From Payson to Camp Verde

From Payson By Ed PHOTOGRAPHS

America, a nation on wheels, wanders further afield each year and adds another million or so gasoline buggies to a staggering total. New roads, in a valiant effort to accommodate, worm their way through Arizona and the rest of our fair land-crosscountry turnpikes for those who want to get there "right now," and the connecting type which add accessibility to places formerly hard to get to. The interesting area between Payson and Camp Verde, Arizona, is a case in point. This fascinating midsection of Arizona is just beginning to open up. The newly constructed Beeline Highway from Phoenix to Payson has made it possible. Payson is now a scant eighty-seven miles from the Capitol Cityless than two hours by car. Prior to the Beeline completion the trip took over four hours via the Apache Trail and Roosevelt Dam.

Payson, settled in 1882, is an indigenous frontier town. It lies cradled in the heavily wooded country of the Tonto National Forest-3,000,000 acres of protected watershed for the Salt River irrigation system. Zane Grey knew this country well. The cabin where he wrote "Under the Tonto Rim" overlooks Tonto Creek-its slab walls in sad repair.

Until recently, Payson was a typical Saturday shopping hub for nearby cattle ranchers and sportsmen. But now the Beeline Highway is making this area a summer resort for Phoenix. Its altitude of 4,600 feet means cool nights amid towering pines. Weekend cottages and summer homes offer an enticing escape from the high June, July and August temperatures of the desert valleys. This friendly western town greets its augmented boomlet with genuine enthusiasm. The Ox Bow Inn, oldest hostelry in town, has chamois drapes, beamed ceiling and cut stone walls. Modern motels and restaurants cater to the increasing tourist trade. The annual rodeo is held in August, but most any summer Sunday afternoon you can watch an informal roping and calf-riding contest staged by cowboys from local ranches.

Payson is the jumping-off place for our trip to Camp Verde, which lies to the northwest-fifty-five miles of provocative back country, guaranteed to whet your appetite for adventure. The road periodically climbs to vantage points, better to display its scenic wonders, then drops into the seclusion of green valleys. Best of all are the several side trips, each with its special history.

Leaving Payson, we cross the East Verde River and get several glimpses of the jagged escarpment of the Mogollon Rim off to our right. This is wildlife country. One is apt to see deer, elk, turkey and many varieties of small game. Twelve miles from Payson we spot a

to Camp Verde Ellinger

sign marked “Tonto Natural Bridge.” A dirt side road ambles off to the left, three miles of winding descent to a small guest ranch in the protected valley below. The road is easily negotiated and there's lots to see when you get there.

Tonto Natural Bridge is one of nature's remarkable phenomena a large archway of travertine rock. Park your car and take the narrow footpath down to the water level of Pine Creek which flows through the arch, a rainbow-shaped structure gracefully suspended overhead. It was thousands of years in the making, a result of mineral deposits leached from the steady flow of spring waters surfacing after a long journey under the surface of the earth. The arch looks grey and sombre at first glance, but on closer scrutiny you notice dull reds, soft yellows and subtle creams. Vital statistics-150 feet across, 180 feet high and 400 feet long.

Directly overhead and supported by the bridge lies an adjacent five acres of rich, well-irrigated alluvial soil which yields a bountiful crop of vegetables, apples and peaches. The land was originally cultivated by the Indians, but only their caves remain, tucked securely under the rock ledges of the surrounding canyon walls. The history of this hidden paradise is worth a moment of digression.

David Gowan was the first white man to set eyes on Tonto Natural Bridge. The year was 1877. David, a Scottish sailor turned prospector, was quick to recognize the potential value of his discovery. He recorded his claim, knowing full well that the Indians wouldn't easily relinquish their fertile valley. Undaunted, David moved in-changing his campsite every night and living on the dodge from the vengeful vengeful Indians. The Indians finally moved on in recognition of a white man's persistence, but dubious of words like “legal claims” which were beyond their ken.

The Scotsman stayed on though “tourists” were few and far between. Just before the turn of the century an Englishman chanced by a writer by trade. He sent an article back to England, which was published in the New Castle Times concerning “Dave Gowan's two-story farm,” near Flagstaff, Arizona. By coincidence, the article was read by David Goodfellow, who remembered his uncle David had left for the New World years ago. He wondered if by chance it could be one and the same. A letter addressed to David Gowan, Flagstaff, Arizona, eventually reached his long absent uncle. Gowan promptly wrote back and told his nephew to take the next boat for America as he needed help. Months later Goodfellow stepped off the train at Flagstaff with his wife and sons. He packed his luggage on a Mormon wagon train and finally arrived at Tonto Natural Bridge. He liked what he found and eventually uncle David turned the place over to him. By 1904 a modest guest ranch was ready to welcome its first paying “dude.” Mr. Goodfellow finally relaxed but, “the excitement was great when the first tourist came in without having to leave his ‘outfit’ at the hilltop.” The Goodfellows rebuilt the guest house in 1926. They stayed on until 1948 when they sold to the Randalls -the present owners.

