·nRIZONH HIGHWAYS . JULY • 1952 THIRTY-FIVE CENTS frssinn·,11 people who portray each yc:ir various \ ' isitor, arc welcome but their cameras arc not, Indian dances in authentic costumes, beaurifulh· A ,·isit to Hopiland for th.:sc d:tnccs i, a Yisit staged in a memorable setting, The Gila Count~· into the dim and di;unt pds:, O·1lv lnd:,ms t:1kc 111<;untain town of Payson p~!ts on the hig Pa);_ part in the fcsti,·ities at the G,1llup Ceremo­ son rodeo in late August, generally around the nials, Tribes from all Ol '. Cr the U. S. A. partici­ 2,rd. If nm \\ ant to sec a rc:11, old-fashioned pate in dances, rodeo, art and crafts exhibitions \\·· cstcrn ~-0,1· sho\,. in a lin:h· western cow tt,,,·n and the gcner:1! fun. don't miss the Pa,·son shin~lig. lt is re,il l:i-yi­ yi/1f>.:t_\ -yi.1 For the genuine in lndi:rn d:111ccs, NTTGI 111ORI.Y --..;()lT: Joseph Stocker, who FLTN IN Tl II'. SC"-:: .\ugust is a lot of fun in August is important for two rc,1sons: first. the describes the Little ColoraJ<, RiYer country for Arizon,,, as it should well-he, wl1:1t \l·ith good. Hopi Snake Dances are held Lite in the month us in this is,uc, is becoming quite a writin' feller. old surnrncrrirnc in full S\1· i11!:!;. Our sunn1· ;alcn­ ( when the clan chiefs find signs in the skr Joe has appeared ofo,n in these pages, Just re­ cbr is a busv one. The Srno-ki Cercmon.ials will propitious) and, second. the week end of .·\ u­ ccnth·, ,1·e are ple:1sed to non:, he's also appc:ired take pL,ce i;1 the cool, fricndh· mountain town Q·ust 1 ,th is the date of the Indian Cercmoni .1J... in the S,,tztrd,1y E·,:enimt; Po,t and Collier's. \Ve of Prescott on Sundar, August 9. The Smoki ;t G,~llup. New i\lexico. America prc,ent, cnmmcnd our posh and polishecl contempor;iri ~ Pe()plc h:11·c no count.erp,u·t- in co111111unit1· or­ no stranger or more genuine Indian d,1nce, on their choice, \Ye predict Joe will b a g,mizat.inns. Ther :ire Prescott lrnsincss ,md pro- tkm the Snake Dmccs at the Hopi ,·illagcs. fan,rit..: with their readers as he is with ours,

a Rive~, a Lake and People The rivers have not changed their habits, as re­ Mead "the beautiful and strange." A mighty pond of corded by the ancient scribe. They still run into the water in a desert setting which enhances and is en­ sea. One such river is described in this issue: the Little hanced by the expanse of blue water! Colorado, ,with words by Joseph Stocker and photo­ A painter and a photographer combine their talents graphs by Wayne Davis. The Little Colorado starts out this issue to present for us a Navajo portfolio. The placidly enough in its journey to the sea. High in the paintings are by the distinguished artist, W. R. Leigh, White Mountains, it is a gossipy little trout stream. who has been called "the Rembrandt of the West." It 'wanders down into the Painted Desert country and Mr. Leigh's paintings hang in leading museums and finally joins the Colorado, but it sure tears up a lot of private collections of America, and his fame is grow­ country as it goes along. A lot of history has been ing larger each year. He was one of the first American written along its banks, and a lot of blood has been painters to recognize the beauty and glory of the West, spilled there. It has brought sorrow to people and hap­ and he has faithfully portrayed the subject with care piness, which, of course, is true of all rivers. and appreciation throughout the years. We are proud That ancient scribe who wrote so well about rivers to show his paintings to you. Barry Goldwater, one of might possibly add to his wisdom if he were around our more discerning photographers, contributes some today. True, the rivers still run into the sea, but mod­ unusual Navajo portraits. There is no question that ern man delays their passage. Hoover (Boulder) Dam Barry kno·ws the Na·vajos. Few photographers have delays the Colorado. One of our favorite writers, Jon­ spent so much time with them. We hope you like this reed Lauritzen, describes in this issue with lyrical ap­ portfolio presenting, as it were, Navajo studies by preciation the lake that dam has formed. He calls Lake brush and camera . ... R.C.

OPPOSITE PAGE FRONT AND BACK COVERS "NAVAJO BOY" from an oil painting by W. R. Leigh. Mr. Leigh dis­ "SHEEP AND SAND DUNES" by Josef Muench, Our two covers this plays here his knowledge of the Navajo and his masterful skill with the month are used to give the sweeping panoramic effect of the photograph. brush. Painted from life at Keams Canyon, Arizona. Taken in Monument Valley, here is a typical Navajo scene.

HO\VARD PYLE COUNTRY OF THE LlTTLE C LO <\D 6 Governor of Arizona A \\'ORO AND PICrURE S[llllY OF A LITTLE BUT 1\IIGllTY ACTIVE RIVER. ARIZO::\'A HTGl:--JWAY COi\Ii\lISSION Louis Escalada, Chainnan . . • • • Nogales flRIZON8 f-.. lE \fl-TH F BF.\UTfFUI A'.'1 [) C. A. Calhoun, Vicc-Chairnrnn • • . . Klesa Tohn M. Scott, i\ le111ber . . • • Show Low HIGHWAYS STR.\'\C.E 16 Fred D . Schemmer, i\ !ember . • . Prescott · \\'RITER JmmEED LAl' RITZEN FINDS Frank E. J\loore, ;\ \ember . . . . . Douglas Yo1,, XXYT1 No, 7 Jm.Y 1952 LAKE l\ JEAD INTERESTING All\"L:--ITURE, J. Mch-in Goodson, Exec. Secretary . Phoenix R . C. Perkins, Sr:1re Hwy. Fngr. , Phoenix RAYI\IOND CARLSON, Editor GEORGE 1\1. AVEY, Art Director R. G, Langrnade, Special Council • Phoenix LAxo or THF. ProPLE 26 A PAINTER AXD A PHOTOGRAPHER JOIN LEGEND ARIZONA H1G11wAYS is published monthlr by the IN PRESENTING A N'11.V..\JO PORTFOLIO. Arizona Highway Department a few miles north "SHFFP AXD SA:-;o Du:-,ms" COVERS of the confluence of the Gila and Salt in Arizona, A SCJ<:NE IN 1\IONL:1\1ENT \ ' ALLEY TAKEN A ddress: AmzoNA H1G11WA,s; Phoenix, Arizona. YouRs Sr'\CERELY • 36 LAST SU;\l.\lER II\" PuoTOGRAPIIER ,\ 1IuENCH, $3.00 per year in U. S. and possessions; $3.50 INTERESTING I.ETTERS FROM HEADERS AND elsewhere; 35 cents each. Entered as second­ A FEW VERSES TO CLOSE THE llOOK. class matter.Nov. 5, 19+1 at Post Office in Phoe­ SUNSET CRATER 2 nix, under Act of March 3, 1879. Copyrighted, ANSEL ADAMS !\.Nil NANCY NEWHALL IN ~ .,..,,_ 1952 , by Arizona Highway Department. AN INTEltl'RETATION OB' A LANDMARK. -~· l Ui SUNSET CRATER NATIONAL MONUMENT ARIZONA

