Road Trips – Page 28 – On the road with Jim

Parade Grounds Picture of the Week

We Arizonans have it easy these days. Within a matter of hours, we can drive from the beaches of Yuma to the Flagstaff snowfields. We’re able to do that because of our modern cars and roads. With their bridges and gentle slopes, we forget how rugged our State’s terrain is. We sit in our air-conditioned cocoons and watch the scenery pass, without having to wonder, “How the hell am I going to get over that?” And the closest we ever come to getting scalped is from the guy selling souvenirs at The Thing.

Arizona was a different place when Martha Summerhayes arrived at Ehrenburg Landing via paddle-wheel steamer in the summer of 1874. She accompanied her husband—Jack, a Lieutenant—when the Army assigned him to the territory. She writes in her now-famous book—Vanished Arizona, Recollections of the Army Life of a New England Woman—about their travels to posts within our state, including her story of being the first woman to travel the subject of this month’s photo essay—The General Crook Trail.

George Crook was a Civil War officer who was assigned to Arizona to put a stop to Apache raids. Now, I fully appreciate the new awakening in our country about racial injustice, but that’s not the point of my story. I’m merely trying to explain, in my words, the trail’s history. George’s job of managing the Apaches wasn’t easy. They’re not a single people. There are the Chiricahuas, Yavapai, Mescalero, Tonto, and several more in Arizona alone. The tribe’s traditional homes were spread along the Mogollon Rim—the southern escarpment of the Colorado Plateau that slashes across the midsection of our state. It was like playing Whack-A-Mole; he’d quash one uprising only to have another pop-up 50 miles away. It didn’t take long for General Crook to understand that he had a logistics problem. He needed to move troops and supplies quickly from Fort Whipple (Prescott) to Camp Verde, and Fort Apache (near Show Low).

In August of 1871, the General took a company of men to mark out a trail between Fort Whipple and Fort Apache. It took over a month just to get that much done. His route hugs the edge of the Rim because if he went too far north or south, he had to navigate steep canyons. His men took another year to build a trail good enough for pack mules, and another couple of years to make it suitable for wagons.

Today, the General Crook Trail has morphed into a combination of Arizona Highway 260 and the Rim Road (Forest Road 300). The Rim Road is unpaved, and if you travel it, you’ll come across markers for Crook’s original pack trail. You can hike those sections, but a lot of the trail reviews say it’s easier just to walk along the dirt road.

Parade Grounds - A picket fence surrounds the Camp Verde Parade Grounds and make it a lovely back yard for the Commanding Officer. — Parade Grounds – A picket fence surrounds the Camp Verde Parade Grounds and makes it a lovely back yard for the Commanding Officer.

For September’s project, I’m only going to cover the section of A.Z. 260 from Camp Verde to the intersection with A.Z. 77 north of Strawberry. This week’s featured image is from Camp Verde, where they’ve turned the old post into a historical site. The Camp Verde Historical Society has preserved the buildings, built museums, and maintains the parade grounds within the State Park. It’s a great way to spend a day wallowing in history. This week’s image—called Parade Grounds—shows the parade grounds and the surrounding picket fence, with what I suspect is the Commanding Officer’s Quarters behind. How’s that for a back yard?

You can see a larger version of Front Parade Yard on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to come back and see our next stop along the General Crook Trail.

Until next time — jw

P.S. Martha’s book, Vanished Arizona, is not just a chick-book. It’s got cowboys, Indians, horses, rattlesnakes, and cactus in it. What more can a boy want? I smiled when she lamented how much Arizona had changed from her 1874 arrival to her 1911 death. It is the same feeling that most Arizonan have even today.

Front Yard Trees Picture of the Week

Are you a punctual person, or are you chronically tardy? Our house is split evenly. Queen Anne always manages to be 15 minutes late. Even if I try to compensate by giving her a false time that we should leave to get somewhere, she somehow knows and still isn’t ready on time. One phrase that you will never hear from her is, “Sorry, I’m early.” That is a novel concept to her. It drives me crazy, and she knows it. But then she speaks to me in her low, breathy voice and circles her finger around my remaining chest hair, and then I remember why I love her so much. She’s a good cook—well, she cooks a mean bowl of cereal.

