Arizona – On the road with Jim

Hot Springs, Dusty Trails, and Desert Tales: The Story of Agua Caliente Pictures of the Month - Agua Caliente, Arizona

1940s vintage gas station in Agua Caliente, now operating as an ice cream shop under a clear blue sky. — Historic Stop: Old Gas Station Turned Ice Cream Store – Perched near the edge of a dormant shield volcano’s western plain, this charming 1940s gas station is a window into Agua Caliente’s storied past. Once serving travelers as a vital fueling point, the “Sentinel Station” now delights visitors with sweet treats as an ice cream shop. Though replaced by a modern Chevron station nearby, its enduring presence marks the starting point for our journey to the historic resort town of Agua Caliente.

If you thought Arizona’s summer heat this year was terrible, you should have been here a couple of epochs ago. In the Miocene epoch, around 20 million years ago, molten lava wasn’t just rolling—it was stampeding across this landscape like spilled coffee on a countertop, much hotter and far less forgiving. Why? Because this corner of the Earth sat atop one of the most geologically active regions on the planet. Tectonic plates jitterbugged and collided, cracking the Earth’s crust like a fragile eggshell. Faults yawned open, releasing fiery rivers of lava, and the Earth wasn’t just warm—it was downright boiling.

Arizona’s Volcanic Past

Volcanoes were breaking out all over Arizona like pimples on a teenager’s face—a geological puberty that stretched for millions of years. It all started in the Miocene Epoch, about 20 million years ago, when the Earth’s crust stretched like an old pair of jeans across the Basin and Range Province. Magma bubbled through the cracks, spilling to form shield volcanoes and sprawling lava fields. One of the grandest results was the White Mountains, whose towering peaks and vast basalt flows gave the landscape a bold, volcanic makeover.

Arizona’s volcanic party got going by the Pleistocene Epoch around 2.8 million years ago. In the San Francisco Volcanic Field, stratovolcanoes like Humphreys Peak erupted with flair, spewing ash and lava while smaller cinder cones popped up like freckles across the northern plains. Bill Williams Mountain joined the festivities later, its viscous dome adding another dramatic feature to the state’s volcanic portfolio.

The evidence of all this geological chaos is still visible today. Any hill, mountain, or plain covered in black basalt is a telltale sign of volcanic activity. You can spot these dark, rocky remnants from your car as you cruise Arizona’s desert highways, head toward California, or explore the state’s backroads. These basaltic leftovers aren’t just eye-catching—like a giant road map to the state’s fiery past.

All this volcanic activity didn’t just leave behind rugged peaks and lava fields; it also created geothermal hotspots. When groundwater seeps deep into the Earth, it brushes against rocks still warm from ancient magma chambers and rises to the surface as hot springs. While Arizona isn’t as famous for these thermal features as neighboring Nevada, it still boasts a few noteworthy examples. Tonopah and Castle Hot Springs offer glimpses of this natural phenomenon. Still, one of the most intriguing is the spring at Agua Caliente—a warm oasis that once lured travelers seeking rest and rejuvenation in the heart of the desert.

Indigenous and Early History

Long before stagecoaches rattled across Arizona’s rugged terrain or settlers carved dusty trails, the hot springs at Agua Caliente were a haven for Indigenous peoples. Tribes such as the Hohokam and later the Tohono O’odham and Apache revered the springs as sacred ground. Their mineral-rich waters weren’t just warm—they were believed to heal both body and spirit, offering relief from ailments and a deeper connection to the land. The springs were more than just a practical resource for these early inhabitants—they were a spiritual touchstone, humming with the Earth’s energy.

When Spanish explorers ventured into the region in the 16th and 17th centuries, they encountered these springs and called them Agua Caliente—”hot water.” To the Indigenous peoples, however, the springs were simply part of a greater whole called Tonopah, meaning “hot water place.” Though the Spanish expeditions were brief, their naming left a lasting imprint on the area’s history.

By the mid-19th century, Agua Caliente was at the crossroads of history as westward expansion swept through the region. The Butterfield Overland Mail stage line, operating from 1858 to 1861, threaded its way across the Arizona desert, linking the eastern United States with the golden promises of California. While Agua Caliente may not have been an official stop, its reputation as a reliable water source made it a lifeline for travelers braving the relentless sun and parched soil. To a stagecoach driver, spotting those steaming springs must have been like finding an oasis in a sea of dust.

Later, the Oatman Route brought settlers, traders, and wagons rolling through the area, further cementing Agua Caliente’s importance. Named after the harrowing story of the Oatman family’s capture by the Yavapai, the trail became a crucial passage for pioneers navigating Arizona’s unforgiving wilderness. Even the Yavapai and Apache, who knew this land better than anyone, often stopped at the springs during their movements. Agua Caliente stood where cultures intersected—a desert crossroads where survival trumped divisions.

Before the railroads ironed their way through Arizona’s vast deserts, Agua Caliente was a beacon for anyone bold enough to journey through southern Arizona. From Indigenous healers seeking spiritual renewal to stagecoach passengers desperate for a drink, its waters sustained weary travelers across centuries. Every ripple in its springs carried a story, each as rich as the minerals bubbling up from the depths.

Basalt-covered mountain peak in Agua Caliente, likely formed by volcanic fissure eruptions, with the moon rising above. — Volcanic Legacy: The Basalt-Covered Mountains of Agua Caliente – This rugged peak in the Agua Caliente mountain cluster offers a glimpse into the region’s volcanic past. Likely formed by a fissure eruption, the hill is cloaked in black basalt, and the cooled remains of the ancient lava flow. These mountains once served as the underground furnace that heated the famous hot springs, drawing settlers and visitors to the area. With the moon overhead, this image highlights the geological forces that shaped the desert landscape.

Agua Caliente’s Heyday

By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Agua Caliente had transformed from a dusty desert waypoint into a sought-after retreat. The adobe guest quarters, built in the 1870s and expanded over the following decades, were simple yet inviting, nestled among the desert plains. Their charm matched the bubbling pools of mineral-rich water, which promised relief from aching joints to mysterious ailments doctors couldn’t quite name. Agua Caliente was Arizona’s answer to high society’s spas for a taste of rustic charm with the allure of healing waters.

