The Verde River - Abundant and Glorious

A PORTFOLIO verde river A TREASURED EMERALD OF THE DESERT

The scent of fresh crushed mint

Infused the air as my horse stepped on a patch of the herb. Daydreaming, I let the reins hang loose on Bud, a wellbroken Oklahoma mustang. He led as we dawdled along the first 10 miles of the Verde River on a fine day. We splashed across the silken strands of the shallow river countless times, and each time Bud would drop his head and take a long drink. I was hypnotized by the sweet warmth of the spring sunshine and the yellow warblers that flashed through green-leaved cottonwoods.

Ann Harrington, accomplished horsewoman and owner of the Little Thumb Butte Bed and Breakfast, supplied the trusty steeds. She was eager to show off her home country, but knowing she had a novice rider on her hands she solicitously watched my every move. Mindy SchlimgenWilson from Prescott joined us for the day. Laurie Wirt, a geologist with the U.S. Geological Survey, had masterminded the trip.

Wirt scampered down to sample a spring bubbling up from the streambed. Farther along, she and SchlimgenWilson marveled over the industriousness of beavers whose work left limpid pools and lush plant life more like a Louisiana bayou than a desert river.

For more than a decade, Wirt has studied the Verde, concentrating on the headwaters north of Prescott. The day before our horseback ride, she arrived at Harrington's home and unrolled large colorful maps and aerial photos on the table. With her hands, she traced the outlines of the Martin Formation and the Redwall limestone, rocks that enclose the upper Verde. But mostly she talked about the river.

"The thing that makes the Verde different," explained Wirt, "is that most rivers start up in the mountains. But the Verde begins at the confluence of two large valleys, Big Chino and Little Chino." It is, after all, a true desert river.

She went on to describe that beneath each of those valleys sits an aquifer, a big water-holding "sponge." Thatwater seeps aboveground in several places near the outlets of the two valleys, most conspicuously at nearby Del Rio Springs. There, not only a river but also a state were born. In 1853, government surveyor Amiel Weeks Whipple happened upon the springs in a basin "so abundant in curled

[LEFT] Although trouble seems to be brewing between this pair of great blue herons, the dustup is actually an example of avian courtship. C.K. LORENZ [BELOW] The broad valley and usually gentle flow of the Verde River between Cottonwood and Camp Verde fosters a marshy habitat that supports a wide variety of plant and animal life. Here, a predawn mist rises above the river and lemon-colored Hooker's evening primroses await the sunrise. NICK BEREZENKO Ten yearslater, another group of surveyors followed Whipple's route and stayed at the springs. They decided this was a prime site for a military post to protect new gold mines in the area. By December 1863, Fort Whipple, Arizona Territory, was in existence. The following month, mistaking Little Thumb Butte for look-alike Big Thumb Butte, the new Territory's first officials stopped beside "a small stream of water supposed to be, and for the present, called the head waters of the San Francisco river" (soon known by the Spanish name Verde). Though the water was of excellent quality, the flow was insufficient to sustain a permanent Territorial capital. Within six weeks, the fort was moved 20 miles south to what would become Prescott, placing it closer to the mines. Pumped and diverted, Del Rio Springs still supports a heron rookery, but no longer reaches the Verde. By state law, mile zero on the river is now Sullivan Lake dam, a few miles north of the springs. The dam was built in the mid-1930s to create a recreation playground, complete with duck blinds where President Theodore Roosevelt hunted waterfowl. In wet years, a small lake gathers behind the dam, but in dry times it's more (Text continued on page 26)

(Continued from page 23) a meadow. Two miles below the dam, Granite Creek, the first perennial tributary, enters the Verde.

Groundwater, springs and a small tributary-subtle and hard to pinpoint. Still this headwaters region marks the beginning of a real flowing riveran emerald jewel amid tawny grasslands and sparse piñon and juniper trees. From here, the Verde River travels 198 miles to meet the Salt River in the Sonoran Desert.

