Stars in the Treetops

It's a crying shame that whoever named Arizona's White Mountains couldn't have used a little of that ingenious imagination evident in so many western place names less deserving of the mental effort. Or maybe they were named some winter morning when they were white with snow, and the namer's moccasins were wet and he hadn't had his coffee or even a cigarette because his buck skin jumper had leaked and his matches were wet toonone of which is conducive of sitting down on a wet log and figuring out poetic names for the locale of your predicament.But if you like your country tall and roomy, and the stars almost close enough to touch, you will like the White Mountains in spite of their prosaic name. Tall peaks and jumbled ridges and rolling mesas rear up from 5,000 to more than 11,000 feet. Then as though to further impress you with their majestic height, they wear a feathery headdress of tall Ponderosa pine like an Indian war-bonnet. You will also like the new, unused quality of the air, deli cately flavored with sun warmed pine needles that Nature distills especially for such places.

Canyons and glades deep in the twilight shadows of ancient timber will create the illusion that you are the first being ever to trespass into these particular solitudes. But if you will lean back against a tree and sit quietly you will hear, high in the tree-tops, the reckless laughter of be-whiskered outlaws and the occasional stamping of their horses; the tinkle of burro-bells accompanying snatches of gay Spanish love songs; the low gutturals of disgruntledApaches; the softer murmurs of the "Ancient Ones;" and finally the dim whisperings of an unintelligible gibberish of others who have been there before you. The White Mountains are of volcanic origin. A long time ago the Fire God, in a fit of indigestion, belched them up and left them here to cool.

It must have been quiet a relief. There are about 2500 square miles of them, larger than some states. snuggled against the Arizona-New Mexico line about midway between Highways 66 and 70, and may be reached by U. S. Highways 666 and 260, and State Highway 77. all either paved or well improved. And now the new transcontinental U. S. Highway 60 skirts the area on the north and west, from where the heart of the White Mountains is easily accessible. Regardless of how you arrive they will be a refreshing surprise to those who, from their previous travels or hearsay, have come to consider Arizona as a land of only sand and cactus and sunshine.Today much of the natural beauty and wild game that has attracted men to this area since prehistoric times remains, but now it is interlaced with hundreds of miles of passable roads and trails. Don't let this give you the idea that it is like so many beauty spots where there is an entire family including the pup and parrot camped behind every pine tree. There are only about 6,000 perma nent residents in the entire district and most of these are concentrated in the few lumber camps and small towns. There are many isolated campsites with plenty of icy mountain water that has never been used where you can enjoy all the privacy of Adam and Eve-if you are in the Adam and Eve mood.

The White Mountain area is a heavy producer of timber. The mill at McNary (above) operates on a busy schedule throughout the year. Large herds of cattle and sheep range on the mountain slopes during the summer months when the grass comes out after spring thaws.

Stars in the Treetops

On the other hand if you are so constituted that you like to sniff cool mountain breezes, get goose-pimply over scenic beauties, maybe even catch a trout or two, and yet require a greater variety of human companionship than the Adam and Eve plan affords, you will find lodges. guest ranches, tourist courts, and free public campgrounds where the gregarious are inclined to congregate. Most of the commercial accommodations have been built in the past few years and are modern and comfortable. And unless you have been more fortunate than most travelers, your pocketbook will be pleasantly surprised at the prices you pay for the accommodations you get.

Come to think of it, this is one of the few places left where you can live like you always had an idea you'd like to, and do just about whatever you're big enough to. Starting a forest fire is the one thing most strongly advised against. Whipping your wife (or vice versa) is consid ered more or less a personal issue, but a forest fire, aside from burning up critical resources, interferes with too many folks' pursuit of happiness. Fishermen have to quit fishing, artists have to quit painting, loggers have to quit logging. dude wranglers have to quite wrangling-men have even been known to leave half finished drinks on hars to go fight a forest fire.

For the fish-pole addict, especially the fly-rod variety, it is a place dreamed about lovingly by all who have tried it. There are more than 200 miles of trout streams in the White Mountain region, including the White River and its tributaries and the headwaters of the Little Colorado. Much of the White River fishing water lies in the Fort Apache Indian Reservation where roads have not been developed as extensively as they have in the Sitgreaves and Apache Forests portions of the mountains. Consequently some walking must be anticipated, or pack trips may be be arranged.

This automatically eliminates the "steering wheel" fisherman, the guy who likes to drive up, poke his pole out the window and squalls bloody murder if he doesn't catch his limit in fifteen minutes. But it is said (unverified) that the fish are so unfamiliar with the purpose and intent of fishermen in these parts and so hungry that it is necessary to get behind a tree to bait your hook. In addition to the stream fishing there are about twenty lakes. natural and developed, also well stocked with trout. Then for the fisherman who likes his fishing combined with comforts and conveniences, the civic spirited citizenry of Showlow are rushing the development of Long Lake only a couple of miles out of town. It will furnish another patch of trout water about three miles long and a mile wide. Trout season usually opens Memorial Day and continues through September.

