Tag: Congress

Santa Lucia Cows Picture of the Week

Until this week, May has been pretty nice. The temperatures in Congress were pleasant enough that Queen Anne and I could enjoy coffee on the back deck in the morning and have happy hour on the front porch where we watched the daily parade go by. Our nights had been quite cool. By managing the airflow—opening and closing the windows at the right times—we succeeded in keeping the hot afternoons at bay.

All of that came to an abrupt halt on Wednesday. With this latest round of high pressure crossing our State, the evening air didn’t cool off as fast or as much. We finally had to turn the air conditioning on for the season. On top of the heat, people have started new brush fires each day, so I have to accept that summer has come to the desert.

Santa Lucia Cows - A small herd of black cattle graze on a hillside of emerald grass at sunrise.
Santa Lucia Cows – A small herd of black cattle grazes on a hillside of emerald grass at sunrise.

I don’t want to go into the inferno without a fight, though, so I went back through the photos from our recent California trip. I wanted to remember the great morning I spent photographing the sunrise on the Santa Lucia coastal mountain range. There was a slight breeze on top of the hill where I waited in the dark, but my wool sweater was enough to ward off any chill. As I worked my way from the top to the coast road, it seemed like someone was painting in the black shapes with color—like in a coloring book. As the sun cleared the horizon behind me, I stopped along the road to capture a herd of cattle grazing emerald green grass on a hillside. It’s this week’s featured image, and I called it Santa Lucia Cows. As I worked on it this week, I wondered why we didn’t stay in Cambria for the whole summer.

I want to give credit to the artist that influenced me to take this picture. I’m glad that I was able to buy three of Eyvind Earle’s works in my life. They’re all small pieces because I couldn’t afford the six-figure larger ones. If you ever watched the movies Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, or Cinderella then you’ve seen his work. He painted backgrounds for Disney films. That was his day job, but he painted scenes along California’s Central Coast on the weekends. His style was graphical and modern impressionism. His trees and animals had exaggerated long shadows—often bigger than the subject itself. I suppose it’s Eyvind’s fault that I’m always on the lookout for long shadows.

You can see a larger version of Santa Lucia Cows on its Web Page by clicking here. Now I have to snap out of my memory, put on some shorts, and get back to work, so why don’t you please come back next week and see if I found anything good.

Until next time — jw

Skull Rock Picture of the Week

It’s the beginning of May, and right on cue, we reached temperatures in the triple digits. The heat immediately sparked an exodus of winter visitors out of our park. Even some of our full-time residents have already left for summer retreats. Queen Anne and I have been abandoned by our friends to deal alone with the pair of terrorists nesting in the trellis outside our bedroom window.

Since we moved into our Congress home, we’ve had all kinds of birds nest in our vines outside. We’ve had quail, dove, hummingbirds, verdin, and the usual assortment of sparrows—the low-life of the bird world. They’ve always been quiet and discrete and never called attention to themselves. This pair is an alumnus of the Delta Tau Chi.

In spring, we love sleeping with open windows. The fragrant fresh breezes keep the house cool, and there’s the occasional coyote howl, hooting owl, or the sound of a nighthawk we enjoy. As the sun begins to show light in the eastern sky each morning—the mornings are getting pretty early these days—Frank and Margaret celebrate surviving another night by perching on the trellis top and begin a sparrow’s equivalent of “Ode to Joy.”

Have you ever really listened to a sparrow’s song? It’s a flat, monotonous “chirp – chirp – chirp.” If left unattended, it can go on for hours. The Queen—who has disdain for anyone having pleasure—soon yells, “Off with their heads.” My obedience is blind, so I stumble out of bed, walk over to the window, throw back the sash, and scare the birds away with my ugly pre-coffee face. That chases them off, but it’s only a while before they’re back and at it again. Sing – scare – repeat.

When the sun does come up, their second act begins. With the new light, they see their reflections in the glass, and like the emu commercial on TV, they start defending their nest. They fly against the window, pecking at the reflection. They fly back and forth along the window top, fighting their perceived intruder. It’s a wonder that my window isn’t perforated. It doesn’t stop until I get up, walk over, pull down the blind, and show my face.

It’s gone too far, so I concocted an evil plan to get even. I went to Goodwill today and purchased an old-timey alarm clock—a bright yellow one. You know—the kind with two bells on top that dances around the end table until you smash it with a hammer. I set the timer for 2 am and hid it in the vines near their nest. I can’t wait for tomorrow when Frank makes a sparrow’s impression of Don Knotts. Meanwhile, I found an old English recipe for Sparrow Soup if it doesn’t work.

Skull Rock - People in Yavapai County love to paint rocks resembling objects to make it more obvious to other people.
Skull Rock – People in Yavapai County love to paint rocks resembling objects to make them more evident to other people.

