Archaeology – Page 2 – On the road with Jim

Ghost Town Gears: Vulture City’s Mechanical Past Picture of the Week, Vulture City, Arizona

Antique differential gearing linked to a hit-and-miss engine, showcasing the mechanical history of Vulture City. — Vulture City’s Mechanical Tale: A Flywheel’s Connection to a Bygone Era

Welcome back, intrepid explorers, to our final haunting episode in Vulture City. Today, we’re diving deep into the mechanical heart of this ghost town and a peek at the commendable efforts by the caretakers to ensure its stories are preserved for eons to come. Remember last week’s little misadventure? Let’s stick close together; one ghostly escapade is quite enough!

This week’s spotlight is a relic from yesteryears—an old gas-powered engine. Not the vroom-vroom kind in your garage, but a stationary titan engineered to power the weighty machinery of its time. Its genius? To be fuel-efficient, it was crafted to ignite every other cycle, creating an unmistakable bang-pop-pop sound. This rhythmic cadence christened them “Hit-and-Miss” engines. Much like the nostalgic rhythm of a gramophone, the beat of these engines is Vulture City’s undying echo from the past.

Surprisingly, despite their robust build with cast iron and boilers, you rarely find them in old abandoned mines. Why? Because most were sold or, unfortunately, scavenged for scrap. But in Vulture City, these pieces of history stand tall, painting a vivid picture of the bygone era.

Visiting Vulture City is akin to stepping into a time capsule. But don’t be fooled by the town’s pristine appearance. Recent photos showcase the harrowing reality of dilapidated structures just a few years back. However, the new stewards have tirelessly worked to resurrect the town. From rusty Core 10 stainless steel rooftops to stabilized walls, every corner has been touched with care. And while some artifacts aren’t precisely period-authentic, they enhance the visitor’s experience manifold.

OMG—They Do Exist!

Humorous Halloween scene in Vulture City's brothel with playful pumpkins, hinting at a night of mischief. — Haunted Brothel: Pumpkins Celebrate in Style – Have you ever wondered why the Great Pumpkin never appears before the ‘Peanuts’ character, Linus? Here’s why. The Pumpkin has better things to do than hang out with kids all night.

Have you ever met pumpkins with more charisma than the guests at some fancy parties? Thanks to Ray Villafane’s magic touch, the pumpkins at Vulture City are a sight! Having showcased his prowess on HGTV, Ray’s uncanny ability to breathe life into gourds has added a spooky charm to the town’s Halloween festivities. For a deeper dive, check out this article here. All these initiatives spotlight the town’s undying spirit and commitment to entertaining and educating visitors year-round.

Thanks for tagging along on our ghostly gallivant this month. We’ve been overjoyed to share our tales and would be thrilled to hear yours! We invite you to share your Halloween or even brothel stories in the comment section below. Drop by my website for a closer peek at the engine here, or visit its gallery on Fine Art America here. Next week? A new location and saga you won’t want to miss. Be sure to tune in.

Till next time, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
jw

Techniques: Shapes as Compositional Muses

Close your eyes and imagine… Oh wait, bad idea! Let’s explore the transformative power of shapes in photography. Do you think a plain signpost is mundane? Tilt it a bit, and you’ve got a story! Here’s a dive into how shapes craft a picture’s narrative:

Horizontal Lines: These lines evoke a sense of tranquility and restfulness. Imagine the horizon during a sunset; it exudes peace and serenity.
Vertical Lines: These lines impart strength, rigidity, and stability. Think of towering skyscrapers or tall trees reaching up to the sky.
Circles: Representing wholeness and unity, circles can create a focal point that keeps the viewer’s eye engaged. The never-ending loop of a circle often symbolizes the circle of life or eternity.
Triangles: Triangles can provide a sense of balance and stability in a composition, often directing the viewer’s eye to the top or base of the triangle. They can be dynamic or stable depending on their orientation.
Curves and S-Curves: These lines are graceful, flowing, and can be sensuous. S-curves, in particular, can guide the viewer’s eye through the composition, providing depth and interest. Picture a winding river through a landscape; it captivates the viewer into the scene.

Mining Memories: The Silent Sentinels of Vulture City Picture of the Week - Vulture City, Arizona

Headframe: Vulture City's towering relic from its mining past — Mining Memories: The Silent Sentinels of Vulture City – Dive into Vulture City’s history, and you’ll discover mining relics, quirky tales, and even pumpkins with legs. Your unexpected desert journey awaits!