A PORTFOLIO OF PHOTOGRAPHS by ANSEL ADAMS TEXT by NANCY NEWHALL

THE PLACE: In Arizona, when the earth opens at your feet, color rises to the horizon. To the North, in the Grand Canyon, rock and space are incandescent; light and storm, moving in vast distances, continually reveal and change them. Water, in the Colorado River, is a livid force, and even mud, in the rounding, gullied hills near Cameron, is bold in hue. Yet, if you turn east on~ little desert road not far from Flagstaff, you will see the earth turn black. If you are a photographer, you see the world become a negative. Perpetual dusk lies on the cinder dunes. Against them, the living pines shine like emeralds; dead, stripped· and weathered, they gleam sharp as silver. For all the play and motion of the sky; the light seems fixed, immutable. A red glow lingers even at high noon on the black volcanic cone, stained by vapors from fumaroles long cold. No cloud, fiery by night, now hangs overhead. No earthquakes terrify the fleeing Indians; no burning deluge buries their pit houses and patches of corn and beans. The spatter cones are dead. Lava flows, jagged as though arrested yesterday, stop at your feet by a vivid bush. Nine hundred years ago the vast volcanic area of the San Francisco mountains sent forth its dying spurt. Now, within the lava, is a cave of ice. Loose in the wind, the pumice rattles against the pines, eroding, shifting, leaving roots polished and naked in the air. Starved and agonized, the great pines writhe against the sky and fall. Slowly they conquer, their death important as their life.

DEAD TREE AGAINST SKY CRATER, LAVA FLOW PAGE THREE • ARIZONA HIGHWAYS • JULY, 1952 PIN E TREE IN SUN AGAINST PUMICE SLOPES (morning) CRATER, LAVA FLOW, SHRUBS

a,I Q) 0 ~ ::5 WUPATKI 1--· Y) NAT'L MON.

SUNSET CRATER NATIONAL MONUMENT ICE CAVES AND LAVA BEDS - l-is.66 Ash fork U.S. 65

0) Q) '-')" :::J· I

PLEASE TURN TO PAGE THIRTY-FOUR The Little Colorado River, near Woodruff, Arizona.

COUNTRY OF THE LITTLE COLORADO BY JOSEPH STOCKER

PHOTOGRAPHS BY "\1/AYNE DAVIS

his is t he land of Arizona's choicest superla­ miles as the airplane flie s. And such is the nature of this tives. Its highest and gree nest mountains. savage, rough-hewn country that you could traverse the riv­ The gaudiest of its deserts, the old est of er's undulating length by no other mea ns than an airplane. its fo rests and the deepest of its ca nyons. In its youth, skittering dow n the slopes of the White Its toughest, ridin'est cowboys and the Mountains, the Little Colorado hardly seems to know w here least assimilated of its Indians. This is the it wants to go. But then isn't that just the way of a young T northeastern quadrant of Arizona- the fellow? Momentarily it flows north, then abruptly it turns country of the Little Colorado River. In the piny upper reaches of the White Mountains, THE LITTLE COLORADO IN COLOR around Ord Peak and Thomas Peak south of Springervill e, the river has its beginning. In the phlegmy brown waters of The Little Colorado, for a small stream, has a lot of personality. It begins in the White Mountains near Mt. Baldy and starts out in Old Papa Colorado himself, at the eastern edge of the Grand life as a charmin g trout stream (right) . Photographer Wayne Davis, Canyon, it fi nds its ultimate destiny. in the photographs on the following pages, shows various views of Between these two polar points li es a span of some 200 the r iver as it flows toward the Colorado in its journey to the sea.

PAGE S I X AR I Z O NA HI G H WAYS • JU LY 1952 Two miles below Springerville (above) the Little Colorado winds its way through cattle country. (Left) one sees the diver­ sion dam three miles above St. Johns. As the river approaches St. Johns, range land (below) gradually turns to farm land. east, as if bent on abandoning Arizona entirely and making tion. The Grand Canyon itself-"a gigantic statement for a bee line for Albuquerque. Oops!-wrong way. Back north even Nature to make," as an awed onlooker once reverently it goes, down onto the plateau and through St. Johns. Then murmured: "this geologic apocalypse, half mystery and half above St. Johns, here presumably attaining the maturity revelation," spoke another. which youth must have to chart its course through life, the Is it water you're thinking of? The Little Colorado pro­ river decides upon its real direction. vides the water wherewithal for a compact little Mormon­ The direction is west-by-northwest-past the southern rooted civilization grown up along its banks, around such as tip of Petrified Forest, through Holbrook and along the St. Johns and Holbrook. Boulevard of the West, U.S. 66, almost to Winslow; then up Is it history you want-the lusty legendry of yester­ across the Painted Desert, past Wupatki National Monu~ year? Then consider the exploits of the storied Spaniards ment and through the Little Colorado Canyon to the junc­ who, first among the white men, crossed the Little Colo­ tion ·with the Colorado. rado in their quest for seven fabled cities of treasure which On its way the Little Colorado picks up its tributaries _ they never found. And the pluck of the Mormons who came, like a school bus assembling its daily cargo. In from New southbound out of Salt Lake City, to tame Arizona's wild Mexico flow Carrizo Creek and the Zufii River. Clear Creek north country and be welcomed with Apache knives comes twining up from the Mogollon Rim country. And between their ribs. No less the pluck (and the puckishness, into the river drift a half-dozen desert washes that carry too) of the early-day cowboys. They fought drouth and cat­ water only when the weather is wet but carry names that tle rustlers all week and then, come Saturday night, sloughed ring forever with Western romance, like Cottonwood off the tension by shooting out the lights in the dance hall vVash, Moenkopi Wash and Oraibi Wash. Indeed, the at Holbrook. "Hide out, kids, the cowboys are in to,vn!" country of the Little Colorado fairly teems with place-names they'd trumpet. And the cliche, in one form or another, has that bespeak the color and drama of the West-Tuba City, kept a thousand Western pulp writers and another thousand Snowflake, Sunset Crater, Canyon Diablo, the Dinosaur Hollywood horse opera composers in beans almost ever Tracks, Sunrise and Leupp-the list is almost endless. since. ' In the process of getting from where it was to where it History, yes, the Little Colorado is loaded with it, like wants to go, the Little Colorado undergoes somewhat of a it's loaded with silt. But where does the history begin? His­ metamorphosis. It is, sad to tell, a distinct change for the tory should start somewhere, and, in the case of a river, most worse. properly it should start with whomever discovered it. In its beginning the river is sweet and virginal, giving Well, the Little Colorado was undoubtedly first seen by refreshment alike to the thirsty deer and the tired business­ some obscure and distant antecedent of the Navajo, or Hopi, man come to make sport with its wary trout. But then down­ or Apache. He may have paused a~ its bank, knelt and The scene above shows the Little Colorado about one half mile above Woodruff. Waterfall is where water is released stream it falls in with bad company. "Evil communications cupped his hand for a drink from the river before plunging from vVoodruff dam. Below, the Little Colorado, coming in from left, joins rhe Colorado in the long journey to the sea. corrupt good manners," it is said, and it's as true of rivers as on across the desert. But he didn't give it any name and he of people. didn't write anything down. So, amongst us latter-day stick­ For the Little Colorado proceeds, in the accepted fash­ lers for historical precision, he doesn't count. ion of Skid Row, to get a load on. The load consists of just All right, then, we can give the Spaniards credit for it. about all the mud, sand and filth the river can carry­ There was, for example, Don Juan de Onate. He was the enm1gh, anyway, to provide 27,500 acre feet of silt flow first governor of New Mexico, and in 1604 he led a com­ every year, as the river-gauger measures it. Once this silt pany of two padres and 30 soldiers into what is now north­ was treasured topsoil providing sustenance for Indians living eastern Arizona. He found the Hopis and crossed a river on the high plateaus of Navajoland and Hopiland. But wind which he called the Colorado. It was the first time the name and erosion stripped it away and dumped it into the Little was ever used, except that the governor made a slight error. Colorado, and that, in large part, is why the Indians are in It wasn't the Colorado he'd crossed but the Little Colorado. trouble today. So great is the silt flow, in fact, that Uncle Nor was Don Juan the very first "foreigner" to en­ Sam proposes to build a special silt-containing dam at Cam­ croach upon the privacy of the Indians who dwelt in and eron, far down on the Little Colorado. It is intended to around the country of the Little Colorado. Before him, by protect other dams already built and the projected Central some 60-odd years, came a blackamoor named Esteban de Arizona Project as well. Dorantes, blazing trail for the famed Fray Marcos de Niza, Silt? Why, you scoop up a bucketful of the besotted indefatigable explorer, discoverer and proselyter. Fray Mar­ Little Colorado and set it out overnight, and the next morn­ cos was looking for the mythical Seven Cities of Cibola, ing i_t's one-fifth water and four-fifths mud. Perhaps it's just only he didn't know them to be a myth. He thought them as well, then, that Old Papa Colorado is where he is, waiting to be real cities, paved with gold and gems enough to build to gather in his dissolute offspring and keep him from getting a hundred cathedrals in Spain and another hundred in into any more trouble. Mexico. Even so, the Little Colorado manages to lead a useful Esteban, preceding Fray Marcos, worked his way up existence. Along the whole of its course, in fact, it is all central Arizona, cut through the Apache country and crossed things to everybody, as befits a river with genuine versatility. the Little Colorado. He kept asking the Indians where lay Is it scenery you hanker after? Why, there's scenery at the seven jeweled cities. The Indians, acting almost as if almost every twist and dip of the Little Colorado-scenery they knew what he was talking about, would give him vari­ enough to knock your eye out and squash the breath from ous versions of "They're off thataway." Esteban finally your body. The crazy, flaming colors of the Painted Desert. wound up among the Zunis of northern New Mexico. And The dizzy drop of Grand Falls-a small Niagara of choco­ when he commenced to throw his weight around in the late mud when the silt-burdened river is flowing full, a pueblos, the Zunis planted an arrow in his back and that curious succession of perpendicular steps when it isn't. The was the end of Esteban. red mesas and ageless space of the Western Navajo Reserva- Others came after Esteban and Fray Marcos into the

