HIDDEN CANYON OF THE ARAVAIPA

Tucked away in the heart of the Galiuro Mountains in Southern Arizona is one of the most beautiful, little-known canyons of the Southwest. Its patient and inspired creator is a scenery-loving little stream called the Aravaipa. Seemingly shy and retiring by nature, it has so effectively con cealed its crystal waters in the rugged remoteness of Aravaipa Canyon that it seldom receives the acclaim it deserves. Few streams that have helped sculpture the fantastic landscape we know as Arizona have done so as effectively and with less-known results than this one. Having gone about its work in a state where scenic headlines are quickly grabbed off by such world famous publicity seekers as the Grand Canyon and Monument Valley, it still remains one of Arizona's finest "scenic surprises."

It wasn't long ago that I visited the Aravaipa country for the first time. For years I had heard occasional, hazy reports of its "fantastic beauty" but never had talked with anyone who had actually been any distance into the hidden inner canyon or "box" as it is known to ranchers living near its mouth.

Being curious by nature and a photographer of scenery by trade, I decided to explore its mysteries first-hand. A trip was soon planned. Ray Inglish, a friend who had once lived along the San Pedro River near its junction with the Aravaipa, agreed to come along.

Aravaipa Creek travels nearly sixty miles in its north westward journey from the Pinaleno Mountains to the San Pedro, but we were concerned solely with its middle section. For it is only along this twenty-five mile stretch that is "surfaces," preferring to begin and end its existence in hidden sanctuaries in the sand.

The course followed by its above-ground waters con sists of three main areas: the upper and lower canyons relatively open, highly interesting ranching country, and, between them, the inner canyon secluded, spectacular and wildly beautiful.

Our first objective was the lower canyon. It would serve as a "jumping-off place" for our two day round-trip on horseback through the box.

Somewhat to my surprise, this area proved to be very scenic in its own right. When we turned off from Arizona 77 about ten miles north of Mammoth on a good gravel road marked simply, "Aravaipa Canyon," we were greeted by a pleasant stretch of desert liberally sprink led with teddy bear chollas, prickly pears and ocotillos. Incidentally, the name "Aravaipa" (pronounced ayrah-VIE-pah) comes from a Nevome Pima word, arriv apa," meaning "girls." It was first applied to a tribe of Indians that once lived in the lower canyon, probably because of some unmanly act they had committed.After six or seven miles we began to follow more closely along the creek, and a steady succession of ranches appeared. Their lush-green pastures, fitted compactly among the foothills of the Galiuros, were bordered by cottonwoods, sycamores, and occasional walnut trees. All had been nourished to giant proportions by the Aravaipa's unfailing water.

As our road continued on, following the contours of the hills above the stream, we were treated to excellent bird's eye views of pastoral scenes on the canyon floor. Below, numerous horses and cattle, looking like lumps of brown sugar carelessly dropped on a green tablecloth, munched contentedly at the plentiful grass.

Many of the ranches along this part of the Aravaipa look deceptively small because of the limited space in the canyon. Often their owners have additional sections of grazing land up on the flat country along the rims.

About fifteen miles from the highway the road forked, ending almost immediately on the right at the gate of the Wood Brothers' Panorama Ranch. The left branch climbs over a small ridge for about one half mile before terminating at the Painted Cave ranch house owned by Mr. and Mrs. Joe Fleiger. These are the last two ranches in the lower canyon and are unquestionably among the finest in the entire area. In order to gain access to the inner canyon it is neces sary to travel a short distance through either one or the other of these properties, and, as always, when passing through privately-owned, posted land the courtesy of ask ing permission must be observed.

We took the right fork to the Panorama Ranch. From

HIDDEN CANYON Of The ARAVAIPA TEXT & PHOTOS BY DARWIN VAN CAMPEN

Our Aravaipa adventure begins with a splash through cool green lower canyon creek bed.

this point on, we would leave the roads of civilization behind. Our only path would be the Aravaipa, itself, and wherever this unpredictable guide should lead us ever deeper into the Galiuros we would follow, emerging eventually, we hoped, into the upper canyon.

Ray had made advance arrangements with his old friends, Fred and Clifford Wood, for our horses and everything was ready for our morning departure.

That evening we had a very pleasant visit with the Wood Brothers and their families. The Wood name was one of the first to be associated with the lower Aravaipa. Their father, John Martin Wood, arrived from Texas over forty years ago. At 92, he still lives with them at the ranch and is widely known and respected as one of the outstanding settlers of the canyon.