Hello again from Vulture City, where the unexpected is just another Tuesday! As I’ve continued my explorations here, I uncovered stories hidden in the shadows and surprises around every corner. I have butterflies in my stomach, and I can’t wait to tell you that I was right about those menacing pumpkins—but let’s talk about this week’s photo first, and then we’ll get to the paranormal.

Leading the tour today, we’re craning our necks to take in a lofty structure known as a headframe. No, it’s not the latest in chiropractic care; it’s an essential tool in mining. Headframes served as the backbone (pun intended) of many mines, hauling not just ore but the brave souls who ventured deep underground. While the exact inventor of the headframe remains a debate for the history books, these mechanical marvels evolved from humble hand-powered origins to the might of steam and electric prowess.

In our arid southwest, standing headframes are rarer than rain. Given that lumber had to journey to these barren expanses, and the indigenous trees weren’t quite up for the task, it’s hardly surprising. The smaller mines often skipped the theatrics, as their digs weren’t exactly the stuff of Jules Verne novels. However, tread cautiously if you’re trekking across the desert and spot one (or just heaps of sturdy wood)! There’s likely a yawning chasm lurking beneath.

The sentinel at Vulture City isn’t the grandest I’ve encountered, and it’s been repositioned away from the original mine shaft. I surmise it’s a safety maneuver to stop kiddos from taking unplanned trips down under—after all, youngsters aren’t toast. They don’t pop back out when they’re done. With its singular pulley setup, this headframe likely relied on sturdy equine muscle power. Imagine that—an equestrian gym session! These timber titans might be mute but resonate with tales of grit, ambition, and underground treasures.

When I thought Vulture City couldn’t get any more bizarre, the town proved me wrong. As I walked through the displays, I saw one building marked with a Brothel sign. Of course, I had to check it out because—that’s the kind of guy I am. I expected to see an excellent museum-style exhibit featuring swanky furniture and feather beds covered with hand-made quilts. You know, the usual dust-covered stuff. But what did I find when I walked into the Brothel’s waiting room? Three pumpkins casually lounging on the sofa, arms and legs crossed, discussing the weather (I presume—I don’t speak pumpkin). But the moment they saw me, it was like I’d flipped on the lights in a New York City apartment at midnight—those pumpkins scattered faster than… well, pumpkins with legs!

Three orange clients spending their free time looking for social media. — Ghostly Gourds: An Unexpected Brothel Encounter – You’ll never know who’s already in line when you unannounced into a brothel’s waiting room.

I was lucky that I already had my camera at the ready. I was able to squeeze off one clear shot before all of that dust was kicked up. They scattered in different directions so fast I sprained my eyeballs tracking them. You see—I was right about these pumpkins, and unlike the fuzzy Sasquatch photos you see in the check-out counter rags, this one’s sharp as a tack.

As we inch closer to the spookiest day of the year, keep your camera ready, and more importantly, keep a wooden stake and garlic clove nearby! Who knows what might be lurking around the next corner? If you’d like to examine the headframe closer, it’s on my website (Jim’s Web page) and a page at Fine Art America (FAA Link). Join me next week as we conclude our Vulture City voyage and, fingers crossed, solve the pumpkin enigma.

Till then, keep your spirits high and your humor dry!
jw

Techniques: The Art of Capturing the Unexpected

The most mesmerizing snaps in photography often arise from serendipity—like those jaw-dropping space launch vistas captured by eagle-eyed air travelers. Hence, when queried about the best camera, I quip, “The one you’ve got handy,” which, nowadays, is probably your phone.
Photography, much like life, is peppered with unforeseen marvels. Whether it’s anthropomorphic pumpkins or whimsical backdrops, mastering these fleeting instances demands foresight and improvisation. Here’s my toolkit for seizing the spontaneous:

• Stay Vigilant: Your camera should be an extension of your arm. Magic rarely sends an RSVP.
• Opt for Rapid Shutter: The key to pinning down swift, fleeting moments in pristine clarity.
• Experiment with Perspectives: An unusual viewpoint can accentuate the oddities of a scene.
• Keep a Cool Head: When faced with the unexpected, breathe, tweak, and click.
• Welcome the Unscripted: Don’t shun the anomalies; let them enhance your photographic narrative.

Remarkable snapshots often sprout from impromptu events. So, let spontaneity be your muse, and you might clinch that once-in-a-lifetime frame.