PAGE ELEVEN ! ARIZONA HIGHWAYS • JULY 1952 country of the Little Colorado. But nobody left much of a view, perhaps, considering that they've fought one war in mark until the Mormons, who arrived somewhere in the several hundred years and we fight one every 20 years or neighborhood of 100 years ago. less. At any rate, Hamblin finally call ed it quits. They were a brave, durable and humorless lot, these Today the Hopi citadel, lying there a short distance early Mormons. They believed that everything that was above the Little Colorado, remains pretty much inviolate. good had to come from the soil-an all-but-forgotten phi­ One notable exception is the annual hegira of tourists to losophy which we citified, ulcer-ridden moderns might do witness the famous Hopi snake dance, which H. Allen ,veil to pay some heed to. Tirelessly they worked the soil, Smith found to be not so much "crammed ,vith inspirational taking time out only to sleep, eat and pray. And out of the significance" as simply "crammed with rattlesnakes." Remi­ soil and their labor sprang oases in the desert of the Little niscent of their traditional aloofness, a hard, proud core of Colorado country. Hopis refuses even to have any truck with the white man's On the bank of the river there was St. Joseph, and government or accept any of its largesse. In turn, they around it four other tiny settlements. St. Joseph survived (a decline to yield up any of their young men to furnish cannon church historian called it "the leading community in pain, · fodder for the white man's silly wars. determination and unflinching courage"), and we know it If there was peace in Hopiland up above the Little now as Joseph City. But the four others didn't. For the Mor­ Colorado, not so along the river itself. During the 18 8o's mons kept having trouble trying to darn the Little Colorado. the cowmen moved in west of Holbrook to take advantage Like an enfmzt terrible with a special dislike for Mormons, of grazing rights along the Santa Fe right-of-way. There it would rise up and smash their dams. So, finally, except in grew up one of the biggest and most picturesque cattle Joseph Cit_v, the_v had to give up and go somewhere else. ranches in the history of the \,,Yest, with headquarters on the They helped settle Holbrook, county seat of Navajo bank of the Little Colorado across from Joseph City. Countv (which has far more Apaches than Navajos), and It was known formally as the Aztec Land & Cattle Co. St. Johns, county seat of Apache County (which has far But folks got to calling it the Hashknife because of its more Navajos than Apaches). St. Johns was supposed to brand. This was fashioned after a popular kitchen imple­ have been named San Juan, in honor of its first woman resi­ ment which was equall y useful in chopping hash and split­ dent, Senora J\ilaria San Juan de Padilla de Baca. But a third ting the skulls of overly aggressive Indians. assistant postmaster general in Washington ruled that out The Hashknife, at its peak, encompassed a full 2,000,- and made it St. Johns instead. He ,vas quoted as dropping 000 acres of Little Colorado country and grazed 60,000 head a peevish aside to the effect that it was high time "those of cattle. Most of it was Texas stock which, according to an Mexicans found out they are living in the United States." envious contemporary, "could stand more grief, use less St. Johns has had the last word, however. Every June food, drink less water and bear more calves than any cows 24 it celebrates San Juan Da_v, in honor of the good senora that ever wore a brand." As a result, the Hashknife squeezed and all other Spanish-speaking people in the Southwest. out most of its smaller rivals and ruled the territory in soli­ At St. Johns, as at Joseph City, the Little Colorado gave tary supremacy. the Mormons grief for awhile. In 1886 they built a dam just Heady, perhaps, with this spectacular success, the cow­ south of town, creating a sizable body of water which boys of the Hashknife soon gained a reputation for them­ they drew upon for irrigation and called Slough Reservoir. selves. They became known as the toughest bunch of cow Seventeen years later the captious river washed it out. The waddies west of the Pecos. It was they who devised the Mormons rebuilt it and renamed it Lyn1ans Reservoir, and pleasant and stimulating diversion of shooting up the Hol­ again the river tore it to pieces. Patiently they set it up brook dance hall. And when that grew monotonous, they again, but now the reservoir wasn't big enough for the took a few days off, rode down into Pleasant Valley and got burgeoning needs of a growing community. Finally, with a little target practice by pitching in on the cattle-sheep war a cash assist from the state, a durable and adequate structure between the Grahams and the Tewksburys. was built. It's still known as Lymans Reservoir and it's one On the side, and in their spare time, the Hashknife of the largest and prettiest things of its kind in that part of boys did some cattle and horse rustling. That, of course, was the state. a pretty commonplace pastime-so much so that the story The Mormons had as much trouble with the Indians is told of a rustler who offered a stolen horse for sa le. His as with the Little Colorado and third assistant postmasters prospective customer asked him if title to the animal was genera l. The Apaches were hostile, the Navajos standoffish g-c>od. "Well," drawled the rustler with a mischievous grin, and the Hopis plumb disinterested. Not since the , 7th cen­ ~'it's perfectly good if you travel west, but not so good ify ou turv had the white man tried to dent the Hopi shell, and the go east." experience then hadn't been very pleasant. Spanish priests It took a man who could give the Hashknife cowbovs and so ldi ers had moved in among them to try their hand at cards and spades in roughness and toughness to subdue the·m conversion. The Hopis tolerated the Spaniards for a little finally and clean the outfit up. His name was Burton C. while. Then, choosing to forget, under the pressure of Mossman. Cap Mossman, he was called, and he's sti ll alive, immediate circumstance, that Hopi means Peaceful, they sojourning through his twilight in a big house in Roswell, r'ared up and kicked the intruders out. N . Mex. Frazier Hunt brought out a book about him not They saw little of the white man then until about 1858 long ago and described Cap as the "last of the great cow­ when Jacob Hamblin, a scout and missionary for Brigham men," which he certainly was. Young, made a few tentative overtures. Hamblin even man­ Cap had cut his eye teeth as foreman of a ranch in New aged to persuade three of the Hopis to accompany him to Mexico at the age of 2 1. After that he'd run the Bloody Salt Lake Cit_v. But the Hopis ,vere far less impressed by the Basin spread in Arizona, trailing out steers in country so Mormons of Salt Lake than the Mormons were by them. The rough that it was all you could do to work a cow pony over Indians thought that their own form of civilization was it. From there he went to the Hashknife, stopped the steal­ superior to ours. It wasn't entirely an unreasonable point of ing and put the outfit in the chips. Then, as if still having As a trout stream in the White Mountains.

