195604 Desert Magazine 1956 April

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Rhyolite, Nevada, 1942. John Hilton photo.D E S E R T E V E N I N GBy MARGARET HYATT

Clearfield, UtahThe desert sings deep purple chordsTo match the evening sky,With scented winds from canyon fords.To waft the lullaby.And over jagged mountain wallsThe moon's round lantern loomsTo light those shakoed sentinals.The yuccas' clustered blooms.

VIGNETTEBy JOSEPHINE HENRYSanta Ana, CaliforniaCloud swept vistas

Tawny sandRainbow spanningSky and land.Star flecked deserlSilent spaceEarth reflectingHeaven's grace.

L A T E S T G A D G E TBy GRACE BARKER WILSONKirtland, New MexicoThe fevered search forrare uraniumHa s setthe great southwestern lands a-hum.Prospecting parties range on desert hills;Dispute about conflicting claims now fills

The gossip column and the daily press.Illegal practice, and ill-timed duress,Get-rich-quick dreams are driving peoplemad.A geiger counter isthe latestfad.

N O O N ?By DARRELL A. TOTTENHenderson, NevadaThe desert urges one tothinkOf things other than food and drink.Perhaps itsrestless sands can tellJust how each eon's shadow fell.Man knows so little ofthe pastOut ofwhich he has come so fast.For Man the minute isthe dye

That marks the hour passing by.Marking the years we cann ot seeChallenging our credulityA desert measures eternitv.

EVENING P RIMRO SEBy GEORGIA JORDAN

San Bernardino, CaliforniaWhen evening shadows fall, primroses peepFrom out acanopy of leafy green,A daily shade from burning desert sun.Refreshed byevening air, thebuds areseenUnfolding, giving fragrance toenjoy.The dainty primrose cheeks ofpetal whiloAre blushing with soft tints ofrose,Awaiting kisses from the starry night.Escaping from tumultuous city life,[ pause and rest beside the desert bloom.Enchanted by theevening's haunting charmAnd peaceful solitude. The silent loomOf Spring isweaving on the desert sandPrimroses created by the Master hand.

DESERT MO RNBy O. S. PINCKNEYMariposa, California

Awake! and look toward the eastThere where Aurora nowrolls back Ihcflaming gates ofdawnAnd asthat rosy portal opens wide, scattersthe shadowsOf the night that's gone.And as that sunsoars up toward Heaven'sdomeObliterating shadows onits wayThe Painter enters with His brush inhandTo paint the glories of anew-born day.The Sego Lily lifts her dainty headAnd, blushing, gazes on that golden sun.Winds whisper, softly o'er the desert sand.Awake! Behold! Another day's begun.

By TANYA SOUTHLet each day be as if itwereThe last foryou onearth,With love and kindness torestore.And all the things ofworthApportioned proper place and tune.

And you shall find your wayWith flowers gayly on it strewnEach livelong day.

By PANSYE H. POWELLSalt Lake City, UtahNo stranger's feet should tread these rottingboardsNor unknown hands push doors that hangajar.Fo r all the golden past this dead townhoardsWould vanish at acurious touch. The starThat shines above it sends no searching lightInto deserted corners, which would tellWhere wraiths arecrouching as thecomingnightAwakes tothe coyote's vesper bell.Better toleave this old town toits dreamsStep gently that no sleeping echoes wake;No spoken word should shake the dustybeamsThat shelter bats and the guardian rattle-snake.Here none should enter but the aged fewThese weed-grown walks and cobwebbedhomes once knew.

THE DESERT'S TOUCHBy MIRIAM R. ANDERSONSan Bernardino, California

I long forthe desert's breath again, and thehigh clear coyote's song,And the wind inmy face and the pattern oftrails as I ride along;I long for theclean soft sand once morewhere mesquite trees bend and blow,And the stars come awake in the closefriendly sky that only the deserts know.I long for their healing peace again, for aquiet brooding hill,An d the purpling haze of the far clearheights and the range ofspace they fillI long for thedesert's homing touch, andthe wind and stars and sand,Yet nomatter how farfrom itstrails T maygo, T am still within His Ha nd.

P RAIRIE YEARNINGBy PEARL RIGGS CROUCHAshland, OregonOh, for a tree when myheart yearns outOver the reaching dryland plain!The muted murmuring ofleaves,The croon ofnesting birds again!

A tree, whose gracious spreading boughsGive dewy shade from noonday sun;A tree tochant avesper hymnOf gratitude when day isdone!Only a leafy, swaying treeIn slanting veils ofsummer rainMy heart would sing with a thousand hopes.

Here on the reaching, dryland plain!W H O S E T S H I S F O O T U P O NTHESE HILLS

By MILDRED BREEDLOVELas Vegas, NevadaWho sets his foot upon this desert waste,And sees the rainbows ofthese barren hills.May find the image cannot be erasedBy greening springs andsnow-banked win-dow sills.Who tramps upon this rocky, desert rangeFor health; forgold; by accident orchoice,Where mountains flaunt a constant colorchange,And only space and solitude have voiceMay find thedays grown sweet with desertair,Where purple hills become abinding chain.And wake one day, tofind that, un aware.His heart became acaptive tothe plain.DESERT MAGAZINE

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D E S E R T C f l L E n D D R1 Easter Sunrise Services:The Cross-on-the-Mesa, two mileswest of Taos, New Mexico; 22ndAnnual Grand Canyon Services;Sand Dunes, Death Valley NationalMonument, California.San Felipe, SantoDomingo and various other New

Mexican Pueblos, Spring CornDances. toPetrified Forest and Navajoland,from Phoenix, Arizona.6-8 Seventh Annual Fiestaand Rodeo, Truth or Consequences,New Mexico.7 Palm Springs, California,Desert Museum Field Trip toHorsethief Canyon.8-22 Painting and SculptureShow, Fine Arts Gallery, Tucson,Arizona. Jam-boree, Tucson, Arizona.9-13 Desert Caballeros Ride

and Las Damas Trek, Wickenburg,Arizona.ers and Ceramists, Phoenix, Ari-zona, Art Center.Yuma, Arizona.Day at White SandsNational Monument, Alamogordo,New Mexico.14-15 Sierra Club Hike toClark Mountain, 32 miles east ofBaker, California.pril 14-15Yuma County Sheriff'sPosse Horse Show and Kid's Ro-d e o , Yuma, Arizona.pril 14-15 Children's Parade andFiesta at La Placita, Tucson, Ariz.pril 15Old Timers' Reunion, Ala-mogordo, New Mexico.pril 17 Old Timers' Celebration,Deming, New Mexico.April 18-19 Fiesta de las Flores,Tucson, Arizona.April 18-22 Yuma County Fair,Yuma, Arizona.April 19 Spring Flower Show atMezona, Mesa, Arizona.April 19-22 20th Annual DesertCircus, Palm Springs, California.pril 21-22Sierra Club Joshua TreeNational Monument, California,outing; camp at Indian Cove camp-ground.pril 21-22Rabbit Show, Roswell,New Mexico.pril 21-22, 28-29, May 5-6 Ra-mona Pageant, Hemet, California.pril 22Annual Spring WildflowerFestival, Hi Vista east of Lancaster,California.pril 27Miss Ogden Pageant, Og-den, Utah.pril 28 Palm Springs, California,Desert Museum Field Trip to Oasisof 49 Palms in Joshua Tree Na-tional Monument. Jun-ior Indian Art Show, Museum ofNorthern Arizona, Flagstaff.onth of April Free Spring ArtExhibition at Taos, New Mexico.onth of AprilSpecial Exhibit ofHopi Kachinas and Old Bultos andRetablesstatues and paintings ofsaints from New Mexico, South-west Museum, Highland Park, LosAngeles, California.

Volume 19COVERPOETRYCALENDARWILDLIFEWILDFLOWERSNATUREGHOST TOWNFIELD TRIPHISTORYFORECASTADVENTUREDESERT QUIZEXPERIENCE

PRE-HISTORYCLOSE-UPSGARDENINGLETTERSCONTESTFICTIONNEWSMININGURANIUMHOBBYLAPIDARYCOMMENTBOOKSPHOTOGRAPHY

APRIL, 1956 Number 4

Blossoms of the Giant Saguaro CactusPhotograph by HARRY VROMAN

Ghost Town and other poems 2April events on the desert 3In the Land of the Pronghorn

By NELL MURBARGER 4Flowering predictions for April 9The Rarest Pinyon, by EDMUND C. JAEGER . . 10Ghost City on Mingus Mountain

By GROVER BRINKMAN 11Serpentine Miners of Salt Creek Canyon

By JAY ELLIS RANSOM 13Las Vegas Spring, by WALTER FORD . . . . 17Southwest river runoff predictions 18They Spurn the Easy Route

By LOUISE TOP WERNER 19A test of your desert knowledge 22The Gold I Lost in Morgan City W ash

By PALMER C. ASHLEY 23Tuzigoot, by JOHN L. BLACKFORD 24About those who write for Desert 26It's Perennial Planting Time

By RUTH REYNOLDS 27Comment from Desert's readers 29Picture-of-the-month Contest announcement . . 29Hard Rock Shorty of Death Valley 30From here and there on the Desert 31Current nevre of desert mines 37Progress of the mining boom 38Gems and Minerals 40Amateur Gem Cutter, by DR. H. C. DAKE . . . 45Just Between You and Me, by the Editor . . . 46Reviews of Southwestern Literature 47Pictures of the Month back cover

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Press, Inc., Palm Desert,California. Re-entered as second class matter July 17, 1948, at the postoffice at Palm Desert,California, under the Act of March 3, 1870. Title registered No.358865 in U. S. Patent Office,and contents copyrighted 1956 by the Desert Press, Inc. Permission to reproduce contentsmust be secured from the editor in writing.RANDALL HENDERSON, EditorBESS STACY, Business Manager EUGENE L. CONROTTO, Associate EditorEVONNE RIDDELL, Circulation ManagerUnsolicited manuscripts and photographs submitted cannot be re turned or acknowledgedunless full return postage is enclosed. Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility fordamage or loss of manuscripts or photographs although due care will be exercised Sub-scribers should send notice of change of address by the first of the month preceding issue.SUBSCRIPTION RATES

One Year $4.00 TwoYears $7.00Canadian Subscriptions 25cExtra, Foreign 50c Ext raSubscriptions to Army Personnel Outside U. S. A. Must Be Mailed in Conformity WithP . 0. D. Order No. 19687

Address Correspondence to Desert Magazine, Palm Desert, California1 9 5 6


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Alert and cautious, antelope group investigates the danger at hand. Photographby Murial Jacobs.