A reason that I’m writing about punctuality is that this year’s monsoons have finally shown up to the party—six-weeks late. One thing that makes Arizona summers bearable is watching majestic thunderheads build up over the mountains in the day and then enjoying the evening thunderstorms from the porch. When the summer rains arrive, they break the extreme June and early July temperatures by about ten degrees. This year, our first rain didn’t come until last week, so it stayed hot through July and August. We had 50 days of temperatures above 115º, a new record. June, July, and probably August will go down as the hottest recorded, and without the refreshing rain, brush fires have plagued the state. The smoke from California and Arizona fires has added to this summer’s miserable conditions.

Things changed last week. Between the gulf flow shifting west and a tropical depression off the coast of Baja, there are pretty clouds in the sky, and the temperatures have dropped—the last couple of days have been under the century mark. As I write and look out my office window, I can see cumulus clouds building towers over the Weaver Range. Maybe we’ll have rain again tonight. I think I’ll go to the car wash and improve our chances.

Front Yard Trees - Tall cottonwood trees grow along the road-side in front of a Ferguson Valley ranch. — Front Yard Trees – Tall cottonwood trees grow along the road-side in front of a Ferguson Valley ranch.

Looking back at the photographs from this month’s portfolio, I wonder how different they might have been, had the skies been more dramatic. Take this week’s featured image; for example—the treetops stand in for clouds. Had the sky been brimming with fluffy cumulus clouds above Baldy Mountain, would I have seen the scene differently? I can visualize that image being less about giant cottonwoods along a rancher’s fence line and more about the mountain in the background. In any case, I have to work within the given conditions, and so I took this week’s photo—called Front Yard Trees—as it was then.

You can see a larger version of Front Yard Trees on its Web Page by clicking here. Next week we’ll begin a new adventure out along another Arizona road, so come back and find out where the trail leads us.

Until next time — jw

Standing Rocks Picture of the Week

Do you remember my buddy, Fred? He’s been an actor in several of my adventures when his wife allows us to go out together. The truth is that his wife—Little Deb—and I have been longtime friends. We first met when we were both decorators at a local curtain shop, and have counseled each other through our serial marriages. I think well enough of her that I asked her to be my best man when Queen Anne and I tied the knot.

Miss Deb—as we call her now that she’s a grandma—has a caring heart, and—unlike me—will drop everything to help people out, sometimes to a fault. She must have been a nun in a past life, and she’s shorter than Sally Field (so, two and two equal Flying Nun). At one point in her life, she went through a goose phase. The art in her home involved all kinds of poultry. I think it influenced her maternal instinct because she fusses about her kids, and now grandkids, like an old mother goose.

She does have one idiosyncrasy—well, maybe more than one, but we’ll talk about those some other time. She collects rocks. Each time we’d go camping, we’d drive home with a backseat floor full of rocks—pretty rocks, interesting rocks. When she got back to the house, she would wash them, label them like an archeologist, and then carefully place them out in the yard. She’s trained Fred well. Each time we go out together, he kicks at the dirt, looking for pretty rocks to bring home. So far, they’re working on their yard’s third layer.

I tried it, and it works for me too. When I’m out on a shoot, sometimes I’ll pick up a hardened piece of dirt and toss it in the truck. When I get home, I’ll present it to Her Majesty and sincerely look her in the eyes and tell her, “I found this pretty rock, and thought of you.” Then I tell Anne that I think there’s a gemstone hidden inside. She always says, “Thank you, honey,” before she rushes to the sink with her Waterpik and tries to erode the stone to expose the jewel. It keeps her busy for hours.

Standing Rocks - A cluster of upended granite boulders that we found at the edge of a field in Ferguson Valley. — Standing Rocks – Here is a cluster of upended granite boulders that we found at the edge of a field in Ferguson Valley.

