196409 desertmagazine 1964 september

8/14/2019 196409 DesertMagazine 1964 September

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CONTENTSVolumne 27 Number 9

SEPTEMB ER , 1964This Month's Cover

Seasons of Sabino by DON VALENTINE

4 Books For Desert Readers5 Dichos

By RICARDO CASTILLO7 W e Ran the Mighty Gila

By VAUGHN SHORT8 Dr. Susan and the Pegl eg

By KENNETH MARQUISS10 T he Night of Decemb er 8th

By BARRY GOLDWATER13 Nevada Has Crazy Things

By GRACE KENDRICK14 Chia Fostered a Massacre

By JO KNIGHTIB Caves , Canyons and Caches

By CHORAL PEPPER2(1 The Lure of the Trail

By JULIA CRAW2!! Unforgettable Forgotten Oasis

By MARVIN PATCHEN25 Bewitched by Baja

By JACK PEPPER28 Surprise in the Sink

By JIM MARTIN33 New Look at Death ValleyBy BERT MACDONALD315 Ghost Town

By LAMBERT FLORIN37 Desert Dispensary

By SAM HICKS38 DESERT Cookery

By LUCILLE CARLESON39 Snake's Enemy, Man's Friend

By BOB and JAN YOUNG

42 Letters from Our R eader s43 Photo Contest

V e p p e m m . . . f c t j f y w kFEATHER FERVOR. The whi t e man ' s l aws whi ch sa fegua rd eag l e s ,the i r fea thers , nes t s and eggs , none of which can be possessed wi th-out a permit from the Secretary of the Interior, in the past have createda cri t ical shortage of ceremonial adornments for the Southwest Indiant r ibes . Now the Grea t Whi te Fa ther has come to the rescue . "Onethousand pr ized eagle fea thershighly important to ceremonia l cos-tumes of severa l Southwest Indian t r ibesare en route to Indian reser-vat ions through the courtesy of the Department of Interior 's Fish andWildlife Service to help al leviate a cri t ical shortage of the adornments,"a Department of Interior release states. It seems the feathers are collect-ed from eag les found de ad in var iou s par t s of the count ry. W hen adead eagle i s found and can be preserved, i t i s packed in "dry ice"an d flown to the Researc h Cen ter. At the center, scientists check fordiseas es , abnorm al t ies , or pes t ic ide res idues . W hen injured or s ickbi rds a re found they are nursed back to hea l th, i f poss ible , and arere leased . Eagles una ble to f ly a re loan ed to publ ic zoos .

LOWER COLORADO. First steps to improve recreat ion in the lowerColorado River a rea have been announced. To implement the Depart -ment of Inter ior program for Federa l development , Hugo Fisher , ad-ministrator of California 's Reso urces Ag ency , directed the CaliforniaParks and Recreat ion Department to report on the feasibi l i ty of finan-c ing three la rge recrea t ion areas ; work wi th c i t i es and count ies tocrea te loca l parks , and the Fish and Game Department to f ind thebest way to work to reserve for the public 450,000 acres of publicdomain for wildlife.

ENLARGED ELSINORE. Southern California 's newest re-act ivated rec-reat ion area, Lake Elsinore, is shooting up as fast as the desert springf lowers a fter ra in. Real es ta te ac t ivi ty is boo ming a nd ne w m arin asare underway around the waters of the lake which was only a drybed last ye ar. Just off the San Diego Fre ew ay, the ar ea c an al so b ereac hed over Sta te Hig hw ay 74 from the Span ish m iss ion, San JuanCa pistr ano . Hig hw ay 74 from the coast is on e of the most sc enicdr ives in Southern Cal i fornia , winding through canyons once t raversedby Ind i ans , Spani a rds and go l dseek i ng prospec t or s .

SEPTEMBER CALENDAR. Au g. 22- Sept . 7. Jul ian W ee d Show , Jul ian,Calif. Sept. 1-7 Centennial Celebrat ions, Pioche, Nevada. Sept . 5-6Sport s Car Races a t a i rpor t , Santa Barbara , Calif. Sept . 6 Rough W aterSwim and Aqua Fest ival , La Jol la, Calif. Sept . 7 Mining Day Contes t sand Exhibits, Prescott , Ariz. Centennial Celebrat ions at Eureka, Ely,W inn em ucc a an d Elko, Ne va da . Sept . 10-13 Nav ajo Triba l Fai r , Win-do w Rock, Arizona. Sept . 11-13 Y av ap ai C oun ty Fair, Prescott , Arizon a.Sept . 15 Mex ican Inde pen den ce D ay, Balboa Park Bowl , San Diego,Calif. Sept. 26-27 Long Beach Mineral and Gem Society's 27th AnnualShow, 1309 East 3rd St., Long Beach, Calif. La t e Sep t emberAnnua lNavajo Fair, Shiprock, New Mexico. County Fairs are held through-out Arizona during September .

J A C K P E P P E R , Publisher C H O R A L P E P P E R , EditorElta ShivelyExecutive Secretary Al MerrymanStaff Artist Rose HollyCirculation Ma nager Marvel BarrettBusiness Manager

Address Correspondence To:Desert Magazine, Palm Desert, Calif. 92260 Phone: FI 6-8144September, 1964 / Desert Magazine / 3


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P I E R C E P U B L I S H I N G C O M P A N YD E P A R T M E N T RB O X 2312C H E YE N N E , W Y O M I N G

A SOUTHWESTERN UTOPIABy Thomas A. RobertsonAs a participant, the author tellsof the trials, successes and failures ofan experiment in cooperative livingindulged by a group of Americancolonists who attempted to set up anUtopia inSinaloa (northwestern Mex-ico) some 50 years ago. As a testi-mony to the inadequacy of socialism,the book makes its mark, althoughthat is far from its purpose.On the contrary, author Robert-son is chiefly concerned with report-ing a little publicized incident in Am-erican history, telling of the greatpeople who tried to make an imprac-

tical dream come true, andpresentingits lesson to posterity. He has donea fine job.Immensely readable, the book re-lates Robertson's friendship with andunderstanding of Mayo and Yaquitribes, describes the country andwildlife native to this tropical coastalregion along theeast coast of theGulfof California, and colorfully depictsa passionate political crisis institutedwhen part of the colony rebelledagainst the idealism of its leader, Al-bert Kimsey Owen. Part of the trouble

may be found in excerpts from acolony publication:"The colonists are called to break-fast at six by a clarionet and in thesame way are summoned to beginand stop work and for discussion andto hear news read . . . To make homesfor every member and to keep theindividuality of each person sacred istheir purpose . . ." The trouble was,with communal living, a common kit-chen, and utter conformity in living,the individual found it impossible to

exist. The colony grew top heavywith intellecttoo many planners andnot enough workers. Soon theworkersrebelled at carrying the load for thoseunable, or unwilling, to labor andthe colony divided into two factors,the Saints and the Kickers. When theblowup came, the author's hard-work-ing father considered a brother colon-ist whose job carried an importanttitle, butwhose entire activity entailedbutchering two or three turtles aweek. Still, he was paid $3 a day inscript, the same as all others. Thus,the Robertsons became Kickers!One lesson Robertson believes wasproven is that no matter howclassesof people may be leveled, or how

leveling the circumstances of the"lives of people, talent will assert it-self, and personalities will rise tosomething like their merited positionin life. This he found in the face ofsuccesses and failures of the colonists,intimate experiences shared with pri-mitive and uncivilized peoples, andas a witness to the devastation of theMexican aristocracy after the revolu-tion.Truly a worthwhile and interestingbook, Southwestern Utopia ispub-lished by The Ward Richie Press.Hard cover and 266pages, it sells for$5.95 and may be ordered from theDESERT Magazine Book Depart-ment.TH E R A N C H TH A T WASROBBINS'By Adelaide L. DoranSomehow its title doesn't do justiceto this book. Few who have takenthe glass bottom boat to Catalina Is-land appreciate the rich backgroundenjoyed by this Pacific resort. Mys-teries still linger which suggest astrange religious cult participated inby Indians who inhabited the islandsbefore white man came. Later, Cata-lina played an exciting role in theCivil War. Mining activities also en-livened its history over a long periodof time.

Mrs. Doran writes of the island'splant life, which includes lushgrowths of Chia (Salvia Columbariae)a grain favored by aborigines whoground it into meal for porridge andcakes. She also tells about a plantused as a remedy for rattlesnake bitesthe wild carrot, from which a poul-tice of fresh leaves wasapplied to thewound with perfect confidence byboth Mexican andAmerican residentsof the Island. To those who say thereare no trees on Santa Catalina, sheresponds with excerpts from a reportwritten by Mrs. Blanch Trask, theIsland botanist, who says that it isimpossible to see a thing withoutgoing where it is . . . that in the heartof Catalina onemight seegreat cotton-woods, mountain mahogany, whiteoak, poppy trees and willow-leavedmanzanita.

The city of Avalon, currently thescene of vacationing tourists, yachts-men and fishermen, is also the homeof the P. K. Wrigley Arabian horseranch of great renown. Hardcover,


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M o r a l P e p p e rwith 211 pages, this surprising littlebook is chock full of entertaining andinteresting information. Publishedby the Arthur H. Clark Company, itmay be ordered from DESERT Maga-zine Book Department. Price $5.00.THREE PATHS ALONG A RIVERBy Tom Hudson

Although the locale of Three PathsAlong A River is in Southern Califor-nia, this story of three culturesIn-dian, Spanish and American is simi-lar to the history of other areas ofthe West where conquered aboriginesfell victim to the struggle for powerand land among the Spanish, Mexi-cans and Americans.

