Archive All Issues April 2004

Blue River and San Francisco River

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Getting to the confluence of two scenic Arizona waterways isn''t all that easy, and there''s ample excitement in the trip.

Featured in the April 2004 Issue of Arizona Highways

Clutching the San Francisco's riverbank with its exposed roots, an Arizona white oak tree frames a view of Antelope Mesa to the north.
Clutching the San Francisco's riverbank with its exposed roots, an Arizona white oak tree frames a view of Antelope Mesa to the north.

{back road adventure}

Drive, and during wet weather this portion could be extremely hazardous. Within an hour, we dropped off the mesa into the comforting shade of Martinez Ranch, a working cattle and sheep spread. Since it was still early in the day and we would be spending the night at the ranch (one of our guides knew the owners), we went looking for the confluence in the early afternoon. From the ranch west to the confluence measures just 2.5 miles, but the distance, we discovered, means little.

A half-mile south of the ranch, an old four-wheeldrive road, which is, to tell the truth, a barely identifiable clearing, crosses the river several times before it reaches the confluence. We rumbled through the first crossing, but at the second one the water was too high for the sandrail's engine. It was deep-as Arizona rivers go-almost up to my waist when we waded across. The current wasn't too bad at that second crossing, but we had trouble keeping our balance. At some crossings, I waded into calf-high water, and then suddenly I'd be in a hole up to my thighs. At least it was refreshing. During high-water periods, even the first crossing may be impassable.

As we approached the confluence, my pants were soaked and my shoes filled with sand, but maybe this was better than in the old days.

Before he built the Dix Mesa road in about 1966, Abe Martinez told me, he and his wife and sons reached their ranch by riding horseback up the San Francisco River from Clifton, a distance they measured by the number of river crossings. There were 58 crossings, he said, and at some point his wife, Lydia, insisted she wanted to drive a road instead of a river, which is why there is now an unpaved road in from Dix Mesa via FR 212.

At the confluence, where the San Francisco made a graceful bend as it met the Blue, a pale cliff rose like a divider between the two waterways. We rested and then poked around a bit, finding a lot of obsidian shards and one abandoned homestead, a small wooden building tucked into a grove of mesquite and cottonwood trees. How many floods did the people who once lived here endure before they gave it up? I wondered.

The following morning, we left Martinez Ranch and started out for Clifton, but this time a different way. We went through Rattlesnake Canyon, just for variety. The hills are very steep and the road narrows along this route, but it's also scenic. The sandrail struggled on some of the steeper hills, but the clincher was yet to come.

After an hour, we topped out in some rolling meadows surrounded by higher mountains and great puffs of cumulus clouds. Suddenly, we reached the top of Rattlesnake Canyon. The road before us fell away almost vertically. After the first 75 feet, it made a 90-degree turn to the left. If we didn't make that left, we'd go straight over the edge. We began the descent. Halfway down, we started to fishtail in loose rocks. As we came to the turn, Rasco seemed noticeably tense, dancing lightly on the brake, his arms tight. The sandrail's turning radius wouldn't do it. Not quite. I sucked in my breath thinking, This is not going to end well.

We couldn't make the abrupt left turn. Coming to a stop maybe 3 inches from the drop into eternity, Rasco tried to back up, but reverse gear wouldn't workhe had built the buggy with a Volkswagen transmission, which obviously needed more adjustment. Each time he tried to get into reverse, we pitched forward a little more.

Fortunately, Herbert followed a short distance behind us with a four-wheel-drive truck. We chained the sandrail to the truck's front bumper. But the truck sat on a steep downhill slope and, when Herbert tried to back up, his tires began to spin. Gradually, he was able to drag us away from the ledge so that Rasco could drive back onto the road.

truck. We chained the sandrail to the truck's front bumper. But the truck sat on a steep downhill slope and, when Herbert tried to back up, his tires began to spin. Gradually, he was able to drag us away from the ledge so that Rasco could drive back onto the road.

I walked down the next quarter-mile, and even that was nerve-wracking. After Rasco caught up, he said, “I think the worst is over. Climb in.” I did, and guess what? Five minutes later, we found ourselves in the same situation we had just escaped-facing downhill on a sharp switchback that we couldn't negotiate. It ended well, but I'm not pushing my luck again.

Next time I'll go back out the way we had gone in-and I recommend this for others, as well-over Dix Mesa, which is only 12 miles from Martinez Ranch and not nearly as threatening as Rattlesnake Canyon. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: ApacheSitgreaves National Forests, Clifton Ranger District, (928) 687-1301; J Train Tours, (928) 485-9404; www.jtraintours.com.

WARNING: Back road travel can be hazardous if you are not prepared for the unexpected. Whether traveling in the desert or in the high country, be aware of weather and road conditions, and make sure you and your vehicle are in top shape. Carry plenty of water. Don't travel alone, and let someone at home know where you're going and when you plan to return. Odometer readings in the story may vary by vehicle.

{destination} Guests at Bisbee's School House Inn Get to Sleep in Class

THE EARLY MORNING LIGHT creeps over the Mule Mountains, lighting up rocks with a pink and purple glow. Even though it's early, Bisbee's residents are busy at work. Miners dig deeper into the mines, railroad workers unload cars, shopkeepers prepare for the coming day and Bisbee's children scramble to school to play on the playground before the first bell rings.

That was 1918, the height of Bisbee's glory, and with 15 schools strategically placed at halfmile intervals, no child had to walk far to get an education. Today, Garfield Grade School carries on its tradition as a schoolhouse-as the School House Inn that is.

Once through the tunnel at Mule Pass - the longest tunnel in Arizona - visitors to this ramshackle town are drawn into the rich copper canyons. Another mile down Tombstone Canyon stands the large red brick School House Inn, sitting on its lofty perch above the two-tiered playground that is now a city park.

Jeff and Bobby Blankenbeckler greet visitors and offer a tour through the lower level before taking them upstairs to check in. A step down leads to an enlarged foyer. Ceramic apples line a ledge dividing the area from the kitchen, which is off-limits to guests. Raggedy Ann and her twin sister sit in old-fashioned high chairs as Jeff explains the rules of the house: no smoking, candles, incense, pets or children under 14.

He then continues into the large dining area and living room, where breakfast is served at 8 A.M. A microwave is available for those wanting a bag of popcorn to munch on while watching a little television or a video from the Blankenbecklers' collection. There's also the requisite cabinet of games for those wanting some quiet competition.

Guests travel up the wide staircase past photos from the building's days as a member of Bisbee School District 2. Solemn students, in grades 1 through 4, stand cleancheeked in rows with their teachers. A closer glance reveals that although the children are wearing clean clothes, several of them are barefoot.

Floor plans of the building from June 1917 show that the upper level was divided originally into four large classrooms with a boys'