ARIZONA'S INEXHAUSTIBLE SCENERY

Inexhaustible Scenery PHOTOGRAPHS BY JOSEF MUENCH

page how and helmets a thousand pobral pour gar yin, ranging bern theme to mover, ilsza; Tre geas back to collect sense glopes of the gaslugis wonders, Kruly spples the burskap that is Axiaoma Know that is bling to and eat we my peth, fe gdoing at the boost of the world, nood your fa ya U for the Anstet Informating paste lune : Covered by the "flesh" of monotonously green vegetation as to weary the eye and bore the imagination. Variety is built right into the 113,956 square miles within its boundaries. Mountains poke up to 12,670 feet above sea level in the north with the high tableland, cut by profound canyons, that is Arizona's share of the fascinating Colorado Plateau, dropping to a vast desert land only a few feet above sea level, near Yuma. Even in this flatter region, eye-catching peaks of a unique sort, edge every skyline.

In the train of this divergent terrain, like hand maidens, follow a multitude of happy changes, from moment to moment and from day to day. The air is clear, dry, stimulating. Each mood of weather is brief and whimsical as a child at play. Clouds, building in the Gulf of Mexico, cross international and state lines to bring summer rain, shipped in packing cases providing the most splendid backgrounds for landforms-whether they be mountain peaks, canyons, or saguaro-studded desert stretches. Sunsets and sunrises are particularly vivid, which is only appropriate in a country that glows with color all day long.

A feeling of great breadth and expanse about the land comes not alone from sheer size, but because there is always a rise from which you can view the surrounding area, something new around the next corner, surprises in the folds of the mountains, as well as right at your feet.

Looking far off, the spectator sees wind kicking up a picturesque little twister that crosses the road in front of the car with a sudden flurry, flirting off with a circle of dust and leaves, whirling together in a devil dance. Or, instead of this visible wind, it may be a rain shower, sliding down the drapery of a cloud to parachute to earth, while you bask in the warm sunshine. In another minute, you may be under a transient cloud canopy, with the sun turning its spotlight on a massive rock formation, advertising the work of erosion just as crossing beams of searchlights mark the opening of a business establishment.

This sense of being an onlooker with entertainment teasing the eye in adjacent circus-rings-tightrope walkers in the sky, the season's newest production of flowers on a slope, and a grand vista of mountains beyond-pleases mind and spirit, unwinds tight nerves and expands the soul.

I have sometimes wondered if Nature, supreme actor that she is, didn't enjoy an appreciative audience and often put on special performances just for the benefit of my clicking camera.

Don't expect, especially if you come to Arizona from a very different kind of country, to necessarily feel such enthusiasm all at once. Some people find, at first, that the desert looks barren to their unaccustomed eyes; canyons are bleak and too much space, without familiar contours, empry. Like strange foods, immensity, austerity and ruggedness of landscape, are acquired tastes. When you leave, the flavor lingers and after a time you begin to hunger for the nuances of lighting, the spaciousness and feeling feeling of freedom. With more exposures to their impact, as to certain drugs, they become a necessity. Yes, Arizona can "grow" on you.

In pointing out the inexhaustibility of Arizona's scenery, I don't want to write a guidebook. I'd rather try to give an overall view, as certain great composers have been said to hear, inwardly, a symphony in its entirety, before committing consecutive notes to paper. After the overture, which you've already read, there should be a First Movement. In Arizona, the theme would be, appropriately, about the mountains. In spite of her deserts, it is really the mountain masses which dominate the whole state. You find them even in the south, where the land is lowest. The Colorado River meanders leisurely through them and their jagged points stick above fields and irrigation canals, over palms and miles of citrus orchards in the west. Irregular crests and ridges back up the rolling country in the east, lifting in the Mule Mountains where Bisbee nestles and the towering Chiricahuas with their rock fantasies.