We found all of the Woods to be wonderful folks who believe in and practice true western hospitality, a characteristic that seems to be shared throughout the canyon. Everyone we met went out of his way to be helpful. Allen Nielson, who owns a ranch down-canyon from the Wood's place, fixed us up with a pack horse; Sam Black, a rancher near the highway, provided a saddle; and Joe highway, and Gussie Fleiger not only took us on a jeep ride through their upper range (on one of our later visits) but invited us to a ranch supper with them as well. These people and others like them certainly add immeasurably to the charm of their canyon.

The unusual name of the Fleiger's ranch - “Painted Cave” - deserves a word of explanation. Many years ago Indians roamed throughout this region. They made use of many of the natural caves found in the area as handy campsites and, when pursued by U. S. soldiers in the later 1800's, as hideouts.

Many of the caves still contain their markings and inscriptions. One of these, a shallow but roomy depression in the wall of a small canyon, received the appropriate name, “Painted Cave.” When Joe Fleiger first arrived in the Aravaipa Country he was faced with the immediate problem of finding a place to live. Displaying the imagination and resourcefulness that have characterized western settlers from the earliest frontier days, he visualized at once the possibilities of the cave as a homesite. Skillfully he divided it into rooms and added a front, making a surprisingly roomy and attractive ranch house.

It was several years ago that Joe and Gussie moved about two miles south to their present beautiful home overlooking the Aravaipa. But the old “Painted Cave,” still used occasionally during round-up, will always recall many pleasant memories for them.

The early rays of the morning sun found us saddled, packed and ready. Fred and Cliff had helped us load-up and now stood waving goodby as we rode down the hill east of the ranch house and into the waters of the Aravaipa.

At this point, about two miles downstream from the beginning of the box, the Aravaipa is a shallow, pebblybottomed little stream prolifically lined with huge cottonwoods and sycamores.

These familiar trees mark the courses of most southern Arizona streams, but they seem to have taken a particular liking to this canyon. Perhaps this is due as much to vanity as it is to the unfailing water. Their green robes of sum-mer and fancy golden attire of autumn show to great advantage against the canyon's tan bluffs that provide effec-tive backgrounds for their "foliage fashion shows."

As we moved upstream, the buildings of the Painted Cave Ranch soon appeared on our left. They represented our last contact with civilization until we reached the upper canyon some twelve rugged miles ahead on the other side of the Galiuros.

Our horses moved along briskly, seeming to share our anticipation of what lay ahead. The sound of their hooves splashing through the water soon became familiar as we were continually forced to cross this creek that twisted and turned its way between the canyon walls like a silver serpent doing a contortion act.

As we followed our fickle little stream-guide deeper into its canyon, the walls grew increasingly higher. Tower-ing bluffs which had previously remained a respectable distance from the stream now moved closer, encasing the Aravaipa in colorful cliffs ranging from dark browns to the most delicate shades of light beige and pink.

Our creek no longer was free to indulge in its uninhibited meanderings. It had become much better behaved as discipline imposed by the narrowing walls of this sandstone corridor forced it to "go straight."

We pulled our horses to a stop, and let our eyes follow upward along the weather-sculptured walls to the can-yon's rim. So boldly did its rugged outline stand out in the morning sun that it almost seemed to be painted against the blue canvas of the sky. The swift shadow of a hawk played silently on one of the highest promontories, and as I watched its antics many houndreds of feet above, the realization came to me that it, alone, shared with us the beauty of this place. We had, at last, reached the secluded, inner canyon.

It was several minutes before we moved on. I believe that Ray and I both felt that from here on anything we might see would be anti-climatic. After all, what could the canyon do for an encore.

The dramatic answer was soon forthcoming. As we penetrated deeper into the canyon's heart, the magnificent sandstone bluffs and skyrocketing pinnacles seemed to accept our question as a challenge and proceeded to rise to more amazing heights with each new vista. Occasion-ally, they moved far apart, giving us sweeping views of the canyon ahead. This was scenery on a grand scale, and it became more breathtaking with every passing mile.

Traveling was becoming a little more difficult now. Boulders occasionally forced us to detour from the stream bed and a few deep pools and stretches of faster moving water were encountered. Always, however, within a short distance, the Aravaipa settled back to its shallow, unruffled self.

All along we observed myriads of small fish in the clear water, ranging from minnow size to four or five inches in length. Later, one of the upper canyon ranchers told us that a government survey several years ago had shown that at least seven varieties existed in the canyon. Shallow water and high summer temperatures are probably responsible for their limited size.

Aravaipa, despite its passage through a mountain

NOTES FOR PHOTOGRAPHERS

Aravaipa, a hidden jewel of a canyon, offers fun and satisfaction for the photographer during all the months of the year, reflecting, as it does, all the moods of weather and the brilliance of changing seasons.