PAGE TWELVE ARIZONA HTGT-IvVAYS JULY 1952 some energy left over that he didn't know what to do with, Cap Mossman joined the Arizona Rangers and went hunting for a notorious cutthroat named Augustine Chacon. Chacon was a rustler and something more to boot. He'd robbed a store in Morenci and killed the storekeeper. Then he knocked off a deputy sheriff, broke jail and took out for Mexico. Cap Mossman trailed him down there and finally caught up with Chacon. He pretended he also was a fugitive from the States and spent the night with the desperado, camped in a pasture. Next morning, as they chatted, Cap idly rolled a cigarette and plucked a glowing brand of juni­ per from the fire for a light. Absently he lowered his hand to drop the stick back into the fire, and as his hand came up again, his six-shooter came with it. Chacon was covered. Cap brought the outlaw back, lightly disregarding the formalities of extradition, and the law took over from there by trying Augustine Chacon and then hanging him until he was dead. The Hashknife finally folded up about 1900, under the stress of prolonged drouth and the unfortunate ratio of too little vegetation for too many cows. There are a lot of differ­ ent spreads, up there along the Little Colorado today, graz­ ing the onetime domain of the mighty Hashknife. But none of them is anywhere near as big as the Hashknife. And none, we must report in all candor, is anywhere near as glamor­ The canyon of the Little Colorado River near the Colorado. ous. But then glamor pretty well disappeared from the cow business about the time the price of beef rang the bell at $ 1 a pound and cowmen started investing in electric A graceful bridge at Cameron carries traffic over the river. multiple-:duty accounting machines. Even if much of the glamor is gone from the cow business, however, there's plenty of it left all along the Little Colorado. God made most of it, in lofty buttes and sweeping mesas, in winding canyons and desert shot through with every color you can think of. And we tend to lump it all under the pallid heading of "scenery," which is a rare tri­ umph in inadequacy and understatement. But man made some of the glamor, too, for this is country where two great cultures meet-that of the white man and that of the red. They meet, at their most contrast­ ing, in the little back country trading post. 'It's Mecca for the white man seeking an Indian trinket and the Indian shop­ ping for a small bottle of the white man's hair oil. At a cau­ tious and diffident distance they stand and regard each other, the white man pitying the Indian his primitiveness and the Indian pitying the white man his insane pace. And if they come together at all, it's only for a random business transac­ tion, involving possibly the payment of two bits by white man to red to pose for a Kodak shot. In the light of such as this, it is safe to suppose that some day, perhaps, the two great cultures-red and white­ will mix more closely and maybe even blend a little, one with the other. In certain respects they would appear to speak the same language. But the day isn't likely to come for a long, long time. This, remember, is changeless country, and you can add that to the list of choicest superlatives which Arizona reserves for the land of the Little Colorado. Surely it is the least changing of any land we have in Arizona. It is also a land of monumental and overpowering age, of what somebody has called "terrific unrelieved geology." It makes you feel puny and a little humble to look upon it. And maybe, in a time when we are so prideful of our air­ planes and dishwashers and submarines with snorkels, it is good for us to feel a passing twinge of humility. Twenty-five miles from the Colorado. PAGE FOURTEEN • ARIZONA HIGHvV A YS • JULY 1952 " . It is a sight to shock the desert-seared ey es and a'l.vaken the mind .. " MEAD 'IHE BEAU11FU& AND S'IRANGE BY JONREED LAURITZEN

PHOTOGRAPHS BY JOSEF MUENCH

cientific minded America is naturally drawn color-stained hills. It is a s ight to shock t he desert-seared to the innards of Hoover (Boulder ) Dam, eyes and awaken the mind. It is the unexpected, sheer and held entranced by t he intricacy and mean­ shimmering like deep-toned silk, w here was looked for only ing of the machines that inhibit power to more of the naked. And it is the more startling because of S light cities. T here is a wonder, of course. the boldness and the very satanic nature of it. A wonder of many t hat have transformed T hat harsh, almost cruel and ugly, beauty is with it no our country from a land of raw abundance matter how close one comes to it. There is t he e nchantment to one of swift and overwhelming production. But t here is another wonder, another beauty t hat may be missed in this LAKE MEAD PHOTOGRAPHED IN COLOR fascination w ith purring monsters t hat sprea d fantasies t hree hundred miles away. I t is the Lake. T he machines are The w aters of L ake Mead reflect the blue of the desert sky . Surround­ somethinn· for t he mind and the notebook. T he Lake is ing the lake is a fantastic panorama of hills and mountains and canyon something· for t he eye, the spirit- and t he stomach. walls, as colorful as the lake itself. Photographer Josef Muench (r ight) T he highway that winds around t he hills to t he dam photographs the lake looking down toward Hoover (Boulder) D am. allows a g limpse or two of the water- a w ide sweep of The double-page panel that follows gives some idea of the immensity intense, almost metallic, vitriolic blue gripped in the sharp, of this great body of water.

