because
they model themselves after the historic Arizona
Rangers who galloped across the Arizona Terri-tory
icing outlaws on the cusp of the 20th century.”
It’s a fantastic story that’s loaded with history,
personality and drama, including a killing com-mitted
at the O.K. Corral by Terry’s grandfather,
who was a wealthy rancher and miner. It’s true.
I won’t give you the details, but as you’ll see, this
is a great story anytime of year. Even when it’s 112
A couple months ago, we told you that
we’d entered the world of Twitter. Well,
since then, we’ve joined Facebook, too. Although
the magazine you’re holding now, affectionately
known internally as the Mother Ship, will always
be our primary focus, social media and our Web
site allow us to speak to you directly and immedi-ately.
Among other things, our Facebook page con-tains
updates on events that happened five minutes
ago, news about the magazine, photos from staff
hikes, etc. It’s pretty cool. Check it out and become
a “fan”: www.facebook.com/azhighways.
8 0 0- 5 43- 5 43 2
www. a r i zona h i ghways .com
O C TO B E R 2 0 0 9 V O L . 8 5 , N O. 1 0
Arizona Highways® (ISSN 0004-1521) is published month-ly
by the Arizona Department of Transportation. Subscrip-tion
price: $24 a year in the U.S., $44 outside the U.S.
Single copy: $3.99 U.S. Subscription correspondence
change of address information: Arizona Highways, P.O.
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2009 by the Arizona
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PRODUCED IN THE USA
Director of Photography
BARBARA GLYNN DENNEY
Deputy Art Director
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Letters to the Editor
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Director, Department of Transportation
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Arizona Transportation Board
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FELDMEIER, BARBARA ANN LUNDSTROM,
VICTOR M. FLORES
International Regional Magazine Association
2006, 2005, 2004, 2002, 2001
MAGAZINE OF THE YEAR
If you like what you see in this magazine every month, check out Arizona Highways Tele-vision,
an Emmy Award-winning program hosted by former news anchor Robin Sewell.
Now in its sixth season, the show does with audio and video what we do with ink and
paper — it showcases the people, places and things of the Grand Canyon State, from
the spectacular landscapes and colorful history to the fascinating culture and endless
adventure. And that’s just the beginning. “For me, the show is about more than just
the destinations,” Robin says. “It’s about the people behind the scenes. It’s their stories
that make the destinations so interesting.” Indeed, there’s a reason this show wins so many awards — it’s
second-to-none, and we’re proud to have our name on it. Take a look. For broadcast times, visit our Web
site, www.arizonahighways.com, and click the Arizona Highways Television link on our home page.
4 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 5
letters people > dining > lodging > photography > history > nature > things to do > > > > THE JOURNAL
A SALUTE TO THE 1st PLATOON
My name is Thaddeus Montgomery.
I used to subscribe to your maga-zine
long ago, and was thoroughly
impressed. I was rather young at the
time and remember not ever know-ing
beforehand how many wonders
existed in Arizona. It truly was a
fascinating magazine to me, and still
is. Today I am writing to you from
Afghanistan. My unit just recently
deployed from Fort Carson, Colorado,
to a remote mountainous region of
Afghanistan in support of Operation
Enduring Freedom. We arrived at
our new home in the Korengal Valley
in northeastern Afghanistan about
a week ago. We are on a small com-bat
outpost by the name of Firebase
Vegas. It’s a beautiful landscape here,
and our outpost is primitive to say
the least. Which is the way we like it.
I was writing to see if your magazine
would be interested in sending us
some of your magazines, either cur-rent
or past issues, so that we can
all enjoy them. If you are unable to
send anything I understand, but I
wanted to ask just the same. If you
are interested in doing so, I will
provide an address below. You can
address anything you send to “The
men of 1st Platoon.” I appreciate your
time in this matter and look forward
to reading your issues sometime in
SSG THADDEUS MONTGOMERY,
KORENGAL VALLEY, AFGHANISTAN
EDITOR’S NOTE: In addition to a pile of magazines,
our staff sent a collection of Arizona-made prod-ucts
and other goodies to Sergeant Montgomery’s
platoon. If you’d like to send a care package to
these deserving men, the address is: 1st Plt, B CO
2-12 IN BN, COP VEGAS, APO, AE 09354.
A short while ago, I emailed a ques-tion
to you about a back issue of
Arizona Highways, as it pertained to
a painting done by my husband,
Marvin. As you may recall, Marvin
had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s
disease in 2005, and at that point
began his life as a painter — most
of his paintings [see above] were
inspired by photos from Arizona
Highways. Marvin passed away peace-fully
on January 3, 2009, and the
calendar we created of his paint-ings
turned out to be a memorial
to Marvin and his work. It is really
somewhat of a miracle, because
Alzheimer’s patients are not sup-posed
to be able to paint with any
degree of visual or spatial acuity.
His paintings brought great joy, not
only to him, but also to all who have
viewed them. Once again, I wish to
thank all of you at Arizona Highways
for your part in this amazing process.
I am truly grateful.
JOYCE CAMBURN, SCOTTSDALE
THE DEAN OF MUSIC
Today I received my June 2009 edi-tion
of one of my favorite magazines,
Arizona Highways. This one, I have to
say, is my favorite of all time, because
it has a wonderful article about my
brother, Dean Armstrong [Guitar
Hero, page 6]. It is such a great article.
In addition to his musical talents, he
is one of the truly nicest people you
could ever meet.
LOIS FLORI, OTTAWA, ILLINOIS
A DIFFERENT VIEW
Your article [A Better View, May 2009]
was really wonderful, pictures and
text. Having done the Grand Canyon
by helicopter, hiked rim-to-rim, rid-den
the mules to Phantom Ranch,
run the mighty Colorado by rafts, I
have to disagree a little. There really
is nothing that “weds” one to the
Grand Canyon like spending two
weeks on the river in the Canyon’s
DONNA ANDRESS, NELSON, NEVADA
Lawrence Cheek ends his article
on the Santa Catalinas [Ain’t This
Mountain High Enough?, June 2009]
with the reassuring-sounding, “The
mountain tells us that as there has
been a past, there will be a future and
that our mistakes, in the very long
view of nature, might be forgivable.”
Perhaps the mountain will forgive us,
but will there be any living humans
to forgive us?
ART GLENBERG, TEMPE
CORRECTION: In our July issue, the address and
phone number for East Cherry Inn in Flagstaff
should have read: 427 E. Cherry Avenue, 928-774-
If you have
we’d love to hear
from you. We can
be reached at
by mail at 2039
W. Lewis Avenue,
85009. For more
Havasu Canyon has long
been one of Arizona’s natural
wonders. Its majestic waterfalls
and turquoise plunge
pools draw visitors from around
the world. For more information,
6 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 w w w . a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 7
Harleys. You’ll see plenty of them in Jerome, along with artists, psychics, hippies and
ghost hunters who head there to scope out spooky landmarks like the Jerome Grand
Hotel, the Inn at Jerome and the old mining hub’s community center. On a good day
— one very lucky day — you might even see Bruce Springsteen, who, during his recent Phoenix
concert, mentioned how he loves to cruise the town on a Harley all his own.
Even if you don’t catch a glimpse of the Boss, you might work up a boss appetite, in which
case the Haunted Hamburger will rock your world.
There are burgers, of course, like the Ghostly Burger. It’s nothing too fancy — just a juicy
patty smothered in sautéed mushrooms and topped with bacon and surrounded by a buttered,
grilled bun — but after a morning hike or a saunter around town, it’s tempting, to say the least.
A self-service condiment bar means you can pile on as many fresh veggies and sauces as your
heart desires, and a full-service bar means you can wash down that monster burger with a
prickly pear margarita or an ice-cold brew.
Although burgers are this small restaurant’s namesake offering,
there are plenty of other options, including salads, soups and a killer
chili. Hot dogs, fish and chips, and cheesesteaks are among the other
nonburger items on the menu.
No matter what time of day you swing by, it’s likely you’ll have to
Whether or not you believe in ghosts, you’d better believe
the burgers at Haunted Hamburger in Jerome are very
good. Almost as good as the views from the back deck.
By KELLY KRAMER
IN 1963, A MINING engineer ventured to the top of
Weavers Needle, deep in the sunburned heart of the
Superstition Mountains. He’d hoped to verify a rumor
that the soaring volcanic plug once served as a sacrificial
Aztec altar, and that it was hollow and filled with riches.
Unfortunately, the engineer fell
hundreds of feet to his death. His
partner began to go to pieces, yell-ing
at prospectors on the desert
floor. Someone needed to make the treacherous climb and
calm him down until the search-and-rescue team arrived.
That someone turned out to be Clay Worst.
He did what he had to, but don’t be fooled into think-ing
that treasure hunters in search of the Lost Dutch-man
Mine were always so neighborly. Worst made the
climb because he drew the short straw. Literally.
“There was lots of killing in the Superstitions back
then, and groups feuding with each other,” Worst recalls.
“For a while, we averaged a homicide every 90 days.
Everyone packed heavy iron and watched their back trail.”
That’s what happens when a legendary fortune is at
stake. The Lost Dutchman story goes like this: Jacob
Waltz, a German immigrant forever immortalized as
the “Dutchman,” allegedly discovered a staggeringly
rich vein of gold, but died in 1891 without revealing
the location. Since then, thousands have scoured the
mountains searching for the fabled hole.
Worst hit the Superstitions in 1947. Over the ensuing
decades, he had a gun pulled on him only once. He talked
his way clear. “I was armed, but the fellow had the drop on
me. I wouldn’t have stood a chance.” Another time, Worst
acted as the second in a midnight duel, but the opposing
duelist never showed. “It was an adventurous time.”
Later, Worst became one of the founders of the
Superstition Mountain Museum, which is dedicated to
preserving the history and folklore of the region.