Several perennial tributaries enter along the way. Granite Creek is the first; Fossil Creek is the largest; Sycamore, Oak, Beaver and Tangle creeks also belong to the family. In all, the Verde gathers strands from more than 6,600 square miles of rugged, beautiful central Arizona, an area larger than the state of Connecticut. Along the way, the river feeds otters and eagles, cottonwood and willow trees, ranchers and farmers, boaters and bird-watchers.

The Verde possesses at least three distinct personalities. The upper portion passes through steep-walled, colorful rimrock and canyon country, narrow and choked with stranded logs and debris. Near Clarkdale, a more civilized river loops through a wide, velvet-green valley, watering pecan orchards and farmfields and the towns of Cottonwood and Camp Verde.

The lower Verde charges past the Mazatzal Wilderness, punctuated by rowdy rapids, the only way in or out along a handful of arduous backcountry roads or trails. The river's current is stilled for a time in Horseshoe and Bartlett reservoirs before making a last-gasp run into the Salt about 35 miles east of Phoenix.

Other than the two main downstream dams and a few diversions upstream, the Verde remains a mercurial stream ruled by the whims of the weather. Bob Williams, who has boated the entire length of the river, advises: "One must know and remember that unpredictability is one of the Verde's . . . more endearing qualities."

Fed by heavy rains on top of snows in the upper tributaries, the Verde can be transformed into a big brown bear of a river. Two unforgettable floods in two centuriesin 1891 and 1993-made the record books. Both years, a torrent ripped down the Verde at close to 150,000 cubic feet per second. In average years, the river sidles along at a fraction of that volume, and in dry summers it dwindles to a trickle.

The Hohokam and Sinagua Indians, who lived along the Verde a thousand years ago, certainly knew of the river's recklessness. So did later ranchers like the Morgans, Perkins, Alvarezes and Packards.

About 25 miles downriver from Sullivan Lake, George They have seen both the male and female eagles dive into the river for trout, carp and suckers, and have even witnessed the pair snatching prey from a red-tailed hawk and an osprey.

[PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 24 AND 25] Another tributary of the Verde River, Oak Creek helped carve the famous canyon that bears its name. Deep in the canyon's recesses, the creek splashes past boulders and streamside sedges as nearby sycamore trees flaunt the first gold of early fall. BOB AND SUZANNE CLEMENZ [LEFT] A bald eagle watches from its nest on a cliff above the Verde River. LARRY LINDAHL [RIGHT] Occupied until A.D. 1425, after other dwellings in the area were abandoned, Tuzigoot, above the banks of the Verde River, might have drawn the ancient Sinagua Indians who had fled years of drought. RANDY PRENTICE

[ABOVE] Dead Horse Ranch State Park along the Verde River offers camping, hiking trails and year-round fishing opportunities.

[OPPOSITE PAGE] Beaver Creek joins the Verde River near Camp Verde. The Sinagua Indians settled throughout its valley in the 12th and 13th centuries and built the misnamed but well-known Montezuma Castle along its banks.

and Sharon Yard have their Y Bar D ranch at Perkinsville. What is surely one of the biggest cottonwood trees in the state casts an immense umbrella of shade on their riverside land. Cattle ranchers, the Yards decided not to graze their stock along the banks, and the riparian edge has responded with a spectacular recovery. They have also been trying to save a small threatened fish called the spikedace that is native to the Verde.

The Verde Canyon Railroad makes its turn-around at Perkinsville. Senator William Clark built the line in 1912 to haul copper ore from his United Verde Co. mines at Jerome. Today, passengers ride the 40-mile round-trip for the scenery. The cars sway and the brakes screech as the train snakes around tight curves through the Verde Canyon. Below Perkinsville, passengers rush to the right side of the train as the guide points out a loose mass of sticks set on a dark basalt cliff high above the river. It's called the Tower site, one of a number of bald eagle nests up and down the Verde.