Told simply and with compassion,the transitional history centers aroundthe San Luis Rey River, once anabundant, peaceful river flowingthrough a verdant valley. Today theriver bed is crossed by highways andonly comes to life during flash floods.Long ago, the river was the Gatewayto California. Overland travelers upfrom Mexico and west from theStates used the Carrizo Corridor lead-ing to El Camino Real or to pass in-land through Temecula to the mis-sion of San Gabriel or the Pueblo ofLos Angeles. The Butterfield Stageroute crossed the San Luis Rey nearthe river's headwaters.A former newspaperman, theauthor spent four decades gatheringmaterial and personally exploring thearea about which he writes. A reader,carried along with the currents of theriver, shares the experiences of thosepast who lived and died along itsshores. Published by Desert-SouthwestPublishers, the 245-page hard coveris illustrated by H. Ralph Love. Price$6,00. May be ordered from theDESERT Magazine B o o k Depart-ment.

FROM NEW SPAIN BY SEA TOTHE CALIFORNIASBy Maurice G. HolmesThe discoveries of ChristopherColumbus opened a century of ex-ploration that sent Spanish expedi-

tions along the coasts of the penin-sula of Baja California and Alta Cali-fornia. He re is an account of theexploits of Herman Cortes, Pedro de

N E W B O O K O R D E R D E P A R T M E N TThe books listed below and those which will be added in future issues ofDESERT MAGAZINE have been selected as outstanding volumes which wefeel will be of interest to our reade rs. In establish ing the DESERT MAGA-ZINE BOOK ORDER DEPARTMENT we have selected books for qualityand interest rather than mass volume. All of the books offered have beenreviewed in "New Books For DESERT Readers" or read by the editors ofDESERT MAGAZINE.

Send check or money order to DESERT MAGAZINE BOOK ORDERDEPARTMENT, Palm Desert, California 92260. Include 25c for postageand handling. California residents must add 4% sales tax. Pleasedo not ask to be billed.O N DESERT TRAILS b y Randall Henderson, foun-der and publisher of Desert Magazine for 23years. One of the f irst good writers to revealthe beauty of the mysterious desert areas. Hen-derson's experiences, combined with his com-ments on the desert of yesterday and today,makes this a MUST for those w ho really wan tto understand the desert. 375 pages, i l lustrated.Hard Cover. $5.00.CORTES, By Francisco Lopez de Gomara, secre-tary to the famous conqueror of Mexico. A vividnarration of the exploits of Herman Cortes whocombined diplomacy, cunning and military mightto overcome his adversaries. 480 pages, illus-trated. Hard cover. $8.50.GHOSTS OF THE ADOBE WALLS b y Nel l Mu r-barger, the well known "roving reporter of thedesert." The author's just-published book is anint imate chronicle of Arizona's once-boomingmining towns, stage stations, army posts, mar-auding Indians and fantastic human characters.380 pages, i l lustrated. Hard Cover. $7.50.LOWER CAL IF ORNIA GUIDE BOOK b y Gerh ardand Gulick. The authors have revised the thirdeditio n to brin g it up to date. Veteran travelersin Baja California would not venture south ofthe border without this authoritat ive volume. Itcombines the fascinating history of every loca-t ion, whether it be a town, mission or aban-doned ranch, with detailed mileage maps andlocations of gasoline supplies, water and otherneeded information on Baja. 243 pages withthree-color fold ing map, 16 detailed route maps,4 city maps, 22 i l lustrat ions. Hard cover. $6.50.THE OREGON DESERT by E. R. Jackman andR. A. Long. This book is a hard one to define.A single paragraph may be a mixture of geo-logy, history, biography and rich desert lore.The only complete book about the Oregon desert,the material applies equally well to other des-erts of the West. The humor and fascin atinganecdotes coupled with factual background andunusual photos, including color, make it excel-lent reading material even for those who maynever visit Oregon. 407 pages, i l lustrated. HardCover. $4.95.A L L A B O U T C A L I F O R N I A B y T h o m a s B . Lesure.The author has compiled a factual report onthe attractions, cities and communities of Cali-fornia designed for "an auto trip or a vacationand for assistance to find a home or low-costret irement in pleasant surroundings." I t alsoincludes a section on "Business Opportunitiesand Job Outlook." 104 pages, 814x11, durablepaperback. $2.00.A SOUTHWESTERN UTOPIA By Th o m as A. Ro b -ertson. An American Colony in Mexico. Halfa century ago some 2000 Americans, pioneers,idealists and adventurers trekked into north-western Mexico intent on forming a cooperativecolony. The author (reared among the colonists)tells of the trials, failures and successes ofcolony l ife. This book, describing the peopleand life in Mexico's Sinaloa will be enjoyed bythose who dream escapist dreams. 266 pages.Hard cover. $5.95.

THREE PATHS ALONG A R IVER By To m Hu d so n .I l lustrated by Ralph Love. Once a river, theSan Luis Rey is now only an intermittentstream. History marched beside the river, andin a sense the Valley of San Luis Rey cancalled the Gateway to California. The earliestoverland travelers coming from Mexico andwest from the States traveled the Carrizo Cor-ridor leading inland through Temecula to theMission of San Gabriel and the Pueblo of LosAngeles. The Butterfield Stage route crossedthe river near its headwaters. 245 page. Hardcover. $6.JE EP T R A IL S T O C O L O R A D O G HO S T T O W N S b yRobert L. Brown. An il lustrated, detailed, infor-mal history of life in the mining camps deep inthe almost inaccessible mountain fastness of theColorado Rockies. Fifty-eight towns are includedas examples of the vigorou s strugg le for exist-ence in the mining camps of the West. 239pages, illustrated, end sheet map. Hard Cover.$5.50.THE DESERT IS YOURS by Erie Stanley Gardner.In his latest book on the desert areas of the. West, the author again takes his reader wi thhim as he uses every means of transportation toexplore the wilderness areas and sif t the factsand rumors about such famous legends as theLost Arch, Lost Dutchman and Lost Dutch Ovenmines. 256 pages, illustrated. Hard cover. $7.50.T H E R A N C H T H A T W A S R O B B I N S ' B y A d e l a i d eLeM ert Doran who began her professional careerin 1929 with the Los Angeles City School Sys-tem as a teacher of California history andgeography. A complete book wi th good in-formation on Santa Catalina Island's f lora,fauna, and history and the part the Islandplayed in the mining excitement before andduring the Civil War. Double-page map. 211pages. Hard cover. $5.THE NORTH AMERICAN DESERTS b y Ed m u n d C.Jaeger. A long-time authority on all phases ofdesert areas and life, Dr. Jaeger's book on theNorth American Deserts should be carriedwhe rever you trave l. It not only describes eachof the individual desert areas, but has illus-trated sections on desert insects, reptiles, birds,mammals and plants. 315 pages, illustratedphotographs, l ine drawings and maps. HardCover. $5.95.

DEATH VALLEY BOOKSPublished by the Death Valley '49ers thesefour volumes have been selected by '49ersas outstanding works on the history of DeathValley. All are durable paperback on slickstock.A NATURALIST 'S DEATH VALLEY (RevisedEdition) By Edmund C. Jaege r, ScD. $1.50M A N L Y A N D D E A T H V A L L E Y . Symbols ofDestiny, by Ardis Manly Walker _ _ $1.25GOODBYE, DEATH VALLEY! the Story of theJayhaw ker Party, by L. Burr Belden $1.25C A M E L S A N D S U R VE YO R S I N D E A T H V A L -LEY by Arthur Woodw ard $2.00


6/44

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Cash, Check orMoney Order onlyT H U M L E R ' S T U M B L E RP . O. Box 609M onrovia, California

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MARKET BASKET PHO TO CO.P. O. Box3 7 0 , Yuma, ArizonaorP. 0. Box2 8 3 0 , S on Diego, C alifornia

Alvarado, Juan Rodriguez Cabrilloand Antonio deMendoza. But mostimportant, here is an accountcon-taining awealth ofnew material dugup by theauthor, a retired Briga-dier General, USMC, who spentseven years' onactive duty inSpan-ish American areas.Interesting information revealed bythe author includes his unbiasedopinion, backed upwith previouslyun-published records, as towhy theearly Spanish occupation of BajaCalifornia wasdoomed to failure.General Holmes also describes innewly unearthed details theIndiansfound near the BayofLa Paz on Baja

before the padres landed to inaugur-ate their missions. Some were hideous,with noses pierced, ears split tocarrytubes, andwith bodies striped withcolors. These were notmaritime In-dians, like others encountered, andthey waged continual war. Inanotherinstance, and atanother port, the In-dians were "more blonde" than thoseseen elsewhere onBaja and inNewSpain.With ancient maritime maps repro-duced, this book covers anera of ex-ploration embracing both Lower andAlta California during a time that isoverlooked by most historians, asrecords left bymissionaries at a laterdate are easier tocome by than thoseof these early navigators. Here is afascinating contribution toearly Cali-fornia history, written with vigor andauthority.Published bythe Arthur H.ClarkCompany, this hard cover, 307-pagebook is $11.00 andmay beorderedfrom theDESERT Magazine BookDepartment.

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SPICE YDURSPANISH WITH

DICHDSBy R icardo Castillo

"Dichos" are the pungent Spanishproverbs which add somuch colorand logic to theconversation andthinking of ourMexican neighbors.

