San Carlos Lake

COOLIDGE DAM, a sonnet in stone and concrete, tames the Gila River, pushing its waters back into the hills of Gila and Graham counties. That a name, hallowed in blood and history and romance, should not ever perish from the minds and memory of men, the lake behind the dam is called "San Carlos."

Not so many years ago the Gila, a stirring chapter in the story of this state and nation, raced and roared or just loafed along on its way to the sea, depending on its mood, whims and fancies at the moment. One day it would be a pleasant, placid picture of ease and contentment, purring in the sunshine, as gentle as a drowsy lamb. The next day it would boil and froth in a mad rage, its angry fingers tearing great wounds in the flesh of the river's bank. Now the Gila and its fitful personality is swallowed in the waters of San Carlos lake, and is released only at the bidding of the good farm folk in the Casa Grande valley and on the Gila River Indian Reservation. The flood of the Gila at Duncan, above the lake in September, tells starkly the terror it held all along its course in the old days.

But not only has the lake erased the river. Below its surface, in the everlasting stillness of deep water, is all that remains of Old Fort San Carlos, once the center of the army's web of forts spun through the West to tame the Apaches. Countless trails, unused for decades and now unusable forever beneath the waters of the lake, knew the tread of the warring parties.

Geronimo came this way, and Nachez, and Juh, and Vittorio and the Apache Kid. Here history was written in the hillsides, in many respects history as thrilling and exciting as was ever written in the conquest of the land. Below the waters of this lake sleeps all that is left of Old San Carlos, its story hidden in the dim pages of old books, its existence retained only in memory of the old timers who were once a part of its dusty streets. With the soldiers came the adventurous folk into the new frontier. Prospectors, mining men, homesteaders, ranchers; all a part of the wave of migration west, seeking their fortune and their destiny along the banks of the Gila. Many, many men, good and bad, paused long enough to weave their story into the story of Old San Carlos. In those days of the territory, the world was young, and youth had its part in the pageant of new lands to conquer.

Now the cavalcade is ended. They're all goneGeronimo and Nachez and Juh and Vittorio and the soldiers and the prospectors and the ranchers and homesteaders all gone, the brave people who followed the trails and wrote the history that is entwined in the trails and the hillsides along the Gila.

San Carlos is no more, buried deep beneath the waters of the lake. But its monument is a fitting oneand its name will be retained as long as the Gila, loafing or roaring on its way to the sea, piles up behind the stone masonry of Coolidge Dam and forms miles of blue water, calm in the sunlight and blue as the sky itself, which bears the name San Carlos Lake. R. C.

november . . .

The nights are cool in the desert and the mornings are crisp and clear. November has caressed the mountains with frosty fingers and the aspen leaves, like flakes of burnished gold, have carpeted the ground, awaiting Winter's covering of snow.

The desert becomes alive in November, peopled by travelers from afar who seek the rest and the peace and contentment to be found there. The desert roads and the desert trails resound again with the gay voices of people engaged in the delightful occupation of killing time in a place where time stands still. There is no hurry in the desert. The philosophic saguaro, ageless and mute, gives eloquent testimony to the utter uselessness of modern man's fuss and furor. Truly the person beset with the problems of a too transient existence and a too complicated world can learn lessons on the Arizona desert that he will never learn from books.

The November sun on the desert, as it is throughout the fall and winter months here in Arizona, is warm and restful and invigorating. The desert, clothed in this garb of sunshine; the desert, its atmosphere the concoction of the very gods themselves, becomes a religion that will stay with a person forever... R. C.

Of Moonlight and Things

A November moon reflected in the calm waters of Roosevelt Lake is the theme of our coverpiece this month. Take the dark silhouette of the distant hills, the ripples of the lake sparkling in the moonlight, a saguaro standing by with outstretched arms in supplication to the night-take these things and translate them into the camera lens, as Josef Muench has done, and you have a master pictorial, eloquent enough to adorn any cover.

Some evening when the moon is bright, follow the Apache Trail into the shadows of Superstition Mountain. The Trail will lead you to Roosevelt Lake and there you can see for yourself what Nature and Man and Moonlight have produced in sheer beauty! Desert nocturne!

We are proud to introduce into the family gathering of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS this month a distinguished son of Texas. He is J. Frank Dobie of the University of Texas, who could be described as a foremost scholar, an erudite historian, and a writer of the first rank. He is a faithful son of the great Southwest. Without his books no Southwestern book shelf would be complete.

Mr. Dobie has written for these pages this month an article on the Mesquite. We recommend it as important reading for every traveler following the highways and the byways through the West because if you really want to know the country you first must know and meet the mesquite tree. As you can see for yourself, the gentleman from Texas speaks with sympathy, understanding and authority.

Turning the pages, we come to what we think is not only a timely but important article this month-The Rim Country by Hollis Palmer of the Tonto National Forest. Mr. Palmer has walked, ridden and driven through the country so much, he's worked and camped in so many places in the Rim country that no part of it is unfamiliar to him. He takes us into this country he knows and loves and every line is an invitation to follow. This is an area full of history and scenery, of mountains and streams. In many respects it is a virgin country, open to the traveler who likes to hunt out the hidden places for himself.

For several winters in years past Walter and Ann Bohl have come to the Valley of the Sun, set up their trailer camp out in the desert and have made themselves perfectly at home. Mr. Bohl is the renowned etcher and artist, and his prints of dogs and birds rank with the finest in any collection. We once asked Mrs. Bohl if living in the desert, all alone and away from folks, didn't get lonesome. She laughed and told us of her desert neighbors. We met Freckles, too, their fine bird dog, and then we realized how interesting the desert can be. When we refer you to Ann Bohl's account of her "desert neighbors" you will see why the Bohls enjoy living all alone in the desert. Lonesome, did we say? Why it's a perfectly fascinating place, our desert.

If you are out our way this month don't forget the Arizona State Fair. Here, in a small way, the whole state parades before you. You'll see everything from prize dahlias to prize pigs. For a more detailed account we refer you to the article on the fair by Dorothy Challis Mott.

This is a fitting month to present Julius B. Festner's account of Mathew B. Juan, the Pima Indian from Sacaton who was the first Arizonan and the first American Indian to die for his country in the World War. Of such stuff are heroes made!

Arizona Highways

the friendly journal of life and travel in the old west Published monthly by the Arizona Highway Department in the interest of good roads and for the promotion of tourist travel over highways of Arizona. Communications should be addressed to Arizona Highways, Arizona Highway Department, Phoenix, Arizona. Subscription rates: One Dollar per year, Ten Cents per copy. Printed in the U. S. A.

For november, nineteen forty one, arizona highways again presents for your approval a few pages of words and pictures designed to describe this most interesting of all states... arizona: We also have in these pages another closeup of one of the state national monuments this time Tuzigoot. We have an article on brands and a fine treatment of a highway subject: "In Spite of Hill and High Water." Our sketchbook subject is Howe Williams, the Arizona artist who lives at Prescott. We hope this is all interesting to you. We will see you again next month and may we suggest, in closing, that a year's subscription to ARIZONA HIGHWAYS would be a very interesting and thoughtful gift. Adios y hasta la vista... R. C.