195701 Desert Magazine 1957 January

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PUEBLO PANORAMAS IX

W A L N U T C A N Y O NBy JOHN L. BLACKFORD

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DESERT C f l L E n D R RJanuary 1Comanche War Dances,Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico.January 1Deer, Los Matachines orTurtle Dance, Taos Pueblo, NewMexico.January 1New Year Cup Races,Arizona Snow Bowl, Flagstaff.January 1Sun Bowl Carnival andFootball Game, El Paso, Texas.January 1Annual Rodeo, KinsleyRanch, Tucson, Arizona.January 1-31Harwood FoundationArt Exhibit and exhibition of In-dian Arts and Crafts at RogersMuseum, Taos, New Mexico.January 2-5Arizona National Live-stock Show, Phoenix.January 6 Buffalo Dance, ThreeKings' Day Ceremonials, Taos,New Mexico.January 6Dances and Installationof Governors in various Rio GrandePueblos in New Mexico.January 6Twelfth Night, Burningof the Christmas Trees, Raton,New Mexico, and other Spanish-

American Settlements.January 6-10 American NationalCattlemen's Association Conven-tion, Phoenix, Arizona.January 6-30 Exhibition of OilPaintings by Nancy Barnhisel,Addington Gallery, Desert HotSprings, California.January 10-12Third Annual LettuceFestival, El Centro, California.January 12-13Yuma County Cham-ber of Commerce's BandolleroTour to San Felipe, from Yuma,Arizona.January 13Western Saddle Club'sLittle Stampede, Phoenix, Ariz.January 15-17 Desert Senior GolfAssociation Tournament, P a l mSprings, California.January 18Southeastern New Mex-ico Hereford Show and Sale, Ros-well.January 18-19 Southern ArizonaSquare Dance Festival, Tucson.January 19-20Sierra Club Hike toPhantom Canyon and EnchantedValley, near Thermal, California.January 20Trek to King's Canyonfor Winter Visitors, sponsored byMesa, Arizona, Jaycee.

January 21-22Solar Furnace Sym-posium, Phoenix, Arizona.January 23 Fiesta and BuffaloDance, San Udefonso Pueblo, NewMexico.January 25-26 Annual WesternDance, Clayton, New Mexico.January 25-27 Gold Rush Days,Wickenburg, Arizona.January 26-27 Sierra Club DesertPeaks Hike to Sheephole Moun-tains, between Twentynine Palmsand Amboy, California.January 27Buffalo Barbeque, Mesa,Arizona, Civic Center.January 29Annual Snow Bowl SkiCarnival, Flagstaff, Arizona.January 31-February 3 Phoenix,

Arizona, Open Golf Tournament.

Tkt&L^M? i

V o lu m e 20 JA N UA R Y , 1957 N u m b e r 1C O V E RPHE-HISTORYC A L E N D A RFIELD TRIPPOETRYA D V E N T U R EFICTIONG H O S T T O W NLO ST MINEC O N T E S TP H O T O G R A P H YN A T U R EEXPERIENCECLO SE-UP SP ERSO NALITYDESERT QUIZG A R D E N I N GLETTERSN E W SM I N I N GU R A N I U MH O BBYLAP IDARYC O M M E N TB O O K S

W i l l is P a l m s , C o a c h e l l a V a l l e y , C a l i fo r n i aB y W I L L I A M A P L I N

W a l n u t C a n y o n , b y J O H N L . B L A C K F O R D . . 2J a n u a r y e v e n t s o n t h e d e s e r t . . . . . . . 3W e T o o k t h e O l d T r a il t o C h u c k a w a l l a S p r i n g

B y R A N D A L L H E N D E R S O N 4R a i n S o n g a n d o t h e r p o e m s : . 8W e S a w a R o ck f al l i n G l e n C a n y o n

B y A L H AL L & H UB ER T L O W M A N . . . 9H a rd R oc k S ho rty of D e a th V a ll ey . . . . . 10B o o m a n d B u s t a t L e a d f i e l dB y R U S S L E A D A B R A N D 11L o s t A p a c h e G o l d i n t h e L i t t l e H o r n M o u n t a i n s

B y H A R O L D O . W E I G H T 1 3P i c tu r e - of - th e - M o n t h C o n t e s t a n n o u n c e m e n t . . 16P i c t u re s of t he M on t h 18W h e n B ir d s C o m e fo r W a t e rB y EDM UND C . JAEGER 19M y P u p i l s W e r e t h e P e o p l e of N a v a j o l a n d

B y A L P H I N E R E N S L O W 2 1A b o u t t h o s e w h o w r i t e f or D e s e r t 2 2F r o m C r i p p l e C r e e k t o C o n t e n t m e n tB y N E L L M U R B A R G E R 2 3A t e s t of y o u r d e s e r t k n o w l e d g e 2 7B a r e R o o t s C o s t L e s s D o B e s t !

B y R U T H R E Y N O L D S 2 8C o m m e n t f ro m D e s e r t ' s R e a d e r s 3 0F r o m h e r e a n d t h e r e o n t h e d e s e r t 3 1C u r r e n t n e w s of d e s e r t m i n e s 3 5L a t e s t d e v e l o p m e n t s i n t h e I n d u s t r y 3 6G e m s a n d M i n e r a l s 3 8A m a t e u r G e m C u t t e r , b y D R . H . C . D A K E . . 4 1J us t B e t w e e n Y o u a n d M e , b y t h e E d it or . . . 4 2R e v ie w s of S o u th w e st er n L it er at ur e . . . . 4 3

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Press, Inc., Palm Desert,California. Re-entered as second class matter July 17, 1948, at the postoffice at Palm Desert,California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registere d No. 358865 in U. S. Patent Office,and contents copyrighted 1957 by the Desert Press, Inc. Permission to reproduce contentsmust be secured from the editor in writing.RANDALL HENDERSON, EditorBESS STACY, Business Manager EUGENE L. CONHOTTO, Associate EditorEVONNE RIDDELL, Circulation ManagerUnsolicited manuscripts and photographs submitted cannot be returned or acknowledgedunless full retur n postage is enclosed. Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility fordamage or loss of ma nuscrip ts or photograph s althoug h due care will be exercised. Sub-scribers should send notice of change of address by the first of the month preceding issue.

SUBSCRIPTION BATESOHO Year $4.00 Two Yea rs $7.08Canadian Subscriptions 25c Extra, Foreign 50c ExtraSubscriptions to Army Personnel Outside U. S. A. Must Be Mailed in Conformity With

P. O. D. Order. No. 19687Address Correspondence to Desert Magazine, Palm Desert, CaliforniaJ A N U A R Y , 1 9 5 7


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The jeep caravan that re-opened the old short-cut trail into Chuckaw alla Spring.

We Took the Old Trai lto C hu ckaw al la Sp r in gHi dden away in a remote canyon in the Chuckawalla Mountainsof Southern California is a historic old waterholethe rendezvous ofprospectors and homesteaders forthree quarters of a century, andmorerecently a good hunting ground forrock collectors. Geodes are foundon thehills formany miles around theSpring. Here is thestory of oneof the most recent exp editions toChuckawalla Spring.

By RANDALL HENDERSONM a p by Norton Allen

" ^ ^ O M E OF the rockhounds want^ ^ us to show them the old roadto the geode field at Chucka-walla Spring," Loren and Rose Perryof Pasadena wrote me in 1953. "Wehave been over the route in a jeep,andit saves a lot of mileage. We'll be gladto have you join us," they added.This was an invitation I was eagerThis map byNorton Allen is a revision of themap which appeared in the May '56issue of Desert Magazine with Harold Weight's story of the geode field atA ugustine Pass.

T O R I C E

RIVERSIDE CO.

KAO'GILBY

DESERT MAGAZINE


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and this T tP]arer ,S ld * the arroyo below Chuckawalla Springthe camp occupied by the prospectors during the "boom" that followedthe discovery.to accept, for it had been nearly 18years since I had visited this remotewaterho le. Althou gh this was one ofthe first geode fields to be discoveredby the rock collecting fraternity onthe Southern California desert, its in-accessibility and the discovery of moreand better geodes in the area of theHauser beds to the southeast had leftthe Chuckawalla Spring practically un-disturbed for many years.There were delays in arranging thetrip, and it was not until the weekendof April 14-15 in 1956 that our jeepparty was organized for the excursion.Our Friday night rendezvous wasalong Highway 60-70 where the sideroad takes off to the oasis at CornSprings. There we camped overnight,ready for an early morning start alongthe route Loren Perry would show us.Fifty years ago the ChuckawallaValley where we were camping wastaken up in 160 and 320-acre desertclaims by Southern California familieswho were led to believe that irrigationwater would be brought to this desertsink from the Colo rado River. Fo rnearly four years Los Angeles realestate men did a thriving business lo-cating claims for the settlers at a feeof $1.00 an acre. The settlers wereorganized and raised many thousandsof dollars for exploratory work for apossible damsite along the Coloradoabove Blythe, and for surveying a pos-sible canal to the Chuckaw alla. Itwould have been a very expensiveproject, and congress could never beinduced to appropriate money for thedam and canal. The project eventuallydied.

