• LONG CANYON
• HARRIS’ HAWKS
• THE HUB
• WILLCOX, AZ
• SLED DOGS
• FRANCES MUNDS
• STOCKTON PASS
ESCAPE • EXPLORE • EXPERIENCE
“Many a trip continues long after movement in time and space have ceased.” — JOHN STEINBECK
State Route 89A
JANUARY 2013 w w w. w . a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 1
◗ The white tips of the San Francisco Peaks rise over a snowpacked
field along Garland Prairie Road. | SUZANNE MATHIA
FRONT COVER State Route 89A shows off its winter coat as it
winds through Oak Creek Canyon near Sedona. | DEREK VON BRIESEN
BACK COVER A husky catches its breath during a break at the
annual sled-dog race in Arizona’s White Mountains. | SUZANNE STARR
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2 EDITOR’S LETTER > 3 CONTRIBUTORS > 4 LETTERS TO THE EDITOR > 56 WHERE IS THIS?
5 THE JOURNAL
People, places and things from around the state, including Arizona’s
iconic suffragette; one of the best lunch spots in downtown
Tucson; and Willcox, our town of the month.
16 ODE TO THE ROADS
A scenic drive isn’t about getting from Point A to Point B. It’s about
the people, places and things that you meet and see and experience
along the way. That’s what makes Travels With Charley, Blue
Highways and On the Road such classics, and that’s what we were
after when we sent three writers and three photographers out on
three of Arizona’s best back roads.
BY NIKKI BUCHANAN, KATHY MONTGOMERY
AND TERRY GREENE STERLING
PHOTOGRAPHS BY JACQUES BARBEY, MARK
LIPCZYNSKI AND KAREN SHELL
42 DOG DAYS OF WINTER
There are many stereotypes about Arizona, including the one
about it having only one season: summer. The truth is, there’s win-ter,
too. There’s even dog-sledding, and the state’s premier race
takes place this month in the White Mountains.
BY BARBARA YOST
PHOTOGRAPHS BY SUZANNE STARR
46 ON LOCATION WITH
What started out as a side job for Joe Brown turned into a cameo
role in Tom Horn, an invitation to go stunt-flying in a biplane, and
a personal friendship with The King of Cool that lasted until the
actor’s untimely death in 1980.
AN ESSAY BY J.P.S. BROWN
ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHRIS GALL
50 MEET THE NEW BOSS
When Jeff Stein was a kid in his 20s, he bought a book by Paolo
Soleri. He read it, became inspired and sought out the world-renowned
architect, who was creating something called Arco-santi.
Four decades later, Stein is the man in charge of Soleri’s
BY KATHY RITCHIE
PHOTOGRAPH BY JOHN WAGNER
• POINTS OF INTEREST IN THIS ISSUE
52 SCENIC DRIVE
Stockton Pass: It’s not the longest drive we’ve ever featured — it’s
less than 20 miles one way — but mile for mile, this scenic route
through the Pinaleño Mountains is one of the most dramatic.
54 HIKE OF THE MONTH
Long Canyon: There are many ways to see Sedona and its iconic land-scapes.
This scenic route into the Red Rock-Secret Mountain Wilder-ness
is one of the easiest.
w w w. 2 J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 3 a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 3
Author Joe Brown has fond memories
of his friend Steve McQueen, and he
celebrates them in his essay about
the actor (see On Location With Steve
McQueen, page 46). “Steve was so
open and never boastful,” Brown says.
“He was just another guy. I never saw
him act like a celebrity — not with me
or with anyone else.” Brown, a fifth-generation
Arizonan, is a longtime
contributor to Arizona Highways. He
is the author of more than 10 novels
about cowboying and ranching, as well
as dozens of essays on the subjects.
— ANDREA CRANDALL
Photographer John Wagner had been
to Arcosanti in the past, but he visited
the “urban laboratory” a second time
to photograph its new president, Jeff
Stein (see Meet the New Boss, page 50).
“I’d been there before, so I had an idea,
visually, of what I wanted to do,” Wag-ner
says. “It was interesting to have Jeff
take me around and point out things; it
was nice to see some of the inner work-ings.”
Wagner’s work has also appeared
in Fortune. This is his first assignment
for Arizona Highways.
Karen Shell usually travels abroad for
photo assignments, but she didn’t hesi-tate
when we asked her to photograph
the people, places and things along State
Route 260, between Payson and Spring-erville,
for this month’s cover story (see
Ode to the Roads, page 16). “So much of
my photography is shooting internation-ally,
so this reminded me that I can have
an equally rich experience in my own
backyard,” Shell says. “Everyone was so
warm and genuine. I think they were hav-ing
as much fun as I was.” This is Shell’s
first assignment for Arizona Highways.
JA N UA RY 2 0 1 3 V O L . 8 9, N O . 1
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PRODUCED IN THE USA
PUBLISHER Win Holden
EDITOR Robert Stieve
MANAGING EDITOR Kelly Vaughn Kramer
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OF TRANSPORTATION John S. Halikowski
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MEMBERS Stephen W. Christy
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One man, one dog and a three-quarter-
ton pickup named
Rocinante. Those are the main
characters in Travels With Charley, one
of the best pieces of travel writing ever
written. Or maybe it is the best. It
doesn’t have the life-and-death drama
of Mawson’s Will or Into Thin Air, but the
prose in Travels With Charley is so much
better. “This is a book to be read slowly
for its savor,” Edward Weeks wrote in his
review of Charley for The Atlantic Monthly
in August 1962. “The eager, sensuous
pages in which [Steinbeck] writes about
what he found and whom he encountered
frame a picture of our human nature in
the twentieth century which will not
soon be surpassed.”
Believe me, we weren’t foolish enough
to think we could re-create those sensu-ous
pages in our cover story. No matter
how good our writers are — and all three
of them are superb — there’s only one
John Steinbeck, and we didn’t have 246
pages to work with. Still, that’s what we
were going for. Travels With Charley, Blue
Highways, On the Road ... We wanted our
road trips to capture the people, places
and things along the way. And they did.
There are three trips in all: Payson to
Springerville, Portal to Patagonia and
Prescott to Flagstaff. Normally, for some-thing
like this, we put our writers and
photographers together in the same car
(or three-quarter-ton pickup), because
we want parallel experiences. But not
this time. For this, we wanted diver-gence.
We wanted as many people, places
and things as we could get. And we got
what we wanted. In fact, all three writ-ers
asked for more words, and all three
photographers turned in enough images,
individually, to fill 246 pages. Karen Shell
is one of those photographers.
I’ve been admiring Karen’s work for
a long time, and so
has Photo Editor Jeff
Kida, but this was her
first assignment for
Arizona Highways. It’s a
shame it took us this
long to get her into
the magazine. She’s
she’s creative and she
delivered exactly what
we were looking for.
Her shot of Wayne
and Kenyon Peters
with their big rig at a
gas station in Spring-erville
is a great example. It’s a moment
in time — ordinary people, doing what
they do. The Payson Rodeo photos have
the same effect. And then there’s the shot
of Moriah, the little girl splashing in the
waters of Christopher Creek. Initially,
Moriah was afraid of the camera, but as
you’ll see, the curly-headed pre-schooler
loosened up. A lot. That’s what great pho-tographers
do, and Karen’s on the list of
That shot of Moriah, by the way, was
made in late-summer. Obviously, things
are pretty quiet in Christopher Creek this
time of year. The drive is still beautiful,
though. Like all of our road trips, it’s
enjoyable any time of year. Just keep in
mind that what you see in winter may not
be what you see in summer, and check the
weather and road conditions before head-ing
out. Right now, there’s a good chance
you’ll see some snow between Payson
and Springerville. If not, Van Odegaard is
probably going stir crazy.
You don’t know Van Odegaard. He’s a
musher, and he’s not the only one. “Sled-dog
racing in Arizona is a surprisingly
popular hobby,” Barbara Yost writes in
Dog Days of Winter. The sport took off here
in 1977. That’s when
Odegaard moved to
Flagstaff from Min-nesota,
where he raced
Today, Arizona is the
with a significant
and the state’s premier
race takes place this
month in the White
Mountains. In our
story, you’ll learn about
the men and women
who endure the cost,
the hard work and the often-inhospitable
climate to play in the snow. You’ll also
learn about the huskies, malamutes and
Samoyeds that can’t wait to get har-nessed
up and hit the trail. As Barbara
writes, “they were born to run.” Horses,
by comparison, aren’t always so enthu-siastic,
especially on Hollywood movie
sets. That’s where our cowboy king met
J.P.S. Brown is indeed a cowboy, and
he might have been the prototype for
“the most interesting man in the world.”
He’s done it all — boxer, marine, journal-ist,
prospector, whiskey smuggler — but
he’s a cowboy at the core, which is why
he was hired to teach Steve McQueen
how to rope a horse in a corral for the
movie Tom Horn. The job came and went,
but their close friendship lasted until the
actor’s untimely death in 1980. On Location
With Steve McQueen is another in our series
of wonderful essays by Joe Brown. Read it
slowly for its savor, and then get yourself a
three-quarter-ton pickup and hit the road.
People, places and things are waiting.
People. Places. Things.
ROBERT STIEVE, EDITOR
Follow me on Twitter: @azhighways
If you like what you see in this
magazine every month, check out
Arizona Highways Television, an
Emmy Award-winning program
hosted by former news anchor Robin
Sewell. For broadcast times, visit
our website, www.arizonahighways.
com, and click the Arizona Highways
Television link on our home page.
4 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3
w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 5
THE JOURNAL 01.13
hometowns > local favorites > history > photography > odd jobs
dining > nature > lodging > things to do
Turn, Turn, Turn
Golden light illuminates grazing cattle and an old windmill as the sun sets behind the Santa
Rita Mountains. Sonoita and Santa Cruz County are known for their abundance of ranches.
Information: 520-455-5498 or www.sonoitaelginchamber.com CAMERA: TOYO 4X5; FILM: FUJI VELVIA;
SHUTTER: 1/15; APERTURE: F/32; ISO: 50; FOCAL LENGTH: 210 MM
Thank you for The High Lonesome by J.P.S Brown in
the October 2012 issue. Joe’s books inspired me to
see Arizona firsthand, and he’s my favorite author.
His wonderful essay, and the impressive illustra-tions
by Chris Gall, are much appreciated.
Donna Krnak, Richmond, Virginia
46 oc t o b e r 2 0 1 2 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 47
In August 1940, the year I turned 10, my parents, Vivian D.
and Mildred Sorrells Brown, threw in with cattlemen Herb
Cunningham and Roy Adams, and Nogales banker Wirt
Bowman, and bought the 175-square-mile High Lonesome
ranch in Eastern Arizona. The ranch sits in Apache County,
18 miles south of Sanders and 35 miles north of St. Johns.
Vivian took over as manager, sold our home in Nogales and
moved us to the ranch. The place had been part of the Aztec Land and
Cattle Co. Its mean altitude is 7,000 feet; the ground is sandy loam, the
trees are Utah junipers, which we call “cedars,” and piñons, short pine
trees that yield sweet nuts. The place is high, wide and dry. Adams, Cun-ningham,
Bowman and Brown erected windmills on 12 new wells in the
I was a boarder student at Saint Michaels in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
When school let out, I caught the train from Lamy, New Mexico, to Cham-bers,
Arizona, where Mildred and my l ittle sister Sharon met me. We
received our mail at Sanders a few miles east of Chambers on U.S. Route
66. On our way to the ranch, we stopped there and I met Clarence “Hop”
Balcomb, the postmaster. The post office, the only telephone in the region,
a mercantile store and a gas station were all parts of a trading post owned
by Hop. He had ridden broncs for the Aztec. Both his legs had been ruined
by broncs. He used crutches to get around and drank a lot of beer. His
store was right beside Route 66, between Holbrook, Arizona, and Gallup,
New Mexico. His customers were tourists who came to see the West, ref-ugees
of the Dust Bowl on their way to California, a few ranchers and min-ers,
and a lot of Navajo Indians. He spoke Navajo as well as a tribesman,
and traded his wares for their blankets and jewelry.
We found him in a trade with a tiny Navajo lady who had spread a bright,
AN ESSAY BY J.P.S. BROWN
ILLUSTRATIONs BY CHRIS GALL
Our favorite cowboy storyteller reflects on his
boyhood home in Apache County — the 175-square-mile
High Lonesome ranch. Located at an elevation
of 7,000 feet, the place is high, wide and dry, but the
characters Joe Brown grew up with were full of color.
letters to the editor
FOCUSED ON THE DETAILS
I enjoyed the “Then & Now” feature in
your November 2012 issue, but I do have
one question: On page 24, you feature
Jerome, circa 1915, and today. If the lower
picture is indeed current times, why is
the policeman driving what appears to
be an early 1960s Ford patrol car? I hope
they’ve updated their fleet a little.