That’s the story of why—whenever I’m out on a photoshoot—I always wind up with pictures of rock piles—like this week’s featured image that I call Standing Rocks. “I saw these and I thought of you.” On our August outing to Ferguson Valley, we passed a group of granite boulders at the edge of a field. These are the same granite boulders found scattered throughout central Arizona, except some cataclysmic event upended these. They could be the Jolly Green Giant’s headstones in a cemetery overgrown with scrub oak. Anyway, when I saw this scene, I had to stop and snap a picture just for you.

You can see a larger version of Standing Rocks on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy your rocks. I think there may be a jewel hidden in them. Be sure to come back next week for another Ferguson Valley image.

Until next time — jw

Brushy Mountain Picture of the Week

What’s your favorite color? Mine’s blue—I don’t know why, but it’s always been my go-to color. Perhaps my mother once said that it’s the color of my sparkly eyes—but then, what about my red nose? Because I like blue, I’m a commoner. A higher percentage of men and women chose blue as their color favorite. According to some Websites that I looked at, the second most popular color was either red or green. Surprisingly, yellow had the least amount of fans, but as we age, orange works it’s way to the bottom of the list. By the way, Queen Anne’s favorite is green—as in emeralds—but she wouldn’t toss a ruby out of bed for eating cookies.

If I had to pick a Crayola to color in a map of Arizona, I’d look for a color that looked like dirt. There are the reds and vermilions from the Colorado Plateau, the gold granite of the central highlands, the yellow fields of the grasslands, and the browns of the desert ranges. When I got done, the green crayon would still have a sharp point. I don’t associate green with Arizona. That color belongs to Ireland, New Zealand, or maybe Kentucky.

Sure, Arizona has a lot of greenery. Our cactus, our palms, the pines, and the Scottsdale golf courses are green, but not that vibrant hue that people in other states have. When we come across a small patch, we believe we’ve found an oasis.

Brushy Mountain - Brightly colored cottonwood trees are a sign of water nearby. — Brushy Mountain – Brightly colored cottonwood trees are a sign that water is nearby.

That’s what happened when I captured this week’s featured image. As we drove the Ferguson Valley Road, we saw a grove of healthy cottonwood trees growing in an unnamed wash. As I’ve written before, a grove of deciduous trees with Kelly-Green leaves means that there’s water near the surface. Sure enough, when I checked the Topo maps for names, they showed a spring seeping from the ground near Coughran Canyon near Skull Valley.

When I composed this image, I wanted to contrast the shade trees against the dryer chaparral and mountain in the background. It speaks to me as an island of cool in a sea of heat. I called this picture Brushy Mountain, which I’m guessing is the spring’s water source.

You can see a larger version of Brushy Mountain on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you like it. Be sure to come back next week for another image from Ferguson Valley.

Until next time — jw

Ferguson Valley Picture of the Week

Queen Anne—as my mother would frequently say—is deaf in one ear and can’t hear out of the other. However, she can tell the difference between me calling, “Anne” and the blood-curdling scream, “Aaannee.” I know this to be true because it happened this week when she rushed to my rescue.

I was busy watering the potted flowers that live on the back deck. We keep them there in the shade during the summer, and I have them arranged on the back doorstep, so the bunnies don’t get to them. It doesn’t work because one or two rabbits will scamper off whenever I open the door. I used my cute water can instead of dragging the hose to conserve water. As I finished the mums, I stepped to the left toward the geraniums. There between the two pots was a western diamondback rattlesnake lying in a wad like a pile of tan rope. It laid there motionless while I involuntarily took a couple of steps backward while I screamed in a voice a couple of octaves higher than my normal range.

When she came to see what the fuss was about, I could only stutter, “porch … snake.” She stepped outside and sized up the serpent, then went back into the house. She quickly returned with a long stick that she had used to knock down a hornet’s nest on the front porch. She marched over to the rattler—which hadn’t twitched yet—took a stance, and began whacking at it. The vermin’s head popped up like it had been sleeping and tried to escape to the left. Anne was too quick and outflanked it, then she took a couple more swings at it. Then the legless reptile reversed course and slithered across the landing before it escaped down a gap between the decking and the house.