“We started with $10,000 in borrowed money, and
within six to eight years we had the museum built and
stocked, and owned it free and clear. We did it without tax-payer
money or public funding. We’re very proud of that.”
At 79, Worst doesn’t search for the Lost Dutchman
Mine much anymore. He’s too busy working his own
mine, part of the original Goldfield discovery. That
said, he still keeps a mule handy, “just in case.”
Upon reflection, Worst admits he wouldn’t change
a thing. “My father remembered hiding under the bed
when Sitting Bull jumped the reservation, while his
father sat up all night with a
shotgun. He lived long enough
to see a man walk on the moon.
Can you imagine what kind of
life that was?”
An amazing one to be sure.
Like father, like son.
Going for the Gold
At 79, Clay Worst doesn’t spend much
time looking for the Lost Dutchman’s
gold, but back in the ’40s and ’50s, he
risked his life for the mother lode.
By ROGER NAYLOR
wait for a table, especially if you’d like one
outside. The Haunted Hamburger’s interior
is small, and there’s not a lot of wiggle room
between tables. There’s even less maneuver-ability
inside the restrooms, which are akin to
a Manhattan apartment pantry.
The Haunted Hamburger’s
real gem is its outdoor seating,
which comes at a premium, in part because
of Jerome’s comfortable climate, and in part
because of its perch over the Verde Valley.
And it’s not as though one season is better
than another to enjoy the views — or the
That said, there is one benefit to visiting
during the fall. Leaves. They’re changing in
the Verde Valley, and when you combine that
stunning sight with a cold beer, a plate of fries
and one of Haunted Hamburger’s signature
snacks, you’ll understand why so many peo-ple
keep coming back. And if you happen to
catch a glimpse of the Boss, don’t worry, you
haven’t necessarily had too much to drink.
Haunted Hamburger is
located at 410 N. Clark
Street in Jerome. For
more information, call
THE JOURNAL > people THE JOURNAL > dining
S U P E R S T I T I O N
M O U N T A I N S
J E R O M E
When you’re not lead-ing
the ASU women’s
golf team to a national
championship, as you
did earlier this year,
where do you like to
travel in Arizona?
My husband and I love
the state of Arizona.
One of our favorite
places is Tonto Natural
Which course sounds
better: cool pines or
It really depends on the
time of year. Arizona
allows you to enjoy
perfect weather all
When you’re cruising
on your Harley, do you
prefer back roads or
We like the back roads,
to stay away from the
traffic. My husband is
an excellent driver.
What are some of your
favorite places to grab
a bite to eat after play-ing
My husband and I live
in Cave Creek. We love
Tonto Bar & Grill and
Harold’s, a Cave Creek
If you were trying to
convince one of the
other PAC-10 coaches
that Arizona is one
of the most beautiful
places in the world,
where would you take
I would take them to
Sedona. There’s no
place like it!
— Dave Pratt is the
author of Behind the
Mic: 30 Years in Radio.
P R A T T ’ S Q&A
Museum is located at
4087 N. Apache Trail
in Apache Junction. For
more information, call
480-983-4888 or visit
8 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 9
THINKING OF INTERSTATE FRONTAGE road accommodations usually conjures thoughts of
hotels with numbers in the title or creatively misspelled marquees promising “Free Y-fi” or
True, the sprawling acreage of Amado Territory Ranch begins mere yards from Interstate 19,
but that only means that travelers are much closer to a Sonoran Desert oasis. Appearing east
of the interstate like an Old West movie set with a picture-perfect backdrop of
the Santa Rita Mountains, the rustic expanse looks and feels like the homestead
everyone dreams of inheriting, but without the “fixer upper” condition that usually
comes with it. The beautiful mix of lush-garden and desert landscaping, the inn’s lighthearted
blend of Southwestern décor and unparalleled Southern (Arizona) hospitality, all work quickly
and effectively to make the highway disappear.
Thirty minutes south of Tucson and 30 minutes north of Mexico, Amado (Spanish for
“beloved”) might appear out of the way on a state map, but it’s convenient to just about every
site worth seeing in Southern Arizona, including Mission San Xavier del Bac, Tumacácori
National Historic Park, Patagonia and Pena Blanca lakes, the Sonoita-Elgin wine region, Ramsey
Canyon, Whipple Observatory, Nogales, Kartchner Caverns State Park,
the Titan Missile Museum and the neighboring art colony of Tubac.
Getting an art fix, however, doesn’t require a road trip. Ranch own-ers
Art and Terry Gould built this place in part to house and showcase
artists. One only has to wander the grounds to admire colorful local
artwork, including that of resident painter Michael Arthur Jayme and
You won’t find sprawling lawns and magnolia trees, but
you will get a warm welcome and plenty of pampering
at Amado Territory Ranch in Southern Arizona.
By JOBETH JAMISON
resident sculptor David Voisard, both of
whom welcome visitors to step into their on-site
studios and watch them work.
Voisard’s charismatic metal creations,
including his signature dogs and The Bird-watcher,
punctuate the footpath that ambles
around the property, taking guests past the
William H. Kendall cactus garden, handcrafted
labyrinths, koi and duck ponds, restaurants, a
bookstore, a hair salon, a theater, newly built
artist lofts and Jacuzzi suites, and breathtak-ing
views of Elephant Head Rock and the
surrounding Santa Rita Mountains. Eventually,
the trail leads back to the main guesthouse,
where the rooms are inviting and comfortable
— several, including the neighboring Hacienda
Suite, are both kid- and pet-friendly.
At the helm is innkeeper Betty Hilton, who
manages to keep the place running like a
Swiss clock, but who will also take time to
kick back in a front-porch rocker with visi-tors
before dinner at one of the property’s
two restaurants, and tell them anything they
want to know about the area. In the morning,
you’ll likely see her again over a delicious and
hearty breakfast, reminding departing guests
how to get back to the highway. How quickly
Amado Territory Ranch
is located at 3001 E.
Frontage Road in Amado.
For more information, call
888-398-8684 or visit
IN THE SHADOW
Bob Markow made
a career out of
but you don’t
have to rent a helicop-ter
to take advantage
of his time-tested
techniques. If you’re
a hiker who keeps an
early schedule and
likes overlooks, such
as those along the
Mogollon Rim and
take your camera. The
long shadows gener-ated
by the low angle
of the sun at sunrise
will reveal a wonderful-ly
textured palette and
EDITOR’S NOTE: Look for
Arizona Highways Pho-tography
at bookstores and www.
Robert “Bob” Markow, 1917-2009
By JEFF KIDA, photo editor
“ B ob Markow was lucky enough to have made
his life and career using the third creation of
the universe, light,” says longtime friend Abe
Orlick. No doubt, Markow would have appreciated
On June 11, 2009, Robert “Bob” Markow, the dean of
Phoenix photographers and a longtime contributor to
Arizona Highways, passed away. He was 91.
Markow’s first photographs of Arizona came dur-ing
his military assignment to Thunderbird Air Field
in Phoenix, which began on a sweltering afternoon
in July 1942. Despite the heat, the tall man from the
Bronx stayed long enough to enjoy the cooler months
and was soon convinced that Phoenix would become
his post-war home.
Meantime, Markow’s military service fast-tracked
his photography career. A graphic designer before he
enlisted, Markow knew cameras well enough to be
assigned the duty of base photographer at Thunderbird
and Williams Air Force bases. Without any formal
photographic training, he studied and practiced the art
form, which had him shooting everything from aerials
to portraits. He was soon charged with assembling
and designing books for each of the graduating flight
classes, and the more he was exposed to, the more
enamored he became with Phoenix and photography.
The love affair continued when Markow asked his
New York sweetheart, Bea, to join him out West. They
were married in 1943, and eventually built a family
and a career together. Like so many people at the time,
they started with very little, and after the war, worked
out of their Central Phoenix home. Their son, Paul,
remembers having a basement darkroom and, at the
age of 5, sitting in an oversized sink, rocking a tray
filled with Dektol developer. The young Markow, it
seems, was charged with evenly processing his dad’s
Markow worked constantly to improve his skills
and involved every member of the family. Vacations
became photographic outings, and Sunday drives
turned into all-day excursions because Markow would
constantly stop the car at the discovery of new photo
opportunities. As early as 1946, the Markows were col-laborating
on stories for Arizona Highways — Bob would
shoot and Bea wrote copy. Shortly thereafter, they
started their family.
The business grew steadily and in step with the
growth of Phoenix. Today, looking through Markow’s
archives is like stepping into a time machine. His aer-ial
photographs reveal rapid changes in the state’s post-war
boom years. And his commercial images reflect a
talent pool that would surprise even the most jaded of
New York agencies: Ronald Reagan, Dinah Shore, John
F. Kennedy, Richard Nixon ... they’re all fixtures in the
The Markows built their first Phoenix studio in
1956, and then acquired a separate building suitable
to set up a lab. Next came a new location and a larger
studio, then a larger processing facility, followed by a
photographic retail store. By the late 1970s, Photomark
had become the ultimate one-stop photography shop
Not long ago, I asked Paul — himself a successful
photographer — what his father’s greatest gift to him
was. His answer was simple: “He was patient with me
in my deciding what to do with my life,” he said. “He
also reminded me that if I did go
into photography, my most diffi-cult
task would be to distinguish
good from better.”
It was profound advice from
the master of photography.
THE JOURNAL > lodging THE JOURNAL > photography
O N L I N E
For more photography
tips and other informa-tion,
highways.com and click
A M A D O
The Markow family
requests that any
be made to Hospice
of the Valley, 1510
E. Flower Street,
Phoenix, AZ 85014.
10 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 11
IN THE HEYDAY OF Westerns, you could always spot the good
guys. They usually wore white hats, and they always rode off into
the sunset — alive and well after whatever gunfights
might have occurred. Matt Dillon, Bret Maverick, the
Lone Ranger ... they were among the good guys. And
they were television heroes, too, made famous, in part, because of
Old Tucson Studios.
