Historic Castle Hot Springs

A Journey Through Myth and Sunlight Seeks a Fountain of Youth

A MYSTERIOUS AND SACRED oasis lies deep in the mountains of central Arizona. For nearly a century, a now-historic resort there catered to the likes of John F. Kennedy, Theodore Roosevelt and society-page regulars such as the Rockefellers and the Astors—all fleeing brutal Eastern winters. Come spring, they would return to high society, refreshed, restored and miraculously younger than when they left.

The accounts of the spring-fed fountain of youth at the legendary Castle Hot Springs Resort, which opened in 1896, immediately hooked me. A brochure from the early 1900s reads: “Harmoniously situated in the midst of nature’s marvellous handiwork . . . It is like some enchanted spot one dreams or reads of-it must be experienced ere one can fully appreciate its charms.” Another description plugs the first-class bungalow-style haven as “an ideal spot for at least nine months of the year, for rest and pleasure, and general recuperation of health,” going on to claim, “the bathing is delightful as well as curative. Many suffering from rheumatism or kidney troubles have been permanently cured and the Springs are becoming famous on this account.”

Anxiously, I read on only to discover to my dismay that a fire gutted the main building in 1976 and the property has been closed to the public ever since. Now I really wanted to go, but it would clearly require an adventure-and plenty of rubbernecking.

On an overcast autumn day, musician and longtime friend Inda Eaton and I head for the foothills of the Hieroglyphic and Bradshaw mountains in pursuit of a rejuvenating ride. To begin, we drive about 37 miles northwest of Phoenix, toward Wickenburg, to Morristown, where U.S. Route 60 and State Route 74 meet.

When Castle Hot Springs, Arizona's first resort, opened in the late 1800s, Santa Fe Railway trains would take guests from Phoenix to this triangular township-also formerly called Hot Springs Junction. Next morning, they would take a four-hour stagecoach ride almost 24 miles to the resort. Morristown gives us our first clues that a nearby spring of eternal life may actually exist. The place hasn't gotten any younger but, with a population of 400, it certainly hasn't grown much since the Rockefellers first set foot there and climbed into their stagecoach a century ago.

Our route, Castle Hot Springs Road, begins just across State 74 from Morristown and will take us northeast into the mountains until we reach the springs. It will then return to 74 near the Lake Pleasant Regional Park, about 35 miles. For the first 2 miles, we cruise over fresh asphalt through a newly developed neighborhood of luxury homes. As the neighborhood ends, the blacktop becomes a graded red dirt road and, though we approach with far more horsepower and shock absorption than a stagecoach, Castle Hot Springs Road (once touted as “the best road in the Territory”) still promises an “uplifting” adventure.

The road passes through sections of private land and winds past part of the White Picacho mining district overseen by the U.S. Bureau of Land Management. We navigate northeast into the slim valley of the Buckhorn and Hieroglyphic mountains' foothills, which actually have no hieroglyphics, but do abound with Indian petroglyphs.

The road climbs scenic hillsides and descends into narrow nooks. Around every twist, we revel in the post-monsoon splendor of desert flora and fauna, vibrant after a much-needed autumn drink. Saguaros, cholla, flowering desert shrubs and the bony fingers of deep-green ocotillo offer a majesty of texture and color. Such an outbreak of nature so close to the city's sweltering chaos makes us feel younger already.

Just under 14 miles northeast of Morristown, we drop into washes where recent rains have made small pools out of potholes and the road into a sandbox. Here, moist, streamlike stains of sulfur and crusted calcium and magnesium deposits drain down the surrounding iron-rich rock into squishy, verdant beds of spring-fed vegetation in shaded arroyos on either the side of the road. These mountains ooze minerals from their pores.