The Southern Pacific Railroad played a crucial role in the resort’s rise, mainly after Arizona achieved statehood in 1912. Railcars carried passengers from the soot-stained cities of the East, eager to trade Wall Street stress for desert serenity. Lured by tales of magical waters, visitors—many dismissive of Indigenous traditions—were quick to embrace the springs’ purported healing powers. After all, if hot water could fix a stiff back, gout, or “nerves,” it was worth a shot.

Agua Caliente thrived in a world that was rapidly modernizing. As Arizona became the nation’s youngest state, the resort became a beacon for weary travelers and health seekers. The adobe lodges buzzed with activity. Guests soaked in the steaming pools daily, claiming the mineral waters melted away ailments and sour moods. By evening, laughter spilled from the adobe walls as card games and tall tales of desert adventures echoed into the night. It was a perfect mix of elegance and frontier spirit—where boots met parasols, and everyone left with a story.

Agua Caliente Pioneer Cemetery with American flags flying over graves on Veterans Day, restored with white crosses for unidentified graves. — Flags of Honor: Agua Caliente Pioneer Cemetery on Veterans Day – As you approach Agua Caliente, the Pioneer Cemetery comes into view, a poignant reminder of the lives that once thrived here. Visiting on Veterans Day, I found flags proudly waving over the graves of veterans, paying tribute to their service. Once neglected, with missing headstones and anonymous graves, this cemetery has been given new dignity by an anonymous caretaker who placed white crosses on each grave, ensuring no one rests unremembered in the desert sun.

Agricultural Development and Water Table Decline

As the 20th century progressed, the once-thriving oasis of Agua Caliente began to wither—fade from neglect but from the insatiable demands of agriculture. For much of the early 1900s, Arizona’s deserts were seen as vast, useless expanses. But farmers soon discovered a transformative truth: add water, and the barren soil could burst into life. With the promise of productivity on the horizon, the surrounding plains transformed into a patchwork of cotton fields and other thirsty crops stretching to the horizon. Wells were drilled, pumps roared, and groundwater flowed like there was no tomorrow—all to sustain an agricultural empire that would help feed the growing demands of a nation.

The boom wasn’t just about local ambition. As the country mobilized for two World Wars, cotton and other desert crops became vital resources for military use, from clothing to tents and more. The fields didn’t just symbolize progress—they represented patriotism and the belief that even the desert could serve a higher purpose. But with this progress came a cost.

Farmers likely dismissed the first murmurs of trouble. After all, how could a few wells harm a spring bubbling faithfully for centuries? To them, the water table was like the change jar on the kitchen counter—always there when you needed it. But the Earth, it turned out, had a different balance sheet. As the water table sank lower and lower, the hot springs that had sustained Agua Caliente faltered. Once-vibrant pools turned to muddy trickles, and the resort’s lifeblood evaporated into the desert air.

The decline of the springs was more than just a geological shift—it marked the end of an era. Without the water, the allure of Agua Caliente faded, leaving the adobe walls to stand as silent witnesses to what was lost. The same farmers who benefited from the booming fields likely drove past the resort ruins, perhaps scratching their heads and wondering what went wrong. Few, if any, ever connected the dots between their pumps and the death of the springs, a quiet casualty of human ambition.

Plaster-covered adobe buildings in Agua Caliente, the former reception and guest quarters of a hot springs resort, with basalt ruins nearby. — Resort Ruins: Adobe Structures of Agua Caliente – Standing as silent witnesses to the past, these adobe buildings once served as the Agua Caliente Resort’s reception area and guest quarters. Their plaster-covered walls hint at a time when visitors came to enjoy the region’s therapeutic hot springs. Behind these two main structures lies a cluster of unmarked buildings, their purpose lost to time. North of the complex, basalt stone ruins crumbles in isolation, with decay more pronounced the farther they sit from the heart of the resort. These remnants evoke a haunting beauty, narrating the gradual fading of a once-thriving retreat.

Decay and Urgency to Visit

Once a bustling oasis, the Agua Caliente resort now teeters on the edge of oblivion. The adobe structures, including the reception area and guest quarters, slowly succumb to time, their plaster peeling like sunburnt skin and walls crumbling into dusty heaps. Surrounding buildings, some made from rugged black basalt, are in various states of disrepair—especially those farther from the leading club central, where collapse seems not just likely but inevitable.

Ownership of the site remains a mystery, shrouded as much in obscurity as the ruins themselves. Nearby, a covered structure housing hay and equipment hints at a private owner, though specifics are hard to come by. What is clear, however, is the lack of preservation efforts. With no markers, informational signs, or protective measures, Agua Caliente’s historical significance seems to hang by a thread, leaving the remaining structures at the mercy of the relentless desert sun.

For those intrigued by its haunting beauty, visiting Agua Caliente sooner rather than later is not just a suggestion—it’s a ticking clock. The adobe walls and basalt stones are steadily losing their battle against gravity and heat, while the surrounding grounds are a minefield of rusted roof timbers, ancient nails, and the odd relic of its former life. Add to that the possibility of encountering a rattlesnake seeking shade during summer, and it becomes clear: caution is your best companion.

But tread lightly, both literally and figuratively. These ruins are more than just crumbling buildings; they are fragile echoes of Arizona’s past. The desert reclaims a little more sand each year, and time erases what remains. If you’re tempted to take a souvenir or leave your marks, resist the urge. Respecting the past means preserving it for others to experience its quiet, crumbling beauty—just as you have.

Agua Caliente is a place where history whispers, not shouts. Visit while you still can. Move carefully, look closely, and honor the stories etched into the adobe and basalt. They won’t linger forever.