"Cuando tuve dientes no tuve pan,y ahora que' tengo pan no tengodientes."When Ihad teeth Ihad no bread,and now that Ihave bread, Ihaveno teeth."En boca cerrada noentran mos-cas."If you keep you mouth shut noflies will get in it."El que entre lobos anda a aullarse ensena."He who roams with wolves learnshow to howl."Cuando digo que' la mula esparda, es porque' tengo lospelosen lamano."When Isay that the mule isgray,it's because Ihave the hairs in myhand."Al mono aunque lo vistas deseda, mono sequeda."You can dress a monkey insilk,but it remains a monkey.

C H A N G I N G A D D R E S S ?New postal regulat ions make it impor t an tthat you send your change-of-address not iceto us prompt l y . And please remember to listyour oldaddress aswel l asyour new andyour Zip Code.DESERT M agazine -P alm Desert , Cal i f . 92 26 0

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7/44

THE MIGHTY GILABY VAUGHN SHOUT

Wacky people do wacky things.Here's a real wacky trip down the

Gila River

AFTER MUCH pumping andlashing with ropes, our littlefleet stood ready for the test.It consisted of two small rubber boats,a wooden gate atop three innertubes,an outrigged engineering marvel ofstyrofoam, and innertubes of varioussizes. Most were single passengercrafts. Those riding tubes stowedtheir gear in one of the rubber boats.Others trailed a second tube withsleeping bags and food affixed on top.

We were about to run the mightyGila River maybe not quite somighty as the mighty Colorado, butstill, the second most important riverin the lower Southwest. Born on ahigh pine-covered slope in westernNew Mexico, it enters Arizona nearthe town of Duncan. Prior to mod-ern day dams, it flowed across theslate to join the Colorado aboveYuma. Now its lower stretches aredry.

Unlike Fray Marcos de Niza whocamped beside it in 1539 and 19thcentury mountain men who trappedbeaver on the Gila, our adventurousparty didn't expect to meet hostilenatives. Other than that, we wereprepared for anything. This was theSouthern Arizona Hiking Club's firstriver run and, I must admit, therewere moments when it occured to us

that we should never have left theground.Thirteen of us made the trip, fiveof the party being ladies. Severalmembers had scouted on foot thestretch to be negotiated by water andestablished a launching site at theend of a ranch road five miles belowCoolidge Dam. Here, under thespread of some cottonwood trees, ourstrange flotilla assembled. The Gilalooked far from formidable at thispoint, being only 30-feet wide andscarcely knee deep. But it movedfast.Confidently we shoved off. In afew hectic moments we learned les-sons about swift water, low over-hanging limbs and barbed -wi refences. Luckily for us it was shallow.At times more river-runners were inthe water than upon it.A short distance down-stream, theGila River Flotilla put ashore foradjustments and revisions. The ladyon the styrofoam raft found it utterlyunmanageable and was forced tohitch a ride in one of the boats. Afterour second cast-off, everything fellunder control. As the morning pro-gressed, we floated through a deepcraggy gorge. This section of GilaCanyon is one of Arizona's top beautyspots and it isn't everyone who seesit from below.To elude occasional fences suspend-ed across the river on cables, we raisedthem from the bottom and floatedthrough, unscathed. Low hangingbranches and rapid water proved our

greatest threats, but experience soonpaid off.At a small backed-up lake we tiedthe single craft to the two rubberboats and towed them to the end ofthe lake. Here we set up camp, laugh-ing and singing around a fire whileeating mushy food. Even sleeping insoggy bedrolls didn't spoil the fun.Afloat the next morning, one ofour boats snagged on a tree over-hanging the foot of a rapid. Twogaping holes split its side. This boatcarried much of the gear, unfortun-ately, but we saved what we couldand draped its deflated side over acompartment of the boat that re-mained inflated. Somehow it man-aged to limp through the remainderof the day. There was not much fastwater at this end of the trip, butrapids continued to appear from timeto time. On tranquil stretches we re-laxed, drifting and dreaming alonga watery path between desert hillsstudded with scarlet-tipped ocotilloand freakish saguaros.In late afternoon we beached neara little town named Christmas whereour cars awaited. The length of theriver run was 20 miles.Now that our hiking club has itsfeet wet, we're anticipating greaterchallenges, but the Gila was a greatbeginning. Others contemplatingthis mad adventure must be sure to

investigate in advance the amount ofwater being released at Coolidge Damas when the lake gets too low, its gatesare closed. / / /


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EAST 5 l D ERD. BAS'W kV A L L E Y- D R . S U S A N a n d t h e P E G L E G

by K enneth M arquiss

C A M P

H UNTING LOST mines is amost exasperating hobby ormania, depending upon whichside of the breakfast table it is viewedfrom. The search for tangible, logicalleads is like opening a can of beefstew; you're likely to get mostly po-tatoes! To top it off, those occasionalmeaty clues you do get always seem tohave gristle spots.This characteristic appears to applyto classics like the Pegleg, as well as tothe many regional lost ledge and trea-sure stories you flush out of thebushes when tracking the ghost spoor.I used to laugh a very smug laughwhen Pegleg and his black nuggetswere mentioned. This came aboutbecause in my one-blanket StartingDays I shamelessly cultivated the

Home on the desert is where you drop thetail-gate. Equipm ent chang es, but the desertdoesn't. At right is my o ld La Salle. If I couldhave equipped it with 4-wheel drive, I'd beusing it still. Below is current righ ome-made, but hardy.

friendship of a spry, white-haired,kindly gentleman "of the old school"who was then secretary of the localHistorical Society. He had a luscioussample of Breyfogle ore that I openlycoveted (and never got) and a stockof stories about the yesterdays Iwanted even moreand did get. Heshattered my Pegleg black nuggetsdream. He had a family uncle-to-father-to-son account that flatly statedthat Pegleg's nuggets were the forgedand recast loot of a murder-robberyoperation feeding on heavy-pokeminers leaving the old La Paz placerworkings. Pegleg's recorded unsavoryreputation, and the logical elementsof the old historian's narrative madea most convincing case.So I used to laugh at the Peglegstoryuntil I met a lady I will callDr. Susan.My hobby "reputation" must haverippled wider than I thought; be-

cause one evening in 1953 Dr. Susanbriskly phoned to introduce herself,mentioned a mutual friend as refer-ence, and suggested a right now con-ference.She was a story in herself. A small,greying, pleasantbut no nonsense-person, who leaned heavily on a canedue to a game right knee. Of allthings, she was a female chiropractorlHow she could pop the sacro-iliac ofa two hundred pound truck driverwas a profound mystery I thoughtbest to keep my nose out of.The second cup of coffee producedthe expected map copywith a 1914story involving dark coated nuggets.I was a little disappointed, and saidso.Dr. Susan bristled and there wasfire in her eye. "I am going to assumeyou meant no hurt; and I assure youI am not trying to feed you a Peglegrehash because I don't have thefaintest idea of what constitutes sucha thing!" She was new to the game,and claimed she had never heard of

Pegleg. She became quite excitedwhen I sketched the standard version.Slightly off-balance with embarrass-

/ Desert Magazine / September, 1964


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About once each decade DESERT turns up a top-notchLost mine prospector who can tell his story with skill andintegrity. Kenneth Marquiss is such a man. His first pub-lished manuscript appeared in DESERT in June, 1964. He iscurrently at work compiling notes from his field record note-books. Other of his true lost mine adventures will appearsoon.Employed as a heavy construction worker, Marquiss tookup prospecting as a between-job hobby when he left schooljust short of receiving his degree in geology during the finan-

cial depression of the '30s. Today, at 56, he's still looking!

merit, I hit the ropes when she open-ed a little slip-top face powder box.Wrapped in tissue paper was a darkbrown, almost spherical nugget aboutthe size of a hazelnut.Her story leaned in the same direc-tion, but differed in detail from theP'eglegand punched holes in myskeptical smugness. She said she usedto have a very wealthy lawyer friendwho had lived up around Fresno. Inthe Pancho Villa-triggered tide ofanimosity, this lawyer had been instru-mental in thwarting the deportationof a skinny, penniless Mexican of in-definite derivation and allegiance.That the Mexican was a wizardwith flowers and the lawyer a rosefancier undoubtedly helped. TheMexican worked for the lawyer forseveral months, and then went to getsome brace stakesand didn't comeback for seven years.When he did return he was fat,"muy rico," and brimming with grati-tude.He insisted on giving the lawyer alarge baking powder can full of nug-gets, in a beautifully tooled Mexicanleather bag; and a map to the find"because there is plenty there for allboth of us, Senor!"He said he had been to Mexico,and during the previous autumn hehad returned up the west side of theColorado on mule-back to avoidtrouble. He reportedly headed westfor Mojave at the north end of "thefirst high mountains above where theboat that pulls itself across the riveron a rope was working." (Presum-ably the old Blythe ferry.)One afternoon, somewhere alongthe way, he was trapped by a scream-ing sandstorm and holed up amongsome big rocks at the western base ofa large hill. He and his mule had arough night, but the storm eased bysunup.As he cooked a meager and long-

delayed meal, his curiosity (andappetite) were whetted by desertdoves "flying into the rock" on thehillside above him. Investigation dis-

closed a trough-like tinaja, or rockwater tank, in a deep, narrow crevice.As he filled his water cans he noticeda round basin-like valley down belowhim to the northwest, about a mileaway. Down in the bottom of thisbasin were two small knolls. The leftone was box-like, or butte shaped;but the right was a small cone orblow hole "like a little upside downfunnel."