The Verde River is a hotspot for bald eagles. Official observers with the Arizona Bald Eagle Nest Watch Program keep tabs on nesting pairs from December through mid-June, while the birds give birth and raise young.

I accompanied Brenda Wilson and Glenn Johnson on one of their daily observations of the eagle family at the Tower site. We got comfortable on a rocky, cactus-studded hillside, swatting juniper gnats and peering through a spotting scope as mom fed two youngsters that had just hatched. Wilson and Johnson talked like proud parents, protective of any intrusions that might cause the birds to crush the eggs or abandon the newborns.Four young boys, poles in hand, were doing some earnest bass fishing. “We don't eat them,” one assured us, “we throw them back in.” Near Bridgeport, signs of civilization began to appear-laundry hanging on lines and barbecue grills ready for cookouts.

They have seen both the male and female eagles dive into the river for trout, carp and suckers, and have even witnessed the pair snatching prey from a red-tailed hawk and an osprey. The day before, Wilson and Johnson watched all four members of the family feeding on one big fish. This same eagle pair, they said, has inhabited the area for at least 10 years.

In my quest to learn more about the Verde, it was time to get in a boat. Friend Jene Vredevoogd graciously offered two blue inflatables, better known as “rubber duckies,' for a float through the Verde Valley. We launched at Dead Horse Ranch State Park at Cottonwood where a rare riparian forest of Fremont cottonwoods and Goodding willows drapes the shore.

We nestled down in the duckies, eye level with waving cattails and stiff scouring rush. Goose-down cottonwood fluff whitened the air. Redwing blackbirds trilled their cascading, watery song, and two graceful hawks circled overhead. Beavers had gnawed young willows to pointed tips. High cutbanks of buff and orange sandstone kept houses and roads out of sight and out of mind.

She brags about his neighbors - the otters, raccoons and great horned owls.

For the next 30 miles or so to Beasley Flat, the river is negotiable by inexperienced boaters. But at Beasley, the Verde awakens as it departs the gentle valley and veers due south into the grips of the desert. The next 40 miles are designated part of the National Wild and Scenic River System. And the Verde Falls and other wily rapids await those river runners who commit to the multiday trip.

One of the takeouts is Sheeps Crossing, where a rough Forest Service road bumps down to the river and an old bridge. It was a challenge for sheepmen to get their herds across rivers like the Verde, as they drove them from winter to summer pasture. In the 1940s, Dr. Ralph Raymond of the Flagstaff Sheep Co. decided to build a bridge at this crossing to ease the way for his 10,000 sheep. His foreman, Frank Auza, and carpenter George Smith constructed the bridge with used mining cables and lumber. For the next four decades, herds of bawling woolies jostled across the bridge, swinging 45 feet above the river.

A few miles below Sheeps Crossing, the Verde's wild streak is tamed by Horseshoe and then Bartlett dams. Horseshoe was built in 1946, Bartlett in 1939, both in complicated arrangements to assure Verde water to the Phoenix Basin. Below Bartlett, the Verde tumbles quietly toward its rendezvous with the Salt River. On hot summer days, people swirl by in inner tubes, paying little heed to the landmark confluence where the Verde becomes another river.

Always, it's good to go back to the source. Up near the headwaters, Laurie Wirt and I bushwhacked down Granite Creek one afternoon. For a distance the streambed was dry. Suddenly, Wirt knelt by a small pool of water and uttered one word: "Current." Granite Creek had started to flow. We sat on a huge downed cottonwood, munching peppery wild watercress and musing about the value of the Verde River's unique headwater valleys, the hidden aquifers underneath and the pressure to provide water to one of the fastest-growing parts of the state. Letting down her scientific guard for a moment, Wirt's love of this river surfaced like the pool in the creek. "If people knew what was here," she said as her voice trailed off, "if they knew what they could lose . . ."