Attractive accommodations are available in the old-fashioned guest house where home-cooked meals are served family style. You can rent horses and explore the surrounding countryside or enjoy the stimulating mountain water which fills the 125 foot swimming pool.

Back on the highway, we turn left and continue four miles to Pine, a delightful old Mormon town nestled under the Mogollon Rim. Baker Butte towers 8,182 feet above and marks the highest elevation of this section of the Rim. A few miles east of Pine we come to the small settlement of Strawberry-named for the shape of several nearby hillocks. Strawberry was a stopping-off point for the Mormon wagon trains, down from the heights of the Mogollon Rim at Nash Point on their journey from Flag-staff to Phoenix and Mesa. The pavement ends at Strawberry and we take the left fork on the dirt road to Camp Verde thirty-five miles away. At the outskirts of town is an interesting old schoolhouse built of hand-hewn square logs; its familiar school bell silent since 1880 when children from the Pine area attended. The surrounding countryside is wildly picturesque-rolling green fields fringed with tall pine trees. Some of the fields are actively farmed, others sown in permanent pasture to provide feed for that hearty breed of white-faced Herefords which gaze at the intruder with languid curiosity.

Leaving Strawberry the character of the land changes from tall pine to open grazing-neither green nor lush. The road winds and turns for about twelve miles, then heads off a high plateau in gradual descent into another valleythe proud possessor of ample water as evidenced by the tall cottonwoods. Snuggled at the bottom of the valley is the Irving power plant. An odd place for a power plant? It would seem so, but that leads us to the captivating history of Fossil Creek and another side trip-isn't that what we came for?

About 1897 Lew Turner, a Yavapi cattleman, ran across the biggest spring he'd ever seen, gushing like Niagara, right below where the trail crossed the canyon on its way to Strawberry. The water apparently comes from rain in the northern areas where it seeps down through the volcanic cinders to reappear bursting from a rock fissure more than one-hundred miles to the south. This itinerant water supply picks up a heavy mineral content of calcium and magnesium carbonates, sulphates and chlorides, silica and iron oxides. Upon breaking into the open the water quickly deposits some of its load on rocks, stones and ferns-giving them an unmistakable appearance of fossils.

Protracted testing indicated a steady flow of 20,000 gallons a minute, with only slight variation in winter or summer-wet or dry years. It suggested only one thing-a hydroelectric plant. There was a ready market for power in the mines at Mayer and Jerome. The details of this Herculean undertaking form an endless record of man's ingenuity and perseverance-taking almost ten years of constant effort before a gushing stream high on a mountainside meant electric power to a foreman ready to throw the switch at Jerome. Steel for the lower end of the sluice was forged by the Krupp works in Germany, transported by way of Cape Horn to Los Angeles, then transshipped to Mayer, Arizona, thence by mule team to the power site. The generator stator required a twenty-six-mule team to reach its destination. Eventually two plants were constructed: first the one at Childs further down the mountain at the Verde River level and then the Irving

Verde River at Verde Hot Springs

plant located at Fossil Creek. Getting back to our exploration, it is well worth a half day visit up along the gorge following the flume to the secluded glen where the water pours from the mountainside. Frankly the road is eight miles of downright rough going. I wouldn't chance it in anything but a highslung vehicle-a jeep or pick-up. But there usually is someone going up from the power plant daily and it's possible to "bum" a ride in the back of a pick-up. The day I was there I paid a nominal rental for an old pick-up belonging to one of the men at the plant. Regardless of how you get there, it's more than worth the effort, just to see the inviting glade of verdure nourished by this rich bounty of life-giving water. A caretaker and his wife live at the end of the road. He checks the water flow daily and for possible leaks in the flume. Their cozy cottage is enveloped in a riot of colorful flowers. Wild canaries, orioles and cardinals are a few of the many species of birds who pay their daily respects. Deer and elk roam the area. When the figs are ripe the racoons come right up to the house to eat their fill. Guess that's what makes Arizona so alluring-add a dependable water supply to almost continuous sunshine and the results are astounding. Back at the power plant we continue west on the main dirt road until a sign points left to another engaging digression-Verde Hot Springs. This road is in good shape. It makes a pleasant winding descent for six miles -criss-crossing under the flume which dumps its water in Stehr Lake in order to develop more "head pressure." Then the water flows over the dam, back into the flume to the Childs power plant at the bottom of the canyon floor, which we cross on a wooden bridge to reach the twenty-room hotel of World War I vintage built on the far bank. Mineral springs ooze from the hillside almost at the river's edge. The temperature is a constant 104 degrees. As we might expect, the Indians found it first.

