road trip – Page 32 – On the road with Jim

Rusty Bolt Picture of the Week

♬ Get your kicks ♪
On Interstate 40 ♫

Well, that didn’t work; it’s not musical and doesn’t even rhyme. I suppose I shouldn’t try to mess with Bobby Troup’s song. I haven’t any musical talent anyway. My grandmother repeatedly told me, “You couldn’t carry a tune in a bushel basket.” The only thing I can play is the radio … while I’m driving, and when I drive across northern Arizona, that 1946 song inevitably pops into my head. Everybody from Bing Crosby, Chuck Berry, to the Cramps, have recorded it, so the tune has legs.

Rusty Bolt-The Rusty Bolt drags bus-loads of tourists into the saloon to try their signature cocktail-a Rusty Bolt. I assume it’s a Rusty Nail in a bigger glass.

The reason that song has become an earworm in my brain is that Queen Anne and I drove two and a half hours to Seligman for this month’s photo shoot and we never left Yavapai County. For fifty miles, Route 66 runs along the northern border of our county—from Yampai to Ash Fork—and Seligman is at the west end of the most extended active section.

I’ve already recalled some of my personal experiences traveling cross-country on US 66, so I don’t want to be your grandpa continually retelling the same stories. But for the next generations, I’ll summarize some of the road’s highlights. Completed in 1926, U.S. Route 66 was one of the first paved highways across the west. It ran from Chicago to Santa Monica and provided an economical alternative to train travel. It was known as the Will Rodgers Highway, Main Street America, and the Mother Road. During the Dust Bowl and Depression era, thousands of migrants traveled west on the highway in search of a new life, a story that John Steinbeck captured in his epic novel Grapes of Wrath. My generation grew up watching Route 66 on a black and white 17” TV. The show’s two male characters—Martin Milner and George Maharis—traveled across the country in a Corvette. Their travels involved but weren’t limited to 66, and no one questioned their sexual orientation back then. The show turned the highway into a symbol of escape and adventure and permanently linked the Corvette to Route 66. (Incidentally, the show’s theme song made Billboard’s top 30 list.) The building of the Interstate System killed Route 66. The freeways went around towns and eliminated stop lights and speed traps. Without Federal money, states abandoned the road and began digging it up.

Angie's Chair — Angie’s Chair – Angie (cardboard cutout) and his wife-Vilma-founded the Route 66 revival movement from his Seligman barber shop and pool hall. I wanted to get my hair cut, but he was home sick with the flu.

In 1978 when Interstate 40 opened and bypassed Seligman, the town’s commerce disappeared, and that put the town’s existence in jeopardy. But the town’s barber administered CPR. Angel Delgadillo met with representatives from other affected communities, and they formed an organization to turn things around. They worked to make the old US 66 a Historic Highway. Within a year, the association successfully lobbied the Arizona State Government to declare the section between Kingman and Seligman a Historic Highway, with parts from Ash Fork to California added later. After that, other states followed our example, and they tagged sections of the remaining road as historic.

The nostalgia caught on, and soon gift shops were selling Route 66 kitsch and memorabilia. Each year, the Historic Route 66 Association organizes a Fun Run. On the first weekend in May over 800 cars gather in Seligman for a car show in the morning before driving en masse to Kingman for the night. The next day, they continue to Needles. Most of the participants are of my generation and are driving cars they wish they had in high school. 2019’s annual run will be the 32nd year.

On our Seligman visit, we saw several businesses competing for customers by displaying memorabilia and vintage cars out front. Of the samples we saw, this one stood out. It’s the Rusty Bolt Saloon and—along with the signs and flags—they added mannequins to their building. I’ll tell you that when you drive by, you think there’s a wild party going on here. I took this shot early in the morning as the sun came up and I liked how the statues stood out in the sun. The other advantage to shooting that early is the lack of tour buses parked along the sidewalk.

You can see a larger version of Rusty Bolt on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and come back next week when we return to Seligman and more photos.

Until next time — jw

Out Buildings Picture of the Week

Any discussion about Black Canyon City wouldn’t be complete without mentioning Rock Springs, so I saved that for last this month. It’s hard for me to know where to begin. If you say that name, most Phoenicians will think about the pie restaurant. It’s understandable, it’s been open for a century now, and every time we drive by and think about stopping, we don’t because it’s packed. Like Yogi Berra said,” Nobody goes there anymore, because it’s too crowded.” As for lasting 100 years, I’d like to extend my congratulations, but I don’t want to talk about pies, I want to discuss its history.