During the period of the land rushmany rough wagon trails were madeJ A N U A R Y , 1 9 5 7

across the Chuckawalla Valley, one ofthem to Chuckawalla Spring whichwas one of the few places where gooddrinking water could be obtained.Later a showing of placer gold wasfound in the gravel banks below thespring and for a period of 15 yearsthere were always two or three or ahalf dozen prospectors camped hereworking the gravel or prospecting theChuckawalla and nearby mountainranges.On one trip to the Spring in theearly '30s I found my old friend JustusSmith living in a tent while he pannedgravel. Justus was a veteran prospec-tor who had once filed on a home-stead in the Palo Verde Valley. Iknew him there in the days beforeWorld War I when I was publishing

This sign board 23 miles east ofDesert Center marks the turnoff forthose taking the best road to Chuck-awalla Spring.

the Blythe Herald and Justus came totown occasionally for grub.He was in his late 70s when I sawhim at Chuckawalla Spring, and nearlyblind. Desert Steve Ragsdale had pro-vided a home for the old man at DesertCenter, but Desert Center was too dullfor him, with nothing to do. He dis-appeared one day and Steve, follow-ing a hunch, found him trudging alongover the desert in the direction ofChuckawalla Spring. He wanted to bein the hills with his gold pan.So Steve put up a tent for him atChuckawalla Spring, and once a weektook groceries out to him. The day Iwalked into his tent he was fumblingwith the canned goods on the table."Will you tell me which can has thepork and bea ns?" he asked. And thenI knew the truththat Justus Smithwas too blind to read the labels on thecans. But he was happy ou t there, andwhen no one was around to read thelabels he ate what was in the can hehad opened. He never knew whetherhis meal would be fruit or vegetables

or meat until he opened the can. Buthe never complained. He was doingwhat he wanted to do.Steve Ragsdale always insisted thatalthough Justus' vision was so dim hecould barely find his way to the springand back, he could always see thecolor in his gold pan when he wasworking in good gravel.Justus Smith has long since goneover the hill to a good prospector'sreward, and today Chuckawalla Springis a deserted place, except on thoserare occasions when the rockhoundsfind their way to this waterholeandthe geode beds nearby.On the April morning of our recent


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H o w a n d W h y P e o p l e B e c o m e R o c k h o u n d sAt the campfire program of those who accompanied Loren Perry'sChuckawalla Spring geode hunt, members of the caravan responded toroll call by telling briefly when and why they became interested in thehobb y of stone collecting and polishing. The following summ ary of theanswers probably is a fair cross-section of the hundred thousand or moreAmericans who have taken up this hobby:

SAM PAYSON, investments, Calexico,California "In 1935 I was with theKennecott Company in Alaska on amining venture. The terrain was frozenand there were no facilities for recrea-tion so we passed our leisure hours cut-ting azurite-malachite specimens with afile. Back in the States again, and onthe desert, I just wanted to see what itwould be like to cut gem stones withproper toolsand I am still at it."LEO D. BERNEN, retired, Glendora"In 1939 I accompanied my son, ahigh school student in geology, on a fieldtrip to the blue agate country north ofBarstow. Then I was invited over tothe school lapidary to help cut the speci-mens. It was a fascinating hobbyandI wanted more of it."GEORGE E. MOORE, Imperial Irri-gation District superintendent in ImperialValley"My interest in gem collectingbegan in 1915 when I would tramp alongthe beach looking for moonstones. Later,in Imperial Valley, I arranged for theloan of a Bulldozer to the county forcutting a road through Graham Pass inthe Chuckawalla Mountains. The bigcat turned up a lot of good gem stonesand I became a collector."GEORGE TIPPIE, manufacturer ofthe Tippie Saw, Pomona "I've beeninterested in stones ever since I was asmall boy. The interest became a real

hobby for me in 1939 when lohn Brycetook me ou t on a field trip. Since thenI never miss a chance to make a week-end trip into one of the desert collectingareas.CHARLES HOLTZEN, naval shopforeman, Imperial"My interest in rockcollecting began in 1939 when I sawpictures of the Graham Pass collectingarea in the Desert Magazine. I followedthe map that was published with thestoryand I have been at it ever since."PAUL WATT, estimator at Convair,Pomona "My wife Ruth is alwayslooking for the beauty in things, andwhen she saw what the cutting saw andpolishing tools would do with an ordi-nary stone she urged me to take lapidary

lessons. Then when I went to Convair,the employees formed a rock club andsecured equipment for cutting and pol-ishing. I've gone throug h all the stages,first collecting, then lapidary work, andnow I am making jewelry. And Ruth isjust as enthusiastic as evershe nevermisses a chance to go on a field trip."C. R. PATTON, department superin-tendent for City of El Centre"My wifeand the Desert Magazine teamed up tomake a rockhound out of me. I used tofish and hunt at every opportunity. Rockcollecting, I thought, was a dull pastime.But when we were out on trips my wifewas always buying rocksand finallyshe persuaded me to make a field tripup t@ Gra ham Pass. Of course we ended

by buying lapidary equipment and nowwe are dyed-in-the-wool rockhounds."BILL IORDAN, insurance and rentals,Long Beach"I got the rock-pox 10years ago after meeting Ray Wilson.When Long Beach had a show I wasamazed at the beauty of the stones Isaw there, and when I was invited to goon a field trip to Lead Pipe Springs Ifound some nice specimensand now Ihave the house full of them."ARLIE TOULOUSE, boat-builder, Cos-ta Mesa"I was once an ardent yachts-man, and sometimes picked up moon-stones on the beach. Somehow, after acouple of years I ended up with a jeepinstead of a boat. My wife is a finecamper and an enthusiastic rock collec-torand we have great trips together."GORDON and ELLA MOORE, bank-ing, Pomona"My interest in rocks be-gan when I was camping with Boy Scoutson the shore of Salton Sea, and we askedJohn Hilton to give us a campfire talk.Of course John talked about stones.Then after World War II the doctorordered me to spend as much time aspossible on the desert. Then I met LorenPerry and saw his beautiful collectionof stones and now I've become a regularfield tripper. Loren taugh t me all Iknow about stones."AL MAINS, school superintendent,Calexico"My dad was a prospector-miner in Celorado, and of course I hadminerals in my veins. Then in 1928 Icame to Calexico as a teacher, and Ifound that one of the best places to takemy girl friend on a Sunday afternoondate was out on the mesa where welooked for pretty stones . My first fieldtrip was 20 years ago when I hiked overthe Chuckawalla range with Wilson Mc-Kenney and Randall Henderson toChuckawalla Spring looking for geodes."EDWARD S. ROGERS, county serv-i c e , Altadena"I used to hunt for In-dian artifacts. One trip took me toOregon where I found some beach ag-ates. When I broke them open I founda striking pattern inside. That was mystartand a little later I built a mud-saw to keep from having to break the

rocks to see what was inside."FORREST L. MAGINNIS, oil audi-tor, Arcadia"I had tried out manyhobbies. Then one day when I wentinto a jewelry store and saw a fine col-lection of stones and learned that manyof them could be obtained within a day'stravel of my home, I decided to take uplapidary. I went on a rock trip with myDad to Mule Canyon looking for palmwood. I didn't know what I was lookingfor, but I dug anyway. But fossilizedpalm wood isn't very pretty until it ispolished, and after a friend told mewhat equipment to get I bought an out-fitand I am still polishing stones."LOREN PERRY, printer, Pasadena"My folks were miners in Colorado so

I knew something about rocks. Readingthe Desert Magazine I decided lapidarywas a good hobby, and by the timeWorld War II came I was able to quali-fy as a lens grinder. Rose and I bothlove to camp and tramp over the hillsin quest of cutting material."JACK B1TTNER, with Convair, Po-mona"My first field trip was to theWiley's Well area, and I landed in thegeode area the day after one of the rockclubs had been there. It was rather dis-couraging to find that so many of thegeodes had been broken. Then Convairstarted a gem and mineral club and Ireceived my initiation into the fraternity."HORA CE MINNS, Long Beach "Ibecame interested in rocks in 1946 whenthe Long Beach gem and mineral societywas doing a first class job of recruitingnew members. I attended one of theshows and was fascinated by the beau-tiful rock displays. I guess most of ushave a yen to strike it rich, and perhapsthat motivates the prospecting field trips.

I have made all my own lapidary ma-chinery."BILL MATTSON, inspection depart-ment at Convair, Pomona"I came toCalifornia two years ago from Pennsyl-vania where rocks are only rocks. ButI love the mountains and the desert, andthese field trips are a lot of fun evenwhen I do not get any prize specimens."M R S . HARRY BRIDWELL, Pomona"I have been interested in rocks sinceI was a little girl. Then when we cameto California in 1940 we started readingDesert Magazine. As soon as the chil-dren were old enough we started goingon field trips, even when they were sosmall Harry had to carry them on hisshoulders. The youngsters are the bestrockhounds in the family."JIM RITTENHOUSE, farmer, Azusa "Catherine and the children and Ibecame interested in rocks when a fam-ily of rockhounds moved next door.They would show us their specimens andtell us about their trips. In 1940 weaccompanied them on our first field trip,and a year later went again. By 1947we were so interested I bought a lapi-dary outfit and now the place is piled upwith stones waiting to be cut." (Theneighbors were Harry and Molly Ohl-sen.)GRACE JOHNSON, secretary, Glen-dale "A few years ago I saw a dis-play of polished gems, and the next

day read an ad in the paper by a lapi-dary teacher who was forming a class.I answered the ad and now I have myown equipment and am making jewelry."MARGUERITE WILSON, clerk incity schools, Pasadena"In 1937 on amotor trip with my mother I saw EarlShaw's sign in Yermo advertising Thun-dereggs. We stopped and bought a bagof rocks, and tried to remember thenames Earl had given us. After that westopped whenever we came to a rockshop. As soon as we reached home Ijoined the Los Angeles Lapidary Societyand studied cutting and polishing innight school. I now have my own jeep the only woman member of TheJeepherders."

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Loren and Rose Perry pi loted ourturn-off, and then left the high-

It wa sn't much of a trail. Originally

The Perry Trail is strictly a jeep

At the entrance to Chuckawallareads: "Desert Center 37.

The 3-mile road up the canyon to

We parked our cars just below theFro m this point it is an easymaterial. Mu ch of the surface

We found two men from the Cali-

uate water supply for the prospectors

Chuckawalla Spring, protected by the rock wall installed by the bisn andGam e department. At the time this picture was taken the wall was stillunder construction and the milky tint of the water is due to constructionwork. Norm ally the water in the Spring is clear and sweet.and rock collectors who still comehere.One may find chalcedony and agateat many places in the ChuckawallaMountain area, and our party spreadout in all directions, one group goingthrough Augustine Pass to the geodefield on the other side of the range.The pass is too precipitous for any buta 4-wheel drive car.