About 6 miles later, the road bends to the east and forks, where we bear right. About a mile later, we come to another fork and bear right again. We travel along the southern banks of Castle Creek, once sacred to the Apaches who believed its waters contained magical and medicinal properties. The U.S. Army reportedly claimed the waters in 1867 after a bloody battle with the Apaches. During the fighting, Fort Whipple commander Col. Charles Craig climbed to a mountain crest, looked out over the vast horizon and said, “If we find the headwaters of that creek, boys, we’ll call it Castle Springs in memory of this.”

Legend claims the water’s unique properties healed the wounded soldiers, some of whom supposedly made miraculous recoveries. After that story got around, soldiers made it a point to “drink to the Colonel’s ‘Castle Hot Springs’.”

We follow the signs directing us toward Lake Pleasant, which lead us just north of the rugged Hells Canyon Wilderness. Here, we note telltale signs of a desert oasis in the shape of towering California fan palm trees. The giant 45to 60-foot-tall trees, scientifically known as Washingtonia filifera, line the property of JL Bar, a retired cattle ranch built in the late 1800s.

Uphill about a half-mile, the converging Hieroglyphic and Bradshaw foothills begin closing in, and we see the tips of more California fans, which have the rare distinction of growing naturally near Castle Hot Springs as well as from transplanted seedlings. Like kids at Christmas, we can't wait to see what's under those trees. Perhaps the gift of Castle Hot Springs? At about mile 23 into the drive, there it is.

As the hill sharply descends, parts of the resort appear to our left. We can only imagine what first-time guests felt upon seeing these pieces of paradise after hours of kicking up desert dust. A white wooden fence encloses lush green grass and strategically planted trees that adorn the perfectly manicured grounds. Closest to the road sits the remains of former guest quarters. Beyond the stone shell stands the only remaining private bungalow, saved and renovated by previous owners. Consumed by time and termites, the neighboring historic cottages that once dotted the hillside are now, simply, history-mere piles of rubble awaiting removal.

Because a tree-lined lawn is all that's left of the Palm Building (the heart and soul of the hotel destroyed by fire more than 30 years ago), the property's architectural centerpiece is now a cheery, well-preserved two-story house. Once a recreation hall for guests, the inviting edifice is now home to groundskeepers who have occupied it for nearly a decade.

Flanked by electric blooms of bougainvillea and emerald lawns, the yellow-and-white clapboard structures appear brand-new, but a “private” sign deters exploration. Since 1998, Vermont businessman David Garrett has owned the resort and surrounding acreage. In 2005, he started looking for private investors to buy the resort or commercial investors to help restore it, which means it won't be open to the public again for some while, if at all.

Due to the steep grade and curve of the road (not to mention the fence that clearly reads “Private Property” and “No Trespassing”), our line of sight is limited. We seek a better view of the resort farther south on Castle Hot Springs Road. A few hundred yards past a concrete embankment that extends the length of the property, we find a safe spot on the road from which to gawk at the sprawling estate. From here, it appears just as the brochure said, “like some enchanted spot one dreams or reads of.”

We can almost see the debutantes in their Rose Marie Reid swimsuits lounging by the pool, or JFK volleying on the courts in his crisp white tennis togs, or the wealthy World War I and II-era vacationers strolling the shaded pathways in their “casual” attire, igniting their joie de vivre. Then I turn and look toward the hidden cracks of the spring-bearing hillsides, and I can also imagine those vanished Apache warriors patiently guarding their sacred waters.

We continue down Castle Hot Springs Road toward Lake Pleasant Regional Park along a 3-mile stretch on which the road and the riverbed merge. Fallen debris, puddles and muddy sediment underscore the danger of the route in a rainstorm. Residents note that floods have been known to isolate them for days at a time, which might explain why Castle Hot Springs remains undeveloped.

When we reach State Route 74, we head east toward Interstate 17. Near 74 and Lake Pleasant Road, we pull into the Wild Horse West restaurant/bait shop/saloon, a favorite of lake-goers. We don't get to sip the restorative waters of Castle Hot Springs, but hot dogs and cold drinks serve in a pinch. And strangely enough, after a day in the myth and sunlight, we do feel miraculously younger. AH

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