In the Land of the Pronghorn...Prior to man's westward migration across this continent in themiddle of the last century, the antelope was counted in the millions.After the migration was nearly completed and the slaughter-riflessilenc ed, only a handful of these fleet anim als rema ined. This is thestory of what is being done today to correct this man-made near-tragedy,particularly on the Sheldon Antelope Refuge of northwestern Nevada,largest in the nation.

By NELL MURBARGERMap by Norton Allen

Y FIRST SIGHT of wildP r o n ghorn antelopes came ona summer morning, a numberof years ago, while riding through theMassacre Lakes country in northwest-ern Nevada.They were standing on a sage-grownflat, not more than a hundred yardsawaya dozen small, slender-limbedanimals, their gray-tan color blend-ing with the soft colors of the land-scape . For the space of two or threebreaths 1 stared a t the little band , an dthe animals stared back at meeveryone of them frozen as still as a figurepainted on canvas. Their small, neatheads were held proudly erect and Icould sense that every stiff hair ontheir bodies was bristling with alert-ness.Suddenly, they whirled, and theirwhite rump flags were bounding offthrough the sage great, effortless

bounds that reminded me, somehow,of cascading water, and music.As my horse started down the dustytrail, 1 felt as if I had been lookingthrough a tiny peephole into the past.For one fleeting but unforgetful mo-ment I had gazed upon a living symbolof a vanished era the era of thebison and Redman, of creaking emi-grant wagons and long rifles, of beardedgiants driving into the sunset, of theantelope.

Since that day, I have encounteredother small bands of pronghorns inseveral Southwestern states. With eachband sighted, I have thought of man'sbelated battle to rescue the antelopefrom extinction, f have wond ered ifthat effort was proving successful, howthe program was being administeredand what were its major problems.For the answers to those questions Iwent directly to the biggest antelope

reserve in the United Statesthe Shel-don National Antelope Refuge and theadjacent Charles Sheldon AntelopeRange, embracing between them nearly1000 square miles of territory in thenorthwest corner of Nevada.Benjamin Hazeltine, refuge man-ager, gave me permission to set uphousekeeping in an Army tent in theheadqu arters area. Later, I moved 50miles across the refuge to sub-head-quarters on the old Dufurrena ranchat the mouth of Virgin Valley, where Irenewed acquaintance with my friends,Mr. and Mrs. Murial Jacobs.Murial, a senior employee on therefuge in charge of subheadquarters,has lived around antelopes all his years.He was born just across the state linein the heart of Southern Oregon'spronghorn country. Ben Hazeltine can-not claim as long a personal acquain-tance with antelopes for he transferredto Sheldon only five years ago fromFort Peck, Montana, but he has to hiscredit more than 24 years experiencein game management in Montana andNorth Dakota, which includes someexperience in antelope management,and is thoroughly schooled in wildlifeconservation.With two such men to answer myquestions, I felt I should be able tolearn practically everything there is toknow about an antelope, except, pos-sibly, how to speak his language.

Fastest land creature in North America, only a bullet can outspeed the antelope.This fact was proven many times in pioneer days. Photograph by M urial Jacobs.

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purchased the area's few springs forthe exclusive use of their cattle. Oncethe area was set aside as a refuge, thisproblem was eliminated, but the scar-city of water still continues as a majorproblem.For thepast sixyears the refuge hasconducted a soil and moisture projectfinanced by the Department of theInterior with a special allotment of$6000 to $8000 annually. Set up asa long-range program, the work in-cludes additional development of exist-ing springs, building drift fences, in-stalling gully plugs to halt erosion andbuilding small dams. Insofar as possi-ble effort is made to use college stu-dents majoring in wildlife managementfor this work and 8 to 12 young menare employed each summer."But even with the work accom-plished under this program, water isstill a serious problem on the refugeand probably always will be," said

Hazeltine. "Theonly thing that savesus is the fortunate circumstance thatantelopes eat snowand our wintersgenerally are long. As soon as thereis an inch of snow on the ground, ourwater worries are at least partially overuntil the next spring."The antelope eats many herbaceousplants, I was told. Both a grazer anda browser, his diet is comprised largelyof brush and weeds eaten only in lim-ited quantities by domestic cattle, and

he will thrive and grow fat on rangeof little use to livestock. One of hisfavorite delicacies is a species of low-growing yellow primrose which formsa dense carpeting along the shores ofalkaline lakes and dry lake beds. Notonly in his feeding, but in every phaseof his life, the antelope is a creatureof habit. He follows the same trailsyear after year and thedoes drop theirkids on the same mesas and flats."Sometime," said Murial Jacobs,"habit leads to his downfall. NearHart Mountain refuge in SouthernOre-gon was a small dry flat known asGuano Lake. Migrating antelopes foryears had followed a trail across thisdry lake bedconsequently, once theyfound a thin sheet of water coveringthe flat but didn't detour. Instead theyheaded boldly across the lake. Theresult was that nearly 150animals be-came bogged in the mud and diedbefore anyone discovered them . . ."

Biologically, the pronghorn is re-stricted to Western North America andha s no near relatives among the ante-lopes of the world. He is a small ani-mal, about 40 inches high at theshoulder and mature bucks have anaverage live weight of 100 to 125pounds. Does breed in their secondyear and the kids are dropped in Maythe entire year's crop in a period oftwo weeks, or less. In choosing a birth-place for their young, the does gener-

ally select a site on theopen plains, lessthan two miles from water and wherethe vegetation is not more than a foothigh. Sites grown to the short sage,Artemisia nova, are especially favored,said Hazeltine. The kids, which comein pairs three out of four times, weighfrom 4 to 10 pounds at birth."They're mostly legs and appetite,"said Jacobs. "But don't think theycan't use those legs!"Three day old kids can run fasterthan a man; at 10 days, they can out-distance a fast dog; and a few daysafter that, not much less than a bulletcan overtake them."They are tough little rascals,too,"said Hazeltine. "Du ring the first weekof kidding this year many were bornand thrived during cold, hard windsthat thoroughly chilled wewell-clothedobservers. The second week threestorms brought snow, hail and rain

with no noticeable detrimental effectson the kids."For the first few days of their livesthe youngsters are left cached in thesage by the mother whoreturns aboutevery three hours to let them nurseand enjoy a brief romp. Soon they arebig enough to tag at her heels; andby the first of September, when therutting season usually begins, they areready to weanan operat ion in whichthe bucks help the does by butting the

A :

C H A R L E S S H E L D O N A N T E L O P E R A N G EAntelope Range Boundary - -Antelope Refuge Boundary

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Each buck usually has a harem ofeven or eight. They som e-

"Sometimes," said Murial, "we find

At close of the rutting season, thenew skin begins to grow over the core

While both does and bucks

Ever alert and wary, the little beasts

stiff wh ite ha ir. In time of fancied

' ; ?

Ben Hazeltine, manager of the Sheldon National Antelope Refuge.danger these hairs are raised like thehackles on a dog's neck producing twochrysanthemum-like rosettes. So con-spicuous are these patches they may

Murial Jacobs holds an antelope kid. Photograph s by the author.

be seen with the unaided eye for twomiles. Unless closely pursued, theantelope generally stops before he hasrun more than a few hundred yards.Having halted, he turns to face thepursuer and as he does the rump patchvanishes from viewand with it van-ishes the sight of the antelope.

The pronghorn, incidentally, is themost fleet-footed of all North Ameri-can animals and only the Africancheetah is rega rded as faster. It hasbeen said that the adult antelope canrun 70 miles an hour, but 40 to 45m.p.h. is their average good speed,according to the men at Sheldon."They like to race cars and will runparallel to the highway for miles," saidM urial. "Th ey don 't seem to feel theyhave won the race fairly until theyhave crossed over the road in front ofthe car. Then they run out into thesage a little way and stop and lookbackalmost as if they were laughingat you!"Although able to bound great dis-tances, the antelope will rarely jumpover an obstacle if he can figure anypossible way to go under or around it."Once I was driving along a road in

the late afternoon and shadows of aline of telephone poles were lyingacross the road," continued Murial."An antelope started running down the


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;fe:r^*w#?0*

Headquarters of theCharles Sheldon Antelope Range and Sheldon NationalAntelope Refuge. Photograph bythe author.road ahead of me. Every time he cameto a telephone-pole shadow he leapedhigh in the air to clear ithigh enoughto have carried him over any fence inthe country. Yet, if he had come toa fence, he probably would haveknuckled down and crawled under it!"

Unless raised in captivity from kiddays, an antelope rarely becomesfriendly with people and almost neverventures close to an occupied houseor yard, said Hazeltine."They are different than deer in thisrespect," he pointed out . "Fo r the pastseveral summers a doedeer has raisedher twin fawns around the yard hereat headquarters and hasused our littlepatch of lawn and shrubbery as herspecial browsing grounds. But ante-lopes never let themselves forget thatthey are wild animals . . ."Possibly this inherent distrust ofm an is responsible for the strange situ-ation in which game management au-thorities find their herds today. Withassured feed and water and more thanhalf a million acres set aside for theirprotect ion, Nevada's pronghorns, theo-retically, have never had it so good;thus it came to me as somewhat of ashock to learn that the herd is notprospering.Why? Nobody knows.Predators, it seems, are not theanswer, since the refuge has few coy-otes or bobcats and maintains a goodprogram of predator control . The lossto poachers is relatively small. Thereis loss each year to legalized huntingoutside the refuge boundaries. Thereare incidental losses to winter kill, pro-longed cold spells and periods ofdrouth, but as this is traditional ante-lope country these losses should beno greater than they have been sinceprehistoric times.

