Off Road – Page 6 – On the road with Jim

Harquahala Sunset Picture of the Week

Oh my, it’s another Sunday already. It’s the last Sunday of our Harquahala trip, of the month, the year, and the decade. I should have thought of something profound to memorialize this moment. Alas, I’ve been too busy staring at all of these trees to notice a passing forest. I’ll try to do better ten years from now.

For this week’s episode, we’ve turned the corner, literally. Anne and I had been traveling southwest on the Eagle Eye Road, and to continue, we turned right on the Salome Highway, which runs northwest from Buckeye to Salome. At one time, the highway was a detour while they built Interstate 10. Now, both roads are free of traffic. As when we made stops along the way, I pulled off on the broad shoulders, but I didn’t need to. There was no traffic to block, so I could’ve parked in the middle of the road.

As we drove toward Salome (“Where she danced” Dick Wick Hall; one of Arizona’s famous humorist and former Salome resident), the day grew late. The long shadows on the mountain began to look like a minimalist graphic in the style of an Ivan Earl painting, or a Scotty Mitchell pastel. So, I searched for a spot where I could take a picture of the mountain behind a sea of creosote. I found such a place near a large ranch. So I got a chance to shoot this image with and without buildings in the distance. I preferred this version, and I called it Harquahala Sunset.

Harquahala Sunset - With the deep shadows and minimalist styling, this photo reminds me of the style of some artists that I admire. — Harquahala Sunset – With the deep shadows and minimalist styling, this photo reminds me of the style of some artists that I admire.

The part about “without buildings” is a lie. As I processed this picture, I combed through it, looking for dust spots—a regular part of my routine. That’s when I discovered the ruins of the 1930s solar observatory. At the top of the highest center peak is a white tower and utility building. They’re abandoned now, but a few miles behind us, there’s a ten-mile road that goes to the mountain’s top. It’s a challenge that is too much for Archie, but I’d like to take that trip someday.

You can see a larger version of Harquahala Sunset on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing it. Next week, we’ll be talking about a new back-road trip somewhere in Arizona.

Until next time — jw

Desert Broom and Windmill Picture of the Week

I’ve spent a lot of time in the desert recently. I’m less likely to run into snakes now that the weather is colder. But, there’s still a lot to be wary of when you’re out in the wild. There’s the cactus, especially the Jumping Cholla, the barbed wire, and all the illegal garbage scattered along the trail. One of the most frequent things I have to avoid is all of those cow pies. As I move, my eyes are on the ground; then, I stop to look up to get my bearings. There may not be a cow within miles, but their droppings are everywhere. I Googled it and found a state agricultural Website that said, “Grazing fields account for 73% of total land use in the state and 98% of its agricultural landholdings.” That’s a lot of free-range lands.

Desert Broom and Windmill-The picturesque windmills don't provide an efficient supply of water to cattle as water tables drop — Desert Broom and Windmill-The picturesque windmills don’t provide an efficient supply of water to cattle as water tables drop

You can tell ranching in Arizona is a big deal by the number of windmills and clumps of green trees you see as you drive down the highway. The green areas are usually associated with stock-tanks—the ranchers plow low dams on washes to retain the run-off, and the windmills pump groundwater into large metal tubs from which the herd gets a drink.

Not many of these windmills actually spin these days, regardless of how much the wind is blowing. Some of that is because the water table is dropping. There has been an ongoing drought here, and we’ve pumped enormous amounts of water out of the ground over the years. Instead of drilling the wells deeper, ranchers disable the windmills and truck water in to fill the tanks.

On our “One Lap of the Harquahala Mountains” tour that Queen Anne and I did last month, I was challenged with either shooting the mountain repeatedly, or finding interesting things that broke the monotonous sea of creosote, so when I saw this windmill off in the distance, I hiked in for a shot. When I got there, I liked the shiny metal fan against the sky, but I wasn’t impressed with its doughboy style galvanized tank. It looked as if thirsty bovine stampeded over it. Luckily there was some desert broom nearby that helped in a couple of ways. The green plants were in bloom—that’s as close as you get to fall color in the Sonoran Desert, and they camouflage the damaged tank.

I named this week’s featured image Desert Broom and Windmill. I like how the light was beginning to come in and how Harquahala Mountain shows in the background. I’m also partial to the high cirrus clouds, so I was pleased that they frame the windmill’s blades.