Dave Cristofani, Tucson
EDITOR’S NOTE: Our first guess when we saw the old
squad car was a resurrection of Barney Fife, but,
in fact, it belongs to one of Jerome’s many unique
visitors. There’s no guarantee you’ll see that car
should you decide to visit, but you will most cer-tainly
have plenty of other things to look at.
I just finished reading the November
2012 issue of Arizona Highways, and I must
say I’m very surprised. As president of
the Douglas Arts and Humanities As-sociation,
it’s news to me that the Grand
Theatre has been “restored to its former
glory at an estimated cost of $9.5 mil-lion.”
I’m sorry to inform you that the
Grand Theatre is nowhere close to being
Dana Northey, Silver Creek, Arizona
EDITOR’S NOTE: We’ve heard from several of our
friends in Douglas, and we apologize for any
confusion we may have caused. The restoration
of the Grand Theatre is an important project, and
we look forward to its eventual completion. For
more information about the theater, or to make a
donation, call 800-582-1111 or visit www.grandthe
I learned from our mother about your
response to a writer in the November
2012 issue that you will be publishing
some of Larry Toschik’s artwork in a
portfolio in 2013. Arizona Highways was
literally bread and butter for our family
through the ’50s and ’60s, as my dad did
the layout each month. I remember rid-ing
over to the magazine offices with him
sometimes as he delivered his work to
Editor Ray Carlson. When the magazine
decided to publish an article written by
my dad, along with some of his paint-ings,
in March 1967, none of us could have
envisioned the transformation that this
would bring to our lives. The response
to his writing and artwork from around
the world was phenomenal. He rose from
obscurity to international recognition as
one of the great American wildlife artists.
And the magazine went on to publish a
number of complete issues featuring his
work in the ’70s and ’80s. Our family will
forever be grateful to Arizona Highways.
Tom Toschik, York, Pennsylvania
Two years ago, my wife and I honey-mooned
at the Grand Canyon. As cyclists
and hikers, we were quick to explore.
Quite by accident, we stumbled upon
Bright Angel Bicycles, which was just get-ting
off the ground. We took a chance,
rented bikes and explored areas where
vehicles aren’t allowed. The experience
was fantastic, and the shuttle that picked
us up was driven by none other than
Kyle George, who told us his story as a
river runner, his startup business and
his vast knowledge of the Canyon itself.
His love for this beautiful place was very
clear to us. Imagine my surprise when I
opened the current issue, and there he
and his business partner were [Spokes Men,
November 2012], telling the same story
Kyle told while shuttling us from our ride.
It’s a true American success story, and
proof that the little guy can still win and
fulfill his dreams in our country.
Jim & Cindy Seyer, Wentzville, Missouri
U.S. Postal Service
STATEMENT OF OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT, AND CIRCULATION
Title of Publication: Arizona Highways Publisher: Win Holden
Publication No.: ISSN 0004-1521 Editor: Robert Stieve
Date of Filing: September 13, 2012 Managing Editor: Kelly Kramer;
Frequency of issues: Monthly Complete mailing address
Number of issues of known office of publication:
published annually: Twelve 2039 W. Lewis Ave., Phoenix,
Annual subscription price: (Maricopa) AZ 85009-2893
$24.00 U.S. one year
Owner: State of Arizona
206 S. 17th Ave.
Phoenix, AZ 85007
Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders owning or holding
1 percent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities: None
The purpose, function, and nonprofit status of this organization and the exempt
status for federal income tax purposes has not changed during preceding 12 months.
ISSUE DATE FOR CIRCULATION DATA BELOW:
EXTENT AND NATURE OF CIRCULATION
A. Total number copies printed 143,880 142,736
B. Paid circulation
1. Outside-county, mail subscriptions 115,079 114,405
2. In-county subscriptions -- --
3. Sales through dealers, carriers,
street vendors, counter sales and
USPS paid distribution 11,972 11,810
4. Other classes mailed through the USPS 3,374 3,115
C. Total paid circulation 130,425 129,330
D. Free distribution by mail
1. Outside-county 162 163
2. In-county -- --
3. Other classes mailed through the USPS -- --
4. Free distribution outside the mail 1,320 1,433
E. Total free distribution 1,483 1,596
F. Total distribution 131,908 130,926
G. Copies not distributed 11,972 11,810
H. Total 143,880 142,736
I. Percent paid circulation 98.9% 98.8%
I certify that the statements made by me are correct and complete.
Win Holden, Publisher
Nov. ’11-Oct. ’12
to filing date
contact us If you have thoughts or comments
about anything in Arizona Highways, we’d love to hear
from you. We can be reached at editor@arizonahigh
ways.com, or by mail at 2039 W. Lewis Avenue,
Phoenix, AZ 85009. For more information, visit www.
6 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 7 T H E J O U R N A L
ORIGINALLY KNOWN AS MALEY, WILLCOX
was incorporated as a stop along the
Southern Pacific Railroad line in 1880.
After being renamed in honor of General
Orlando B. Willcox, the small town in
Southeastern Arizona evolved into one of
the nation’s leading producers of cattle,
thanks to the abundance of surrounding
Information: Willcox Chamber of Commerce, 800-
200-2272 or www.willcoxchamber.com; Wings Over
ranch land. But beef isn’t the only thing
Willcox has produced. “Arizona Cowboy”
Rex Allen was born in Willcox, and so
was country singer Tanya Tucker, who,
in a previous edition of this magazine,
said she’d like to take Willie Nelson on a
pack trip to look for Cochise’s burial site.
Today, Willcox is best known for its win-ter
population of sandhill cranes, which
will take center stage at the 20th Annual
Wings Over Willcox Birding & Nature
Festival (January 16-20).
— KELLY VAUGHN KRAMER
6.1 square miles
E L E VAT ION
Sunizona Family Farms is located at 5655 E. Gaskill
Road in Willcox. For more information, call 520-
824-3160 or visit www.sunizonafamilyfarms.com.
When Janice Smith and her family moved to
Southern Arizona from British Columbia in
1996, they wanted to grow their agricultural
business. Although they started small — grow-ing
Long-English cucumbers in a greenhouse —
the Smiths expanded their operations to grow
a variety of vegetables. Today, they distribute
about 95 percent of their vegan, certified-organic
produce in Arizona, Smith says.
How is farming in Arizona different
from farming in British Columbia?
There’s a huge misconception in the North
that if you go somewhere with lots of
sunshine, all of your problems will be solved.
But Arizona is actually quite a difficult
climate to grow in. It’s dry, it’s windy and
you have huge temperature swings. So,
while the sunshine is wonderful to have, as
a farmer, it’s challenging.
How is organic, sustainable farming
good for the state?
We’re passionate about this. We’re not pol-luting
the environment with so many chemi-cals.
We’re working with the environment.
We’re not farmers to get rich. We’re farmers
to give people a better quality of life.
What are your most popular products?
I do wish we could grow more fruits. Our
fruits are seasonal. Right now, we’re limited
to melons, cantaloupes and honeydews.
We started growing raspberries, and they
are very much in demand because we don’t
have many of them. — KATHY RITCHIE
8 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 9 T H E J O U R N A L To learn more about photography, visit www.arizonahighways.com/photography.asp.
John Wagner feels most comfortable when communicating through photography, and his is an
interesting mix of digital and film. Although he usually shoots digital for his corporate jobs, he
prefers film for personal projects. And, in most cases, he likes to use a medium-format, twin-lens
Rolleiflex. Wagner made this photograph with the Rolleiflex and Kodak T-Max black-and-white
film, rated at 100 ISO. Often, when he’s in the field, he shoots with the lens wide open or close to
it. By doing so, his images have a very shallow depth of field, which is something he emphasizes
when he’s in the darkroom making prints. He’ll look at a negative and ask, “Where do I want to go
with this?” There are times, he says, when he makes a test print and is surprised by what he sees.
It’s as if the negative itself begins to determine the look of the print. Once he’s happy with the final
image, Wagner uses a mild-bleach solution and, sometimes, sepia toner to complete his vision.
— JEFF KIDA, photo editor
Saguaro, Dreamy Draw Recreation Area
A Real Vote-Getter
Looking back on the recent election, and the large number of female voters,
it’s hard to imagine a time when women weren’t allowed to cast a ballot.
Thanks to Frances Munds, women in Arizona got that right almost a decade
before the passage of the 19th Amendment.
In the early 20th century, women in Arizona were treated like
second-class citizens at the voting booth. Frances Willard
Munds wasn’t comfortable with that, and she made it her
mission to do something about it.
The former schoolteacher’s fight for women’s suffrage
began in Prescott, where she joined the Arizona Women’s
Christian Temperance Union. In addition, she became a
member of the Arizona Equal Suffrage Association in 1903,
later serving as its president. Munds even petitioned the
Territorial legislature numerous times and spoke at the Ari-zona
Though her efforts initially failed, Munds, along with other
advocates, continued to fight, and, finally, their determina-tion
paid off. In 1912, the same year that Arizona became a
state, Munds managed to convince male voters to support an
initiative that would put the issue of women’s suffrage on the
ballot. The initiative passed, and Arizona’s female citizenry
won the right to vote — almost a decade before the passage of
the 19th Amendment.
Two years later, Munds became a senator for Yavapai
County in the second Arizona legislature. She was 48.
Through her achievements, Munds secured her place in
history not only as a game-changer in the women’s suffrage
movement, but also as the first female state senator — only
the second in the United States. Munds died on December
16, 1948, at the age of 82. She was inducted into the Arizona
Women’s Hall of Fame in 1982.
— ANDREA CRANDALL
COURTESY SHARLOT HALL MUSEUM
Look for our book
at bookstores and
Although you can
the light in your
forget to look
for nature’s own
reflectors. In the
Grand Canyon, for
of the canyon
warm light to
sunlit walls and
shafts of light. In
more urban areas,
those with large
white walls — can
reflect light onto
to your surround-ings
can help you
the sun’s rays
onto your subject.
50 Years Ago
■ On January 11, 1908,
the Grand Canyon a
■ Wyatt Earp, who
survived the infamous
gunfight at the O.K.
Corral in Tombstone,
dies in Los Angeles on
January 13, 1929, at
the age of 80.
■ On January 25, 1934,
Tucson police capture
notorious bank robber
John Dillinger, along
with three of his
gang members and
several handguns and
■ Amir Saud, the
crown prince of Saudi
Arabia, tours the Salt
River Valley on Janu-ary
27, 1947, to study
■ On January 31, 1914,
Wilson declares pres-ent-
day Papago Park
a national monument
known as Papago
The January 1963 issue
of Arizona Highways
featured a story about
a long, harrowing
train ride to Maver-ick
— a ride that was
complicated by snow.
The issue also included
photographs of winter
in Arizona, from snow-covered
to a Grand Canyon
blanketed in white.
10 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 11 T H E J O U R N A L
DAWN KISH (2)
November 7, 1988. That was the day when
Natalie “Nat” Jensen fell in love with the Colo-rado
River. Call it a feeling. Call it kismet. Call
it what you will, but that was the day Jensen’s
life changed. Although she’d found her home,
her calling wouldn’t become clear for another
eight years — when Jensen would learn how to
fly-fish. She landed a job with Lees Ferry Anglers
Fly Shop in 1995 and asked one of the owners
how to catch a fish in the river. “She said to me,
‘Honey, you need to pick up a fly rod,’ ” Jensen
says. “I practiced every day for many years, just
casting.” Jensen still works at the fly shop and
shares her love of fly-fishing with visitors who
want to catch something in the Colorado. “A
lot of people have no clue what’s in Northern
Arizona,” she says. “When they love it, it makes
my life that much richer.” — KATHY RITCHIE
Natalie Jensen, Marble Canyon
For more information about Natalie Jensen and Lees
Ferry Anglers Fly Shop, call 928-355-2261 or visit
12 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 13 T H E J O U R N A L
Datura is a common sight along
roadways and in desert gardens.
Sometimes known as Jimson weed,
the plant can grow up to 2 feet high.
Its stalk is fuzzy, and its gray-green
leaves are covered in white “hair.”
Datura blooms as a white, trumpet-shaped
flower. But don’t get too
close — the weed is poisonous. If in-gested,
it can cause severe delirium.