BTW:

I just added another YouTube video to my On the Road series. This one covers my Arizona Mountain Portfolio. If you’d like to watch this six minutes of eye candy, you can see it here: https://youtu.be/pN0dbZ2tBj8

Desert Artistry: Vulture City’s Frankentruck Picture of the Week - Wickenburg, Arizona

Desert Artistry: Vulture City’s Frankentruck – Patchwork truck made from various parts, standing guard outside Willard Miller station in Vulture City, Arizona

Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Money can’t buy you happiness?’ Well, Henry Wickenburg might’ve echoed that sentiment. While our Prussian immigrant struck gold in the quartz shelf, there’s a vast difference between finding and monetizing gold. Being a prospector and not a miner, Henry didn’t venture much further than his initial discovery. Delving deeper into the earth to pursue gold requires a workforce and resources. And before we wade into the treacherous waters of math (and I’m watching Queen Anne for any eye-rolling), it’s essential to understand the intricacies of return on investment.

Although the Vulture Mine produced gobs of gold—the top gold-producing mine in Arizona history—it wasn’t that profitable. Its poor standing is because the mine is out in the middle of nowhere, with no water, timber, transportation, or other resources needed to bring the yellow ore to the market. The nearest river is the Hassayampa, some 12 miles away. In 1864, you couldn’t just stroll to your local Harbor Freight and grab a generator. Those hefty stamp mills required steam, which needed water and fuel, be it wood or coal. So, the ore dug from the Vulture Mine had to be hauled to the mills for processing, either by pack mules, wagons, or in your pockets.

Henry’s solution was genius. He sold the diggings to speculators by the ton. It’s sort of like people buying unclaimed storage units at auctions. Buyers paid a set price at the mine and transported it to the river mills. Sometimes they made money; sometimes they didn’t. But Henry always got his cut.

Funny thing about naming towns back then. Often, they didn’t have formal names until a need arose. When the community sent a plea for protection against marauding tribes to the Army, the soldiers referred to their destination as the return address on the letter—Wickenburg Ranch. At his ranch, Henry lived a comfortable life. Investors like Baron Goldwasser (Goldwater) threw money at him, and he was able to give back to the growing community. He donated land for the town’s first church and invested in the hair-brain start-up company Jack Swilling’s Ditch Company—which you may better know by its current name, the Salt River Project. But as he aged, he gave a large chunk of his fortune to his caretaker, Jesus Maria Martinez.

In 1905, in a plot twist befitting a murder mystery, Henry was found dead with a gunshot to the head. And though the gun was right next to him and was ruled a suicide, not everyone was convinced. The twists? The bullet wound was on his right temple, despite Henry being left-handed. Just last week, an article in the Wickenburg Sun questioned the shooting. The people the paper interviewed called for a new investigation using modern forensic tools. They implied that his caretaker was involved in the death to get the rest of Henry’s money.

This week’s photograph makes me smile. What seemed like another rusted relic was an artist’s whimsical touch—a sculpture concocted from disparate vehicle parts welded together to birth this fantastical mine truck. Other than an art piece, it’s useless; it doesn’t have an engine or frame, and the barrel is held in place with chains. Its colorful yellow cab certainly caught my eye and is the essence of mining equipment at ¾ scale.

Pumpkin’s Silent Vigil in Deserted Cabin – Pumpkin sitting on a window ledge of an old, cracked wall in Vulture City.

On a darker note, there’s an issue with this week’s other photo. When I went inside the assay house, I saw the crumbling plaster and deep window frame needed when building with adobe blocks. So, I took this shot using the wonderful natural window light. But when I viewed it on my computer—I saw the pumpkin. It wasn’t there when I took the shot—I swear. I warned you from the outset of this series there’s something spooky and evil about these creatures.

Thanks for joining our journey through Vulture City’s history. Do drop by next week as we delve into the town’s leaner times. If you want to examine the ‘art’ truck closer, please visit my website (Jim’s Website) or the page I created on Fine Art America (FAA Link). In the comments below, we’d love your stories of makeshift repairs, gold mining, or mysterious pumpkins.

