Category: Archaeology

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.

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. After a few tweaks, 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 20th 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

Heart of Bisbee Bisbee, Arizona

A view of Bisbee's Main Street, with its colorful storefronts, snow-capped mountains, and decorative lights.
Discover the heart and soul of Bisbee on its Main Street, where history, culture, and charm come together uniquely and unforgettably.

You should know that I may be a sports legend of sorts. When my family moved to California in 1960, we lived in a rental home in Sylmar. Our street was at the west end of the San Gabriel Mountains, and it was so steep we couldn’t play ball sports because any balls that got away rolled down into the San Fernando Valley and wound up in Hansen Dam Lake. So, we played a lot of tetherball and invented our fun.

On a sunny summer morning, my friends on the block were hanging out in my front yard trying to fix my sister’s roller skates—the metal ones that you adjusted to fit on your shoes. One of them had come apart, and as hard as we tried, it wouldn’t go back together. One of the boys said, “I got an idea.” He ran to his garage and returned with a hammer, some nails, and a scrap piece of 2×4. He quickly nailed the skate halves to each end of the board. Once he secured the skate, he walked to the top of the street, sat down on the contraption, and tried to ride it down the sidewalk. Of course, he immediately fell off, but the game was on. We lined up for our turn to see who’d go the furthest before getting a personal dose of road rash—the red badge of courage. It’s a good thing that it never occurred to us to stand on the stupid thing, and that’s probably why I’m alive today. Within a month, pictures of missing roller skates appeared on milk cartons all over LA. For all I know, we may have been the brain trust that invented skateboards, but my real point is: You make do with what you have.

Think about it—it’s a worldwide truth. In the frozen north, they slide rocks across the ice to show people where to sweep. New Zealanders either race or jump off objects depending on whether or not the objects move. Scottish highlanders wear skirts so they can chuck telephone poles. So, it’s unsurprising that Bisbeeites turned their hills into sports fields.

Take this week’s featured image, called Heart of Bisbee. It was taken at the bottom of Bisbee’s Tombstone Canyon, looking up the hill. It’s a serene photo of Bisbee’s shopping district. There’s little traffic and just a few people walking. Imagine fully grown adults riding in gravity-powered oversized cigars hurtling around the corners, trying to achieve the fastest downhill time. That happens during Bisbee’s 4th of July celebrations, where the highlight event is the Coaster Race. Unfortunately, the race was suspended during the Covid pandemic and canceled in 2022 due to staffing shortages, but organizers are working hard this year to ensure the race returns.

The Coaster Race is an actual test of skill, courage, and homemade engineering. It has been a Bisbee tradition since 1969, making it the country’s second-oldest running soap box derby. The rules are simple: racers must build their cars from scratch and be powered only by gravity. The race begins at the top of Tombstone Canyon and winds down the steep and twisting street, with racers reaching up to 40 mph speeds. Spectators line the sidewalks to watch the cars zoom by, and the excitement is palpable.

Over the years, the Coaster Race has attracted some notable participants, including former Arizona Governor Bruce Babbitt and the late comedian Gallagher. The race has also had its share of mishaps and close calls. In 1980, tragedy marred the race when a racecar careened onto the sidewalk, killing two bystanders. In response, organizers revised the rules and shortened the course to prevent future accidents. Despite the dangers, the Coaster Race remains a beloved Bisbee tradition, and racers and spectators look forward to it yearly.

A staircase in Bisbee leading up to an adventure with railings on each side and a rosemary bush in the corner.
Bisbee is full of unique outdoor activities, including climbing up the many flights of stairs throughout the town.

But wait, there’s more. May I direct your attention to this week’s other photo— Bisbee’s Stairway Adventure—shows an absurd flight of stairs? You already know about my step affliction, so I won’t burden you with that tirade again. I’m out of breath just looking at it. They may seem innocent enough, but they’re only part of a sinister foot race called the Bisbee 1000 Great Stair Climb. The grueling event occurs on the third Saturday of October each year and consists of running up nine sets of stairs, totaling 1,034 steps, over a distance of 4.5 miles. The race starts in downtown Bisbee and winds up the steep hills and through the narrow alleyways of Old Bisbee. The race is so famous that the entries are limited to 1,500 runners. The current record holder is Eriks Zars, who, in 2016, managed to complete the race in less than 23 minutes. It’s an impressive feat that only the most dedicated or insane athletes attempt.

If you want something unique and exciting in Bisbee, consider planning your trip around the Coaster Race in July or the Stair Climb in October. These events are truly one-of-a-kind and will give you an unforgettable taste of Bisbee’s adventurous spirit. Of course, if you prefer a more relaxed activity, you can always try the annual Ghost Hunt. Whatever you choose, I’m confident you’ll enjoy visiting Bisbee and experiencing all it offers. And don’t forget to click here to see a larger version of Heart of Bisbee, and join us next week as we wrap up our April Bisbee tour.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

It’s only April, and we’ve already had our first snake sighting—well, sort of. Queen Anne found a shed snake skin on the side of the house on Saturday. It was so small you had to move rocks to see it, and it didn’t have a pattern, so I think it was from a Garter Snake. In any case, I’m hoping it’s our snake-in-the-yard for 2023.