Photo of the Week – Page 5 – On the road with Jim

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

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

Ray Tailings Picture of the Week

Queen Anne's directives - From her royal coach, Anne delights in pointing the way we should've gone. — Queen Anne’s directives – From her royal coach, Anne delights in pointing the way we ***should’ve*** gone.

Picking a new back road to explore, photograph, and talk about is easy for some months. I may have seen a place that piqued my curiosity, and I’m ready to go. Other months are hard. I’ll pour over my maps, hoping to find inspiration. This month was different. When Queen Anne told me that she wanted to visit an ex in Florence⁽¹⁾, I knew right away which trail we’d be talking about in November. Of course, we’d pick the Florence-Kelvin Highway.

The highway between Florence and Kelvin is a 34-mile shortcut between the towns. Although it’s 13 miles shorter, driving around the Tortilla Mountains and through Superior using the paved highways is faster. I’ve partially traveled this road before when I photographed the Cochran site—the ghost town where only the coke ovens remain. They paved sixteen miles of the highway between Florence and the Cochran Road. It’s a long gentle grade rising 1500 feet. Then it winds through the Tortilla Mountains, past a couple of ranches, before descending into Kelvin—a small community along the north bank of the Gila River. Although there may be some wash boarding between gradings, the dirt is broad and doesn’t require a particular vehicle.

On this trip, Anne and I drove east to west, so we’d be somewhat closer to home. From Congress, we drove two and one-half hours to Superior, and most of that time was spent getting to the other side of Phoenix. In Superior, we turned south on County Road 177 to Kelvin—a community so small it doesn’t even have a Dollar Store. Something that Kelvin does have is the Ray open-pit copper mine currently managed by the Mexican mining company, Asarco. And it’s where I photographed this week’s featured image that I call Ray Tailings.

Ray Tailings - A 500-foot tall inside out mountain of mine tailings. — Ray Tailings – A 500-foot tall inside out mountain of mine tailings.

This operation is so massive that you see it on the east side of the highway for a couple of miles. The central pit—Jimmie Luck Gulch—looks like it could be used to mold giant Devo hats (“Whip it good“). In the middle of the Dripping Spring Range, the mineworkers have dug a negative mountain with terraces that the behemoth trucks use to haul ore to the surface. Digging that much dirt out of the ground to remove the copper, you have to stack the sterile waste somewhere, and that’s what I photographed for this week’s issue. It’s the mountain stacked up—inside out. The minerals found beneath the surface colors each layer. To me, the 500-foot pile looks like a gay-pride wedding cake.

It’s an impressive bit of technology to see, but it also causes environmental problems. Because the rocks and dirt are devoid of nutrients, unless scientists intervene, it will take centuries for plants to colonize the tailings. So that makes them susceptible to accelerated erosion. With each heavy rain, bit by bit, the pile makes its way into the Gila River and eventually the Sea of Cortez. That’s not good for the downstream people who rely on the river for clean water (Arizona Copper Co. vs. Gillespie).

You can see a larger version of Ray Tailings 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 of the natural beauty we found there.

Until next time — jw

(1). For those of you that live in another state, or don’t get the joke, Florence is the location of Arizona’s State Prison. She doesn’t really know anyone incarcerated there, but that’s not as funny.

Granite Mountain Picture of the Week

Fall on the Humphrey Wash- Usually the high-country aspen trees get all of the attention for their fall colors, but every so often, you can find some subtle color along the road. — Fall on the Humphrey Wash- Usually, the high-country aspen trees get all the attention for their fall colors, but occasionally, you can find some subtle colors along low-land roads.

This week’s featured image (below) is the last from our Camp Wood Road excursion. It was taken a few miles from the route’s junction with Williamson Valley Road—also known as Yavapai County Route 5. You’re still in the middle of nowhere when you arrive at that intersection. Iron Springs is 22 miles south, Seligman is 30 miles north, and all dirt roads. I’ve already made a note of it for a possible future trip.

From the Sheridan Fire area, I talked about last week, Camp Wood Road descends from the pine-covered hills and mountains into Prescott’s flat grasslands. It’s a natural location for the sprawling cattle ranches of the past, and now it’s the target of developers selling one-acre McMansions. When I traveled to this area as a younger man, I could frequently spot grazing antelope. They’re a rare sight these days, and that makes me sad.

When Queen Anne and I set off on this photoshoot, we spent more time getting to Camp Wood than I estimated. It was already after sunset by the time we reached the road’s end. As we drove in the dim light, I knew I wanted to include the open grassland in the Camp Wood story, so we made a second trip. This time, we drove counter-clockwise—which is more accessible and a much faster way to get there. However, on the second drive, the sky was overcast, and someone had set the Bradshaw Mountains ablaze, which filled the air with smoke. I wasn’t optimistic about getting good shots. As it turns out, the fire was only a controlled burn, and the fire crews had it out by the afternoon.

We found another change when we reached an area called Humphrey Wash on my maps. The broadleaf trees started turning color in the intervening weeks between our visits. Of course, this is Arizona, so they weren’t the bright colors you’d see in New England, but they were still worth getting out of the truck and getting them on film.

Further east on Camp Wood Road is a large ranch with two driveways. It’s the Las Vegas Ranch, and one of the entrances is along Camp Wood Road, while the other connects to the Williamson Valley Road—a dozen miles away. When we arrived, the sun was low, the overcast began breaking, and Granite Mountain was predominant on the southern horizon. I took two versions of that scene, but I think the second was better because of the cottonwood trees lining an unnamed wash. I called it Granite Mountain, and I wanted to show the Prescott grassland’s open space. Just as it is in real life, the sky dominates everything. In this photograph are all of the elements of that visit: the broken clouds, lingering fire smoke, Granite Mountain, and the vast open plain. I hope you enjoy it.

~~Click here to see a larger version of Granite Mountain on its Web Page~~. I hope you enjoy viewing it. It’s the start of a new month next week, so we’re off to explore a different Arizona back road, so be sure to come back and see what we’ve discovered.

Until next time — jw