Road Projects Under Construction

Trespassers in Mesa Land

(Continued from Page 7) which is sufficiently like its New York prototype to justify a suit for libel. Then, for local color, we have had "painted desert" set before us a pinkish affair. Only once our menu included an aspic-attempted, I suspect, with the aid of cornstarch, and resulting in self-abnegation which reached extremes. On the part of the aspic, not the cook.

But we like Bill. He hadn't been off duty much, and that's why we took him with us last evening. This is how it came about.

In the late afternoon the Other Person and I had sallied forth in the station wagon to a Navajo hogan* to visit an Indian woman. We had hoped for a picture. And we found a dignified, gentle faced soul, sitting in the scant shade of a juniper. Her skilled fingers were patiently creating a thing of arresting beauty-a something not large nor small, that was soft as a burro's ear, yet firm as a red man's thigh; in color it was tawny like the sand and red with the fierce flame of sunset, tamed here with an old ram's grey, and pierced there by white darts of lightning. Back and forth, and up and down ran little trinities of the warm earth's black . . . Of course! A Navajo rug.

As we drew nearer, she turned her head slowly to regard us, and we were charmed with her poise, her serenity, and a certain indefinable quality which banished age. As though holding the secret of all the ancient peoples who had come and gone, she seemed to symbolize that timelessness which is so definitely a part of Navajo land.

But she would not permit the photograph, and presently we made ready to leave.

This proved to be the signal for her two sons to tell us of a "sing" (party) to be held out on the desert some miles beyond Kayenta, and to ask if they might ride with us as far as our camp. Of course we took them along, and also a friend who came The author and John Wetherill, one of the truly great pioneer figures of the west, whose trading post at Kayenta is a high spot in any journey through the Navajo country.

A Navajo hogan, built to stand the cold winds of winter, can be as cozy and comfortable as anyone could wish. Mud is used to cover juniper logs.

At top speed across the greasewood to catch us. They were three good natured young bucks, and off for a good time.

Nearing Kayenta our young braves now suggested that it would be "all right" if we would like to go to the sing also. It mattered nothing to us that the invitation was an afterthought. Therefore, we stopped only long enough to snatch a little supper, gather up Bill, then collect our three bucks and a new one, and depart sing-ward.

Came a Southwestern sunset. With only the faintest adumbration of its splendor, we were all at once overwhelmed with the most prodigal display I have ever beheld. To the very rim of vision the heavens were filled with the glory of it. Fiery clouds emblazoned the west with a dazzling, blinding gold, and from this crucible were flung banners of flame, vermilion, and lemon, with the full gamut of nuances blending into softest blue.

The boys began to sing in Navajo, of course care free, spontaneous. Ah, this was what I had come to Arizona to see and to hear! I nudged the O. P., a certain nudge which means "Is this really so, or are we dreaming?" And he nudged me back, which means "Sit tight and keep your eyes open." Far in the distance, beyond a purple mesa, a wind storm swirled the dust high into the air, and this too caught the coral and saffron and lilac, softening them to tender hues, while terrestrial and celestial forces joined hands in a whirling ballet.

"Just this one half hour is worth the round trip to Arizona," I assured Bill over my shoulder.

"Are you telling me?" Bill flung back.

"And you're not at the movies," the O. P. put in. "This is a real reel."

The Navajos directed our turnoff from the Denahodsta road, and we bumpety-bumped over hummocks with no encampment in sight. By what uncanny sense did they know where they were going! There were no tracks, and one hummock was precisely like another. Unexpectedly, though, over a little rise we came upon the hogans and the people. Too late for a picture, but what a picture it was! A composite of mingling men, women, and children, of dogs, goats and a flock of sheep brushed into a muted foreground against an immensity of sky. Here and there were moving strokes of color like disengaged pigments from a Van Gogh palette. Shadows were black as night.

We paused at a discreet distance, but our passengers protested we should drive close to the hogans, and we perceived that they wished to be seen arriving in a car-high, wide, and handsome. White boys would have hastened to the center of activity before the wagon had come to a full stop. Not so these lads. They lolled in their seats, smoking their cigarettes, chatting and laughing. They would be seen of men. I This is a view of Kayenta and the sweeping land of mesas deep in the Navajo country. Here the government maintains a school and sub-agency headquarters.

I left their company to join a couple of shy giggly girls.

Fires burned brightly in the two hogans. Vagrant whiffs of mutton stew went by. Corn had already been buried deep and would bake for hours in the ground. The sunset had faded, but not the afterglow. Against the light I watched the riders come in, silhouetted in striking outlines, ponies' tails blowing in the soft wind. There must have been sixty Navajos gathered here, and we three were the only whites. A dog's bark and the sporadic bleating of lambs but stressed the emptiness that lay outside this rendezvous.

A scurrying among the flock now attracted our attention to a straight young squaw who was plunging hither and thither in an effort to catch a goat. At her heels, so close that he nearly butted her, galloped a motherless calf that knew the game perfectly. With superb strength and the unerring sureness of a football tackle, this young shepherdess seized and held in the vise of her two strong hands one goat after another until five had furnished a supper deluxe for the suckling calf.