Yet, even under rigid protection, itis believed that not more than 15 to25 percent of the antelope kids bornat Sheldon reach maturity, and after20-odd years of refuge status, theSheldon herd is barely holding its ownin number. In 1924 there were anest imated 3700 pronghorns on thelands later included in therefuge; 1945found this number shriveled to an all-time low of 1500 animals, and thepresent antelope population is set ataround 2500. Why this situationshould prevail in Nevada and Oregonwhen antelope in Wyoming, for ex-ample, have increased in 50years froman estimated 4000 to some 65,000 ani-mals despite heavy annual hunting andseveral severe winters that claimed ter-rific tollis something that conserva-tion men of four states are still strivingto learn.

Study of the problem has beenhampered by the fact that antelopesare inveterate wand erers. Oregon-bo rnantelopes migrate into Nevada and Ne-vada-born antelopes go to Oregonall for noreadily app arent reason , sincefeed and climatic factors are almostidentical in both states. As a meansof coordinating the study and investi-gation of antelope kid losses in North-ern California, Oregon and Nevada,game management men a few yearsago formed the Tri-State AntelopeGroup, which has since been joinedby Idaho. In 1954, managers of theSheldon and Hart Mountain refugessubmitted a plan for tagging new-bornantelope kids as a possible means ofgaining some concrete information onmigratory trends and other casualtyfactors. The plan was approved, andduring that first summer 98 kids weretagged by personnel of the two refuges

and fish and game departments ofCalifornia, Oregon and Nevada.Long experience in trapping antelopekids for transplants, zoos and parks,had given Murial Jacobs a knowledgeof this work that proved invaluable intraining personnel, and the taggingoperation at Sheldon both during1954 and the expanded program of

1955was conducted under his super-vision.After an antelope kid is three orfour days old he has become so fleetfooted there is little chance of catch-ing him without inflicting possible in-jury to the animal. For this reason,the tagging operation is necessarilylimited to newborn kidsand findinguranium is simple compared to locat-ing a well-camouflaged kid that anantelope doe has cached in the sage-brush.About theonly way the tagging crew

can find the kids is to follow themothers when they return to feed them.Once a kid hasbeen spotted by meansof binoculars, a member of the taggingcrew approaches the spot with a long-handled net similar to the dip nets offishermen. If the kid runsas he isalmost certain to do if more than a dayor two oldthe field man completesthe last few yards of his stalking on afast sprint and drops the net over theleggy little animal before he has timeto get into full stride. The kid is ear-marked with small, metal disks anddoe-kids also by ear cropping, and isreturned to the nest.Before start of theproject there wassome speculation that does would notacknowledge their kids after the younghad been handled and tagged. Follow-up observations have shown, however,that after a preliminary period of snif-fing the does invariably accept theirtagged youngsters and permit them tonurse.If out of the tagging there comeseven oneclue to thestagnant or dimin-

ishing antelope population problem,game men of the four states feel thework will have been worthwhile.Although the primary problems ofthe refuge are those bearing directlyon antelope husbandry, there are otherproblems aswell. For one, the problemof distance. From the headquartersarea it is nearly 50 miles to thenearestpostoffice and point of supply at Cedar-ville, California; while a visit to thecounty seat at Reno entails a round-trip drive of more than 500 miles.Such a journey involves considerable

time and gasoline and in winter thesituation becomes much more compli-cated.Summers at Sheldon are short, par-

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in Aug ust. I camped on the

"But between storms," said Hazel-

In addition to its antelope popula-

Dufurrena sub-headquarters provide anesting ground for Canada geese andseveral species of ducks and duringperiods of migration, these ponds aswell as Catnip reservoir are visited bylarge num bers of waterfowl. Observa-tions have disclosed 145 species ofbirds resident or transient on the reser-vation and even this considerable listis known to be incomplete in the fieldof songbirds.But, first and foremost, the refugeis dedicated to the welfare of the prong-horn antelope, and I am convincedthat the two men charged with admin-istering that program are devoted totheir task, heart and soul. After talk-ing with Ben Hazeltine I came awaywith the impression that there must besomething about antelopes that mes-merizes a manlike gold mining orhunting opals. And after I had spenta couple of days with Murial and Mrs.

Jacobs, I was more than ever con-vinced that this was so.The Jacobs have lived on the refugefor the past 13 yearsMurial havingserved three years as acting manager,and the remaining 10 years as refugemaintenance foreman in charge of sub-headquarters.One afternoon while visiting Mrs.Jacobs, she mentioned that Murialwould soon reach the age of retirement."After that," she said, "we don'tknow for sure wh at we'll do . I'd liketo get a small trailer and travel aroundthe country and hun t rocks. But Mr.Jacobs doesn't care much for rocks ortraveling, and he definitely dislikestrailers . . ."I laughed. "What does he like?"M r s . Jacobs looked at me in aston-ishment. "Is it possible you h aven'tguessed by this time?" she asked. "Mr.Jacobs likes antelopes!"

for W i l d f l o w e r D i s p l a y D i m m e d .Wildflower observers from the far

Only from Arizona come encourag-

We now expect a very

From the Saguaro National Monu-

wers. But, he adds, the weather hasLewis believes, however, th at

The prospects for a good wildflower

The scarcity of rainonly.47 inches in January and Februaryaccounts for this prediction, but peren-nials and other individual speciesshould bloom along with the Bigelow

Cholla cactus in the Pinto Basin, andCalico Cactus, which is widely distrib-uted in the Monument. Black adds thatthe ocotillo in Pinto Basin may comeinto bloom in April.Mary Beal of Daggett, California,states that there are only a few one-inch-high plants scattered about thedesert. Another good rain is needed tobring them into good bloom. The pros-pects for a good display are somewhatbetter on the higher mountain slopesin the Daggett vicinity, but here toomore rain and warmer weather areneeded, she believes.

"The Antelope Valley desert coun-try is very dry," writes Mrs. Jane Pin-heiro of Lancaster, California. M rs.Pinheiro reports a few brodiaea andwild onion shoots are showing southof Palmdale and in the Rosamond area;a few Golden Poppy plants were foundin the Fairmont and Quartz Hill areas;and quite a few mariposa plants, whichusually do not bloom until May andJune, have been found.Unless more rain falls in the Bor-rego State Park of California area,Park Supervisor William J. Reinhardtbelieves the wildflowers there will makea very poo r showing. "W e have noteda few desert dandelion, desert lily, as-ter, verbena, chuperosa, indigo-bush,encelia and desert lavenderbut notin any great amounts," Reinhardt said.

Ground conditions in the Lake MeadNational Recreation Area are very dry,writes Park Naturalist O. L. Wallisfrom Boulder City, Neva da. "Subse-

quent rains may help to improve thiscondition considerably at our higherelevation where flowers bloom muchlater. The golden brittlebushes are al-ready making a colorful showing downalong the Colorado River and LakeM ohave . The massive displays of an-nuals can hardly be expected to bevery spectacular this season."Prospects for flowers in Death Val-ley National Monument, California,are still very unfavorable, reports Su-perintendent Fred W. Binnewies. Hebelieves there will be some phacelia,five-spot, primrose and ghost-flower inbloom at higher elevations, probablyduring the latter part of April, but hedoes not expect flowers of any con-sequence on the floor of the Valley.On the Colorado DesertCoachellaand Imperial Valleyslittle rain hasfallen this winter and it is not likelyany wildflowers will appear except inborrowpits and roadside strips wherethere was a bit of runoff from thepaved surfaces. Th e most brilliantshowing of wildflowerswhen there israin are the verbenas and eveningprimrose which grow on the sanddunes, but this year so far the duneshave produ ced hardly a sprout. Ofcourse the perennialscactus, enceliaand chuperosawhich send forth someblossoms each year despite the absence

of rain, will provide the desert withsome color. An d this also will be trueof Palo Verde in May and Smoke Treein June.A P R I L , 1 9 5 6 9


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/Jc/rry Pinyon growing on the shrub-covered flats just below the U.S.-Mexico border.

N 1832 Dr. George Engelmann, aGerman physician and talentedbotanist, came to America to ex-plore the then little known MississippiValley. He settled in St. Lou is andthere set up medical practice and soonafterwards began the wide botanicaltravels that brought him fame as abotanist.His intelligent and long continuedinterest in American plants led to thepublication of at least 112 scientificpapers dealing primarily with cacti,yuccas, agaves, oaks and cone-bearingtrees. Some especially beautiful illus-trations are to be found in his famousbook on Cacti of the Boundary, writ-ten while he was associated with theMissouri Botanical Gardens.Among Engelmann's descriptions ofSouthwestern pines is the rare andsuperbly beautiful four-leaved Pinyon,Pinus Parryae, named in honor of En-gelmann's good and much respected

botanist-friend Dr. Charles C. Parry,who, like Engelmann, did so much toacquaint plant-lovers with western des-ert and mountain plant varieties.This rarest of all pinyons is knownto occur as far north in Southern Cali-fornia as Thomas Mountain near Mt.San Jacinto, but the greater numberand finest specimens are found in thewild and botanically little-exploredmountains of upper Baja California,especially in the Sierra Juarez, a spec-tacular ridge of plateau-like highlandsdropping steeply to the Mexican por-

tion of the lower Colorado Desert, andin the nearby Sierra San Pedro Martir,especially on those slopes facing theGulf of California.