With its endless blue skies, mountain landscapes and stately
saguaros, Southern Arizona offered a perfect backdrop for West-erns,
whether they appeared on television or the big screen. In
1939, Columbia Pictures became the first Hollywood studio to
John Wayne Was Here
Although it’s not as busy as it was in the heyday
of Westerns, Old Tucson Studios is still a great
place to get a taste of the Old West. Hollywood’s
By SALLY BENFORD
take advantage of the area when it built a
replica of 1860s’ Tucson for a movie called
Arizona. Although the set sat empty for a
few years after the film was finished, Hol-lywood
eventually came back, and Old
Tucson became a favorite filming location.
In the 1950s and ’60s, Western film
stars such as John Wayne, Glenn Ford,
Jimmy Stewart and Kirk Douglas all
walked the dusty streets of the studio’s Southwestern town. And
the list of movies filmed on the site is just as impressive: Rio Bravo,
Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, Winchester ’73, McLintock! and 3:10 to Yuma.
On the small screen, those same sets served as stand-ins for Dodge
City in Gunsmoke, Kansas Street in Little House on the Prairie and a
cattle ranch in The High Chaparral. In all, from 1960 to 1995, 194
movies and television shows were filmed at Old Tucson.
Despite the success, Old Tucson’s owner, Robert Shelton, saw
the studio as something more than a Hollywood set, and in 1960
he opened it to the public as a tourist attraction. It was an inspired
idea. At one point, Old Tucson was Arizona’s second most popular
tourist attraction — after the Grand Canyon. People would come
from all over the world to see a romanticized version of the Wild
West. That is, until 1995, when a devastat-ing
fire swept through the studio, destroy-ing
most of the buildings, costumes and
memorabilia, including the hat worn by
Hoss in Bonanza and a dress worn by Laura
in Little House on the Prairie.
Undeterred, Shelton rebuilt the studio
two years later, and today, the Old West
lives on at Old Tucson — even if it is only
If pallid bats could be kept as pets, they’d
be all the rage in Arizona — despite the
creepy claws, vampiric reputation and
complete dearth of cuddliness. Because what
they can do — very well — is eat scorpions.
And centipedes, cicadas, crickets, beetles, liz-ards
and even mice.
The pallid bat is one of two known bat spe-cies
immune to scorpion venom. And it’s the
only bat species that snatches the majority of
its prey from the ground. In fact, they’ve been
known to get caught in mousetraps.
Pallid bats prey on a documented 54 spe-cies
of creepy crawlies. Every night, they can
devour up to half their weight in insects. A
mother nursing her young can consume her
entire body weight in insects.
Not that they’re heavyweights. Their wing-span
can stretch up to 16 inches, yet they tip
the scale at less than an ounce.
As the name suggests, the pallid bat has
pale fur that ranges from beige to butter-scotch.
If you get up close and personal, you’ll
notice its horseshoe-shaped snout. You might
also get a whiff of the skunk-like odor it emits
from its nostrils as a defense mechanism.
Pallid bats rely less on echolocation than
other bats, using low-intensity sonar so they
can silently sneak up on prey. They’re not
particularly adept fliers, but they can walk.
And they’re equipped with eyes and ears so
oversized and fine-tuned they can actually
hear the pitter-patter of insect feet.
Like many of Arizona’s 28 bat species, pal-lid
bats pollinate cactuses. Unlike other bats,
it’s believed they only do this incidentally —
they’re probably after the insects inside the
flowers, not the nectar.
Pallid bats range from southern Canada to
northern Mexico. In Arizona, they inhabit ele-vations
up to 6,850 feet in summer, but they
remain only in the warmer southern region
during winter, when they go into torpor.
Sociable creatures, pallid bats roost en masse
with both their own and other bat species.
They’re quite sensitive to temperature swings,
humidity and noise, so they gravitate toward
rock crevices, mines, caves and hollow trees.
They might even make your home their home,
roosting in attics or overhangs in roofs — which,
if you have a scorpion problem, is great news.
Pale in Comparison
Although pallid bats aren’t flashy — thus the name —
they stand out as one of only two bat species immune to scorpion venom.
If you hate scorpions, you’ll love pallid bats.
BY KERIDWEN CORNELIUS
BRUCE D. TAUBERT
THE JOURNAL > nature
T U C S O N
Fans of the television
series The High Chaparral
can relive the Western’s
glory days October 16-18,
during the High Chapar-ral
Reunion in Tucson.
The event includes a tour
of Old Tucson Studios
with the show’s cast
■ The Battle of Naco
occurred just south
of the U.S.-Mexico
border during the
in October 1914.
■ In early October
director John Ford
began filming his
film Stagecoach in
John Wayne starred
as the Ringo Kid.
■ On October 15,
began at Glen
Canyon Dam amid
damming the Colo-rado
River. The dam
created Lake Powell,
a popular Arizona
Our October 1959 issue was all over the map
— literally and figuratively. Among other things,
we explored the (then) new U.S. Naval Ob-servatory
in Flagstaff, as well as the art of Ted
DeGrazia and R. Farrington Ewell, the Grand
Falls of the Little Colorado River and Southern
Arizona’s “Mountains in the Sun.”
50 years ago
I N A R I Z O N A H I G H W A Y S
toads are pretty
crafty. In Arizona,
they make their
homes in places
like Saguaro Na-tional
rain is sparse.
to these docile,
they prefer an
needing rain only
for the puddles it
creates — perfect
places to lay eggs
and launch new
THE JOURNAL > history
BRUCE D. TAUBERT
COURTESY OLD TUCSON STUDIOS
12 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9
THE JOURNAL > things to do
Ales on Rails
OCTOBER 3 -3 1 C L A R K DA L E
Feast on bratwurst, pretzels and strudel each weekend this month at
Verde Canyon Railroad’s Oktoberfest Beer Garden. Then, climb aboard
the train and sip ales from local microbreweries as you watch for wild-life
on the ride through Verde Canyon, which will be ablaze with fall
color. Information: 800-320-0718 or www.verdecanyonrr.com.
Peralta Stone Maps
O C T O B E R 1 - 3 1
A PACHE JUNC T ION
Their secrets have never been
revealed, but the Peralta Stone
Maps are thought to show the
location of the Lost Dutchman Mine in the Superstition Mountains. Do
they hold the key? Decide for yourself during a two-year exhibit of the
original maps at Superstition Mountain Museum. Information: 480-
983-4888 or www.superstitionmountainmuseum.org.
OC TOB ER 1 0 - 1 2 PATAGON I A
Jump-start your holiday shopping with an impressive selection of fine
arts and crafts. More than 125 vendors will offer gifts ranging from
custom mosaic furniture and silver jewelry to handmade soaps and
chile ristras. Festivities include a children’s carnival, food booths, blues,
jazz, folk and country music, as well as dancers celebrating the cultural
diversity and ranching history of the region. Information: 888-394-2575
Rex Allen Days
OC TOB E R 1 - 4 W I L LCOX
Celebrate Willcox’s favorite son during this
annual event, which includes a parade, rodeo,
car show, country fair, Rex Allen film festival
and turtle race, as well as golf and softball
tournaments, cowboy dances and a country
music concert featuring Rex Allen Jr. Informa-tion:
520-384-2272 or www.rexallendays.org.
towers and shim-mering
our “Lake Powell by
serve as base camps
travel the lake’s
canyons and broad
bays, which are usu-ally
quiet this time
of year. Information:
Classic Car Show
OC TOB E R 1 7 TUCSON
Check out a collection of classic Woodies, street rods, Mustangs, Euro-pean
sport coupes, Corvettes, T-Birds and other cars at this annual show
sponsored by the Tucson Rotary Club. Proceeds benefit Reading Seed,
Pima County’s children’s literacy program. In addition to 500 vintage
automobiles, the show features entertainment, food, raffles and mer-chandise.
Information: 520-721-9628 or www.tucsonclassicscarshow.com.
JON WANG LARS MARSHALL
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Our newest book, Arizona’s Scenic Seasons, dispels the myth that this state
is nothing but a barren wasteland baking in the sun. Indeed, there are four very
distinct seasons, and we have the photographs to prove it.
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14 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9
It doesn’t matter where you’re from — Alabama, Oklahoma or
British Columbia — autumn is special. Even people in Vermont
get excited about fall color. We’re no different in Arizona. The
weather is beautiful. The leaves are more beautiful. And the
combination adds up to a perfect scenic drive, whether you hop in
a car or hop on a bike. Either way, this story will steer you in the
right direction. Pack a sweatshirt, and don’t forget your camera.
edi t ed by k e l ly k r amer
Something to Be Desired
LEFT: Reflecting a crisp autumn sky,
an ephemeral pool and a scattering
of bigtooth maple and Arizona syca-more
leaves paint the Chiricahua
Wilderness in hues of blue and gold.
PHOTOGRAPH BY JACK DYKINGA www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 15
16 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 17
Portal to Chiricahua National Monument
As a general rule, we limit our travel advice to the state of Ari-zona.
We’re Arizona Highways, after all. That said, this scenic fall drive
requires a brief venture into New Mexico. Not to worry, though,
you won’t need a passport, and it’s a beautiful state, too. Eventually,
you’ll make your way to Portal, a delightful little village at the mouth
of Cave Creek Canyon in the northeastern quarter of the Chiricahua
Mountains. That’s where the drive begins. By the way, if you’re in a
hurry, skip this route. It’s a slow road, and that’s the way it should be.