View of Tonto Natural Bridge

The mud-bottomed caves still remain where they submerged their naked bodies in the health-giving sulphur water seeping from nature's subterranean storehouse. Now the white man sips the curative waters while stoically immersed in limpid pools of this warm fluid claiming relief from arthritis, rheumatism and sinus. The atmosphere of the hotel is friendly and if not modern by our slick new standards, it is comfortable. Food is on the American plan. If the sulphur baths hold no interest for you, the trip into the valley is reason enough for going. The journey back is via the same route-up the mountain slope and back to the dirt road headed west for the final twenty-three miles to Camp Verde. This road winds around the natural contours of this hilly country. A few miles before we reach Camp Verde we cross a wooden bridge spanning gentle Clear Creek. A shaded picnic area to the left looks mighty inviting. Under the bridge is an old-fashioned, deep swimming hole just like the one we knew so well when we were kids. The fishing is excellent both up stream and down-stocked by the fish hatchery at Page Springs. In fact there is excellent fishing all along the Payson-Camp Verde route -both in the East Verde and Verde rivers; and north near the Mogollon Rim you may flip a multicolored fly in sequestered creeks with names like "Barbershop" and "Dane." The remaining five miles is paved as we reach Camp Verde, whose history dates back to 1864. Originally named Fort Lincoln it served as a military post to protect wagon trains from Apache raiders. Five of the original adobe buildings at the post are still standing. The local townspeople recently banded together to establish a museum in two of the buildings-filled with relics of the past; relics ransacked from attics of many whose parents played a part in this Arizona history which seems so near at hand.

Yours sincerely ORGAN PIPE CACTUS NATIONAL MONUMENT:

Your January, 1959, article on cactus by Joseph Stacey brought back memories of a botany field trip taken to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument last fall. At this time we took a count of the cacti present by use of the quarter method. As for myself, this was the first time I had seen many of the species of cacti mentioned in your article. Most of our group will verify the unapproachable chollas as we spent much time removing their small and sharp spines.For those people desiring a quiet and beautiful area to vacation, Organ Pipe is just the place. Facilities include a clean camping area, with running water, close to the Mexican border. The back country areas are easily accessible by good dirt roads. From these areas one gets an impression of the real desert. Shouts from ridges overlooking vast, visible areas only bring echoes and re-echoes to break the solitude of the desert.

I would like to return to this area in the future and perform further ecological studies on the cacti found there. Due to the extreme variety present, one can get a well-rounded education from just one trip.

I have received, with the compliments of Victor G. Reuther, a copy of your magazine, ARIZONA HIGHWAYS, and I think I must write you this note of admiration of your splendid publication. Here, at the Institute of Directors, we tend to fancy our knowledge of publish-ing and printing, but there is nothing produced in this country to compare with your publication.

Do you think we might be allowed to become regular subscribers? If so, your magazine would be displayed here in the public rooms of the Institute of Directors and would be seen by at least 150 top-level British executives who come in here every day.

Willis Peterson gave us a fine feature in your March issue. I have always been interested in bird and animal photography and am indebted to him for much valuable advice. It takes real skill as a photographer to go hunting with a camera.

Your Willis Peterson has long been one of my favorite contributors to your magazine. I thought his Beaver article a few years ago was tops but now his Nature studies in your March issue comes along and I think they are tops.

"SAND DUNES-CANYON DE CHELLY NATIONAL MONUMENT" BY WAYNE DAVIS. These shifting dunes dramatize the high plateau desert country of the Canyon de Chelly country. These dunes are reached from the Rim road. 4x5 Graphic 11 camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/10th second; 64-inch Ilex lens.

BACK COVER

"NAVAJO HOGANS-CANYON DE CHELLY NATIONAL MONUMENT™ BY WAYNE DAVIS. Many Navajo families live in the canyon of the monument. They have small farms and orchards and consider themselves favored to be able to live where they do. This photograph was taken from the tunnel of Bat Trail. 4x5 Graphic View 11 camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/10th second; 6%-inch Ilex lens; early afternoon, July.

SCHOOLHOUSE, GHOST TOWN

Boys and girls once knew it well, Did their sums here, learned to spell, And heard how Troy and Carthage fell— Mighty towns of wealth and fame That sank to rubble, and became No more than a dusty name.

Who goes to class within these walls Or scampers down its ruined halls Or hears now, if the school bell calls? Only the children of the hill, Of owl and hare where, oddly shrill, A mouse's querulous cry may grate As gritty chalk once rasped on slate.

The trees are whispering on the hill, Telling secrets to the wind. But, mind you! he will spread them all For he is wild And never knew discretion.

If I could probe a rosebud's heart And find its key to blooming, Or pressure petals to exert Their secret of perfuming; Could I divine from the mockingbird The reason for his singing In darkness; or could I bombard From earth its cause for bringing Such full, exquisite joy to me, I would not dare! To blunder Beyond the boundary would destroy The magic wand of wonder.

Once more the desert hours unfold To hold Primrose and prickly pear, Poppies with golden smiles, Blooms dancing thickly—where The yesterday was sand, As April wakes her wonderland, And color crowds the hush of desert miles.

With faith and skill the Padres drew their plan: Grain plots and fruit to aid their Indian flock; An aqueduct from which fresh water ran Into wide cisterns lined withnative rock; An inner court walled in from enemy; A children's school, and rooms to house the ill; And, for true desert hospitality, Rude granaries that they would strive to fill. They built their dream. A narrow chapel stood Upon a rise of ground, its bell hung high, To call to prayer the Pima neighborhood And any lonely traveler passing by.

Now, like incense, the dust of years ascends, As ghostly Aves and finches' singing blends.