ON DESERT TRAILS WITHA NATURALIST-XXIVThe Rarest Pinyon

Lending itself perfectly to the quietude and peacefulness of thehigh desert mountain country of Baja California is the Parry Pinyon,rarest of all pinyon trees and a highly esteemed member of theSouthwest botanical family.By EDMUND C. JAEGER, D.Sc.Curator of PlantsRivers ide Munic ipa l MuseumPhotograph by the authorSketch by Lloyd Mason Smith

The younger trees are generallyround or peaked-topped and usuallyquite symmetrical, but the older treesare often grotesque, though beautifulin form with wide-reaching branchesaccentuating the strangeness of thetrees' shapes. Older specimens, andthere are many of them, may be 400to 500 years of agethis I know fromcounting the growth rings on severallarge, freshly cut stumps. Th e fact thatthese basal stumps were only abouttwo and one-half feet in diameter in-dicates how very slowly these pinyonsof the arid desert mountain highlandsmust grow.It is from among Mexican forestsof the Parry Pinyon that one looksdown the steep-walled face of the Si-erra Juarez to hidden groves of Wash-ingtonia Palms of the Tajo and othercanyons; or outward across the La-guna Salada and the Lower ColoradoDesert to the placid blue waters ofthe Gulf of California. It is up theseprecipitous slopes that the CocopahIndians made their way over ancienttrails to gather pinyon nuts in lateSeptember and October. To this veryday small parties of these Indians travelover round-about roads by auto toharvest the nuts and in many placesone can still come upon heaps of emptycones, discarded after the nuts had beenextracted.

The Parry Pinyon is sometimescalled the quadrifolia or four-needledpinyon because of its peculiarity amongnut pines in having four needles ineach leaf-bundle. The common Pinyonof Utah, Nevada and California (Pinusmonophylla) has the needles occurringsingly, whereas the more common nutpine of Arizona and New Mexico(Pinus edulis) has two needles to thebundle and the Mexican nut pine(Pinus cembroides) has three.

Recently an effort was made to util-ize the sap bled from pinyons to maketurpentine and other allied products. Ihope the day is far away when thebeautiful forests of the Parry Pinyonof Baja California become the objectof commercial exploitation.I have spent many spring, summerand autumn days in the sun-drenchedopen Parry pinyon forests and whatglorious and truly wonderful days theywere! And if the moon was full, stillmore wonderful were the nights! Thereis a peacefulness and a calmness anda clarity of atmosphere there that canbe found in few other places. Amo ngall the many and varied camp-sites inBaja California and in our Southwest,I shall treasure most those made deepin the Parry pinyon wilderness.

Cone and four-needled leaf bundle,distinguishing characteristic of theParry Pinyon.

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The story of Jerome, Arizona, is the story of countless other miningtowns in the Westprosperity while the mines and mills were operating,but when they shut downadversity. Jerome is unique, however, inthe fact that its "death" was fairly recentin 1952and there is still ahandful of old timers around who cling to the hope that some day,somehow, Jerome will come back.

host City oningus Mountain...By GROVER BRINKMANPhotographs by the author

E R O M E , ARIZONAa one-timebooming mining metropolissprawled on the side of Mingus

There are dozens of ghost towns,the West, but scattered all overBut Jerome is the only

That word "city" is important. The

handful of residents still left in Jeromeserve notice to the world that they arein a class by themselves. Not everyonecan live in a ghost city!Jerome once had more than 15,000inhabitants. It was one of the fabu-lous boom sites of the west and in itsheyday, two mining operators alonetook out more than 600 million dol-lars' worth of copper ore, not to men-tion the gold and silver. Underneaththe city today are more than 85 milesof twisting mine tunnels. Other smalleroperators took out millions more, ofwhich no complete records are avail-

able. Then in 1952 the bread-winner,the Phelps-Dodge mine, closed.Jeromites thought at first that itwas only a temporary closing, but

Pop Clanton, a resident of Jerome and one of the fewold-time prospectors left in the Southwest. Jerome's famous sliding jail which has moved 225 feetdown the mountain from its original site.

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( $ " - ''"">

Jerome is now a city of vacant buildings. Mingus Mountain rises in the background.Phelps-Dodge emphasized that the shutdown was permanent. Jeromites stillrefused to believe, however, that theultra-rich ore body that made theircity so fabulously rich could have anending. There must be new veinssomewhere. Someone would uncoveranother bonanzaor someone woulddiscover a new metallurgical processthat would make low-grade miningprofitable. There was still a lot of low-grade ore available. To all of whichPhelps-Dodge men said no.

Jerome was through. No payroll.No economic excuse for existence. Justa lot of buildings, residential and busi-ness and a new high school all clingingto the side of a red mountain.There were other problems, too.Part of the city was slipping down thehill, despite all attempts to stop it.For a time there was panic, and rumorsthat the entire town was so under-mined that it might go hurtling intothe valley below at any moment.These rumors, of course, werelargely ungrounded. There had beensome slippage, a heavy blast in oneof the mining tunnels and a peculiarearth fault combined to cause the panic.The city jail and several other build-ings started sliding downhill, first

slowly, then at an accelerated pace.When the slide finally stopped, the jailwas across the street in a new location.The press picked up this yarn andsoon Jerome was labeled "the townthat was sliding off the side of a moun-tain." But such is not the case. Mostof Jerome, though perched precari-ously on the steep slopes of MingusMountain, is actually anchored in solidrock.The handful of people who still live

in the city are there for a distinctpurpose. They have formed the JeromeHistorical Society and one of the firstactions of this group was to proclaimto the press that Jerome was "Ameri-ca's newest and largest ghost city."The society adopted a mascot, amythical Luke the Spook, who waslabeled as a second cousin of Kilroy.A historical museum was set up in theplaza, to tell people of the past gloriesof Jerome. Visitors may tour the fab-ulous mines, displays of the ore thatmade it famous, even the machinerythat mined it. Jerome has a Chineserestaurant, and an old-west tavern thatemphasizes the Mexican and Spanishinfluence of its past.And Jerome has "Pop" Clanton, a

typical old-time prospector, who stillwears his six-gun, a belt full of .45s,has his burros, pack-train, dutch ovens,shovels and all. His tales of the rigorsof wandering the desert in search ofgold are as genuine as the frontierColt slung at his ample waist."You can still pan gold in thecreeks," Pop says, and produces asmall bag of dust to prove his claim."You won't get rich," he adds, "butit's thereif you work for it, just aswe did, back in the 80s."Today's tourist dollars will neverbring to Jerome a bonanza equal toits heyday past. But Jerome as a ghostcity is certain to be here for quite sometime. There are low rents in the manyvacant housesa haven for writersand artists. And there is plenty towrite about, and put on canvas, in thispicturesque city of the 1900 era.The ghosts of Jerome, some say, arereal. One has but to prowl throughits cemetery or the vacant streetsorhear from the lips of old-timers theglories and violences of its past, tomake these stories all the more dra-matic.But don't ever tell a present-dayJeromite that he lives in a ghost town.A ghost city, please!

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TOSHOWLOW 6 SPRINGERVILLE

TOV.S/SFFORO a LORDSBURG

I could estimate it only in the thou-sands of tons. It was serpentine casu-ally thrown away on dozens of greatmine talus slopes flung down the sidesof breath-taking chasms. All alongthe nine miles from U.S. Highway 60to the brink of the 2000-foot rim onwhich we stood, we had passed thosepale green dumps.

We had come up into the plateaucountry from Phoenix, stopping thereonly long enough to pick up the elderRansom's boyhood chum, Frank Vat-ter. A horticulturist, Frank owned aprosperous florist business in Michi-gan where he and Ransom Sr. grew uptogether. Since Frank's retirement tothe capital city of Arizona, he has donewonders with citrus and flowers. Frank

Vatter is tall and thin, but at 70 hasthe vigor of a man half his age, and apoet's delight in the mystery of growingthings. He loves desert cactus, andpampers their exotic blooms in season.

Like many Easterners who comeWest to stay, Frank has an eye for thewide open spaces. With alacrity heaccepted our invitation to visit the as-bestos mines 35 miles northeast ofGlobe. Enroute, we stopped brieflyin the fascinating copper towns of Su-perior and Miami. Globe itself wasa beehive of activity. But as soon aswe turned north on U.S. 60, we werein the real Arizona plateau countrylonesome, timbered with aromatic yel-low pine, and at that time of yearlaced with snow at its 5000-foot eleva-

tion. A chill wind worried the tops ofthe pines, soughing mournfully. In thefar distances, over blue-black mesas,storm clouds mustered their forces.But for us the music of the wind inthe trees invited us as nothing elsecan do to men of the outdoors, anda smiling sun made all the world adelightful place to live in.A quarter mile north of the ApacheRest Cafe a dirt road leading westerlyis modestly marked with a crudewooden arrow"Phillips Mine." Wehad by-passed the turnoff to Chrysotile,because of deep snow. During the1930s, Chrysotile employed 500Apache miners. They and their fam-ilies comprised the largest asbestoscommunity in Americaa regular citywith school, church and postofnce,now entirely abandoned. There areenormous serpentine dumps there, atthe head of Ash Creek, in which one

might conceivably discover jade min-eral specimens.The dirt road to the Phillips mineis narrow and winding, but well main-tained. Turn-outs appeared at inter-vals to permit asbestos ore trucks topass one another. As we climbed, therolling plateau lifted into the distance,visible when the road broke out of theforest across the sheer face of a mightybluff. In the depths of canyons wesaw thin nervous tendrils of roads des-cending hair-thin toward other mines.Four miles from the main highway

we entered the Apache communitysurrounding the Phillips Mine. Highon an overhanging mesa the mine ap-peared to be closed, but its tailingdump gleamed in the midday sun withan emerald translucence. Here is goodhunting ground for rock collectors, butpermission to hunt here as elsewhereshould be obtained from the propertyowners.Most of the next five miles of roadran through pine forests. Occasionallyit skirted awesome gorges or crossedterrifying cliffs where only a hand's

breadth lay between the car and asolid limestone wall on one side anda thousand feet of sheer blue space onthe other. Along these cliffs we wereexposed to the full beauty of some ofArizona's wildest and most inhospit-able country.The last three miles to the Jacquaysand Regelman mines were hair-raising,to say the least. Just before droppingdown the steep grade into Jacquays'camp, we met the mine owner himself,driving an ore truck. Fortunately, therewas room to pull over, and we stopped

to introduce ourselves. Looking at ourcar, D. W. Jacquays shook his headdubiously, and warned us to makehaste so as not to risk meeting the ore14 DESERT M AGAZ INE


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. "Y ou 'd never get a chance to

He went on to say that he did notin the way of the ore trucks. "A ny-

I promised him I wouldn't, so

I have driven wild mountain roadsthose last three miles provided. Im-

the Grand Cany on. Th at is how

tread. M oreove r, the width and

"Firs t time a Cadillac ever gotThe loaded ore truck we had been

orner, outbound for Globe. Thew over his engine. The truck sides

So exhilerating was the scene before

high over trackless canyon s. The

Finally, my companions turned to

There were indeed good cabinet

*#!mimmw

Navajo miners building a loading chute at a newly opened asbestos tunnelat the Jacquays Mine.

specimens everyw here. Th e roadbe d chun ks of all sizes, transluce nt greenitself was strewn with serpentine and and yellow, merging into wh ite, oftenlong-fibered asbestos which had fallen rimm ed with the cottony fibers of purefrom ore truck s. Serpentine lay in chryso tile. Tho usan ds of tons of it layG em qua lity serpentine and cabinet specimens of asbestos in serpentine arefound in mine dumps such as this one at Jacquays.