Before cars, trains or airplanes—when I was a child—travelers stopped at Rock Springs because it was a reliable source of good water. People came here for centuries before Caucasians lived in Arizona. On your next visit, take the time to stroll around the grounds and look for the Waterfall signs. Outback, you’ll see water drizzling over polished and worn boulders—that’s Rock Springs. The restaurant has a couple of tables out there so you can enjoy a waterside cocktail. I imagine that the flow over the falls is pretty good at times, but when it’s dry, it’s more like forgetting to turn off your garden hose.

The water is the reason that Ben Warner opened a tent-like store, and—in 1918—built a hotel on this site. In case you didn’t notice, I love these historical buildings. Fortunately, the café has a Web Page that speaks of its history and shows an old photo of the block building—with an A-1 Beer sign hanging from the portico. I really wanted to capture an image of that hotel and talk about some of its famous guests; like Jean Harlow, Tom Mix, and Wyatt Earp. I couldn’t. Decades of hastily planned expansions have camouflaged the original building. Only hints of the original hotel sick out here and there. After circling the restaurant as the sun rose, I gave up and shot other subjects.

On one of my laps, I saw this interesting pattern of weathered tin roofs on a couple of storage sheds behind the Rock Creek Café. It’s as if they knew that I would be shooting this because they built a simple plank fence that masks the clutter and adds a perspective line to the scene. When I took this shot, I honestly didn’t pay attention to the clouds, but let’s not tell anyone. I’ll claim that I planned it. I call this week’s image: Out Buildings.

You can see a larger version of Out Buildings on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and come back next week when we begin a new monthly series from a different place in Yavapai County.

Until next time — jw

Swilling Cabin Window Picture of the Week

This week’s story has all the ingredients of a great Hollywood Western movie: plantations, young love, war, drugs and alcohol, heartbreak, gold, bright futures, despair, stage robbery, friendship, false accusations, and tragic death. I don’t know how to tell it all in 500 words and still explain my weekly photograph in the third paragraph. I’ve found several books and articles about Jack Swilling, but there haven’t been any films. That’s a shame because I can visualize it like the Steve McQueen movie Tom Horn.

Every school kid in Phoenix knows how Jack Swilling—or one of his friends and crew, Phillip Duppa—tossed out the mythical bird’s name for the small town they were developing. Swilling filed a land claim around present-day 32nd Street and Van Buren Road for the rest of you. He wanted to grow hay to sell to the cavalry at Fort McDowell, so he copied the Hohokam method of using Salt River water for the fields by digging new canals to his property. The visionary Swilling (I suggest casting a 20-year-old Jeff Bridges) played an essential role in the layout and alignment of the new town. A couple of years later, he lost interest when the council—or whoever decided those things—moved downtown three miles west to its present site. Jack threw his hand up in disgust, and he and his wife, Trinidad (my casting idea would be a 17-year-old Natalie Wood), moved to Gillett—a mining ghost town three miles south of Black Canyon City.

In Gillett, they built a cabin along the stage route and provided travelers and horses food, water, and rest. It helped to supplement his paltry mining income. His health was failing from his old head and bullet wounds he got as a younger man. He took morphine and drank whiskey to counter the constant pain, but now the drinking got worse. When he got word that Colonel Jacob Snively—his old Indian war buddy—was killed near Wickenburg by Apaches, Trinidad encouraged him to retrieve the body and give Jacob a proper burial. Jack enlisted the help of a couple of neighbors and rode out to recover his friend. During that same three-day period, a stagecoach was robbed—also in Wickenburg—and the robbers murdered everyone on board. After Jack returned and buried his friend, he was at the bar when he heard about the stagecoach massacre. Jack cracked a joke about how robbing the stage is the only way to make big money these days, and the vague description of the robbers could include his retrieval party. They were arrested on the spot and shipped off to Prescott for trial. Since the Feds had charged him, too, the territorial government dropped their complaints to save money. The marshalls transferred Swilling to the Yuma prison, where his health took a turn for the worst, and he died before his trial. Shortly after his death, the law identified and caught the real robbers. Jack was already buried in the Yuma Prison cemetery before they notified Trinidad of his death.

When I decided that October’s subject would be Black Canyon City, I did my research, and there, I discovered the cabin ruins were in town. I wanted to photograph them, but they’re not on a map. That’s because they’re on private property and not open to the public. I stopped and talked to the tourist info people, who gave me directions to the house. When I drove to the residence, the owner came out and chatted with me. When her parents built her home, they bought adjoining lots to keep the stacked stone cabin intact. Black Canyon City doesn’t protect historic sites like other cities, so they took that task upon themselves. She permitted me to roam the property and to photograph the cabin with two caveats: don’t lean on the walls—they’re fragile and will quickly crumble, and don’t take any of the artifacts she has on display. A very reasonable request, I’d say.