Final Thoughts

Thank you for joining me on this journey through time to the once-thriving resort of Agua Caliente. From its fiery volcanic beginnings to its heyday as a desert retreat and, finally, to its quiet decline, this place stands as a testament to the resilience of nature and history. It’s a story of survival, ambition, and the delicate balance between progress and preservation. I hope you’ve enjoyed exploring its layers as much as I’ve enjoyed sharing them.

Be sure to visit the gallery on my website for larger photos of the ruins and the surrounding desert landscape. These images, featured in the New Work portfolio for the next three months, capture this unforgettable place’s haunting beauty, quiet mystery, and inevitable decay—and they might inspire your own adventures.

Next month, we’ll hit the road again to uncover another abandoned spot steeped in history and intrigue. Where will the road take us? That’s a story for another time—you must stay tuned to find out!

Until then, keep exploring, respect the places you visit, and remember to bring water—especially if your journey takes you to Agua Caliente.

Suspended in Time: Adventures Beyond the Petrified Forest Picture of the Month - Petrified Forest National Park

Colorful petrified wood logs under a dramatic sky at Petrified Forest's Rainbow Room with the White Mountains on the horizon — Clouds Over Color: A Journey Through Time: The Petrified Forest’s Rainbow Room captivates with its rich hues of fossilized logs, set against a backdrop of the White Mountains and a dramatic sky.

In the darkness of a new moon night, as the planets aligned in an alphabetical parade across the sky, a mysterious vortex reveals itself on the Petrified Forest’s Blue Mesa. During our March visit, this phenomenon descended upon the desert so abruptly that even the coyotes ceased their howlings and sought refuge. Emitting a strange, bluish light that paradoxically cast no shadows, the vortex resembled a serene tornado devoid of wind or dust.

Queen Anne implored me to remain safely in the truck, but driven by an irrepressible curiosity—and a touch of male recklessness—I approached the enigmatic glow. To my astonishment, the light seemed to emanate from an infinitely deep shaft that absorbed all light, a celestial anomaly that didn’t just block but swallowed the stars behind it, much like a black hole. The sheer impossibility of its physics beckoned me closer yet filled me with an instinctual dread.

Retreating momentarily, I fetched a new tee shirt from our recent gift shop visit, wadded it into a makeshift projectile, and lobbed it at the spectral phenomenon. On contact, the light flared like a campfire doused in brandy, the tee shirt evaporating into a blaze of unknown physics, replaced by a window into another era. What lay before me was alien and familiar—the same lands but from an unfathomably distant past.

As I peered through the temporal aperture, the vivid contrast between past and present became strikingly clear. Below me, the landscape stretched out at a significantly lower elevation, nowhere near the mile-high expanse of the contemporary Colorado Plateau. The sun blazed directly overhead, its position a stark reminder of our proximity to the equator in this ancient era. This verdant vista was a sharp departure from the blue-gray dust bowl that surrounded me in my own time. Volcanoes loomed in the distance, their eruptions feeding a robust river that sustained expansive forests of towering Norfolk Island Pines along its banks. The trees, resembling those I had seen in the South Pacific, rose majestically above broad meadows draped with lush ferns.

Two vibrant red petrified logs in the middle of Petrified Forest National Park against a desert backdrop — Timeless Twins: Petrified Logs Standing Sentinel in Arizona’s Heartland—Red Remnants of Prehistory: Twin logs of petrified wood stand in stark contrast to the barren terrain of Petrified Forest’s central expanse.

A sense of awe welled inside me as I realized I was witnessing the Triassic Period, gazing upon the supercontinent of Pangaea during the dawn of the dinosaurs. I was observing the initial deposition of what would become the Chinle Formation. I recalled from my readings that this geological stratum could reach staggering thicknesses of up to 1,000 feet in some areas, comprising mud, volcanic ash, and silt layers. Each layer, uniquely colored by the minerals brought by successive floods, painted a vivid rainbow across the landscape. This explains today’s mesmerizing array of colors in the petrified logs and strata. These layers were like pages in a book, each telling a story of ancient environmental changes and cataclysmic events that shaped this prehistoric world.

I wanted Anne to witness this extraordinary spectacle, so I glanced at the truck, hoping to catch her eye. However, Anne was deeply ensconced in her usual road trip posture: head wedged comfortably between the headrest and the door window, eyes closed, with a gentle series of snores that rhythmically fogged the glass. Outside, the coyotes, usually the desert’s nocturnal soundtrack, had retreated into a tense silence, perhaps unnerved by the vortex’s eerie presence. Anne’s sporadic snoring crescendoed to fill the void in their absence, unwittingly providing a somewhat incongruous lullaby for the mystical night.

Every so often, her snoring reached such a volume that it startled her awake, causing a brief moment of confused blinking before she settled back into her dreams, her snores resuming their irregular serenade. It seemed even the peculiar happenings of the universe couldn’t rouse her as effectively as her resonant outbursts.

As I turned my gaze back to the mystical landscape before me, movement along the tree line caught my attention. A herd of dinosaurs grazed contentedly on the lush ferns, presenting a sight as bizarre as it was fascinating. Standing about as tall as me at their shoulders, these creatures appeared as if someone had whimsically grafted a walrus’s head onto a hippo’s body—only, the resemblance ended there. Unlike the smooth, blubbery skin of a hippo, these dinosaurs were decked out in what looked like nature’s version of leather armor, tough and textured, designed for the rough-and-tumble lifestyle of the Triassic.

Several large pieces of petrified wood clustered together in Petrified Forest's agate section — Agate Assembly: Petrified Logs in Nature’s Mosaic at Petrified Forest – Scattered Legacy: A cluster of petrified logs in the agate-rich grounds of Petrified Forest, each piece a fragment of prehistoric life frozen in time.

Their grunts and murmurs filled the air, a primitive yet oddly harmonious symphony. They kept close contact, communicating in low rumbles that resonated through the ground, much like whales in an ocean vast with silence. Upon consulting my trusty Wikipedia back home, I confirmed these bizarre beasts were Placerias, herbivores of the Triassic who seemed to have missed the memo on needing fat ripples for insulation. Their skin, devoid of flabby undulations, clung to their frames, armored against predators and perhaps the occasional bad weather day.

