An Arizona Trail to Yesterday

An Arizona Trail to

N ARIZONA many roads lead to remnants of human habitations centuries old. Some are traveled yearly by thousands of people mildly curious to take an easy step into the dawn of Arizona's history. Among such accessible and interesting ruins are Casa Grande National Monument, presided over by a corps of very efficient and courteous rangers versed in the legends of races that have disappeared and having at their disposal catalogued exhibits protected by show cases to illustrate the lecture points. Montezuma's Castle and Montezuma's well offer no challenge to would-be adventurers. A chauffeur could drive one to the very door. On the outskirts of Phoenix, Pueblo Grande unfolds its page from the past for any casual psuedo-archeologist to read and ponder.

The thrill of mystery and splendor to some, at least, varies with the degree of difficulty experienced in obtaining that thrill. Many Americans voluble in praise of European ranges and splendid vistas, have never seen the rugged mountain peaks, awesome gorges, wind swept mesas of the southwest; have never felt with a shudder the brooding infinity that lies over a painted desert under ramparts of clouds thrown skyward in such stupendous proportions even the mighty hills seemed dwarfed by comparison.

For those interested, there is an ever dimming road to yesterday, leading east from Phoenix over highway 80. It swerves at Apache Junction 16 miles east of Mesa, twists and turns, dips and climbs over the world-famous Apache Trail to Roosevelt Dam. Turning right, toward Globe, past the restored Tonto Cliff dwellings, the route leaves the highway and the journey continues over a mountain road that leads into the Sierra Ancha range through historic Pleasant Valley, climbs to the top of the Mogollon Rim a mile and a half high, drops from the great pine forests to sweep through the rolling cattle country, made famous by the writings of Zane Grey, to join Highway 60 at Holbrook.

The road to yesterday follows this route but 30 miles, however. At Aztec L'dge, a mile high summer resort nestling in the pines at the foot of Baker Mountain, begins a Forest Service Trail. Workman Creek has cut a canyon through which the trail threads its way, by pines of ever increasing size until at the foot of one giant tree about a mile from the traveled road the tracks of aut mobiles stop. Here lies the Grantham homestead plot and it is with Levi Grantham and his horses that the journey is best continued. The mountain trained cow ponies to whom these abruptly rising, thickly wooded hillsides are familiar territory, swing

FEBRUARY, 1935 ARIZONA HIGHWAYS 5 Yesterday Trip to Crumbling Old Ruins in Sierra Anchas Replete in Mystery and Adventure

along at an even, plodding gait, deceptive in its apparent lack of speed. Good progress is easy despite the stiff climb, because during the months of July and August the Rangers use this trail as one of the arteries for the elaborate fire control system. Weeks of labor have smoothed the path, removing the winter wash that fills the inner edge and strengthened the outer edge over which it seems at times the rider is suspended. As the 6,000 foot level is approached the pines alternate with gigantic Douglas firs and straight, tall spruce trees that lend a somber contrast to the lighter needles of the pines.

Soon Workman Falls is heard. Here the mountain creek tumbles one hundred and fifty feet to the canyon floor. Starting as a dark, narrow ribbon as it rolls into space, but changed by the great height into a veritable veil of shining silver the mantle of mist spreads in the descent into a cloud of spray. As is true in many waterfalls, space is found behind the shimmering curtain for passage without getting wet if the desire for this experience is equal to the task of climbing down the almost vertical sides of the canyon and then back up to the trail. At this point the climb becomes steeper; the surface of the trail changes to solid rock over which the horses pick their way far too nonchalantly for the amateur woodsman. The rider's gaze falls two hundred feet or so straight down. There is a rapid review in the tenderfoot's mind of any incidents in which horses committed suicide. The fact that the animals unswervingly walk the outer edge increases the rider's appreciation of the height.

Through an ever thickening growth of timber, the party approaches the Peterson ranch which suddenly opens its level fields and orderly orchards in a surprising stretch of open clearing made doubly pleasing to the eye by the recollection of the narrow canyon in which the earlier part of the ride was made. Looming a thousand feet above to the left is Aztec Peak, 8,000 feet high, the loftiest point in the Sierra Anchas. From the Forest service ranger look-out on its crest, a panorama of rugged splendor stretches away in every direction. Far to the west, blue in the distance, Superstition breaks the horizon with its jagged outline. Four Peaks marks the tip of the Mazatzals which disappear behind McFadden Peak, crowned with another look-out post, to the northeast. Pleasant Valley lies in the north and the skyline is ruled by the peculiarly long, blue, even line that is the Mogollon Rim. The vast circle swings to the south and across Cherry Creek thousands of feet below, to where the shadowy Pinals tower above the low hanging haze and smoke that hovers over the mining towns of Miami and Globe.

A conjecture at the number of board feet of excellent timber and the pounds of beef existing within sight is hastily abandoned with a feeling of utter futility. One hurried glance as Grantham points out our destination lying almost directly below-mysterious Pueblo Canyon with its secrets centuries old! Back on the trail, the sudden realization comes that all this has been very pleasant but that the best lies ahead. Shadows are lengthening and although the car was abandoned shortly before noon,

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