— ANDREA CRANDALL
BRUCE D. TAUBERT BRUCE D. TAUBERT
Ornithologist and artist John James Audubon named the
chocolate-colored Harris’ hawk for his friend, fellow
ornithologist Edward Harris. Audubon and Harris met
in 1824, and the bird enthusiasts embarked on two expeditions
together — one to the Gulf of Mexico in 1837, and one along the
Missouri River in 1842.
Although you won’t find Harris’ hawks along the Missouri,
they’re no strangers to the arid Southwest, nesting in paloverdes,
mesquites and saguaros. You’ll also find them in savannas and
scrub prairies, and their range extends into Central and South
Their brown bodies, rust-painted wings and white-tipped tails
help the hawks blend in with the scrub, and menacing talons
prove dangerous to the birds’ prey, which includes jackrabbits
and other small mammals, as well as reptiles.
Social by nature, the birds commonly hunt in small groups,
with hunters carrying food back to nestlings. Those young
hawks, which hatch in sets of two to four, typically leave the
nest within 38 days; they can fly in as little as 10 days after that.
Though fledglings are free to roam, they typically stay with their
extended families for years. — KELLY VAUGHN KRAMER
weigh up to
from 18 to
24 inches in
The average wingspan of a
Harris’ hawk is 3.5 to 4 feet.
It’s hard to say what will wow you most at “The Hub”
in downtown Tucson — the food, the service, the ambience.
All of the above are superb, and then there’s the ice cream.
SOMETIMES, IT’S GOOD TO BREAK THE RULES
and maybe start your dinner with des-sert.
Walk into The
Hub Restaurant and
Creamery, and you’ll be
tempted to do just that — in large part
because you’ll be greeted by a bewitch-ing
bevy of ice-cream options. They run
the gamut from orange-white chocolate
to bourbon-almond brittle, all of them
named on a chalkboard and all of them
available for sampling. However, if you
choose to follow tradition, avert your
eyes and focus instead on The Hub’s
extensive lunch and dinner menus.
The popular restaurant is located on
Tucson’s increasingly hip Congress Street
and draws a varied crowd — profession-als,
students and late-night diners
who wander in after a show at the
Rialto or one of the other downtown
venues. That might explain the restau-rant’s
name, as well as such diverse
offerings as cheesy tots, described as a
“mountain of tater-tots”; corned beef
hash, adorned with two fried eggs;
roasted corn and avocado salad; big,
beefy burgers; and warm lobster rolls.
Equally eclectic is The Hub’s drink
menu. Whether you sidle up to the
wood-topped, stone-sided bar — it
faces three televisions and a giant,
mirrored wall of alcohol offerings
— or linger in one of the restau-rant’s
ample booths, you might be
impressed by the more than 20 draft
beers, as well as 14 varieties of wine.
Cocktails, though, are where The
Hub’s bartenders shine.
The Under Construction cocktail
— which is aptly named, given the
recent overhaul of Congress Street
— features Maker’s Mark bourbon,
basil, sugar and freshly squeezed
lemon juice. The Presidio, on the
other hand, spotlights Milagro Silver
tequila mixed with fresh lime juice,
grapefruit juice, serrano-spiced agave
syrup and maraschino liqueur. The
former is a sweet sip, while the latter
packs a spicy punch.
Of course, if you followed the rules
and avoided dessert before dinner,
you’ll know how to cool off. Two
scoops for good behavior.
— KELLY VAUGHN KRAMER
The Hub Restaurant and Creamery is located at 266
E. Congress Street in Tucson. For more information,
call 520-207-8201 or visit www.hubdowntown.com.
14 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 T H E J O U R N A L
In 1925, a guesthouse was built for company directors and visitors to
the New Cornelia copper mine in Ajo. Newspapers reported that the
house — designed by renowned Phoenix architectural
firm Lescher & Mahoney — would have “all the modern
conveniences.” It would feature a large dining room, four
spacious bedrooms with private bathrooms, sleeping porches and
a cook’s room. The mine closed years ago, but the house remains.
Today, it’s a bed and breakfast appropriately called the Guest House
Inn. The sleeping porches have been converted into sunny, window-lined
hallways that run along two sides of the house just outside the
guestrooms. They serve as shared sitting rooms, where neat stacks
of magazines teeter on every surface. Another holdover is the dem-onstration
cactus garden behind the house. It’s planted with mature
saguaro and organ pipe cactuses similar to those found at nearby
Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. — KATHY MONTGOMERY
Guest House Inn is located at 700 W. Guest House Road in Ajo. For more information,
call 520-387-6133 or visit www.guesthouseinn.biz.
January 1-3, Williams
All aboard the Polar Express.
On this one-hour journey to
the “North Pole,” guests can
enjoy treats, hot chocolate
and a reading of everyone’s
favorite classic, The Polar
Express. Best of all, Santa will
board the train to hand out
gifts. Information: 800-843-
8724 or www.thetrain.com
20th Annual ZooLights
January 1-8, Phoenix
If you haven’t yet experienced
the magic of ZooLights, now
is the time to be dazzled.
Thanks to the 600 illumi-nated
sculptures on display at
the Phoenix Zoo, this annual
tradition will leave you awe-struck,
and your kids will love
it. Information: 602-273-1341 or
Red Rock Festival
January 1-5, Sedona
Nearly a million holiday lights
will be on display during this
delightful, family friendly
festival, creating a magical
winter wonderland. Informa-tion:
877-444-8044 or www.
January 13-20, Scottsdale
The world’s greatest car auc-tion
is back and better than
ever — especially if you’ve
had your eye on the legendary
1968 Shelby prototype called
“The Green Hornet.” This
classic muscle car is slated
to cross the auction block,
so, bidders, on your mark.
Information: 480-421-6694 or
Rocks & Reflection
January 19-20, Prescott
Photographer Colleen Miniuk-
Sperry leads this photo work-shop,
which explores the rock
formations around Watson
Lake. She’ll share her tricks of
the trade for photographing
this otherworldly landscape.
Guest House Inn
things to do in arizona
To order an official Arizona Highways license
plate, visit www.arizonahighways.com and
click the license-plate icon on our home
page. Proceeds help support our mission of
promoting tourism in Arizona.
Mind If We
The state of Arizona gave us
our own license plate, and we’d
like you to take us for a ride.
w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 17
[ ] EDITOR’S NOTE: The following road trips are enjoyable any time of year, but because Arizona does, in fact, have four seasons, you’ll want to check
the weather and road conditions before heading out. Also, what you see in winter may not be what you see in summer. One more thing: In the inter-est
of maximizing the number of observations along the way, we had our writers and photographers travel separately. Each had unique experi-ences,
which is why the photos and the narratives don’t always overlap. Collectively, they covered a lot of ground. Here are their stories.
Ode To The Roads A scenic drive, whether you do it on Sunday, Monday or any other day of the week, isn’t
about getting from Point A to Point B. It’s about the people, places and things that you
meet and see and experience along the way. That’s what makes Travels With Charley,
Blue Highways and On the Road such classics, and that’s what we were after when we
sent three writers and three photographers out on three of Arizona’s best back roads.
“I came across this shot
as I left Springerville and
headed back toward Show
Low,” says photographer
Karen Shell. “A powerful
monsoon storm had just
moved through, so every-thing
was wet. I pulled
over because I loved the
shape of the road as it lay
across the landscape, and
the asphalt had a beauti-ful
sheen to it.” CAMERA:
NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/60;
APERTURE: F/22; ISO: 400;
16 J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 3 FOCAL LENGTH: 130 MM
18 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 19
BY NIKKI BUCHANAN
PHOTOGRAPHS BY KAREN SHELL
Because a road trip wouldn’t be a road trip without a
hearty breakfast right out of the gate, my buddy and I
pull into Miss Fitz 260 Café, about a half-mile from the
junction that puts us on the long and winding road to
Springerville. We’ve whizzed past Payson’s fast-food joints to
find this: a red-and-white building with wooden silhouettes of
a cowboy and cowgirl at the front door and a sign advertising
pies and cinnamon rolls.
A gray-haired, pony-tailed fellow in a loose-fitting tank top,
scuffed cowboy boots and a billed Confederate-flag cap with
“Rebel” written across the front holds the door open for the
two of us, making a slight bow and an ushering gesture with
his left hand. He heads for a booth, while my friend and I grab
a couple of red swivel stools at the counter. Our pretty, just-past-
middle-aged waitress, June, flashes a smile and asks me
what I’d like to drink, calling me “hon” in our first exchange
and two or three times thereafter. And she isn’t resurrecting
kiss-my-grits Flo from Mel’s Diner. She means it.
When I mention to her that the place looks clean and cozy,
a far cry from the grimy, down-at-the-heels joint I visited
some 10 years ago, she explains that it was bought last year by
Diane Fitzpatrick, her chef-son Jeremy and her friend Kathy
Bickert — who all worked together at the Chaparral Pines
club in Payson (as did she). The partners scrubbed the place,
hung pictures of Jesus and made it a thriving concern. We wolf
down fluffy omelets, all the while talking to June and “Rebel”
Jim, who’s moseyed over to join the conversation. He’s lived in
Payson 15 years and tears up when he talks about his wife, who
passed away two years ago.
ABOVE: “I was looking for something interesting along State Route 260, when I saw
Rocking J RV Park, in Forest Lakes,” Shell says. “I focused on this trailer because it
was surrounded by a beautiful garden and birdhouses. It seemed so charming.”
CAMERA: NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/15; APERTURE: F/22; ISO: 200; FOCAL LENGTH: 26 MM
LEFT: “I was drawn to the fact that there was a giant red horse in the sky in Springer-ville,”
Shell says. “No one was around, and it was dusk. Everything looks great against
a dusky sky, especially a red horse. I don’t know anything about the store, but it was
certainly interesting.” CAMERA: NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/50; APERTURE: F/10; ISO: 800;
FOCAL LENGTH: 200 MM
20 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 21
Back in the car, we ease down into Star Valley
(a highway town that survives on speeding tick-ets),
driving through rolling hills of scrub pine
and juniper, then climbing in altitude until both
sides of the road are thick with tall pines. Pull-ing
off at a visitors center for a scenic overlook of
Rim Country, we count seven layers of mountain
ranges that must stretch back a hundred miles,
finding Mount Ord and Four Peaks in the hazy
distance. I’ve lived in Arizona most of my life,
and this spectacular, far-as-the-eye-can-see kind
of view reminds me why I do.
We get back on the road, watching as shade
and thicket give way to sun and meadow —
fenced green patches where cows and horses
graze. Neatly kept farms dot the highway, many
of them anchored by two-story homes with wrap-around
porches. They look modern, most of them,
not like the homes of hardscrabble pioneers.
We eventually hit Show Low and stop along
the main drag to see what the Trailblazer Trading
Post might be all about. As we peer in the win-dow,
Chuck Spurgeon, a Vietnam vet and lifelong,
“This is a father-son team
of truckers, Wayne Peters
[right] and Kenyon Peters,”
Shell says. “I had pulled
into Springerville after a
really long day of shooting,
and I’d timed it because
dusk is such a great time
to make photographs. I
drove by a gas station, saw
the truck and pulled over.
The men were getting into
the truck, but I begged
them to stop. They were
and patient.” CAMERA:
NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/60;
APERTURE: F/6.3; ISO: 800;
FOCAL LENGTH: 60 MM
ODE TO THE ROADS PAYSON TO SPRINGERVILLE
ALONG THE WAY
1. Tour Zane Grey’s Cabin
in Payson, 928-474-
2. Grab a cheeseburger
at Al & Diane’s Red On-ion
in Heber, 928-535-
3. Visit the Pinedale
School bell off State
Route 260 in Pinedale
4. Look for elk at
Jacques Marsh Wildlife
Area near Pinetop,
5. Hike the Mogollon
Rim Overlook and
Nature Trail off State
Route 260 near
6. Order a slice of
caramel apple pie at
the Greer Café,
7. Check out the
Madonna of the Trail
statue on East Main
Street in Springerville
LEFT: “This is in Springerville at the XA Saloon,” Shell says.