Each range has its own secrets and individual beauty. Singular peaks like Baboquivari, on the Papago Reservation, longer ridges like the Kofa Mountains (with an unexpected colony of native palm trees defying the years) command attention. They look down on delightful valleys, like the Santa Cruz, site of the ruins of Tumacacori, mellowing at the fect of the Santa Rita Mountains. What wonderful music these mountain ranges might inspire. It would require minor themes of Apache warfare, hint of martial tunes from Fort Bowie, in foothills between the Dos Cabezas and the Chiricahuas, from Fort Huachuca in the Huachucas; bawling of cattle and cowboy songs, metallic rhythms from prospectors at Bisbee; gunfire provided by Tombstone, granddaddy of all western thrillers.

There is much that is lyric about this region, varied and pungent, with a turbulent history which the imagination often finds as palpable as smoke rising from the tall chimney of the copper smelter at Douglas. What composer could resist introducing some lively dance music or the snort of the bull in the arena at Nogales, just over the international boundary line? Or as an echo of the almost mythical days when the marching feet of Coronado's men, the pad of unshod horses' hooves of Father Kino came adventuring from the south to begin the white man's conquest of this New Spain.

Anywhere, you can travel on fine highways from point to point or take off on little roads leading into storied retreats. There is Madera Canyon, cut into the flanks of Mt. Wrightson, sheltering vacation cabins among the trees, and the peaceful, rolling terrain of the Ruby Mountains to explore.

Neither composer or traveler must, for our purpose, linger too long, for a host of other peaks and ranges swing into view as we move northward. The Santa Catalinas and the Tanque Verdes stand above Tucson and Mt. Graham and then the White Mountains surge skyward to the east.

The White Mountains are the largest and most important of the state's highlands--for water and lumber. They loom quite as big on the vacation skyline. Deer and elk, beaver and turkey share streams, lakes and meadows with fisherman and hunter. Open lands intervene between stands of ponderosa pine and even the sugar maple is not unknown. Some of the grazing cattle carry Apache brands. Small lumber mills, and the large one at McNary, vie with fields and tourism in the interests of pleasant little resort towns. Aspen quiver in the summer

Notes For Photographers OPPOSITE PAGE

"CLOUD CASTLES OVER ECHO CLIFFS" 4x5 Graphic View camera; Kodachrome daylight; f.22 at 1/10th sec.; 5" Xenar lens; April; sunny day. Photograph taken on Alt. U.S. 89 near Navajo Bridge, which spans Marble Canyon Gorge over the Colorado River. Here the photographer's attention was arrested by the dramatic cloud formation piled high over the colorful skyline. In such spacious country, clouds do not necessarily "make" a photograph but they do enhance the beauty and drama of the scene.

FOLLOWING PAGES

"SPRING SCENE-VERMILION CLIFFS" 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome daylight E-3; f.45 at 1/5th sec.; 5" Xenar lens; April; sunny day. Here is a spring scene taken from Alt. U.S. 89 in the Vermilion Cliffs country, north of Marble Canyon. Few ramparts, even in the red rock country of the Colorado Plateau, can claim more color than the paint-splashed Vermilion Cliffs. They make an unforgettable background in spring for the blossoming Prickly poppy-Argemone platyceras-with its crinkly white petals and sun-bright center.

"PICACHO PEAK IN SPRING DRESS" 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome E-3; f.20 at 1/25th sec.; 6" Xenar lens; April; sunny day. Picacho Peak is a noted landmark on State Route 93, between Casa Grande and Tucson. This desert peak is at its loveliest when the Brittlebush, Encelia farinosa, is in bloom. On the rare occasions when winter and early spring rainfall has been heavy, Picacho Peak is a flaming mass of yellow. "Picacho" is a Spanish word meaning "peak" or "point."

"SPRING-SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN" 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome daylight E-3; f.22 at 1/5th sec.; 84" Zeiss Tessar lens; May; late afternoon. Photograph taken near Apache Junction on State Route 88, the Apache Trail. Superstition Mountain, about forty miles east of Phoenix, is one of the most storied mountain ranges in the West. This is the setting of the Lost Dutchman Mine. The name "Superstition" was given to this range by early settlers who were told by the Pima Indians that the area was "bad medicine" for them probably because hostile Apaches used the mountain as a fortress from which they made raids upon the Pimas living along the Gila.