That night we camped in a widesandy wash at the base of the Chucka-wallas where firewood was abundant.Some lovely specimens of cutting stonewere exhibited by the collectors.At the campfire that night part ofthe program was devoted to a roll callin which each of those present wasasked to tell when and why he or shebecame a rockhound. The responsewas a revealing cross-section of thepeople who collect rocks as a hobby.A brief summary of the "confessions"

is given on another page of this DesertMagazine.Some collecting was done the fol-lowing morning but by noon most ofthe party had taken the route towardhome.We were grateful to Rose and LorenPerry for an enjoyable weekend, andsome of the jeeps returned over thetrail by which we had come to Chucka-walla Spring. Others preferred thelonger route back to Highway 60sixmiles of which had been graded bybulldozers during the period when Pat-ton's army was in training in this area.Norton Allen has shown both routeson the map accompanying this story.Chuckawalla Spring is a historic oldwaterhole a rendezvous where formore than 75 years the prospectorsand homesteaders and rock collectorshave found a good supply of sweetwaterand the solitude which is oftena good tonic for human ailments.

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in

DESERT PAINTINGBy CLYDE DAWSON-> Anaheim, CaliforniaWhen it's evening on the desert,Purple shadows gild the sandLike anundulating carpet,Stretching out tofairyland.

With the colors ofthe rainbow,Mo ther Nat ure tints., the scene, ,Painting flowers, rocks, find cactusOn acanvas brown orgreen.For the Joshua tree and Yucca,For the Greasewood and the Pear,And forevery bush and thicket,Just the tint that should be there.And the painting, when it's finished,

Spread from Heaven tothe sod,Like the canvas of amaster,Is the handiwork ofGod.ALL WAS BEAUTY HEREUNTIL HE CAME

By DARRELL TOTTENHenderson, NevadaThe desert isrife with its insect life,From chiggers togreat dragon-flies.Ive studied them all; the large andsmall.There's just one bug that I despise.When hillsides are green, this insect obsceneWith used tissues, dots the grass white.He goes with the breeze, and spreads adiseaseCalled beer-can-and-pop-bottle-blight.He's quite hard tofind, yet only the blindCan miss the broad trail that he makes.Wherever he's been, glass, paper and tinProve he gives much more than he takes.By cigarette packs I've followed his tracksTo the tops ofhigh mountain peaks.In Death Valley's waste his path I havetracedAnd wondered what this strange bugseeks.Have we failed the test?Is this stupid pestAn insect State Laws can't control?Must we live in shame because we're toblameFor this bug devoid of asoul?

th e

By JEAN HOGAN DUDLEYCulver City, CaliforniaThe desert earth, sun-drenched each day,Is drenched again with silver rain,That dimples dust and softens clay,Hangs like acurtain on the plain,And carves the canyons, brown and red,And rolls flash-flooding through the sand,And leaves thesmell of wetsage, spreadLike incense on the ragged land.

DESERT SOLITUDE iBy EILEEN A. L E W I STwentynine Palms, CaliforniaThe sage-scented wind has alonely cry.The sun has forsaken the desert sky,And here alone with my thoughts, am IIn Solitude.Ye t inthis solitude ispleasure.In this loneliness I treasureTime tothink!The Joshua Trees make an erie sight,As the pale moon ascends togreet the nightAnd the desert and I enjoy the rightTo Solitude.Fo r inthis solitude ofbeautyThere's release from cares, from dutyTime tothink!God's star-studded heavens above me lie.Far off inthe distance coyotes cry,And deep in myheart is a strange replyTo Solitude.For inthis wilderness ofsplendorI have found that God doth renderTime toThink!

By TANYA SOUTHGo d isLove. To us on earth. No greater comfort can be given.No other message ofsuch worth.It means, however we have striven,Or slow, orswifter our advance,Or lowly, or inprominence,All, allwill bepreserved and known,Misdeeds forgiven, guidance shownThrough inner Light, by Power above,For God isLove.

CAMP SHOESB y AVI NE L L E HOGUENorwalk, CaliforniaI set towork the other dayTo clean my closet out,And dragged forth relics old and new,And threw my clothes about.A thousand things I did not need,Had ever ceased touse,And down beneath the bottom thingsI found apair ofshoes.Worn out they were with insoles out,And outsoles worn intwo,With counters down and eyes pulled out,And tongues that lolled atyou.To part with them acruel task,They'd been such loyal friends,On hunting days and camping tripsA hundred gay week-ends.But firmly I the shoes picked up,And firmly set them down,Then finished up my cleaning workAnd turned myself around.Each thing was inits place I saw,With nothing toconfuse,And down beneath the bottom things,Peeped out that pair ofshoes.

THE SPOUSEBy MARILYN FRANCISPhoenix, Arizona1956 A.D.North and east into the suburbs,Near towhere the car was parked,Spoke alady inthe market,Spoke alady with acart.

"Please direct me tothe charcoal,We will barbecue the meat,Other things are inthe freezer,Husbands always want toeat." -956 A.D. ' South and west ofthe puebloIn the year ofready rain,Worked a lady Basket Maker,Filled her baskets full with grain.Sang asong ofpreparation,"Lay the fire and smooth the floor,Grind the grain into asweetness,Hunter's shadow marks the door."DESERT MAGAZINE


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There was a crashing bolt ofthunder and lightning, and then ahuge block of stone high up onthe wall of Glen Canyon gave wayand avalanched to the stream be-low. It was a tense moment forthose in the boat belowbut aquick decision and a sturdy motorbrought them to safety. This is aneye-witness story of a major ava-lanche in the great canyon of theColorado River.

By AL HALL & HUBERT LOWMANPhotographs by the authors

E WERE in Glen Canyon ofthe Colorado River, on theway back to Lee's Ferry aftera memorable boat trip upstream withArt Greene and his son-in-law, Skip-per Earl Johnson. We had hiked tofamous Rainbow Natural Bridge. Nowwe gazed at a clean spot a hundredfeet above us on the face of the verticalcliff to our right. A great slab of redsandstone had broken off, lost its bal-ance and lay in a jumble of brokenpieces at the water's edge."About three years ago we passedhere going upstream and the cliff wasjust the same as always," commentedArt. "On the way home we noticedthis slab had fallen."After rounding another bend thesky suddenly turned black and threat-

Art Greene's upriver boat.

Dust from the rock slide in Glen Canyon billows out over the ColoradoRiver. Rockfall originis out of photographat top right.

We Saw a Rockfallin Glen Canyonening ahead. Soon the air was soggywith rain. Cameras were wrapped inwaterproof-ground cloths. One or twoslickers made an appearance as otherpassengers huddled under more of theground cloths. Talk was desultory,then nonexistant, as the gliding boatneared the end of the trip and anacute awareness of the grim majestyof the canyon impressed us all.Suddenly an ear-splitting, jaggedlightning bolt of sound shook the can-yon ahead. A thousand feet above,almost at the top of the sheer canyonwall, a great mass of rock was break-ing away from the cliff.

Frantic thoughts passed through ourminds. Would the tumbling bouldersdeluge our boat? Would a tidal wavesweep across the river and swamp us?Would the avalanche of rock fill the

river channel and bar the way to navi-gation?While these questions were racingthrough our minds, some of us werestruggling to get our cameras into ac-tion for such pictures as could betaken in the dusk of early evening.Skipper Earl, at the wheel, swungthe boat sharply around, and openedthe throttle wide. Calmly, he lookedto Art and suggested: "Maybe I hadbetter head for the shore."Art was studying the cloud of dustthat billowed above and behind us.Already it had crossed and filled thecanyon."You can't breathe that stuff!" Artshouted back, his arm sweeping theentire canyon downstream. "Too thick!Keep upstream until we run out ofgas! Stay ahead of it!"

J A N U A R Y , 19 57


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By then the cloud had swelledthickly outward, clogging the canyon500 , 600 feet high! A lost, troubledfeeling gripped us as the rumble oftortured rock ceased, and silently,inexorablythe dust wall was movingtoward us, coming upstream beforethe evening updraft. We were push-ing against the sullen current, low ongasoline, but with no other choice.Minutes passed, the undiminisheddust cloud oozing silently and steadilyafter us.We were thankful for our escapeso far! Than kful as well for Ear l'sskill with the boat and instant reac-tion, for Art's good judgment in keep-ing upstreamthankful for the boatitself with its power to move againstthe current rather than allowing us todrift helplessly into that awesome,choking cloud! Surely, sight and breathwould be impossible there and the re-lentless Colorado would move the boatat will.As the boat growled doggedly up-stream, a barely safe distance from thedust, we sensed Earl's worry over thegasoline supply. The dust seemed tobe gaining on us! Art was about to

dip towels into the water to wraparound our heads!Then, vagrant winds began whippingat the top of dust wall. Suddenly theevening sky became lighter. The b oatslowed, drifted and again headed home-ward . A brackish taste still was inthe air, and dust was piled inches deepeven on the far side of the canyonwherever there was a shelf level enoughto hold it. A great scar lay its lengthfrom the talus slope to a gentle newarc in the canyon wall, 1000 feetabove the water! Ar t says the canyonis 1200 feet deep at this point, eightmiles above Lee's Ferry."In 40 years I've never seen a slideon the river . . ." Art remarked, star-ing at the changed face of the rockwall. "We were lucky!" he added .We were lucky! Lucky to have beenin such splendid company, lucky tohave shared the beauty of Glen andForbidden Canyons before they be-come part of Lake Escalante and aredrowned from sight. Lucky to havebeen to Rainbow Bridge"The StoneThat Goes Over"before this majes-tic landmark becomes partially sub-merged in the new reservoir behindGlen Canyon dam.