PAGE S I XTEEN ' AR I ZONA HIGHvVAYS JULY 1952

" ... entranced by the intricacy and meaning of the machines ..."

of something that is contrary to the world and the hum_an \Ve chuck a slug of concrete in Black Canyon, a river rares heart, and all the old dreams one has of water that goes with back, and now carp nuzzle at the hills that have burned the o-reen of hills and of shorelines softened by waves of under a desert sun for a hundred centuries. One has a slight treetand shrubbery. Water it may be, this lake, but there is shudder for the power of modern man. somethirw in it of the desert-a still watching and the inor­ The mood changes as the sky brightens in the east and ganic cru~lty of a hoarded power. It is as if everything waits, finally a hazy sunrise sets sky and lake afire, with our craft secretly, feigning sleep or death, until a chance comes to let seeming to be suspended between conflagrations. Still, loose with destructive force and annihilate everything impu­ underneath, the water is black, and it stays black through the dent enough to live. misty brilliance of that day. When our cabin cruiser pulled away from shore that The hills stare in blank bewilderment at the water, and first morning on my first journey on the lake it was in the one can almost feel them withdraw in agony and terror, as diffuse light of an indecisive dawn. The sky was screened the last horned toad did, their tortured cliff faces rejecting with a high mist, and none of its color came through to the the foreign sounds of loon and mallard and plopping carp water, which was like thick black ink as our boat pointed as if there were poison in these vibrances. eastward. It mirrored nothing, revealed nothing but the It is a relief to go inside and chat with the pilot, Ray opaqueness of its own secret soul. I walked to the stern and Boysen, a long-faced, bronzed veteran of the campaigns at watched the trailing white of the wake as it feathered out, Tarawa and the Gilberts. His clean, wavering, Australian vanished in the blackness of waves that flowed away in tri­ accented voice tells little of these campaigns, but his grey angular patterns toward the distant shadows that were moun­ eyes catch black reflections from the silver-plated water tains on the shore. over which he stares. He steered an LST to dump violence This was a good time to wonder about the landscape into the battles, came back with a load of metal in his flesh beneath, the deep, jagged canyon that lay below the water. and bones and a cargo of memories to ferry back and forth The bitter paradox too much like too much of !if e. Hills, with him on this quiet water in the desert. creatures thirsting through ages for water, finally drowned We both forget what it was we started to say. We are in it, obliterated by the thing for which they prayed. Water headed into Boulder Canyon. I hurry back for a glimpse of that moved slowly, grain of sand by grain of sand, up the the vanishing shoreline westward. The lodges, the park, the hillsides, and at last the final grain of the final tip of the final beach, the mooring cove have all become a blurred line of peak submerged. What about the mute stare in the bead­ color in the brightening morning. It is a last glimpse of eyes of the horned toad that had moved upward with it friendly things and warm tones as one enters the dark until the hold of one tiny claw gave way and he drifted off regions of the River Styx on the final journey into gloom. to settle gradually back to the stones of hillside beneath­ The black walls close us in. to become food for a strange creature in this land, a bass! For some incomprehensible reason I am reminded of Wall Street. We are deep in shadows, yet there is a whisper of life, as if the jagged towers were inhabited. It is the echo LAKE MEAD VISTAS of our motor's throb, but these reverberations are much like Photographer Josef Muench (opposite page) gives us tvvo spectacular the throb of life deep in the channel of the nation's financial scenic views of the Lake Mead area. The top photograph shows a center, and the total feeling has in it no more of loneliness pleasure boat going through Black Canyon. The lower photograph features Fortification Mountain, a mass of dark volcanic rock, rising than I felt on that gloomy thoroughfare. The difference is above the cobalt waters of the lake. The brighter Paint Pots add varied that there I had expected crows and buzzards to fly in and color to the slopes of the mountain. out of recesses and about the towers and they did not. Here

PAGE TWENTY-ONE • ARIZONA HTGI-HVAYS • JULY 1952 Lake Mead, built by a dam and a river, is a boating paradise. The Park Service has created a bathin9: beach near Boulder City. they fly soundlessly among the basaltic crags, and the glisten when we tied up in a cove for the night, but he fell a few side of a mountain. That's w here they fought it out ·with the Iceberg Canyon so impressed him with its shimmering colors of their wings is like the gleam on the smooth varnished feet short and we had to snake him out of the water and big ones." . and geometric patterns it was like a snowfall in hell. But stones. gather brush and deadwood on the shore and build bonfires Bob Roes and Don Jolly could laugh. Their faces were considerably more durable. Now the great west surface, When we emerge from this dark interlude the lake to dry him out. None of us had thought to bring extra cloth­ made for latwhing and holding off the public. But our sloping up to a high horizon at a 45 % angle, is half under opens out to distant broken shores; and the sky, too, seems ing. Cassidy's spirits were not dampened, and I think he suf­ other ranger friendsb seemed put out by an a ff ront or sacri-. water but the portion that is still visible is even more spec­ to expand, to brighten, to lose some of its overcast. The fered no ill effects from the dousing. He proved to be the legious reference to material in their files or the hallowed tacular than when the whole surface stood bare. The smooth water seems less black under its thick plating of silver. catalyst that changed several strangers into friends, and it realm of fact. water of the channel picks up the patterns of the massive Northward great Bonelli Peak swells against the sky, while was his chill that thawed the atmosphere and set us joking. \Ve C-8.rne onto a wide expanse of water with one long slabs, contracts and elongates them, sparkles with reverbera­ in the foreground the chaste, buff-pink shaft of Temple Bar Those of us who were not busy gathering brush for the arm extending north toward Overton and the Valley of Fire. tions of the bright colors with which they are streaked, rises out of the water-a dissonance of warm earth color in fire sat long in the evening trying for bass in what turned Here lies a town and its memories hidden under fifty feet of striped and squared. T hi s might be the quarrv from which a world of greys, dull blues and metallic rusts. Its reflections out to be a definite catfish stronghold. And the most deter­ water. Here a cluster of cottonwoods and thickets of willows all the baubles and tinsel and folderol of the holiday carnival shimmer in our wake and vanish slowly as the bar itself mined catfish I have ever seen. I believe some of them were w here the Rio Virgen, after her heroic tussle with the can­ are picked and fashioned. into the haze of distance. not satisfied to be caught only once, but came back to be yons of the Paunsagunt and the Markagunt and her race Perhaps the lighting was just right on the morning . I Boysen swings the boat southward and we head into hooked again and again. Result, a supper of macaroni a la over the hot sands of the Hurricane, and the Muddy and rem em her. The air itself was heavy ·with crystalline moisture, the shall ow cove of Pierce Ferry landing. Without putting Boysen. We were rewarded, however, w hen Bob Roes got up the Beaver Dam, spits contempt into the cool, tamed waters and it may have imparted some of its own brilliance to the in, we hail the few fishermen sitting on the wharf or ready­ in the early dawn and fixed us a catfish breakfast to remem­ of the Colorado. "You started wild, you stayed wild and tore stones which in turn cast their designs streaking and spar­ ing their boats for a trip. Here is none of the gay pageantry ber. There was some quipping about the superintendent of the heart of a thousand miles of mountains, then let them do lding across the water: Or it may have been that out of the of the Hualapai Lodge or the beaches we have left. Here is the lake advertised as offering the best bass fishing in the this to you!" gloom, which had long before oppressed Powell and his where fishermen go to attend to the serious business of fish­ world turning out to be an expert at cooking catfish. Again into the open water, again the strange that fol­ brave men, this slanting wall of iridescence stirred the ing, and the gravity of that undertaking seems to put a cur­ Some of us smiled a little, as over this delightful-and lows the familiar. This whole journey, as I look back upon imagination to something like gaiety. sory indifference into the gesture of greeting they allow us. it was delightful-breakfast of "Catfish-Roes" Gordon Bald­ it now, is like the dream of a fitful sleeper, glimpses of But the scintillance was not entirely of the imagination I understand that we, too, are to do some fishing, but win told us of the bass that had been caught in the lake. The heauty, of nightmare, of weird and unimaginable scenes, playing visual games; it carried through to the world of we have an equally serious intent to see what there is to see largest had been a thirteen pounder. Somebody said, "Who­ interrupted here and there by voices, by familiar things that sound. Boysen cut the motors and we drifted over the water first. Today scenery, tomorrow bass. This is probably the ever caught that one must have enlarged the lake consider­ only heighten the strangeness of the total dream. like a slow shadow over the eye of Cyclops. And so still was reason why I put down in my original notes on that first day, ably getting it out." "He must have been well fortified with Iceberg Canyon is said to have been named by scien­ the air we heard the gentle waves sent out by our furtive "This is supposed to be a lake full of bass, but the only thing catfish." "I've been wondering what caused these bare places tist Major John Wesley Powell. On his second expedition boat lisping among the rocks and making hollow, tinkling I have seen pulled out of it so far is a man named Cassidy." around the lake shore. That's where the boys have tussled down the Colorado, when his party had emerged from the music in the crevices. The sounds are as weird and unearthly Cassidy, an aging but jovial character-a retired rail­ with the bass that got away." "Just the medium-sized ones. deep canyons, come out through Grand Wash Cliffs and as exhalations from an aurora borealis. If Boulder Canyon road man, if I remember right-tried to leap from the bow Here and there you'll see a big slide that goes clear up the entered the blazing hot basaltic gloom of the lower gorges, was the River Styx, this is the River of Rainbows. It may