You can see a larger version of Desert Broom and Windmill on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing it. Join us next week as we continue along our trip around the Harquahala Mountains.

Until next time — jw

Saguaro at Harquahala Mountain Picture of the Week

I was researching today’s post, and I found some interesting statistics—at least they are for me—and on an online forum thread that made me smile. In case you hadn’t noticed, I like mountains. I like them big or small, a long chain of peaks or lonesome butte, snow-covered volcanoes or desert ranges. I like them because they’re not flat and they’re visually stimulating. You can gauge travel distances with them. I’d be a terrible mariner out on the sea without landmarks. When I travel through Kansas, I have to replace peaks with grain silos.

I want to learn more about what I see and photograph. I want to know the peak names, their heights, their make up, and how they formed. Most of my curiosity is satisfied with topographic maps, but the geology stuff is gobbledygook. I wish there were an easy decoder book written for simpletons like me.

The Harquahala Mountains—the subject of this month’s images—are a substantial range, one of the highest in Arizona’s southwest quadrant. I can see its distinctive round shape from my back porch. I started tagging my films with the name Harquahala Studios because it’s fun to say: HARK—qua-hala. Last week I learned that the name in the Mohave language means “water, up high” presumably from the springs on its slopes—a handy fact to know if you live in the desert.

I Googled “Arizona Mountains” this morning and found it listed in the 5,000-6,000 foot elevation group. To find the exact answer that I wanted would have required more research, spreadsheets, and an effort that cut into my nap, so I gave up. But I saw another question in the list that piqued my curiosity. “Which state is most mountainous?” What’s your guess? Set aside Alaska because they don’t play fair. Is it Colorado, California, or Montana? In the discussion, some people were arguing that it’s West Virginia, which is in the Appalachians, and the highest peak is under 5,000 feet—hardly a mountain. They explained that the little state has the lowest percentage of flat-land, so it’s all mountains, therefore the most mountainous.

The answer wasn’t Colorado; California has 500 more named peaks, and Montana is two-thirds prairie that the locals call West Dakota. The response surprised me, but since I read it on the internet, it must be true. Being entirely comprised of the Great Basin Desert with north-south running ranges, Nevada has the most named peaks in the lower forty-eight. They’re not the highest, but there’s a gob of them.

Saguaro at Harquahala Mountains-A line of saguaro looking like telephone poles lead your eye to the massive mountain south of Aguila, Arizona.

This week’s featured image is called Saguaros at Harquahala Mountain, and I shot it south of Aguila, a few miles south of the Eagle Eye Peaks in last week’s post. What made me stop to take this image was the line of saguaros that looked like a row of telephone poles. They create what’s called a leading-line—a perspective tool that brings your eye into the massive mountain. The clouds and the small Palo Verde tree work to keep your attention in the picture’s center—if it works right, your eye moves in a clockwise circle.

You can see a larger version of Saguaro at Harquahala Mountain on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing it. Join us next week as we continue our lap around the Harquahala Mountains, and remind me to stay out of the flooded washes.

Until next time — jw

Apostrophe Butte Picture of the Week

I’m down to the last page on my calendar this morning. It’s already time to get a new one. Einstein may have been right about time being relative, but I think he got it backward. Instead of the clock slowing down as you travel faster, time speeds up as you age. Don’t you remember how a week dragged when you had a date on Saturday night? Now it seems like Queen Anne, and I make our weekly run to the garbage dump every other day. What upsets me is that there’s little time for my daily naps anymore.

With a new month comes a new road to explore. We’ve had an extended summer, and it has been a very dry fall, so I initially thought that her majesty and I could go into the mountains. But that all changed recently and we’ve had wave after wave of Pacific storms roll through. Being less daring than I was, I changed my mind and looked for a closer route. One that wouldn’t have snow or mud, or maybe wasn’t even dirt. I mean, we’ve all watched the local heroes on the evening news as rescuers drag them from flooded washes. I’ll only go so far for free-press.

So, I packed the camera, some snacks, and my wife for a lap around Harquahala Mountain using three roads, a triangle of sorts. I’ve driven these roads several times, but not for a photography outing. We started in our neighboring town of Aguila, an agricultural community at the east end of the McMullen Valley. From downtown—the Family Dollar store—we headed south on Eagle Eye Road to the Salome Highway and back to Aguila on U.S. 60. If we weren’t stopping for pictures, we could cover the entire loop in three hours, and the Harquahala Range was out the passenger window the whole time (In the Mohave language, Harquahala translates into: “running water high up“).