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Loading chute at theJacquays Mine on the steep side of a cliff. A shorttrack runs back into the mine which penetrates the cliffs horizontally.Loaded trucks must switchback over nine miles of narrow mountain road

to U.S. Highway 60an d 35 miles ofpavement to Globe.

jumbled in the immense talus pilesthat descended the stair-stepped cliffs.The Apache miners we met werefriendly, but not talkative, going abouttheir work with a calm dignity peculi-arly in harmony with the immensity ofthe scene around them . Sunlight filledthe canyons and played along the rimof the world, up there high above the

Salt River, warming and comfortabledespite the snow on the north faces ofthe cliffs and the nagging wind strum-ming the distant pines.From where we parked the car wewalked around the corner to the endof the road, which was a loading chute.We climbed to the catwalk above andinvestigated the mine itself. Therewas barely room to stand alongside anore car where one of the miners, hel-meted and wearing his miner's lamp,told us about the mine. No timbering

is necessary in these asbestos mines,and deep inside the serpentine veins,the tunnels are powder dry. The Jac-quays mine has about 1200 feet of

tunnel in the cliffs now, working 16Apache Indian miners.A t one time, asbestos was worthmore than gold ore. In the late 1920sthe Regelman and Phillips mines pro-duced a three to four-inch fibre asbes-tos that brought $3000 a ton for thera w ore shoveled onto trucks andcarted to the refining plant in Globe.

Today, prices arelower, but still higherthan the $100-a-ton ore which an av-erage gold mine produces, or $35-a-tonuranium orefound on thenearby Colo-rado Plateau.Asbestos veins crop all along theSalt River in some of the most perpen-dicular topography south of the GrandCanyon . Early mining-minded trav-elers coming up the river from Phoe-nix noticed serpentine float and won-dered at the long fibers of rawasbestoswhich they picked up along the sand-

bars of the river. By tracing this floatup steep talus slides and along therock faces of 2000-foot cliffs, prospec-tors located commercial veins, all in

the dolomitic Mescal limestone. Ari-zona leads all states in the productionof chrysotile asbestos.All though this strangely sculpturedregion, the cliff faces reveal Mescallimestone, Troy sandstone, diabase,and Dripping Springs quartzite. Fif-teen separate layers of asbestos andserpentine stair-step the canyon sides.The constant association of asbestos

and limestone near its contact withdiabacc suggests strongly that serpen-tine and asbestos result from hydro-thermal metamorphic action of the in-truding diabase upon the limestone.Gem quality serpentine, such as wewere finding by the ton, literally, canbe carved with a knife. Excessivelyfine-grained and very dense, it takes abeautiful polish. As raw material forbookends, I do not believe Salt Riverserpentine can be surpassed.We hunted over fresh dumps for an

hour or more and visited the menworking the mines. Anempty oretruckdrove in and started loading at thechute and we decided it would be agood time to get away while the roadwas empty of heavy machinery. Wehad all the fine specimens we couldcarry away with us, but like small boyssurfeited with chocolate cake, we re-gretted having to leave somuch behind.I believe that if all the rockhoundsin the world should hunt over thosedumps, they could hardly make a dentin the tonnage of gem stone detritus.

The miners themselves are interestedonly in asbestos. D. W. Jacquays haserected a small mill near the mineswhere five men separate the asbestosfrom the adhering serpentine, tossingthe latter out into sheer space. Someof the tailing piles aredifficult to reach.Only rock hunters who arehalf moun-tain goat should try for the biggerslides.From behind mycamera, I watchedthe elder Ransom and Frank Vatterscrambling along the cliff faces likehalf-grown kids, impressed by their

eagerness to gather the finest speci-mens, seemingly always just a halfreach farther on. I doubt if either paidany attention to the ever-present pos-sibility of plunging headlong into theyawning depths. Th at, of course, isthe usual nature of rockhounds .I cannot emphasize enough the dan-ger of this road. Rem emb er: there isno place to turn around or to scrapepast another car on the final stretchof the Jacquays road. But, whetheryou come for rocks or scenery, freshai r and sunshine, or photographs, youwill find something of interest alongevery mile of road above theSalt Rivercanyon.

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HISTORIC DESERT WATERHOLES I

Water and l ife mean the samething on the desert. In pioneertimes journeys were charted bydistances betw een water ing p lacesand death was the penalty for los-ing the trail or misp lann ing. Hereis the first in a series of featurestories dealing with the South-west's old time watering places,written and photographed byWalter Ford. The Las Vegas, Ne-vada, Spring was an importantstation on the Old Spanish andMormon trails.

By WALTER FORDPhot ographs by t he au t hor

N A HOT summer day in August ,1924, I left my home in LosAngeles for Las Vegas, Nevada,

My father had worked in the bridge

1904 to 1906 when it was extending

Before starting my trip I had readhe notes he made on his travels andearned that he had given particularattention to Las Vegas Spring and itsarly history and I d ecided that it woulde an interesting spot to visit.

Those who traveled the NationalOld Trails route across the MojaveDesert during the summer months ofthe early '20s will easily recall the one-way sandy road, the dazzling heat, thedesolate waterless stretches betweentowns, and the never ending strugglefor each mile gained.Totally lacking in knowledge of des-ert ways, but with the confidence ofyouth, I traveled alone, hatless undera blistering sun. I had partake n freely

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Once an important watering place for imm igrants headed Westward, LasVegas Spring now supplies water mainly for irrigation.of ice cold drinks whenever they couldbe obtained along the route . On thenight of the second day, I reached thelonely pass in the Black Mountains,now the junction point for the Search-light and Hoo ver Dam ro ads. Gettingout of my car to obtain a drink frommy water bag I collapsed in the road-way. I remember how a lone motoristcame by, set up my camp cot and mademe comfortable; how in my semi-de-lirious condition during the nightI heard peculiar scratching soundsaround my cot and discovered in themorning that a pair of scorpions hadbeen trying to climb a piece of canvasthat extended from the cot to theground. They would almost reach thecot, then loose their hold on the nearlyvertical section of canvas and slideback to their starting point, therebymaking the strange sounds which Iheard.

I made my way into Las Vegaswhere my ailment was diagnosed asheat prostration. I rested at the oldOverland Hotel for several days, thenwith no further desire to continue myexplorat ions, I made my way home-ward by easy stages.Twenty-eight years after my ill-fatedattempt to reach Las Vegas Spring, Icompleted the journey. The scene of

my unpleasant experience is now oc-cupied by a modern service station andthe wash in which I lay under a mes-quite bush to escape the mid-day heaton the return trip, is now a busy streetin the thriving community of Hender-son.Las Vegas Spring was known totravelers soon after 1776, when FatherEscalante made his unsuccessful at-tempt to establish a trail between SantaFe and the coast of California. Al-though Escalante's party did not reachthis waterhole, others began to extendthe path he had followed and it wasnot long before the spring became animportant watering place for caravansmoving westward. Captain John C.Fremont reported having visited acamping place called Las Vegas in1844 and described the water as beingpleasant to the taste but too warm tobe agreeable.Officials of the Mormon church sentJefferson Hunt to California in 1847 tobuy seeds and food. Enr oute hecamped at Las Vegas Spring and wasso impressed with its possibilities thathe reported very favorably upon it onhis return. In 1855 Brigham Youngcommissioned William Brighurst toproceed to Las Vegas Spring with 50young men to establish a mission and

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The old fort at Las Vegas Spring has served as an army post, Morm onmission, post office and as a shelter for many early travelers of the OldSpanish and Mormon Trails.to build a fort to protect the immigrantsand the United States mail from theIndians. An adobe stockade was builtand on January 10, 1856, a postofficewas opened with Brighurst in chargeas postm aster. The following year

Brigham Young called for a concen-tration of his followers at Great SaltLake and the settlers were withdrawnfrom the mission.After the Mormons left, O. D. Cass,of the Arizona legislature acquired the

land and water rights, which at thetime was in Arizo na territory. Cassoperated the ranch with Indian laborand on one occasion when an unrulynative was killed, he had to make ahasty flight to Barstow with his familyuntil the situation on the ranch calmeddown. The ranch was purchased in1882 by a '49er named Stewart, whohad made his fortune in the gold fieldsof California. Later he was killed inan argument with a neighboringrancher, but Mrs. Stewart continuedto live at the ranch, which still bearsher name, until her death in 1929.

Las Vegas Spring and the old ranchhouse are located on Fifth Street, ashort distance beyond Helldorado Vil-lage. I noticed the name Stewart onthe mail box and upon inquiry learnedthat some distant relatives of the or-iginal owners now occupy the ranchhouse.The spring, which is still flowing, islocated in a creek bed on the west sideof the ranch house. The old fort,standing directly behind the ranchhouse, has been partially restored bythe Daughters of Utah Pioneers. Theyhave also erected a plaque commemo-rating the establishment of the firstpostoffice in 1856.