As soon as it was watered, the rest-less mule became content to browsehobbled; and the Mexican (who hadnever seen such a formation) wentto see what was in the blow hole. Likemost cones, it was plugged with rockalmost to the top. The easiest returnroute was down the east side, andnear the base of the cone he foundthe nuggets. He took all he couldsafely carry.From the top of the hill above the

tinaja he had spotted a road of sortsin the distance. On the way out hepassed an abandoned small mineworkings, an old camp, and two waterholes or springs. The map the Mexi-can gave the lawyer shows these insort of an arc. The chart is obviouslythe work of an unskilled handandthe rub is that it shows no compassorientation, scale, or any reference ordistance bearings from any knownhub. Just the immediate area in-volvedand that may be upsidedown! It's like a house and streetaddress without the city name tolocalize it.

A year or so after the Mexican'svisit, Dr. Susan was in the lawyer'soffice on business, admired the bag,and almost sprained her shoulderwhen she tried to pick it upmuchto the lawyer's amusement.Here's where the gristle begins.She said the lawyer gave her a coupleof nuggets, told her the details as heremembered them, and let her copythe map "because he wasn't going togive up a lucrative practice to gogold-chasing." She said the map wasdrawn in ink on the most beautifulwhite leather"nicer than chamois"

she had ever seen. Lustless lawyerswho leave bags of gold lying around(and leather maps) sounded slightlyfishy to me, as I could do a better jobof compounding a story myself, butshe swore it was the truth. The law-yer helped her dump the nuggetsinto an empty cigar box so she couldrun her fingers through them. Sheclaimed that, without exception,they were of approximate ball round-ness, most of about pea size with a"couple as large as ping pong balls."

Dr. Susan would not let the nuggetshe had out of her sight, so my testswere not complete. It weighed oneounce, three pennyweight and onegrain. The color was not black, buta very dark brownlike a dry cud ofchewing tobaccoand impervious tohot water or weak household acids.She wouldn't let me cut or drill itto run a bullion assay"you can doall the monkeying you want to withyour share!"so I don't know howdeep the color went, the fineness ofthe metal, nor its amalgamating ten-dencies. Its specific gravity, however,was 13.7, indicating a very rich alloy,possibly with copper or bismuth. Shesaid the other nugget "that Mabelhas" was smaller, but identical incolor.

Dr. Susan had scouted what shethought were two possible locationsas close as she could by car. Theywere in the Chuckawalla Mountainsand near the Devil's Playground. Be-cause of her infirmity she wanted meto check them out on foot, on ashare basis. I was between jobs, en-visioned a quick take, and agreed totry. She furnished gas money for thefirst trip"but you would have toeat anyway"so I fed myself.The "quick take" stretched outinto five years of between job folly. Ichecked "possibles" from the Choco-late Mountains, northward as far asthe Barstow to Vegas road. My 'luck'remained at par. Enough is enough;

and the results are obvious.Dr. Susan died in May, 1953. So Ifeel free to disclose my half of thestory. I am still NOT a "Lost PeglegMine" convert but neither can I ex-plain Dr. Susan's story nor the sourceof her disturbing nugget. It could becoincidence, a parallelor two viewsof the same place. Those exaspera-ting missing story pieces (and humanquirks) are what keep "lost" mineslost.Of three things I am quite sure.The nugget was a natural; Dr. Susandidn't have the mining or desert back-ground to cook up the story detailsherself; and she wasn't playing tiddly-winks! / / /


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It isn't often that a DESERT writer is nominated for the Presidentof the United States. To celebrate the occasion , w e are reprintingthe first article written for DESERT Magazine by Barry Goldwater,way back in August, 1941. In a comment about the author accom-panying the article, former DESERT Editor, Randall Henderson,wrote: "Everyone in Arizona knows Barry Goldwater. But for theinformation of those not so fortunate as to reside in the Sunsetstate, this 32-year-old writer helps manage one of Phoenix' largedepartment stores, takes some of Arizona's most beautiful photo-graphs, and is an avid lecturer and traveler throughout his state.The only vocation or avocation in Arizona in which he has neverengaged is Arizona politicswhich all goes to prove Barry is asmart young man, for politics in Arizona is a goshawful thing!"Before the present campaign is over. Senator Goldwater will nodoubt find that national politics is equally goshawful.

Part and parcel of a region that nutures individuality in itslandscapes as well as in its men. Senator Goldwater has been aded icated contributor to the desert that surrounds his hom e. Herehe recounts an Arizona incident from his own family archives. JoeGoldwater, who participates in the story, was the brother of Barry'sgrandfather, Mike, and accompanied him to Arizona territory inthe middle of the 19th century, where they made their home evenbefore Arizona was a state.

O K

T WO MEN, one of them masked,walked into the general store ofA. Castanoda and Joe Goldwaterin Bisbee, Arizona, soon after darkSaturday evening, December 8, 1883.The unmasked invader levelledhis gun at Peter Dall, the bookkeeper."Get your hands up!" he commanded.Taken by surprise, Dall hesitatedfor a moment. The second banditalso turned his revolver in the direc-tion of the clerkand the latter'shands went up without more delay.Three other masked men had fol-lowed the first two into the store andcovered the customers and otherclerks."Get that safe open and hand overthe payroll money!" demanded theleader, speaking to Dall. But Peterwas only a subordinate in the store,and did not know the combination.He told the bandit he was unable tocomply. The unmasked one was notconvinced, and with an oath moved

closer to Dall and levelled the gundirectly at his head.At this crisis one of the maskedrobbers in the background movedforward, saying, "Hold on boys,don't shoot him. I've got the man incharge of the store here."The man he referred to was JoeGoldw ater. As one of the owners ofthe place, he knew the combination,and with guns pointed at him he lostno time in opening the safe.Two of the bandits, in the mean-

time, had returned to the sidewalkin front of the store and were patrol-ling the street with Winchester rifles.Just as Goldwater was swinging openthe door of the safe, those inside the

store heard one of the men outsideshout an order, "Come on in here!"Evidently a passing citizen saw whatwas going on and intended to spreadthe alarm, for he replied, "No youdon 't ." At this, the other mem-ber of the gang shouted out, "Let 'imhave it," punctuating his words withtwo blasts from his gun. T he manstaggered a few steps, and then felldead against the Bon Ton Saloon.Thus began one of the bloodiest in-cidents in all of Arizona's turbulent

history the Bisbee Massacre. Theman killed was Johnny Tappenier,and before the whole affair was overnine other persons were to follow himto the grave.The shooting of Tappenier changedthe whole aspect of the affair. Nolonger was this just another payrollhold-up, fairly common in t h o s edays. It had become the deadlyserious matter of murder. Th e ban-dits realized that capture now wouldmean the noose, so they had no re-luctance about using their guns.Earlier in the evening D. T. Smithhad been in the store, trading withJoe Goldwater, but had left to goto a restaurant. He was sitting at atable with Mr. Boyle, the owner,when the shooting started. Jum pingup, he rushed into the street, armedwith an English bulldog pistol. Henever got to use it, for a bulletthrough the brain made him victimnumber two of that ruthless slaughter.From then on, the gunmen shot atanyone who showed his head in thestreet.It was this promiscuous shootingthat brought death to the third per-son. Mrs. W. W. Roberts, a youngwoman of 33 years, had just recently

come to Arizona from her nativeNew York. She unknowingly steppedinto the street, and a bullet broughtquick death to her.The score now stood at two menand one woman, but the shootingwas not yet over. A citizen namedJames A. Nalley, while trying toreach a place of protection, was fatallyshot through the left side of thechest. He too staggered to BobPierce's saloon before collapsing, anddied the next day.The reign of terror lasted five or sixminutes at the mostbut it was longenough to bring death to four inno-cent persons and robbery to the storeof Castanoda and Goldwater.While the killings had been takingplace outside, Joe was opening thesafe inside the store, emptying itscontents into the gang's jackets. Notcontent with the loot from the safe,one of the bandits went into the backroom where Castanoda lay sick, andforced him to hand over a bag of

gold that he had put under his pil-low for safe-keeping when the shoot-ing started.With the robbery finished, the fivemen dashed out of the store andraced down the street, firing an occa-sional shot over their shoulders todiscourage pursuit. They ran to theend of Tex's lumber yard where theirhorses were tied. Mounting, theyheaded ou t of town in full g alloptowards Hereford.But where, while all of this was

going on, was Arizona's much-vauntedlaw? Deputy Sheriff Bill Daniels, whoran a saloon as a side-line to his law-enforcing, was playing billiards in hisestablishment when the fireworks be-


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i g h t o f D e c e m b e r 8 t hby Barry Goldwater

gan. Rushing to the door to see wherethe shooting was coming from, hecollided with a man coming in breath-lessly who told him what was goingon. Daniels started toward the streetbut was swept back into the room byhalf-a-dozen men scrambling forsafety.The deputy got two guns, gave oneto a man who had just come in, andthe two of them ran out the backway into the "gulch" behind thebuildings. They raced down to thepostoffice, where they came into the

street. By that time the bandits wererunning for their horses, and theofficer had to hold his fire for fear ofhitting the townsmen who were fill-

ing the street. As the unmasked lead-er commanded, "Get on your horses,boys," he cut loose at them . Th eirreturning fire forced Daniels backout of range for a second, and whenhe came out shooting again, the ganghad started down the road. Th edarkness made for bad aim, and heemptied his gun after the fleeing menwithout apparently making a hit. Hereturned to the store, where Joe Gold-water told him of the robbery.Daniels hastened to the CopperQueen mine office where Ben Wil-

liams offered to furnish a few horsesand all the guns needed for a posse.Returning to town Daniels met a boywho had just seen five men on horse-

R E D S A M P L ET E X H O W A R D


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this time it was 3:00 a.m. They rodeto the milk ranch, and camped untildawn. When the morning sun gavethem enough light, they headed outon foot to see if they could pick uptracks. After following the road forhalf a mile they were convinced thatthey were on the right track, andreturned for the horses. Daniels wasleading the party down the narrowroad when a man named John Heathcame dashing up from the rear andsaid that he had found some tracksbranching off from the road backa ways.