I had a really merry time with the girls, the women, children, and a few old men. The younger men stayed pretty much by themselves.

Her labors over, the goat-chasing squaw now strode up to me with a staggering command to sing. Good heavens! My eyes flew to her powerful, mobile hands and then furtively measured the distance between us and the O. P.-just in case. Navajo women, so I am told, do not sing, and probably I was something of an anomaly in this respect. Ordinarily I do not perform before multitudes, but on this occasion I would have turned handsprings had it pleased her. The first thing that popped into my mind It was "I Wonder What Became of Sally," and I sang out right lustily. She watched me carefully, her face a disconcerting two feet from my own. After a few bars, I turned to find a number of Navajos gathered about me, and we all laughed together. One old grandfather came up and offered his hand. Nice if one could please the whole world so easily.

The windstorm we had observed in the distance now reached us quite suddenly, and sand filled the air. It would have been fun, just for once, to have stayed through the party until dawn when the corn came out and the coffee was made, but no one at Kayenta knew of our whereabouts, and the wind was getting bad. Therefore, not without inward wrestlings, we took leave of our picturesque hosts and somehow picked our way back to Kayenta.

This is an interim much occupied with washing, mending, and writing. I braved the hot kitchen this morning in an attempt to iron a shirt for the O. P., but the man is as tall as a trading post door and nearly as wide, so that it was like trying to iron a tent. Therefore I hit upon the novel effect of pressing collar, pockets, and cuffs, and then hung the thing out to dry. He won't mind.

In a day or so we shall be "packing in" to the Tsegi camp, to record their goingson and to explore the ancient cliff dwellings of Keit Seel and Beta-ta-kin. Then a day in camp and we are off to Rainbow Bridge, that desideratum No. 1. By that time I shall be some kind of ologist myself... "photologist" might do.

One of the really secluded spots on this "ranch" is located on the south side of the mule shed, pleasantly overgrown with bee weed. The fragrance of the bee weed offsets the fragrance from the shed. Thither I repaired the other morning with cold cream and its fellow agents, thinking to profitably put in an hour at self-improvement.

But privacy was never intended for such as I. No sooner had the first cooling daub been applied at the roots of my hair, than the O. P. appeared.

"Oh, here you are," he said, with the sprightly voice of a news bearer.

"You mean 'Here we are," I corrected, coldly.

"Yes, indeed. Nice place," ignoring the hint and seating himself beside me.

I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and began on the left cheek.

"Now it can be told," he announced, impressively.

I opened one eye. It appeared that he really had something to tell. "I know what you're going to say: Betsy's puppies have been born."

"Oh no. Not at all." He began to toy maddeningly with my manicure things. "It's about the ologists."

"The ologists?" The right cheek now. "What have the ologists done?"

"It isn't what they've done it's what they are. I submit my findings. You'll never guess."

I turned an unctuous countenance-one betraying the hoped-for curiosity-full upon him. "Well?" I prompted, "Say on."

He looked all about, leaned closer and lowered his voice confidingly. "They're regular fellows . . . They're just like other men."

Imagine! just when I had condescended to a really succulent bit of revelation.

"Pooh!" I scoffed, impatiently mistaking my collar for my throat, "I saw that on the first day out."

Birds of the Grand Canyon

Sharp, tweezer beaks, heavy enough to strike a good blow and strong feet which allow them to go up and down or around trunks of trees at will. With this equip ment they are able to dig under the bark of the trunks and limbs for insects, their eggs or larvae, thus doing a great service to the trees while seeking their food. These nuthatches are the small Black-eared Nuthatches commonly called the Pygmy Nut hatch and the larger Rocky Mountain Nuthatch. The Pygmys work in the termi nal branches and tops of trees in search of food, while the Rocky Mountain Nuthatch finds his food on the trunks and larger limbs. The third species, Red-breasted Nuthatch, is medium size and not as com mon in this area, usually being seen in fall or spring migration. The first two are present most of the year. One day one of the writers was leaning against a Yellow Pine which a Rocky Moun tain Nuthatch was inspecting. When he reached the person's shoulder he jumped over and lit on the tree trunk below the arm and went on about his business quite unconcerned.

The Mountain Chickadee is common at both rims and they soon make friends with campers, dropping down to eat scraps from the table and give early morning inspection of the seams of the tents in a search for small insects.

Two very beautiful birds found on both rims and in the forest are the Chestnut backed Bluebird and Mountain Bluebird. The first and most common is dark blue with chestnut on back and breast. The sec ond is a bright blue on back changing to lighter below. The Chestnut-backed Blue birds raise their young in the Transition Zone at the rim. The Mountain Bluebirds raise their young in the higher elevations and are seen at the rims in spring and fall migration.

The Chipping Sparrow, one of the smaller members of the sparrow tribe, is seen very often. The bright chestnut crown and broad white stripes over the eyes are characteristic marks. Their favorite nest ing site is on a high limb of a pine. Their song, an often repeated "Chippy, Chippy, Chippy," gave them their name and is enough to identify them.

Red-backed Juncos, small gray birds with a saddle of rusty red, are common on the ground at both rims. They, also, frequent camps and glean any crumbs that are drop ped. Their nest is built in a bank or on the flat ground.

