Stress Relief on 'The Blue'

100 degrees in Phoenix, yet we're the only campers in the campground, a testament to the Blue's seclusion. This pleasant campground sits along the riverbank with tables, firepits, rest rooms and camping shelters. The vegetation is lush, thick with grapevines and cottonwood, box elder and willow trees. Birds scold me from the trees, and a squirrel eyes me curiously before it gives me a wide berth. I spot some fish in the creek. They're so tiny I don't really notice them until they move. A ranger in Alpine told me, "Yes, you can fish in Blue River, but it's not the best place." I wonder if he was talking about those tiny fish. To young Mark, though, a fish is a fish, andown ranch, and I enjoy listening to all her stories. Awtrey remembers going to school in the one-room schoolhouse. Blue isn't really a "town," just a string of ranches along the river, so the schoolhouse was the "community center." It burned down in 1987, but was rebuilt and still serves as the town's meeting place. Awtrey is a member of the Cowbelles, a cattle industry women's group that sponsors potluck dinners and service projects. Life can be a challenge in a remote place such as this. Awtrey and Orn are seldom snowbound, but river flooding poses a problem. In 1972, a flood took out the road A VISIT TO THE GROCERY STORE REQUIRES A 100-MILE ROUND-TRIP, AND MAIL IS DELIVERED ONLY THREE TIMES A WEEK.

he tries catching them with his hands. A wooden gate at the end of the campground leads to a rock-art site. Petroglyphs of deer, bear feet, circles and other symbols are pecked into volcanic boulders. An interpretive sign explains that the figures are 700 to 900 years old and were probably made by the prehistoric Mogollon Culture. The exact meaning and purpose of the designs are unknown, but archaeologists believe they probably represent clan symbols, ceremonial signs or hunting scenes. After we settle in, I want to go visit Rose Awtrey and Kit Orn, two women who know the area well. Awtrey grew up around here and formerly worked for Orn's parents, Bill and Barbara Quinsler, when they bought a ranch on the Blue. Now, Awtrey owns herand the powerline. A generator, brought in by helicopter, helped the tiny community until the powerlines could be fixed. They both laugh about the old phone system, claiming it was temperamental on cloudy days. It's been replaced, and now the Blue even has access to the Internet. There are still trials, though. A visit to the grocery store requires a 100-mile round-trip, and mail is delivered only three times a week. Churches are lacking along the Blue, but the scenery reflects God's handiwork. Both women claim to love their privacy and solitude, but they also have fun sitting on the porch and conversing when someone happens to come by. Awtrey says, "There are only about three or four true ranches left along the Blue, but a few other people are Moving in and everyone gets along." Leaving Awtrey and Orn to their rocking chairs, we ride along the Blue River for several miles before dark. Campbell Blue Creek coming from the west and the Dry Blue Creek coming from New Mexico join as the Blue River, emptying into the San Francisco River north of Clifton. Only in the desert Southwest would this small creek be called a river. Where the energetic beavers haven't created ponds, I can jump across it or wade through about 6 inches of water. The road winds back and forth across the creek. At one crossing, we stop and let Mark make friends with a Black Angus calf, a hound dog and a cat that have come out to inspect us. Farther downriver, green banks are replaced by canyon walls, and we flush out quail, scare a javelina and watch a toad bury itself in the dark earth. There's more to explore, but we need to return to camp before dark. The whinny of horses wakes me the next morning. Jerry Fails has arrived, and he's promised Heath and me a horseback ride along the Foote Creek Trail. Bob, Eileen and Mark are going to do some hiking and see if the fish have grown overnight. Fails is sore and bruised from getting bucked off a horse the weekend before, but he climbs back on Dollar, the horse that threw him, to explore the Blue with us. I'm riding Charge, and Heath is on Buck, a name not particularly reassuring to her.

The narrow Foote Creek Trail has room for just one horse and starts out by switchbacking steeply out of the river bottom. The forest smells fresh after last night's gentle prayer rain, and the creak of saddles and the clattering of horses' hooves over the rocks make for a pleasant day.

We find Foote Creek full of large cobblestones worn smooth from tumbling through floodwaters. A bashful creek, the Foote sometimes hides completely, then peeks out through small potholes before darting back underground.