Watching them, I couldn’t help but marvel at their comical appearance—imagine a group of dignitaries dressed in bulky, ill-fitting leather armor attending a gala where the dress code was strictly ‘prehistoric chic.’ Their grave, tusky faces and the earnest way they munched on ferns added an air of solemnity to their otherwise ludicrous ensemble.

As I continued observing this prehistoric tableau, I was drawn to another pair of Placerias further out in the meadow, engaged in a rather comical sport. These two weren’t simply grazing like their peers; instead, they were energetically flinging an orange Frisbee back and forth with surprising dexterity. Unlike dogs who catch with their mouths, these ancient athletes used their tusks to scoop the disk, then launched it with a practiced snap of their heads, turning a simple game into a spectacle of prehistoric lacrosse.

To my astonishment, one of them sported a familiar-looking tee shirt, now a makeshift jersey. Squinting for a better view, I couldn’t help but exclaim, “Hey, that’s my tee shirt!” Objects, too, could travel through time via the vortex. As I watched, they skillfully navigated their game of ‘Shirts and Skins,’ the tee shirt serving as a team uniform in this bizarre version of Jurassic Sports.

Their game was a peculiar sight—half-fetch, half-soccer, with all the earnestness of Olympic competitors. It was a scene of sporting prowess that would have baffled even the most imaginative sports commentator. Amid my amusement and disbelief, a part of me couldn’t help but feel a touch envious of their uninhibited joy—a stark contrast to my usual self-deprecation and haplessness, which at that moment seemed confined to the sidelines of time.

I dubbed the one sporting my shirt “Gonzo” for his daring antics, and the other I named “Norm” after his uncanny resemblance to the beloved barfly from Cheers with his leisurely demeanor and stout build. As Gonzo and Norm chased the Frisbee across the meadow, their surprising agility belied their substantial physiques; their scaly, armored skin showcased the muscle tone of seasoned athletes rather than any signs of bulk slowing them down. They weren’t the brightest crayons in the box, though. Their antics were a series of comedic missteps—tripping over their feet, tumbling in clumsy somersaults, wholly absorbed in their game.

Despite their athletic pursuits, they remained blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. Dark clouds rolled over the distant mountains, and thunder rumbled ominously, yet Gonzo and Norm continued their game undeterred. It was a stark reminder of their simple minds, focused solely on the moment’s joy, oblivious to the growing threat that gathered with each passing minute.

Even though this ancient land was far from the desert I call home, it shared one familiar trait: the occurrence of seasonal monsoons. The storms I observed gathered ferocity over the volcanic mountains, mirroring the summer storms of my own time. These prehistoric storms unleashed torrential flash floods that brought more rain in an hour than we see all year, transforming the tranquil scene into a landscape of chaos.

As I watched, a formidable wall of dark gray water mixed with ash and debris surged over the land. It moved with the relentless force of cement pouring from a mixer’s chute, snapping ancient trees as if they were mere twigs and sweeping them up in its muddy grasp. The deluge roared across the plains, an unstoppable force of nature.

The monstrous wave of mud and debris bore down on them, and Gonzo and Norm finally noticed the danger. There was a brief, comical attempt to outrun the flood—Norm’s legs churning comically fast, Gonzo awkwardly trying to scoop up the Frisbee with his tusks for one last throw. Perhaps they understood, in their simple way, that this was the end, but they faced it as they had lived: together, amid their favorite game. Their final squeals, a mixture of surprise and protest, were quickly silenced by the relentless flood as if the land wished to spare them any prolonged fear.

The spectacle I had witnessed was poignant, akin to losing friends in a sudden natural disaster, yet enlightening. It revealed how the distinctive popcorn-textured strata of the Chinle Formation were laid down and how the ancient trees and flora were interred within it. As the vortex gradually dimmed and vanished into the encroaching darkness of the night, I could hear coyotes yelping in the distance, perhaps sharing tales of the strange light show with their kin.

Deep erosional textures of the Chinle Formation seen from Blue Mesa walkway in Petrified Forest National Park — Blue Mesa’s Eroded Wonders: Textures of Time in Petrified Forest—Nature’s Sculpture: Blue Mesa’s eroded beauty unveils the Chinle Formation’s intricate textures, a testament to the relentless artistry of natural forces.

Lost in my reflections, I strolled back to the truck and gently nudged Anne awake. “Hey, ready to go back to the motel and get some sleep?” I asked, the irony not lost on me that I was interrupting her sleep to suggest we sleep. Her only response was a sleepy nod, barely comprehending the night’s extraordinary events.

Before leaving the Holbrook area the following day, we stopped at the park’s gift shop, hoping to replace the shirt I had lost to the vortex. I scanned the racks for something similar but found nothing. Seeing my frustration, the sales lady mentioned, “That style sold out yesterday, but a ranger brought in one just like it. Found it at a dig site, believe it or not. It’s in the lost and found. Would you like to see it?”

Curious, I nodded, and she fetched a bin from behind the counter. Inside was a stretched, soil-crusted shirt—remarkably similar to mine- with tags. My heart skipped a beat as I lifted it, revealing a beat-up orange Frisbee nestled underneath, riddled with puncture marks. “Looks like mine, alright,” I murmured, a chill running down my spine as the pieces of an impossible puzzle fell into place.

As Gonzo’s and Norm’s tale whimsically illustrates, the Petrified Forest National Park is not merely a portal to the past but a vibrant laboratory of ongoing discovery. Here, every visitor has the chance to tread amid echoes from millions of years ago, exploring the geological marvels of the Triassic period. Whether you’re an aspiring paleontologist, a lover of natural beauty, or a seeker of time-bound adventures, the Petrified Forest awaits to unfold its rich tapestry of tales. Plan your visit, and you might uncover a hidden chapter of Earth’s history, where the past and the present merge in the whispers of the stones.