This week’s featured image is called Skull Rock. The people in Yavapai County have a thing about painting rocks that resemble things because people would never figure it out on their own. Unlike our frog, you have to search for the skull. It’s halfway up the Hillside dirt road. It’s hidden behind the elevated railroad tracks, so you have to do a bit of climbing to get a shot of it. One story I read said a Santa Fe engineer originally painted it to tell passengers that the Apaches killed a poacher and left his skull behind to warn others. Then he’d laugh when they reacted as the train rounded the bend and the rock came into view. I can’t vouch for the story’s validity, but it sounds reasonable. You can see a larger version on its Web Page by clicking here.

Until next time — jw

Blue Tank Wash Picture of the Week

Along U.S. Highway 93, between Congress and Wickenburg, are a set of peaks that I’ve had my eye on for the last five years. They aren’t named because they’re slightly greater than a line of hills. Their color is the same as the surrounding desert, except they have a basalt mantle along the top. Sometimes the darker capstone looks like a shadow on the hilltops.

They’re generally aligned in an east-west direction, with the Hassayampa River on the west and the Blue Tank Wash on the east side. As they face south, there never seems to be a flattering light on them. The other challenge that I have is getting all four peaks into a frame. Even from the highway (3 ½ miles away), they only fit in with a wide-angle lens. That means that all of the homes, ranches, and construction lining the Hassayampa would be included in the photo. So I decided to get closer and pick them off one-by-one.

Two old mine roads radiate out from Wickenburg (Rincon Road and Constellation Road), and connecting the two is another path called the Blue Tank Wash Road. This dirt trail runs through the valley on our range’s south side. Late afternoon this Tuesday, I drove Archie up there to see what I could do.

Blue Tank Wash - Two of the four mountains that rise above the Blue Tank Wash Road near Wickenburg, Arizona.
Blue Tank Wash – Two of the four mountains that rise above the Blue Tank Wash Road near Wickenburg, Arizona.

This week’s featured image is the first variation that I liked. I wanted shadows to show texture and depth, so I shot this from the third peak looking west at the second. I was fortunate to find some sunlit saguaro growing in reddish soil to place in the foreground for scale. The bright spot gives balance to the dark peak in the background. I call this image Blue Tank Wash.

You can see a larger version of Blue Tank Wash on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to come back next week for another of my images from the small mountains above the Harquahala.

Until next time — jw

Harcuvar Forest Picture of the Week

Our little town is not so different from yours. We have crime here too. That’s why the county sends a couple of deputies down from Prescott to patrol our streets and keep us safe. Most of the time, they drive around the empty streets, but there are moments where a rush of adrenalin flows through their veins—like last Friday night.

As most cops do, deputies Starsky and Hutch parked their cruisers on the dead-end street between the Dollar Store and the Quickie-Mart in such a way that they could drink coffee, chat across their door windows while keeping an eye on the only traffic control sign in southern Yavapai County. The night had been rainy but peaceful up till then.

Shortly after Congress’s only cowboy gay-bar closed, a pair of suspicious cars rolled up to the stop sign before turning south on Highway 89. Starsky noticed that a woman with long blond hair was driving the lead exotic Italian sports car (Around these parts, a Fiat 500 stretch limo is considered exotic) in the din of the sodium-vapor street lights. “I have to check this out,” Starsky yelled out his window, stowed the coffee in a cup-holder, put his cruiser in gear, and drove off in chase.

As he perused the little import through downtown Congress, he crossed over the double yellow lines, raced around the second vehicle before cutting in front of it. Then he lit up his lights and pulled the Fiat over. As he called in the plates for wants-and-warrants, he noticed that the sinister black Buick had pulled in behind. Sensing a threat, he radioed Hutch for back up. When he finally saw the second set of emergency lights in his mirror, he felt that he could safely get out of his cruiser.

Hutch had already climbed out of his truck behind him with a Maglite in his left hand while resting his right hand on his holster. He walked up to the second suspect’s vehicle and heard the last remaining Jennifer Rush Disco CD blaring through the stereo. The woman behind the wheel sat motionless with her hands in the air. “Mam, can you tell me why you pulled off the road behind my partner?” (OK, to protect the innocent, I have to change some names. Donna is the floozy driving the Fiat because Donnas always drive convertible sports cars. The gangsta-girl in the second car I’ll call Princess Margaret. Yeah, that works. No one will ever guess their real names.)

“That’s my friend, Donna,” Margaret replies. “I just want to make sure she gets home alright.”

“Well, this is a dangerous place to park. You’ll be safer if you pull in front of the other vehicles.”

With that, Margaret put her hands down, put on the left blinker to signal the empty highway that she was pulling out. Slowly she drove around the other cars, signaled that she was pulling back off the road, she put the car into park, and—once again—raised her hands over her head.

As Starsky strutted toward the hottie in the little white Italian Job, he practiced his best, “So, how you doin?” But when he got to her open window, the flashlight glare revealed far more lines of wisdom on her face than he expected, and her long tresses weren’t blond; they were pewter. His training and quick thinking let him instantly change tact. Instead, he asked, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You didn’t come to a complete stop at the sign on 71.”

