The White Mountains of Arizona

A sweeping panorama of forest extends to Rose Peak, as seen from the Coronado Trail in the Blue Range. This beautifully forested land was perhaps first seen by white man when Coronado and his men made their way through it in the days of the conquest. It looks today much as it did then, except for the highway crossing it. Here the forest ranger has his domain, the rancher his empire, and the vacationist the wilderness unspoiled for summer's rest, be it a week-end or a month or more. The area is reached by superb highways and is only a day's drive from central and southern Arizona. In these days of restricted travel, the Arizonan, faced with shortages in time, tires and gasoline, will find in this austere mountain locale ample opportunities for rest and relaxation under ideal weather conditions. Here there are imposing peaks to climb, vagrant trails to follow, interesting places to discover and trout streams to listen to and dream beside. (Photo, Josef Muench.) BELow the desert sweeps into the hillsides, and the hills roll on to the mountains, gradually changing their contour from hill to mountain so that it is hard to see where one ends and other begins. Here the good earth pitches upwards, the pine, and the spruce and the cedar leaving the mesquite, the palo verde and the saguaro a few hours away and below.

THe White Mountains of Arizona and the Blue Range form one of the most picturesque mountain areas in Arizona and all the West. They stretch majestically from Springerville to Clifton, a mighty conglomeration of forest, and mountain peak and mountain stream. These mountains jostle each other with great forests and in the music of their streams is their song of freedom. Here there are ranches and little towns and villages, farms and pioneer firesides. One great transcontinental highway, U. S. 60, a creation in smooth asphalt, leads through the very heart of these mountains and another great highway, U. S. 66, is just an hour or so away. U. S. 666, the Coronado Trail, which travels the eastern border of Arizona, knifes these mountains between Springerville and Clifton, hurdling mountain peak and winding a careful way down mountainsides. (And another road, U. S. 260, loafs through to the East and New Mexico.) Here is the ideal place to spend a day, a week, or a month when summer brings a chance for one to pause.

The White Mountain region of Arizona is rich in picturesquely located towns and hamlets, with little saw mills and big ones, ranches and little farms. In the Apache National Forest, which sweeps over most of the eastern range are Big Lake, Crescent Lake, Luna Lake, Hamblin Lake and three smaller lakes near Greer on the Little Colorado; Bunch, River and Tunnel Lakes. Shown here is Luna Lake, near Alpine. (Photos by Josef Muench.) Through the Apache National Forest and the White River Indian Reservation are dirt roads, well maintained, which lead the vacationist to distant lake or trout stream, to picnic camp or sylvan glen. These are vagabond roads, roads to loaf along on. Trails lead from the roads into the deeper recesses of the forest, and these are vagabond trails, too, for the summer visitor ahorseback or afoot. There are ample accommodations for the visitor in the White Mountains. (Photos by Chuck Abbott.)

Among the earliest pioneer settlers of this state were the hardy folk who first settled in the White Mountains of Arizona. Here in a desert land was water, a never-failing and unending supply, cold stream water from the snow banks of the mountain peaks, and hidden springs. Descendants of these pioneer folk have their farms and ranches in these mountains today and they have enhanced the beauty of this area. Their hospitality and friendliness is typical of the true West. (Photos by Chuck Abbott.) Over three hundred miles of trout streams wind through the White Mountains and the Blue Range, like silver ribbons in settings of forest green. Many of these streams are born in the deep mystery of mountain springs, others seep from higher snow banks. They are apparently in no hurry to get to wherever they are going and they travel slowly as if reluctant to leave their deep cool forests and friendly mountains. They picture the sky and the aspen like clear mirrors. (Photo by Josef Muench.)

The mountain people find in their land the peace and unspoiled loveliness that the desert people find in their desert. Here you are close to the good earth and close to the sky and closer still to the honest, genuine creations that are Nature, deep in this rich heart of our land that is America. The soil is black and rich underfoot and there is odor of the forest, the strong perfume of pine and flower blossoms. (Photos by Chuck Abbott and Josef Muench.) There is music in the mountains too, the symphony of the wind in the tree tops, the merry melodies of the truant streams, carefree fellows whistling down the mountainside. There is the dew on the grass in the morning and somewhere the smell of a campfire. There is the sound of oars on the lake and the low undertones are broken by the sound of birds, the whirring sound of birds in flight. Poets, too, find their way into the mountains. (Photos by Chuck Abbott and Joseph Muench.) A stream in the White Mountains of Arizona is an invitation to pause in the summer sun, to fish a bit, perhaps, or just to sit on the bank and watch the stream go by. There are deep pools where the movement of the stream is hardly noticeable and the stream is quiet. Again a stream will fall more rapidly and chatter furiously as the water splashes against the rocks, and its song is the song of summer. There are streams for fishing and for dreaming or just for splashing. (Photo by Chuck Abbott.)

Springerville, the mountain metropolis in Apache County, on U. S. 60, 666, and 260, is one of the principal jumping off places for the deep silences of the White Mountains. Its main street is a paved transcontinental highway, its visitors come from near and far. Here in July Fourth week is held a rousing rodeo and celebration but always in the summer are the lakes and the streams of the mountains so nearby. The many little villages, like Alpine, (top), have a charm all their own. (Photos by Chuck Abbott.) The White Mountains and the Blue Range, just a few hours from the desert, are in places inaccessible during the winter months. In the late spring and summer and throughout early fall these mountains come into their own as places where one finds quiet and beauty and repose. Here is the land of the trim. tall spruce and the pine, the land of the aspen and the mountain flowers. In the deep heart of these forests bear pursue their fancy and berries, and there are wild turkey and deer. (Photo by Chuck Abbott.)

An afternoon and evening in the mountains, fleeting moments of peace in times when there is no peace. Many boys who were brought up in these mountains are in other lands today but the mountains are with them always as the clean, strong land is always with us. The mountains, like the desert, are our heritage, part of the wholesome land, our richest and most precious possession, part of the soul that is America. There is moonlight on the little mountain lake and the beauty of night is all around. R. C. (Photo by Josef Muench.)