“Now what’ll we do? What happens now?” I pestered while dancing from foot to foot like I had to go to the potty. She leaned her stick against the house and went inside and called the fire department. I stood watch, ready to run away the moment I saw any movement. When she returned, she assured me, “They said to leave it alone. It knows it’s not loved and will move on when it feels safe again. If we see it again, we’ll call them, and they’ll come to remove it for us.” I was still upset, and I whimpered while nervously rocking back and forth. That’s when she slapped me across the cheek and commanded me to “Snap out of it.” She went back inside and returned with my camera bag and shoved it into my chest and instructed me to “Shut up and get in the truck. We’ll go take some pictures.”

We drove up the mountain to Skull Valley, where it was cooler. Well, it was under a hundred, and that was better than at home. We turned onto a road named Ferguson Valley Road. The dirt trail is only 6-8 miles long, but there was enough material there to keep me busy in August. The route runs by one cattle ranch and ends at a second. I haven’t found any information about this spot on the map, so I’m surmising that the Fergusons must own one of those places.

Ferguson Valley - Against a backdrop of the Sierra Prieta range, a white ranch-house sits in pretty Ferguson Valley. — Ferguson Valley – Against a backdrop of the Sierra Prieta range, a white ranch-house sits in pretty Ferguson Valley.

Perhaps they live in the home seen in this week’s featured image. I called this photo Ferguson Valley, and I spotted this scene as we crossed over a low ridge. I liked how the white ranch buildings contrasted with the juniper and cottonwood. I also wanted the clouds forming over the Sierra Prieta range. They speak to the feeble start of this year’s monsoon season. In a typical year, there would be spectacular thunderheads building in the mountains surrounding Prescott.

It’s been several days since we last saw Fang—yes, we named it—so we’re more cautious when we’re outside. We assume the snake is out there, and we actively search for it as we move about the yard. We’re careful to keep the garage door closed, and we work as a team when exiting the house. Anne stands with her back to the wall—stick in hand—and when I open the door, she swooshes through it, scans the area, and then yells, “Clear!” The swat-team imitation repeats a couple of times until we’ve safely reached the car. I’m better now, but if we have many more rattlers visit us, we’re moving to New Zealand—if they ever let us in again.

You can see a larger version of Ferguson Valley on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you like it. Be sure to come back next week to see another image from this pretty little valley.

Until next time — jw

Mount Union Picture of the Week

One day, I’m going to stand on top of Mount Everest—or Chomolungma (Mother Goddess of the World) as the Tibetans call it. I’ll to need some help, so I’m waiting until they finish the escalator, and a Starbucks is open at each of the decompression stations. It’s bound to happen. The mountain is already overcrowded, so we may as well wholly ruin the highest spot on our planet. Everybody should get a chance to experience that majestic view once in their life.

I love standing on mountains, canyon edges, and tall buildings. Standing there and taking in the vista enhances my map of the world. We all carry one deep in our hippocampus. It’s our sense of direction, and we probably developed it long before we fell out of the trees. It’s natural for us to want to know what’s over there and where the lions are. It’s a tool that we have located in the most primitive area of our brain. Like all of our other muscles, our spatial map works better when it’s exercised.

When I travel to the mountains like the Bradshaws, I make it a point to stop at the viewpoints and take a look around. Being the nerd that I am, I love it when the Highway Department has those displays that tell you what you’re seeing. I spend so much time studying them that Anne finally wakes up mad in the car. She thinks that I’ve abandoned her at the curb, which is silly because I would never leave the car behind.

The Bradshaw Mountains—or Wi:kañacha, in the Yavapai language (rough, black range of rocks)—have six peaks over 7000 feet. The two highest peaks, named during the Civil War, are Mount Union (7979) and Mount Davis (7897)—yes, Jefferson Davis. They’re located on the same ridgeline less than a mile apart. On the Senator Highway that Queen Anne and I explored this month, there’s a side road that goes to Mount Union and a lookout tower. On the other hand, to reach Mount Davis, there aren’t any trails—you have to hike cross country from the Mount Union picnic area.