“Yes. I believe that I did.”

“That’s OK; I’m going to let you off with a warning,” which is what cops do when they can’t prove something in court. It also leaves a paper trail that shows they were working.

Donna—the consummate socialite—tried to get on the deputy’s good side, “I understand. My first husband was a Highway Patrol Officer.”

“When was that,” Starsky asked.

“During the late sixties and seventies,” she replied.

“That was long before I was born,” he gasped.

After Starsky filled out the form, he handed it to Donna and watched her drive off. Margaret finally put her hands down and followed into the darkness. As he walked back to his Tahoe, it finally sunk in that he almost hit on his grandma; he doubled over and blew donut chunks onto the front tire. From the other cruiser, he could hear Hutch’s giggling float across the damp night air.

Harcuvar Forest - A large grove of Saguaro grow along the eastern flank of the Harcuvar Mountain Range.
Harcuvar Forest – A large grove of Saguaro grows along the eastern flank of the Harcuvar Mountain Range.

You may be wondering what this story has to do with this week’s picture. Well, actually, nothing other than our town’s stop sign is on Highway 71, and at the other end of that road—near Aguila—is where Santa rests, and there is a large grove of saguaros growing along the eastern flank of the Harcuvar Mountains. That’s where I took this week’s picture, which I call Harcuvar Forest. When I drove home from that shooting, I stopped at that very intersection—without getting arrested. I guess that I’m not cute enough.

You can see a larger version of Harcuvar Forest on its Web Page by clicking here. Next week, I’ll bring you another image from around our house.

Until next time — jw

Kirkland Peak Picture of the Week

Our home in Congress is on a scenic byway. Each weekend, there are lines of exotic sports cars and motorcycles that pass by our trailer park to prove it. There are several roads— like AZ 89—in our state that offer motorsports enthusiasts a venue to stretch the legs of their beloved machines. I’m sure that the other states have roads like ours. I’m surprised that someone hasn’t compiled an encyclopedia of “The World’s Great Weekend Roadtrips.”

The route passing our home is known as the back road to Prescott because it avoids the weekend traffic on Interstate 17. It’s a longer drive, but that’s not the point. I think this passion is best described in Queen’s song; I’m in love with my car. “. . . get a grip on my boy-racer roll bar . . .” (Yes Virginia, Queen recorded songs other than Bohemian Rhapsody). It’s customary to play this anthem at full volume with the top down and the sun flickering through the pines on to your Ray-Bans.

There are actually two ways to get to Prescott from here. The first is to stay on ’89 and drive between the Sierra Prieta and Bradshaw Mountains. The motor-heads like this way because they get to test those big Brembo brakes on their Lamborghinis. This way is challenging to keep up with the speed limit, your up in the pines quicker, and the road dumps you onto Whisky Row, where everyone parks around the courthouse for an impromptu car show.

The second option is better if you’re towing a trailer, hauling a load of eggs from Costco, or you’re trying to keep Queen Anne from throwing up in your lap. To go this way, you turn off at Kirkland Junction and pick up Yavapai County Route 10—Iron Springs Road. This route is more docile, as you travel through Kirkland, Skull Valley, and Iron Springs, although it’s a bit trickier to find your way downtown once you get to Prescott.

Kirkland Peak - The run-off from the granite covered mountain has cut into a layer of limestone deposited on an old lake or sea bed.
Kirkland Peak – The run-off from the granite covered mountain has cut into a limestone layer deposited on an old lake or sea bed.

It’s on this second route that you’ll see the subject of this week’s featured image—Kirkland Peak. It will be the rocky mountain filling your windshield at the Kirkland stop sign. There’s even a better view if you drive straight and cross the tracks. But right now, we’re going to turn right onto Iron Springs Road toward Prescott because there’s something else I want you to see.

Soon after leaving the junction, CR 10 follows the railroad tracks and Skull Valley Wash filled with cottonwood trees. In this section—between Kirkland and Skull Valley—there is a cluster of limestone hoodoos where the granite top layer has been eroded. I’ve tried to photograph the outcrops on several occasions, but telephone lines and private property frustrated me. When I visited last week, a new mine has begun setting up operations, and they’ve scraped the land clean. There are two new five-story silos built beside the road, and I’m afraid that the remaining hoodoos will be gone shortly.

When I drove up to shoot Kirkland Peak this week, I was pleased to find a place where the mountain’s run-off has exposed more limestone, as seen in this week’s picture called Kirkland Peak. There are eons of geology exposed in this photo. The bottom layer is an ancient lake or sea bed, covered by granite (lava cooled slowly), and a mountain thrust above them. The evidence of up-thrust is in the grain of its rocks along the ridgeline (you can’t see that on your phone). As Kelly Bundy said, “The mind wobbles.”

You can see a larger version of Kirkland Peak on its Web Page by clicking here. Next week, I’ll bring you another image from our corner of the world.

Until next time — jw