The Jays are represented by three species. The most conspicuous, the large blue bird with a high crest is called the Long Crested Jay. It is found throughout the Transition Zone, but is more common about the inhab ited areas. The Piñon Jay and Woodhouse's Jay are found in the lower areas near the rims.

The Clark's Nutcrackers, sometimes called Clark's Crows, are often seen in the pines where they use their strong beaks to open the cones and eat the seeds.

Several of the Hummingbirds are present at different places and seasons. The one that has come into our experience mostis the Rufous Hummingbird which raises its young to migration stage and then brings them to Grand Canyon Country and other points in the Transition Zone to feed for several weeks upon flowers before continu ing southward. Their favorite flowers at Grand Canyon are Arizona Thistle, Rocky Mountain Bee-plant and Gilia. A favorite trip for people interested in birds while at the North Rim is through the mountain meadows on the Kaibab Plateau to the sink holes. These are round funnel like depressions with more or less water in them, depending upon the previous snow or rainfall. Sometimes they are just puddles, again small lakes. In any instance they are like magnets to Bird Life in the Canadian Zone. There may be found: The Western Warbling Vireo, rather inconspicuous olive gray but an accomplished musician, with his rolling warble of about 8 notes. The Audu bon Warbler with five bright yellow splotch es on crown, throat, sides and rump. It has a very distinctive flight as it darts out into the air to catch insects for food. The beau tiful Lazuli Bunting with head, neck and rump of turquoise blue and breast of cin namon. The Western Tanager, with light red head, deep yellow body, black back, wings and tail, with two yellow wing bars. A rather large bird, stunning in contrast to From "the supreme aerialists of the Grand Canyon . . . the Whitethroated Swifts" to the friendly Mountain Chickadees . . . the bird lover has wonder Useful opportunities to study birds on both Rims of the Canyon. During summer the birds are numerous.

the green trees. The Western Goldencrowned Kinglet, a mere mite of a bird with a crown patch (partially concealed) of bright orange or flame color; bordered by black, and a white eye line. This crown can be "flashed" when excited, curious or courting.

Other birds in this area are: Black-throated Gray Warbler, Townsend's Soli-taire, Pine Siskin, and Audubon's Hermit Thrush with his beautiful song.

On August 3rd several years ago while at Point Sublime on the North Rim a dry spell of several weeks was broken by an afternoon shower. This filled the natural cups in the exposed Kaibab Limestone and before the shower was over hundreds of small birds appeared as if by magic and started bathing and splashing in these natural bird baths. Among them were Chestnut-backed Bluebirds, Mountain Bluebirds, Chicadees, Nuthatches and several kinds of Warblers.

The supreme aerialists of the Grand Canyon are the White-throated Swifts. They seldom light but sweep through space in great arcs gathering insects from the air in their especially adapted mouths with short bills and very wide gape. They are much in evidence at each promontory and viewing station on both rims, sometimes "zinging" close over head like a bullet. It has been estimated that they can fly seventy miles an hour, which can be believed when you see this dark bird with its white throat, chest and flanks gathering a supper over the canyon.

Again, if you want to make friends with the birds try the Grand Canyon, they are approachable, friendly, and interesting.

Thunder River

(Continued from Page 15) the canyon beside you. It is only a gap of darkness between brinks, you tell yourself. But it keeps coming back to you as you saw it in daylight, stretching down, down, until the trees at the bottom were little blurred splotches; and the more you try not to think of it the more the earth seems to be falling apart beside you.

Even here, your pulse ticks the endless hours away and there comes a suspicion of light above the rocks in the west. You can get up off your blanket and stretch your aching body, and look about for brush to make a fire.

The trail, when you find it, leads down a long sandstone ridge westward and you come back toward to within a quarter-mile of where you spent the night. If you had known what you now know, you could have avoided that experience of the long night. But you have no regrets, since it is over. It has made a rich page for your book of life.

At the head of the next jump-off you can look back over the red sandstone ridges and draws and see the slope where the trail you took yesterday morning comes down through the cream-colored ledge of the upper rim. Since then you have come in a great horseshoe bend-not counting your unnecessary wanderings. If you could have come straight across to here from that first rim it would not have been more than three miles, but you have gone twenty. You have put a thousand years of wandering and thinking and feeling into that horseshoe of red-gold.

Now, at the brow of the next descent, you forget yesterday, last night. You have mind only for what is ahead and far below. A sharp fall of fifteen hundred feet will take you to Suprise Valley-a desolate little black saucer of earth left in the bend of the Grand Canyon when the Colorado turned westward, shortened her course by digging against the south wall. This Suprise (yes, that's the way we say it) Valley was used in some of Zane Grey's books. Here the hero and heroine of "Riders of the Purple Sage" are said to have locked themselves in forever by dislodging a giant boulder at the head of the trail, where you now stand. Author Grey must never have gone down into Suprise Valley himself, or he would never have left even a brain-child there. Scarcely a living thing is to be seen in the valley, only greasewood brush and some wild flowers.