"THE FOREST THAT TURNED TO STONE" 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome daylight; f.45 at 1½ sec.; 6" Schneider Xenar lens; May; sunny day. Photograph taken in the Rainbow Forest of Petrified Forest National Monument, reached from the east on U.S. 66, east of Holbrook. The largest and most brilliant display of petrified logs on earth is found in this area in Arizona. Against the background of striped and tinted clays, the logs are spectacular.

"THE PAINT BRUSH IS IN BLOOM-GRAND CANYON" 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome E-1; f.32 at 12 sec.; 5" Xenar lens; May; sunny day. Photograph taken on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon National Park, from a viewpoint off the West Rim drive. Here the Paint brush (Castilleja) seems to crowd to the very edge of the Canyon to enjoy the splendid view. Spring is a time when trails on the Rim, in the forest, and within the Canyon have their share of flowers and the air is cool and the North Rim seems just a "whoop and a holler" away."SNOW AND PAINTED GRAND CANYON WALLS" 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome E-1; f.32 at 1½ sec.; 6" Tessar lens; February; sunny day. This winter scene was taken on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. Like a vast stage-setting, the Grand Canyon shifts scenes with the hours and the seasons. The Canyon has a changing personality, reflecting every nuance of light, shadow, time and the weather. The occasional snow storm that sweeps over the South Rim during winter presents a different and truly spectacular sight which, unfortunately, too few people see. A newly fallen snow accents the color of Canyon walls. Buttes, mesas and side gorges have an intensified sharpness and the abyss seems to widen and deepen under the impact of the weather.

CENTER PANEL

"SPRINGTIME-CANYON LAKE" 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome daylight E-3; f.27 at 1/10th sec.; 5" Xenar lens; April; bright, sunny day. Canyon Lake is one of the lakes formed by dams on the Salt River. Water in this lake will eventually be drawn for irrigation use in the Salt River Valley. The lake itself

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Continued from page twelve . . . is a popular year-long recreational area for residents and visitors alike. Canyon Lake is reached by the Apache Trail, State Route 88. Here the blossoming Penstemon, one of Arizona's brightest spring flowers, adds a gay touch to the scene.

"SNOW WHITE-SNOW BRIGHT"

4x5 Graphic View camera; Kodachrome; f.40 at 1 sec.; 5" Xenar lens; January; sunny day. Photograph taken along State Route 64, the road which leads to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. A bright day in the Arizona northlands after a snow storm offers splendid pictorial opportunities for the passing photographer. The difficulty in photographing such winter scenes is to avoid the blue reflection of the sky in the snow.

"YUCCAS AND RED ROCK"

4x5 Linhof camera; daylight Ektachrome E-3; f.24 at 1/25th sec.; 6" Xenar lens; April; sunny day. Photograph taken at mouth of Oak Creek Canyon, just off State Route 79. Formations of red rock-the Bell (left) and Courthouse Rock (right)-are seen here on a spring day when the Yucca elata are in bloom. Photographer Muench visits Arizona each spring. He contends spring is one of our most attractive seasons for the photographer with the floral displays augmenting the natural scene.

"A SAGUARO COMMUNITY"

4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome daylight E-3; f.36 at 1/5th second; 5" Xenar lens; April; sunny day. Photograph taken just off State Route 88, north of Roosevelt Lake. The saguaro is one of the most photogenic of all the desert dwellers. When seen in a whole community in their favorite terrain (rolling desert slopes) they seem to symbolize the state's charm. The blossom of the saguaro is the state's flower.

4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome daylight E-3; f.20 at 1/50th sec.; 5" Xenar lens; May; sunny day. This view of the Gila River was taken at the outlet below Coolidge Dam, an isolated spot reached by a little road known only to fishermen and picnickers. Water in the desert - flowing freely like this and watched over by lush green borders - always seems a miracle. Mesquite (Prosopis pubescens) hangs over it in the foreground.