Of the shots I took, I liked this variation best because of the window and the light filtering through the mesquite trees. Jack’s one-room cabin may not seem like the palace that the Father of Phoenix (and Mother) should have lived in, but examining the rock work made my sciatica nerve go off. It’s on a quiet cul-de-sac surrounded by modern homes near the Agua Fria River. I stood for a while and listened to the breeze blowing through the tree canopy, and I could see how it might have been to live there a century and a half ago.

You can see a larger version of Swilling Cabin Window on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and return next week when we show another featured image from Black Canyon City. “Oh!” you say. “But Grandpa, what about the rest of the story—where are the parts about the plantation, the Mexican-American War, the Confederate Lieutenant, Peeples Valley, Rich Hill, et al.” Well, you’ll have to wait for the movie or pick up a book.

Until next time — jw

Well Turned Ankle Utah Photo Shoot

The suffering that I must go through to please you people. As I sit here on the couch and looking at my right leg propped up by a pillow, I see that my ankle is thicker than my calf muscle. I had a friend in high school—a girl—who’s legs looked like this. She always lamented that they installed her legs upside-down. That’s how my right leg looks now.

I managed to injure my ankle by twisting it on the hike back from Coyote Gulch in Utah. My pain worse because I didn’t get the shot I wanted. I was this … close. I allowed four hours to trek out, get a shot, and then hike back before the sun went down. The two-mile trail alternated between fine red-powder sand and slick rock which I preferred because I made better time while I walked it. As I neared the canyon, I was concerned because I couldn’t see it. It’s the same as Horseshoe Bend on the Colorado River, so you have to walk to the edge to look into the chasm. The photo shows just how close I got and when I took it, I was not on the trail. What you can’t see in the picture is that beyond the cairn the trail descends like walking down a ball. To get back up, I would have needed to crawl on my hands and knees. Incidentally, that’s a very narrow ridge to be carrying a camera pack and tripod, so yes, I was a-scared. (BTW—here’s a link to what’s down there. It’s copyrighted so I can’t post it, but I can send you for a look.)

The Top of Hamblin Arch-This is how close I got to my subject. You’re looking at the top of Hamblin Arch, like looking at an elephant’s trunk from its brow. The cairn on the ridge marks the real trail. Behind the cairn, you can make out the arch underside.

I twisted my ankle a third of the way back, and it’s the third time I’ve injured the same ankle. Each time I was carrying a load and my foot rolled-over 90º so that my entire weight was on that pointy ankle bone. Like the other times, I didn’t have a choice but to keep walking and the two-mile trail turned into four miles, then six. I became concerned that I wouldn’t be able to get back to the truck before dark. I began having thoughts about my demise. I wondered if I’d have to eat the dead, except I was alone. I questioned when my camera and tripod would become so much of a burden that I’d discard them along the trail. In case you’re worried, I didn’t die. I got to the truck at sunset and spent the night alone under the stars. I drove back to town the next morning and called my caring wife to tell her I had to come home early—she would need time to get rid of her boyfriends—the Chippendale Dancers.

I think that after the first injury, my ankle is susceptible to re-injury. I wear good hiking boots, and because of their high tops, they have more support. With all the walking, hiking, and biking I’ve done in the past couple of years, I thought my ankle would be stronger. If I want to get back out there and get those out-of-the-way shots, I’m going to have to do strength training exercises and tape my foot up before a hike.

Instead—I’m buying a drone. The one I’ve settled on has a four-kilometer range, and I could fly it out there and get my shots from the parking lot. I’ve pondered how to get more height in my photos anyway, and a drone is a perfect answer. A drone is a medical necessity—no less than an Iron Lung. The challenge I have is that I want a quality camera equal to my current gear. That camera is $21K, and lenses start at $10K. A drone stout enough to fly it is another $7K, and the controller is another couple of grand. Sure, fifty-thousand dollars sounds like a lot of money, but that’s the cost of an emergency room visit and a couple of nights in intensive care. I wonder if my health insurance will cover it if my doctor writes a prescription.

Until next time—jw

North Side Capitol Butte Picture of the Week

Seeing a photograph isn’t predictable. Sometimes you find a subject and wait for the light to be right as I did for the image Capitol Butte from a couple of weeks ago. Ansel Adams was notoriously patient about doing this. Sometimes he’d wait hours or days for the light to come in. Sometimes you see an image as you’re walking a trail and you drop to your knees to capture it. That’s what happened when I shot last week’s featured image Prickly Juniper. Sometimes a subject will show up through the car window and you’ll have to jump out of the car and grab it. That’s the story behind Ansel Adam’s masterpiece Moonrise over Hernandez. He saw the image forming through the windshield, stopped his car to set-up his view camera and had to calculate the exposure without a light meter. I’m not comparing the two photographs, but that’s also the story of this week’s featured image that I call North Side Capitol Butte—except for the light meter part.