Apostrophe Butte - South of Aguila, I think Eagle Eye Mountain is a presumptuous name for this little hill, so I renamed it. — Apostrophe Butte – South of Aguila, I thought Eagle Eye Mountain is a presumptuous name for this little hill, so I renamed it.

We didn’t even get out of town before our first photo stop. Just past the gated airpark—where wealthy Anguillans live—is the town cemetery at the foot of Eagle Eye Mountain. There are two piles of volcanic rock sitting side by side along the highway. The east one is called Eagle Eye Peak, and it has a big hole in it. I’ve written about it before. The shorter western one is called a mountain, which is a generous description at best. It’s hardly a couple of hundred feet high. Compared to the massive Harquahala Range west of the highway, they’re hills. They rise from the surrounding plains, and I’m unclear if they’re part of the Vulture Mountains—15 miles due east, or they are foothills of the western more significant mountain range. Still, they were cute enough to stop and compose a picture.

From the spot where I shot this week’s featured image, I thought that it looked like a punctuation mark, because of the overhang at the top. After further thought, I came up with Apostrophe Butte, which I think is more fitting. All I have to do now is to petition the Department of Names—or whatever you call it—to correct Arizona maps.

You can see a larger version of Apostrophe Butte on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing it. Join us next week as we continue our trip around the Harquahala Range.

Until next time — jw

Crested Saguaro Picture of the Week

Queen Anne and I left The Boulders—the subject of last week’s post—continuing west, and within a mile, we reached the side road to Cochran. It goes north to the ghost town on the Gila Riverbank. Unfortunately, nothing remains except a few foundations and several beehive ovens used to produce coal for the mines. However, the ovens are on the north side of the river, and there isn’t a crossing short of wading through quicksand. I want to reshoot them, but the trail coming in from the north is too much of a challenge for Archie.

The other notable thing about the Cochran intersection is that the Florence-Kelvin Highway becomes paved. That meant we could roll down the windows and pick up the pace, although I’ve never heard of anyone who has ever been in a hurry to get to Florence. The long, straight road follows the gentle western-facing slope into town, and you can’t help but notice how the vegetation packs the desert. Groves of saguaro, cholla, prickly pear, staghorn, and ocotillo make it treacherous to hike cross-country, but there were still cattle out there picking at sparse patches of grass.

The day was late, and there were no impressive mountains around, so I’d given up on photography and was paying attention to the road when I saw something in my periphery that made me skid to a stop.

“What is it? What did you see?” Anne said, waking from her slumber.

“I’ve seen pictures of these, but I’ve never seen one in person. I got to get me a photo,” I was excited and up in the pipes. I grabbed the camera and walked a short distance from the road. Among the dozens of saguaro standing around like they were at a cocktail party was my first crested saguaro. In the evening sun, aglow looked like it had put on a shawl and got a fresh hairdo like it knew I was coming to take its portrait.

Crested Saguaro - My first sighting of a crested saguaro out in the wilds of Pinal County. — Crested Saguaro – My first sighting of a crested saguaro out in the wilds of Pinal County.

Crested saguaros are rare, and no one has a conclusive answer for what happens. Some biologists say lightning strikes, while others guess freezing or genetic mutation. According to the Saguaro National Park Web page, of the thousands of cacti there, only 25 crested ones have been identified. Like humans and snowflakes, the saguaros are unique individuals. I could build a career by photographing them, but better photographers than I have already done that. However, you can bet I’ll collect every crested saguaro I see, like baseball cards.

~~Click here to see a larger version of Crested Saguaro on its Web Page~~. I hope you enjoy viewing it. As you know, Thursday is Thanksgiving, so Queen Anne and I will be surprising a lucky Deneys somewhere in Arizona. If we have too much fun, next week’s post might be late. We’ll be writing about a new road we’ve traveled, so it’ll be worth the wait.

Until next time — jw

The Boulders Picture of the Week

As we continue our journey east along the Florence-Kelvin Highway, we leave behind the dry washes and haunted valleys of the Tortilla Mountains. We reach a crest where the land becomes a flat plain of sorts. There are small mountain peaks—big hills really—dotting the countryside here and there, but the view is more open, and it seems less appealing now.