The views are too good to go racing by. The main attraction, beyond
the fall color, is the mountain range itself. The Chiricahuas are one of
several “sky islands” in Southern Arizona. The term refers to those
mountains that rise from a desert floor and reach heights that allow
for several climate zones. As it is with most sky islands, the Chir-icahuas
are home to an array of wildlife, including numerous bird
species (elegant trogans and hummingbirds, among others) and all
kinds of mammals, ranging from black bears, mountain lions, bobcats
and gray foxes to deer, raccoons and chipmunks. Of course, there are
no guarantees you’ll see wildlife, but you will see fall color. In these
mountains, autumn brings out the reds and yellows of maples, syca-mores,
Arizona cypress, cottonwoods and, of course, aspens.
}Getting There: From Douglas, drive about 50 miles northeast on State
Route 80 (through Rodeo, New Mexico) to the Portal Road turnoff and turn left
(west). Go west on Portal Road for 7 miles to Portal and turn left at the junction
of forest roads 42 and 42B. Follow FR 42 for about 21 miles to a paved road that’s
about 4 miles east of the junction of state routes 181 and 186. Turn right for a
brief ride to the entrance of Chiricahua National Monument. The road ends in
about 13 miles at Massai Point. Backtrack to the junction of 181-186 and turn
right onto SR 186 for a 35-mile drive to Interstate 10 in Willcox.
Information: 520-364-3468 or www.fs.fed.us/r3/coronado
Swift Trail & Beyond
For desert dwellers in Southern Arizona, the surrounding moun-tains
are like manna from heaven. The Pinaleño Mountains are
no exception. They’re cool, they’re inviting, and this time of year,
they offer something different. Fall color. Located in the Coronado
National Forest near Safford, the Pinaleños have attracted Sunday
drivers for decades. But here’s the thing: You can count on one hand
the places where most of those drivers will congregate; you can count
on one finger the place where few will ever go. It’s a road that mean-ders
through a forest of pines and aspens. Riggs Lake, according to
most maps, appears as the end of the road. It’s not. In fact, the dirt
road leads to a ridge where the tall trees open up to offer breathtaking
views of the surrounding valleys. Two miles after passing the turnoff
for Riggs Lake, look for a cement slab on the left. Again, this appears
to be the end of the road, but, again, it’s not. Not far from the cement
slab is a dirt road that leads to an alpine paradise where the aspens
stand like armies of white broomsticks at the
RIGHT: A smear of golden leaves
flutters in the breeze, breaking
the vertical backdrop of a
mature aspen stand in Lockett
Meadow in Northern Arizona.
PHOTOGRAPH BY ROBERT MCDONALD
(Continued on page 20)
18 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9
◗ Autumn comes to the Chiricahua
Mountains, where the scarlet leaves
of bigtooth maples frame the banks
of the South Fork of Cave Creek in
PHOTOGRAPH BY MOREY K. MILBRADT
www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 19
20 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 21
edge of emerald meadows. The road forms a cres-cent
that will return to the Swift Trail. When you get there, turn right,
and you’ll be on the direct route down the mountain to Safford.
}Getting There: From Phoenix, follow U.S. Route 60 to Globe and then U.S.
Route 70 to Safford. From Safford, take U.S. Route 191 south to Swift Trail Park-way
(State Route 366) and turn right.
Information: 928-428-4150 or www.fs.fed.us/r3/coronado
Sure. This one’s obvious. But in the same way you watch It’s a Wonder-ful
Life every December, Snowbowl Road is worth a visit every October.
It’s scenic, of course. That’s a prerequisite for every one of the drives in
this story. But it’s also one of the most accessible fall drives in Arizona.
Whether you drive a Hummer, a Honda Accord or a Harley, this road
is a must. By the way, it’s also great for touring bikes or mountain
bikes or a pair of New Balance running shoes. However you choose
to cruise, before you get there, make it a point to stop at the Peaks
Ranger station in Flagstaff, which is located on U.S. Route 89, across
from the Flagstaff Mall and just north of Railhead Avenue. It’s open
Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. The folks there are friendly,
but more importantly, you can purchase maps and get information on
trails, road conditions, weather and seasonal highlights, including fall
colors. From there, all you have to do is sit back and enjoy the ride. The
paved route, also known as Forest Road 516, winds for 8 miles from
U.S. Route 180 to the Arizona Snowbowl ski resort. Along the way,
you’ll pass through a dense belt of ponderosa pines, groves of aspens,
then spruce and fir trees as you approach the high meadows near the
lodge, which sits at an elevation of 9,500 feet. The views from the top
are among the best in the state. To the west are rolling prairies, thick
forests, the Hochderffer Hills and 10,418-foot Kendrick Peak. With
binoculars you can scan the horizon above the treetops along the north
side of the meadows and catch a glimpse of the Grand Canyon, and
turning to the mountain, you’ll see the succession of forested belts:
Spruce-fir interspersed with aspens, the timberline zone, and the
alpine tundra zone where only hardy ground-hugging plants survive.
The color, of course, is the highlight in October, but everything about
this scenic drive is special. Even if you have been there before.
}Getting There: From Flagstaff, drive 7 miles north on U.S. Route 180 to
Snowbowl Road (Forest Road 516) and turn right. The road winds for 8 miles to
the Arizona Snowbowl ski area.
Information: 928-526-0866 or www.fs.fed.us/r3/coconino
San Francisco Peaks
Think of this route as a country-mouse cousin to Snowbowl Road.
While the latter takes you into the heart of the San Francisco Peaks,
it does so with pavement and accommodations for multiple vehicles.
In other words, you probably won’t be alone. This route is different.
Although there’s no guarantee of total solitude, it’s unlikely you’ll have
any bumper-to-bumper frustrations. That’s because this drive is more
remote, and the majority of it takes place on dirt roads, all of which are
accessible by passenger vehicles. Of course, the traffic is a little heavier
during peak fall-color weekends, but still. The route winds around the
San Francisco Peaks, through Hart Prairie, Hochderffer Hills, Lockett
Meadow and Schultz Pass. Rarely will there be a time when you won’t
◗ A brief window of sunlight during an autumn snow-storm
warms a stand of snow-dusted aspens in
Hart Prairie. PHOTOGRAPH BY RANDY PRENTICE
RIGHT: The remnant of a fallen tree trunk leans toward a
stunning display of changing aspen trees at the foot of
the San Francisco Peaks. PHOTOGRAPH BY GEORGE STOCKING
(Continued from page 16)
22 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 23
see the magnificent golds of the stately aspens. The views from the car
are exceptional, but if you need to stretch your legs, there are several
hiking trails and picnic spots along the way.
}Getting There: From Flagstaff, go northwest on U.S. Route 180 for 10.8
miles to Forest Road 151. Turn right (north) and continue on FR 151 for 12 miles to
Forest Road 418. Turn right (east) and go 16.4 miles to Forest Road 552, and turn
right again for an optional trip to Lockett Meadow below Sugarloaf Peak. Return
to FR 418 and follow the signs to Forest Road 420 (Schultz Pass Road). From
there, continue southwest for 11 miles to U.S. 180. At U.S. 180, turn left to return
Information: 928-526-0866 or www.fs.fed.us/r3/coconino
Sunrise to Whiteriver
Most people head to Sunrise in the winter. And why not? When it
comes to skiing in Arizona, Sunrise Park Resort is the crown jewel.
Turns out, it’s equally impressive in the fall. This scenic drive, which
begins at Sunrise, meanders through alpine meadows and tall forests
and past a chain of scenic lakes. Before you get started, you’ll need
to purchase a back-road driving permit from the White Mountain
Apache Tribe at the store in Hon-Dah. Begin your drive there, at the
intersection of State Route 260 and State Route 73, and drive east on
SR 260 through the old timber camp at McNary until you reach State
Route 273, the turnoff for Sunrise Park Resort. When you get to Sheeps
Crossing, which is located on SR 273, you’ll be at one of the most beau-tiful
spots in the White Mountains. As you’ll see, it’s an ideal place to
park the car and enjoy the views. At that point the road becomes For-est
Road 113. Six miles beyond Sheeps Crossing, keep your eyes peeled
for a right turn onto Forest Road 116, which leads to Reservation Lake
on the Fort Apache Reservation. You’ll be heading into an area of dense
aspens, and therefore, a place loaded with fall color. The road, which
suffers from a washboard effect in the first 4 miles, winds around for
10 miles before it reaches a turnoff for the lake. At this point, you can
turn right and go to the lake or keep going straight. The two roads will
eventually come together as Indian Route Y20. About a mile beyond
Reservation Lake, a sign indicates that it’s 8 miles to Pacheta Lake, but
it’s not a straight shot. Four miles beyond the sign, you’ll come to Drift
Fence Lake, which, like so many other places along this route, is ideal
for parking the car and pulling out the camera.
}Getting There: Begin in Hon-Dah at the junction of State Route 260 and
State Route 73. Travel east on SR 260, through McNary, for 20 miles to State
Route 273. Turn right (south) and continue on State 273 for about 4 miles to the
turnoff for Sunrise Park Resort. Leaving Sunrise, continue southeastward on 273
for 6 miles to Sheeps Crossing. En route you’ll cross into the Apache-Sitgreaves
National Forests. Leaving Sheeps Crossing, continue southward on Forest Road
113 for about 6 miles to Forest Road 116. Turn right onto FR 116 and within 10 miles
you’ll cross back onto the reservation. From there, follow the road to the right for
Reservation Lake. When FR 116 crosses onto the reservation it becomes Indian
Route Y20. Leaving Reservation Lake, continue southward on Y20 for about 8
miles to a turnoff for Pacheta Lake, just off Y20. Leaving Pacheta Lake, return to
Y20, turn left, and continue a short distance on Y20 to Y55. From there, turn right
for a 34-mile drive to Whiteriver.