Thank you for joining me on this incredible journey through Petrified Forest National Park. Suppose you’ve enjoyed this tale of prehistoric whimsy and modern-day mystery. In that case, I invite you to explore larger versions of this month’s images on my New Work portfolio and the detailed pieces I’ve posted on Fine Art America. These photos will be displayed there for three months before being rotated.

As the echoes of the ancient past slowly fade, let’s turn our gaze to a different historical exploration. Next month, join me for a night among the neon and nostalgia of Gallup’s abandoned motels. We’ll explore the haunting beauty of old motel signs, capturing the stories they whisper to the desert winds. Don’t miss this eerie yet visually captivating journey—subscribe now to get a reminder as soon as we go live.

Until then, keep exploring the layers of history around you, and perhaps you’ll discover your own story woven into the fabric of time.
jw

Desert Dichotomy: Prickly Pear and Snow Peaks in the Weavers Picture of the Week - Congress, Arizona

Snow-capped peaks of the Weaver Mountains in the background with desert vegetation in the foreground on a sunny morning. — Desert Dichotomy: Prickly Pear and Snow Peaks in the Weavers – Early morning light bathes the Weaver Mountains, revealing a rare sight as winter’s frosty blanket contrasts sharply with the resilient desert flora of Arizona.

Greetings again from the heart of what’s suddenly become the Arctic Circle’s kissing cousin, our own Weaver’s Winter Wonderland. This week’s spotlight, Desert Dichotomy, is yet another snapshot from that astonishing February storm that dared to blanket the Weavers in snow. This time, I’ve dared to pair the icy peaks with the sopping-wet desert flora upfront, striking a contrast that even a snowbird might find chillingly beautiful.

It’s been a month heavy with winter portraits, an oddity for us desert dwellers, and an outright betrayal for the snowbirds who come here seeking sanctuary from their shovel-laden driveways. Bookmark your favorite image, friends, because the mercury is on an upward trajectory. Soon, as you fan yourself on a patio sweltering under a 115° sun, these images might be the only breeze you’ll feel. You’ll find larger copies on my website <Jim’s Page> and Fine Art Americas <FAA Link>.

Decisions, Decisions

There I was, knee-deep in mud, the cold nipping at my every extremity, and it hit me—I was actually having fun. A realization dawned, brighter than the sun glinting off the snow: Photography, with its promise of eternalizing a moment, is the lifeblood of my existence. It’s not the accolades or the Instagram likes; it’s the mud, the cold, and the hunt for the perfect shot.

Background and Evolution

In 2002, this website was a digital photo album devoid of captions, context, or care. As all things do, it evolved into a monthly newsletter recounting the high-stakes drama of our lives—Queen Anne and I versus the Wild. The Alaska expedition of 2016 demanded daily updates, transforming the newsletter into a casualty of efficiency. After returning to our home in Arizona, we switched to weekly posts, turning my Sunday mornings into a spirited race against my verbosity.

Feedback from you, dear readers, nudged me towards improvement. Books on writing, a thesaurus thick enough to serve as a murder weapon, online classes, and software soon became my weapons of choice in a battle against mediocrity. The downside? What once was a quick jaunt through my thoughts now takes days of meticulous crafting. In my quest to hone the written word, I nearly forgot the joy of wrestling with alligators—metaphorically speaking.

Frequency Insights

Buried in an internet rabbit hole, I unearthed a nugget of wisdom: The best newsletter frequency is once or twice a month. My inbox, swollen with the daily messages from overzealous websites, confirmed this truth. Too much of a good thing, and I’m out in the garage, hunting down the unsubscribe mallet.

Looking Ahead

Hence, we pivot. The weekly parade will cease, creating a monthly spectacle beginning in April. ‘The Picture of the Month’ will emerge, promising less inbox clutter and more breathing room for storytelling and photography. Imagine—more comprehensive tales, less repetition, and an inbox as unburdened as a desert sky.

Your seat on this journey is reserved; your input is invaluable. In the comments below, let us know your thoughts on our impending metamorphosis. With this shift on the horizon, we’re poised to dive deeper, travel further, and share the essence of our adventures with renewed vigor.

To more unhurried adventures and the promise of untold stories waiting just beyond the lens. Here’s to less time spent with the thesaurus and more pressing the shutter button.

Until our trails cross again;
jw

Winter’s Veil: Snowy Peaks Along AZ 89 Picture or the Week - Congress, Arizona

Road leading to snow-covered Weaver Mountains in Arizona under blue skies — Winter’s Veil: Snowy Peaks Along AZ 89—The scenic Route AZ 89 cuts through the arid terrain, leading towards the snow-laden Weaver Mountains. It captures a rare and serene moment of winter’s touch in the heart of Arizona’s landscape.

Growing up in Pennsylvania, snow days were the surprise holiday every kid dreamed of. Schools shuttered—not just for our safety, I reckon, but for teachers to catch a break, too. We, oblivious to any danger, greeted the snow with the enthusiasm a child could muster. Clad in mittens, we carved new paths with our sleds, turning the white blanket into our playground. Then, the West Coast called, and I bid farewell to those spontaneous winter celebrations—until the desert showed me it, too, could play host to such marvels.

Fast forward a few decades to last month’s surprise in the desert. Snow days, they returned, albeit cloaked in an Arizona guise. The saguaros, sentinels in their own right, stood frosted—a sight as unexpected as snowflakes in the sunshine. And just like that, the desert transformed into a wintery ballroom, with creatures great and small stepping out for a dance in their frost-touched finery. The desert, it seems, had been harboring its childhood joy, awaiting just the right moment to release it into the wild.

School’s Out For Everyone

The desert flora isn’t just tough; it’s runway-ready, even in the cold. Take the plant in Desert Glow—it might look like a typical weed, but as the sun breaks, it turns into a golden firework. You could say it’s the desert’s way of holding onto the warmth any way it can, glowing defiantly against the nippy morning air.