Down you go, the trail spiralling through a break in the flintstone ledge. The way is littered with bright-colored fragmentsred, brown, blue, black, striped. A lover of these stones would kill himself lugging pocketsful, knapsacksful, out of here, and across the horseshoe bend and up the highest rim. For you it is a minor temptation. You came to see Thunder River Canyon.

Already the shadows are crawling up out of the lower gorges and fingering the eastStern walls. But if you can hurry down the trail without breaking a leg you may reach the east edge of Suprise Valley before the final shadows close in. Maybe you can make it down into Thunder River Canyon before dark, for it looks like it might be only a hop-skip-jump from the edge of the valley. Night almost catches up before you get to the edge, and here the surprise of Suprise Valley lies in wait for you.

Yes, it is Thunder River Canyon, but nobody could have told you what, at this moment of gathering dusk, you were going to see. If the human mind were capable of such a thing, you might have imagined it, but the human mind can not even grasp what it sees here. You know something of a Grand Canyon which is magnificent, deep, splendid beyond words; at times terrifying in its sheer depth and height as at Toroweap, but always clean-cut and beautiful in its boldness. Well, that is not the kind of canyon you are seeing now. Maybe the upper walls of Thunder River, too, have nobility and beauty, but you are blind to it now. The thing you see is a lower gorge that shows earth in an agony too gross and cruel and ugly to conceive. The river that has done this thing is still invisible far below, but you can hear its growlings and whinings echoing up from the jagged redbrown chawn-hole it has made It has bitten a ghastly wound, drawn its teeth in a long, deep, narrow slit. In another moment of a million years, maybe, the frenzied little beast of a river will have ripped through the last tissue and laid bare the bleeding vitals of the earth.

You turn away. Even if there were enough daylight left to see you down whatever trail might lead into that gash you would not tackle it. You gather dry grease-wood and get a fire to blazing behind a greatmound of rock that will stand between you and Thunder River Canyon. You burrow into your pack, eat what you can, then get up and gather more brush. There is a small bush that burns brightly and you gather a lot of it in spite of the stickers. By its light you smooth out the sand for a bed and unroll your blanket. It is a place to lie and watch the fire, but you know you will not sleep. This is not fatigue as you know it, not the clean weariness that brings quick sleep. It is something mixed of aching and loneliness; maybe not fear nor dread nor unbelief-maybe not.

It is almost a surprise that dawn can come again. The first night it was a miracle. This night it is beyond faith, but it does come after you have practically laid bare the east end of Suprise Valley gathering brush for your fire. Before it is light enough to see the trail very clear you are on the way, your feet feeling the rocks carefully.

Sun-up ignites the cliffs to a luminous amber. Now all the dread of the night before is gone. The gorge below is still dark and jagged and fierce, but daylight shining on the torn ledges takes away their sinister spell.

A short way down and you come to Thunder Creek, a sight that cheers your lonesome mind as it does your thirsty body. You are tired of the stale, insect-filled water in the rock pockets. Here is something clear, cool, and clean as anything right out of the bosom of the earth can be.

Leaping out of a hole in the base of a thousand-foot wall, Thunder Creek first spreads a white foaming sheet down over a ledge festooned with maiden-hair ferns and lichen, then dives ecstatically over swiftly successive cliffs and terraces, now blue white with wings stretched out, now gathering itself in a body for another flight. Never is it anything but a rushing, tumbling, frothing thing; too lost in its hurried ferment to spare you even one quiet edge where you can put your mouth to drink. When you do drink, it is like drinking from the spout of a seltzer bottle.

Trees are clustered on the narrow terraces, half veiling the wild dance of the little river; and wherever any soil can cling the walls and terraces are draped with ferns, rushes, tall primrose. There is a strange mimula with rich green leaves and rare, crimson flowers. Where the ferns march bravely up to the edges of the torrent and put their feet into the water, their wavering roots under the surface show salmon red.

It is odd to see these flowers and the luxurious green foliage nodding patiently under the endless spray; while not five steps away from them are desert shrubs and flowers sending thirsty roots into the hot, dry hillsides to search out any trace of moisture. Desert and aquatic gardens side-by-side; worlds away in nature, yet only a foot or two in space. But the queer est thing is that the flowers struggling on the arid, sterile hillsides are the ones that fill the air with fragrance; while the semi-aquatic plants either give off no scent, or have it drowned in the spray.

Excitingly beautiful as it is, you do not stop long at Thunder Creek Falls-Fresco Falls. The thing you came to see ThunYou can take any of a thousand turgid mountain streams in the world and you've got Thunder River. It isn't simply that light blue water whipped into a perpetual froth that makes Thunder River. It's the red-brown gorge it has torn out at the base of cliffs and terraces piling up for nearly a mile into the sky that makes Thunder River something to remember.

Thunder Creek jumps like a gleeful little brother into the arms of Thunder River and together they go hurrying along toward the Colorado, singing and talking and in some places making an awful uproar. If you want to go along you just about have to be one of them, for sometimes the banks rise sheer on both sides and where there are narrow flood plains they are covered with a thicket of willows and dense undergrowth. You will have to climb out and do some rimming around to avoid falls.