Information: 928-333-4372 or www.fs.fed.us/r3/asnf
LEFT: A forest road coated
with golden aspen leaves
winds through the White
Mountains near Alpine in
PHOTOGRAPH BY JERRY JACKA
24 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 w w w . a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 25
a p o r t f o l i o b y k e r r i c k j a m e s
Ghost towns are pretty common in Arizona. Not as common
as canyons and cactuses, but they’re out there. With that in
mind, and the fact that Halloween is on tap this month, we
decided to send one of our photographers out to capture the
spirit of some of the state’s most intriguing ghost towns.
preceding panel | In 1864, prospectors started Castle Dome Mine in the
same area where they had found evidence of mines thought to be worked
by the Spanish. Producing silver, and later lead, the mine didn’t last long.
Today, replicated mining-camp buildings at the former mine’s location
make up the Castle Dome Mining Museum, northeast of Yuma.
left | Situated 15 miles east of Tombstone, the ghost town of Gleeson was
named for John Gleeson, who opened the Copper Belle Mine there in 1900.
The town was once home to almost 500 people and now holds the ruins of a
hospital, saloon, jail and village school, as well as the Gleeson Cemetery.
below | Cerbat was settled in the 1860s near the mining camps of Chloride
and Mineral Park in Western Arizona’s Cerbat Mountains. The headframe
and mill from the mining camp’s Golden Gem Mine still stand there.
26 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 27
28 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9
◗ Originally a stage station, the building that once housed the
Hotel Stanton has stood at the base of Rich Hill in Central
Arizona for more than 100 years. Named for Charles P. Stanton,
a corrupt character who controlled the town, the site is now
owned by the Lost Dutchman Mining Association.
left | Once a raucous mining town, the former ghost town of
Jerome is now an arts community — one of the most popular
destinations in Central Arizona. At one time, the Bartlett
Hotel offered the town’s finest accommodations.
below | With a long and storied history, Oatman sits below a
quartz outcropping known as Elephant Tooth, which, back
in the day, prospectors saw as a sign that read, “Look for
gold right here.” Today, the quirky town, situated
along Historic Route 66, still welcomes visitors
to experience its Old West hospitality.
30 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9
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About a year ago, our
Cronkite intern came to
us with an idea: “Send my
girlfriends and me to the
Grand Canyon. We’ve never
been up there. It’ll be an
adventure. We’ll camp and
hike, and I’ll write the
story from a college girl’s
we agreed, to which our
by the way,
none of us has ever
camped or done a major
At that point, we probably
should have pulled the plug, but we didn’t.
By Lauren Proper
Photographs by Peter Schwepker
32 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9
34 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 35
Then I read another one: “You’ve lived in Arizona your entire life
and have never been to the Grand Canyon.” That’s when I realize
I’m a typical native Arizonan. I’m embarrassed, and in an effort to
make myself feel better, I start sending messages to friends who were
born and raised in the state, asking if they’ve ever been to the world-famous
My best friend, Lexi, whom I’ve known for the past 13 years, says no,
and so do a couple of other friends. I’m glad I’m not alone, but I’m still
embarrassed. So, in yet another attempt to make myself feel better,
and escape any further persecution — self-inflicted or otherwise — I
decide that the girls are taking a road trip. To the Grand Canyon.
Unfortunately, it’s July when I make my proclamation — too hot
to do a big hike — so we start looking at dates. Lexi can’t do it the
weekend of her 21st birthday. Lyndsay and Misha don’t really care, as
long as it’s not too hot. Eventually, we settle on the second weekend
in October, an “ideal” time, we’re told. “You won’t die of heatstroke or
freeze to death in a snowstorm.” Uh huh. The plan is to pitch a tent on
the South Rim at Mather Campground.
The next time the four of us are together is two days before the
trip. We’re in my living room trying to set up my new tent, and it’s not
going well. Frustrated, we give up and talk about what we’ll need to
pack: food, water, sleeping bags, hiking boots, warm clothes. Tempera-tures
in Scottsdale have been in the 90s, but the first cold weekend
of the year is expected, and on television, April Warnecke’s snowy
forecast for the Canyon warns of freezing nights and a possible storm.
The news is unsettling, but we need to get back to the tent.
After one last attempt, we finally get it. Although it’s designed to
sleep three, we decide that spooning will help keep us warm. As a test
run, we climb in — shortest (me) to tallest (Lexi) — and lie down side-by-
side. It works, and the girls head home feeling less stressed about
the whole thing. Our parents’ fears, however, are as strong as ever.
I talk to Lexi’s mom on the phone, assuring her that I’ve carefully
planned the weekend and that we’ll all come home alive. I talk to my
mom, too. The night before we leave, she’s terrified that the 80 mph
wind gusts projected for the weekend will blow my 95-pound body over
the rim and into the depths of the Canyon. “It’ll be OK, Mom,” I say.
On Friday morning, I scramble to make sure everything’s taken
care of. I set up a time to meet up with the photographer who will
document our trip. I text-message the girls, telling them to head over
as soon as they’re done with their classes at Arizona State University.
And I start packing the car. My only goals are to leave the city before
rush hour and make it to the Canyon before it gets dark.
By noon, Lexi and Lyndsay are nowhere to be found, and Misha is
waiting patiently for us to pick her up. Finally — after Lyndsay show-ers,
blow-dries and straightens her hair — the two girls show up and
we hit the road. Unfortunately, the rocky start only gets worse. Traffic
is already backed up on Interstate 17, and the girls are already fight-ing
over who will share Lyndsay’s queen-sized air mattress. Lexi and
Lyndsay claim the first night. “I want to be comfortable,” Lexi says. “Or
at least as comfortable as I can be.” They offer me a spot that I decline,
citing my desire for a more authentic camping experience.
Our first and only stop is the Walmart in Flagstaff, where we hook
up with photographer Peter Schwepker, and stock up on supplies. On
my shopping list is a box of firewood. For the other three, it’s several
copies of US Weekly and People magazines.
e roll into the campground well after
sundown. I set up the tent while Misha
and Lexi get a fire started. Lyndsay plugs
a pump into the car’s cigarette lighter and
blows up the air mattress. Somehow, she
manages to fit it into the tent, leaving just enough room for the two
outcasts to squeeze in next to it. That is, if we don’t lie on our backs.
Lexi hunts around our barren campground for a stick to cook some
turkey sausage, while I sit back and eat one of my peanut butter and
jelly sandwiches. The fire doesn’t exactly keep us warm, and before
long, we’re lured into our sleeping bags. One by one, we get ourselves
situated, leaving our shoes outside to make more room.
“God, I hope there aren’t bugs in my Uggs!” Lexi shrieks.
Over-concerned, she unzips the tent and pulls our boots inside. As
we settle in, each of us is getting nervous about our first night in the
woods. The girls, who watch too many Stephen King movies, even
start worrying about serial killers and bear attacks. Half-joking, I
tell them the only real danger is the wind blowing embers from the
campfire toward the tent, setting it on fire. Lexi doesn’t appreciate the
humor. “I’m not going to die in this tent!” she screams. A half-hour later,
they’re too tired to worry about anything, and we all fall asleep.
For some reason — a bad omen? — our campfire reignites around
dawn. Lyndsay wakes us up, but nobody wants to be the one to put it
out. I’m freezing, and the other girls are convinced that a serial killer
has come into our campsite to warm himself by the fire. Lexi mumbles
something incoherent. Nobody moves, and by the time I’m fully awake
an hour later, the fire is out and we haven’t burned down the Kaibab
It was a successful night, but it’s still early, and the girls grumble
about not remembering the last time they were awake at this hour. No
matter, Peter is on his way, and we’re about to erase our scarlet letters
by hiking into the world’s Seventh Natural Wonder.
We bunny-hop out of the tent, grab our toothbrushes
and makeup (we’re from Scottsdale, after all), and pile
into the car, which is dead. Only a tiny clicking sound
emerges from underneath the hood of my mother’s SUV.
Needless to say, none of us has ever even changed a tire,
so I run to Peter’s car as he’s pulling away. He gives me a
lift to the home of campground host Kim Ross, who gives
us a jump. Meanwhile, my friends — who have been sit-ting
in the car the whole time — rejoice as hot air begins
flowing through the vents.
“You’re my hero right now,” I tell Kim.
Finally, we make it to the bathroom, get ready and
drive to the Bright Angel trailhead. It’s just after 10 a.m.,
and we walk to the edge of the Canyon together. Ear-lier,
we’d been talking excitedly; now, we’re completely
silent. We marvel at the depth, the seemingly infinite
chasm before us, the coming challenge and the scope of
our own insignificance. In a word, we’re overwhelmed.
Peter snaps away as we stand there mesmerized.
iking down to Indian Garden takes longer
than we expected, which means there’s no
way we’ll make it to the river and back today.
We could make a shorter trek out to Plateau
Point for our first glimpses of the Colorado
River, but we opt for lunch instead. Indian Garden, which is the half-way
point to the river, features several picnic tables surrounded by
lush vegetation and huge cottonwood trees, signs of life that are barely
visible from the rim.
Since the day we planned this trip, everyone told us that going
down is deceivingly easy, and they were right. Within a quarter-mile
of our hike back out, we start to lose Lyndsay. Misha, Lexi and
I wait every so often to make sure she doesn’t fall too far behind. The
breaks become less frequent, though, as the wind picks up and the
At the 3-mile rest area, we decide to stop until we see Lyndsay
again. While we wait, I read to my friends some of the information
that park rangers and volunteers have put on a bulletin board. My
favorite is an ominous warning: “If you plan on hiking to the bottom,
prepare to suffer the following.” The list includes several extreme con-sequences,
including brain damage. Most of the information pertains
to summer hazards.
Finally, we spot Lyndsay’s fiery red hair and pink scarf, stretch,
and continue up the trail. The sun is still shining, but a few ominous
clouds, armed with what I know must be snow, have begun working
their way over the northern part of the Canyon.
As we inch closer to the final mile, we pick a place to sit and wait.