R ivermen Seek to K eep GlenCanyon O pen for B oatingEngineers of the U. S. Bureau ofReclamation have closed the ColoradoRiver at the Glen Canyon damsite toall public navigation. The closing orderbecame effective in October at the endof the summer boating season in GlenCanyon.The closing of Glen Canyon at thedamsite eight miles up river from Lee'sFerry threatens to put an end to twoof the most popular boat trips on theCol orad o: The Glen Canyon run fromHite Ferry to Lee's Ferry, and the SanJuan river trip from Mexican Hat tothe junction of the San Juan with the

Colorado and thence through lowerGlen Canyon to Lee's Ferry.Boatman-guides who have been tak-ing several hundred passengers onthese runs each summer in the past,have asked the Reclamation Bureau toimprove an exit route which will en-able them to bring their boats down-stream as far as the damsite, and thentake the passengers and boats out byhighway. Such a road exists alongWahweap Creek on the Utah side ofthe river. Howe ver, Construction En -gineer L. F. Wylie of the Reclamation

Bureau has stated this road is to beused exclusively by contractors on the

dam project and will not be availablefor private transportation.Wylie, discussing the matter with amember of the Desert Magazine stafflate in November, said an effort hadbeen made to open an exit road upWarm Springs Creek, another Utahtributary, but that the bulldozer crewhad run into treacherous quicksand,and he did not believe such a road isfeasible.According to J. Frank Wright, pilot-leader of the Mexican Hat Expeditions,1048 people registered at RainbowBridge during the year ending lastAugust 8, and most of these reachedthe Bridge by the river route . Wrightand other boatmen are hoping theReclamation Bureau will provide someroute for exit from the river, as themost scenic sector of Glen Canyon isupstream only a few miles from thedamsite where Forbidden Canyon,Rainbow Bridge, Music Hall, MysteryCanyon, Hidden Passage and TwilightCanyon are located. Although it willbe several years before the rising watersbehind the new dam submerge thesebeauty spots, they already are closedto the public unless some means canbe found for an exit for passengerswho come downstream from Hite ferryor Mexican Hat to view them.

H a r d R o c k S h o r t yofDeathValley

"Any fish in that lake downthere?" the dude asked.He had just stopped at theInferno store in a shiny new1910 model, and his remarkswere addressed to Hard RockShorty who was half asleep inthe shade of the lean-to porch.Shorty squinted at the strangerand then pulled out his corncobpipe and began filling it beforehe answered."What lake?" he asked."I mean all that water downthere between those mountains.Any fish there?""That ain't no lake," repliedShorty, "that's jest a mirage likewe see around here all the time.Them mirages look like all kindso' things. Sometimes it 's water,sometimes in the early mornin'it looks like a city with sky-scrapers. Then sometimes yu seeships an' oremillsall kinds o'strange doin's."Remember one time when wehad a couple o' rough lookin'

hombres hanging around here ferseveral days. Pisgah Bill an' mefiggered they wuz hidin' out fromthe law but we didn't saynothin. '"Then one mornin' one o 'them mirages showed upa bigcity it looked like, an' the airwuz so clear we could see thesigns on the stores. On e bigbuildin' had its name in bigletters standin' on the roof:B-A-N-K."After while we saw themstrangers whisperin' to eachother an' then they pulled outsudden like."Two months later oP Bad-water Bill come in from a pros-pectin' trip and said he found acouple dead dudes 'way downthere in the dunes with their carburied to the axles in the sand."We went down to give 'em adecent burialand sure enoughit wuz them same fellers that'dbeen hangin' around the storetwo months before. An ' in theirold car wuz their toolsa com-plete outfit fer crackin' safes."

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Bo o m a n dBu s t a tL e a d f i e l dLeadfield never had a chance.True, it has a large body of low-grade ore. But it was the sales-manship of a fraudulent promoterrather than the orewhich in-duced several hundred lucklessinvestors to put money into theprospect hole . Here is the story ofa mining fiasco which eventuallyled to the suicide of the man who

promoted it.By RUSS LEADABRANDMap by Nor ton Allen

N SUNDAY, March 21, 1926, astrange procession of 94 horn-tooting automobiles beat theirway across the dusty Amargosa Desertflatlands from Beatty, Nevada, towardthe bleak Grapevine Mountains 15miles to the west.From the foot of the mile-highrange the procession zig-zagged up afresh scar etched in the side of RedHill to a narrow, windy summit on thecrimson bluff.Then the caravan hurried down thebrand new road into the middle of therange and the squealing of brakes wasdrowned out by the shouts of the pas-sengers and the saluting blasts of dyna-mite from the nearby canyons.At the bottom of the grade, wherewelcome banners flapped in the desertsun, blossomed the newest of DeathValley's mining comm unities: Lead-field.On hand to welcome the 340 guestsincluding 24 womenwho had rid-den a special Tonopah and Tidewatertrain from Los Angeles to Death Val-ley, was Leadfield's gallant host andfounder, C. C. Julian.Those 340 people had been carefullyculled from 1500 who wanted to makethe junke t. Fo r they were the mostlikely to invest in one of Death Valley'sgreatest mining speculations, WesternLead .That Sunday, according to the sec-

J A N U A R Y , 1 9 5 7

A few years ago this building, bearing the Leadfield Hotel sign, was stillstanding. Plans for the town's original hotel called for 40 rooms, but thestructure that was finally built probably contained no more than four.Photo by Floyd B. Evans

ond issue of the Leadfield Chronicle,the boom camp deep in a pocket ofthe Grapevine Mountains entertainedover a thousand city dwellers and des-ert folks who were on hand to cele-brate the founding of this new miningcommunity.Other less conservative sourcesplaced the visitor total at 300 0. ButOscar Olsen, former Stewart at theGoldfield Elks Club, admitted laterthat he had fed a buffet luncheon ofchicken, pork and salad to 1120 per-sons that afternoon.To add to the general color andconfusion of the occasion was a six-piece band that Julian had hired inLos Angeles to provide "jazzy music."Julian, developer of the Julian Pe-troleum Co., an oil concern that wascurrently under fire by stockholdersand corporation commission investi-gators in Los Angeles, was persuadedto say a few words after the banquet."I didn't bring you here to buyWestern Lead," Julian told the jovialthrong.Laughter rippled through the crowd.Julian pressed the point. "If youdon't buy, it will be all right with me.

No fooling. This baby stands on herown feet."Evidently Ole's chicken, pork andsalad and the jazzy music had moreeffect on the visitors than did Julian'snegative sales talk for Bourke Lee,Death Valley chronicler, reports that"several million dollars worth of stockwas sold."But there was too much stock man-ipulation and too little developmentof the 100-foot thick layer of sevenpercent lead ore that lays under Lead-field.Julian's babyDeath Valley's lastboom town stood on her own feetonly until the end of that year, 'On August 25, 1926, VirginiaThomas Costello, first and only post-master, opened the Leadfield postoffieewith mail for 200. She closed the post-office the day Leadfield died fivemonths later on January 15, 1927.The low grade lead claims that JohnSalsberry sold to Julian were neverexploited. Julian once told stockhold-ers that he had $55,000 worth of min-ing machinery ordered for the camp.

But Julian's earlier troubles houndedhim even to Death Valley, and he fled11


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to China where he later committedsuicide.Today little more than junk andrubble marks the site of Death Valley'slast mining boom.When Julian first started developingthe Salsberry lead claims, supplies hadto be trucked in from B eatty. Thiswas a staggering logistics problem ina country where even water had to betransported.The route lay west from Beattyacross the Amargosa Desert to theGrapevines, over Daylight Pass intoDeath Valley, then north to the slotin the rock that was the mouth ofTitus Canyon, and up that steep andtortuous cleft to Leadfield.It was an agonizing 70 mile haulto accomplish a straight line trek of20 miles. Julian hired E. S. Giles ofGoldfield to survey a closer route overthe eastern wall of the Grapevines.The result was the spectacular Red Hillgrade. The road cost $100,000 tobuild and is still in use.During its heyday, according to his-torian C. B. Glasscock, Leadfield sup-ported a newspaper, the LeadfieldHotel, Ole's Inn and a half dozen othershops. There were bunkhouses, ablacksmith shop, mess hall and a scat-tering of private residences.

When the town died, wind, weatherand lumber-hungry prospectors pickedit to pieces in short order.Still standing are a sheet-metalsmithy, a bunkhouse and a few dug-outs.Here and there in the rubble canbe found old assay crucibles in whichsamples of the lead ore were testedagainst the day when vast shipmentsof the mineral would rumble downTitus Canyon.Eastern speculators later related thatthey had become interested in WesternLead after reading brochures that ad-vertised the grand scheme in the desert.Those brochures were illustrated withsketches of ore trucks being met at themouth of Titus Canyon by ocean-goingpaddleboats!Today the rubble-strewn hollowwhere Leadfield once stood is onlyvisited by the most curious tourist. TheTitus Canyon road, greatly improved

by the CCC crews in the 1930s, is con-sidered safe for any experienced moun-tain driver in a passenger car. Thisroad is one way now down. The en-trance to the road is reached at a pointwest of Beatty, Nevada, on the Beatty-to-Daylight Pass highway. The junc-tion is well marked.

After a long drive across the alluvialslope of the Amargosa Desert the roadswings steeply up the Grapevine Moun-tains, past colorful knobs and minaretssimilar to those found in southern Uta h.From the top of this pass the gradedroad, constantly maintained by theU.S. Park Service, drops down intothe headwaters of Titus Canyon, pastLeadfield and Klare Springa mini-ature oasis in an otherwise dry canyontoward the narrow slot below.It was at Klare Spring, when Lead-field was still in bloom, that somesmall-scale promoter erected a 50-gal-lon drum atop a scaffolding and hungup a sign: "Shower baths, 25c each."Water at Leadfield was scarce and thepromoter made money.

The lower reaches of Titus Canyon,miles of narrow, twisting, sheer-sideddriving, is an experience never forgot-ten. Dau bs of silt 30 feet up againstthe glassy sides of the canyon wereleft there by the last cloudburst thatroared down the chasm.The road opens onto a high alluvialfan overlooking the awesome DeathValley sink.A bustling community 30 years ago,C. C. Julian's Leadfield will probablybe little more than a memory by thetime another 30 years have passed.

Tf SCOTTY S ': '' '>%'"'CASTLE^ -.' '.'i,/'. To GOLOF1ELO

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/I new road, fcui/f to /w/ mangan ese ore from the Little Ho rn Mountains toSalome, runs within a mile of the area where Pancho's gold is supposed to belocated. Here the road descends from the Little Horns.

Here is a lost mine tale that "has not passed through so manymouths as to ha ve be com e distorted." It concerns a Tonto A pach eIndian and his debt of gratitude to a rancher who he led a lmo s t to"the richest mine in the world."

By HAROLD O. WEIGHTPhotographs by the authorMap by Nor ton Allencome to take you to the richest minein the world . . ."Alvarado smiled wryly. "And I can-not even walk without pain." Lookingat the bronzed face of his friend, herecalled their first meeting many year.sago.