Till next time
jw

Techniques: Enhancing Photo Narratives

What’s your story? Um, let me rephrase that. What are you thinking about when you take a photograph? No doubt, you’ve heard the phrase, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” As a photographer, those words should be reverberating through your head while looking through your lens. If you’re memorializing your kid’s first step, your wet dog’s first bath, or taking a shot of your cat napping on the windowsill (ew), snap the shutter—capture that unique moment. But then, you should think, “How can I frame this better?” Look beyond your subject. Is there too much clutter in the rest of the frame that you can eliminate by moving closer? Is there something that you can include to support the story? I always take at least two shots, but not identical (unless I know I blurred the first one). In my subsequent attempts, I either move or shift the camera and when I edit, I pick out the better photo and hide the rest. You have to be ruthless about that.

Take this week’s photo, for example. I could have framed the Frankentruck tighter and let it fill the frame. But I included the fake gas station because it tells a richer story. Over the past two weeks, I’ve presented two versions of the same photo. A building in decay with an old vehicle in front of it. But their stories are different. In Echos of a Bygone Era, we see the assay office with a rusted hulk out front. The car supports the building by introducing a period into it. On the other hand, this week’s Frankentruck is the subject, and the shed adorned with auto memorabilia gives it context. You understand the truck’s purpose—everything else is the movie set.

So, always seize the fleeting moments when you’re out with your camera. Yet, elevating your narrative is about more than just a click; it’s about the intention behind that click. Every frame is a canvas, every shot an opportunity to share a tale. With each focused intention and deliberate choice, you’re not just taking photos but crafting stories. And trust me, with time and practice, this art of visual storytelling becomes an innate part of your craft.

Echoes of a Bygone Era: Vulture City’s Assay Office and Vintage Relic Picture of the Week - Vulture City, Arizona

Historic rock-faced Assay Office in Vulture City with a rusted 30s-era Ford sedan in the foreground, set against a clear blue sky. — Echoes of a Bygone Era: Vulture City’s Assay Office and Vintage Relic – Vulture City’s Assay Office: Where tales of gold and dreams converged, with the silent witness of a bygone era—the rusted Ford—standing guard.

Welcome back to the ever-mystifying Vulture City. Every corner here whispers tales of yesteryear, and as we look closer, I must admit it feels like someone—or something—is watching. Spine-tingling.

Imagine our main character, Henry Wickenburg. Not your typical gold-seeking caricature, but a slender gentleman in a coat and tie. I know; I, too, sometimes imagine prospectors as chubby caricatures in tattered hats with picks in hand, somewhat like that character the Arizona Lottery loves to flaunt. But Henry? Far from it. This Prussian immigrant, born Johannes Henricus Wickenburg, once mined coal back in his homeland and found himself on the wrong side of the law for poaching the King’s coal on the family farm. Landing in New York in 1847, the lure of California’s gold rush pulled him westward to San Francisco.

Henry’s journey, like my attempt at a diet, seemed doomed. He hit the Bay area just after the gold had panned out. Journeying further, he reached Yuma, only to find he was late to the party again when prospector A.H. Peeples and his crew discovered the Rich Hill find. Still, Henry, ever the optimist, pitched his camp beside the Hassayampa River, holding onto his golden dreams.

Then, as luck would have it, during an expedition with King Woolsey—an Arizona rancher, businessman, and Lieutenant-Colonel in the Arizona Militia—Henry spotted a promising quartz outcrop. While he failed to convince his comrades to investigate, he returned the following year in May 1864 with a new crew. They filed a claim, establishing the Vulture Mining District, and birthed one of Arizona’s most prolific gold mines. But as you’d expect in such tales, it wasn’t all peaches and cream, but more on that next week.

Today, the assay office stands proudly, echoing those golden times. Its walls, crafted from mine tailings rumored to contain gold, house tales of affluence and decline. The preservation efforts by the current owners ensure that its stories won’t crumble to dust. Though not from the gold rush era, the yard’s rusting Ford provides a curious juxtaposition against this historical backdrop.

Rusted drive wheel of Vulture City mine's headframe, with sunlit highlights against a shadowed background. — Whispers of Work: The Aged Artistry of the Mine Wheel: The headframe’s drive wheel, once the heartbeat of Vulture City’s mining operations, stands frozen in time, its rusted patina telling tales of labor and gold.

Stay tuned as next week, we’ll dig deeper into the Vulture Mine’s intricate tapestry. To get up close with the Assay Office, swing by my Website (Jim’s web page) or its dedicated Fine Art America Page (FAA link). And, with Halloween around the corner, beware of the naughty pumpkins lurking in the shadows. Stick close, and stay alert.

Until next time
jw

Techniques: The Evolution of Architectural Perspective—From View Cameras to Photoshop.