Where Thunder River pours into the Colorado the latter makes a big bend and runs westward after having come twenty miles or more in a course almost directly north. Gulping up Thunder River, which looks so clear as to be almost black, against the beige of the big stream, the Colorado moseys along with a contented look on her face like the cat that just ate the canary and heads into the gorge that winds deep between the walls of the Valley of Red Gold.

Just before she gets to the narrow gateway she begins to hurry and make small sounds, anxious or angry. Her hackles are rising as she scents excitement ahead. For fifty miles or more she will be alone, thirty-five hundred feet below the Valley, where she can leap and writhe and snarl and snap at the cliffs in playful fury; with no one to see her but the grinning Indian gods.

You might rim around the first ledges coming back from the Colorado to your camp at Thunder Creek, and if you do you may run onto an old trail, built no-oneknows-how-long-ago. It follows the easiest possible incline and is said to begin or end -at Bonita Creek, which is on the west side of Suprise Valley. The trail was carefully made and graded, as the retaining walls still testify. It was made for beasts of burden, or maybe for men heavily laden. It was made to carry something out of the canyon, but what and by whom? Early Spanish gold-hunters?

After you have rested from this four-mile journey a good day's hike to the Colorado River from the forks of Thunder Creek and Thunder River there may still be something unbeaten in you. A further desire for exploration can be considerably flattened out by a trip to the head of Thunder River.

Take a day for it, and wear canvas or other light shoes for heavy going. You will be in water most of the day, but don't try to insulate yourself against it with rubber boots or waders, for they will wear you out. They will be useless, anyway, for you will be up to your belt-line in water, at times. You can't stop to dry your clothes either, if you want to make it back to camp for night.

You will go between narrow walls dark as a tunnel, with a choice of inching along a narrow shelf of rock above the swift water, or breasting the water itself, where you might be swept off your feet and carried down to shallower places. For the sake of your camera you will try the shelf.

Many times you will be rewarded for the risks you take, for the narrow walls will open onto vistas of foaming water, ferns and m'mula, cottonwood and birch, all bathed in shining vapor that adds to the mystery and beauty of the rose-hued cliffs that rise sheer and immense on every side. And you will drink in the symphony of odors; the damp, pungent smell of the rocks, the heavy fragrance of myriad flowers on the banks and the steep hillsides, the subtle breath of aromatic herbs drenched in the swirling mists.

Maybe you will have been told, as I was, that Thunder River comes pouring out of the side of the canyon and falls a hundred and fifty feet or so. To see that fall will be one of the main reasons you will have for making this tremendous trip up Thunder River. I went to get a picture of it, for no one has ever photographed it that I know.

Now Thunder River has plenty of minor falls and rapids. All she does is tumble and roar and leap. As for the hundred and fifty foot falls, here is another mystery. Ed Lawes of the National Park Service will tell you it is there. Raymond Pointer and Reese Locke are positive about it, for they have seen it from the top of the cliffs. They tell how a party of them took turns lying down and stretching far out from the edge of the cliff to look, while the others held their feet.

Not many perhaps two or three-have actually gone along the river to its source to see where it came out. I am one who followed the river all the way. Paul Kernodle of Kansas City is another. We can testify that there is no such fall as the others describe. Thunder River springs mildly from among the rocks at the bottom of the canyon a half mile or less from the canyon's head.

The only explanation so far given for this "Now-you-see-it-now-you-don't" Fall is that it may possibly dry up after a long season of drougth. It is said that Thunder Creek is at times dry.

Anyway, in the early spring when the Kaibab snows are melting and all the underground channels will most likely be full of water I am going back to Thunder River. I will sneak very quietly up toward the head and catch this fall, if I can, in the very act of falling. Want to come along as a witness? Come on!

Road Projects Under Construction DISTRICT NO. 1

Joe DeArozena, District Engineer Lee Moor Contracting Co., has a contract for grading and draining the roadway, furnishing and placing aggregate base course, and Portland cement concrete pavement 22 feet wide with salvaged oil mix shoulders 7 feet wide. The contract begins at the junction of the Flagstaff-Williams and the Flagstaff-Lake Mary highways in Flagstaff, and extends westerly toward Williams for a distance of approximately 2.6 miles. The work to be completed by May 30, 1941, work resumed May 7, 1941, after winter shut down. F. A. Project 24-A 7 (1941). A. F. E. 6623. H. B. Wright, resident engineer.

Lee Moor Contracting Company, El Paso, Texas, has a contract for grading, draining the roadway, furnishing and placing aggregate base course and a Portland cement concrete pavement 22 feet wide, with salvaged oil mix shoulders 7 feet wide. The contract begins about 8 miles west of Flagstaff and extends northwesterly toward Williams for a distance of approximately 1.5 miles on the Ashfork-Flagstaff highway. The work, to be completed by May 27, 1941, work resumed May 15, after winter shut down. F. A. Project 24-A (6) (1941), A. F. E. 6624. H. B. Wright, resident engineer.