However, if you are one of these unfortunate folks who have never been bitten by the fishing bug, and perhaps married to some one who spends the winters repairing fishing tackle and the summers tearing it up, the White Mountains have many attractions that don't require pack

Hiking around a fish-pole to enjoy. Most of the snow, except in the extreme altitudes, is gone by the middle of May and spring follows the snow from the flat country right on up to the highest peaks where summer is the merest hesitation between spring and gaudy autumn. Within this wide range of elevations, nearly 6,000 feet, are to be found the varying vegetation and temperatures from semidesert to alpine heights. In the woodland areas creeks and meadows are an ever changing riot of color as a succession of wild flowers bloom. By changing altitude you have a choice of season and climate practically all summer. If all the facts were recorded and the landmarks known there perhaps isn't a canyon or meadow in the entire range that hasn't at one time or another been the scene of stirring drama. Mormons from Utah established the first permanent white settlement in the '70's. The White Mountains were a part of the old Hashknife range. the cattle outfit that figured so prominently in the sheep and cattle war that finally ended at the turn of the century. By the very nature of the country, it was a natural sanctuary for outlaws, rustlers and horse thieves. But sometimes they didn't ride fast enough; five were captured in Water Canyon by a posse of ranchers who owned the horses in their possession. Only one made his escape while the other four were being hung to the nearest thing handy a protruding beam of a log cabin. Aside from raiding the white settlers the Apaches had inter-tribal troubles of their own. On a point of hill near the present road from Showlow to Lakeside, Chief Chillie was killed in pitched battle with the Apache Kid and a band of Yaquis and Apache sympathizers. Today the progeny of these fierce old warriors may be visited with perfect safety on the Fort Apache Indian Reservation at the south end of the White Mountains where, aside from occasionally settling purely personal differences, they content themselves with raising a good grade of white faced cattle. The Reservation Agency is at Whiteriver where a wealth of Indian lore is available. The road is surfaced, and the trip definitely interesting. The Indians as we know them today were here when Coronado made his tortuous trek through the White Mountains in 1540, but the area is dotted with the ruins of a people whose history is buried so deep in Time that it has eluded the tribal memories and legends of the present day Indians. No doubt there are still many ruins and evidence of this vanished race that have never been seen by the eyes of a white man. While the region dates back to antiquity as a favored haunt of man, it is comparatively new and unspoiled in this age when most of us hesitate to get more than a few miles from an automobile. Long before roads made it accessible to the motor-bound public, it came under the supervision of the Forest Service and protection of State game laws. In spite of the 35 million board feet of timber being cut annually there are still areas where the virgin timber has never been molested by the commercial axe.

And if you will walk quietly and keep your eyes open there is no telling what you may see in the way of wild life; not the tame variety found in many of the National Parks, because it is a favorite place for the experienced hunter during hunting season. It is estimated that 10,000 wild turkey nest and summer in the White Mountains while 600 elk and 7,000 Mule and White-tail deer in scattered bunches graze the meadows and open parks. By the same census 300 bear roam the country digging roots and grubbing under dead logs. With this source of natural prey there is a corresponding complement of predators, mountain lion, coyotes, and bob-cat, without mentioning squirrels, porcupines, skunks, smaller animals, and birds. Yet with all these primeval surroundings and relaxing seclusion, you are never very far, as we measure distance in this country, from a supply point in the form of a progressive little town complete with stores, garage, beer signs, and neon lights in case the urge to go primitive begins to get the upper hand. There is Springerville to the north, and Showlow north and west on the main highways. Then as you get deeper into the mountains, Lakeside, Pinetop, McNary, the lumber center, and Greer, and to the east almost on the New Mexico line, is Alpine. All during the summer months these towns stage rodeos, celebrations, barbecues, and dances. There is considerable civic rivalry among these little trading centers. But you will like this. Each one tries to outdo the others in friendliness and a robust hospitality that is almost a lost art in the more congested centers. Good accommodations in modern tourist courts and lodges are available, and nobody is ever in too big a hurry to stop and pass the time of day, spin you a windy, pass out road information, tell you where you can catch a mess of trout. or get a movie of elk, deer or wild turkey. It is usually deep into November before snow starts to fly in earnest. At the present there has been very little development of winter sports although the natural resources for all winter recreational activities are practically unlimited. There is one ski run without lift but with an open front shelter and fireplace on Springer Mountain about a mile east of State Highway 173 between Lakeside and Pinetop. But for those reckless enough to trust their physical well-being to a pair of the slippery things there are miles of ski-able terrain through the timber. Somehow up here where the stars come down into the tree-tops at night and the trees whisper to them of things we mortals don't know anything about is a mighty soothing country for nerves all jangled up from a faster tempo of living. Even whether you catch a fish or hike or ride horseback or explore ceases to be very important. By the same token, hobnobbing with giant trees in the serenity of world-old mountains instills a vivid impression of our true stature and insignificance in the big scheme of things - guaranteed to reduce the misconception of our self-importance. So one way or another the White Mountains are apt to be good for you, not to mention the fun you'll have.