Jose Alvarado, son of Juan BautistaAlvarado, a,governor of California inMexican days, was born in Montereyand came to the Gila Valley in 1878to homestead and run cattle. At that

< f c # O R E TH A N h alf the w idthww\/ f Arizona separates SanCarlos Indian Reservationand Palomas on the lower Gila River.Yet early this century an aging TontoApache warrior named Pancho, walkedthese long miles to visit an old friendand repay a kindness. At Palomas hefound his friend, Jose Alvarado, Sr.,ailing and in pain."Compadre, this is no good!" theTon to Apache protested. "Here I have

J A N U A R Y , 1 9 5 7

time, the grim and vivid chapter theTonto Apaches were writing into thehistory of Arizona Indian warfare wasnearing its end. In 18 73, GeneralGeorge Crook had forced surrenderof most of the Tontos, placing themon a reservation at Camp Verde.There, with crude tools, the Indiansplanted wheat and corn on the landthey were told would be their perman-ent home.But a year later, through machina-tions of government contractors whowished to keep the Indians from be-coming self-supporting, they were re-moved from Camp Verde to hot, dustyand malarial bottomlands at San Car-los, despite protests by General Crook.Fifteen hundred Tontos started thistrek, but fewer than 1400 arrived. The

rest sifted away to join little bandsclinging to their old way of life in the13

Lost Apache Gold...in theLittle Horn Mountains


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Tonto Basin and the rugged desertmountains.There were more raids, campaignsand skirmishes in the years that fol-lowedin the Castle Domes, SantaMarias and other hideoutsand moreTontos were captured and taken toSan Carlos. On on e of these roundups,the soldiers brought a large group ofcaptives up the Gila and camped fora while at Jose Alvarado 's ranch."This is when my father got to knowthese people," Jose Alvarado, Jr., toldme. "There were 500 Indians campedthere on the mesa, I guess. I do notknow why they called them Tontosthey were gentler than the others. Theyweren 't bad Indians if you treated themright. If you didn'tthere was trouble!

My father had no quarrel with them.H e hadmany cattle andalmost alwaysthere was an old cow or bull that hewould kill for them to eat. Theycamped around our ranch often, andwere friendly."Pancho was one of these TontoApaches. Later he drifted off the res-ervation and, during the winters,camped with his family at Alvarado 's.Once while there his small son became

very ill."H e was about to die," Jose Alva-rado, Jr., recalls. "About that timeon e of thepriests who used to journeyu p the Gila came along. My fatherwas worried about the little Indian." 'Let me take him to the priest tobe baptized,' he said to Pancho . 'H e

TO VICKSBURG

Possible flre a ofP P D C H O ' S G O L D

is dying now. Perhaps he might live.'So Pancho let my father take the littlepapoose, and the priest baptized him.Ay, golly! That little Indian got well!From then Pancho thought much ofmy father."In the great flood of 1891 , the Gilaoverran all its valley, hundreds of cat-tle drowned and adobe homes meltedaway. The Alvarados lost their ranchand moved to Y u m a . Butmany of his

cattle survived, and Jose Alvarado re-turned. At that time, due largely tothe opening of the Harquahala Mine50 miles to the north, the freightingcenter, Palomas, commenced to growup among the great mesquites on theGila flood plain around J. F. Nott-buseh's general store.Alvarado built a frame and adobehome, with log lean-to kitchen, withina hundred yards of the store. He wasliving there, in his late seventies, whenPancho came. The Indian had thoughtabout the matter a great deal andwould not easily abandon his purpose."You don't have to walk," he said."W e can ride right to it. Maybe youcan r ide?""Maybe," Alvarado agreed. "Forthe richest mine in the world, I cantry. But I must take someone. MyselfI can do nothing.""You have friends," Pancho said."Bring them along."They started northward the next day.Pancho, who had refused a horse whichhe considered a nuisance, waswalkingin the lead. Behind him rode Alva-

rado. Two Mexican acquaintancesbrought up the rear, walking behindloaded pack burros. Apparently theparty kept west of Palomas and WhiteTank mountains, following the oldYuma road then branching north fromit along the King of Arizona-NorthStar (Kofa-Polaris) freighting route.This they left to head northeast pastEngesser Camp and through EngesserPass in the Kofas.The first night ou t Alvarado 's Mex-ican acquaintances objected to prepar-ing food for the Indian, andeven moreto eating with him."Pancho is going to eatwhen I eat!"Alvarado insisted.But each time the party halted fora meal, the argument was renewed.Pancho decided that these two shouldnot learn his long-kept secret, andsteered a roundabout course to AlamoSpring in the northeastern outliers ofthe Kofas. There they camped andin the morning, when the Mexicansprotested again, Pancho took Alva-rado aside."If they do not quit this I am goingto kill them," he said.Alvarado knew that the Indian

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me ant it. "We are going back to Pa-lom as," he told the others . "An d un-less you are careful, my compadre willkill one of you."It was a sullen and subdued partythat repacked the equipment and setout on the back trail to Engesser. Al-varado carried a rifle on his saddle,and when they had gone a little wayPancho dropped back beside him."Compadre," he said, "let me haveyou r rifle. I wan t to see if I can findany wild sheep. An d you go on wayout there to the east. Yo u will find abig wash an old river bed. Belowthe trail, where it crosses this wash about 50 ya rds down you w illfind a hole in the rock. The sol-diers made it to catch water when thewash runs. When they were takingus out of here, they stopped at thehole for water. W ait there for me ."

Alvarado hesitated a moment, thengave the India n the rifle. Travelingslowly, at the speed of the pack burros,they came to the crossing of a rock-bottomed wash in a low, broad drain-age valley about two in the afternoon.Just below the crossing Alvaradofound the cistern cut into the washbed."We will unpack the burros andhave lunch," he said, "and here waitfor Pancho."Unpacking was not complete whenAlvarado, who was still in the saddle,looked up the wash and saw Pancho.The Indian walked up to him andthrew a large rock on the ground."Break that open," he said.The rock had a rusty reddish-blacksurface. Alva rado took a prospectingpick from his saddlebag, slid to theground, and broke the rock. Jose Al-varado, Jr., saw part of that rock later."Man!" he told me, "that rock wasreally yellow! You could hardly seeanything else inside that rock butgold!"Holding the rock, old Alvaradoshouted to his comp anions: "See whatPancho has brought me!"The two looked at the golden rock.They looked at Pancho. They lookedat one another.^Pancho hasn' t eaten!" one said."Let's cook him a good meal!" saidthe other.They cooked the best they had andPancho ate, but rebuffed their over-eager advances.Camp was made for the night in aflat beside the wash. Ab out two in themorning, as Alvarado judged by thestars , he was awakened by Pancho.The Indian motioned for silence andled him beyond hearing of his sleepingcompanions ."Compadre," he said, "go right up

this wash a mile and a half to a littleside wash . Yo u see lots of this rock

SI:- . : ; '

sumB efore the start of the lost mine hunt, E d Ro chester, left, and Jose Alvaradostudy maps of western Arizona in an attempt to pinpoint Pancho's lost gold.down there. Tha t's the richest minein the world. But don 't tell those othertwo. Don't tell them! Take them outto the river. Then you come backalone . Yo u will find it."

They returned to their blankets andfinally Alvara do slept again. He waswakened by his companions.

"Where is Pancho?" they asked."We've fixed a fine breakfast for him.""I think Pancho is gone," Alvaradotold them. He never saw the TontoApache again. Pancho had paid hisdebt and had gone his way.Alvarado did not profit by that pay-ment. He was never able to return to

Present Alam o S pring in the northeastern Ko fas. Near this point old'Alvarado, the Tonto Apache and the two Mexicans camped. Next daythey reached the area of the rich gold ledge.

Siliiiilii

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look for Pan cho's gold. In 1 918, theold man was brought to a daughter'shom e in Yu ma , desperately ill. Th atwas only a week after his return fromthe trip with Pancho, according tohis son, but there are indications thatthe actual trip may have been madesome time earlier.Knowing he had little chance to re-cover, Alvarado sent for his son andrelated the whole story. "So n," he

said, when he had finished, "be sureto go up ther e! Be sure to followPancho's directions! I know you willfind the gold."Within a month, the old man wasdead.In 1918 Jose Alvarado, Jr., wasoperating a dairy and making goodmon ey. He was not going to aban donprosperity to chase a golden ledge hemight not find. When he finally wentto the Alamo Spring area, the old trailswere long unused. He could not tellwhere his father and Pancho hadcamped nor locate the key landmark,the cistern carved in the rock."There are so many washes in thatcountry!" he explained.

The possibility of relocating Pan-cho's gold fascinated m e. It was lo-cated in a geographical area that couldbe pinned down and was limited in ex-tent. It was in a country where gold hadbeen proven to exist. It was near anold trail both Indians and pack trains

had followed. It had a permanentlandmarkthe rock cis tern. And thestory had not passed through so manymouths as to have become distorted.Early in the summer of 1955 Lucile,Ed Rochester and I set out for thenortheastern Kofa countrytoo lateand hot for serious prospecting at thelower elevations. Our plan was simple:From Alamo Spring we would try tofind a trail leading to Engesser Passwhich crossed an arroyo in which therewas a rock cistern.