Along the creek bottom, the trail becomes lost among the rocks and we can't find the cairn trail markers. With thunderclouds looming on the horizon, we decide to turn back and try another trail tomorrow. The horses seem to know we are returning to camp and quicken their steps. As we zigzag back down switchbacks to the horse trailer, Heath tends to lean away from the sharp drop-off, pulling the saddle off center. That's all right, though, because when we turn a corner, she automatically leans to the other side, straightening her saddle.

Back in camp we enjoy a brief rainstorm, then are back outside watching Eileen grill hamburgers. Why does everything taste so good when you're out in the forest? We spend the cool evening letting Fails beat us all in dominoes and listening to the wind in the pines.

The next morning, Fails wants to explore the Tutt Creek Trail, while Mark tries more "fishing." We run into Dennis Stacy, a cowboy whose family has been ranching on the Blue since 1902. He's rounding up cattle and since he's going in our direction, we tag along talking rancher talk. How's the grass? What tank's dry? How's the calf crop?

We split off from Stacy, promising to drive back any stray cattle we find, but his dog stays with us. Obviously, the dog figures we need a guide, and he's taken on the job. Clouds form again today, casting random shadow patterns on mauve cliffs. New spring grass pokes through a golden brown blanket of pine needles and black malapai boulders glisten from last night's rain.

Relaxing under a pine tree, listening for thunder and watching Fails feed his apple core to Dollar, life's problems seem far away. Yes, a leisurely trip down the Blue to enjoy a serene, beautiful river and some quiet time is the best medicine I know for a bad case of city life. All arizonahighways.com

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS 43

humor IT'S Snow JOKE WEIRD Place-names in ARIZONA EARLY DAY ARIZONA

popular novelist boasted to the brutal critic about his phenomenal sales. Then, fishing for compliments, he sighed and said: "I grow richer and richer, but all the same, I think my new work is not as good as the old." "Oh, nonsense," said the critic. "You write just as well as you ever did, my boy. Your taste is improving, that's all."

CACTUS FLAT Unusual Perspective

Hummingbirds' attraction to red is a learned behavior stemming from many encounters with nectar-rich red flowers. They also saw how much respect bulls were getting and didn't want to pass that up.

THE NIGHT SKY

The night sky was one of our joke topics. Here's how our readers responded: I met this girl at a party and asked her if she had ever seen the Crab Nebula. She said it was on the table next to the salsa.

Talk about one-upmanship! I asked a friend if he ever heard of the Van Allen Belt and he said he just bought one to go with his Armani tie.

My buddy swears he saw a flying saucer. He couldn't tell for sure because he had already gotten hit by the dinner plate.

POLICE PROFILING

Cars last forever in Arizona, so Phoenix is also the comfortable home of my favorite 10-year-old convertible fun car. My repair shop cautioned me the aging oil-pump belt was drying out. I promised I would listen for any symptom of ratcheting. Some time later I was driving slowly in the right lane and listening to the engine. To my surprise, I was pulled over by a police car. The officer who approached satisfied himself that my license and registration were in order and waved me on.

Curious, I asked the officer what I had done wrong. He said, "Nothing." Then, hesitating, he explained, "It's my partner back there who got suspicious. He's never seen a Ferrari going 35 miles an hour before."

WHEN IT RAINS

A first-time visitor was driving across southern Arizona during July. He stopped at a small-town store for a cold soda and commented to an old man sitting out front, "I've never been anyplace so hot and dry."

"Yup, it's hot," agreed the old man, "but it's been lots drier."

"I can't believe that," said the traveler.

The old-timer shook his head and asked, "You ever read the Bible?" The visitor said he did. "Remember the story of Noah?" "Sure. The rain and the great flood," said the other. "Well," said the old man, "that year we only got a half-inch."

MISDIAGNOSIS

My 97-years-young Aunt Maggie went to a doctor because her right leg was very sore. The doctor, who was young enough to be Maggie's grandson, looked at her and said, "The reason you have pain in your leg is simply because of age."

Maggie looked at him and said, "Young man, my left leg is as old as my right leg, and it's not giving me any pain!"

TO SUBMIT HUMOR

Send your jokes and humorous Arizona anecdotes to Humor, Arizona Highways, 2039 W. Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009 or e-mail us at [email protected]. We'll pay $50 for each item used. Please include your name, address and telephone number with each submission.

Reader's Corner

Saddles can be very ornate. In fact, I know one guy who had so much gold, silver and jewels on his saddle there was no room for the horse.

Send us your jokes on saddlemaking, this month's special topic, and we'll send you $50 for each one we publish.