BACK ROAD ADVENTURE

William Bourdon. The road is marked Forest Service Road 918 on most maps. In the mid-1900s, Bourdon's ranch stretched for more than 30 miles with headquarters near the head of Silver Creek, a beautiful perennial stream. Piñon, juniper and scrub cedar trees provide shelter for elk, antelopes, deer, coyotes, bobcats and even an occasional wandering bear or mountain lion. Birds abound, including nesting eagles. The rugged land is covered with malapai, the black basalt rock widely used for fences, buildings and fireplaces. A cinder cone stands sentinel on the northern edge of the White Mountain Volcanic Field, its cinders mined for use on highways, railways and in building material. Turn right (east) onto Hatchery Way about 5 miles north of U.S. 60. A short drive on the dirt road leads to an interpretive sign and a trailhead. The original Bourdon house stands on the left, made from those plentiful black malapais. Today, the Arizona Game and Fish Department owns the home. A 4-mile round-trip hike leads to the spring that forms Silver Creek and the Silver Creek Hatchery and Wildlife Area. If you are unable to make the hike, call Game and Fish to arrange a weekday tour between 7 A.M. and 3:30 P.M. The hatchery raises Apache trout, which was registered as an endangered species in 1967, but because of the intense recovery effort it has been upgraded to threatened status. Some fishing is allowed on the home streams of this native trout. From October 1 to March 31, fishing along Silver Creek is catch-and-release using flies and artificial lures. Fishermen who want to taste their catch may use bait and keep six fish per day from April through September. The White Mountain Fly-Fishing group watches over the stream and sponsors improvement projects. The trail follows Silver Creek as it winds, gurgles and ripples through meadows covered with high grass and flowers. Cattails grow thick in marshy spots claimed by great blue herons and mallard ducks. A hawk watched us from the top of a cedar tree; other birds live here yearround or stop on their migratory trips. The trail ends at the hatchery where the spring bubbles up near large malapai rocks, forming the headwater of Silver Creek, the lifeblood of a string of nearby small towns. Flowing north about 47 miles to the Little Colorado River, the stream's year-round water has lured settlers since ancient times. Returning to Bourdon Ranch Road, continue north one-quarter mile and turn left (west) onto Silver Creek Drive. This road goes 3.3 miles to White Mountain Lake, originally known as Daggs Dam Reservoir. In the 1960s, the lake became private, for residents' use only, and the name changed. Today, the area is home to about 1,200 people. The lake allows private fishing only, but there is a small store open to the public. Started in 1906, Daggs Dam Reservoir provided irrigation water for the communities of Shumway, Taylor and Snowflake. It was dedicated in 1914 when, according to Albert J. Levine's From Indian Trails to Jet Trails, "60 carriages and wagons, 11 automobiles and more than 400 people attended the event." By 1917, Apache Railway tracks crossed the dam. In 1973, the train proved to be a blessing when the crew discovered the top of Daggs Dam caving in and radioed ahead the warning. Lowlying portions of downstream towns were evacuated while crews worked all night to keep the dam from breaking. Living in Snowflake, I remember being roused from sleep by a police car, lights flashing and loud speakers warning us to leave. I bundled up my 3-year-old daughter and headed to my north one-quarter mile and turn left (west) onto Silver Creek Drive. This road goes 3.3 miles to White Mountain Lake, originally known as Daggs Dam Reservoir. In the 1960s, the lake became private, for residents' use only, and the name changed. Today, the area is home to about 1,200 people. The lake allows private fishing only, but there is a small store open to the public. Started in 1906, Daggs Dam Reservoir provided irrigation water for the communities of Shumway, Taylor and Snowflake. It was dedicated in 1914 when, according to Albert J. Levine's From Indian Trails to Jet Trails, "60 carriages and wagons, 11 automobiles and more than 400 people attended the event." By 1917, Apache Railway tracks crossed the dam. In 1973, the train proved to be a blessing when the crew discovered the top of Daggs Dam caving in and radioed ahead the warning. Lowlying portions of downstream towns were evacuated while crews worked all night to keep the dam from breaking. Living in Snowflake, I remember being roused from sleep by a police car, lights flashing and loud speakers warning us to leave. I bundled up my 3-year-old daughter and headed to my

in-laws' house on higher land. It took nearly $400,000 worth of repairs on a dam that originally cost $40,000 to avert disaster.

From White Mountain Lake, backtrack on Silver Creek Drive to Bourdon Ranch Road and turn left (north). Drive to Silver Creek Golf Course, where the public is welcome.