Imagine, if you will, the desert’s snow day transforming into an arena for the most endearing of animal antics. Jackrabbits accessorize with fluffy earmuffs, while roadrunners trade their famed sprint for graceful glides across the ice. Enter the mule deer, the unexpected champions of snowball mischief. They masterfully dip their noses into the snow, crafting frosty pellets in their nostrils only to launch them at unsuspecting quail. It’s as if the desert whispers its tales of frolic and play under the winter sky. Here, amidst the silence of the snow, the fauna engages in a playful dodgeball match, where snowballs fly, and laughter echoes through the crisp air.

Out here, snow angels are more like snow lizards, and snowball fights are postponed due to lack of thumbs. But the quails seem delighted by the extra fluff on the ground and the coyotes? Let’s say they’ve never seen their shadow quite like this before.

Backlit desert plant glowing with a straw flower-like appearance at sunrise — Desert Glow: Sunrise Illuminates a Wild Shrub – A desert plant, bathed in the warm morning sunlight, transforms into a beacon of golden radiance against the tranquil backdrop of the Southwestern wilderness.

The Photos

The quest to capture nature’s impromptu art show was not without its slapstick moments—convincing a cactus wren it wasn’t auditioning for March of the Penguins or mistaking a cholla’s frosty disguise for a benign bush, a prickly mistake I won’t soon forget. Yet amidst these playful blunders, a simple desert shrub, caught in the soft glow of dawn, stole the show, its silhouette aglow with a warmth that only the morning sun could paint.

However, the lead in this week’s wintry saga is Arizona 89, our gateway to the high country. This asphalt ribbon, featured in Winter’s Veil, guides us from the snow’s gentle beginnings at the Weaver’s base, ascending to a crescendo of white in Prescott, where the snow day is not a mere memory but a living joy for children who, much like I once did, greet the snow with hearts wide open and sleds at the ready.

As the sun sets on our desert snow day, we’re reminded that life can sparkle, even with a chill in the air. And just like the desert after a rare snowfall, we come out on the other side, a little bit stronger and much more enjoyable. For a closer look at the day’s enchantment, I’ve posted larger versions of this week’s images on my website and Fine Art America. Feel the crisp air and witness the silent dance of winter in the desert by clicking [here for my website] and [here for FAA].

I’d love to hear about your most unexpected nature encounters! Please share your stories in the comments below, and let’s swap tales of when the weather went wild. Did you snap any cool critter pics? Let’s see them!

Until our next frosty surprise, keep your gloves close and your camera closer, but don’t put your tongue on the frozen glass.
jw

March Survey

Don’t forget to take a minute to fill out our March survey. Your feedback is as rare and valuable as snow in the Sonoran, and it helps us keep our content as fresh as a winter bloom. You’re all set if you filled it out last week—thank you! If not, here’s another chance to help shape our newsletter. Find the survey [here] or at the top of this email.

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Snow-Capped Majesty: Winter Embraces the Weaver Mountains Picture of the Week - Congress, Arizona

Snow-covered Weaver Mountains with clouds caressing the peaks, viewed from Congress, Arizona — Snow-Capped Majesty: Winter Embraces the Weaver Mountains – A serene morning in Congress, Arizona, as snow blankets the Weaver Mountains, with clouds tenderly skimming the peaks.

I’m often dumbfounded when I encounter snowbirds flocking at the Denny’s cash register complaining about our January rain. Frequently, I’ll interrupt their griping with local folklore. I’ll say, “The natives have a word for this weird weather pattern.”

“Oh ya,” their curiosity peaks, and they’ll ask, “What do they call it?”

“They call it winter,” I respond as I walk past them out the door, but I can always hear their groans behind me.

Yes, Virginia, the Sonoran desert gets rainy in the winter. It’s not our wettest time of the year. That honor comes with the summer monsoons. The dueling wet seasons are why our desert is home to the famous saguaro cactus. The winter months provide enough water for these giants for a spring bloom, and the monsoons provide water for the seeds to germinate. I’m unsure how the behemoth cactus scheduled the weather around their needs.

Understanding Arizona’s Two-Faced Winters

Arizona’s winters showcase a dual personality, much to our visitors’ fascination—and sometimes frustration.

The Gulf of Alaska pens the first act of our winter weather. These storms script our late December and January, bringing a chill that bites through the desert air. They’re the colder of our two patterns, and though the California mountains tend to hoard most of the moisture, they occasionally let enough slip through to grace us with a frosty spectacle.

Then, as if on cue, February presents a delightful intermission with weather so perfect it feels like paradise remembered. Daytime highs coyly flirt with the 70s and 80s, while the nights, crisp in the 40s and 50s, are ideal for a lover’s embrace or a solo serenade under the stars. It’s when we remember why we endure the scorching soliloquies of our summers.

But the final act belongs to the Pineapple Express. These storms spun from the warm waters around Hawaii and debuted around March and April. They bring a wetter, warmer embrace, coaxing the delicate plants from their frosty fear. Yet, this is no guarantee of a tender ending—Easter snow has been known to make a dramatic cameo.

Our rains are brief, a fleeting audience to our desert stage. They come and go, cleansing the air of Phoenix’s smoggy shroud and leaving behind a verdant carpet that transforms the desert floor. It’s a weekly show, though some complain it’s too often on weekends. But we Zonies? We wouldn’t have it any other way.

First Glimpse

When one of these Arctic Blasts cuts through the air, it’s as if the mountains around our house don an exquisite coat of powdered sugar. While the sight is breathtaking, the sun’s warm embrace usually coaxes the snow to leave by noon. However, this January presented an extraordinary spectacle that graced the Weaver’s and Date Creek Ranges with a full, snowy embrace from crest to base. This was not just a fleeting visitation but a rare, all-encompassing transformation that demanded to be captured.

On that magical morning, the urgency of the moment overtook me. Coffee, usually the first crucial step of my day, was forgotten. Dressed against the chill, I grabbed my camera gear and drove up the hill, driven by a compulsion to immortalize the scene before the sun could chase the frost away. March’s theme, the Weaver Winter Wonderland, is thus a tribute to this exceptional event. Through my lens, I hope to share the beauty of snow in the desert and a rare moment that reminds us of nature’s capacity for surprise and wonder.