By Darwin Van Campen OPPOSITE PAGE

"RUGGED CANYON WALLS OF THE ARAVAIPA" Photo taken in Aravaipa Canyon a short distance into the lower end of the "box." Huge cottonwoods, majestic in their green robes of summer, add immeasurably to the charm of the Aravaipa. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.27 at 1/25th sec.; 127mm Ektar lens; April; bright sunlight; Weston Meter 350; ASA rating 50.

FOLLOWING PAGES

"HORSE CAMP CANYON BRANCH OF THE ARAVAIPA" Photo taken in Horse Camp Canyon. This lush canyon oasis was found in Horse Camp Canyon, one of the more interesting of the side canyons which branch off from the Aravaipa near the upper end of the "box." 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; April; bright sunlight; Weston Meter 250; ASA rating 50.

"UPPER RANGE PAINTED CAVE RANCH ARAVAIPA" Photo taken on the upper range of the Painted Cave Ranch in the lower Aravaipa Country looking toward the distant walls of Aravaipa Canyon. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.30 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; April; bright sunlight; Weston Meter 400; ASA rating 50.

"IN THE FOOTHILLS OF THE GALIUROS" Photo taken along the Lower Aravaipa in the foothills of the Galiuro Mountains, from the Aravaipa Canyon Road. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.30 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; November; bright sunlight; Weston Meter 400; ASA rating 50.

CENTER PANEL

"LATE AFTERNOON ARAVAIPA CANYON" Photo taken in Aravaipa Canyon near the middle of the "box." Late afternoon in Aravaipa Canyon is a memorable experience. Trees and cacti are lighted in bold relief against the darkening canyon walls, and the stream becomes a shimmering ribbon of silver, with the murmur of its passage the only break in the silence of its hidden desert sanctuary. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; 90mm Angulon lens; November; bright backlighting; Weston Meter 250; ASA rating 50.

"AUTUMN DAY IN ARAVAIPA CANYON" Autumn comes late to Aravaipa Canyon, usually well into November, but its accents of gold, contrasted with dark canyon walls, fashion scenes for the eye and camera that are well worth the waiting. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; 90mm Angulon lens; November; bright backlighting; Weston Meter 250; ASA rating 50.

"LOWER ARAVAIPA CANYON" Photo taken in lower Aravaipa Canyon from the Aravaipa Canyon Road. The lower Aravaipa Country contains many small ranches such as this whose fields of green stretch between the cacti-covered desert foothills. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.24 at 1/25th sec.; 127mm Ektar lens; April; bright afternoon sunlight; Weston Meter 300; ASA rating 50.

Aravaipa Country contains many small ranches such as this whose fields of green stretch between the cacti-covered desert foothills. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.24 at 1/25th sec.; 127mm Ektar lens; April; bright afternoon sunlight; Weston Meter 300; ASA rating 50.

"ALONG ARAVAIPA CREEK" Taken in Lower Aravaipa Canyon near the beginning of the "box." Soon the canyon will begin to narrow and canyon walls will grow higher and steeper. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.30 at 1/25th sec.; 210mm Symmar lens; November; bright afternoon sunlight; Weston Meter 400; ASA rating 50. "PZ RANCH SAN PEDRO VALLEY" Photo taken at the PZ Ranch, belonging to Fred Ash and Sons, located in the San Pedro Valley near the turnoff to Aravaipa Canyon. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.30 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; April; bright sunlight; Weston Meter 400; ASA rating 50.

"THE ARAVAIPA-A DESERT CANYON" Taken in Aravaipa Canyon near the lower part of the "box." That the Aravaipa is, in essence, a desert canyon is shown here by saguaros, marching down the steep walls almost to the stream itself. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; 127mm Ektar lens; November; slightly hazy sunlight; Weston Meter 250; ASA rating 50.

"WHERE THE ARAVAIPA OPENS" Taken in lower Aravaipa Canyon along the Aravaipa Canyon Road. At this point along the lower Aravaipa the terrain is fairly open or gently rolling foothills and gives but little hint of the spectacular canyon that lies ahead. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.30 at 1/25th sec.; 210mm Symmar lens; November; bright sunlight; Weston Meter 400; ASA rating 50.

"IN THE HEART OF THE BOX ARAVAIPA CANYON" Photo taken in Aravaipa Canyon in the heart of the "box." While Aravaipa Creek is not a large creek, it is a jewel in a picturesque setting. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.20 at 1/25th sec.; 127mm Ektar lens; April; bright afternoon backlighting; Weston Meter 200; ASA rating 50.