Mount Union - Or rather, the view from Mount Union looking east towards the Mazatzals. — Mount Union – Or rather, the view from Mount Union looking east towards the Mazatzals.

This week’s featured image has a name different than how I usually name my work. It’s called Mount Union, and I called it that because of where I stood rather than the image’s subject. This time, I found a place for the camera where trees weren’t in the way and of the several angles that I captured; I liked this version the best. This photo is of the view looking east, and it not only shows the dense pine forest on the mountain’s top, but it also includes the Black Hills that are east of Cordes Junction and on the horizon is the Mazatzal Range. Somewhere in the valley between the mountains is Interstate 17—Arizona’s primary north-south corridor.

You can see a larger version of Mount Union on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy seeing it. Be sure to come back next week when we begin a new adventure traveling more of Arizona’s back roads.

Until next time — jw

Stamp Mill Picture of the Week

Everyone has heard the axiom, “All roads lead to Rome.” Well, not in Yavapai County, they don’t. Over the past couple of years of traveling Arizona’s back roads, I’ve found that they lead to mines, and with good reason. We all have a vision of a dusty prospector sneaking off with a couple of burros to a secret gold mine in the mountains—this is before he became the Arizona Lottery huckster. A man like Jacob Waltz may discover a vein of gold, but it takes a corporation to extract it effectively.

To make a ton of money, you have to move a thousand tons of ore. A couple of burlap sacks strapped to a burro’s back just won’t do. You have to move unrefined earth by wagon, truck, or railroad car. So part of The Company’s infrastructure is getting things to and from the mine site. That is the Phelps-Dodge and the Senator Mine story—and this month’s back road adventure.

While bouncing along the Senator Highway in R-Chee (according to his license plate that’s the correct spelling), Anne suddenly blurted, “There’s a large building down there.” Since my side wasn’t overlooking the cliff, I couldn’t see it, so I stopped the truck and walked back to see the steel skeleton of an old structure. “Cool,” I told her as I climbed back into the driver’s seat. “It’s too early, so we’ll stop on the way back when the light is better.”

Stamp Mill - The ruins of the Senator mine stamp mill are perched above the headwaters of the Hassayampa River. — Stamp Mill – The ruins of the Senator mine stamp mill perches above the headwaters of the Hassayampa River. The mill is visible on Google Earth if you zoom in to the Senator Highway where it crosses the Hassayampa River.

After some research, I found out that the building was a 10-unit stamp mill for the Senator mines. As rock came from one of the three parallel shafts, the miners hauled it to the mill, where the hammers pounded big boulders into small ones. As far as ghost towns go, we struck gold (I couldn’t resist the pun, sorry). Concrete foundations usually are all we find in these places, but since this frame was a steel and not timber, the skeleton survives and gives scale to its size. From the road, I could easily walk down the stairs and wander the four floors. Vandals have decorated the remaining vertical walls for Christmas with colorful graffiti everywhere, so I guessed that we weren’t the first people to find this place.

Kennecott Mine - The Kennecott mining town is preserved in the Wrangell-St Elias National Park in Alaska. This should give you an idea of how a mill looked with the clapboard still intact. — Kennecott Mine – The National Park Service has preserved the Kennecott mining in the Wrangell-St Elias National Park in Alaska. This photo should give you an idea of how a mill looked with the clapboard still intact.

In Alaska, I visited a similar mill at the Kennecott Mine in the Wrangell Saint Elias National Park. At this location, the Park Service keeps that building in an arrested state of decay, and it still has the red clapboard siding. I wanted to show you how the Senator stamp mill might have looked while it was running, so I’m including my Alaska photo.

For this week’s featured image—that I call Stamp Mill—I wanted to show the building and its environment, which is hard to do while standing inside of it. So, I took this shot from the far side of the Hassayampa River Canyon as the sun hung low in the western sky. I was lucky in that the remaining silver paint glowed in the afternoon sun, which makes the frame pop from the background.

You can see a larger version of Stamp Mill on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you like it. Be sure to come back next week when we present the final image from our drive on the Senator Highway.

Until next time — jw