I was driving into town from the hiking trail and I was paying attention at the light on Capitol Butte. While I was driving, I saw the butte framed between two trees, so I stopped the car and got out and moved in for the kill. This framing technique was very popular in the Hudson River School style of painting. The center subject is lit between two darker shapes to keep your eye from wandering off the canvas. The technique fell out of favor as the Impressionist began to gain popularity. Just because something’s no longer popular, there isn’t any reason you can’t drag it out of the closet now and then.

You can see a larger version of North Side Capitol Butte on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and come back next week when we’ll present the last image from Sedona Month.

Until next time — jw

Prickly Juniper Picture of the Week

In a place like Sedona, with its canyons and red-rock buttes, it’s easy to get overwhelmed by abundant beauty. I can imagine a project where I simply recorded a catalog of the natural formations along Oak Creek, but that would make for a boring story. A good story changes pace and adds contrast. That’s why, as I scurry about hither and yon at a new site, I keep my eyes open for interesting things below my nose.

This week’s featured image—called Prickly Juniper—is an example of looking for intimate subjects amidst spectacular scenery. I saw this prickly pear along the trail that I wrote about last week. If it were on its own, I probably would have ignored it, but it nestled under the bare branches of a dead juniper tree and together they caught my attention. I liked the light against the dark, the living against the dead, and the prickly pear’s circular pads against the tree’s linear branches. The late afternoon sun was showing off the tree’s texture and the cactus’ lethal thorns. I took a couple of variations of this image and I felt this version was the best.

You can see a larger version of Prickly Juniper on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and come back next week when we’ll present another featured image from Sedona.

Until next time — jw

Climbers Picture of the Week

This week’s featured image was shot in Boynton Canyon on Sedona’s west side, north of State Route 89A. It’s the site of The Enchantment Resort—a very high-end destination requiring deep pockets to stay there. There are several trails in the canyon that meander among the cliffs and buttes, and that’s exactly what I was searching for. In the parking lot, the map said that I had a choice of three routes: one that went to a dead-end up the canyon, a second longer trail over Dead Man’s Pass, and finally a short hike to a canyon overlook. I’m all for short and I’m adverse to dead men, so I set off for the overlook.

The trail is fishhook-shaped as it skirts the south side of an outcrop then turns 180° and ascends into a saddle, wedged between the outcrop and a larger butte. It’s only a quarter-mile long, but the rise got tricky in a couple of sections. It’s good that it was well-marked with white paint splotches. The climb doesn’t seem much until you reach the saddle and turn around and see the valley floor a couple hundred feet below. To the west is a great view of the resort nestled among the red-rock cliffs.

As I clambered up the hill, I stopped a couple of times to rest and clear the heart beating in my ears. When I could hear again, there were voices, but I couldn’t see anyone on the trail above or behind me. It wasn’t until I reached the saddle that I saw a pair of climbers—a woman and a man tethered together with a rope—as they were nearing the butte’s summit. I assumed that she was leading as she was higher and coaching his assent. “Cool,” I thought.

Once I reached the saddle, I set up my tripod and camera and began shooting all the compass points, and savored the water I remembered to bring. After I completed my long-shots, I started a series of close-ups with the camera hand-held. I could tell from their voices that my climbers had reached the top and were taking in the view.

Climbers-A pair of rock-climbers celebrates success atop a Sedona Butte.

I thought about photographing them while they were enjoying their success, so I yelled up to them, “Hey! Can I get a shot?”

They were so polite. They hunkered down out of sight. “No,” I shouted again, “I want to shoot you on top.” When they stood up, I pantomimed celebration by raising my hands in the air. They followed my instructions and even began whooping. I fired off a couple of frames and shouted “Thanks” to them and then began to make my way back down to the truck.

I like the way the shot Climbers turned out even though they don’t take up a lot of frame space. As an Alaska guide once instructed us, “Humans are easy to spot. They’re the only thing standing erect.” In the image, I wanted to show their difficult conquest so I didn’t bother with a long lens. I also like the way the red sandstone contrasts against the dark blue sky and streaky cloud so I included more of it in the composition.

You can see a larger version of Climbers on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and come back next week when we’ll show another featured image from Sedona.

Until next time — jw

♬ Get your kicks ♪ On Interstate 40 ♫

♬ Get your kicks ♪
On Interstate 40 ♫