Those towering buildings can play tricks on the eye in architectural photography. Point your camera up or down, and suddenly, those sturdy, straight lines appear to lean and converge. We’ve all seen those dramatic New York skyscraper shots that seem to stretch forever into the sky, making the buildings look as if they’re toppling.

Photographers had two main tools to correct this perspective distortion in the days before digital took over. The first was the view camera—which looks like an accordions and requires you to drape a cloth over your head. These cameras allowed for lens and film plane adjustments, ensuring buildings stood tall in photos. But they were bulky, required a tripod, and slowed you down.

Then, there was a clever darkroom method for those who didn’t have access to a view camera or wanted to correct images in post-production. Photographers could wrestle those leaning lines back into place by tilting the easel while projecting the negative. It was a delicate dance: tilt too much, and parts of the image would blur. While not as precise as today’s tools, it showcased the hands-on artistry of photography.

With the digital era in full swing, these older techniques are primarily of historical interest. Software like Photoshop provides a handy lens correction tool that quickly straightens skewed perspectives, found under Filter→Lens Correction.

Consider this week’s image of the Vulture City Assay office. I got up close and personal with my wide-angle lens to capture the sedan and the chimney. However, this meant some verticals weren’t… well, vertical. Enter Photoshop’s lens correction tool. A few tweaks and everything was right again.

However, as with all things digital, this magic touch has critics. Some purists argue that such corrections can degrade image quality. While this is a valid concern, especially for large prints, it’s generally a non-issue for images meant for online display. Like with any tool, the key is using it judiciously.

Fading Echoes: Vulture City’s Cantina After Dark Picture of the Week - Vulture City, Arizona

Weathered metal exterior of Vulture City's Cantina featuring vintage food and drink signs, captured in dim light after sunset. — The weathered metal exterior of Vulture City’s Cantina features vintage food and drink signs captured in dim light after sunset.

October has finally graced us with its presence. That’s significant for us desert dwellers for a couple of reasons. Most importantly, summer’s relentless grip has finally loosened. It’s still hot during the day and will be for several more weeks, but we can go out on the back deck, enjoy a cup of java, and watch the doves run for their lives in the cool mornings. The other nice thing about October is that it’s the beginning of the festive gauntlet, where celebrations stack up on one another. If the calendar were a wheel, we’d have to take it to the tire shop to balance it.

Queen Anne’s favorite holiday is Halloween, of course. What else would you expect from a woman who wears a black pointed hat and always has a broom at arm’s length? All through the month, she buys bags of miniature Heath Bars at Safeway—not to give to kids trick-or-treating at the door (they don’t grow out here), but so she has plenty of stock when she watches Spaced Invaders looping constantly. So, what better way to celebrate Halloween than to spend the month in a ghost town? It’s one we haven’t visited before and is at the bottom of Vulture Mine Road. Of course, I’m talking about Vulture City, the mine that gave birth to Wickenburg.

A rusted, vintage Ford truck stands in a ghost town, framed by timeworn buildings and a sky punctuated by twisted arrowhead-shaped cirrus clouds. — Iron Beauty: Aging Gracefully in Vulture City – his Ford’s not going anywhere fast, but its enduring character keeps it forever at home in the forgotten corners of Vulture City.

Vulture City’s history starts long before any crusty prospectors unstrapped a pick from their burro. Judging from the mix of rocks you can see along Vulture Mine Road, the Vulture Mountains formed through a symphony of molten eruptions and earth-shattering shifts over millions of years. The evidence is the basalt layers and limestone blocks you see along the road. The area is rich in gold because hydrothermal activities carried gold from the Earth’s mantle to the crust. Like Queen Anne, Mother Nature has a flair for flaunting her geological bling.

Before European settlement, the Hohokam primarily inhabited this region and later the Apache—specifically the feared Yavapai Apache. While there is no definitive evidence, native tribes did engage in rudimentary mining and likely found semi-precious stones, but gold was not their primary focus. The natives considered many of the natural formations sacred, adding an extra layer of mysticism to the area. It was as if the land crooned a mystical siren’s song long before tourist-hot-spot was even in the lexicon. And then came the white man, which we’ll get into next week.