“It has some interesting history. It was built in 1947, and is a
bit of a historic icon. John Wayne used to have a ranch in
Eagar, and, apparently, he frequented the saloon. There’s
a mural inside that gives a visual history of the XA. It was
painted by locals in 1949.” CAMERA: NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 0.6
SECONDS; APERTURE: F/4.5; ISO: 800; FOCAL LENGTH: 60 MM
BELOW, LEFT: “I was trying to find something interesting in
Show Low and came across El Milagrito restaurant,” Shell
says. “It looked like it might have been an old house, and I
thought I could find something interesting inside. I met
Michael Smith, the restaurant’s chef and co-owner. Every-thing
there is homemade, and it seemed like El Milagrito is
an authentic small-town business.” CAMERA: NIKON D3;
SHUTTER: 1/50; APERTURE: F/2.8; ISO: 500; FOCAL LENGTH: 110 MM
BELOW, RIGHT: “Apparently, the Oxbow Saloon in Payson is
‘certified haunted,’ ” Shell says. “It has live music on Friday
and Saturday nights. I was there on a Saturday before I
went to the Payson Rodeo. It was too early for it to be jump-ing,
and the music hadn’t even started as I was leaving.”
CAMERA: NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/25; APERTURE: F/2.8; ISO: 800;
FOCAL LENGTH: 42 MM
resident of Show Low, gives us a friendly wave.
At first blush, the place looks like a man cave,
every glass case and shelf neatly arranged with
knives, sharpening stones and scissors. Spurgeon,
who wears a beard and wire-rimmed glasses,
his long white hair pulled back in a ponytail,
unsheathes a beautiful, hand-carved blade from
its leather holster, explaining that the man who
made this one-of-a-kind knife is a local artisan.
We poke around a bit more carefully and find
jewelry, vintage dinnerware and other treasures
a woman might like. Spurgeon explains that he
doesn’t want pawn, but rather rare and beautiful
things he can sell or trade.
“What about the Jim Morrison poster?” I ask,
“Is that for sale?” Spurgeon shakes his head rue-fully
and says, “Nah, I love my Jim Morrison,”
which launches a discussion of our favorite ’60s-era
bands. We’re two aging hippies, happy to
reminisce about Hendrix and the rest. He tells us
that his granddad was a railroader, and his dad
brought natural gas to the White Mountains. He’s
clearly sorry to see us go.
Entering Lakeside, I’m sidetracked by a lovely
old whitewashed building with porticos at either
end. What was it before, I wonder, as I stick my head
into Interior Complements — an art gallery and
framer on one end of the building — to find out.
Bonnie Peterson, a tiny, sweet-faced woman,
probably in her mid- to late-60s, is busy measur-ing
a frame, but she’s not too busy to talk to me.
She points out the punched-tin ceiling and shows
me the fireplace, made of petrified wood. She
explains that the structure, which dates to 1938,
was formerly the lobby of a lodge, a gathering
spot for card games and socializing. “I love this
old building,” she says. “It makes me feel good.”
Now we’re on to Harvest Moon in Lakeside, a
22 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 23
hewn-log cabin, built in the 1920s, its bright-red,
corrugated-steel roof dotted with cow skulls.
Outside the entrance lie arrangements of sun-bleached
bones, antlers and rusty tools. Inside,
the place smells heavenly, and when I comment
on it, owner Kurt Augustine, another ponytailed
guy in an expensive red shirt, leads me to a dis-play
of native herbs, including bundled sage and
Apache tea. “An Apache woman brings these to
me,” he says, pointing out the jewelry, guns and
rows of Navajo rugs he often takes as pawn. This
store is cool, and Augustine knows it, closing
his eyes and basking in the attention as he talks
at length about Arizona history like the school-teacher
he used to be.
We’re planning to head straight to Springer-ville,
but in McNary, a town inhabited mostly by
Apaches, we spot a yellow sign with an arrow
that reads “Perry’s Frybread.” Turning down a
residential street, we find a weathered shack
with three picnic tables in the front yard of a very
humble house. “Who is Perry?” we ask the frail,
black-haired woman behind the counter. “It’s
our family name,” she says, explaining that she
opened the shop to have something to do after
her parents died. Waiting for the fry bread, we
“The light was still working against me, so I tried to make shots from the rodeo interest-ing
by looking for different angles,” Shell says. “I knew I wanted to bring a little extra
to this photograph by shooting through something. The cowboys sitting on the fence
added something interesting, so I positioned myself and waited for the cowboy, Tony
Buckman, to move between the boots.” CAMERA: NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/25; APERTURE:
F/2.8; ISO: 800; FOCAL LENGTH: 52 MM
“I explored the Payson rodeo grounds high and
low, trying to come up with something interesting,”
Shell says. “It was nighttime, and the light was
poor. I climbed onto some scaffolding near where
the announcer was. I was drawn to the graphic
nature of the horse’s mane, the fence and the
rider’s hat.” CAMERA: NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/50;
APERTURE: F/2.8; ISO: 800; FOCAL LENGTH: 70 MM
ODE TO THE ROADS PAYSON TO SPRINGERVILLE
24 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 25
hear Serena Perry and her girls in the back of the
shack, talking and laughing together.
With fry bread in hand, we race toward
Springerville before darkness falls and spot
two elk grazing in a shaft of sunlight along the
road. Hawks hunt overhead, and the setting sun
softens the surrounding hills to velvety-looking
mounds. With its historic houses set back from
the road, Eagar looks romantic in fading light.
We snap a picture of a lovely old barn before
heading down the main street that ties Eagar to
Springerville. By now, we’re starving, and The
Roost, a wood-floored cottage-restaurant with a
fenced yard and tall trees, looks cozy and inviting
— a good place to end a long but interesting day.
ABOVE: “I found this scene just as I was leaving Payson,” Shell says. “It was sunrise,
and I pulled over to the side of the road because I was drawn to the light coming
through the trees. Then, as I stopped and explored a little more, I loved how it was
backlighting the flowers.” CAMERA: NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/13; APERTURE: F/18; ISO: 200;
FOCAL LENGTH: 20 MM
OPPOSITE PAGE: “This little girl, Moriah, was in Christopher Creek with a few other
children,” Shell says. “At first, she refused to be photographed, but when the other
children agreed, she did, too. I told her to splash in the water, and she went nuts.”
CAMERA: NIKON D3; SHUTTER: 1/250; APERTURE: F/2.8; ISO: 200; FOCAL LENGTH: 185 MM
ODE TO THE ROADS PAYSON TO SPRINGERVILLE
BY KATHY MONTGOMERY
PHOTOGRAPHS BY MARK LIPCZYNSKI
Portal Store, Café and Lodge is the only storefront in
Portal. It’s the picture of a country store, with wooden
screen doors, an ice machine and a phone booth. Owner
Mitch Webster worked here when he was a kid. Now,
he runs the place with his wife, Loni. The building, he says, was
purchased from a Sears Roebuck catalog and assembled in 1927,
’28 or ’29. “There’s confusion about that.”
The store carries everything from hummingbird earrings and
nature guides to wine and canned goods. A display of cobblers
sits near the register, next to spiral-bound phone books.
“No one liked the regular phone book,” Mitch explains. “This
town’s pretty ambitious. So they created their own. Kind of like
they created their own fire department. They don’t get any tax
money. They just donated money and built it.”
Mitch tells my husband and me the town founders named
Portal while sitting on the bench in front of his store.
“Portal was just an entry into Paradise,” he says. “Paradise was
the big mining town,” which is just up the road about 5 miles.
These days, Portal Lodge attracts naturalists of all stripes
who come for the area’s diversity, plus a surprising number of
“Sometimes, we have two or three film crews,” Mitch says.
“We have to keep them separated, because what they’re working
on is proprietary.”
That’s where Barney Tomberlin comes in.
“Barney takes some one way. I take some the other way,”
You can find Barney in the back-room café for breakfast three
or four days a week. “Just tell him my usual,” he tells the wait-ress,
who charges it to his tab.
Barney wears a T-shirt spattered with pictures of insects. He
bats at a fly as he explains how he parlayed a survey job with
the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish into a business
collecting bugs and snakes for universities and natural-history
“I woke up at the Copper
Queen Hotel and walked
across the street for some
coffee and to grab some
shots of downtown Bisbee
in the morning light,”
says photographer Mark
Lipczynski. “I spotted a
Jeep with the back hatch
open and two dogs sitting
in the back. I didn’t pay it
much mind until one of the
dogs — the black one in
the background — jumped
out and bolted up a hill
into the woods. I went into
the coffeeshop and asked
if the owner of a Jeep and
two dogs was in the house.
A man acknowledged me,
and I told him what had
happened. The dog had
come back by the time we
went back outside, so the
man opened the back of
the vehicle all the way and
let the dog back in.”
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D
MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/100;
APERTURE: F/4; ISO: 200;
FOCAL LENGTH: 85 MM
26 J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 3 27
28 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 29
museums. He keeps 40 species on hand. He also
does a lot of rattlesnake relocations.
There are hunters who see a snake and want
to kill it, because they’ve done that all their lives,
Barney says. “We don’t do that here. Most of us
just want to put it off the road.”
Barney excuses himself to grab a fly swatter.
“Sorry,” he says. “I can’t stand flies around. If I get
this, he’ll either leave or he’ll be dead.”
On our way out of Portal, my husband and I
take a short detour onto Foothills Road to glimpse
white domes in astronomy village, where people
have built observatories adjacent to their homes,
then head for Paradise, only to find there isn’t
much there. It’s now home to just four full-time
residents, according to Jackie Lewis at the George
Walker House (bed and make-your-own break-fast),
who welcomes birders to her feeders.
Our time for Paradise is short, so we push over
Onion Saddle into Pinery Canyon, where black-ened
sticks from the Horseshoe 2 fire contrast
strikingly with a blaze of wildflowers. Past Chir-icahua
National Monument, the landscape
changes from forest to prairie, giving way to
fields of corn and modest homes with Ameri-can
flags and pickup trucks. By late after-noon,
we pass through downtown Douglas,
looking like a 20th century movie set, then
head to Bisbee for the night.
Once famous for its eccentrics, Bisbee feels
more upscale than funky, with luxury suites,
high-end boutiques and contemporary res-taurants.
The most colorful character on Main Street
is the “Killer Bee Guy,” Reed Booth, who sells
honey from hives people paid him to remove.
Wearing a camo hat and T-shirt, he keeps up
a steady patter outside his tiny shop, a former
“Get a free taste of honey, honey! Have fun
Nearby Lowell feels more like the Bisbee
of old. Sitting at a curvy Formica counter at
The Breakfast Club, we contemplate pies with
mountains of whipped cream and a busboy
with piercings and bright-red lips tattooed on
Lowell has a retro feel with its old, brick
buildings and 1940s- and ’50s-era cars lining
the street. This suburb of Bisbee was once a
sizeable mining town. All that’s left is a block
of Erie Street. The theater marquee advertises
Mile High Enterprises. The display cases
BELOW: “This classic sits outside the Portal Peak Café like a
marquee, and it has the café’s logo painted on the driver’s-side
door,” Lipczynski says. “The little town of Portal itself
looks as though it hasn’t changed much since that car rolled
off the assembly line. I like places that look as though time
stands still there. This is where I started my road trip. It
seemed appropriate to kick it off with a shot of a car.”
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/320; APERTURE:
F/4; ISO: 100; FOCAL LENGTH: 45 MM
RIGHT: “After I left Portal, I
drove over the Chiricahua
Mountains on a precarious,
unmaintained road that,
at some points, turned so
sharply and came so close
to the edge of a sheer
drop-off that I had to slow
to a crawl,” Lipczynski
says. “It was a beautiful
but treacherous drive that
curled around and up and
down for 20 miles at an
average speed of about
20 miles per hour. That
makes for a long ride, but
luckily the views were
fantastic. I stopped
frequently to get out and
look around.” CAMERA:
CANON EOS 5D MARK II;
SHUTTER: 1/640; APERTURE:
F/4; ISO: 200; FOCAL LENGTH:
ALONG THE WAY
1. Tour the Faraway
Ranch House at Chirica-hua
2. Grab a cup of joe at
Hotel Gadsden in Doug-las,
3. Find a treasure at
Finders Keepers Antiques
in Bisbee, 520-432-2900,
4. Commune with Mother
Nature in the Ramsey
Canyon Preserve, 520-
5. Eat something
fresh and healthy at
Canela Bistro in Sonoita,
6. Eat something not so
healthy (fried chicken) at
Sonoita Mercantile, 520-
7. Explore the Patagonia
Walking Trail, 888-794-
ODE TO THE ROADS PORTAL TO PATAGONIA
30 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 31
in the old five-and-dime stare vacantly, and the
pool hall, “Pool, Snooker, Libations, est. 1940,” is
But a man lifts weights inside the Lowell Gym,
“a private club” with its vari-speed belt massager
displayed in the window. A karate studio posts a
current class schedule. Across the street, a dog tied
to a rusting 1950s Studebaker truck stands in the
center of a blue plastic wading pool, lapping water.