Mexican Lake, on the left, holds any overflow from White Mountain Lake and, depending on weather conditions, runs either bone-dry or brimming full.

The Apache Railway suffered a holdup of sorts near here in its early days. The railroad purchased right-of-way access through private land, but Frank Baird, a rancher located below Daggs Dam, hadn't received his payment. He barricaded the tracks, forcing the train to halt. A.B. McGaffey, owner of the railway, happened to be on board and climbed down to see about the ruckus. Baird demanded payment and McGaffey promised to mail a check, but Baird made McGaffey pay cash immediately, then the barricade came down.

Just past Milepost 11 on Bourdon Ranch Road, unpaved Shumway Road veers to the left (west) for 3 miles and a postcard-perfect view of pastoral Shumway, settled by Mormon farmer Charles Shumway in 1881. Zigzagging down the hill, the road goes into Shumway and then crosses Silver Creek on a 10-ton-limit bridge.

The one-room Shumway Schoolhouse, in use from 1904 until 1944, stands one block past the bridge. Students carved their names in the soft red brick walls. Peer inside the windows to see the restored schoolroom.

Turn right (north) at the schoolhouse on Old Schoolhouse Road and follow the original road from Shumway to Taylor. The road curves past wild plum trees and apple orchards. A bridge crosses Show Low Creek, a tributary of Silver Creek, 1.4 miles after the schoolhouse. About 2 more miles and the road ends at State Route 77 on the southern end of Taylor.

All This back way isn't the fastest way to get from Show Low to Taylor, but when you can see Apache trout and an old schoolhouse, who's in a hurry?

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.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: Silver Creek Hatchery and Wildlife Area, (928) 537-7513, www.gf.state.az.us; Show Low Chamber of Commerce, (928) 537-2326, www.showlow.com; Snowflake/Taylor Chamber of Commerce, (928) 536-4331, www.snowflaketaylorchamber.com.

Entrepreneurial Money Went Down the Hole at Meteor Crater

EVER HEARD IT SAID that someone was pouring his money down a hole in the ground? Daniel M. Barringer, a lawyer and mining engineer, spent the last 27 years of his life doing just that, desperately trying to prove that a vast circular depression in northern Arizona was actually a meteorite crater.

But mining the giant meteorite never materialized. A half-billion years ago, an asteroid collided with another space object, and a meteoroid - 150 feet across, weighing 300,000 tons - broke off. For 50,000 years, it hurled through space at approximately 40,000 mph, before crashing into northern Arizona with the force of more than 20 million tons of TNT.

Unless someone looked down inside from the rim, the formation appeared as a small hill known locally as Coon Butte. When Barringer's theory was validated in the 1960s, Coon Butte became Barringer Meteorite Crater, or simply Meteor Crater. But his dream of The exploding meteorite left behind a crater, 4,000 feet wide and 700 feet deep, forming a rim that stills stands 150 feet above the surrounding plain. Most of the meteorite melted within milliseconds of contact, but tons of fragments spewed up to 10 miles from the impact. Even though erosion filled in the crater to 600 feet deep, 20 football fields could fit on its floor and the crater's sloping sides could accommodate 2 million seated fans.

In 1871, an Army scout first recorded the crater. It was assumed to be a volcanic cone until 1886 when shepherd Mathias Armijo picked up some strange, heavy rocks. Analysis proved the rocks were 92 percent iron, 7 percent nickel and .5 percent cobalt, with a few trace elements of platinum and iridium. In other wordsmeteorites. The nearest post office was at Canyon Diablo, so the estimated 15 tons of meteorites found nearby were called "Canyon Diablo irons." The largest, the Holsinger Meteorite, weighs 1,406 pounds and is on display in the Meteor Crater Learning Center.

Barringer first learned of the unusual crater in 1902 from Samuel J. Holsinger, who casually mentioned the legend that claimed it was formed by an object falling from space. Barringer investigated the site, became convinced it was indeed a meteorite crater and his obsession began.

However, G.K. Gilbert, the most famous geologist of the time, already had declared the crater the result of a volcanolike steam explosion. Gilbert was well liked, while Barringer was abrasive and argumentative, so most scientists chose Gilbert's hypothesis.

Barringer organized Standard Iron Co., issued stock and obtained a patent for a mining claim. Reasoning the meteorite was still in the bottom of the crater, he planned to extract it with a simple hoist and sell the ore.

Barringer's expedition soon met with reality. Quicksand, dense rock, water, bent and dulled