Daniels was an experienced trailerand he hadn't seen the other tracks,but he listened to Heath's suggestionthat the party split up and followthe two trails. Heath took two menwith him and headed in the directionof Tom bstone. Daniels went west-ward, but an hour's search failed toshow any trace of the gang. Some-thing was in the wind, somethingthat smelled of treachery! JohnHeath would bear further investiga-tion.Heath, however, was well alongthe road towards Tombstone by now,and there was nothing to do but re-turn to the trail they had been onpreviously. After riding for some dis-tance, a party of men were seen tocome up from Sulphur Springs valley.These men, when questioned, saidthat they had seen a lone rider earlythat morning, but that he had chang-ed his direction and ridden awaywhen he saw them. Th is same storywas told by another man at Soldiers'Holes when the posse arrived therenear sundown. Daniels' men tooktime to eat and water the horses, andthen pushed on. They were certainthat one of the fugitives was some-where ahead of them, less than 12hours away. The nex t stop wasW hite's ranch, w here the ranch ersaid he had seen a party of ridersanswering the description of thewanted men a few days before, at aneighboring ranch. However, he had

not seen the lone rider mentionedby the party of men that day, soDaniels decided to call it a day. Thetrail was cold by now.The rising sun saw the posse againon its way, this time to Buckle'sranch, where Mr. White had seen thewanted men. Arriving at the rancharoun d 10 o'clock, they found FrankBuckle had a lot to tell them. Fourof the five men had left there theWednesday before, after shoeingtheir horses. Two of the men had

been there before. One was describedas being light cornplexioned, sandy-haired and wearing a moustache, giv-ing him a very debonair appearance.

That, thought Daniels, could be noother than Tex Howard, the unmask-ed desperado. And the other manfitted John Heath's description to per-fection. Now the story began to takeshape. John Heath and Tex Howardhad been friends before the robberyhad taken place. Here then was thereason for Heath's discovery of an-other set of tracks. He had deliber-ately thrown the posse off the trail.John Heath became a wanted man.One of the horses was going lame,so Daniels sent the rider to Tomb-stone with orders to have Heath ar-rested if he showed up in that town.He also dispatched a note to Ben Wil-liams in Bisbee to watch for Heath incase he returned there.

From what he learned from FrankBuckle, Daniels deduced that the gangor part of it had gone to Mexico. Heled the posse south, visiting Leslieranch, the San Bernardino ranch, andthe Erie Cattle company's lower ranchto find clues to the movements ofthe desperadoes he was seeking. Afterthree days, he turned back to Bisbee.By this time, even if he were on theright trail, the murderers would beacross the border, so further searchin that direction would be a wasteof time.

On the way back, he learned thatHeath had been arrested and was injail in Tombstone. He determined tocapture the other four of the band.After a few days in Bisbee, he was offagain. Luck was with him this time.Tracing Dan Dowd, one of the des-peradoes, to the border, he decided toignore the international line, andwent down into Chihua hua. Hefound his man in Corrolitos, capturedhim, and smuggled him back into theUnited States where he was jailed atTombstone.

After Dowd's capture, the rest ofthe gang followed qu ickly. Bill De-laney, the second of the masked quar-tet, was arrested in Ninas Prietas, So-nora, by a Mexican officer. Dan Kelly,a third, was caught when a barberrecognized him as a wanted man andturned him over to the law. Tex How-ard and Red Sample showed up inClifton on the morning of December13, five days after the massacre, andstarted on a spending spree. A goldwatch gave these two men away. Aquick-witted bartender, Walter Bush,recognized a double-cased gold watchengraved with the name "WilliamClancey" as part of the loot that JoeGoldwater had been forced to turnover to the robbers in Bisbee. He noti-fied the authorities, and the last ofthe five were soon under lock and keyawaiting trial. Justice was promptly

meted out. They were tried imme-diately, and were sentenced to hangon the 28th day of March, 1884.That, however, was not the end ofthe list of dead or doomed whichbegan with Johnny Tappenier onthat fateful night in December, 1883.There was still the matter of JohnHeath in jail under suspicion as anaccomplice to the robbery and sub-sequent murders. Heath, like hisfriend Howard, came from Texas. Hehad arrived in Bisbee only 10 daysbefore the massacre, and had goneinto the saloon business with a Mr.W ait. During the trial, the informa-tion came out that he and Tex How-ard had run cattle together for threeyears in Texas. They had driftedapart, and then met again near thetown of Clifton, Arizona. Du ring thetrip from Clifton to Bisbee the twopartners increased to six with theaddition of Bill Delaney, Red Sample,Dan Kelly, and Big Ben Dowd. Ben,

Red and Yorke had intended to go toMexico, and Heath was going to Bis-bee to open up a legitimate business.It was Tex Howard who planned thehold-up and persuaded the others tojoin him. Throughout, he seemed tobe the ring-leader.But whether his intentions weregood or ill in coming to Bisbee, JohnHeath became involved in the mass-acre and was sentenced to 20 yearsin the territorial prison at Yuma forbeing an accessory to murder. Heathhimself was probably glad to get offwith no worse punishment, but notso the citizens of Bisbee. Four oftheir townsmen had been shot downin cold blood, and they were not tobe appeased with anything short ofdeath for anyone who had anythingto do with the murder.On the morning of February 22,1884, over 50 armed townsmen rodeover the Mule mountains into Tomb-stone. They obtained a rope from astore, part owner of which was thesame Joe Goldwater who had opened

the safe and handed over the loot tothe bandits on the night of the mass-acre. By the time the inhabitants ofTombstone were up that morning,John Heath was hanging very limpand lifeless from a telephone pole.The coroner's inquest on the bodyread, "I find that the deceased diedof emphysima of the lungs, whichmight have been caused by strangu-lation, self-inflicted or otherwise."Thus was justice meted out to thelast of that ill-fated sextet that plan-ned and carried out the payroll rob-

bery of the store of Castanado andGoldwater which turned into thebloody chapter in Arizona's historyknown as the Bisbee Massacre. / / /12 / Desert Maanzinfl /


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N E V A D A H A S T H E C R A Z I E S T T H I N G SG R A C E K e n d r i c k

!&,%

I T IS AT this time of year thatresidents and visitors to westernNevada keep a watchful eye forthe famous Walker Lake Sea Serpent.Rolling from his subterranean cavernto bask himself in the sun, he is mostlikely to be seen twined about thestony lime-covered rocks near thesteep cliffs on the western shores ofWalker Lake. On occasions fisher-men have seen him in the center ofthe lake, sticking his head above thewater to peer around. When this spe-cial event takes place, the experiencedfishermen will expect to catch theprized 20-pound cutthroats in thesafe and shallow water near the banksoi: the lake.An explanation for the fabulousanimal's existence seems more plaus-ible since the discovery of the ichthyo-saur fossils 100 miles to the east ofWalker. It is app aren t tha t the ser-pent, like the ichthyosaurs, swam into

this area (perhaps from a ScottishLoch) while the ocean lapped onthese shores. In a later eon, when thegreat Lake Lahontan covered much ofwestern Nevada, he wasn't so crowd-ded for room and probably swamback and forth with his sisters to thearea which is now Pyramid Lake.The first written record of theaquatic dragon was a front-page itemin the second issue of the HawthorneNews. This September, 1928 articlestates that the Sea Serpent hadn'tbeen seen since the big celebration to

honor the commission of the U. S.Naval Ammunition Depot at Haw-thorn e. It was asserted the roa r ofthe airplanes had so filled this sen-

sitive creature with terror that hecowered to the 140-foot depths of hisbriny home.In 1931 ah "unusual action" tookplace in Walker Lake. The watergrew dirty-looking and a yellow algaerose to the surface. Th e navy orderedthe naval beach closed until thesituatio n could be investigated. Old-timers testified that similar eruptions

from the lake had been known tohave taken place, often on a moon-light night. One theory was that sub-terranean springs, which supposedlyfed into the lake, had broken throughthe surface of the lakebed, causingthe sudden disturbance. But the fav-orite explanation was that their be-loved Sea Serpent had been scratchinghis belly on the basin of one of thedeeps of the ancient Lake Lahontan.A saloon near the cliffs of the 17-mile-long lake promises that visitorswill be able to see the serpent afterpartak ing of four highballs. In spiteof this, however, many sober and sin-cere people have attested to havingactually seen the monster. Tw ophotographs have been "taken" inmodern times. One was submitted toa Reno newspaper by an unknownphotographer. The Reno paper print-ed the picture in 1929 and continues,even today, to keep its readers abreastof the serpent's activities.The other picture was given to pos-terity on February 2, 1930, by "Doc"