Finding Alamo Spring seemed easy.Almost every detailed Arizona mapshows it. Bu t different m aps show itin different positions in respect to theroadif a road was shown. We finallychose the official map of Yuma County which proved incorrect in detail,compass directions and topography.How wrong we realized while workingthrough buttes and canyons where themap showed open plain.But with directions given us by ourold-time friends Bill Keiser and BertHart of Quartzsite, and amplified bythe Livingstons who have a ranch inNew Water Pass, we found on a flatabove a deep wash a camping groundwith indications of use going backthrough purple glass fragments to ar-row chippings. In a side branch ofthe wash below we located the spring,developed by the Fish and WildlifeService which had piped the water to

C a l l i n g D m t i . . .If you travel the desert afoot and hunt its mysterious beauty witha camera you know wel l the boundless p leasure and photographicpossibilit ies this land offersespecially during this season when theda y s a re crisp an d aliv e with the pul se of a ne w winter. If yo u ar ea novice a t h ik ing and camera hunt ing we s incerely urge you to t rythem out . And profess ional photographer or amateurwe invi te you. to shar e th e best of your, desert pho tog raph s with other m em bers ofthe Desert family in the Picture-of-the-Month contest. Each month twocash pr izes are g iven to winners .Entries for the January contest m ust be sent to the Desert M agaz ineoffice. Palm Desert, California, and postmarked not later than January18. W innin g prints will appe ar in the March issu e. Pictures whicharrive too late for one contest are he ld ov er for the next month. Firstprize is $10; second prize $5. For non-winning pictures accepted forpublication $3 each will be paid.HERE ARE THE RULES1Prints must be black and whi te, 5x7 or larger, on glossy paper.2Each photograph submitted should be fully labeled as to subject, t ime andplace. Also technical data: camera, shut ter speed, hour of day, etc.3PRINTS WILL BE RETURNED WHEN RETURN POSTAGE IS ENCLOSED.4Entries must be in the Desert Magazine office by the 20th of the contest month.5Contests are open to both amateur an d professional pho tograph ers. DesertMagazine requires first publication rights only of prize winning pictures.6Time and place of photograph are immaterial, except that i t must be from thedesert Southwest .7Judges will be selected from Desert 's editorial staff, and awards w i l l be m adeimmediately after the close of the contest each month.

Address All Entries to Photo Editor*De4& tt 'THayofitte PALM DESERT, CALIFORNIA

a metal trough shaded by corrugatediron . Th is seemed to fit the localityof Alamo Spring, though one old-timertold us later that this was Upper Al-amo Spring and that the old one, lowerin the main wash, no longer flowed.There were no cottonwoods, living orstumps, to identify either.From the spring the only road inthe direction of Engesser Pass climbedthrough a saddle and dropped down

to Red Raven Wash. A rutted trackto start, it deteriorated rapidly fromthat point. The remainder of the after-noon brought a maze of buttes, can-yons, ridges and arroyos. Parts of thetrail vanished completely and we couldonly bump cautiously alongoften infour-wheel driveuntil we picked itup again. We reached Hoodoo Welland, beyond, the trail that led to En-gesser Pass , just before sundow n. Wehad searched diligently at each likelywash crossing, but had found no traceof the rock cistern. Our gas supplywas down because of the unexpectedamount of low and compound gearwork and the only reasonable courseseemed to go out to Highway 60-70for more gas, then make another tryfrom Alamo Spring.

We camped that night at the south-western edge of the Little Horn Moun-tains, tired and more than a little dis-courag ed. Starting early, we discoveredthe home of the Ray Hovetter familyless than a mile from our campsite.Hovetter was working a dozen man-ganese claims in the mountains to theeast. We soon learned that we couldnot have found anyone in Arizona bet-ter able to give the information weneed ed. His father was one of thefirst cattlemen at Wellton and Ray hadranged through all this country formore than 40 years.With a twig he sketched on thebrown earth all the roads and trailsof this coun try. An d when I told himthe story of Pancho's gold he was si-lent for a moment, rubbing his chin."It's an odd thing," he said at last,"but I know just such a hole in awash as you describe. It's the only oneI know in this countryand it's old.It looked old when I first saw it 40years ago. But it 's in the Little Hornsabout five miles east of here. Whywould they have swung way out there,going from Alamo Spring to EngesserPass?"After a moment's silence he con-tinued: "I do remem ber seeing Alva-rado the father in that countrywhere that hole in the wash is. I wouldsay, though, it was nearer 1910 than1918." He paused again. "Com e tothink of it, that hole in the wash isright beside the old Indian and packtrain trail from Alamo Spring. It

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joined the Harquahala freighting road,and they could have branched backfrom that to Engesser. And anotherpoint for your storyBill and J. V.Allison found rich gold ore in a butteat the side of that wash only a fewhundred yards from the water hole.Reddish ore with the gold just stickingout. The y ran a shaft and a fewtrenches, but there wasn't much of it.That was in the 1920s, I think."Ray Hovetter directed us to therock cistern. Following the road hehad made for hauling manganese toSalome to a point four miles east ofthe Sheep Tanks Mine, we entered abroad valley with two little cabins ona hill at the eastern edge. A t the baseof the hill we cut back northwest intothe wash on an old, little-used road.This road would bring us to the cisternin the wash, about a mile after leav-ing the new road. We were to becareful, he warned us, to see that thecover was on the cistern when we left.Mining men in the area had cleaned it

out and were using the water.Although the cistern lay less than10 feet south of the wash crossing, wecould have looked right at it withoutrecognizing it, had we not had explicitdirections for finding it. The b ottomof the wash at the crossing was madeup of fine conglomerate cemented bya ma terial as white as caliche. Thecistern had been cut down into it toa depth of 18 feet and was three feetsquare . A foot or two down, it hadbeen framed in with wood and cov-ered with a homemade screengal-vanized iron with punched holesmou nted on a wooden frame. Half adozen good-sized rhyolite boulders hadbeen piled on top of the screen.It was an ingenious device for catch-ing wate r in an arid land. Wh eneverthe wash ran, water would flow intothe cistern. The screen would keepout debris; the rocks protect the screenfrom damage. The cover would almosteliminate loss by evaporation.

There could be no doubt that thiswas the hole in the wash by whichAlvarado and Pancho had camped. Infinding it we had relearned a lessonlost mine hunters must learn over andover. No matter how definite direc-tions in a waybill may seem, they havemeaning only when considered in rela-tion to the then existing roads andtrails and to the route which the or-iginal party, no matter what its reason,chose to follow. We had looked forthe cistern close to the most directroute between Alamo Spring and En-gesser Pass. But the party we weretrying to trace had made a wide U intheir journey, and the cistern was manymiles east of where we expected toind it.Yet another interpretation of direc-

I A N U A R Y , 1 9 5 7

Mill

fiiiiiIP 1 .&:" . , - . ' " ' ' ' ' ' " P

The old cistern in the Little Horn Mountains, foreground, beside whichthe party camped. It was here that the Indian brought in his fabulousgolden rock. At left center of hill in background is the tunnel cut in the1920s by prospectors who found small quantities of rich gold ore on thisslope.tions must be made before Pancho'sgold is found again. Fro m the cistern,the directions seemed explicit. Abo uta mile and a half up that same washwas a side wash . In the side wash wewould find the golden rocksbut wedid not find them. While it was toohot for painstaking prospecting, andwe did not have time to cover thewhole valley, we did examine the mostlikely washes and if the gold was asprominent as Pancho indicated, weshould have seen some of it.

But we are not through looking.The directions and the country fit toowell together for this story to havebeen all imagination. Somewhere inthose washes in the Little Horn Moun-tains must lie the gold that the TontoApache thought was "the richest minein the world." And looking northwardfrom that strange man-made watertank in that lonely land, we rememberold Jose Alvarado's words to his son:"Be sure to follow Pancho's direc-tions! I know you will find the gold."17


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18

D r if tw o o d D e m o n . . .This shattered tree trunk was found

on the Mojave Desertfashioned byNature into this striking resemblanceof a prehistoric monster. Valrie M.Geier of Northridge, California, is theprize winning photographer of this"Driftwood Demon."

P i c t u r e s o ft h e M o n t h

B o r d e r P a t r o l . . .Arthur C. West of Chulcc Vista,California, is second prize winnerwith this photograph of two BorderPatrolmen examining footprints westof Port of Entry, Calexico. West used

a Speed Graphic Camera, f. 22 at1/100 second, Royal Pan film, me-dium yellow filter.DESERT MAGAZINE


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h e n Bi r d s C o m e f o r W a t e r . . .By EDMUND C. JAEGER, D.Sc.Curator of PlantsRivers ide Municipal MuseumD r aw in g s b y M o r r i s V an D ame

HROUGH MY many years as ateaching biologist I have con-ducted numerous field trips. One

In a walk of only a few hundredma de. Sometimes it is a

Invariably there is enough interest-

isteners for a half hou r or mo re. Itgives me a good opportunity indeedto demonstrate what a host of unsus-pected wonders lie at our feet.Another eye-opening and rewardingfield trip involving even less travel,although generally much more time, iswhat we call our Fabre Hour Excur-sion. It is nam ed in mem ory of the

The old water trough at Gray Rockthirsty

Here is a revealing story of wildlifeof the habits of the birdswhich come to a desert watering place, as seen through the eyes ofa Naturalist.

Brown Thrasher

French savant, Jean Henri Fabre (pro-nounced FA-burr) , who, unable totravel far from home, found the sub-ject matter for many fascinating booksin the observations of insects he madein his own back yard. Such a FabreHour Excursion generally means goingto some lonely desert spring where wecan watch the behavior of diurnal birdsand mammals as they come in from awide surrounding area to quench theirthirsts and to rest. Not more thanfour persons can successfully watchat such an observation post. Generallywe take our places behind a screen ofSpring is a popular rendezvous forbirds.

V AD A M E

rocks or shrubs so as to disturb aslittle as possible the approach of thethirsty creatures to the waterhole.Last April when migratory birdsstill were on the move, Charles Ohl-hausen and Bill Wells of Riverside,California, and I stopped for an after-noon's rest at Gray Rock Spring onour way back from a 10-day Sonoranjourney. This small, practically un-known oasis is on the desert slope ofthe San Jacinto Mountains of Cali-fornia, an arid area where singleleafnut pines, shrubby junipers, catsclawand desert willows are fairly common.The day was warm and the air verydry."A perfect day for thirsty birds,"said Bill. "They are bound to comein, and often."We made ourselves comfortableabout 12 feet from the wooden troughof wa ter. In to it flowed a trickle ofwater from a rusty alkali-encrustedtwo-inch pipe. Several tall bushes in-cluding a juniper, sumac and catsclaw,all flourishing in the moist soil, bor-dered the trough on two sides. Fromwhere we sat we had an unobstructedview of the container.Short was our wait before a hand-some California Jay raucously an-nounce d his incoming. Unhesitatingand brave, he stopped but a moment

in the large-leaved sumac bush to theeast of the spring then descended tothe edge of the trough, nattily cockedhis head to one side and took hisdrink . Just as he was finishing he spieda fat brown-haired inch-long cater-pillar humping its way along the topof the pipe; a dash on the wing andhe gobbled it up. The n in a very busi-ness-like manner he flew up over thebrush-covered hillside and with bluewings and tail widely spread, made agraceful landing in a juniper bush.Hardly had he departed when steady

ingress of the more timid smaller birdstook place. They evidently had hesi-J A N U A R Y , 1 9 5 7 19


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tated to approach the water while thisflat-headed villain was about.First to come in were two mild-mannered Bluebirds, showing the softtones of blue and brown of their feath-ered coats. Th e Jay had do ne all hisdrinking from the edge of the trough,but these Bluebirds, as well as severalother feathered visitors that came inthat warm afternoon, drank only fromthe end of the pipe, tipping their bodiesso as to bring their beaks easily tothe dripping orifice.Between every beakful of waterthere was always a few seconds of hesi-tation and cautious looking about toassure themselve s that all was safe. Amoment's lack of vigilance might costthem their lives.