Rains Improve SouthwestRiver Runoff PredictionsHeavy January precipitation hasbrightened water supply forecasts formajor streams in the Great Salt Lake,Upper Colorado and Rio Grande Ba-sins. The Lower Colorado precipi ta-tion pattern was erratic. Rainfallranged from only 25 percent of normalover portions of the lower Verde Riverbasin to over 200 percent of normalover some areas in the upper water-sheds of the Salt and Little ColoradoRivers.The Colorado River basin aboveCisco, Utah, experienced much abovenormal precipitation during January.The portion of the basin above Cameo,Colorado, average 165 percent of nor-mal rainfall while the higher drainagesof the Gunnison and Dolores Riversreported amounts which averaged near200 percent of norm al. As a result,runoff forecasts improved 10 percentin one mo nth. The current outlook forthe main stream and tributaries aboveCameo and for the Taylor River is for105 percent to 115 percent of the

193E-52 average runoff. Only 85 per-cent of average streamflow is indicatedfor the Uncompahgre and upper Do-

lores Rivers and about 67 percent ofaverage for the lower Dolores River.The February-September streamflowof the Colorado River near Cisco,Utah, is forecast to be 4,390,000 acre-feet or 111 percent of the 1938-52average.Streamflow for the upper GreenRiver basin in Wyoming and for theYampa and White Rivers in Coloradois expected to range from 115 percentto 125 percent of average; the Du-chesne Basin in Utah forecasts rangefrom 115 percent of average for theriver near Tabiona to near normal forthe rest of the basin; Green River atGreen River, Utah, forecast is 122percent of average.A 200 percent of normal rainfallover the San Juan Basin has causedthe experts to predict a runoff of slightlyless than the 15-year average for thatriver compared to only 65 percent ofnormal predictions on January 1.Forecasts for the Lower Coloradobasin rivers are : Little Co lora do , 50percent of average; upper Gila, 20 to30 percent of average; Salt and Verde,50 percent.

January rain from 140 to 250 per-cent of norm al over the Great Salt LakeBasin fashioned the following runoffpredictions: Sevier and Beaver Rivers,60 to 70 percent of normal (eventhough the water supply prospect ismore encouraging, the situation hereis still critical, especially when theamount of water in storage is consid-ered) ; Humb oldt River at Palisade,Nevada, and the South Fork near Elko,Nevada, 200 percent of average; Mar-tin Creek near Paradise Valley, Ne-vada, 150 percent of average; Carsonand Truckee Rivers, 200 percent ofaverage; Walker River, 150 to 175percent of average; Owens River nearBishop, California, 133 percent of av-erage; Mojave River in California, 60percent of average; Chewaucan andSilvies Rivers, ample water forecast.Runoff near the 1938-52 average isin prospect for the major tributariesand upper main stream of the RioGran de in Colo rado. Forecasts forthe streams along the western slopesof the Sangre de Cristo Mountains inNew Mexico range from 52 percent ofaverage to near 80 percent of average.The streamflow for the Rio Grande atOtowi Bridge is forecast to be 71 per-cent of average while only 59 percentof average runoff is forecast for theinflow into Elephant Butte Reservoir.Runoff for the Pecos River Basin is60 percent of average.

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Two important techniques of rock climbing. Left, chimney technique is used byRoy G orin to climb up a 30-inch wide passage by use of cross-pressure betweenfeet, hands and back. Right rappelling dow n a pinnacle. Photograph s byNiles Werner.

Th ey Spurn Th e E asy Ro ute. .Here is a sport in which the hard way is the most funRock Climb-ing, as practiced by those skilled and daring members of the SierraClub. A sheer granite face may look like an impassable route to mostobservers, but to the Rock Climbers it's merely another problemoneof many encountered and solved on a typical weekend outing.

By LOUISE TOP WERNERment balancing on a two-inch ledge50 feet above the ground he might haveanswered, "Ah! But this way is moreinteresting."A spectator may shudder at thesight of a rock climber hanging froma crack, his tennis shoes scrabbling fora grip on the smooth, high-angle wall.The chances are that the climber him-self is too engrossed in his problem tofeel fear. The chan ces are he is ex-periencing an amazing alertness, asharpening of the senses, a coolness he

MENDENHALL, spread-eagled against the cliff, gripped[ the granite with bloody fingers.red plaid shirt. A Tyrolean haton his head. Near

"You can walk up easily on the"Yeah" said another, "I wonderHad John not been busy at that mo-

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never feels while sitting behind hisdesk. Wh en his feet again find a griphis knees may buckle and his stomachmay become queasy at the belated rec-ognition of peril; but while faced withthe immediate necessity of solving theproblem he feels strangely calm andcapable. Perhaps this explains in partwhat motivates the dyed-in-the-woolrock climber and why he shows such afervent attachment to his sport.

The Rock Climbers of the SierraClub, Los Angeles Chapter, spent arecent week-end trying their ropes onthe buttes of Hidden Valley camp-ground in the Joshua Tree NationalMonument of California.On Saturday night Steve Wilkie sug-gested a moonlight hike in Hidden Val-ley, an intimate little basin, adjoiningthe camp ground also called Hidden

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Valley. A dozen rock climbers joinedhim.The moon flooded Hidden Valleyfrom between the brows of a stone-age giant and the crooked nose of agargoyle. The sandy wash, scribbledover with the tracks of quail, coyoteand deer, meandered among bunchesof dried buckwheat, salt bush and Mor-mon tea. When our conversationlagged, the chirping of crickets filledour ears. Gesticulating Joshua trees,pinyon pines and nolina, and theirshadows, stood watch over the valleyfloor, an occasional one climbing to-ward the 150 foot pinnacles, block-houses and weird granite faces thatcrowded one another around the perim-eter of the basin.Moonlight and shadows conjured upthe ghosts of the '70s when cattle rust-lers are said to have hidden their stolencattle here. Yo u could almost smell thesmoke of their campfire and hear thewhinny of their horses. You couldalmost make out the forms of cattlebrowsing among the bushes and boul-ders .Water, conspicuous by its absence,has left its imprint everyw here. W aterand sand have scoured out cavities,dainty honeycombings that look likelacework, and caves with the tracks ofbobcat in their sandy bottoms. Smoothgranite troughs shoot down inclineslike a child's play slide. The annualrainfall here is less than five inches.Even the Joshuas are almost ghosts.The moon was still riding high whenwe crawled into our sleeping bags.When we again opened our eyes the

sharp desert sun greeted us. After ahardy breakfast of cooked cereal, ba-con and eggs, toast and milk, the rockclimbers scattered in all directions, eachgroup, or "rope" of two or three pick-ing a different butte to climb.The buttes, it is thought, were oncemasses of molten magma far beneaththe surface. Eon s ago, pushed u pnearly to the surface by heat expan-

sion, they cooled and solidified. Thesofter materials around them gradu-ally eroded away and today they standas an army of gray sentinels, 100 to150 feet above the desert floor.On top of a 150 foot pinnacle southof the campground Roy Gorin, a plussix-footer in army ski pants, put JoeStone through the rappel test. Rap pel-ling is a technique for roping down inseconds a distance it takes minutes orhou rs, to climb. Joe faced a horn ofgranite around which Roy had slunga 5/16-inch rappel rope. He straddled

the double nylon and picked it up be-hind him with his left hand . His eyefollowed the rope to where it fell overthe edge of the cliff about three stepsbehind him. He drew the double ropearound his left hip and across his chest.He scrutinized the rope, scowling, hesi-tated, and looked at Roy who wasfingering the rope around the horn tomake sure it would not slip off."Is this right?" asked Joe, slidingthe rope around his left hip."Are you asking me?" Roy's eyesdisapproved. His angular hand s pulledat another rope knotted around hiswaist, "Y ou 're showing me that you

know how to rappel. If you need in-struction, go back to the practice area."Joe examined his stance in the rope.He backed a step and threw the doublerop e over his right shou lder. It slappedagainst the wall below."I've got you belayed on this otherrop e," encouraged Roy. "If youhaven't got the rappel rope on right,you won't fall far." Roy braced him-self against a boulder.Joe grasped the rope in front, as itcame from around the horn, in hisleft hand and backed up a step. Grasp-ing the rope behind him with his righthand, he backed to the edge, leanedback on the rope and looked down thewall. It fell, over a slight bulge, to aledge 40 feet below . Joe took a deepbreath. "Well ," he said, "Here goes,"and backed off the edge. Leaning farout, he began walkingbackw ard down thewall, controlling his speed with the rateat which he let the rope feed throughhis hand s. His face relaxed. With 15feet to go he bounced himself off thewall with both feet, smiling broadly."Whew!" he said, landing on the ledge,"That was almost like parachute jump-ing."

"Better," said Roy, "On a para-chute you can't stop in midair any timeyou want to."Some rock climbers think Roy Gorinis a hard taskmaster, but they respecthis skill, and his leadsh ip. H e takesseriously his responsibility to keepcocky young climbers within their abil-ities while they are developing theirjudgmen t. In assigning leaders herates judgment as important as climb-Hammering a piton into a crack, left, and snapping the rope into the carabiner,right. Pho tographs by Niles Werner.

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ere daring. He insists on stricte Conqu est ." Every rope, con-

In August , 1950, Roy Gorin led the

two eastern teen-agers who fell

Roy Gorin usually takes his familymbing trips. His wife,cam per. Lind a Lee , 13, and

l dresse d. Tak ing the family alongnd pack. Roy mak es his living as

While the rappel testing continued

campgroun d. Glen Warner sat

up the trough . Halfway u p

For the beginner the rope is for

lf up on. H e moves und er hisThe rope is a moral sup-o expand his capacities. In ad -

The usual procedure at practiceis: A qualified leader takes twofoot 7/16-inc h nylon rope. He

falls, becausebe doin g. Since the leader climbs

Roy G orin, expert rock climber. Photograph by DeDe G orin.to be belayed from below by someonewho can hold him, should he catapultpast him. They climb one at a time.