This week’s photo is of the mining town’s cantina, mess hall, cafeteria, or whatever they called the place where they fed workers. Ho ho! Staring at a sleeping princess may feed the soul, but you need sustenance to swing a pick all day in a dark mineshaft. When I took this image, it was well after sunset on a cloudy evening, so the lights were on, and I was captivated by the geometric dance of perpendicular rectangles. The porch light infuses a golden glow to the otherwise cold and dusty scene. Although the food signs jammed into the window frame add color, I don’t believe they’re authentic to the period. I mean, 15 cents for a hot dog would have been a lot of money back then—besides, I don’t think Costco yet invented the little sausages of mystery meat.

I’m pleased that you joined us on this month’s spooky adventure. Stick close together unless you fancy being spirited away by one of Vulture City’s resident phantoms who takes on pumpkins’ color and shape. We’ll return next week with stories of the mine’s beginnings and how one man was responsible for a town’s creation. If you want to search this week’s image closely for ghostly apparitions, visit my website (Jim’s web link) or the Fine Art America page I made for it (FAA link). Don’t go near the pumpkins—they’re cute, but bite your face off.

Till next time
jw

Techniques: The Soft Glow of Overcast Skies—A Detail Photographer’s Dream

Capturing minute details in photography often feels like trying to corral a greased pig—you think you’ve snagged the perfect shot, only for the little nuances to elude you. But here’s where the misunderstood overcast sky swoops in like a caped crusader. Acting as nature’s softbox, it scatters sunlight to tone down harsh shadows and even out contrast, setting the stage for those intricate details to take the limelight—from the weather-worn wood of a rustic barn door to the delicate veins of an autumn leaf. However, be warned: while overcast light is your friend for showcasing detail, it can sometimes render textures like corrugated metal or rocky surfaces a bit flat. For those, a dash of direct sunlight might be the secret sauce to elevate the texture to center stage.

Think of overcast light as the sotto voce of the photographic world. It’s the quiet, unassuming tone that lets the content shine. Where bright, direct sunlight is the boastful tenor, belting out high notes and obscuring the subtler instruments, an overcast sky gently elevates the bassoons and cellos—the intricate details that offer richness and depth. This makes your subject the show’s star, allowing viewers to appreciate complexities they might otherwise overlook.

Of course, while overcast light provides a naturally diffused glow, you’ll still need to stay vigilant about your exposure settings. Cloudy skies can occasionally trick your camera’s metering system into underexposing the shot, making it appear gloomier than intended. A quick tweak to the exposure compensation can often rectify this, ensuring your details stand out crisply without veering into the realm of the overblown or washed-out.

BTW:

If you’re curious about our previous adventures, my new YouTube video on the Colorado Portfolio just went live. Feel free to take a gander.

Marble Memories: Tale of the Gadsden Hotel’s graceful stairs Picture of the Week - Douglas, Arizona

Marble Memories - Immerse yourself in the timeless elegance of the Gadsden Hotel's grand marble staircase, inviting you to step into a world of architectural splendor. — Marble Memories – Immerse yourself in the timeless elegance of the Gadsden Hotel’s grand marble staircase, inviting you to enter a world of architectural splendor.

Welcome to our wrap-up of May’s Orphan Photo Project. I hope you’ve been enjoying the show so far. This week’s episode takes us back to Cochise County and the border town of Douglas. Like several towns along our southern border, it has only a quarter of the population of its southern sibling—Agua Prieta. Unless you’re on a mission to score some cheap Kahlua, mescal, or prescription drugs, there are not many reasons to go to Douglas, but a stop at the iconic Gadsden Hotel is one of them.

Yes, I have uncovered another grand hotel from Arizona’s mining days—so indulge me. It was built at the turn of the 20^th Century by mining corporations to satisfy old fat cats that traveled here to inspect the books. They couldn’t be expected to sleep in tents like the commoners they paid. These tycoons needed a place to smoke cigars and sip cognac while stuck in the wild.

The Gadsden Hotel’s architecture reflects the elegance and grandeur of the time, with its ornate facade and intricate details. It was designed to provide a luxurious experience for its guests, offering luxury accommodations, fine dining, and entertainment. It was among the first to provide in-room toilets, fresh air ventilation (yes, that sounds like open windows to me, too), and an elevator that stopped on each of its floors. Today, I’m not going to waste time gushing over this fabulous hotel; I’d rather gossip about some of its guests. That’s where all the fun is.

In the early 1900s, during the tumultuous Mexican Revolution, battles often spilled over into the border towns of Arizona. Douglas was no exception. One day, as the sounds of gunfire echoed through the streets, the guests of the Gadsden Hotel sought refuge on the rooftop to witness the spectacle. Among them was the notorious revolutionary leader, Pancho Villa.