While the bluebirds were wettingtheir dry throats a flock of 20 Bushtitsdescended into a nearby pinyon treeand began sifting down through it, dis-porting their blue-gray little bodies andnotably long tails. Many were theirsoft, engaging and explosive tsts, an dalarm notes, Sree-e-e. But theirs wasnot a visit for waternot one de-scended to the trough or to the drip-ping pipe. Suffice for them was theopportunity to look over the old treefor insect food; anything from smallbeetles, moths and eggs to scale in-sects was meat for them . This seriousbusiness over, the restless merry-hearted bird midgets flew away to newhun ting sites. On e bird went first tolead the way, then another and an-other followed until all the loiteringcompany, including a late straggler ortwo, were together again.With patient eyes we followed thesevery active winsome gleaners throughsome half dozen shrubs and trees be-fore losing them from view.Shortly after the Bushtits left, threeMourning Doves flew with musicalwing-notes into the big sumac bushwhich th e Jay- had used as its ap -proach perch. Quietly and unneces-sarily long it seemed to us, they waitedthere, perhaps unusually hesitant be-cause of our presence. "Th is plac e,"they seemed by their behavior to say,"just doesn't have its long-familiarlook. Let 's be cautious."While they waited, five perky BaileyMountain Chickadees with black, grayand white coats and black beady eyescame in to loiter and to drink. W ith-out any preliminary landing in bushes,they descended right onto the pipe,alighting all in a row . Th en on e afteranother they moved up, clung to theedge of the dripping orifice and, turningalmost upside down, put their beaks tothe water. We now saw displayed inthese decorous birds a spirit of cock-suredness, audacity and sometimes

selfish aggressiveness not displayed inany of the other trough visitors. These20

were traits we never before suspectedin this sprightly versatile-voiced song-ster of the sun-drenched desert wood-lands. Several times the bird quintetleft and then soon returned for an-other drink. If there were other birdsat the trough when the Chickadeescame in, they generally sat about inrespectful silence until the pugnaciouslittle chicks temporarily withdrew.Each time the Chickadees left theydarted into their favorite nearby pin-yon and there, while fidgeting aboutand gleaning for insect food, frequent-

Western Bluebirdly gave forth their usual pensive fournotes, the first two pitched higher.Occasionally they gave us a variationof three notes in which the saucy littlevagabonds almost pronounced theirwell known name, "chick-a-dee." Thentoo, strange little wheezy squeaks andwhistles came from their throats.Every once in a while a big brownrobin - sized strong - footed Thrash er,with monstrously long prominentsickle-shaped beak, came runningalong in relays up to the trough . Thefirst evidence we had of his bold ap-proach was a rustle in the thick carpetof dried leaves beneath the big sumacbush. When almost up to the troughhe suddenly stopped, turned his headto one side as if better to see andlisten, then quickly plunged his strongpickaxe-like beak into the soft earth,made several closely repeated thrustsand from his excavation brought up afat brown beetle pupa, Having swal-lowed it he looked very proud andwise, then ascended to the brink of thefar end of the trough and got hisdrink, some Chickadees nearby not-withstan ding. Little if any attentionhe paid to the two cautious and pa-tient doves still sitting in the Sumacbush no doubt hoping that their timewould come to get a drink. After hav -ing probed successfully several moretimes for beetle pupa, "Pickaxe-Bill,"as we called him, returned to his hide-out in the brush.When the Bushtits, the Thrasher and

Chickadees all had retired, the twotimid Doves came down from theirlookout posts and got their drinks. Notonly once or twice but many timesthey gently dipped their beaks in thecool water.Neither these doves nor the otherbirds we saw that day paid the leastattention to our talking, but when weso much as raised a hand or stretcheda cramped leg they immediately be-came cautious and often retreated tothe bush, returning only after somelittle time.While walking back to the car, wecame to a small clearing. Ne ar onecorner, next to the brushy margin, wasthe remains of an old house surroundedby the usual unsightly mess of rustytin cans, old blown-out tires and cast-off clothing. "Ho w incongruo us," Ithought, "in a place of such naturalcharm."

As we approached we were sur-prised by the strange frenetic cries ofnumerous small birds, dozens of themof various sorts, from Chickadees toMocking Birds, Desert Sparrows,House Finches and Jaysa strangeassemblage indeed and doubtlesslyrepresenting about all the songsterresidents in the area. Their nervousflights to and from a nearby pinyon,their hovering in mid-air and flutter-ing above a definite spot indicatedsomething out of the ordinary was hap-pening. It was behavior akin to thatof birds dreadfully concerned with anowl. What could be the cause of theircommon anxiety and curiosity?

We watched the odd performancefirst from a little distance then slowlywalked nearer. As we came up to thespot which seemed to be the center ofnoisy commotion, the birds retreatedtardily to the brush but continued tomove about nervously in the branches.Before us we could see the opening ofan uncovered cistern some 15 feetdeep. In it was a small snake, a RedRacer, excitedly crawling around theperimeter of the cement-lined bottom.It had undoubtedly by accident fallenin and by no chance could it get out.Seemingly fascinated, and at the sametime uneasy at the sight of their com-mon reptilian enemy, the birds wereshowing their concern in every wayat their command.When we walked away the feathereddenizens flew back to their beratings.It was now late afternoon and I sup-pose they kept up the commotion untildarkness made it impossible for themto see the snake. Yes, birds havetheir common troubles too.Why don't you try an hour's watch-ing at a lone spring? You r rew ardwill be great. But do n't forget you rnotebook . Tak e along too a youngfriend to share with you the marvelouslessons of Nature.

DESERT MAGAZINE


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L I F E O N T H E D E S E R T

P e o p l e o fN a v a j o l a n d

M y P u p i l sW e r e T h e

In the beginning, a languagebarrier stood between AlphineRenslow and her first classroomof pup ils. Sh e ha d to teach themthe English names for familiar ob-jectsand they returned this kind-ness by teaching her Navajowords. These smiling, dark-eyedchildren also gave her a deep lovefor the teaching profession, and alasting appreciation of the admir-able qualities of the first Ameri-cansThe People .By ALPHINE RENSLOW

7HE FIRST job I took after grad-uating from college during WorldWar II was not teaching forwhich I had trainedbut as a censorof Spanish mail for the government.Teaching I considered too boring andthankless. But after 16 mo nths and40,000 Spanish letters I decided achange was in order.A friend showed me a bulletin atthe university's employment bureaubidding young adventurers to teachschool on the Navajo Indian reserva-tion in northe astern Arizona. Theauthor of this invitation painted abright picture and every enticing wordin the English language was employedin exactly the right fashion to intriguethe imagination."Although the distance to the near-est town is 130 miles," the bulletindeclared, "the fascinating scenery willmake you forget the length of the triptime will melt away."I decided in favor of the Navajo

j o b , not only because of the welcomechange it would afford and the oppor-tunity to save money far from theshops of town, but because of an er-roneous belief on my part that theNavajos spoke Spanish and I wouldbe able to continue my language train-ing. Too late I discovered that theJ A N U A R Y , 1 9 5 7

ssettTimid at first, hut loyal, friendly and quick to learn are the children of thehogans in the Navajo country.

Apache, not the Navajo, had adoptedSpanish.I applied for the job and was ac-cepted. In a few weeks I arrived atGallup, New Mexico, where a groupof government workers met my trainand drove me out to Window Rock,the picturesque capital of Navajoland.It was a very charming place with alovely patio and fountain surroundedby attractive little stone cottages. Itwas exactly as I had romantically im-agined my new surroundings wouldb e .We new teachers remained at Win-dow Rock several days and then weretaken out to our individual schools. Iwas assigned to Chinle which is onlytwo miles from fabulous Canyon de

Chelly and its awesome White HouseRuins, an imposing cliffside monu-ment to the ancients who once livedthere.