Bott. Early that m orning "Doc" wastrying to get a snapshot of a ground-hog making his annual weather pre-diction when he spotted the Sea Ser-

pent resting on the rocks at the mo uthof an eerie cavern. "Doc" rushedhome, "developed" his film, and madethousands of prints of it. These heplaced in his Golden Key Drug Store,Hawthorne, Nevada, where they havebeen on sale for the past 30 years.In tracing the source of the Ser-pent's "discovery" by white man, onefinds many references to Indian tra-

dition and legends. An interviewwith some of the residents of nearbySchurz Indian Reservation revealedthat it could not have been a legendof Indian origin, since Walker has al-ways been a favorite Indian fishingground. Th e superstitious Piuteswould never have gone near a lakein which a devil of the sea cavorted.Whatever his origin, his destiny iscertain. The inlet to Walker Lakehas been shut off in the 20th centuryand its precious water has been divert-ed to run over alfalfa fields and

through kitchen sinks. The elevationof the lake has dropped 80 feet. Asthe water receeds, the lake's alkalinityand salinity will become so high thatits prized cutthroat trout will be un-able to survive. Eventu ally, the SeaSerpent will be incarcerated in adried bed of calcareous tufa forma-tions.Until then, however, the people ofNevada will keep him alive. UnlikePuff, the Magic Dragon who crawledinto a dark dungeon and died be-cause his master grew up and had no

further use for him, the belovedWalker Lake Sea Serpent will con-tinue to romp and play in the salinewaters of beautiful Lake Walker. / / /


14/44


15/44

of Massacre Canyonby JoKnight

reservation east of Massacre Canyonat thefoot of Mt.SanJacinto. OldVictoriana, their last chieftain, diedinthe year 1890. When telling thestoryhe used to say, "Thebattle tookplacemaybe350 yearsago."At that time the sixtribes happilyshared theresources of thelushSanfacinto Valleythe springs, thewild-life, and particularly thechia, a wildgrain which the Indian womenground together with acorns tomakea highly nutritious flour.Then came a daywhen droughtdestroyed thechia crop of the Te-meculas. The Temeculas were atribe ofstrangers to thesouthwestofthe Valley andwar-like by nature.Hungry anddesperate, they movednorthward tofall upon thechia cropbelonging to theIvah tribe.The chief of the Ivahs rode out

from camp to protest. A recklessyoung Temecula brave responded byshooting a feather from the chief-tain's resplendent headdress. Thechief returned to his tribe at onceand prepared them for theeasyvic-tory heanticipated on thenextday.But by morning reinforcements

had come from Temecula. Thoughgreatly outnumbered, theIvahs foughtvaliantly. At last, completely sur-rounded, they were forced deep intothe canyon andtrapped by the pre-cipitous wall. With only a handfulof young braves left, they foughtstubbornly, "stopping only todie,"asChief Victoriana put it.Thus Massacre Canyon receiveditsname, given it many years later byearly white settlers whoheard fromthe lips of oldVictoriana how thefearless Ivahs, with their backs to

wall, fought tothefinish. / / /Boulders andfallen tree trunks obstruct thepath where, at thelower falls,most hikers give up thetrail. Upper falls are one-quarter mile beyond thispoint.

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INTERNATIONAL METALPRODUCTS DIVISIONMcGraw-Edison CompanyDept. 64D, 5OO So. 15th St.,Phoenix, Arizona


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Small Moki ruin between Mexican Hat and Hall's Crossing, Utah, exploredby author's son and friend. Right: This m ay be last photo of road built byStanton in 1903 to ca rry dredge to the Colorado.W ATER LAPPED against slabsof red sandstone that lay un-der our sleeping bags. Starshung in the heavens and all was well.I felt like a water lily floating on alogrelaxed, serene.But it didn't last long. Crystalstars, rippling waters and westerlywinds move subtly. We had no ideawe'd awaken at daylight to the threatof a storm. And, on the ColoradoRiver's newly formed Lake Powell,that's quite a threat. White-capsthreshed against strong winds. Heavyclouds covered the sun. We packedour gear into the outboard motor boatwe'd rented from Frank Wright atHall's Crossing and sped from ourcamp back to his pier.Actually, it didn't inconvenience ustoo much. We'd had only pa rt of

the previous day to enjoy Lake Pow-ell, but one more would have leftus even more frustrated. Th ere istoo much to see and do. Two daysor 20 couldn't begin to satisfy us.Every 24 hours, at the time of ourvisit, the water level rose another twofeet. Canyons that had been boxedsince the coming of white man werefor the first time about to be revealed.Frank Wright had taken us on ashort tour that included Moki Can-yon and shown us a ruin of Mokidwellings tucked into a cliffside cave.Like a minute toy village, flat flag-stone chips formed walls high above

our heads. Footho lds, called MokiSteps by unprofessional archeologists,indented the steep golden walls abovethe water's level and led to thelofty dwellingits only access. I'dnever have made it home in Mokidays, I decided, comparing their stepswith my own Swede-sized feet. FrankWright said that in all his years ofColorado river-running, only fourmembers of his boating parties everscaled the walls to examine this ruin.

Further up Moki Canyon, beyonda point where Colorado River waterformerly reached, we commentedupon another elongated shadowbarely visible in the canyon's wall.So high, in fact, that from groundlevel where Frank had frequentlyhiked in the old days, he'd been un-aware of it. As I wondered aloudif their might be ruins nestled into ittoo, Frank shouted, "Look, there areMoki steps!" And sure enough, faint,but distinct footholds led up to thecavern. As Lake Pow ell's water levelrises toward its ultimate goal thisnew cave will become visible toboaters. How I wish we could bethere to see it first!

Hall's Crossing is located towardthe upper end of the lake. A year agowe boated on the lower part nearGlen Canyon Dam. The lake thereweaves a beautiful abysmal path be-tween red and gold walls, into mys-terious channels cut by ancientsprings, and below the majestic, in-

C A V E S

timidating structure of the dam. ButHall's Crossing is entirely different.Here your soul soars through endlessspace and across watery basins. To-day's beach will be tomorrow's lakebottom, but the terrain rises slowlyand boating and camping along itwill only grow better.

Although not as deep as those be-low, there are canyons here too,newly filled with water and withsheltered coves. Many of them carrya story. There's Stanton's Canyonwith its steep ramp cut into a rockycliff down which Brewster Stantonhauled a dredge in 1903. Convincedthat a fortune awaited him underthe waters of the Colorado, he waschagrined to find that one day's :

16 / Desert Magazine / September, 1964


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U P'Swt./

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v T O Mfrom Mexican Hat travel it in a littleover two hours. It is nego tiable bypassenger car, if you drive carefullyand watch for rough spots that arenow and then hacked up by trucks.The weather cleared as we moved in-land, so we stopped often to explore.

What country! Like Ferdi Grofe'sGrand Canyon Suite, it should beset to music. Swirling masses of bed-rock with sage-filled crevices spuninto swollen dunes of soft pink sand.Then smooth loaves of puffy boulders

Left: Mysterious cavern where mod-ern cave dwellers made a home. Belowleft: Jack Pepp er finds whittlefscache in crevice of cave. Right: Rockcarving by Mormon pioneers who,after crossing the Colorado throughhole-in-the-rock, met this desolatescene.crowded into a stunted juniper for-est. But not for long. Bubblingsprings suddenly gave birth to a fer-tile valley where cows lazed undercottonwood trees, so contentedly thateven the bulls were bovine.

We stopped beside a spring to pic-nic and fill our canteens with sweetwater, and Jack couldn't resist an im-pulse to explore. While our son,Trent, his friend Scotty Barrett, andI climbed a rocky wash into a canyonwhere we expected to find a cave ruin ,but didn't, Jack hung back to pokeamong crevice-like caves along thewall of the canyon. One showedsigns of smoke and a chink in thetop of the narrow cave formed anatu ral chimney. Althoug h this cavewas entirely different from nearbycave shelters which harbored rock andadobe dwellings distinctive to thisarea, Jack persisted, digging outguano with his shovel and examiningcracks between the rocks. Tucked intoone he detected an end of cord. Dig-ging and prying finally revealed apiece of wood. Carefully Jack workedit loosea carved wooden implement.What it is, we don't know, but I'm

;; ' ;"

; V S H ' 4 ' - ' . A ' , ; '

sure nobody else would have foundit. The cord is woven of fibre andthe wood is well-worked, sabre-shapedbut with a notch carved into the topof it, like a short attl. The cord waswrapped about the handle. It couldhave been whittled by a prospectoror sheep herder who sought shelterduring a storm in the cave above thewash, but a stubby log hoarded withthe hidden implement suggested thatits artistan intended to return andcarve again. It also could have beenthe work of an ancient Indian.This was only the first mystery.Ano ther soon followed. But first weinspected a Moki ruin in a cave shel-ter beside the road. It was small and,although of interest, we were growingblase about ancient dwellings and onein such an obvious location didn'thold our interest long. While Jackdrove, I scanned the mountains andvalleys through binoculars and sud-denly yelped, "What's that?"