The second man belays the thirdma n, too. M ost of the time he sits ina welter of rope, his feet braced againsta boulder, taking in or feeding out therope by sliding it around his hips. Rop emanagem ent is no small problem . Get-ting the ropes tangled creates a hazard,slows up the climbing and earns dirtylooks from the leader. Th e third manmerely follows, carrying the First Aidand lunches, and spends his waitingperiods resolving to learn to belay andhold falls so he will graduate from theend of the rope.Signals are used by the climbers.When it is time for the third man tomove up to the second man, the sec-ond man calls, "Belay on." It means

that he is in position, ready to take upthe slack and hold the third man,should he fall. Th e third ma n callsback, "Climbing," but waits until the

second man answers, "Climb ." Thenthe third man climbs. When he reachesthe second man he finds a secure foot-ing and says, "Belay off." Th at endsthe second man's responsibility as faras that pitch is concerned. A "pitch "is the distance between belay points.It varies with the terrain, dependingon where, within his length of rope,the leader finds a spot he considers se-cure for belaying.

Often the climbers get into positionswhere they cannot see one another, butit is essential for safety that they hearone another. On high, windsweptmountains, hearing becomes an addedproblem.At scheduled practice periods exper-ienced climbers teach newcomers howto tie knots, belay, hold falls, rappeland coil the rope. The Safety Co mm it-tee gives the Minimum Safety Test,which includes the above techniques.Those who pass may take part in moredifficult and prolonged climbs in the

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mou ntains. The group has about 65active members, 20 percent of themwom en. Climbs are scheduled everyother weekend from May to November.Sometimes the terrain is such thatthe leader feels that a belay from be-low is no t enough. If he wants to con-tour to the right of his belayer where

D e s e r t Q u i z The more you know about the desert, the better you like it. A nd so you may regardthis Quiz as a sort of school of the desertan easy way to increase your knowledge of the geography, history, geology,plan t and wildlife, Ind ians an d lore of the arid lands. If you get 12 to 14correctly you have already gone a little way up the ladder of desertknowledge; 15 to 17 rates you as a very good student; 18 or better entitlesyou to a place up near the head of the class. The answers are on page 4 4.1The Lost Breyfogle mine is believed to be located inRio GrandeValley Gran d Canyon . Death Valley Baja Cali-fornia2Author of the Winning of Barbara Worth was Harold BellWright M ark Twain . Zane Grey Dan DeQuille3Lowest natural elevation in the desert Southwest is in SaltonSink Hum boldt Sink . Gran d Canyon DeathValley4Indians of the Southwest found the Chuckawalla lizard useful asFo od Hou sehold pe t.. . A source of poison for arrowsSkins for making war drums5Most conspicuous mountains seen from Springerville, Arizona, areSan Francisco Peaks Funeral Range White Mou n-tains Superstition Mo untains6A common name for the Jesuit Padres who first established missionsin Baja California w as Th e Silent Ones___ .... The Black R obes...-,.-..The Wh ite Rob es The Peaceful Ones7The Mountain Men came to the West in the middle of the last cen-tury mainly toS earch for gold . Trap beavers Take uphom esteads Fight the Indian s. . .. . .8Before flood waters of the Colorado River filled the basin and formedSalton Sea, the dry bed of the basin was yielding commercialBo-rax Brick clay Salt Pum ice9The mountain lion of the Southwest is known by all of the followingnames except one Pum a . Cougar . Wildcat Pan -ther10Tribesmen of the San Carlos Indian reservation in Arizona areApach e H op L.. . . Papago Navajo11The old Chisholm Trail became famous asThe route of westboundgold-seek ers Spanish trail from Old Mex ico to Santa Fe .Trap per's route down the Gila River . Cattle trail from Texasto Kansas12 W upatki is the name ofA n Indian tribe in Utah . A town onthe Ho pi mesas . A famous Apache scout A NationalMonument in Arizona13One of the following species of trees now growing in the Southwestis not a native of North A merica Smoke tree . Washingtoniapalm__ . Me squite tree Tam arisk tree _14 Granite is aSedim entary rock . Me tamorp hic rock ... .. Ig-neous rock Conglom erate15To travel from Phoenix to Los Angeles by the shortest route onewould takeH ighway 60 . Highway 80 . . . Highway 66Highway 9916John Slaughter was a famous sheriff in the mining camp ofTomb-stone Rhy olite GoldfiekL ... .. Calico17 El Tov ar is the nam e of a famous hotel at Las Vegas, Nevada .. . .Gra nd Cany on __ . Palm Springs El Paso18The name Dellenbaugh is best known for his association withCap ture of Gero nimo Construction of Hoo ver dam Navi-gation of the Colo rado River . Discovery of silver at To m b-stone19__Main field crop grown by the Hopi Indian dry farmers isBeansCorn W heat .. Rice20If you wanted to climb Telescope peak you would go to theWasatchMo untains of Utah ... . . Charleston Mo untains of Nevada .Pana mint Mo untains of California . San Francisco peaks ofArizona

the wall drops sheer below his route,he looks for a crack into which to ham -mer a piton. He carries these hand-forged, bladed eyes in several sizes onhis belt. As he hamm ers he listens forthe ring of iron on rock that indicatesa solid hold . He snaps a hinged ringcalled a carabiner into the eye of thepiton. Then he snaps the rope as itcomes from his waist, into the cara-biner. Wh ile he still has a firm footinghe tests his weight on the piton. If hefalls while climbing his weight willcome first on the piton and he will notcatapult past his belayer.Falling is fairly common and is takenas part of the game along withscratched elbows, skinned knees andbloody knuck les. Tenn is shoes withrock-gripping rubber soles are preferredfor their pliability. But for a longday's climb some prefer six-inch bootswith rubber lug soles because they givemore support and protection to theankle.The hardware is for the protectionof the leader. On ce he is up , the othertwo climb with a belay from above,involving less risk. The third man u n-snaps the carabiner, hammers out thepiton and passes them up to the leaderwho may use them again.Frank Hoover and Don Wilson,weighed down with hardware and arappel rope, picked for their problema smooth, high-angle flake with deli-cate footing. Fra nk , leading, foundhimself clutching a crack, unable toget a purchase w ith his feet. He m an-

aged to inch over sideways, his kneespulled up under him. Using the kneesas feet makes for instability and isfrowned on, but in a pinch you do it.Frank reached the end of the crack.Poor as the going had been along thecrack, beyond it the holds vanishedcomp letely. No t even a crack for apiton and even if there had been onehis hands were not free to drive onein. Unable to hold on m uch longer heinched back along the crack where hegratefully put his weight on his feetagain, and let Don take the lead.Add to the strange mechanics of thesport the human elementseasonedclimbers balancing their judgmentagainst the eager, self-assurance of be-ginners individualists producing asurprising harmony of actionbits ofteamwork that mesh like gearcasualdisplays of courageand faithandfolly.Your dyed-in-the-wool rock climberis a pioneer, always looking for newroutes to conqu er. The easy route doesnot interest him. No thing stimulateshim like setting his teeth into a newclimbing problem, especially one noone has yet solved. He would ratherfail on the hard route than succeed onthe easy one.

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L I F E O N T H E D E S E R TThe G old I Lost inMorgan City W ash

By PALMER C. ASHLEYN THE SPRING of 1934 myfather was working a prospectnear Morgan City Wash 23 milesout of Wickenburg, Arizona.

I had moved recently from Oaklandto Los Angeles and when he learnedthat I had not yet gotten permanentemployment he wrote and asked meto come out and help him at the mine.I knew nothing about mining, but Iwelcomed the chance to get away fromthe city for a while, so I loaded mygear in my 1926 Model T roadsterand headed for Arizona.In his letter, dad instructed me toleave Highway 89 at Wittmann andfollow the tracks that threaded throughthe dry washes for five miles to thecabin. So I would not get lost and

follow stray tracks or find none at all,my father tied tin cans to the mesquiteand cacti along the trail.Wittmann was a single, small,weather-beaten frame building with alone gas pu mp . It was late afternoonwhen I pulled up for gas. The ownerand operator was a fine old gentlemanwho filled my tank and casually askedwhere I was going. Wh en I told himhe critically eyed my vehicle and askedif I carried extra water and oil and ashovel. I told him 1 did not and hesaid, "Son, I think you had better

bunk here with me tonight and aftera good breakfast we'll get you off toa good start."I will never forget that old gentle-ma n's hospitality. As we ate our sup-per of pork and beans, bread, coffeeand canned peaches, he explained tome how dangerous it was to leave themain traveled highway without the es-sentials for desert travel, especiallywitho ut even a roa d to follow. Afterentertaining me until bed-time withstories of local happenings, he fixed acot on the back porch for me and we

went to sleep.After a fine breakfast of bacon andeggs, frying pan toast and coffee, theold man filled a five gallon can with

water, an old gallon can with oil andgave me an old worn shovel with athree-foot handle."Now you are all set," he said. 1took out my total resources to payhim, but he would only accept pay-ment for the gas and oil. No one couldbuy his hospitality.Five miles can seem like a hundredwhen you are in the middle of now here.The tracks I followed dipped andsquirmed in and out of shallow washesand gullies, following a course, I im-agined, that a lost steer would take.Large boulders had to be detoured andafter a crest was topped the surround-ing landscape seemed identical withthat over which I had just traveled.Any sense of direction I may have hadwas soon lost. Sand, cactus, rocks andsage brush! I knew now why the tincan markers placed by my father wereso necessary.

The only clue to the identificationof Morgan City Wash was its sizetwo hund red yards across. I turnedright as my dad had instructed and Ifound the cabin a half mile down thewash on the far bank, surrounded bya forest of giant saguaro cactus.During the months that followed wemined, hoisting the ore out by bucketand windlass from a 30-foot shaft,filled 50 pound sacks and carried themover the hill to the dump a quarter ofa mile away.There was no road to the shaft. Wewould single-jack our holes, place ourshots and shoot just before we quit forthe day. Next morning we would bardown and hoist out the ore, sack it andcarry before lunch. In the afternoonwe started drilling again. Dad w antedto stockpile enough ore for a shipmentto Wickenburg. The ore was low gradeand I doubted if we would break evenafter the shipping and milling costswere deducted.When spring arrived dad went toPhoenix on a short business trip. Be-fore he left, he told me to take it easy,which I was more than glad to do.To pass the time I decided to investi-

In desert terrain it is easy tolose all sense of direction. Land-marks never look quite thes a m e on a second and thirdtrip to the same area. Men whohave prospected or explored inthe arid Southwest know howtrue this isand will realizethai the story told by this writerm a y readily be true to the verylast detai l .

gate a lead deposit up a little washnear the one through which I traveledfrom the highway. I was told by theprospector who discovered it to hikea half mile up the wash to a 20-foothigh wall on the wash's right bank.This wall had vertical eroded ridgesresembling a pipe organ, he said. Overthis wall and back of the next rise wasthe prospect hole with large chunksof galena on the surface.