The miles did melt away into akaleidoscope of fantastic combinationsof breathtaking color. An overpower-ing and yet soothing silence reignedover a land splashed with magnificentshades of every imaginable hue.Strange and beautiful rock formationswere silent guardians of this majesticterrain. As we drove on I becamemore than ever anxious to meet thepeople who lived in this stirring land.We stopped at a trading postthatcombination bargain basement, gen-eral store and pawn shop where theNavajo leaves valuable jewelry in ex-

21


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change for needed articles until he isable to redeem itand there I met myfirst Navajo family, a mother and twosmall girls who timidly requested aride a few miles up the road.Mother and daughters were dressedalike in billowing skirts and bright vel-veteen blouses adorned with silvercoins. Their hair was long and wornin buns tied with red string, and theirsmooth arms were covered with beau-

tiful turquoise and silver bracelets.Their charm and shyness were imme-diately apparent.I spoke to the mother in Spanishand she giggled. Then my teachercompanions told me the horrible truth.The Navajo, unless he spoke English,spoke Navajo, an ancient and difficultlanguage.We rode on in silence. Then wearrived at Chinle, and instead of thesecond Window Rock I had expectedto find, all that was there was a rowof cottonwoods, a few houses, a smallhospital, the power plant and the

school.I was too busy during the last re-maining summer days before the startof the new term to dwell upon my mis-calculations. We painted our schoolfurniture and performed the thousandand one tasks necessary to make aschool ready to receive pupils.On registration day children beganarriving from all directions. Ours wasa boarding school where the pupilslived in, because of the great distancesto their hogans. They came mostly inhorse-drawn wagons and I could not

help marveling at the scene. Not longago pioneers were fleeing from Indiansin these same wagonsand, now In-dians peacefully were transporting theirchildren in them to the white man'sschool."Did you draw the paper or mech-anized division?" one of the matronsin charge of the dormitory asked me."What do you mean? I am to regis-ter the children," I replied."Gome over later and I'll showyou," she laughed.From then on I was too busy regis-

tering shy, hesitant children to wonderwhat the mechanized division could be.I had an interpreter to help me withchildren whose parents spoke no En-glish. We obtained a complete list ofclothing for each child, age, parents'names and location of the family ho-gan. If the child's Indian name wastoo complicated, I was called uponto give him or her a temporary sub-stitute name. Naming twin girls wasa novel experience, especially havingto dream up names for them andothers on the spur of the moment.Many of the parents were not sureof birthdates, and would answer, "He

was born when the corn was so high,"and accompany this with gestures.Later that day I learned what themechanized division was. In one ofthe dormitories the matrons were giv-ing butch haircuts to the young pupils.The place reeked of a strong disinfec-tant which was applied to each close-cropped dome to curb the prevalenthead lice.The next day I was told that I was

to teach the little ones who had neverbeen to school before, and who, ofcourse, did not speak any English.Monday morning, 29 little Navajos,scrubbed and silent, filed hesitantlyinto my room. I spoke in English;they listened in Navajo. EverywhereI looked were huge dark eyes andsilence! At noon in the boarding houseI pleaded, "Won't they ever talk?"This brought hearty laughter fromthe old timers. Several weeks laterwhen the children had accepted me aspart of school life, I pleaded, "Won'tthey ever stop talking?"I had learned that the Navajo, oncehe feels part of his surroundings is anincurable verbal visitor. This fondnessfor conversation came into daily class-room use, as our main task was toteach English. Our daily procedurewas as enlightening for me as it wasfor them. I would hold up a pictureor an object and say its name in En-glish; the children would then repeatafter me. They would then say thename in Navajo, and I would repeatafter them. We then would say thenames in Navajo and English. By

learning together, we reinforced thelearning process, and also became bet-ter friends, which was, after all, themost important accomplishment.When we finally progressed to sen-tences, one of their favorites seemedto be "I am a Navajo boy," or girl, oras they would say, "grr." After weeksof repeating this every morning, thesuspense was too much for one littlefellow, and he asked, "What is aNabaho?" Then I learned that theNavajo's name for himself and histribe is Dine which means The People,

leaving no doubt as to his being a firstAmerican.The smoothness with which myclassroom was running was interruptedone day when the children began talk-ing excitedly about the Yei-be-chai,important gods in the Navajo world.Every year at this time some of themen who lived in and around Chinlewould put on weird headdresses, painttheir bodies and make fantastic noises,impersonating these gods. They wouldcall at the houses and schoolrooms fordonations of food. It was an Indianversion of our Hallowe'en trick ortreat and the children were afraid the

Yei would do something drastic tothem if they were unfortunate enoughto be caught.The children were outside playingwhen we heard the strange noises forthe first time. They ran screamingtoward the classroom. I laughed andtold them that the men were theirfriends. At that moment, in the midstof my assurances, one of the Yei camearound the corner of the building infront of me. I forgot what I was say-ing to the children and started to runfor shelter. I must admit I was thefirst to arrive in the classroom!Having survived this episode, I feltthat nothing else this desert land hadto offer could bother me, so when oneof the girls who helped in the schoolkitchen arrived with a message fromthe cook requesting my immediatepresence, I proceeded to the kitchenwith alacrity. I departed in the samefashion when I learned that a rattle-snake was resting behind the stove.The cook thought I would not mind

killing it as the Navajo considered itoffensive to their gods to kill a snake.In spite of these two incidents, mystay with The People was an interest-ing and rewarding experience. Thisname fits perfectly the inhabitants ofthe enchanted desertpeople of hon-esty, integrity and intelligence who loveto sing and dance and play practicaljokes; who rule their children with asoft voice and firm but gentle kindness;who give friendship not quickly, butwhen it is earned.They are loyal and patient Ameri-

cans living a nomadic life in a beau-tiful, but not always bountiful land.My work with The People instilled inme the desire to make teaching a life-long profession, and allowed me tolive in and learn to appreciate a cultureof a proud people who in spite ofdifficult living conditions never fail toappreciate the need for an inner peaceof mind and soul, and who, to quoteone of their prayers, ask "In beautymay I walk, with beauty before me,with beauty behind me . . ."

Alphine Renslow, author of "MyPupils Were The People of Navajo-land," this month's true life experi-ence story, lives in Tracy, California,now, but her first love still is the des-ert. Mrs. Renslow is a high schoolteacher at Tracy and considers writingher favorite hobby. She is the motherof two girls, Florence and Suzanne.22 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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The story of John and Sybil Huntington F r o mCripple Creek to Contentment

For 55 years they have traveled together the trails from bonanza tomining boomnot in search of mineral wealth, but in pursuit of theirvocationsJohn as a surveyor, Sybil as a homemaker and artist . Thereal treasure of the desert they have found within themselves.

By NELL MURBARGERPhotographs by the authorMap by Norton Al len

T H E H u m b o l d t R i v erbridge at Winnemucca, Nevada,a lonely road leads west to theBlack Rock desert outposts of Jungoand Sulphur. Midway between thesetwo remote settlements and nearly 50miles from the nearest postoffice, thedesert's gray carpet of sage is cleft by

John and Sybil Huntington of Sawtooth K nob, N evada. At 8 3 and 86 years ofage, respectively, they are too busy for the rocking chair.


24/44

fjil WINNMUCC A

NEVADA

/laKTm/lu

the bold promontory of SawtoothKnob. Near the west base of Sawtooth,I had been told, I would find the homeof John and Sybil Huntington.All I knew about the Huntingtonswas that in a letter to Desert Magazine,Bernice Ferris of Stockton, California,had mentioned them as interesting anddelightful peo ple of the desert. Afterparticipating in a dozen mining boomsthe Huntingtons had settled, 20 yearsbefore, at Sawtooth"not to the ob-livion of armchair retirement," wroteMrs. Ferris, "but to go on living fulland satisfying livesJohn as a landsurveyor; Sybil as a painter of desertscenes . . ."I had made the long, dusty drivefrom Winnemucca, and now SawtoothKnob at last was looming boldly onmy left. Bare ly visible against the drydesert slope a mile to the south wasa small cluster of buildings. I wasalmost certain that this was the placeI was seekingbut what I might findthere was anyone's guess. Story tips,whether from friends or strangers, donot always pay offbut there's alwaysthat wonderful once-in-a-dozen timeswhen they do!Five minutes later I knew this wasgoing to be one of those times.The man who answered my rap onthe door was tall and pleasant in ap-pearance, with a smooth tanned faceand the fine leanness one associateswith men of the desert. His shirt andtrousers were of khaki drill andperched atop his thinning hair was ajaunty beret.

That John or Sybil Huntington hadnever seen me before, and had no ideaI was comingor that I was travel-grimed and dustywas of no concernto them . Even before I had time toproffer my card or introduce myself,I was sitting in the best chair in theirattractive living room and in my handwas a frosty glass of ice-cold lemonade.O c c u p y i n g s h e l v e s a n d t a b l e sthroughout the room were new booksand current magazines of good char-acter and decorating the walls on allsides were oil paintings and watercolorssincere, powerful pictures, in whichwas captured the glory of sunset andstorm and sage, and the bigness of thedesert sky. Simply to look at that gal-lery was to know the fragrance of sun-swept lands, the quiet peace of Ne-vada's hills.Visible through an open doorwayleading into the hall were more paint-

ings; and when I followed my hostessto the refrigerator for another glass oflemonade, I found even the kitchenwalls and cupboards adorned withscenes of winding country roads andtall poplars and wild ducks flying.Amazed at the extent of this one-woman exhibit, I asked Sybil howmany pictures she had painted."How many?" the woman's laugh atmy obvious wonder was filled withamusement. "Why, I haven' t the faint-est idea! I suppose there must havebeen thousands of them because I 'vebeen painting commercially for almost70 years!"Seventy years! My amazement now

was directed at my hostess rather thanthe fruits of her labor.Looking at her I saw a tiny, viva-cious and very feminine woman; onewhose cheeks and lips were fetchinglyrouged, whose bobbed white hair wasas neatly curled and dressed as thoughshe had stepped from a beauty parloronly mom ents before. She was wear-ing jet earrings and a black-and-whiteflowered silk jacket over neat blueslacksand all the while I studied herface her eyes were sparkling in a sug-gestion of mischief."How can you possibly have paintedfor nearly 70 years?" I asked, "youdon't look to be more than 65 yearsold.""That 's a very nice compliment,"said Sybil Huntington, "but I 'm afraidyou'll never win prizes for guessingages! I am 86 years old; John is 83."Sybil was born and reared in Illinois.In 1890 at the age of 20 she enteredWashington University to study art.There her work proved so exceptionalthat nine of her charcoal drawings wereselected by the School of Fine Arts forexhibit at the 1893 Chicago World'sFair. From 1892 to 1895 she taughtart classes at Forest Park Universityand Austin College in Illinois. InSybil's veins, however, coursed pioneerblood and in 1896 she emigrated westto the bustling frontier city of Denverwhere she continued her art teachingcareer.John G. Huntington was born atCanton, O hio. At five he moved withhis parents to Kansas. Grown to young

24 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


25/44

m lf; a | iSI l l

5'liThe Huntingtons' home formerly a mining compa ny bunkho use w hich theyacquired as part paymen t on a wage claim. They have lived in their remodeled10-room home for the past 20 years.

manhood, he had studied surveyingand ultimately secured work with aColorado engineering firm. At DelNorte, in Colorado's San Luis Valley,it was John's good fortune to meetSybil and they were married in Denverin 1901."John was surve

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