Signs for Gulf and Harley-Davidson hang from
the storefront behind. Jim Danylko leans against
the doorframe wearing a sleeveless T-shirt. He
tells us the dog’s name is Wateo, and that she’s
wolf and coyote. Jim’s former girlfriend, a Navajo,
owned the wolf mother.
“She went into heat and the coyote got her,”
he said. “I think it had a little dog in it, because I
don’t think wolf and coyote will breed. Not sure
how that works.”
Jim came to Lowell in 1994 from Tucson. His
shop, Arizona Thunder, does motorcycle repairs.
“When I moved here it was totally dead,” he
says. “There was a VFW bar on the other side of
the street. I can’t think of anything else.”
It helped when The Breakfast Club opened in
2005. “The buildings started getting bought up
and people started doing stuff with them.”
Jim and two other residents bought and hung
old signs advertising Indian Motorcycles and
Greyhound. He found old gas pumps inside the
building and put them out front.
“That Texaco sign was already up,” he says, ges-turing
across the street. “We took from pictures
and tried to find the right ones. We just kinda put
the stuff back out.”
Back on the road, we head out State Route 80,
passing a roadside shrine and a defunct motel fly-ing
a pirate flag. A string of fat cottonwoods lining
the San Pedro River marks our approach to Sierra
Vista. We pass the Buena Performing Arts Center,
advertising country music night, and the world’s
first McDonald’s drive-through, originally built
in 1975 to serve soldiers from Fort Huachuca who
couldn’t enter stores wearing fatigues. Then we
head south on State Route 92 to spend the night in
The next morning, we head to Coronado
National Memorial, which is thick with grasses
and blanketed with wildflowers. Pausing at
Montezuma Pass, with its sweeping views of the
“Devil’s Highway,” we brave the bumpy gravel
road descending into the San Rafael Valley.
This is the landscape that author Jim Harrison
once called “preposterously beautiful,” with oaks
and yuccas dotting a sea of tall grasses blowing in
waves, and thunderheads, like drifts of whipped
cream, piling up overhead.
About 14 miles from Montezuma Pass, we stop
at Parker Canyon Lake, taking advantage of the
rest facilities and lime-green marina store before
continuing on paved State Route 83 for the remain-ing
28 miles into Sonoita.
Taking a slight detour through Elgin, we tour
some of the area’s wineries, arriving at Sonoita
LEFT: “During my trek
through the Chiricahua
Mountains, I stopped
many times to soak up the
untamed natural beauty
and to stretch my legs,”
Lipczynski says. “At one
point, a deer darted out in
front of my vehicle some
distance ahead. I thought
it would make a nice
addition to the series of
photographs I was making
on my road trip.”
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D
MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/1250;
APERTURE: F/4; ISO: 200;
FOCAL LENGTH: 280 MM
OPPOSITE PAGE: “A weath-er
balloon caught my eye
soon after I rolled into
Sierra Vista,” Lipczynski
says. “I drove back roads
trying to get a closer look
at the balloon and came
to a point at the end of a
road where I couldn’t go
any farther. A barbed-wire
fence paralleled the road.
I kept the car running as I
got out to get some shots
of the balloon, keeping in
mind that other vehicles
might arrive and want to
get through. By getting
low to the ground with my
camera, I was able to use
some of the groundcover
in the foreground to help
isolate the balloon. I used
the barbed-wire fence to
break up the frame and
add some tension to the
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D
MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/1600;
APERTURE: F/4.5; ISO: 200;
FOCAL LENGTH: 45 MM
ODE TO THE ROADS PORTAL TO PATAGONIA
32 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 33
Vineyards in time for “Lunch at the Winery.”
Sonoita, the state’s oldest winery, feels the most
exciting, with its kitschy wine-themed gift shop.
But the most ambitious tasting room belongs to
Kief-Joshua Vineyards, a huge Tuscan affair with
travertine floors, granite counters and a glass
chandelier. At odds with this setting, winemaker
Kief Joshua Manning looks like a college kid, with
sideburns and a backward ball cap. He carries a
baby wallaby, wrapped in a Cabbage Patch blan-ket,
that sleeps in a crib with a pouch.
Driving into Sonoita, SR 83 is clogged with
cars and people headed for the Labor Day Rodeo.
Women push strollers. Men in plaid shirts tote
toddlers with too-big cowboy hats, while teenage
girls in too-short shorts sport Tony Lama boots.
Just 12 miles past, Patagonia feels like another
planet. Skeletons sit behind the wheel of a VW bus
outside the Dia de los Muertos Museum, the word
“truth” is stenciled on the door of the Velvet Elvis
Pizza Co., a pig adorns the wall of the Politically
Incorrect Gas Station, and what appears to be a
private home displays a sign saying “Camel Parts.”
Inside the Wagon Wheel Saloon, the namesake
wheel dangles a prop plane fashioned from beer
cans. We sit at the bar, across from a taxidermied
coyote howling in an illuminated shadow box.
Tonight is “Karaoke with Rikki Tikki” and the
bar is full.
A muscle-bound man sipping from a saguaro-themed
margarita glass and a man in a ball cap
drinking Bud Light compete for the attention of a
blonde with a shoulder tattoo. There’s a woman
wearing tie-dye, a timid-looking lady in a scarf
and a man in a cowboy hat. A guy wearing a thick
gold chain glares at us. The woman next to him
empties a packet of sugar into her mouth and
washes it down with beer.
“I’m a solo jukebox waiting for someone to push
the buttons,” Rikki Tikki says with a little eye roll.
A woman sitting alone sings Lost in Love from
her seat. The timid-looking woman belts out Bob
Dylan. Gold-chain guy takes the microphone, then
loses his nerve.
When Rikki sings Amarillo by Morning, cowboy-hat
guy gets up to two-step with a platinum
blonde. Then a man with silver hair and glasses
that recall the 1950s sings El Rey in Spanish. Peo-ple
whoop and laugh, and everyone in the joint
The next morning, we mean to have breakfast
at the Ranch House in Sonoita, hoping to meet
the waitress who tells dirty jokes to retirees from
Green Valley. But the only place serving breakfast
is the gas station. The Fuel Stop is out of gas, but
we eat pancakes loaded with pine nuts at a table
decorated with an inflatable palm. Then, having
filled up, we head home.
ABOVE: “I stopped in Douglas to scope out the border situation,” Lipczynski
says. “I unintentionally hung out across the street from a ballet studio, waiting for
something to happen as an instructor led a group of little ballerinas into class. I
forged on, thinking I might swing back to get some shots of actual dancing. Later,
I approached the dance studio and caught a glimpse of a young lady peeling back
the curtain to look at me. In the fraction of a second that it took me to put my
camera up, she disappeared. Apparently, she told a friend I was outside, because
another little girl did the same thing, and I got the shot I wanted.” CAMERA:
CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/320; APERTURE: F/4.5; ISO: 200; FOCAL LENGTH: 85 MM
LEFT: “This was the first thing that piqued my interest when I rolled into Sierra
Vista,” Lipczynski says. “The sign marked a trailer park on the edge of town. I
made a mental note to return to photograph it after I wandered around town. To
my benefit, it was a spectacularly cloudy day, adding more meaning to the mes-sage
on the sign. The irony of the photograph is that the physical condition of the
sign and the message that it conveys are in conflict with each other. That tension
makes it interesting to me.” CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/250;
APERTURE: F/8; ISO: 200; FOCAL LENGTH: 45 MM
ODE TO THE ROADS PORTAL TO PATAGONIA
34 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 35
BY TERRY GREENE STERLING
PHOTOGRAPHS BY JACQUES BARBEY
On road trips, my husband, Walt, attaches himself
to his iPhone map in order to reach his destination
quickly and efficiently. I’m his counterbalance, com-pelled
to stop at historical markers, pie joints, swim-ming
holes, good hikes, detours, and anyplace that invites a
snapshot, which is practically every place.
By necessity, we’re good compromisers. On this morning, as
we swallow waffles in Prescott, I pitch a compromise. We’re
about to drive up one of Arizona’s iconic roads: State Route 89A.
It’s the road less taken from Prescott to Flagstaff, largely because
it snakes over oxygen-depriving Mingus Mountain, slows to a
crawl as it meanders through Jerome and Sedona, then zigzags
up between the cinnamon- and buff-tinted sandstone walls of
Oak Creek Canyon to the vanilla-scented edge of the Colorado
Plateau. A succession of Native Americans, mountain men, sol-diers,
traders, miners, prostitutes, ranchers, farmers and mid-century
tourists and artists have traveled this road and taken in
the changing scenery. But who takes SR 89A now, I wonder. And what
do they see?
So I ask Walt: “Wouldn’t it be interesting to stop at every
scenic-view pullout on the right side of 89A and talk to people?”
If we only stop on one side of the road, I reason, we’ll
satisfy our disparate road-trip needs. Walt goes for it. He
drives. I rubberneck.
“STOP HERE!” I shout after we’ve been in the car for a few
minutes. There’s a scenic-view pullout in front of Watson
Lake, a large reservoir with gentle cerulean waters that lap at
ancient wheat-colored granite rocks hunched by time. Early pio-
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ABOVE: “I tried to photograph the gentleman in the center a week earlier and
it didn’t work out,” says Jacques Barbey. “He wasn’t crazy about having his
photograph made, but when I saw him again — this time with the guy
on a motorcycle, I said, ‘OK, I’ll shoot it.’ This was a gimme, a lucky moment.”
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/500; APERTURE: F/5; ISO: 100;
FOCAL LENGTH: 190 MM
RIGHT: “I caught this shot at the turnoff above Jerome, coming off of Mingus
Mountain,” Barbey says. “I sat and listened, and if I heard a biker, I’d get
ready. I sat for about 30 or 40 minutes before I made this photograph.”
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/400; APERTURE: F/6.3; ISO: 100;
FOCAL LENGTH: 34 MM
36 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 37
lis that turned into a ghost town before it became an artist col-ony.
Jerome locals have their own secret scenic-view pullout: the
“Town Bleachers.” The tiered concrete steps were built in 1933
by the WPA as part of what looks like a retaining wall to keep
the hill from caving onto SR 89A. Mark Hemleben, a 51-year-old
artist who’s taking in the scenery, paints a lot here. He likes
the way the town’s ancient buildings on Main Street intersect
with Jerome Avenue and frame the view of the sandy valley and
plum-hued Sedona rocks in the far distance. Sitting nearby, city
worker Wally Coates says he spends his lunch breaks here, just
to take in the sights. The most interesting view he’s ever seen: a
naked octogenarian driving down Main Street on a motorcycle.
“That’s an urban legend,” says Hemleben.
“But I saw her,” says Coates.
From Jerome, SR 89A careens us down a mountainside and
glides through Verde Valley towns and over the life-giving, cot-tonwood-
lined Verde River before we spot another scenic-view
pullout near Dry Creek Road. No one’s here, except for the soul
of a dead man. He’s nameless, but his daughter Melissa erected
a wooden cross so that it faced a stunning panorama of red rock
spires fringed by distant cornflower-blue mountains. The note
Melissa wrote about her father is deteriorating now, but pieces of
it remain in a plastic sandwich bag secured by a rock at the base
of the cross. Melissa wrote that her father was her best friend, he
loved to hike and ski and be outside, and he faced his final hours
bravely. She wrote: “He’s seen some stunning views, views most
people only see on a calendar.”
Reluctantly, SR 89A slows down long enough to pass through
gift-shop-lined urban Sedona and then picks up speed as it
reaches its most iconic stretch — through Oak Creek Can-yon.