We were still asking the same ques-tion after hiking a mile or so upa handmade road carved from thewalls of a deadend valley. At its head,and high above its floor, yawned agreat, deep cavern. It wasn't un tilwe'd climbed into it that we recog-nized it for what it wasa hideout.Rickety furniture included a brokencamp cot and splindly legged table.Pulp magazines and Los Angelesnewspapers with dates from 1952-54were crumpled on the floor. Amongthe debris we found a child's shoes, aman's khaki jacket, an unsigned un-employment compensation applica-tion and an insurance paper for amobile home registered in the nameof a resident of Los Alamos, New

18 / Desert Magazine / September, 1964


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Mexico. Because of atomic energyactivity there, we decided that theroad to the cave and the low, rockwall along its rim had been construc-ted to provide shelter for a family whowas bomb shy! If all that labor hadbeen fostered by something more con-structive than fear, the unemploy-ment compensation papers wouldhave been unnecessary. Th ere wereno signs of mining or prospecting in-terests around the cave. Until LakePowell was recently filled, this roadwas rarely traveled and a man couldhave hidden indefinitely. Perhapsour modern cave-dweller wasn't bombshy after all. Maybe he had otherreasons for seeking obscurity.From this fertile land of caves andsprings, we approached anotherchange in terrain. Th e earth droppedaway and an endless desert lay below.Here our symphony assumed a poig-nant phase. This road followed the

old Mormon trail cut by pioneers whocrossed the Colorado by dismantlingtheir wagons and passing them downthrough a hole in the rock. After theshort haven of fertile valley throughwhich we'd just passed, the forebodinglandscape which now lay before usmust have sorely tried their courage.No wonder one of the party stoppedto carve "Make Peace With God" intoa rock. He probably doubted thathe'd live to reach the end.Our reaction was less desperate.Like a world of giant mine tailings,

crusted earth heaved, flowed, andbumped downward as far as we couldsee. Some of it was yellow, some blue,pink, white, charcoal, orange andpurple. A vibrant green slashedthrough it all, the famous Chinlestructure associated with uranium.We wound through the strangelypainted desert along a serpentine roadthat eventually carried us to a newkind of countrywhite country.

White cliffs, white boulders, anddeceptively flat white terrain border-ed the fantasy land of White Canyon.This deep slice wedged from theearth's surface in Utah's San JuanCounty encompasses Natural BridgesNational Monum ent. I must confessthat we'd looked down upon thiswonder before, somewhat unimpres-sed. This time we decided to hike to(Continued on Page 32)Above: Kachina Bridge. Left: Unusualpetroglyphs which resemble handsand fingers imprinted into soft clay.Others are painted in yellow ochre.Placed high on the wall, they musthave been executed from a platformplaced upon the ledge of the cavern.


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W HITE MEN HAVE been col-lecting arrowheads, one wayor another, ever since theylanded on Plymouth Rock and startedpre-empting the red man's land. Butwhat was once uncomfortable for thewhite man and sport for the Indianhas become a favorite Western pas-time for both. Any weekend now youmay see the collector, with his scoopstick and bent head, following Indiantrails through sand, rocks and trees,up mountains, in and out of canyons,hopefully looking for the points hisancestors tried to dodge.A friend and ardent arrowheadcollector, going through our rock boxone day, exclaimed, "This is an oldIndian flint awl! Get it out of thoserocks and on cottonit's priceless!"Well, when one of your worthlessrocks suddenly turns out to be "price-less" it is bound to rouse your inter-est. That was the beginning of the

trail for us. We started by going backto the place where we had found theflint tool. We didn 't know how tofind new sites and a good spot is

by Julia C rawsomething not even your best friendwill tell you. But, as we studied andhiked and hunted, we graduallylearned to locate new areas of ourown.

We now play a game of "might-have-been." Might they have had avillage on that hill? Would they havecamped at that spring? What aboutthat big bunch of rocks? To stand in aspot where the ashes of ancient camp-fires, grinding stones, and droppedtools have lain for centuries, undis-turbed; to be able to conjure fromthis inanimate evidence a living,colorful village life; to build yourown stories around the questions-how many families lived here? Didthey come for seed gathering, huntingor ceremonies? Where did they go?this is the reward at the end of everytrail.

By the undisturbed condition ofa camp we are able to discern whe-ther or not other collectors have foundit before us. If not, the camp is ours.We name it, sometimes suitably,sometimes fancifully, map it and enterit in a diary. Among others we haveBrown Awl, Mustang Spring, DeepMortar, Twin Butte, Lakeview, andCalico-chip. If we are lucky enoughto find surface souvenirs in the shape

of points, charms, or tools, we arehappy; if not, we are still happywehave the camp!"But," our friends ask. "how doyou find new camps?"Our answer is that it is 25% guess-work and 75% legwork. This is anindoor-outdoor hobby. The moretime you spend on the former, theeasier it is on the latter. The prere-

quisite to a good guess is to acquirethorough knowlege of the area andthe habits of the Indians who livedin it.If a large part of their diet con-sisted of pinon nuts, don't look ina juniper grove for their camp; ifthey chose high spots for funeral cere-monies (not necessarily connectedwith graves) you will hu nt for beadson the highest hill near a camp. Ifyou have learned that they ate clamsand snails from the lakes and rivers,a marine shell in a sand dune indi-cates you are on the trail.The second half of the homeworkis maps all kinds of maps, but thebest is topographical. These may beobtained at almost any large book-store, or you can order them from theGeological Survey, Federal Center,Denver 25, Colorado. A request willbring you a list of the maps availableby area. These m aps will give youthe tree line, the water sources, theold trailsthe white men's trails usu-ally followed the Indian'sdry lakes,

and canyons. If the waterholes arestill "wet" they will probably be oc-cupied or picked over, as other col-lectors recognize an existing water-hole as the best possibility. We lookfor dry lakes, intermittent river bedsand old springs. A little knowledgeof geology is helpful in recognizingthese.With your homework accomplish-ed, you are ready for the trail. Thebest starting point is a known camp.From this, in at least two directionsa day's journey away, must be other

camps. These people didn't travelfor fun and a day's journey is vari-able, anything from one mile to 15,depending upon terrain and food andwater supply. They carried theirfood, water, fire and tools on theirbacks and they went no farther thanwas necessary to reach the next hunt-ing or harvest area.In looking for the next location,follow a water course to where it en-ters a canyon and look on the southor eastern-facing bluffs just outsidethe canyon mouth. Watch for sanddunes beside a lake, or wide, flatplaces in old river beds. Or go upinto the pinon trees and look foran open sagebrush flat. Tr y to de-


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termine what your starting camp wasused for and then figure out whattheir next harvest would have been,always keeping in mind three thingsvital to a good camp selectionwater,food and protection from enemies.Then add comfort in the shape ofrocks for shelter and sand for cleansoftness. A site you might havechosen for yourself often reveals a

camp. Along with the thrill of dis-covery will come a warming spark ofkinship with the people you are trail-ing. Never again will they be a deadpeople.Here is how we located two of "our"camps. The first one we used, as astarting point, the spot on the topo-graphical map where an old miner'strail entered a canyon. Since wecould only get within a mile of thisspot with the car, we parked onthe dirt mine road and walked in.We found the canyon much as we

had expected it to be from the mapa deep gorge cut into basalt rocks byan old river, now completely dry ex-cept for occasional rainstorms. Wefollowed the trail into the canyonand found, about a quarter of a mileup, a picture gallery of petroglyphson the black canyon walls. This wasa sure sign that a village had beenlocated nearby. Knowing it wouldnot have been down in the canyon,we separated, my husband takingone side and I the other.Below the petroglyph area wherethe canyon widened to a flat, sandybench we found the charcoal, fire-place rocks, and metates of an ancientcamp. Although many small thingshad been carried off by erosion, thevillage was still there, dozing in sun-light and history.From this point, which was at amiddle altitude, we felt the next pos-

sibility would be a pinon camp upthe mountain. It was a hot, three-mile hike up the old river bed to anelevation of almost 1500 feet, but af-ter the first scattering of juniper andscraggly pinon, we climbed higher,over a peak and down, over anotherand there it was! The small valleyahead of us, surrounded by trees andfilled with granite boulders offered aperfect site. We were not surprisedto find proof in every sandy hollowbetween the rocks.

Woodcutter's Camp, we named it,because of the unusual piles of cutwood around the edge. It was here,in the soft ashes of a campsite, thatAndrew found a little, engraved stea-tite charmperfect, except for thehole that is not quite drilled throughon one side. What is its story? Didthe carver quarrel with the one forwhom he was making it and toss itaway? Not likely, as valuable andhard to get as steatite would havebeen up there! More probably itslipped from his fingers into thescuffed dirt and, with only the lightof a campfire to aid him, he lost it. Somany stories you can see in a tiny,handworked stone and a quiet, sleep-ing village!