Photographs

This week’s image is titled Snow-Capped Majesty, and it shows the area where AZ 89 scales the mountainside to the Granite Mountain Hotshots Memorial State Park and Yarnell. I’m happy with the clouds cascading down the slope and the morning light reflecting off the glowing grass. This scene rarely happens, but when it does, I’m glad I moved here to witness it.

Our second image this week was taken later after all but traces of the snow had disappeared. I named it Chilly Dawn, one of the lower hills among the Weavers having a bit of frost in the air. Those of you with sharp eyes know that this was taken at a high elevation in Peeples Valley because of the appearance of the Juniper trees.

Early morning light casting a chilly haze over the hills above Peeples Valley, Arizona — Chilly Dawn: Hazy Morning Light Over Peeples Valley Hills – The early light of dawn bathes the hills above Peeples Valley in a soft, chilly haze, capturing the tranquil essence of an Arizona morning.

I hope you enjoy viewing my photographs as much as I share them with you. Perhaps we should bookmark and save this series to dig them out in July when it’s 118° outside. Queen Anne and I look forward to your comments about the photos or your winter memories. I have posted larger versions on my website < Jim’s Web> and Fine Art America <FAA Link> should you want to look closer. I’ll have more from Weaver Winter Wonderland next week, so return then.

Until then, keep your socks and humor dry.
jw

March Survey

I need your advice. Since it’s already March, it’s time to consider spring cleaning. To keep my customers happy, I’m asking you to answer some questions about how we’re doing. The survey below will appear for the next four weeks, but I only need your opinion once, so answer the questions once, and you’re done. At the end of the month, I’ll review your input and discuss any decisions we make. I dislike taking these surveys as much as you do, so I’m keeping it short. Mark the first pair of questions with a single answer, but the third is multiple choice. Tick all the boxes that apply to you.

Thanks in advance for helping us.

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Cool Springs Route 66: Relics and Flags Picture of the Week - Oatman, Arizona

Vintage cars parked under a waving American flag at Cool Springs Station on Route 66, Oatman, Arizona. — Cool Springs Route 66: Relics and Flags – Echoes of the Past: Vintage cars sit silently under the vibrant hues of the American flag at Cool Springs Station, capturing the enduring spirit of Route 66.

The things you do for love. We don’t often get company, but when we do, Queen Anne transforms into a machine as she attempts to disinfect the house from top to bottom. My best chance of staying out of the trash bin or sucked into one of her vacuums is to lock myself in my office. That’s what happened the first week of December. Anne’s sisters came out for a long weekend visit, meaning that she spent the entire month of November scrubbing the walls. She only put down her Comet can for our traditional Thanksgiving dinner at Denny’s.

Before leaving to pick them up from the airport, imagine my surprise when she handed me a crisp $20.00 bill and told me, “Find someplace to spend the night.” It was predictable because we haven’t had enough beds for multiple guests since we sold our Casita (don’t remind me). I decided to drive over to the river and lose my newfound wealth on the Craps table. Since I was going in that direction, I thought I could get some Route 66 shots. And there, my friend is the story of how Oatman became January’s photo project.

In Arizona, there are two long stretches of the original Mother Road. The first and longest is the Seligman – Peach Springs – Kingman section. The other runs from Kingman, through Sitgraves Pass, to Oatman, and then the old bridge crossing the Colorado River. Since I have very few photos of Oatman, I took this route on my way home from Laughlin. I’m glad I did.

The only other time I drove this section of Old Route 66 was during the pandemic. At the time, we were avoiding people, so we didn’t stop to shoot any roadside attractions. However, the Cool Springs Station burned a hole in my lens, so it was a required stop on this trip.

Cool Springs Station and vintage gas pumps along Route 66 with Thimble Mountain in the background in Oatman, Arizona. — Cool Springs: Route 66’s Desert Jewel—Step back in time at Cool Springs Station, an iconic stop along Arizona’s stretch of Route 66, nestled against the majestic backdrop of Thimble Mountain.

You’ve likely seen pictures of this place in books or videos about Route 66. With its classic shiny red Mobil gas pumps (there’s a rusty one, too), it’s a perfect backdrop for motorheads to snap a portrait of their car. It hasn’t always been this gleaming jewel on the Mohave Desert floor. It has a history.

Nestled against the rugged backdrop of the Black Mountains, Cool Springs Station has stood as a silent witness to the ebb and flow of Route 66’s storied past. Established in the mid-1920s, Cool Springs was built to serve the burgeoning car culture of America, providing fuel, refreshments, and a welcome respite to weary travelers making their way through the Sitgreaves Pass. Its distinctive stone façade and gleaming gas pumps quickly became a symbol of the optimism and adventure spirit embodied by the Mother Road.

However, the passage of time and the shifting sands of progress were not always kind to Cool Springs. In the late 1960s, as the new interstate system redirected traffic away from Route 66, the station saw a decline, eventually falling into disrepair and was nearly forgotten. It wasn’t until 2001 that Ned Leuchtner, a Route 66 enthusiast, recognized the cultural and historical importance of Cool Springs. He undertook the painstaking task of reconstructing the station, using vintage photos as his guide to ensure authenticity. Today, the station has been restored to its former glory, complete with those classic red Mobil gas pumps and the original stone masonry, standing as a tribute to the enduring legacy of Route 66.

My picture of the month isn’t of the station but the yard art off to the side. The image is a trio of old car shells clustered under an American flag, with the Black Mountains as a background. Although these vehicles are historic, if they had any value, some collectors would have snatched them long ago.

The flapping flag is what made me choose this week’s photo. I shot this midday with lighting that blends the cars and mountains into a bland porridge. The flag becomes the image’s star. It’s almost like the flags that fly over our national cemeteries. The picture says, “These are the fallen heroes of the long Route 66 history.”