I started off early in the morning andeasily found the wash, but was uncer-tain about the fluted wall. I climbedthe first one I came to and hiked overthe first rise, but found no prospecthole. 1 retraced my steps to the bankof the wash and continued on. At eachintersecting wash I descended to thewash floor to look for the fluted wall.It was on one of these descents thatI stumbled and fell down a rather steepslope, striking my knee on a rock.It was a painful bruise, and I satdown for a few mom ents. In frontof me was a ledge of pure white quartzstreaked with red and green discolora-tion. The bright colors caught myfancy and with my pick I broke off apiece of the rock and tossed it in mysample sack and went on.Later I stopped for lunch and earlyin the afternoon climbed another flutedwall, and beyond it found the prospecthole exactly as described. I took sev-eral samples of galena and, very muchpleased with myself, returned to thecabin. I placed the sack in a cornerand immediately forgot about it andits contents.My father returned in a few daysand we casually discussed what we hadbeen doing on our own time. I toldhim about the lead and brought outthe sample sack. He carefully exam-ined each piece with the 10-powerglass he carried on his key ring. Fromthe bottom of the sack he pulled outthe white, red and green quartz speci-men and laid it on the table. I ex-plained that I thought the colors wouldlook well in the rock garden. He ex-

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amined the upper surface carefullywith his glass and then turned the pieceover. We both gasped!The underside was covered with finewire gold and small pin head nuggetswhich gleamed in the light from thecoal oil l amp. Dad wanted to knowwhere I had found this piece of quartz w a s it in a solid formation or justfloat? Could I go back to the spot? Ianswered that I knew exactly where Ihad found it and we went to bed,dreaming of riches!After a hurried breakfast we filledour canteens and started off. We re-traced every step I had made, or so Ithought, until we came to the knollwhere I had eaten my lunch. Theorange peel was still therebut wherewas the rich ore? We could not find it!We told no one about my find andevery day for weeks wehunted for thatlost ledge. Each time we started out Iwas sure I would be able to find itagain. We did find a similar formationfurther up the wash, but it carried novalue. Finally we told two other pros-pectors about it and they joined us inthe search but with no success.When our ore shipment showedpractically no profit for all our hardlabor, I decided to go back to LosAngeles and dad left for the CaveCreek area.In 1951, with an old friend andprospector, I returned to Morgan CityWash. New roads and a new car madethe trip mu ch easier. Nothin g muchhad changed in the Morgan City Washarea. We easily found the right washand even the same formation, but thelost gold is still lost.INDIAN RELOCATIONRECORD SET IN 1955The American Indian set an all-timerecord this past year in accepting jobopportunities off his reservation, Act-ing Secretary of the Interior ClarenceA. Davis announced. According tofigures received by the Bureau of In-dian Affairs, almost 3500 Indiansmoved away from their reservationhomes to areas that offered greateremployment advantages.Of the 16 agencies where the De-partment has a relocation staff, fivehave reported on the number of "re-turnees" for fiscal 1955. These reportsshow that fewer than 13 of every 100relocatees give up and go back to theirreservations after trying life in thecities.The average size of a relocated fam-ily is 3.9. However, about 800 of the3500 Indians whorelocated were singlem en and women. Indians who seekrelocation are generally the youngermembers of the tribe those 45 orunder .

P U E B L O P A N O R A M A S IT U Z I G O O T . . .

This month Desert Magazine introduces a new series to its readers.Pueblo Panoramasoutstanding photographic essays of the dwell ingsof the ancients and the commanding views from these shelters. Writer-naturalist-photographer John Blackford, now of Libby. Montana, hasspent many fascinating years on the Desert Southwest. In the courseof his wanderings he discovered many trails crossing his ownamongthem the dusty but discernible paths of pueblo and cliff dwellingIndians. In these vivid camera scenes we glimpse the life of thoseancients whodwelt in the Southwest before the white man came .

By JOHN L. BLACKFORDPhot ographs by the au t hor

W AS THE world like topueblo and cliff dwelling In-dians? On what did they gaze,those ancient, persistent people whoraised a unique and amazing civiliza-tion in the desert? Surrounded byenemies and drouth, by savages andsand, what did they see to give theminspiration for their arts and crafts,their work and play, their legends andreligion?All their lives they looked on thesame red canyon wall, the same greenribbon of river winding across the des-ert, or the same black hills of cinderand tinted clay. Only once in genera-tions, when throttled by drouth, wasted

by disease, harried endlessly by raidersor otherwise deserted by angry gods,did they venture upon sights that laybeyond the small circle of the worldthey knew. This was a land of starkand vivid beauty. Yet its wastes weretreacherous and its canyon distancesunknown.In their oases resided safety, andbeyond, danger. We cannot know allit meant to them. But if we climb to

cliff and citadel, we can look uponthose scenes and panoramas that nur-tured a race; and brought into flowera fascinating culture, while all aboutwas savagery and emptiness.

The Citadel of Tuzigoot (Upper photograph, opposite page)

In Arizona's green valley of the Verde, high above the river'sfertile flood plain, prehistoric puebloans erected a spectacular apart-ment house-fortress. The strategic site, on a limestone ridge dominatingan oxbow bend in the stream, is called by the Apaches, Tuzigoot or"Crooked Water." Likely their nomad ancestors and those of thewarrior Yavapais harried its ancient farmer inhabitants, who held theircitadel from the 1 Oth to near the end of the 14th century.

The Panorama from Tuzigoot (Lower photograph, opposite page)

From the citadel of Tuzigoot, across rich fields, over green juniperwoodlands and shimmering cottonwood stream borders, you look tofar hills that rim the Verde Valley. Vermilion cliffs, outcropping instrata of astonishing color, paint the middle distances with brillianthues. Few pueblo panoramas match the wide view from Tuzigoot inqualities of inspiration, restfulness and peace. Only a major tragedycould have made the pueblo people put this scene behind them.

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Jerry Laudermilk, author of over 30Desert Magazine feature stories since1940, died at his home in Claremont,California, on January 21. At the timeof hisdeath he was Research Associatein Geochemistry and Paleobotany atPomona College. His accomplishmentsincluded thepublishing of a great manyscientific papers on many subjects be-sides the countless articles of generalinterest that appeared in this magazineand others.His ability to humanize, dramatizeand make popular and understandablescientific aspects of the natura landparticularly the desertworld was thekey to his success as a writer.Without sacrificing scientific accur-acy, he entertained and informed hisreaders on a wide range of subjects,from the creation of geodes to thecause of desert mirages.His success in this field was duelargely to his oft expressed creed: "Idon't know of a single natural thingwhich, if you just become consciousof it, is not fascinating."An artist as well as a writer andscientist, Laudermilk illustrated manyof his stories with line drawings andwater colors. His last major work inthis line was the creation of scores ofdetailed flower and plant drawings fora new botany book by Dr. LymanBenson, tentatively scheduled for pub-lication in September.Laudermilk was born at Rich Hill,Missouri, in 1893 and graduated fromthe College of Pharmacy in KansasCity in 1914. In 1917 he enlisted inthe Army and was made an instructorin the School of Gas Defense at For tSill, Oklahoma. A year later he wasmedically discharged with tuberculosisand doctors gave him little hope.

He headed for the ranch of a cousinnear Wickenburg, Arizona, and insteadof resting as the doctors ordered, hehiked from Wickenburg to Prescott,with camp equipment and supplies onhis back. Arriving at Prescott not onlyalive but feeling better, he set off onfoot for Flagstaff by way of CampVerde . At Flagstaff he worked forthe Coconino National Forest and thenwandered over to Meteor Crater andthe Navajo country before returningto Wickenburg, his tuberculosis ap-parently completely cured.From Arizona, Laudermilk went toLos Angeles to study art. At the OtisArt Institute he met the future Mrs.Laudermilk, Helen. After they were

' ^ ^ ^ v ^ M T ;

Jerry Lauderm ilk examining Indianartifacts. A remarkable ability tohumanize subjects such as thesemade him popular with Desert'sreaders.

married they moved to Claremontwhere, in the early 1920s, they madetheir living with art and illustration.At Claremont Jerry became inter-ested in thecomposition of rocks. Afterremarkable detective work in identify-ing some rare minerals, he was invitedby Dr. A. O. Woodford to use hislaboratory at Pomona College. Thetw o men jointly issued a number ofpapers and in 1926 Laudermilk wasmade Research Associate in Geo-chemistry by the college.After 1947 Laudermilk carried onhis work at home where special stu-dents recommended by the college aswell as adults and juveniles with emo-tional or adjustment problems receivedorientation and knowledge from him.He continued lecturing at the collegean d was a popular Southern Californiagem and mineral society speaker.* * *

"Ghost City on Mingus Mountain"is the first in what Desert Magazineeditors hope will be a long series ofarticles concerning the Southwest byGrover Brinkman, an ex-newspaper-man who edited his ownweekly for 21years.Brinkman decided there would bemore fun in traveling and freelancingan d has been at it since leaving thenewspaper field. TheBrinkmans maketheir headquarters in Okawville, Illi-nois, and they have two children whoaccompany them on their excursions."W e all shoot pictures, work theback-trails and out-of-the-way placesand occasionally come up with agood story," writes Brinkman.

Louise T. Werner, author of thismonth's "They Spurn the Easy Route"has recently accepted a position asassociate editor of the new magazine,Summit. Mrs. Werner also reportsthat her mountain climbing dog, Bun-dle, has conquered his 100th peak ofmore than 5000 feet ele

Documents

195604 Desert Magazine 1956 April