Lee Moor Contracting Co., has a contract for the surfacing and placing of aggregate base course and the furnishing and placing of a mixed bituminous surface, using SC-6 road oil plant mix, and other miscellaneous work incidental to the paving of approximately 6.4 miles of the Prescott-Flagstaff highway, beginning at the north rim of Oak Creek. To be completed April 19, 1941, work resumed May 9, after winter shut down. Federal Aid Project 96-G (3) 1940 and 96-H 1940. A. F. E. 7901. H. B. Wright, resident engineer.

Skousen Brothers have a contract for grading and draining the roadway; the construction of four small concrete structures and three multiple span concrete box structures over 20 feet clear span and other

As Of

MAY 19, 1941 Work incidental to the realignment of approximately six miles of the Ashfork-Flagstaff highway, beginning at Parks and extending easterly to the present highway near Bellemont. This is to be completed by Aug. 3, 1941. Federal Aid Project 89-G (1) (1941) A. F. E. 6622. H. B. Wright, resident engineer.

Phoenix Tempe Stone Co. has a contract for grading and draining the roadway. The construction of 4 small concrete structures and one 3 span 10'x12'x135.0' concrete box and other work incidental to the construction of 1.1 miles of the Prescott-Flagstaff highway beginning at Cottonwood and extending northwesterly toward Clarkdale. The work is to be completed by August 1, 1941.

Federal Aid Project No. FA 96-I (1) (1941) A. F. E. 1908. C. S. Benson, resident engineer.

Oswald Brothers have a contract for reshaping the roadway; furnishing and placing of shoulder material and a road mixed bituminous surface using SC-4 road oil on three projects totaling 10.6 miles. F.A.S. 5-B (1) (1941) A.E.E. 671 PrescottKirkland highway beginning at bridge over Willow Creek about 3½ miles northwest of Prescott and extending westerly toward Iron Springs about 8½ miles. F.A.S. 11-A (1) (1941) A.Γ.Ε. 659 Prescott-Groom Creek beginning at the south end of the pavement on South Mount Vernon Avenue and extend-ing southeasterly to Groom Creek a distance of approximately 5.2 miles; Non-FA 11-A (1941). West Prescott School Bus Route, beginning at the west city limits of Prescott on Butte Street and extends westerly for about of a mile, thence northerly and easterly past the Fairgrounds to the intersection of Miller Street and Fair Street, a total length of approximately 1.8 miles. The work is to be completed by August 31, 1541. C. S. Benson, resident engineer.

State Forces are paving with Portland cement concrete, U. S. Highway 66, Williams. WPA participating. A. F. E. 6626. C. S. Benson, resident engineer.

State Forces are improving by widening and backsloping U. S. Highway 89, PrescottWilhoit. WPA participating. A. F. E. 8934. C. S. Benson, resident engineer.

DISTRICT NO. 2

R. C. Perkins, District Engineer Bids have been called for 11:00 a. m., May 27, 1941 for the furnishing and delivering, reinforcing steel, structural steel, steel H column piles and steel sheet piling for the construction of the Cottonwood Wash bridge located about 1 mile north of the town of Snowflake. Showlow-Holbrook highway. Non-FA 131-B (1941) AFE 7713.

Tiffany Construction Co., has a contract for the furnishing and placing of aggregate base course, and a plant mixed bituminous surface on 10 miles of the Showlow-Springerville highway, beginning about 16½ miles east of Showlow and extending toward Springerville. The work is to be completed bv June 15, 1941. F. A. Project 105-B (2) (1941) A.F.Ε. 6010. E. H. West, resident engineer. Work resumed May 12 after winter shutdown.

Daley Corporation of San Diego, Calif., has a contract for the construction of an underpass on the Mesa-Casa Grande Ruins highway. It is located on South Mesa boulevard in the city of Mesa.

The underpass consists of a four-lane divided highway structure and will eliminate the crossing of six tracks of the Southern Pacific railroad. The work to be done by the contractor consists of the relocation of the irrigation system; the construction of the underpass and adjacent highway structures, which allows the passing of vehicular traffic parallel to the railroad tracks and over the underpass structure; and the paving of the roadway with Portland cement concrete.

The changes in the public utilities necessitated by the construction of the underpass will be done by the utility company involved. The financing of the project is principally from Federal Aid grade crossing elimination funds with the city of Mesa providing the right of way.

The project is known as the Mesa-Casa Grande Ruins highway, F. A. G. M. 97-G (21) (on) (Unit 2) (1939-40) A.F.E. 8757. Construction must be completed by April 15, 1941. J. A. Parker, resident engineer. N. G. Hill and Co. have a contract for furnishing and placing coarse and fine ag-

the furnishing and placing of coarse and fine aggregate base course and a plant mixed bituminous surface using SC-6 road oil and a type B seal coat. The work begins about 3 miles west of Douglas and extends toward Benson. The work is to be completed by May 15, 1941. Federal Aid Project F. A. 11-C (1) (1941) A. F. E. 8004. J. A. Gilbert, resident engineer.

James S. Maffeo has a contract for the reconstruction of the existing underpass in the town of Lowell. The work consists of constructing new concrete backwalls, pedestrian tunnels and wingwalls; removing portions of the old concrete walls and facing of existing concrete piers; removing existing steel span; furnish and place new steel superstructure; apply gunite to old and new concrete faces and install electric lighting system.