Without the mountains and gulleys, the road has long straight sections, and although it appears to be flat, it’s a long downhill slope into Florence. The elevation drops almost a thousand feet over the next ten miles. Just after passing the Tea Cup cattle ranch on the road’s north side, we spot a field of granite boulders that Google Maps identifies—oddly enough—as The Boulders.

The Boulders-Another outcrop of granite deposit found throughout the state of Arizona.

The boulders that you find at The Boulders are the same pile of granite rocks found in Prescott, up the hill from here in Yarnell, Kingman, or any other place throughout Arizona. They’re everywhere. Instead of turquoise, the state legislature should have designated these granite deposits as the state gemstone, but, like Ben Franklin’s idea of making the turkey the national bird, granite just lacks pizzazz—except on your kitchen countertops.

Because the rocks stand out like a sore thumb along the road, I had to stop to take some more rock pictures. There are a couple of good campsites here. In fact, on our visit, a motor-house and fifth-wheel were doing just that nearby, so The Boulders is a popular place. As I clambered in, on, and among the rocks, I looked for a composition that distinguished this outcrop. The image that I chose to present this week was one that was covered with graffiti. I’m always flabbergasted how some people love to get out in the wild and are then compelled to mark it up with spray paint.

I call this week’s featured image The Boulders, and I like it for a couple of reasons. One is the contrast of small against the big; the other is the shadow against the light. I’ll throw in the wall-art at no additional charge. Another thing in this image that I find interesting is the Tortilla Mountains barely visible on the horizon. It shows the amount of distance Queen Anne and I have traveled.

You can see a larger version of The Boulders on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing it. Next week, we’ll finish up our trip along the Florence-Kelvin Highway and I have a surprise to show you—something I’ve seen in pictures, but never in person.

Until next time — jw

Headless Saguaro Picture of the Week

Headless Saguaro - An unusual saguaro that lost its trunk and has six arms instead. I wonder how that could have happened. — Headless Saguaro – An unusual saguaro that lost its trunk and instead has six arms. I wonder how that could have happened.

Several decades ago, there was a miner that lived in a cabin in the desert foothills east of Mesa, Arizona. He was raising three children on his own because the wife took sick with influenza and died. The children were terrified of him because he liked to hide his head under his coat, sneak up behind them, and frighten them with a shriek. “I am the headless horseman, and I’ve come to take you away!” They would always run screaming to the cabin and hide under the bed. He was mean.

One Halloween, there was a knock on the door. When the miner answered it, he was staring into the eyes of an evil witch—his mother-in-law (been there). Because he knew he had done wrong, and realized it was the start of a war of which he wanted no part. He pushed her aside and set off for the town bar. “They’re your charge now,” he yelled back at her as a dream of a new life flashed through his brain.

As he walked away, the children, curious about the commotion, peeked from the bedroom. When they saw it was their grandma, they ran and clung to her skirt. They talked over one another about how mean father had been since mom died. Then, in turn, they each told stories on him. These grievances enraged grandma, and she rose up to a towering height, her skin turned green, and her eyes glowed red—for, after all, she was an actual witch. Because the miner already had a head start, she needed a wand to cast a spell. She searched the kitchen until she found a box of plastic straws. After grabbing one, she ran to the door where she could barely make out the miner’s figure at the far end of the valley. She knew she was clutching at straws, but the witch raised her makeshift wand to the sky and began a dreadful curse. “Since you enjoy the road, your feet will be forever planted there! You will have a pair of arms for each of your babies, but will never get to hold them! Because you conjured a headless horseman to frighten the children, you will lose the empty one you have! You will grow spines to go with your prickly disposition, and your skin will turn green!”

And that’s how Dave—the headless saguaro—came to be at this spot along the Florence-Kelvin Highway. He’ll probably stay here for another couple of centuries, providing a home for Gila Woodpeckers and Pigmy Owls. Dave’s only worries now are housing developers or being struck by lightning a second time. And what about the kids? Oh, grandma moved in and fattened them up with lots of sugar and spice before she shoved them into the oven and baked them into gingerbread cookies for Santa to eat on Christmas Eve. What did you think was going to happen? I told you she was a witch.

You can see a larger version of Headless Saguaro on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing it. Next week, we’ll continue along the Florence-Kelvin Highway, and I’ll show some more of the natural beauty we found along the way.

Until next time — jw