Again. After 15 minutes, Lyndsay is still nowhere in sight, and we’re
starting to get cold. We talk about leaving and getting out as quickly
as possible. We talk about staying and getting colder. And just as Lexi
mentions sending down a mule, our redheaded friend reappears.
I’m on Facebook, one of many social networking Web sites,
when I come across a checklist. I think, I’m from Arizona! and
open the page. The list includes things such as: “You have
no idea why 48 other states insist on changing their clocks
twice a year” and “A rainy day puts you in a good mood,”
to which I silently nod.
“You know you’re
from Arizona when …”
PRECEDING PANEL: Four Canyon novices huddle inside their tent during a cold night at Mather
Campground on the Grand Canyon’s South Rim.
ABOVE: Lexi Hofmann, Misha Zelechowski, Lyndsay Martindale and Lauren Proper (left to right)
warm their hands by the fire after preparing dinner over an open fire (below).
36 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 37
Each step hurts a little more than the one before, and now it’s my
turn to fall behind Misha and Lexi. My frequent pit-stops only exacer-bate
the fatigue. Still, I force one foot in front of the other until I catch a
glimpse of Kolb Studio’s brown exterior. I stop and turn around to face
the Canyon. It is grand, that’s for sure. I look down at the tiny green
oasis of Indian Garden. I smile. Pride and a sense of accomplishment
are a part of it, but mostly it’s the view and how striking the gorge
looks to me now.
It’s colorful, full of life; it represents the classic struggle of man
versus nature. Despite the 5 million visitors who invade this national
park every year, I feel like I’m the only person here; the only person
who has ever hiked into the Canyon to learn its secrets and become a
part of its mystique.
he sound of fellow tourists speaking foreign languages
snaps me back into the real world, and my aching legs
somehow feel rejuvenated as I walk up to Lexi and Misha.
The sky isn’t dark yet, but the sun is obscured by light-gray
puffs that suggest there isn’t much time left for Lynd-say
to finish. Inside Kolb Studio, we thaw out and weigh our options.
After about a half-hour, Lexi and I decide to change clothes and move
the car a little closer to the trailhead.
Before we finish dressing, we see Lyndsay’s plaid outfit. Whew. We
pick up Misha and head to nearby Tusayan for a hot meal. It’s pitch
black outside. And cold. Freezing cold.
We pull into the first restaurant we see. The booth is cramped, but it
doesn’t matter. We’re warm, and we s-l-o-w-l-y finish our veggie burgers
and quesadillas. No one wants to go back outside. Nevertheless, we
know we will have to endure another night in the tent.
When we get back to the campground, we decide that it’s too cold
to even build a fire, so we pile into the tent. The girls are still nervous
about sleeping outside, and again, I’m forced into a corner, while my
girlfriends, each of whom is at least 6 inches taller than me, stretch
out. Of course, this means that all of our shoes end up at my head,
along with other random items that have found their way into the tent:
Cheez-Its, bug spray, water bottles.
Several times throughout the night, I wake up to a cuddling Lexi,
who wakes up to Lyndsay falling on top of her, who wakes up to Misha
inching her off the air mattress. One last snuggle from Lexi ends the
night. It’s morning, and both my hair and my blanket are moist.
My first thought is that snow must be melting through the tent’s
ceiling and protective fly. Instead, the sides of the tent are melting
after having been coated with ice during the night. Despite the polar
conditions, we’re all alive. No one has hypothermia.
I stir the girls, who are genuinely surprised that nothing terrible
has happened. Shivering, Lyndsay deflates her air mattress and begins
systematically loading things into the back of the SUV. Lexi and Misha
roll up the sleeping bags, and I take down the tent.
It’s still early when we pull out of the campground and hit the road.
Per Peter’s advice, we take U.S. Route 180 into Flagstaff. This, he says, is
the scenic route. And it is. Endless forests of evergreens with intermit-tent
clusters of aspens line the road. It’s beautiful.
Despite my pleas to go straight home, the girls want fast food in
Flagstaff. We have enough leftovers in the car to feed the Donner party,
but my girlfriends need chicken fingers and french fries. I guess they’ve
earned them. Two hours later, we’re in Scottsdale. Each girl lumbers
painfully out of the car, but with triumphant smiles on their faces.
The scarlet letters are gone. We’re now among the natives who have
seen the Canyon. We’re no longer embarrassed. And there’s even a
sense of pride.
Lexi sums it up best: “We came, we camped, we conquered.”
(Clockwise from above) Lauren Proper stands inside her sleeping bag to keep warm,
while Lyndsay Martindale greets a cold morning at the Canyon. Proper leads the
group down Bright Angel Trail. Lexi Hofmann yawns, half-asleep and shivering, and
later, wide awake, she turns her camera toward Bighorn Sheep Canyon. T
The girls are still nervous about
sleeping outside, and again, I’m forced
into a corner, while my girlfriends, each
of whom is at least 6 inches taller than me,
stretch out. Of course, this means
that all of our shoes end up at my head,
along with other random items that
have found their way into the tent:
Cheez-Its, bug spray, water bottles.
38 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 39
Tombstone was a raw, angry town. Today, the Town Too Tough to
Die resembles a Western movie set. This is especially true if you visit
Tombstone during Helldorado Days, the town’s annual autumn gala.
Almost everyone wears a 19th century Western costume, and hun-dreds
of tourists wrapped in their private Wild West fantasies parade
down the boardwalk. The guys often pack guns and favor Wyatt Earp-like
overcoats, which hide their love handles. Middle-aged women
pretend they’re ladies of the night.
I’m here because somewhere in this crowd, a bunch of Arizona
Rangers are on duty. Normally it would be easy to spot an Arizona
Ranger — most wear a gold badge, black hat, black shirt, black pants
and black boots. But today, the Rangers will surely be camouflaged in
this crowd of wannabe gunslingers and madams.
Modern Arizona Rangers wear cowboy hats because they model
themselves after the historic Arizona Rangers who galloped across the
Arizona Territory icing outlaws on the cusp of the 20th century.
You may have watched a 1950s TV show about the Arizona Rang-ers
called 26 Men, or listened to a Marty Robbins country hit titled
Big Iron, which chronicles an Arizona Ranger’s run-in with an outlaw
named Texas Red. If you’re an extreme Arizona Ranger freak, you’ve
probably read The Arizona Rangers by Bill O’Neal, written in 1987 and
regarded as the bible of Arizona Ranger history. The Arizona Rang-ers
also have a Web site (www.arizonarangers.org) and a museum in
Nogales, open only on Saturdays. There’s even an Arizona law that
honors the Rangers.
There have been four incarnations of Arizona Rangers. The first
group didn’t last long and disbanded before the Civil War. The sec-ond
group was formed in Tombstone in 1882, but broke up pronto
because they weren’t paid. The third group was the most famous,
lasting from 1901 to 1909. This incarnation was created by the Arizona
Territorial Legislature. Those Rangers were on
the Territory payroll and focused on subduing
killers, rustlers and criminal gangs mostly on
The current Arizona Rangers, who do not
have arrest power, are a lot more obscure than
their vibrant predecessors. Today, there are
about 300 Arizona Rangers — mostly older
guys and gals who get paid absolutely nothing
to provide various forms of community service
The catchphrase most often linked to Tombstone
works just as well for a group of rugged individu-als
known as the Arizona Rangers. Now in their
fourth incarnation, the current Rangers are more
obscure than their predecessors, and instead of
enforcing frontier justice, they spend most of
their time directing traffic. It’s not glamor-ous,
especially by Hollywood standards, but these
guys take their work seriously. They have a job to
do, and more importantly, they’re keeping alive a
legacy that dates back to the 1800s.
B y T e r r y G r e e n e S t e r l i n g
Pho t o I l l us t r a t ions b y J oe l G r ime s a
at the ready,
Eddie Resner vol-unteers
forms of community
the state, includ-ing
crowd security and
assisting law en-forcement
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like subbing for school crossing guards or directing parking during
an event. Sometimes, Rangers are called in by law enforcement agen-cies
to assist with things like guarding perimeters. As the economy
shrinks and police agencies freeze hiring plans, this isn’t a bad idea.
Rangers free up the real cops to chase the bad guys.
Just a few days before this Helldorado extravaganza, bikers and
locals brawled in a Tombstone bar. The town marshal called in several
Rangers to help with directing traffic and keeping an eye out.
I want to know why in the world these Arizona Rangers spend
their spare time outfitted in cowboy hats doing things cops don’t want
to do. I want to know if they’re frustrated retired cops or fringy dudes
on power trips who get off on wearing the gold badge. Are modern
Arizona Rangers parodies of the historic Rangers they reportedly
emulate? What’s with these guys, anyway?
And why am I so fascinated by them? Part of the fascination, I
know, stems from my grandfather’s link to the Arizona Rangers. I’m
reminded of Gramps when I pass the O.K. Corral.
The famed gunfight at the O.K. Corral did not take place there; the
Earps and Clantons et al. apparently did battle on a nearby street. But
the O.K. Corral is the site of another murder — it’s the place where my
grandfather William C. Greene whacked Jim Burnett.
“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord!” Gramps bellowed as he
gunned down Burnett in 1897.
Gramps shot Burnett because he blamed Burnett for dynamiting a
dam on the San Pedro River. The resulting flood altered a swimming
hole where my grandfather’s daughter and a friend swam, and the
children drowned. I don’t know if they were sucked away by a strong
current, or if they were weak swimmers who couldn’t navigate an
unexpectedly deep pool. I do know that my popular grandfather was
acquitted of murdering Burnett.
A wealthy and colorful miner and rancher, Gramps figured promi-nently
in the political and economic landscape of the Arizona Terri-tory
from the late 1800s until his death in 1911. It made good business
sense to rid the borderlands of ruffians, which explains why he helped
persuade his pal Bert Mossman to head a new state law-enforcement
group, the Arizona Rangers, in 1901.