PAGE TWENTY-TWO • ARIZONA HIGHvVAYS • JULY 1952 Isolated coves along the shores of the lake attrnct sportsmen. Mounds of colored hills refiect the bright lip,ht of the desert mn.

even be the place of the gods, the "Place of Colored Lights," industrious determination of a gopher that has escaped the ries of Lake iVIead . Perhaps no more for me like the one and actors and an audience. Yet there seemed to be nothing spoken of in the Paiute legend of the creation of the Grand trap it has gone on digging and piling dirt. A million tons with Roes and Boysen and Jolly and Gordon and the water­ about him of the gross and sensual. He was a gentle, quiet­ Ca nyon. a day it has dumped into the clear blue " ·ater of that gorge. loving Cassidy. And certainly none like the journey I made spoken man, and his gaunt, bony, homely nature seemed to We come out of Iceberg Canyon not into any familiar Now the canyon gullet is chockful of clay and sand and the with-of all people-the late Earl Carroll. seek esthetic surroundings rather than predatory experiences. world, but into another strangeness. Before us the magnifi­ River runs with its old fury surrounded by its own debris. I was working on a story about Las Vegas when Carroll Between conversations I saw a good deal of the Lake, cent barranca of Grand Wash Cliffs stands silvered and ruddy And if a man wants to enter the canyon's sacred precincts launched one of his girl shows on the road, beginning the mostly as background for the three young ladies. The pho­ streaked in the heavy afternoon light. This is the geologic he must again go afoot and leave his motors on the wide tour at the Last Frontier Hotel. I was introduced to Carroll tographer and I took numerous pictures of these girls on the fault that marks the west boundary of the Northern Arizona­ reaches of the lake below. Day by day the tons of silt march and we had not talked for three minutes before he invited boat and cavorting on the shore. These were much gaver Southern Utah Plateau, the Great Terraces. It is from this into the lake, the delta spreads forth arnl"~ut, and in i'ts acres me to join him and his party for a cruise he had arranged for scenes than I remembered on that other cruise. The water wall the Colorado emerges into the chaotic desert lowlands of cracked flood clay one sees the distant future of the the next day. ,vas blue, it danced and flashed with light. And it was a fine after its ordeal through two hundred miles of abysmal can­ Lake's blue water. A new kind of cracked and crevassed It would be a busy, or badly married, or strange male setting for the poetic voice of the blond girl \\ ho sat on the yons. desolation, a new kind of desert to replace the one modern who could resist a chance like that. It never occurred to me prow of the boat like a carved figure, her hair streaming in At the time our journey was made, several years ago, it man thought he had conquered. to make any effort to resist. the wind. She told me of her fiance, w ho was a poet, and was possible to enter the gateway through Grand Wash But let us not hurry. For a hundred years there will Our party consisted of Carroll, three of his dancing she quoted many of his verses, and her eyes caught lonely Cliffs and penetrate some miles into the canyon on smooth be blue water over which boats may streak and out of which beauties, a young photographer, the boat's pilot and myself. reflections from the water as she smiled. I do not remember water. Here was a kind of triumph. After years of trudging bass will leap at the end of the vacationer's line. Not in my \Ne left the pier at midmorning and were out till sundmvn. her name. Maybe I do not wish to remember it. She has in and out of chasms and sitting exhausted in fear and lifetime, nor perhaps yours, will the giant crystals and slabs I doubt if in all that time Carroll actually saw the Lake. He become one of the mythical unrealities of Mead, one of admiration for the muddy torrent that created them, it was of Iceberg Canyon fail to find smooth surfaces to mirror was a man w ho loved nature, human nature, people, female the weird, otherworldl_v creatures one may conjure up in his good to be able to drift serenely into the canyon, to glide their arctic shimmering. And it may be two hundred years people, beautiful female people, and conversation. He never dreams of that unearthly place. over the tamed waters without dread. We could go into side before the water stops its lapping at the wharves of Pierce's left the cabin. Much of the time we talked. He told of his I wish there were poets, like the ancients of the Medi­ canyons to view such scenes as Emery Falls, or rim out to Ferry, and the last gay sailboat is withdrawn before the sea early struggles as a young composer of unpopular songs, of terranean, who could make legends of this Lake. Out of the Hidden Cave. We were masters of places where few if any of mud reaches Las Vegas Wash. And who knows but that his eventual successes as a producer of Broadway musicals. still blue silences of this strange sea one expects goddesses human tracks had ever been made since the River beaan its dams in Bridge Canyon and Marble and Glen-all blue­ He seemed to me to have enjoyed every day of his life, to emerge and sit beckoning on a crystal shore, while Zeus job of cutting. b printed-may become realities and stop the march of mud except the time-which he did not mention-behind bars watches from a summit in the golden sky. But I could make Now the River has reasserted itself. It has affirmed its and reaffirm man's dominance over the fiercest of the world's rather than in front of them. He was one who seemed unable no verses fitting to the scene, for into my reverie would eventual triumph over man with his concrete and miles of rivers. to endure the absence of women, beautiful women. He come the smell of frying catfish and the sight of a man wire and tubing and millions of kilowatt hours. vVith the Meanwhile there will be time to make many memo- required their attentions as an impresario requires a stage named Cassidy rising drenched in a suit from the water.