We’re tickled that you started this year by spending time with us. ~~If you want to see a larger version of this month’s photo, they are online on my website < Jim’s Page> and Fine Art America <FAA Link>~~. If you want to buy the Chevy Truck, you can contact Uncle Jim’s Cherry, One Owner, Used Car Emporium by leaving a comment below.

We look forward to your comments, so don’t be bashful. We’ll return with more Oatman and Route 66 photos next week, so don’t touch that dial.

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

Techniques: Waiting for the decisive moment.

You might think snapping a flag is a breeze, but let me tell you, it’s more like herding cats on a windy day. I aimed for a balance—not too limp and not overly taut—to convey a sense of movement and life. This required patience and timing, like capturing the peak moment in sports photography. With the wind’s whims as my conductor, I played a game of red and green light, waiting for Mother Nature’s perfect cue—talk about being at the mercy of the elements. In retrospect, a tripod would have saved me from the armache of holding steady through the breezes.

For the technically curious, this was a dance of light and speed. I shot in Aperture Priority mode with an f-stop of 6.1, relying on the bright midday sun to provide a fast enough shutter speed. My main concern was keeping the truck headlights and the flag’s stars and stripes in sharp focus. Choosing the correct f-stop or waiting for the wind is like deciding on the right spice for a stew or the right socks for sandals—not always obvious, but oh-so-important!

Dancing Petals: A Burst of Mexican Poppies in Full Bloom Wickenburg, Arizona - Picture of the Week

A captivating view of Mexican Poppies in full bloom, resembling a lively dance of petals. — Dancing Petals: A Burst of Mexican Poppies in Full Bloom – Witness the graceful dance of Mexican Poppies as their vibrant petals create a mesmerizing spectacle of colors.

May has arrived, and so far, it has left the 100° temperatures in a closet at home. To take full advantage of this comfortable weather, we threw open the curtains and windows wide to let in that fresh warm air, allowing the breeze to blow away the stale air that had settled in our home over the long winter months. As I breathed in the cool fresh air, I couldn’t help but notice the unwelcome grime that had accumulated on the windows over the winter. I thought, “Geez, it’s already time for spring cleaning.” Armed with the remains of a five-year-old bottle of Windex, I dove headfirst into restoring our crystal-clear view of the neighbor’s houses. When finished, I still had the energy to waste, so I turned to my recent photography files. You see, not everything I shoot fits neatly within a scheduled project. The subjects sometimes catch my eye purely because they’re pretty, colorful, or bask in the glory of captivating light. These may be image orphans, but I must share them with you. As a man of ridged habit, I occasionally gather and present these gems in their project, Odds and Ends. So, over the next four weeks, I invite you on a journey through a series of unrelated shots I took. They may not fit a specific theme, but they’re worth interrupting our regular schedule to share with you.

Thanks to this winter’s abundant rains—the perfect recipe for a natural phenomenon known as a ‘super bloom’—it was no surprise when the buzz of a colorful and vibrant floral display echoed through the air. I couldn’t help but share my enthusiasm, goading you to grab your camera and join in on the Great Flower Hunt of 2023. I hope you took up the challenge and immersed yourself in the joy of capturing nature’s stunning tapestry or at least romping through fields of wildflowers. Even the weather forecasters can’t resist showcasing fantastic flower shots as their backgrounds.

In this week’s photo—Dancing Petals—I present a patch of Mexican poppies, their bright petals basking in the warm afternoon light. These pretty little flowers, known for their radiant shades of orange and yellow, grace the landscape with their delicate beauty. As I stood above this scene, capturing the poppies from a downward angle, their unique characteristics came into focus. You may wonder how Mexican poppies differ from their close relatives, the California poppies. While both belong to the poppy family, they exhibit distinct but subtle traits. With their bright and fiery colors, Mexican poppies often cluster together in patches. The outer edge of their petals is rounded.

In contrast, California poppies display a softer and more muted palette, with shades of golden yellow and orange. Their petals are more uniformly arranged, creating a charming carpet-like effect across fields and meadows. These subtle variations in color and growth patterns add to the intrigue and diversity of the poppy world, reminding us of nature’s endless ability to surprise and delight.

Living in the Sonoran Desert with its unique diversity, we are accustomed to a world that is harsh and colored in shades of brown and muted green. But when the spring blooms come, they bring a welcome burst of color to our arid landscape. The rich oranges and yellows of Mexican poppies, the electric pink of hedgehog cactus blooms, and the striking white of saguaro flowers create a dazzling and surreal tapestry. However, the ephemeral nature of these blooms reminds us to cherish their beauty while we can, as they wither and dry all too soon. Their transient nature only adds to their preciousness, inviting us to pause and marvel at nature’s fleeting creations. In the desert, where the dry underbrush seems to beckon wildflowers to replenish the soil, these blooms represent a delicate balance of resilience and beauty, a reminder that even in the harshest of environments, life finds a way to thrive.

A mesmerizing tapestry of mesquite trees and Mexican poppies, weaving nature's colors across the Sonoran Desert canvas. — Nature’s Tapestry: Mesquite Trees and Mexican Poppies Painting the Desert Canvas – Witness the masterpiece of nature’s brush as mesquite trees and Mexican poppies paint a vibrant tapestry across the desert canvas.

If you’re eager to see a larger version of these Dancing Petals, you can check out the photo on the web by clicking here. Stay tuned for the next installment of Odds and Ends, where we’ll explore two different eras of farming equipment. Join us as we travel through time, delving into the captivating tale of an abandoned grain hopper that stands as a testament to a bygone era and the shiny new silos that mark the modern age of agriculture. Through these odds and ends, we’ll unravel the mysteries and stories within these two vastly different pieces of farm equipment. Until then, cherish the beauty around you, for it may be as short-lived as the delicate dance of the Mexican poppies.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

Queen Anne must not be feeling well. She didn’t get out of bed at 2 am and watch the coronation of King Charles throughout the night. She settled on watching the reruns—without wearing her usual Tierra. You should offer your wishes if you bump into her along the road.