The changes necessary in connection with the Southern Pacific Railroad will be done by that company.

The work is to be completed by June 20, 1941. SN-FAGH Project 79-1 (4) (1941), Benson Douglas Highway, AFE 8008. A. J. Gilbert, resident engineer.

Pearson and Dickerson Contractors, Inc., have a contract for the construction of an underpass and approach roadway totaling approximately 5 miles on the Benson-Steins Pass Highway in and adjacent to the city of Benson. The underpass consists of a four-lane divided highway structure. The work to be done by the contractor consists of grading and draining the roadway; furnishing and placing select material; aggregate base course and a plant mixed bituminous surface with a type "B" seal coat; the construction of one structure over 20 foot clear span; and the underpass structure; new railroad grades necessitated by the relocation of railroad tracks; and the placing of select material. The project is known as the BensonSteins Pass Highway, SN-FAGH 137-E (1) (1939-40-41), AFE 8619, and is to be completed by December 31, 1941. P. F. Glendenning, resident engineer.

Pearson and Dickerson Contractors, Inc., have a contract for reconstruction and relocating of the junction of three highways in and adjacent to the city of Benson. The work consists of grading and draining the roadway; furnishing and placing select material, aggregate base course and a plant mixed bituminous surface and a type "B" seal coat on .3 miles of divided highway and .85 miles of undivided roadway; the construction of a highway separation structure and four structures over 20 foot clear span. The projects are known as SN-FA 18-A, B, E and F (5) (1940), Benson-Vail Highway, AFE 8002, and SN-FA 79-D (3) (1941), Benson Douglas Highway, A. F. E. 8002. The work is to be completed by December 31, 1941. P. F. Glendenning, resident engineer.

Wallace and Wallace Contractors have a contract for grading and draining the roadway; furnishing and placing imported borrow; select material and aggregate base course; the construction of five concrete boxes under 20 feet and one concrete structure over 20 feet clear span on 4.55 miles of the Douglas-Safford Highwav, beginning at the Cochise Overpass and connecting with the Benson-Steins Pass Highway. The work is to be completed by June 30, 1941. FAS 114-H (1) (1941), AFE 6662. A. J. Gilbert resident engineer.

Lee Moor Contracting Co. has a contract for the grading and draining the roadway; furnishing and placing of imported borrow, imported borrow base course, aggregate base course and the construction of twelve multiple span concrete culverts and other work incidental to the construction of 8.8 miles of the Benson-Steins Pass Highway beginning in the city of Willcox and extending toward Benson. The contract is divided into two projects, S. N. F. A. 137-D. (1) (1941) and non F. A. 137-F (1941) A. F. E. 8617. The work is to be completed by November 15, 1941. A. J. Gilbert, resident engineer.

tending toward Benson. The contract is divided into two projects, S. N. F. A. 137-D. (1) (1941) and non F. A. 137-F (1941) A. F. E. 8617. The work is to be completed by November 15, 1941. A. J. Gilbert, resident engineer.

Tanner Construction Co. have a contract for the reconstruction of 8 separate sections totaling about 4 miles of a 9% mile length of road, beginning about 3% miles west of Mohawk and extending westerly. The work consists of grading and draining the roadway, furnishing and placing imported borrow, aggregate base course and a road mixed bituminous surface using SC-4 road oil, a SC-6 seal coat and bituminous surface treatment on the shoulders. The construction of seven small concrete boxes and four concrete structures over 20 foot span all replacing existing dips. Non FA Project 55 (1941) AFE 8015. The work is to be completed by October 15, 1941.C. C. Huskison, resident engineer. State highway engineering forces are planning and supervising the construction of 6.2 miles on State Route 92 from the north boundary of the Ft. Huachuca Military Reservation to the junction with State Route 82 (Military Access Project) Work accomplishment by WPA. A. F. E. 9202. S. R. Dysart, resident engineer.

State Forces are grading, draining, surfacing and fencing State Route 82, NogalesPatagonia-Sonoita highway. WPA participating A. F. E. 8223. S. R. Dysart, resident engineer.

State Forces are grading, draining and surfacing 13.5 miles of U. S. Highway 80, Florence-Tucson highway, Oracle Junction north, WPA participating. A. F. E. 8019. D. J. Lyons, resident engineer.

State Forces are widening and surfacing shoulders and filling borrow pits on the Bisbee-Douglas Highways, U. S. Route 80, between Forest Ranch and Douglas, A.F.E. 8007. A. J. Gilbert, resident engineer.

FEDERAL WORKS AGENCY PUBLIC ROADS ADMINISTRATION New Post Office Building Phoenix, Arizona April 30, 1941 G. L. McLane, Senior Highway Engineer W. R. F. Wallace, Highway Engineer W. P. Wesch, Highway Bridge Engineer, Bridge Engineer W. J. Ward, Associate Highway Engineer, Locating Engineer R. Thirion, Associate Highway Engineer, Highway Planning Engineer J. H. Brannan, Associate Highway Engineer, Supervising Engineer E. F. Strickler, Associate Highway En-

gineer, Supervising Engineer

PUBLIC ROADS ADMINISTRATION PROJECTS IN ARIZONA

PROJECTS UNDER CONSTRUCTION-

Route 33, Catalina Mountain Highway,

Yours Sincerely and Sincerely to You "ASK THE MAN WHO HAS BEEN HERE":

My congratulations to you on your extremely interesting magazine. It is truly emblematic of the way in which Arizonans do things. I lately vis-ited your wonderful state, as a guest of Mr. B. H. Smith, Prescott's oldest citizen, and the warmth and friendliness of the Arizonans whom I was privileged to meet, convinced me that your citizens still possess the human touch so much lacking in citizens in the East.