Don't be discouraged if you can'thike or don't want to; you can stillpursue this hobby with success if youdevelop your guessing skill and keepyour eyes open as you follow the high-ways. One such place we found whileplaying our game of might - have -been. Nothing could have looked lesspromising than a bare, rocky hill atthe side of the road ahead of us, butone of us said, almost as a joke"Those rocks look like good Indianrocks, let's look them over". So, morebecause we were tired of riding thanbecause we hoped to find anything,

we stopped the car below the hill, gotout, stretched and groaned and laugh-ed at ourselves and started climbing.It was a very short climb and not 100feet from the road to the top of therocky hill. There atop its plateauand hidden by boulders around itsedge, we made our best discovery todate.If you climb high enough to get

a good view of your area, pick outthe water source and look for a levelspot below, above, or at the side of it.Look for unusual vegetation. Camp-sites are often covered with foreignplant life due to the seeds broughtfrom other places. Look for Tepee-sized bare spots, for rock rings, ormisplaced rocksfor anything, infact, that seems out of p lace withnature.When all else fails, locate a gametrail and follow it. Indians madetrails from waterhole to waterholeand from camp to camp. When theIndians stopped using them, the an-imals took them over and still followthem. Wild burro and deer trailslead to many camps.Always and forever, of course, beon the watch for chipsthose telltalelittle flakes of jasper and quartz andobsidian that mean that stoneageman walked this trail before you. Fol-low them and they will lead you tohis home.Following them in search of hishome has led us through books of his-tory, geology, geography, botany andzoology; into museums and out todeserts and mountains. Every branchof the trail has been exciting. Westill do not know the monetary valueof the little awl in our rock box, butto us it is indeed priceless. It startedus on this rich trail. / / /

Sand dunes and old lake shore cliffs of California's Shoshone Valley abound with Indian arti-facts. Those in dunes are of more recent origin. Ancient camps were located on these cliffs.


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Joshua TreeNational Monument

A major stand of wild palms in the forgotten oasis.

H AD 24 YEARS of canyon cloud-bursts destroyed the oasis? Orlack of rain caused the palmsto wither and die?In the October, 1940, issue ofDESERT, Hulbert Burroughs paint-ed an intriguing word picture of theForgotten Oasis in Eagle M ountains.But what was it today? To find outfirsthand if Monsen and Lost PalmsCanyons still held their former 170wild Washingtonian Palms, my wife,two children, and I packed our camp-ing gear and set forth for a weekendof fun.Hopefully, I expected that my VWequipped with a Corvair engine andhuge 820x15 rear tires would take usthree and one-half miles from Chiri-aco Summ it (formerly called ShaverSummit) through a sandy wash tothe point where Lost Palms and Mon-sen Canyons meet and begin. At thesmall weathered sign announcingChiriaco Summit, however, I almostchanged my mind. A graded road car-ried us toward the mountain for twomiles and then disappeared into twotracks of a sandy wash. With the

family cheering me on, I jammed thethrottle to the floor and tried to main-tain our momentum through theloose sand, at the same time avoiding

deep tracks in the wash and dodgingsagebrush (sometimes) . T he kidswhooped with laughter as the coursewhizzed up and down, more excitingthan the liveliest roller coaster.

When we reached the end of oursandy trail, there was no doubt aboutit being the end. A wall of bouldershemmed us in on all sides. It wasstill early afternoon, so we decided toexplore a bit on foot before returningto the National Monument's campingground for the night. Fortunatelythere is a trail to follow, but at timesit dips into the bottom of the can-yon and we had to scramble overrocks to make headway.

At the beginning of the canyon, wefound a beautiful cluster of palms,and another further along the trail.After that, they seemed to file inde-pendently, standing in contrast toeverything else about the desert. Al-though we didn't find any potsherds,we learned later that Joseph Chiriaco,who has maintained the Summit'swater supply for 30 years, has foundseveral hundred pieces of pottery andseveral grindin g stones. It is his beliefthat Lost Palms Canyon was oncepart of a vast trail network that wentfrom spring to spring throughout theentire desert area. In order to have

TheUnforgettable

ForgottenOasis

YUawin Vatchen


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\ M ^ : ? ? ^

time to explore Monsen Canyon, wemade our turn-around where thehiking trail from Cottonwood Springsmet Lost Palms Canyon.The trail to Monsen Canyon ap-peared to be blocked at its entrance,but after a short investigation wefound an opening on the right sideof the canyon which led us aroundthe boulder escarpment. From thenuntil we found our first stand ofpalms, it was a matter of navigating

up and down boulders like a yo-yo.Twisting and weaving along the can-yon floor, we passed one oasis ofwild palms after another. The onlysign that people had been there wasa thin water pipe that stretched overthe top of the ground, eventually end-ing at one of the oasis' springs. Ex-cept in emergency, these springs arenot reliable for drinking water. Laterwe learned that this pipe supplieswater for Chiriaco Summit.In trying to go under a boulderrather than over it, we found a ram'sskull with only one horn. The chil-dren searched the area for more evi-dence of wildlife, but the only thingthey found was a chewed rubber bootwhich had been used to stop a leak inthe plastic water pipe. Even through

|U 'olms - \ HAYFIELDDR Y LAKEm

DeserfCenter

z v . /,, .cp U~c^- :B$Mki&ma bailing wire with jagged ends thatheld the boot in place, thirsty coyoteshad gnawed their way to water.

At each stand of palms we tried totake an inventory, but at each countall four of us came up with a differ-ent number. Perhaps averaging thetotals would have given an accuratefigure, but it was too nice a day toworry about arithmetic. Someoneelse will have to decide whether theformer number of 170 has increasedor decreased.When we reached what appeared tobe the last osais, I had the familywait while I scouted ahead. Theclimb seemed to require vertical scal-ing, which we were not equipped toperform. From atop a steep climb upa short waterfall, I could see that theangle of the canyon steepened. Al-though they may have been hiddenfrom view, I saw no further palms.

The trip up and down Monsen,which is the most scenic of the twocanyons, took us an unhurried sixhours. It would be possible for a con-ventional passenger car to drive as faras Cottonwood Springs campgroundand then you could hike over a well-marked three-and-a-half-mile trail tothe canyon. The hike from Cotton-wood Springs to the foot of LostPalms Canyon is an easy one, but tocover both canyons requires an earlystart and not much dilly-dallying.

Both canyons are located in theJoshua Tree National Monument andcamping in undesignated areas is notallowed. In spite of the park's popu-larity, its history is vague and fewvisitors ever pass far beyond the mainroads. A jet flew overhead and weimagined its passengers commentingupon the barren, sterile desert below,never dreaming that there a happyfamily wandered among palms.

Monsen Canyon was named by awriter who believed he had discoveredthis canyon and who was a greatadmirer of Dr. Frederick Monsen,the famous photographer of Indianlife. Old-timers who knew Lost PalmsCanyon as Stutterfield and MonsenCanyon as Jack Fork objected, butthe new names persisted.Early prospectors in the canyonswere not rewarded with gold, butthey did turn up a fair amount ofhoney found in canyon wall crevices.A crude ladder described by Bur-roughs in his 1940 DESERT articlewas probably one used by prospectorsfor raiding bee hives.Whether you enter this area viaChiriaco's Summit, or hike from Cot-tonwood Springs the trip provides a

pleasant outing for desert enthusi-asts, and as we did, you'll find theForgotten Oasis in Eagle Mountainunforgettable. / / /


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B Y J A C K P E P P E RW HEN WE BUZZED the fieldprior to landing at Mulege,I couldn't see a person below.However, when the propellers of ourTwin Beech stopped and we openedthe door, there were at least two doz-en persons on hand. Representa-tives of Mulege hotels, departingpassengers, and fishing guides wereoutnumbered by local residents. Acouple of burros even strayed overto join the festivities. Althoughplanes land at Mulege and otherBaja communities three times a week,their arrivals are always a festiveoccasion, giving the natives somethingto do.

Much has been written about therugged roads of Baja. Because theseroads present a slow method of travel,9 0 % of those natives and travelershaving any distance to cover, go byair . It is fast, safe and scenic. It isalso the best way for those who donot care for the rugged life, who likecomfortable accommodations withtheir fishing, and who wish to samplenative life with a minimum of timefor traveling and on a limited budget.

On my flight from Tijuana toMulege, we stopped at a fishing re-sort, Bahia de Los Angeles, to pickup a young Los Angeles advertising

Last in a series featuring the ad-ventures of DESERT's Editor andPublisher on a recent expedition toBaja California with author-ad-venturer Erie Stanley Gardner.executive and his wife, Mr. and Mrs.Sy Schneider. After two days atBahia, they decided to try skin divingand fishing further south at Mulege.Two months later, when Choral andI boarded a plane at Bahia de LosAngeles after another trip to Bahia,we met the Schneiders again. Theyhad spent several days at Mulege, thistime bringing their nephew and twosons.

Regardless of how you travel inBaja, you are going to meet interest-ing travelers. I call them travelers asthey are more than tourists. They aretraveling because they are interestedin learning about Baja and its people.One of the reasons Erie Stanley Gard-ner's books about Baja are so read-able, is because he makes you feel youare with him and are meeting theinteresting people with whom he hashad experiences.

Sam Hicks, the long lanky formerWyoming cowboy who is Erie Stan-ley Gardner's ranch foreman and

mainstay on his expeditions, met meat the airport and introduced me toother members of the expedition, al-ready described by Choral in pre-vious articles of this series. Choraland Uncle Erie were already at thebase camp some 50 miles south ofMulege.Having been told I would lead arugged, outdoor life during the nextfour days, I brought a sleeping bagand jeans in a pack. Actually, it waswhat I needed, but our first stop atthe Club Aereo, a short distance from

the airfield, gave me doub ts. One ofthree hotels in Mulege, it is as mod-ern as any in the States.Over a cold Cerveza at the bar, Iasked Sam, "This is rugged Baja?"Later I discovered that fishing re-sorts are like oasesfew and far be-tween. Most have been built w ith acombination of American and Mexi-can capital and ownership, designedfor the comfort of travelers who flydown to relax in the sympatico Bajaatmosphere. Once you leave the fish-

ing resorts, you find Baja is rugged!The Club Aereo is located on abluff above the salt water estuarywhich goes inland one mile to thecommunity of Mulege. A f

196409 desertmagazine 1964 september

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