PAGE TWEKTY - FOUR • ARTZ ON A HI G 1-1 \V AY S JULY 1952 The Paintings

PROTECTOR O F THE H ERD The resourcefulness, se lf-reliance a nd endurance of the y oung N avajo s he ep­ herder are ama zing. H e knows the wa­ ter holes, the trails, and always brings the herd back safely each evening.

SUMMER HOGAN The SU!lllller hogan of the N ava jos is built for shade w ith sollle Slllall pro­ tection from rare su!llmer rains. In these a la rge fa!llily will live in sur­ prising comfort.

N AVAJO PON IES The N ava jo pony may look scrawny and underfed, but is capable of long, hot treks through the desert plateau, seemingly inured to both heat and cold.

THE EV ENING STA R The ybung Zuni mother, seated on the roof 6f her h ome, dream ilv s urveys I r!Ye evening star. There is ·no bett.er mothei·. She w ill ne\·er chastise her children, nor will you ever see or t hear them crying.

The Photographs

D U G-AI This aged Navajo, w ho is probably in his 9o's, lives on the north side of Navajo Mountain. Once you step into the serene calmness of Dug-ai's hogan, you feel the great dignity and the great wisdom that all the years of calm DUG-AI and just living can bring to any man's home.

MANY GOATS Here in this Medicine Man's face can be seen the fierce pride that the Nav­ ajo has in the People. His pride is one PROTECTOR OF THE HERD l.. and of T £ that has been achieved through cen­ turies of triumph by his people over the elements and his enemies.

PAINTINGS BY W. R. LEIGH LONG SALT PHOTOGRAPHS BY BARRY GOLDWATER Long Salt is one of the widows of the great Navajo chief, Endishee. She is a remarkable, dignified woman; of great Fo r how many centuries they have been part of their land wisdom and pride. Her kindly counsel ev en the oldest and the wisest of the tribe do not know. It must and advice is sought by all her neigh­ have been almost from the very beginning of time itself for how bors. else could such a fierce love of their land, that intense feeling of oneness 7.vith the soil, be developed in them? WILSON ONE-SALT The outside world beckons to them, but the modern city's Wilson was named in honor of Bill Wilson, famous lure is not strong enough to take them trader and guide of away from the land. When Rainbow Lodge. He is one of seven grim necessity forces them to seek their livelihood elsewhere, they children of Isobel and Tony One-Salt. are aliens in the civilization about them, and long passionately for He needs only the educational oppor­ their orcVn cherished land. tunities of white children to equip him They have mastered the land, grmvn strong in it, even in- for his place in the American story. Please turn to page tbirty-one . . . .

PAGE TWENTY- S IX • ARIZO N A HIGHWAYS • JULY 1952 SUMMER HOGAN NAVAJO PONIES THE EVENING STAR

MANY GOATS

tand of Th£ P£opl£ .. . coNT1NuEn FROM PAGE TWENTY-six creased in numbers despite the ravages of grains of sand instruments of torture and which disease. They live in a 0wilderness that is neither can hurl the cold and dry snMv against the gentle nor generous. Want is often an unwel­ hogan with such fury that the heaviest come neighbor sitting around the fire of their sheepskins and the 7.vannest fire are not suf­ hogan. They know the elements as, perhaps, ficient to keep the cold out. They knMv the fe7.v people will ever knMv the elem.ents. They sun in all of its fits of tem,pera1nent. Indeed, understand the 'I.Vi nd of winter, which can cut they are 7.vorshippers of the sun and build their like a 7.vhip and can slash umnercifully. They hogans with the opening facing the east so that knMv the 'I.Vin d 7.vhich can make the sharp 7.vhen they 1,;enture fo rth at the beginning of

PAGE TI-IIRTY-O NE ARIZ O NA HIGHWAYS JULY 1952 LONG SALT WILSON ONE-SALT

each new day the sun is the first to greet the111. But they lm07..v that the sun One might ponder 7..vith sadness the N avajo and h is problem. The sand of summer can be an angry sun and they are hu111ble before its anger. dunes of their great land cannot be made 111ore fe rtile. T he slick rock of their Their environment, the sparse land and the harsh elements have given deep and mysterious canyons cannot be 111ade n1ore productive. T he elements them courage, pride and have made the111, self-sufficient. T hey have con­ cannot be 111ade m ore gentle. T here will always be the 7..Vind and the mn and quered their own world; so all the world is theirs. White man's civilization, the dreamy distances. But no matter 7..Vhctt the years and decades 7..vill bring, which has fiowed like a m ighty river over the continent, has not yet so 111uch theirs 7..Vill be a N avajo w orld and in it there will be the N avajo, proud, as da111pened their reservation. Critics say they are slm.v to change. aristocratic, and unafraid . . . . R. C. PINES AND PUMICE FLATS

SUNSET CRATER: A PORTFOLIO OF PHOTOGRAPHS by A N S EL A DAM S, CO N T I N U ED FROM PA G E FI V E.

THE PHOTOGRAPHS: In June, 1947, Ansel Adams took two Easterners to Sunset Crater. We were dazed with color; after Bryce, Zion, the Grand Canyon, the Vermilion Cliffs, the unearthly beauty of the black place was like silence after music in the night. In great excitement we immediately got out our cameras and ran forth, sinking ankle-deep in the slopes. Developing our films back in the east, we found only meaningless shapes. The pines and stumps were dull, the dunes an empty darkness. Average use of film and meter was not enough to meet the challenge of that extraordinary place. Photography is more than formulae and techniques; it is also a matter of the imagination. Adams took few photographs that afternoon. He said he could not yet see the place photographically. The next morning, with his images visualized and his tools chosen, he returned. The first problem at Sunset Crater is the blackness. Even in bright sun the cinder slopes reflect so little light that about four times the normal exposure for landscape is required to give them form and substance. Then the clarity of the air is such that distances apparent to the eye vanish in the negative, becoming one solid tone. To separate the dunes, make the lava flows retreat in space and the Crater rise above and beyond them, Adams used a blue (C5) filter to accentuate the atmospheric haze and thus retain the feel of absolute space. The next problem, for the average photographer, would be the staring white sky inevitable with a blue filter. Adams not only used it to emphasize the dark contours and the mood of unchanging light; he set against its effect of terrifying blankness the tortured gesture of a huge dead pine. The series of skeletal stumps, photographed in clear open shade, needed no filter, but the pines in sunlight appear, by means of a green (X l or B) filter, with even more brilliance than they held for the eye. Four years later, in September, 1951, Adams came again to Sunset Crater, and photographed again the lava flows, the falling trees, the brilliant silhouettes of pines against the wind-ribbed and shadowy slopes.