4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome E-1; f.45 at 12 sec.; 6" Tessar lens; August; sunny day. Photograph was taken on a forest road near State Route 73 in the White Mountains of Arizona. The White Mountain area - Arizona's most important mountain range - is a joy to behold when mountain meadows are carpeted with sunflowers toward the end of summer. Patches of yellow seem more dazzling than ever when found in such a setting of forest greenery.

"FROM HOUSE ROCK VALLEY VIEW POINT"

4x5 Graphic View camera; Kodachrome daylight; f.36 at 1½ sec.; 5" Tessar lens; February; sunny day. This view of a big, seemingly unlimited land, was taken along Alt. U.S. 89 coming down from the Kaibab Plateau into House Rock Valley. There aren't many places in Arizona where you can see two seasons from one viewpoint. Here winter, still with a good hold on the Kaibab Plateau behind, gives way to spring as the car glides down the highway to the desert plateau at the base of the Vermilion and Echo Cliffs.

"LAND OF TIME ENOUGH AND ROOM ENOUGH"

4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome E-3; f.29 at 1/5th sec.; 84" Zeiss Tessar lens; May; sunny day. Photograph taken in Monument Valley on the Arizona-Utah border. This scene is only a short distance from the main road just south of the Utah border. The photographer says: "This was a perfect day in Monument Valley when the air was stabbingly clear, clouds trimmed the horizon and every rock, as well as the Indian garb, was brilliantly lighted. A strange rock, with built-in pattern, made a good setting for two little Navajo shepherds above the flock." Far-traveled Photographer Muench considers Monument Valley one of his favorite places for photography. He estimates he visited the area 120 times in the past two decades and each visit has rewarded him with new, different and satisfying photographs.

OPPOSITE PAGE "WORK OF THE SCULPTOR, WIND"

4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome E-3; f.29 at 1/10th sec.; 6" Schneider Xenar lens; May; late afternoon, stormy clouds. This photograph was taken in the high plateau country of northeastern Arizon on the Navajo Indian Reservation. On the May day, when this photograph was taken, all sorts of weather, calm to turbulent, rolled by for the photographer. At this moment a stormy sky made an interesting background for the pattern of the sand. These dunes have accumulated within the past few years-adding a new little area with photographic challenge.

sunshine, turning to gold with autumn. They are grand mountains, soaring in Mt. Baldy to 11,590 feet above sea level.

Westward, are more ranges, among them the Galiuros, cut by Aravaipa Canyon, which might draw out quiet strains for its hidden charms. Would the musician find some strident note for Picacho Peak (along State routes 84 and 93) and some lilting melody for the Dripping Springs Range, Picket Post, or Teapot Mountain, above the rainbow-striped open copper pit at Ray? There should be some very special phrases for the eerie Superstition Mountains, punctuated by the swishing of fishing lines, cast into the 60-mile paradise of lakes along the Apache Trail.

Program sheets for orchestration never attempt to follow every thought which ran through the musician's mind and it must be left to the listener to fill out with his own imagination. So here, as we reconstruct the whole of Arizona's scenery, we can't dwell on every inviting spot. Without pressing the analogy too far, the next movement might be on the Seasons of the Year. Within the state's confines you may follow spring from an early awakening in the lowlands to the glory of mountain meadows in July and then reverse the pilgrimage in autumn, from aspen on the San Francisco Peaks, flooding the Kaibab Plateau, on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, with reflected light, and running in rivers that deepen to pools of color in the White Mountains, clear to a final burst among cottonwoods, fringing dry washes, as late as December. Snow, so unexpected to the Eastern visitor, lingers in certain rare spots almost until the new fall, yet the thin-blooded can always find somewhere, satisfying warmth. Winter is, of course, a favored season for visitors. They are enchanted by the weather and the air of casual, informal living for which cities like Phoenix and Tucson have a special flair. If anyone should feel homesickness for snow coming on, it is always within easy reach in the San Francisco Peaks, the White Mountains, Bill Williams, or Mount Lemmon-complete with ski runs and high banks along the road.