I never knew Gramps. He died when my father, the youngest of six
children from my grandfather’s second marriage, was just a baby.
Historians either glorify Gramps as an entrepreneurial visionary
who launched one of the most productive copper mines in the world
or a diabolic capitalist whose greed set off the Mexican Revolution.
His 1974 biography, Colonel Greene and the Copper Skyrocket by C.L. Son-nichsen,
doesn’t probe his character to my satisfaction. So, when I
run into a piece of Arizona linked to Gramps, like the O.K. Corral
or the Arizona Rangers, I’m reminded that I know precious little
about the man.
’m jolted back into my hunt for Arizona Rangers by the Hell-dorado
Days sounds of laughter, jangling spurs, honky-tonk
piano, snorting horses, and the pop pop pop pop pop of mock
On Allen Street, I finally spot two Rangers strolling down
the boardwalk. Sergeant Cliff Cudney and Lieutenaut Walter
“Butch” Smith of the Arizona Rangers Sonoita Company
are dressed in black from head to toe, and each has a big
gun strapped to his hip, along with handcuffs, collapsible baton, pep-per
spray and a radio. From behind their reflective sunglasses, Smith
and Cudney scan the crowd for scofflaws, ne’er-do-wells, drunks,
brawlers and other outlaws.
“The key,” says Cudney, “is not to look as if you’re aware, even
though you are. It’s exhausting.”
Cudney is 69, and a retired movie stuntman. If you check the Inter-national
Movie Database, you’ll see he performed or coordinated driv-ing
stunts for 41 films and TV shows. But he’ll tell you that online list
of kudos is incomplete. He was a stunt man for Gene Hackman in the
1972 movie The French Connection and Jake Gyllenhal in the 1999 film
October Sky, he says. He was also the thrill driver “Al” in the Uniroyal
ads of the 1970s. If you look at those old ads, Cudney hasn’t changed
all that much. He’s still tall (6 feet 4 inches) and slender (240 pounds)
with blond hair and hazel eyes. These days, he advises university film
students and helps attorneys in vehicle accident lawsuits. He has
grown children and a 10-year-old son and a wife who understands he’s
just got to be an Arizona Ranger.
You’d think the former stuntman would be bored, just walking
around Tombstone keeping an eye out, but he’s OK with it. Being an
Arizona Ranger is his way of giving back to the community. “I didn’t
sign up for this just for the ice cream and cake,” he says.
Cudney’s friend Butch Smith is a former accountant for an Indian
community in Minnesota. He retired to Arizona in 2002, and is now
61 years old. He’s the kind of guy who adopts mutts from the Humane
Society and drives elderly folks to medical appointments and the gro-cery
store. He’s a self-described “liberal-thinking individual,” which
shatters my preconception of all Rangers as fringy neo-cons.
I follow Cudney and Smith past crowded bars exuding a moist
whiskey-infused aroma, past troupes of dancers with names like
“Trashy Women of Cochise County,” past a fellow who bee-bops while
he twirls his guns, past an Elvis impersonator dressed like a cowboy,
past a guy carrying a Chihuahua in doggie Western wear, past gun-fight
re-enactors and little kids in cowboy hats. There doesn’t seem to
be a single real outlaw in the crowd.
“You can get bored,” Smith allows, “but you have to be ready to
respond to something right away.”
Cudney leaves Smith and strolls down Toughnut Street, where we
step aside for a woman dressed like Annie Oakley who yips “Cowgirl
up!” and urges her paint horse into a reluctant trot. Cudney meets up with
Master Sergeant Terry Schonert, who stands by a traffic barricade.
The two Rangers take a break in the shade.
A small boy in camouflage pants and a cowboy hat points a toy gun
at Cudney, who throws up his hands.
Suddenly, a squawking radio alerts Schonert an ambulance might
be coming through. Schonert moves the vehicle barrier, but the ambu-lance
doesn’t come, so Schonert sits down again.
Schonert, 68, is a retired Canadian bush pilot, and when he sits down
on the curb his knees creak. That may be because once, when he was
flying fuel to commercial ice fishermen, he crashed his DeHavilland
Otter. He was picked up by a rescue plane a few hours later, and then that
second plane ran out of gas and crashed. Schonert and the pilot crawled
out of the wreckage, cut spruce boughs to make a mattress, lean-to and
a big fire. They survived the night in minus 41-degree weather.
“It wasn’t too bad,” Schonert says. i
is not to look
as if you’re
Dressed in the Arizona Rangers’ black-on-black uniform, James
“Spud” Hester offers a stark contrast to Mission San Xavier del
Bac, Arizona’s White Dove of the Desert, near Tucson.
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huge percentage of people don’t even know
about Arizona Rangers,” Lieutenant David
We’re sitting in my office in downtown
Phoenix. It’s a couple of weeks after the
Tombstone gala. I expected Bruce to
show up in his black Arizona Ranger
uniform. But instead, he wears
casual slacks and a Hawaiian shirt.
Bruce and his friend, Lloyd Glassbrook, the director of the Rang-ers’
office of administration and internal affairs, have brought me
packets of material on the Arizona Rangers. Glassbrook, a 64-year-old
retired assistant director for security and law enforcement for the
U.S. Department of Energy, explains that the Rangers donate about
$100,000 a year to kids causes. Sometimes, Rangers provide security
or direct traffic for events like quinceaneras, and people who hire Rang-ers
donate money to the Arizona Rangers’ nonprofit, which in turn
donates the money to worthy causes.
Bruce has been an Arizona Ranger since 1990, and today is the leg-islative
and law-enforcement liaison for the Rangers. He is 65 years old,
and wears thick glasses. He has a metal plate in his forehead, which
he got when he was a cop in the Midwest after a bad guy crushed his
skull with a lamp. He says he served on Henry Kissinger’s security
detail for the State Department, and he taught criminal justice courses
at Pima Community College in Tucson for 32 years.
Now Bruce devotes himself to the Arizona Rangers. In his 18 years
as a Ranger, he estimates he’s put $60,000 of his own money into travel
expenses. Like other Rangers, Bruce has had to buy his gun, uniform
and all the trappings. An incoming Ranger might expect to spend
from $1,000 to $1,500 per year, he guesses.
To qualify to be a Ranger, Bruce says, applicants must pass a back-ground
check. They can’t be felons and have to be at least 21. They must
be voted in by all members of the company, undergo a probationary
period, and train for at least 50 hours initially, with an additional
24 hours of training each year. They must pass proficiency tests on
everything from guns to pepper spray to baton use.
Law enforcement officials have mixed views of the Rangers. Some
big-city cops consider Rangers to be trigger-happy posers, and poten-tially
dangerous. Some small-town cops view the Rangers as indispen-sible
assistants. And others see the Rangers as living history.
ramps mined and ranched on both sides of the
Arizona-Mexico border. Bandits frequently
crisscrossed the borderlands, rustling cat-tle,
robbing and killing. Powerbrokers like
Gramps wanted to rid the borderlands of
bad guys by enacting the Arizona Rangers
into law in 1901. It’s no coincidence that the
Rangers were always headquartered on the
The first Rangers’ captain was Mossman, Gramps’ friend. The
second was Mossman’s friend Thomas Rynning. In 1906, during Ryn-ning’s
reign, Gramps cashed in a little political capital.
That June, a miners’ strike broke out in Cananea, Sonora, Mexico,
about 50 miles south of the Arizona border. The mine was owned by a
company controlled by Gramps. He lived in Cananea, and soon found
himself and his family surrounded by thousands of Mexican miners
who demanded to be paid as much as American miners. (Although the
Mexican miners in Cananea did get paid the highest mine wages in
all of Mexico, historians say, American miners earned a much higher
wage.) Mexican strikers felt they deserved equal pay, better bosses
and an eight-hour workday. When they didn’t get it, mayhem broke
loose. Gramps believed outside agitators intent on dethroning Presi-dent
Porfirio Diaz were to blame for the riot. Shots were fired, people
on both sides were slaughtered.
“For God’s sake, send us armed help,” Gramps wired officials in
Arizona Territorial Governor Joseph Kibbey forbade the Arizona
Rangers from providing that armed help, but several Rangers, including
Rynning, went to Cananea anyway. They led a substantial posse, and
were joined by Mexican forces. The strike ended, but the event was one
of the precipitators of the 1910 Mexican Revolution, historians say.
The event also precipitated the resignation of Thomas Rynning;
he handed over the Arizona Rangers captainship to Harry Wheeler
Wheeler was a little guy with a chiseled movie-star face who didn’t
let his men drink or gamble. He suffered three wounds and went on
several “expeditions” to Mexico to root out bad guys. He was a con-summate
record-keeper and was given to typing long letters to the
governor and the governor’s secretary. Once, Wheeler stopped a train
from Cananea from entering the United States. Wheeler contended
the train was loaded with fake voters meant to rig an election. Shortly
thereafter, the Legislature disbanded the Rangers. Wheeler became a
Cochise County sheriff, and to his dying day believed the Rangers were
broken up in part because he stopped the train full of bogus voters.
The fact that the Legislature ended the Rangers didn’t displease
Gramps’ friend, Mossman, the first Rangers’ captain. He thought the
Rangers had gotten too full of themselves. “After my day, the Rang-ers
wore distinctive garb — wore conspicuous badges, bristled with
weapons, and were so widely and systematically press-agented, they
soon achieved a dubious fame with the old-timers and passed on to a
natural and inevitable Falstaffian reward,” Mossman wrote in 1935.
read Mossman’s words on microfilm housed in the Polly
Rosenbaum Archives and History building in Phoenix,
shortly after returning from Tombstone. If humility is a
criterion for Mossman’s approval, surely he’d approve of
Arizona Rangers like former bush pilot Schonert, former
stunt driver Cudney and former accountant Smith. They
don’t get off on wearing their black uniforms and badges,
and they’d really prefer not to use the big irons on their
hips. They just want to give back a little bit.