The road mesmerizes highway travelers with views of the
creek’s deep emerald pools, and with vistas of piñons and pines
impossibly tethered to the craggy beige canyon walls. Side roads
lead to campgrounds, inns and hiking paths. But I’ve promised
to stop only at designated scenic-view pullouts on the right side
of the road, and I can’t find any. Finally, we stop at an undesig-nated
pullout where Kenneth Vernes takes a photo. He’s from
the Netherlands, where he works for the Department of Agri-neers
swam, picnicked and partied here, but today only Bon-nie
Pranter is taking in the sights. She’s a slender, friendly
65-year-old birder clad in sun-protective clothing. She peers
through binoculars in hopes of finding migratory Philaropes. No
luck finding the shorebirds today, so she glasses a raptor soar-ing
above us. This tranquil road stop is a birder’s paradise, but
Pranter slips back into her car and drives off when Steve Veach
roars up on his Hog. The 61-year-old veteran has a gray ponytail,
goggles atop his head and earphones in his pocket. (He listens
to Celtic music via Pandora when he’s on the road.) He unhinges
a crate strapped securely to the back of the motorcycle and gen-tly
pulls out a blue-eyed dachshund named Frankie. He leashes
the dog, kisses her, then sets her on the ground and lets her “get
her old smells back” near a cluster of sunflowers. The two have
logged 14,000 “touring miles” on the bike, but often return to
Prescott and this scenic view. Why? “Just to take a look and con-sider
life a little bit.”
From Watson Lake, SR 89A gallops through golden grass-lands
until it zips up Mingus Mountain. As the road winds
down toward Jerome, there’s an awesome scenic-view pullout
that serves as a “break room” for Kevin Carnes, a self-described
57-year-old local artist. He wears paint-spattered work boots.
He’s holding a cup of Starbuck’s coffee. He peers through binoc-ulars
trained on a young red-tailed hawk. Driven from its nest,
the hawk perches near an old sluice that once carried drink-ing
water from a spring on the mountainside to Jerome, back
when it was a successful mining town. Carnes will talk — about
how Jerome folks stopped at the drinking-water spring to bathe,
about how SR 89A linked once-bustling Jerome to Prescott, about
numerous fatal rollover accidents on the curving road, about
how he likes to skateboard down SR 89A by himself. He’d talk
more, except Roger and Lizzy Harrison from York, England,
pile out of their rental car, squinting. They’re both in their 60s,
retired, and touring the American West. Roger is sunburned.
Lizzy surveys the view and deems it a beautiful moonscape, or
perhaps southern Spain multiplied by a hundred.
State Route 89A slows to an agonizing crawl and becomes
“Main Street” as it winds through Jerome, a mining metropo-
ALONG THE WAY
1. Order a lemon bar at
Pangaea Bakery in Prescott,
2. Look through the
kaleidoscopes at Nellie Bly
in Jerome, 928-634-0255,
3. Study history at Tuzigoot
4. Buy a Grateful Dead
album at Ye Ole Hippie
Emporium in Old Town Cot-tonwood,
5. Eat a green-chile-and-cheese
omelet at the Coffee
Pot Restaurant in Sedona,
6. Have a picnic at Grass-hopper
Point in Oak Creek
7. Learn something
interesting at Museum of
Northern Arizona, 928-774-
ABOVE: “Robert [Stieve] told me about the
farmer’s market in Flagstaff,” Barbey says. “I
went, and there was a young man named Cody
Bayles buying flowers with his wife. I loved the
sunflowers and Cody’s sunglasses. They created
something really optical and eclectic.”o CAM-ERA:
CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/125; APERTURE:
F/4; ISO: 160; FOCAL LENGTH: 115 MM
RIGHT: “This is another shot that came just from
sitting,” Barbey says. “I was at the Denny’s in Cot-tonwood,
and I looked over to see the man on the
right sitting with his family, and the other man
watching television. But their hands were the
same. I thought it was a nice composition.”
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/60;
APERTURE: F/5.6; ISO: 100; FOCAL LENGTH: 45 MM
ODE TO THE ROADS PRESCOTT TO FLAGSTAFF
38 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 39
culture and Economics, and he says SR 89A is famous in the
Netherlands. He says: “This is the Wild West.”
Shortly before SR 89A winds up into Flagstaff, there’s a sce-nic-
view pullout that’s hard to beat. Its parking lot accom-modates
tour buses, and Native Americans sell turquoise
and silver jewelry here. The coveted booths are meted out
by a strict lottery system, and most vendors come here just
a few times a year. It’s the luck of the draw, and today there
hasn’t been much traffic, and few sales. Still, Jerry Anderson,
a Navajo vendor who is 53 and once worked for the Environ-mental
Protection Agency, says he likes taking in the view of
the tourists taking in the view. They walk along the horse-shoe-
shaped overlook and peer down on Oak Creek Canyon
and SR 89A itself, which from here looks like a toy train track.
Marcus (he would not give his last name) and Randolph Wal-ter,
both young professional Germans in their early 30s, stand
slack-jawed. Several times, Marcus says the landscape sig-
TOP, LEFT: “This young woman was talking to her date at Mountain Oasis in
Flagstaff,” Barbey says. “Her curls mirror the curls of the leaves, so I thought this
was kind of scenic. I also made the photograph horizontally because I liked the
way her forearms mirrored the forks. That’s what really drew me in. She was
very Renaissance — like a Botticelli.” CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER:
1/80; APERTURE: F/2.8; ISO: 160; FOCAL LENGTH: 80 MM
ABOVE, LEFT: “This is back at the Denny’s in Cottonwood,” Barbey says. “This
little girl came in to visit her mom, who’s a cook at the restaurant. She was wait-ing
on breakfast. The rose in her hair and her sandals were just … cool.”
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/30; APERTURE: F/2.8; ISO: 2000; FOCAL
LENGTH: 35 MM
ABOVE, RIGHT: “These bottles were in the same place I found the Botticelli,” Bar-bey
says. “I was drawn to the colors and the caps, and then it was just a gimme
of finding someone walking by with a cap on his head. It’s just an eccentric thing.
I’m too detail-oriented for my own good.” CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUT-TER:
1/125; APERTURE: F/2.8; ISO: 100; FOCAL LENGTH: 145 MM
“This is just traffic,”
Barbey says. “I was
trying to make a strong
vertical shot, so I used
a time-delay exposure
of brake lights going
by.” CAMERA: CANON
EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER:
30 SEC; APERTURE: F/11;
ISO: 200; FOCAL LENGTH:
ODE TO THE ROADS PRESCOTT TO FLAGSTAFF
40 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 41
nifies “freedom.” Walter replies: “Distance is much bigger
here.” Marcus says a German coworker was so taken with
Oak Creek Canyon that he named his daughter Sedona.
The highway will travel a few more miles before it ends
near Flagstaff, but this marks the end of our scenic-view
pullout stops. En route to our car, I pass a park bench with
a view, dedicated to the late landscape architect Fred
Guirey, who, in the 1930s, created rest areas along Arizo-na’s
highways. The bench plaque dubs him “Father of Our
TOP: “This is a detail shot from Flagstaff,” Barbey says. “I loved the Lady
of Guadalupe with the pink. I’m a Catholic — we believe in signs. The
pink wheel made this for me. I was all about the pink wheel.”o
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/200; APERTURE: F/5; ISO: 100;
FOCAL LENGTH: 70 MM
ABOVE: “This is Dan Tierney, and on the day I made this photograph,
he’d turned 57,” Barbey says. “Dan was doing a ‘century ride,’ in which
you ride 100 miles, and I saw him right outside Prescott. He was waiting
for his wife to pick him up.”o CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER:
1/400; APERTURE: F/5; ISO: 100; FOCAL LENGTH: 155 MM
“I was chasing balloons all day near Sedona, looking for a good storytell-ing
shot that had that Arizona je ne sais quois,” Barbey
says. “There’s something about a balloon soaring over a highway.”o
CAMERA: CANON EOS 5D MARK II; SHUTTER: 1/640; APERTURE: F/7.1;
ISO: 200; FOCAL LENGTH: 200 MM
For more weekend getaways across
Arizona, scan this QR code or visit
ODE TO THE ROADS PRESCOTT TO FLAGSTAFF
w w w. 42 J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 3 a r i z o n a h i g h w a y s . c o m 43
There are many stereotypes about Arizona,
including the one about it having only one season:
summer. The truth is, there’s winter, too. There’s
even dog-sledding, and the state’s premier race
takes place this month in the White Mountains,
where Siberian huskies, Alaskan huskies,
malamutes and mushers will compete in Arizona’s
version of the Iditarod.
BY BARBARA YOST // PHOTOGRAPHS BY SUZANNE STARR
A MIST HAD SETTLED over Rogers Lake the morn-ing
Frank Engelhardt ran his team of Siberian huskies
along a trail of thick, packed snow just west of Flagstaff.
Temperatures hovered around 20 below.
Fog muffled all sound except the huh-huh-huh breathing
of his dogs as they sprinted across the dry lakebed. Engel-hardt
stood on the runners of his sled and peered into
the blanket of mist, the outline of his team barely visible.
When he’d finished the run, his dogs were covered in frost
from their snow-white muzzles to the tips of their bushy
tails. Man and beast were spent. The peace and quiet of
the moment and the communion with his dogs had left the
man sighing with deep emotions.
“It was my best day of sledding,” Engelhardt recalls.
Sled-dog racing in Arizona is a surprisingly popular
hobby among mushers who endure the cost, the hard work
and an often-inhospitable climate. A Siberian husky, one of
the most common sled dogs, begins to wilt at temperatures
over 60. Wearing a double coat of fur, he thrives when the
mercury plunges below zero.
That makes Southern Arizona the place to train and North-ern
Arizona the place to race.
Come summer, dogs in both hemispheres become “couch
potatoes,” says one musher. But as soon as temperatures dip,
Siberian and Alaskan huskies, malamutes and Samoyeds sniff
the frosty air and rev their engines. These dogs were born
“Arizona is the southernmost state with a significant
sled-dog population,” says champion musher Bruce Lee.
Lee, who lives in Alaska and New Mexico, has run Alas-ka’s
Iditarod, the premier dog race, seven times. He’s been
a guest musher at Winterfest, the festival of sled-dog races
held for the past 10 years at Sunrise Park ski resort on the
Alina Ramsey Wright races her team of sled
dogs during Winterfest at Sunrise Park Resort
in Eastern Arizona’s White Mountains.
44 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 45
their harnesses, pawing the air, tongues lolling, eager to break
into a fury of galloping dogflesh.
In the 1980s, Arizona Mountain Mushers was formed. Edwards
is now president of AMM, which has about 30 members from
around the state.
Debra Carson is one of several regular mushers from Southern
Arizona. She lives with eight Siberian huskies on 5 acres south
of Green Valley — “on a cattle trail in the middle of nowhere.”
Carson’s interest in Siberians began in childhood. While
other girls played with dolls, she dreamed of huskies. Her dogs
are athletes, pets, friends and family. She calls herself the “octo-mom”
of Siberians and usually races five at a time. In 2013, Car-son
plans to race a seven-dog team in Idaho and Colorado.
During much of the year, Phoenix and Tucson mushers train
with “dryland” techniques. Dogs pull a cart, scooter or ATV on
grass. A popular sport in California, dryland mushing is ideal
for Southern Arizona.
When it’s time to race for real, Carson packs up her dogs and
heads north, where she and her team feel the exhilaration of
sprinting across fresh snow. Her magic moment is rounding the
last bend on the trail, sighting the finish line: “I think, It can’t get
Alina Ramsey Wright is a fellow Tucson musher. When Wright’s
mother died, Wright acquired her kennel of Samoyeds, elegant but
strong bundles of snow-white fur. These are no puffballs, though.
Samoyeds are among the oldest dog breeds, bred in Siberia to herd
reindeer and pull sleds.
Wright has been racing in the desert for two years. “People
say to me, ‘You’re in the wrong state.’ ”
Like Carson, she trains her dogs on wheels and grass before
switching to runners and snow. Wright has a house in Pinetop
where she gives her Sammies a chance to run in cooler climes.
Once, competition in Arizona almost died out when races
in Alpine and Greer were discontinued. Then Anne Groebner
created Winterfest. While studying at Vermilion Community
College in Ely, Minnesota, Groebner had made sled dogs her
In 1996, Groebner moved to Arizona and eventually got a job
as the marketing director for Hon-Dah Resort-Casino, which is
operated by the White Mountain Apache Tribe. She began look-ing
for a spot to host a winter festival. Ten years ago, Winterfest
began with two days of races and now it has a top prize of $1,000.
“It’s cool for tourism,” Groebner says.
To the spectator, sled-dog racing looks like a joyride. But it’s
not for the fainthearted. Humans are not just along for the ride
and must be as fit as their dogs. Climbing hills, the musher hops
off the sled and helps push.
“I ain’t no Santa Claus,” Carson says with a laugh, wearing
sturdy boots and thick overalls for her five-dog Winterfest race.
Even living with Siberians is a challenge. Though the dogs
aren’t large, averaging 35 to 60 pounds, they have keen minds
always seeking activity. That can mean mischief — digging,
chewing — and shedding mounds of fur, called “blowing.”