In an audacious display of bravado, Villa rode his horse into the hotel and galloped up and down the magnificent staircase that graces the lobby. The clatter of hooves and the cheers of onlookers reverberated throughout the grand halls, creating an unforgettable moment in the hotel’s history.

Legend has it that the spirited Villa, with his characteristic wide-brimmed hat and commanding presence, left a lasting impression on the staff and guests who witnessed this daring act. It became a story that would be told and retold, forever etching Villa’s name into the annals of the Gadsden Hotel. Today’s Gadsden visitors still search for a legendary chip in the white marble.

You want to know what I think. I think Pancho got bored fighting with the Federalies in Agua Prieta and decided to take a break. He rode across the border to enjoy a frozen Margarita at the Gadsden bar—after all; it was May 5th. When the bartender tried to explain that the Margarita hadn’t been invented yet, Pancho went ballistic. He went outside and untied his horse— Siete Leguas—from the parking meter and road back inside in an attempt to trash the place. You know, rock stars. That’s what they do.

In the 1920s, famed radio evangelist Amy Semple McPherson captured the nation’s attention with her charismatic preaching and healing services. However, her life changed dramatically when she mysteriously disappeared from Los Angeles. Authorities launched a widespread search, and the public anxiously awaited any news of her whereabouts. Eventually, Amy reappeared in Douglas—of all places.

There were conflicting accounts and rumors surrounding Amy’s disappearance and reappearance. Some sources suggested that she was kidnapped and held for ransom, while others speculated that she had run off with a lover to a secluded location. According to her account, she claimed to have been abducted and held captive. My legal staff told me there is no historical evidence to put Amy inside the Gadsden, but after being released from the local hospital, where else would someone with all that wealth and fame stay—it certainly wasn’t the YWCA.

The Gadsden Hotel has welcomed several less controversial personalities throughout its history. Among them, aviator Amelia Earhart graced the hotel with her presence during her visits to Douglas in the 1930s. The iconic actor John Wayne frequented the Gadsden Hotel in Arizona. Presidents Franklin D. Roosevelt and Lyndon B. Johnson also left their mark on the hotel during their travels in the Southwest. These visits, spanning different eras, have contributed to the Gadsden’s rich history and enduring allure.

A Glimpse of Grandeur: The Gadsden Hotel's Captivating Facade - Behold the captivating exterior of the Gadsden Hotel, a timeless landmark that exudes elegance and preserves the rich history of Douglas, Arizona. — A Glimpse of Grandeur: The Gadsden Hotel’s Captivating Facade – Behold the captivating exterior of the Gadsden Hotel. This timeless landmark exudes elegance and preserves the rich history of Douglas, Arizona.

We hope you’ve enjoyed hearing the fascinating Arizona stories as we end our journey through May’s Orphan Photo Project. ~~As usual, you can see the larger version of Marble Memories by following this link to the web page: (~~). As we bid farewell to the Gadsden Hotel, we invite you to join us next week when we embark on a new adventure. Until then, thank you for joining us on this journey, and Queen Anne and I can’t wait to share more with you soon.

Until next time
jw

Technique

Capturing the essence of Gadsden’s famous staircase presented a unique challenge. Instead of the typical head-on view, I wanted to emphasize the polished marble steps and the potential hazard they posed to Pancho Villa’s horse, Siete Leguas. To achieve this, I opted for a wide-angle lens and positioned myself low at the left side of the marble waterfall, shooting upwards towards the bank of stained glass windows. The dim lighting inside the Gadsden lobby required a higher ISO of 2500, and I stopped down the lens to f/6.3 to ensure everything was in focus. I captured a handheld shot at 1/15th of a second in the low light conditions. Remember to hold your breath to minimize camera shake in challenging situations like this.

Arlington’s Abandoned Feed Mill: Fading Memories of Cattle Country Picture of the Week - Arlington, Arizona

Abandoned farm equipment at Arlington Cattle Company — Arlington’s Abandoned Feed Mill – The abandoned grain hoppers and silos of the Arlington Cattle Company were left to rust in the Arizona desert.

Last week, I wrote about the exceptional rainfall we had in Arizona and how the wildflowers love it. Well, the same wet winter that showered our land with nature’s colorful confetti also brought heavy mountain snowfall. Since the predicted snowmelt and runoff would overflow our reservoirs, the Salt River Project began releasing water into the river. It’s been quite a while since we have had water in our ordinarily dry riverbeds. While some may scoff at the idea of water in Arizona’s riverbeds, I was thrilled that I might get the chance to shoot some whitewater rapids in the desert.