I call them one afternoon to see how they’re doing. They say Hell-dorado
Days was uneventful. They volunteered for eight-hour shifts
for two days, and at night returned to their Southern Arizona homes.
Each night, Cudney changed into his black sweatshirt, sweatpants
and slippers and relaxed with his family. Each night, Smith soaked
his feet. Each night, Schonert fed his two mules.
I ask Schonert what the old-time Arizona Rangers would think of
their tamer, modern descendants.
“I suppose,” he says, “they’d be happy it’s still going on.”
Lloyd Glassbrook directs the group’s office of administration and internal
affairs. The Rangers donate about $100,000 each year to kids causes.
A volunteer since 1990, David Bruce stands against the background of Empire Ranch, located in
the same region where, in the early 1900s, Rangers tried to “rid the borderlands of bad guys.”
44 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 45
the Melendrez Fire was
started by lightning. Not a
cigarette butt. It’s an important
distinction. One source, of
course, is natural; the other is
not. In either case, the effects of
fire can be devastating. But not
always. As you make your way
along Box Canyon Road, you’ll
see that in some cases, when
fire is allowed to run its natural
course, it can make an already
scenic drive even more beauti-ful.
This is one of those cases.
Although Box Canyon Road
comes with a lesson in fire man-agement
and ecology, it still
meets our prerequisite of being
scenic. It also offers a nice con-trast
to the “fall drives” in this
month’s cover story. The all-dirt
road begins about 3 miles north
of the entrance to Madera Can-yon,
which ranks as one of the
most spectacular places in Ari-zona.
Among other things, the
canyon features four life zones
and is home to more than 250
species of birds — even if you
lean more toward Miss America
than Miss Hathaway, you’ll be
impressed. Make time if you
can. If not, the road
Heading east, the
14-mile route (wash-board
all the way)
parallels the north
side of the Santa
Rita Mountains, and
you’ll see the effects
of the fire, which
burned 5,800 acres in
late May. In particu-lar,
you’ll see a sea of
green. According to
Heidi Schewel of the
Forest, the fire burned
at a low intensity,
which was very good
for the landscape.
“There was little
tree mortality,” she
says, “and the dried
grass and brush was
burned off. The result-ing
ash will act as
a natural fertilizer.
Remember Science 101
Living plants take in
moisture from the roots and car-bon
dioxide through their leaves,
and use sunlight and chlorophyll
to produce energy. This energy is
locked up in the biomass. When
a fire of this sort burns through,
those nutrients are returned to
the soil and made available. Add
a little rain and the grasses will
The sea of green notwith-standing,
it’s the mountains
that stand out most on this sce-nic
drive. The Santa Ritas are an
impressive range, with plenty
of oaks and cottonwoods, so
you should see some fall color
if you look to your right. To
your left, the views will include
the road’s namesake, as well as
open grasslands and impressive
groves of enormous ocotillos.
After about 5 miles, you’ll
leave the Santa Rita Experi-mental
Range (a project of the
agriculture department at the
University of Arizona) and enter
the Coronado National Forest.
The road along this stretch is
narrow, winding and without
any guardrails. Go slowly, and
plan on stopping for photos.
Eventually, after about 10 miles,
the road reaches the top of its
climb, where the views are
dominated by grasslands that
stretch as far as the eye can see.
It’s vintage Southern Arizona.
The road ends a few miles
later at its intersection with
State Route 83, just north of
Sonoita. At this point, most
people continue north toward
Tucson, while some head south
to grab a bite at Canela Bistro
in Sonoita. Either way, it’s an
opportunity to think about
where you’ve been, and how fire,
when orchestrated by Mother
Nature, can make an already sce-nic
drive even more beautiful.
in the grasslands
beneath the Santa
and the hills sur-rounding
Canyon (left), of-fering
a lesson in
EDITOR’S NOTE: For more scenic drives, pick
up a copy of our book, The Back Roads. Now
in its fifth edition, the book ($19.95) fea-tures
40 of the state’s most scenic drives.
To order a copy, call 800-543-5432 or visit
ROAD About four
months ago, a
touched this scenic
drive. Turns out, it
was just Mother
BY ROBERT STIEVE
Note: Mileages are approximate.
LENGTH: 14 miles one-way (all dirt)
DIRECTIONS: From Tucson, go south on Interstate
19 for 24 miles to Continental Road (Exit 63). Turn
left (east) and continue for 1 mile to Whitehouse
Canyon Road (look for the signs to Madera Canyon).
From there, turn right (east) and drive 7.3 miles to
the intersection of Forest Road 62 and Forest Road
70. Veer left on FR 62 and begin the drive.
VEHICLE REQUIREMENTS: Accessible to all 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
INFORMATION: Nogales Ranger District, 520-281-
2296 or www.fs.fed.us/r3/coronado
Travelers in Arizona can visit www.az511.gov or
dial 511 to get information
on road closures,
delays, weather and more.
S A N T A R I T A
E X P E R I M E N T A L R A N G E
C O R O N A D O
N A T I O N A L F O R E S T
Whitehouse Canyon Rd.
S T A R T H E R E
Santa Cruz River
To Tucson To Tucson
S A N T A R I T A M O U N T A I N S
46 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9 www. a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 47
month OF THE
Sedona’s Loy Canyon Trail borrows its name from the
Samuel Loy family, who used this 5-mile path dur-ing
the 1880s to transport cattle. These days, you won’t
see cattle, but you might spot deer darting between the
junipers and roadrunners scuttling across the entrance
to the trailhead, a red-dirt road that mir-rors
the burnished ruby sandstone cliffs.
The mild, meandering ascent to the top is
well-rewarded by fantastic views of the Red
Rock/Secret Mountain Wilderness.
The first half-mile follows the edge of
Hancock Ranch, bordered on the left by
barbed wire and gnarled juniper posts. The
copper bark of nearby manzanita mimics
the rust coloring of this historic fence. Fol-low
the path as it dips gently and crosses
into velvet sand that glints golden. You
might think you’re at the beach, save for the
canyon walls rising out of the tree cover to
the left. Water’s influence in this arid area
takes the form of dry, rocky creek beds that
crisscross the first few miles of the trail.
After 20 minutes, you’ll see a gigantic
ponderosa pine, a sure sign that the sun-dappled
path is gradually climbing to higher
elevations. Crunch through pine cones to
Alligator Alley, where the colorful purple-blue
berries of alligator juniper trees litter the ground. To
the left, just past a stone wall, plum-hued prickly pears
grow out of a fallen log. Did the tree make a noise when
it fell? Birds claim the only sound, as this route is mostly
vacant even on a Saturday. Pause to listen to their songs
and shake the sand out of your shoes.
Pass next through a 6-foot-high manzanita grove, fol-lowed
by an open area. Here, lizards scamper across mint-green
lichen amid a graveyard of disintegrated white
rocks and dead tree limbs. The standing remnants of
wood — sculptures of history — are as impressive as their
healthy neighbors. Sweet scents of fresh pine needles per-meate
the trail as the scenery moves from cactuses to
stands of tall, thin pines interspaced by fluffy grasses.
Enjoy this cool, breezy pathway before it ends abruptly
in steep switchbacks at about the 4-mile mark. You
can start complaining, but you might want to save your
breath, because the trail climbs 1,000 feet in the next mile.
The forested zigzag bursts into exposed sandstone steps.
A quick, 10-minute ascent reveals green robes covering
red-rock peaks that stretch to the cerulean sky.
As you continue up the outcrop, be wary of prickly
overgrowth and stray barbed wire. Squeeze carefully
though the narrow pass until you reach a shady saddle
between two trails: Loy Canyon and Secret Mountain.
This is the two-and-a-half-hour mark, and a possible
turnaround point. But you’ve made it this far, so why not
push up the last ridge? Look for the wooden sign for Loy
Canyon and continue several hundred yards to a clearing
of ponderosas surrounded by a carpet of soft needles.
The hike may not end with the typical panoramic view,
but it does offer the perfect place for a picnic — or a relax-ing
nap — before climbing back down. The entrance sign
to Hancock Ranch near the beginning of the hike encour-ages
visitors to “Walk in Beauty.” Take a hike on Loy Can-yon
Trail, and you’ll do just that.
LENGTH: 10 miles round-trip
ELEVATION: 4,720 to 6,400 feet
DIRECTIONS: From Sedona, go south on
State Route 89A for 5 miles to Forest Road
525. Turn north (right) on FR 525 and
continue 9.3 miles to the trailhead.
INFORMATION: 928-282-4119 or www.
• Plan ahead and be prepared.
• Travel and camp on durable surfaces.
• Dispose of waste properly and pack
out your trash.
• Leave what you find.
• Respect wildlife and minimize impact.
• Be considerate of others.
◗ The trail wan-ders
(above), and an
the lush panora-ma
of Loy Canyon.
LOY CANYON TRAIL Depend-ing
on who you’re with, this just
might be the most perfect hike
BY LEAH DURAN
PHOTOGRAPHS BY LARRY LINDAHL
O N L I N E For more hikes in Arizona, visit our “Hiking Guide” at www.arizonahighways.com.
C O C O N I N O
N A T I O N A L F O R E S T
R E D R O C K /
S E C R E T M O U N T A I N
Hancock Ranch W I L D E R N E S S
Red Canyon Road
To Cottonwood (Phoenix)
T R A I L H E A D
48 o c t o b e r 2 0 0 9
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January issue and online at www.arizonahighways.com beginning November 15.
August 2009 Answer:
Little Colorado River.
Congratulations to our
winner, Jami Broecher
of Rapid City, SD.
BY ROBERT STIEVE
Clearly, this isn’t
skyline, but it
district, at least
in the animal
provide a safe
haven for as
many as 15 dif-ferent
this neck of the
world — people
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visit www.arizonahighways.com and click the license
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