“They’re high-energy dogs,” says Mary Uhlir, a Tucson musher
who has 13 Siberians.
Even old age doesn’t quell their energy. Allan’s malamutes
have raced at 8 years old. Siberians can run — and win races
— when they’re 10, even 14 years old. Think of a human athlete
competing at 98.
While sled-dog racing in Arizona still sparks passion, the
economy has taken its toll. Asked to estimate the cost of keep-ing
sled dogs, Engelhardt cites the price of feed, a truck outfit-ted
with kennels, gasoline, sleds ($500 to $1,200 each), harnesses
and lines that connect the dogs, veterinary bills and vaccines.
It’s expensive enough to keep one dog or a small team. The
Engelhardts have 24 Siberians. For committed mushers, “It’s a
way of life, not a hobby,” says Frank’s wife, Cheryl.
With the price of dog food and fuel rising, Charlie Odegaard
sees mushers cutting back. Traditional prize money has dropped
from $3,000 and $4,000 to $1,000. Even the Iditarod has cut its
purse in recent years due to loss of sponsors.
In addition to rising prices, Arizona’s ongoing drought has
diminished not only rain, but also snow, Odegaard notes, leav-ing
dog teams high and dry. “A lot of people have sleds in their
attics,” he says.
Four decades ago, dog-racing enjoyed a renaissance as snowmo-biles
began to replace sled dogs in the Arctic and mushers worked
to preserve tradition. Now, the sport needs another rebirth, Ode-gaard
says. If the economy improves and the drought lessens, “it
would come back.”
turned to the roguish Alaskan huskies.
Alaskans are not a breed of their own but a mix that can
include Siberians, German shorthairs (known for their energy)
and even a little bit of greyhound — those swift stars of the dog
track. Alaskan huskies traditionally win such races as the Idi-tarod,
pounding the trail with unmatched intensity.
“They’re twice as fast as Siberians,” says Odegaard. “They’re
built to race. Siberians have the heart but not the body.”
Odegaard lives on 5 acres of land outside of Flagstaff and has
a kennel housing 34 dogs that he shares with his son, Charlie,
another top musher.
Denise Edwards is a mushing friend who has been racing in
Arizona for 20 years. Like Odegaard, she swears by Alaskan hus-kies.
Edwards keeps 13 at her Flagstaff home, where she works
as a farrier. Twenty years ago, she started racing mutts, the first
one rescued by a client who found the pup at a trash dump. After
acquiring two more dogs, Edwards began racing.
As her skills and interest increased, Edwards got serious. “I start-ed
continually getting better dogs,” she says. That meant Alaskans.
Competing at Winterfest 2012, her team lounged around her
truck, waiting for its race to begin. Cheddar, a gold-colored Alas-kan,
curled into a ball on a bed of straw that Edwards had put
down over the snow. He dozed. But when called to the starting
gate, dogs explode in a mass of energy, yelping and straining at
Mikaila Kartmann, left, and Malakila Waldo race
to the finish at Sunrise Park Resort.
Siberian huskies can run races into old age. Some even
compete up to age 14 — that’s 98 in human years.
White Mountain Apache Reservation.
Winterfest takes place every January and gives Arizona dogs
a chance to test their mettle and defy geography. Mention sled-dog
racing, and most people think of frigid climes. Dog-sledding
in a state better known for sunshine and cactus?
When Flagstaff dog racer Gery Allan races his malamutes out
of state, mushers gawk at his license plate, he says. “They’re like,
Allan, a professor of genetics and molecular biology at North-ern
Arizona University, has been racing for 10 years. He has 20
dogs, four of which are retired from the sport. While Arizona
teams usually number three to six dogs, Allan has raced as many
as 12, feeling the power of a dozen muscular malamutes carrying
him on runs that can span 100 miles.
“It’s just something that captivates you,” he says. “It’s inter-acting
with another species,” a species born not only to run but
to pull things. Malamutes originally were bred as working dogs
by the Mahlemut tribe of northern Alaska.
One of the events at Winterfest is, in fact, the weight pull,
where dogs in different weight classes compete for most pounds
pulled on a cart. The sport harks back to the days when dogs
were used to haul freight. Allan once had a 6-year-old malamute
that pulled 2,300 pounds.
“We were amazed,” he says.
Dog-sledding in Arizona dates back four decades. Arizona
mushing pioneer Van Odegaard came to Flagstaff in 1977 from
Minnesota, where he raced Siberians. By then, races were active
in Alpine and Greer. Odegaard resumed his hobby but found
that his genial Siberians fell short of expectations for speed. He
46 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3
What started out as a side job for
Joe Brown turned into a cameo role in
Tom Horn, an invitation to go stunt-flying
in a biplane, and a personal friendship
with The King of Cool that lasted until the
actor’s untimely death in 1980.
AN ESSAY BY J.P.S. BROWN • ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHRIS GALL
48 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 49
I MET STEVE MCQUEEN in 1978, when he filmed Tom Horn in Tucson. I worked as a wrangler and supplied livestock
for that production. That year, the Tucson Teamster wranglers were given all the work we could handle.
To my surprise, Rudy Ugland, the head wrangler for the production company, hired me — at Steve’s request — 10
days before filming began. My duties were to teach Steve how to rope a horse in a corral. I reported to work every
day and practiced my hoolihan loop, but I only saw Steve from afar. His camp, at the east windmill of the San Rafael
Ranch, was close to the corrals where I waited, but he stayed away.
I met his wife, Barbara, on the day the company began filming. She always kept her camera ready. We visited often
on the set, and have been friends ever since. She took the photograph of me that was used on the jackets of my books
Steeldust and Steeldust II.
“Our camp, way out in the middle of the gorgeous San Rafael Valley, was the greatest place ever,” she said.
“Our motor home suited us just fine. The production company
had reservations for us at the Hilton in Tucson, and also rented
a house with a swimming pool for us there, but we spent most of
the time at our camp. Steve could practice his shooting out there,
and we enjoyed being alone and at peace together.
“We hardly ever went to town,” she added. “Once in a while,
we went into Patagonia for a Mexican breakfast at the Stage Stop
Hotel restaurant, and we visited Nogales once.”
AFTER filming began, I assumed my regular duties with
Rudy Ugland’s wrangler crew, and my son, Billy Paul,
doubled as Steve for the scene in which Tom Horn
roped his horse. The company couldn’t seem to settle
on who would direct the film, so Steve took on the role himself
to keep everybody moving. He made sure company indeci-sion
didn’t waste time. Filming happened on schedule. Steve
and John Alonzo, the cinematographer, brought the company
together every morning before the first scene and kept it busy
until the film wrapped.
On one of the first days, Steve appeared at my side at the cof-fee
urn, introduced himself, shook my hand, and walked me
away from the company. I thought I was about to earn my pay
as his teacher, but we talked about books instead. He said that
he and Sam Peckinpah agreed that my novel The Forests of the Night
was the best book they’d ever read. We talked about my expe-rience
in writing it, and his in reading it, then he went back to
his work on the set.
Steve and I didn’t talk again until the company moved to Mes-cal
for the last segment of the filming — the scenes in the jail and
the execution of Tom Horn. One day I was in the wrangler van
about to leave the set, when Steve sent word that he wanted me
to stay and visit with him.
He and Barbara waited for me on a raised boardwalk out-side
Mescal’s main building. We talked about The Forests of the
Night and cowboying in general for about an hour. Then he said
he wanted me to play Father Brown, the priest who stood by to
give Tom Horn the last rites in the jailhouse, before Tom’s last
walk to the gallows. I told him I was no actor. He said, “Leave
that to me.”
Wardrobe dressed me in the cassock of a priest, and I stood
by every day for a week. Then we did the scene in two takes.
That wasn’t because I was such a good actor. After the first take,
Steve walked over to me and whispered that my leg had shook
all through the scene.
“Relax,” he said. “Don’t let me down. I went to bat for you to
do this.” Our next take was good enough to print.
After the company wrapped and left Tucson, I figured that
was all for me and Steve McQueen, but we began to take turns
telephoning one another.
One day, he said he was at an airport and about to go up in his
biplane and practice stunts. He knew I was a pilot and invited me
to come to California and fly with him. For me, an airplane has
usually only been a vehicle to get me from one place to another
in straight and level flight. I declined. Another time, he asked me
if I’d like a part in The Hunter, the last picture he made, in Chi-cago.
I said I wouldn’t.
We continued to phone each other through the trials and
treatments that he underwent during his fatal illness. I couldn’t
help him, except to talk to him. I sent him herbs that I believe
might have helped him, but they never got past the buffer zone
that surrounds actors of Steve’s caliber.
The more I visited with him on the phone, the more I became
aware of his down-to-earth integrity and sincerity. I didn’t have
much regard for the actors I knew before him. Most could do
nothing except imitate the character of men and women who had
accomplished real things. Because of their fame as actors, they
came to believe that they were the last word in everything from
rocket science to horsemanship. They weren’t able to talk about
anything but themselves and the way they felt.
Steve changed my opinion of actors. I learned that to be
admired, actors only have to ply their craft well. They give us the
great joy of movie entertainment. But Steve shared the special joy
of adventure he found in making pictures. He knew better than
most how to do that because he was an adventurer in real life.
He showed me that acting can be an adventure, too.
He was a man of his word, unassuming and unaffected by
his fame. To me, he became a respectful friend, the kind that a
man can talk to as a brother. He knew his business, and when he
worked, he tried for perfect performance. He made no excuses
and suffered none from others. In my short association with
him, he always comported himself as the same man, whether
he talked about books, granted a favor, prepared to fly high in a
stunt plane, or stood up to face the final, most difficult and most
futile fight for his life.
Some men are ordinary and some are not. Some have great
style, some have none. All good men are extraordinary and glow
with style. Steve’s glow is still bright.
Today, Barbara lives alone in Ketchum, Idaho. She remembers
her last good time with Steve in Southern Arizona. “My child-hood
dream was to be a cowgirl,” she said. “Every day, after
the cast and crew left the set and returned to town, I mounted
a horse, rode out on the broad San Rafael and pretended I was
something. Steve made that kind of adventure happen for me
every day of our life together. He was so good at that.”
50 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 51
n 1970, it looked as if the world were coming to an end.
America was fighting a polarizing war in Vietnam. The Ohio
National Guard shot and killed four students at Kent State
University. And Apollo 13 barely averted disaster. Dreams
were at a premium, and even the American Dream seemed
to be dissolving into the ether. But high atop a high-desert
mesa 70 miles north of Phoenix, something was happening.
An idea was taking shape, and it would eventually become a
beacon for a disillusioned generation.
The place was Arcosanti, an “urban laboratory” designed
by the internationally renowned architect Paolo Soleri. His
brainchild would ultimately serve as a school, a home, a com-mune,
a church and a family for the nearly 7,000 individuals who
would cross its threshold. It was Soleri’s life work, but in 2011, some
40 years after breaking ground on Arcosanti, he decided to retire
at the age of 92. His departure marked both the end of an era and
the beginning of another.
Jeff Stein never wanted to be boss. In fact, the former dean of
the Boston Architectural College, who appears more at ease in
chinos and a pressed, button-up shirt, hardly looks the part in
a place where Birkenstocks are clearly de rigeur. But when Soleri
decided to step away from the day-to-day business of running
Arcosanti — effective immediately — the Cosanti Foundation’s
board of trustees, of which Stein was a member, had to make a
choice. And fast.
“The board members looked at me and said, ‘You could do
this,’ ” Stein says. “I said, ‘Maybe I could.’ ” He left his post and
never looked back.
Jeff Stein was a kid in his early 20s when he came across Paolo
Soleri’s book Arcology: City in the Image of Man. “It was 50 percent
off,” Stein says with a smile. In the book, Soleri had intricately
illustrated entire super cities based on his “Arcology” philosophy.
The idea behind Arcology, which merges the words archaeology
and ecology, is that a densely packed population can live in har-mony
with its surrounding environment.
Or, as Soleri put it: “I am advocating a Lean Hypothesis about
reality and a Lean Alternative to our materialistic culture. With the
lean urban development, I put tangibility to my conjecturing. Years
ago, I declared that Leanness is frugality fraught with sophistica-tion.
The gazelle is lean, i.e. frugality wrapped in grace.”
For Stein, everything about Arcology and Soleri’s vision of
what the world could be was mind-altering.