I convinced Queen Anne to go-for-a-ride(?) a couple of weeks ago. We drove down the west valley to the Gillespie Bridge, excited at the prospect of capturing the raging torrents of water. However, upon arrival, we were met with disappointment. The river was spent and lethargic when the artificial flood passed through Phoenix. The snowmelt’s aftermath left us with sluggish, murky water oozing through the tamarisk. It looked more like effluent than a river. Feeling disheartened, we started to return home when I noticed the stunning light falling on the machinery at the Arlington Cattle Company. When I stopped the car and grabbed my camera, Anne responded, “Hurry up! I’m Starving.”

The Gila River begins its journey in New Mexico’s Gila Mountains. It collects water from its tributaries, including the Salt River, the Verde River, the Santa Cruz River, the New River, the Agua Fria River, and the Hassayampa River. The Gila River embarks on an audacious westward journey, carving its path through untamed landscapes. Just after the confluence of the Gila and Hassayampa rivers, the Gila turns south for thirty miles towards Gila Bend. As the river flows past the Buckeye Hills, it enters a natural pinch point several miles down old US 80. It passes between a formidable silhouette of a volcanic sentinel and the edge of Gillespie Shield Volcano. The black rock lava flow rises two or three stories above the road and river and is known for its impressive pictographs, visible along the cliff of lava rock when examined closely. At this pinch point, pioneers attempted to build three versions of the dam. After they all failed, the highway department erected an all-season bridge to cross the river. Local farmers plant the dam’s old flood plains in summer with deep green cotton, making the little valley a desert oasis.

I’ve been to the Arlington Cattle Company before, so this wasn’t my first time photographing this abandoned equipment. The last time I photographed there was over a decade ago; the massive boom that sent grain over the road to the feed lots there had collapsed into the canal flowing along the roadside. Someone has cleaned that mess up since then. As I stood and framed the shot, I could hear the ghostly sounds of machinery banging, gears meshing, and belts squealing in protest. The equipment stands as a testament to the relentless march of time, bearing the scars of decades past, with the weathered vestiges of industry adorned in hues of faded silver and rust contrasting against the intense blue sky. However, what catches my eye in this photo is the tall silver elevator, which towers above all else, and with the sun’s reflection, it appears as a beacon against the bright blue sky. The wispy white clouds in the background are a bonus and provide a nice contrast to the earthy tones of the equipment.

The Arlington Cattle Company was established in the early 1900s by a group of investors led by William W. Clemens, who also served as the company’s president. The company purchased approximately 55,000 acres of land in the Arlington Valley and constructed a state-of-the-art cattle feeding facility. The company aimed to fatten cattle for the market using a combination of locally grown grains and hay from nearby farms.

The facility stood as a cathedral of innovation, a testament to the audacity of human endeavor, featuring a grain elevator that could lift and store thousands of bushels of grain at a time. The elevator was powered by an extensive motor and conveyor system that could move the grain from the elevator to the various silos and feedlots throughout the property. The company also built a vast network of canals and irrigation ditches to ensure a reliable water supply for the crops (and cattle).

Despite the initial success of the operation, the Arlington Cattle Company struggled to turn a profit. The company faced several challenges, including drought, floods, and fluctuations in the price of beef. In addition, the company’s location in a remote part of the state made transportation difficult and expensive. As a result, the company was forced to declare bankruptcy in the early 1920s. After the default, the land and equipment were sold to various buyers. Today, the rusting equipment seen along the roadside in the Arlington Valley are the only remnants of the Arlington Cattle Company.

Rustic Gillespie Bridge spanning the Gila River with a mountain in the background — Old US 80 Bridge at Gila River – The historic Gillespie Bridge at Gila River, part of Old US 80, features a rusted iron truss structure and spans over the water with a volcanic rock mountain in the background.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s photo and reading about the Arlington Cattle Company and the old farm equipment that still represents Arizona’s ranching history. Don’t forget to check out the larger version of Arlington’s Abandoned Feed Mill Cattle on our website by clicking here. Join us next week for more fascinating stories and photos of farming equipment, from the old to the new. And who knows, maybe we’ll even find something borrowed and blue. Thanks for reading!

Till next time
jw