No month of the year is without its flowers and so swift is the play of expression over the face of the land that few days are without some sunshine. Arizona has as many climates as it has elevations. For each of them, the flowers, the shrubs and trees that bloom so vigorously, vary. Perhaps the greatest spreads are in the deserts, when the annuals lay coverlets of poppies, brittlebush, lupines, creosote bushes, able to grow where little else will, shake out yellow tresses and the weird ocotillo lights a flame at the end of prickly branches. In procession come the fragrant evening primroses, prickly pears with crinkled tissue-paper petals, waxy yellow-white saguaro flowers and white organ pipe cups along with a host of others. When these retire, the big barrel cacti put on crowns of varying shades and mountain flowers are taking over the recurrent theme at higher elevations. No musician or photographer either, could ask for greater variety of beauty than the flowers have to offer in their year-long pageant. And what lively accents they add to any landscape, whether as main motif or border decoration. Palo verde trees in dazzling yellow, yuccas, one kind after another waving great banners, fragrant cliff rose in gold and white through the canyon country and pale irises in the woodlands. Once you've seen dry washes tricked out in deep purple when the smoke trees lose their misty look in late summer and put on royal robes, you'll never forget it, or the pavement of cerulean blue they spread at their feet, like a colorful skirt, slipped from a shapely waist. Surely our Third Movement would be devoted to a more thorough treatment of the desert. This fluid term, meaning so many different things to different people, can be applied from its most complete expression, the great sand dunes to dry lands that finger clear up into the mountain canyons.

The arboreal desert, a wonderful kingdom of its own, has joint capitals in the Organ Pipe and Saguaro National Monuments. Here the cacti grow big as trees, as the title suggests, punctuating the sky with spiky arms, stately and grotesque at the same time. Joshua trees and tall yuccas belong here, at different elevations, ranging clear to the north where some of the finest stands romp over hillsides and climb among junipers and piñon trees. No other state in the entire fifty offers just the right setting for this community and it has a lilt and lift easily distinguished from any other region. The Painted Desert, etched out in brilliant shades, extends some three hundred miles west from the Petrified Forest National Monument. A paint dealer's color chart can hardly do justice to its many tints, varying with lighting and retouched at sunrise and sunset.

Early Spanish explorers called it Desierto Pintado and the fine name describes it perfectly. Its tonal variations come from the Chinle clay, shales and marls, the most colorful formation on the earth's crust-exposed here in undulating miles of shimmering beauty. Plant life is scarce but as a rumpled velvet drapery, in which ancient trees were converted to semi-precious stone after a lapse of 150 million years, and now serving as lining for the immense open jewel box, nothing could be more suitable. Forests of the prostrate trees, broken by earth shudder-ings or tumbled out to shatter into sparkling bits, are spread out in the sun. Petrified wood is found almost everywhere that the Chinle occurs, but nowhere as brilliant or abundant as in the monument. Elsewhere in the Painted Desert, the clay and shales may be piled in heaps, like tailings from a mine, as along the Écho and Vermilion Cliffs. Near Tuba City, the formation takes on quaint shapes-a camel that does nicely for a child to sit on while his picture is being snapped, a pair of kissing rocks that perform their osculation as you shift perspective in passing.Just as you must listen carefully for certain soft passages of music, so the Painted Desert requires special

Indian Wells, Papago Indian Village

lighting for the most effective pictures. In the brash midday light, color seems to evaporate and the irregularities of landscape collapse into a level plain. Then the vaunted Painted Desert becomes an empty stage, without musicians, background, or footlights. Visitors, stopping at Pintado, Chinde, Tawa or other viewpoints along the Rim (just off U.S. 66) around noon, are apt to give up their seats feeling cheated, if they don't conclude that all photographers and writers are unabashed fakers. It is early and, more particularly, late hours, with the rich low sun adding brilliance and bringing out shadows as well as color, that the audience is treated to the real performance.Desert Canyons! Desert Washes! Desert Mountains! They have special rhythms and offer rich fare to camera and human eye as well. We see them through the crystalline air which reaches out to bring horizons deceptively close and sharpens outlines to crisp edges, delineating each detail with microscopic accuracy, equivalent, perhaps, to the high notes of the flute, the piercing and ethereal touches of the violin.