DETAIL, DEAD STUMP, PUMICE SLOPES PAGE THIRTY-FOUR ARIZONA HIGHWAYS JULY 1952 "THE TREAS URE TRAIL" BY W. R . LEIGH

A FRIEND IN NEW ZEALAND: ( From a painting size 22 by 28 inches) ... For the past year we have been recervmg Herein the artist interprets another facet of You_.s since~ely your wonderful magazine through the kindness \Vestern life-the pack train. In describing this of Bill Tribolet of Utah and we want to send MEMORIES: you our glowing appreciation of it. painting, Mr. Leigh writes: "Gold quartz or copper ore occur in inconvenient places, often ... Two recent numbers of ARIZONA HIGH­ Of all the magazines we receive regularly, enough at the bottom of dee p canyons. Mules WAYS brought tu me while convalescing from ARIZONA HIGHWAYS tops the list in every re­ 'flu ' gave me endless delight and started heart spect. Its magnificent coloured plates are a pure are sure-footed, tough and sound of wind, but and mind off on a merry clip. iVle1nories of early delight to behold, w hile its matchless word-pic­ not always conscientious. If good pickings pre­ childhood days came rushing to me: a kaleido­ tures are insp iring as well as beautiful. Between sent themse h·es along the trail, some of them may scope of the Arizona scene I knew. its pages can be found a wealth of bea uty and loiter. It is, therefore, best to keep them under I was once more ga lloping over the trails, by pleasure, not to mention knowledge and interest, observation. The climb may be four, five or pastures and ranch homes, into the pines and too. even six thousa nd feet, and the trail steep. No junipers w here im aginary foes lurked-I had The articles on the American Indians ha ve crowding. \Vise mules w ill negotiate incredible heard tales of Geronimo and his band-but al­ been of special interest to me. As a member of trails if given time and dea lt w ith with patience. ways looking up toward mountai ns that prac­ the Maori Race, I have been particularly im­ tically surrounded \N illiamso n Valley and en­ pressed by the similarity between the Indian (as compassed my world. Over the top was a drop illustrated in ARIZONA HIGHWAYS) and the to nothingness. Maori. Many of the Indian weaving patterns Swinging on a garden gate I was looking up and designs ·as depicted in your magazine bear the road for the stage from Prescott that a marked resemblance to those of my own race. brought T/.Je Courier, Hoof and Horn, letters vVhile looking at some of the Indian models and perhaps packages from Boston and Chicago. MAIN STREET WEST w hich are often featured in ARIZONA HIGH­ From \ Nalnut Creek came Hualpais on their I 10\·e the little tow ns that lie WAYS, one could well be looking at a Maori way to Prescott for rations, dozens of them in Across the long black highways, single file. Tall bucks with red bands about the wabine (maid), tane (man) or K uia (old wom­ an) as the case mav be, for the resemblance at \V hose charms may not enchant the eye, forehead astride small ponies, squaws trudging But w hose plain ways are my ways; wearily along in gay calico and buckskin moc­ times is striking co' a degree. casins, their hea vy bosoms burdened with ropes There are many comparisons w hich could be The little towns w hose life is owed of turquoise. Perhaps a chubby papoose peered made, and I am looking to the day w hen I w ill To free men's sweat and labor, over a basket cradle slung on the broad back. be able to travel the highways and byways of \Vhose way of living is the code Dogs and small children were a part of the col­ the Navajo-Hopi Land in reality and thus make That everyone's a neighbor. orful cavalcade, giving no end of joy to an ex­ these comparisons through personal contact In little towns as well as great, cited child looking on. with the Indians. Our land is richly blesc, That highway spelled adventure for there Our praise of, and delight in, ARIZONA HIGH­ passed traveler, cramp and gypsies; the twenty And I count mvself fortunate WAYS cannot be sung too highly. There are many To know and love them best! mule teams on the ore trains hauling from the who anticipate its arrival in the land "way down Hillside Mine. under," and they all join me in wishing the s. OMAR BARKER The wonder of those nights, star-studded, the magazine greater success than ever before. poplars rustling in the breeze, the faraway moo­ "Kia Ora" (Good Luck). May you continue THE LOST DAYS ing of a new-mother cow, the tinkling of a small to provide happiness, enchantment and inspira­ bell as the bell-mare mm1ched in the alfalfa How sweet life was in the lost days when tion to readers the world over, as you do. patch. To be hemmed in by high snow-banks, Hydrogen was part of water and air; sometimes. Then the call of a prowling coyote. Hinauri Strongman And atoms were w hirling about unsplit, Spring, finally, with hills a glory of sweet Wil­ Waiomatatini, Ruatoria And we were simple enough to ask God's care. liam, wild rose Indian paint brush, and the scent East Coast, New Zealand CHRISTIE LUND COLES of sage after rains. The turbulent creek rushed • To our Maori friends "way do·wn under," on to the lakes with wild ducks riding high. friendliest of greetings from A merica's West. There range cattle filing over hills to the water­ REMEMBERING THE SOUTHWEST hole. Fields of swaying wheat and barley, the So short a time I dwelt within that country whirring of windmills, the creak of the haypress And saw the lilacs by adobe doors, -the harvest. A.AAA.AAA.A, Deserts in flower and cherry trees in bloom, A rodeo w ith broncos, vaqueros, chuck wag­ Mesas, tiered and purple. On their tops ons, Chinese cooks. Rugged pioneers, dependable Old tribal gods could ride with ample room. cattlemen, visionary men who drifted eventually THE GYPSY TRAIL to the Pacific Coast. Now it is night, and now a traveller stops It has been fun remembering! I must follow the gypsy trail- Before the open mission door and sees Must be up and away with the dawn! The vespers blazing on the tropic night- Kitty McCormick-O'Meara For I must greet the vigilant sun The kneeling crowd, the shrine, the candles all Los Angeles, California And hear the morning's song. a-light • lt has been fun, too, sharing suc/J pleasant I must go where the eagle nests And stars above. A moment, it must seem memories. Atop the mountain peak! He blundered over oceans in a dream. When you possess a gypsy soul When I am old ancl 1°'9l'.!;ROn the children The gypsy trail you seek. vVho've never gazed beyon·a Ne"\V England hills, • I must face the blizzard's rage­ I'll say to them, "Within our country, westward, Must feel the biting cold! Is land that might be Spanish, and it thrills!" For I was born with a gypsy heart I'll gather them together, a fall night, DESERT PEACE ·- And a gypsy heart is bold. And pour my several memories in their ears, rode to the desert late at night I must rest where the wind's caress Ending, "The sun and moon are twice as bright, And felt cool wind caress mv face, Is wild as a nomad's kiss! The very air is different, my dears." saw it ruffle the sorrel's ma'ne For I must know what the Great Voice says And the elder children, unbelieving, With only the wind's ineffable grace. That speaks from life's abyss. Will say, "The old dame dreams, is slightly mad, The desert's peace, the nearness of God, 0 blessed am I whose gypsy feet Or like so many underrates our years. There in the rippled, silver sand, Are doomed to forever roam- There never was a place that's worth our Were benediction to troubled heart ... Companioned by the wind and stars, grieving- As though He touched me with His hand. The whole wide world my home! So grandly high, and so serenely glad." ELIZABETH REEVES HUMPHREYS EMIL y CAREY ALLEMAN MARGERY MANSFIELD

PAGE THIRTY-SIX • ARIZONA HIGH"WAYS • JULY 1952