“It was fascinating stuff,” Stein says. “In his drawings, you can
see a jazz club on the 50th floor. Or sometimes there was a note by
Paolo that read, ‘Leonard Bernstein’s apartment.’ He was begin-ning
to humanize this stuff.”
Intoxicated by Soleri and the glimmer of possibility, Stein
quit his job at a small architecture firm in the Midwest and
moved to Soleri’s desert utopia in 1975.
There, he joined others like him, pouring
concrete to help bring the vision to life.
“I was building some of the most interest-ing
buildings I’d ever seen with people from
all over the world,” Stein says. “I got a sense
of what architecture could be.”
For the past 30 years, Stein has supported Soleri and the
Cosanti Foundation, editing and illustrating books, working on
museum exhibits, and translating Soleri’s ideas into graphics.
“I was learning every day,” Stein says. “And yet, there were
times when I would argue with Paolo — he takes his work very
seriously, and he’s open to other ideas. Of course, every now
and then, he would tell me [I was] fired. Obviously, that wasn’t
exactly the case.”
Situated on 15 acres of land, Arcosanti is composed of several
grayish-brown concrete structures that, together, look more like
a derelict spaceship than a gleaming city on the hill.
Although Arcosanti is not off the grid, it has significantly min-imized
its environmental footprint simply by facing south. In the
winter months, Arcosanti fills with light, while in the summer
months, it’s covered in shade.
Besides dishing up meals for residents and visitors, the café
serves as a de facto homeroom. Living quarters were designed
to face public spaces in an effort to increase community inter-action.
And work zones, called the Foundry Apse and Ceram-ics
Apse, where some residents craft Soleri’s famous windbells,
are located nearby, so Arcosanti, and other Arcologies like it, can
remain car free.
Inside Soleri’s former residence, Stein proudly shows off his
new home. The apartment is small, but spacious enough. The
walls are spartan — no photographs of Stein’s wife or son, no
artworks by Soleri. Fortunately, a massive circular window occu-pies
the east wall, providing endless views of the high desert and
a turquoise pool that glimmers beneath the wall. Despite being
shaded, the apartment feels warm, but that’s part of the Arco-santi
“We’re willing to take off a few clothes in the summertime,”
The kitchen features a square stainless-steel sink, and an old
copper coil above it serves as a dish rack. A tea kettle sits on one
of two antiquated cooktop burners. With the exception of Stein’s
flat-screen television, his Bose sound dock and his Macbook, the
place looks a lot like Soleri left it. And that’s just fine with Stein.
“I’m not confined to my apartment,” he says. “The entire vil-lage
of Arcosanti is my home. Sometimes, I’m up at 3 a.m., and it’s
so terrific that I can open my door and take a walk outside under-neath
the stars. I can go anywhere, and I know my neighbors. It’s
safe, it’s wonderful.”
Although Arcosanti might look like it’s crumbling from the in-side
out, it is, in fact, alive and well and open for business, thanks
to Stein’s own vision, enthusiasm and mentorship of a new gen-eration
of seekers who crave something other than the status quo.
“I want to instill in them a worldview about who they might
be and what they might do with these ideas now that they’ve
come into contact with them,” he says. “How can they go out and
become citizens of the world? You know, Arcosanti is a multicul-tural
place, which is a particularly American idea. Arcosanti is a
great American success story.”
When Jeff Stein was a kid in
his 20s, he bought a book by
Paolo Soleri. He read it, became
inspired and sought out the world-renowned
architect, who was cre-ating
something called Arcosanti.
Four decades later, Stein is the
man in charge of Soleri’s “urban
laboratory” — the student picking
up where the master left off.
BY KATHY RITCHIE
PHOTOGRAPH BY JOHN WAGNER
Architect Jeff Stein
the Paolo Soleri-designed
70 miles north of
For more information, including visiting hours, call 928-632-7135 or visit www.
52 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 53
burned in 2012. The blaze turned out to
be a fortuitous one, as it struck an area
slated for a prescribed burn. Overgrown
chaparral was cleaned out, and the big
cottonwoods and sycamores canopying
the wash were spared. Good monsoon
rains rolled in on the heels of the fire,
and the restoration of native grasslands
is well underway.
The views at this point include the
Galiuro Mountains as the road descends
through the grassy savanna and past the
turnoff to Fort Grant State Prison. As
you approach the small ranching outpost
of Bonita, a few cottonwoods crowd in.
The pavement ends at Bonita, in front of
the shell of the old country store, which
was built in 1882.
It’s the end of the pavement, and the
end of SR 266, but a dirt road contin-ues,
stretching across the valley. Those
with a real taste for adventure can keep
driving to the eastern entrance to Ara-vaipa
Canyon, a perennial stream that’s
carved out a trough up to 1,000 feet
deep in the Galiuro Mountains. Be sure
to check road conditions before attempt-ing.
Otherwise, it’s a short but scenic
drive back to the main highway.
For more scenic drives, pick up
a copy of our book The Back
Roads. Now in its fifth edition,
the book ($19.95) features 40
of the state’s most scenic drives.
To order a copy, visit www.
Note: Mileages are approximate.
LENGTH: 20 miles, one way
DIRECTIONS: From Safford, drive 17 miles south on U.S.
Route 191 to State Route 266 and turn right.
VEHICLE REQUIREMENTS: None
WARNING: Back-road travel can be hazardous, so be
aware of weather and road conditions. Carry plenty of
water. Don’t travel alone, and let someone know where
you are going and when you plan to return.
TRAVEL ADVISORY: A permit is required to hike or camp in
Aravaipa Canyon. Only a limited number are issued each
day, so plan ahead. For more information, contact the
Bureau of Land Management at 928-348-4400.
INFORMATION: Safford Ranger District, 928-428-4150 or
Travelers in Arizona can visit www.az511.gov or dial
511 to get information
on road closures, construction,
delays, weather and more.
It’s not the longest drive we’ve ever featured — it’s less than 20 miles one
way — but mile for mile, this scenic route through the Pinaleño Mountains is
one of the most dramatic. BY ROGER NAYLOR | PHOTOGRAPHS BY RANDY PRENTICE
Sometimes, big things really do
come in small packages. And
big scenery often comes on little
roads. State Route 266 is one of the
shortest state highways in Arizona —
with just under 20 miles of pavement
cutting across the rugged rangeland
south of Safford — but every mile dishes
up dramatic vistas as the road rambles
westward along the fringe of the Pina-leño
Mountains, making this quick jour-ney
a big one for memories.
The Pinaleños are sudden mountains,
an abrupt and brutish thrust. They rise
in a cloud-piercing hulk from the des-ert
floor with more than 7,000 feet of
vertical relief — more than any other
mountain range in the state. Yet SR 266
doesn’t venture into the higher reaches
like some tortuous switchbacking moun-tain
roads in Arizona. Instead, it rambles
across the broad flanks of the hills in
a relaxed and easy drive of swooping
curves and gentle terrain.
About halfway in, the road climbs
over Stockton Pass at 5,600 feet and
drops into the Sulphur Springs Valley. It
then passes through a jumbled cluster
of boulders and enters the Coronado
National Forest. Ocotillos march up
the slopes, limbs raised in a sort of
spindly celebration. After crossing Gil-lespie
Wash, you’ll begin seeing the
scars of a lightning-sparked fire that
BELOW AND OPPOSITE PAGE: Low-desert
yuccas and the high ridgelines
of the Pinaleño Mountains make up
the rich scenery along State Route
266, south of Safford.
54 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3 w w w. a r i z o n a h i g hwa y s . c om 55
LENGTH: 6 miles round-trip
ELEVATION: 4,551 to 5,379 feet
TRAILHEAD GPS: N 34˚54.722’, W 111˚49.544’
DIRECTIONS: From the roundabout intersection of State
Route 179 and State Route 89A in Sedona, drive west on
SR 89A for approximately 3.1 miles, turn right onto Dry
Creek Road, and continue 2.8 miles to Long Canyon Road
(Forest Road 152D). Turn right onto Long Canyon Road
and continue 0.8 miles to the trailhead on the left.
VEHICLE REQUIREMENTS: None
DOGS ALLOWED: Yes
HORSES ALLOWED: Yes
USGS MAP: Wilson Mountain
INFORMATION: Red Rock Ranger District, 928-203-7500
cottonwoods, bigtooth maples and pon-derosas.
Badgers, bobcats, mule deer and
mountain lions are in there, as well, along
with ravens, red-tailed hawks, Steller’s
jays and a litany of other plants and ani-mals.
And, of course, the red rocks.
Just beyond the wilderness bound-ary,
the trail dips into a small wash, on
the other side of which the trees start
getting taller. At the 45-minute mark,
you’ll see your first ponderosa, which
is surrounded by a cluster of alligator
junipers. Big gators. From there, the
trail winds through a small drainage.
The drainage is usually dry, but it still
supports a community of water-loving
vegetation, including a number of Ari-zona
cypress trees, which are easily
recognized by their shaggy bark and
round, gum-ball-sized seeds. As the ele-vation
climbs, oaks and other deciduous
trees start showing up. The trail is well
shaded along this stretch. That’s not a
selling point in January, but other times
of year, it’s a relief.
The topography remains about the
same for the rest of the route, although,
the walls start closing in and the pon-derosas
start getting bigger. The vegeta-tion
gets thicker, too, and the cairns
start to pile up. Technically, even cairns
are a violation of the Leave No Trace
principles, but in the interest of “safety
first,” they do come in handy. As a gen-eral
rule, be religious about what’s best
for Mother Nature, and respect the uto-pian
ideals of our wilderness areas.
The trail ends after 90 minutes at a
sandstone wall where there are a few
small Indian ruins and some primitive
pictographs. If you’re lucky enough to
find them, leave them alone — it’s ille-gal
to disturb them. Instead, take a look
around, enjoy the moment and the soli-tude,
and then begin the short walk out
of Long Canyon.
The 6-mile round-trip Long Canyon Trail leads into
the Red Rock-Secret Mountain Wilderness.
For more hikes, pick up a copy of
Arizona Highways Hiking Guide,
which features 52 of the state’s
best trails — one for each week-end
of the year, sorted by seasons.
To order a copy, visit www.
hike of the month
There are many ways to see Sedona and its iconic land-scape.
This scenic route into the Red Rock-Secret Moun-tain
Wilderness is one of the easiest. BY ROBERT STIEVE
Long Canyon Trail
If you’ve ever hiked in the Grand Can-yon
or Sycamore Canyon or Aravaipa
Canyon, Long Canyon won’t strike
you as all that long. And its eponymous
hike is even shorter. It’s only 6 miles
round-trip, with no significant elevation
change. That means it’s easy, and unlike
those other marquee canyons, this one
can be explored on a whim, without a
lot of prep work — no training hikes,
no topographic maps to study, no power
diets. All you have to do is roll out of
bed and hop in the car.
The trail begins just off the paved
road that leads to the luxurious
Enchantment Resort. But don’t let the
neighborhood give you the wrong idea.
This is a wilderness hike, and all signs
of civilization disappear quickly, leaving
you alone with a contingent of Sedona’s
iconic red rocks, including Wilson
Mountain, Maroon Mountain, Steam-boat
Rock, and a number of unnamed
cliffs, spires, windows and arches. As
you might expect, the panoramas are
You’ll see that firsthand within the
first few minutes of the hike. You’ll also
see manzanitas and junipers along the
path, which is red dirt and easy to fol-low.
After about 5 minutes, you’ll come
to an old jeep road. Turn right, hike
another 30 yards, and follow the trail
to the left. This stretch can be a little
confusing, but a few minutes later, you’ll
come to a sign that confirms you’re on
the Long Canyon Trail — there’s no sig-nage
at the trailhead. About 15 minutes
later, after passing an intersection with
the Deadmans Pass Trail, you’ll arrive
at the boundary of the Red Rock-Secret
All wilderness areas are special, but
this is one of the crown jewels. Within its
43,950 acres, you’ll find everything from
banana yuccas, agaves and junipers to
• Plan ahead and be
• Travel and camp on
• Dispose of waste
properly and pack
out all of your trash.
• Leave what you find.
• Respect wildlife and
• Be considerate of
56 JA NUA RY 2 0 1 3
This trestle bridge, constructed by the Southern Pacific Railroad, spans a river known by many
names, including Akee-mull, Apache de Gila and Hah-quah-se ell. It’s made of steel and located
just north of a Pinal County town named for an American president. — KELLY VAUGHN KRAMER
MOREY K. MILBRADT
where is this?
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Answer & Winner
to our winner,
Eileen Shapiro of
Sun Lakes, Arizona.
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