The artist, however, whether his medium be paint, film, or musical notation, must inevitably fail to reproduce the immense tranquility, the stillness of the desert.

As the clear air brings out details to the eye, so this almost visible silence renders the human senses more acute and so susceptible, as they never are amid the noises of civilization, to the earth around us. The wail of mourning dove, crescendo of canyon wren, even the sighing of the wind, cut across this vibrant sense of aliveness without disturbing the quiet. Nor can you capture, for reproduction, the fragrance of the land. It is quite distinctive, as though the essence of plants had been smoked by the warmth of the sun, much as home-cured ham is done in a smokehouse. Add moisture, after a rain or around shady pools and streams, and a new sensation in odor greets the nostrils. Burning juniper and cedar from Navajo fires, sage in brush country, the blossoms of the cliff rose and so on through the floral kingdom of the desert, blend into the finest of perfumes.

Our Fourth Movement would swing us onto the Colorado Plateau for scenic and tonal effects-a mighty climax that is heard clear around the world. The main theme around which all the thunder and clashing of cymbals would center is the master stream itself, not always nearby, but profoundly etching the entire uplifted highlands occupying the northern part of the state.

Just as it is more proper to speak of “hearing” an Just as it is more proper to speak of “hearing” an opera, so "seeing" the Grand Canyon is an incomplete experience and one which takes many repetitions, before we can begin to grasp the vast implications of the world's largest canyon. You have, no doubt, heard the Grand Canyon Suite, and it will have more meaning to you after having stood at the many Rim points and gazed down dow into the great abyss. Have you ever climbed out of bed before the sun did, to watch the dramatic opening of the score at daybreak, or lingered after sundown for the finale? You can also hear variations on the main theme by riding or hiking below the Rims, penetrating to Havasu Canyon, where waterfalls tumble and an Indian tribe lives, as well as along the grueling trail to Thunder River from the North Rim.

Sixty-five miles upstream from the Grand is Glen Canyon, considered by those who know it well, the most beautiful of the river's eighteen big gorges. When we first saw it, Glen was a wilderness, reached by car only at the mouth of Lee's Ferry, and at the head, where the Hite Ferry was powered by an ancient Ford sedan. Between those points twisted 162 miles of red sandstone walls, often rising to 1,500 feet and displaying a weather tapestry of unending fascination. It was lonely, superbly scenic and seldom visited. Each mile had something new to offer in lighting on the rocks, hidden prehistoric ruins, sandy bars ideal for camping. Art Greene and his son-inlaw, Earl Johnson, piloted an airplane-motored boat through the strong, swift current, taking parties to see Rainbow Natural BridgeLike everyone else who has ever spent time on the river we fell under the "spell of the Colorado" and discovered that that is no empty phrase. Each trip within the cliff-locked grandeur of Glen Canyon was a fresh and stimulating adventure.