If Arizona impressed every visitor as it did me, is it any wonder that there burns in the breast of every one who has enjoyed the hospitality of your great state, an unquenchable desire to again see Arizona.

If you were to ask for a slogan for your state, I would submit these few words, "Ask the man who has been here."

Harold A. Lanphear, Lanphear Motor Car Co., Providence, R. I.

HEALING RAYS OF SUNSHINE:

Just a note of appreciation for the many hours of real enjoyment that Arizona Highways has brought to us during the past two years.

We shall be forever grateful for the healing rays of your sunshine and the friendliness of you folks out there.

Through the pictures and stories, we visit again your many scenic wonders. We hope that it will not be too long before we are once more heading for Arizona.

Wm. H. Fraser, Metuchen, New Jersey

"HERE WE SIT IN BROOKLYN, MOPING:"

Your beautiful Arizona High-ways for April has just arrived, intensifying our disappointment over not receiving the March number. We wrote you about that, and, as we hinted, it is entirely possible that some weaker brother yielded to temptation. We can hardly blame him but still we wish we could see the March issue. Arizona Highways is virtually our life line to the Far West and when it is severed, even temporarily, we suffer acutely. This April number affects us like salt in an open wound, salutary but inspiring anguished wails. We know Rancho Palos Verdes. We have one of Mr. Reid's fragrant pink oleanders bursting into bloom right here in "Broeckelen." We cherish the dream of one day becoming members of the Reid "colony" on Oracle Road. With every issue of Arizona Highways we check off and file for future reference the places in Arizona that we have not seen: the Organ Pipe Natl. Mon., for one. However, we know one spot on the Painted Desert very well. We visited Wupatki Natl. Mon. in 1935 and despite warnings, made a tender foot detour on our way out, in order to see one more prehistoric relic, the Watch Tower Wukoki. At 5 p. m. on that hot June day we wound up in the uncharted region east of the Little Colorado, bogged down in sand and completely lost. Although we saw no living creature on our way out or on the long, long trek back afoot to Wupatki, except an abandoned Indian dog, we learned later that practically every Navajo on the Reservation had watched us "sticking our necks out" no doubt with vast amusement. But it wasn't funny to us, then. By following what we hoped were our tire marks we got back within sight of Wukoki at midnight, after plodding through loose sand and black volcanic ash in white sports clothes for seven hours. We'd had nothing to eat since breakfast early that morning at Grand Canyon, and we had, for the only time in all our desert travels, only a half a cup of water in a canteen. We made it last 'till we reached Clyde Pesh-la-kai's summer hogan two miles east of Wupatki. He generously shared "a whole barrelful" of cool spring water with us and directed us back to Wupatki from his place. "See moon and sta'?" "Wupatki between." That short cut would have saved us two miles but we were so tired that at the first encounter with scrub pines in our path we fell flat on our faces. So we took the long way around and had strength enough to laugh weakly at the sight of Jimmy Brewer emerging from his second story apartment in the ancient pueblo, clad in ultra-modern pajamas and bathrobe and looking astonished beyond words. "You invited us to come again, so here we are," we told him. Mrs. I. C. Hamilton, Brooklyn, N. Y.

WE'LL TRY TO KEEP IT UP: I just want to add my humble words of thanks and praise for your splendid Arizona Highways magazine. Each month for nearly a year, it has been a most welcome visitor. You brew a strong and overpowering medicine. Just one sip from the first issue and a new reader becomes permanently intoxicated by the beauty, the charm and the glamour of Arizona. Your standard is so high that it's a mystery how you can keep it up month after month. I fully realize how much work it means. You can rest assured, though, that the friends Arizona Highways wins and holds more than compensates for all the effort expended in its preparation.

James P. McClosky, Editor, "Enthusiast,' Harley-Davidson Motor Company, Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

THE DESERT IN SPRINGTIME:

I have just received the April issue of Arizona Highways and think I can truthfully say that it and the issue of March are the most beautiful I have ever seen. The Highway department certainly does a good job of putting out the magazine. I would like to see the desert in the springtime.

Charles Pearse, Safety Director, Department of Labour, Victoria, B. C.

For some time I have received your magazine through my mother Mrs. K. Y. Sheilds of the Arizona Corporation Commission. I wish to take this opportunity of commending you on a splendid piece of work. As a native son of Arizona, having been born in San Carlos now reposing in the bottom of the Coolidge Dam reservoir, the ar-ticle and pictures are especially valuable to me.

I place it in a conspicuous place in my reception room for all and sundry to enjoy. And I assure you that many people do. Dr. Glenn F. Coffee, Sacramento, Calif.