For another year, or two at the most, this spectacular world of rock and water will be open to visitors for its final showings-and then no more. Right now the scenery is being overhauled and modernized. The canyon walls will be cut down, by some hundreds of feet, the current of the mighty river slowed to the pace of a lake with a 1,500-mile shoreline. Inlets, never accessible before because of quicksand or boulders, will be transformed into negotiable bays. The pleasant little sandbars will be washed away, hidden far below the lake surface. The noble catfish, Ictalurus punctatus, will have to go deep for his favorite muddy bottoms or search out new, shallow inlets for soapy-covered eddies that he favorsA new bridge, one of the highest in the world, Already creams the canyon just below the rising bulk of the dam, a new town sits above it, US. Highway 89, bequeathing a former lovely route along the foot of the Vermilion Cliffs to Sy-Albarnace, and switchbacking up to a monstrous cut in the rest of the Echo Cliffs, is already noisy with constant traffic. It will be a new center of interest for visitors from everywhere the most modern of dams, a spusking new lake for boating, fishing and a differast route through some very fine country. Happily, the Greame family, operating under the name of Canyon Tours, low, will still be there to provide accucomodations and boats on Lake Powell. But the Glen Canysa which we kww will exist caly in the pictures we and others took of it, and in our even more voksåncos file of mental views, Having suggested a symphony of the scenery of Arizona, I wish I could hear the comic. Particularly, it would be interesting to listen to the made a commposer might offer for the northeastern comer, where dyvell the Navajos and Hopis, and where prehistoric people Eved and left us incredible ruins, and whers Monurnent Valley stands out against the sky. The wesdeltavated godere of this regise is called, quite modestly, by the Navajos-"The Eighth Wonder of the World." There is, indeed, nothing quite like it akewhere, in spacious spacious gement of mammuntar red sandstome butes and rousan, the shadow-play across red sauds and the feeling of cincleanses and open space which it deapes about the shoulders of then who cooeer the portals of the "Land of Time Enough and Room Drough." I first happened on Monument Valley back in the sommer of 1936, when reaching it was in itself a major advcorare. It is hard to believe there was aver a time when this scenery was not part of the furnishings of my mind and when I didn't know Harry Goulding, who is its "master of excemonka." Harry and I reccotly counted up the caber of times I'd best I'd been out theme. It came to 120. So I ought to know something ef Monument Valley, how it looks at varying seasons: mder fluffy summer clouds that castle iran the big sky, transformed by scadding rain drapes or the kind which bring snove. I've photographed it at saorise and sonser, with mist shrouding the monaments; when the moon was reflected in red-brown watcholes and with cortorwood trots illing little canyons with their golden light. Tva joked (widt Hary er His brother-in-low, Maurice Knea, interpreting with the Tadlars and photographed there at the loom and carmpfire. I had began to feel I'd seen the area fixen ovary possible angle antil my latest trip, when Hary anνί Mrazice preved that I hadn't come nour to erbsusting the scenery. Day after day we went to "new" spots. Once, with Maccies, it was to the top of the 1.yes-foot high Three Sisters Mess, over a road which only the balllover and s uraniun panspector bad over dared drive. From the spacious platform new angles of the Mino Buttes, the Castle, the distant: Yebechai Group and Rooster Rock show as. Meursins in thoes states жеке visible around the edge and the visiting center, bufit by the Indians for their newly established Navajo Tabel Pack, was as small as a match-box at our foot. Then we drove to a snd dane arsa, formed within the last few years, as carefully designed with wind ripples and perfect for pictures, as dough it hind spread theara for centuries. We conveniently frond there & Navajo flock and afternoon light to stir the heart of a phoregrapher. The next soprica was reached by a roadless route, calling for all the power their special cars inve, to Poncho House ruins. Ser in the east xin of the Valley, it ocupied a story amphitheater where Chhile Wach has out a big korseshoe course. Serwan, as though with patiently folded bands, the little houses sit in several caves, aves. On a shelf below them wand the truncated walls of pusble houses. From this cabots and quiet place might have some the tyric words of the Navajo song: "Resarty is before me Eusarty is beside toe Bezoty is behind me Reauty is above me I walk in bematy."

And that beauty which is built into Arizona is inexhaustible. Like the Navajo weaver who nene repeats the pattern on her loom, Nature tarns out a fresh design for sach sasson, changing the color schemas, shifting crophasis. With sconory, as with a splendid symphony, cach "playing" provides the "listener" with fresh inccaparutation, whether they be in teams of light or in musical ton.

The most beautiful pictures I've ever taken of Arteon still wait for say camera in mountain or desert, in canyo and trazuqail open setrenches