LAST PAGE OF FOLLOWING COLOR PORTFOLIO

"DEEP IN THE HEART OF ARAVAIPA CANYON" This photo shows the rugged and rocky grandeur to Aravaipa Canyon. The canyon itself begins in Pinal Canyon and runs into Graham Canyon where some of its most spectacular beauty can be seen. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.30 at 1/25th sec.; 90mm Angulon lens; April; bright sunlight; Weston Meter 400; ASA rating 50. range, is essentially a desert canyon. The cacti clan is well represented. Saguaros, prickly pears, barrels, chollas, and agaves compete with such non-clansmen as the palo verdes, mesquites, and ocotillos for precious growing space. It is truly amazing how some of them manage to cling miraculously to seemingly impossible toe-holds in the cliffs. They add greatly to the canyon's charm, particularly in the spring when their various brilliant colors brighten the canyon walls everywhere.

HIDDEN CANYON

Just short of what we estimated to be the halfway point, we came to one of the most memorable portions of the canyon. Jagged rust-colored cliffs soared skyward from the Aravaipa's edge. Along their bases, beautifully sculptured outcroppings of a deeper reddish-brown rock projected into the stream, directing it into a series of picturesque convolutions. Upstream, great sandstone bluffs dominated the skyline.

As our horses paused for a drink I turned to look back. The late afternoon rays of the sun, which already were partially hidden by the taller peaks to the west, had turned the Aravaipa into a stream of molten silver. Brilliantly it flowed along in striking contrast to the darkening walls until suddenly, as it rounded a bend far down the canyon, its light was extinguished by the shadow of an overhanging cliff.

Nowhere had I felt more strongly the peculiar spell of this canyon. I would have liked to remain at this enchanting spot for a long while, but evening was coming upon the Aravaipa country and we were faced with the problem of finding a place to camp.

Spending the night along here was out of the question. It was so narrow that there was barely enough room for the stream, which covered the canyon's floor with a "wallto-wall carpet" of water.

At one of the narrowest points we had to un-do a barbed wire fence that stretched between the walls above the creek. A range fence this far back in the canyon would have come as a surprise had we not been told to expect to find cattle belonging to Lupe Salazar grazing in the upper part of the box.

Lupe, we had learned, is a warm friend of nearly everyone in the entire region. His ranch was the first we would come to in the upper canyon, and we were eagerly looking forward to meeting him.

As we rode along in the final golden minutes before twilight the canyon suddenly widened, contrasting sharply to the "narrows" we had just penetrated.

At this point Virgus Canyon makes a spectacular entrance into the Aravaipa from the southeast. At their junction, the walls of both canyons rise fully 700 feet above the floors.

As we gazed upward the highest promontories along the broken rims blazed with golden golden fire in the setting sun. Then, like giant, yellow-beamed spotlights being gradually deprived of power, they slowly dimmed until they were lost in the oblivion of darkness. It was a sight I shall never forget and certainly was a wonderful climax to our first day in the canyon.

We decided to spend the night near the junction.

Smoke from our campfire was soon climbing lazily toward the stars which were reflected as minute highlights of silver in still pools along the stream.

We are quietly by the fire, enjoying the cathedral-like silence of the canyon. Once or twice it was broken by the sound of pebbles trickling over a ledge, as some unknown canyon creature made its way to the stream for an evening drink. And, occasionally, we heard the irreverent howl of a coyote from high up on one of the ridges as he greeted the rising moon.

Already its glow was beginning to brighten the sky above the canyon, and as it grew stronger, mysterious forms in stark silhouette appeared along the rims. Could these strange apparitions be merely saguaros? Or might they be the spirits of those Aravaipa Apaches who were murdered in the lower canyon during the famous Camp Grant Massacre?

I shivered a little and tossed a stick into the lagging fire. Its brightening flames seemed to stimulate my memory and I recalled vividly what I had heard of this unfortunate incident.

In 1871 a band of Aravaipa Apache Indians surrendered to a U. S. army lieutenant at Camp Grant, then located at the confluence of the Aravaipa and San Pedro. They were allowed to live nearby along the lower Aravipa as prisoners of war and, as far as the officers in charge could determine, they were well behaved.

However, many of the whites living in the area believed them responsible for the killings and cattle stealing raids which had continued unabated. The army denied that the Indians ever left the reservation. But during a raid on San Xavier near Tucson, one of the marauders was killed and identified, to the satisfaction of the aroused citizens, as an Aravaipa Apache.

The situation had reached the exploding point. The result was probably the most bloodthirsty, brutal massacre in all of Arizona's early rough-and-tumble history.

Near dawn, on an April morning of 1871, a group of forty citizens accompanied by 100 Papagos rode into the Camp Grant Reservation while the Indians were still asleep. Methodically, with rifles and clubs, they butchered eighty-five men, women, and children. Thirty more were taken captive to be sold later by the Papagos as slaves.

Many of the men responsible for this action were later tried but all were acquitted, and, indeed, their actions were cheered by most people living in the San Pedro region.

By now, our fire had flickered out and Ray had turned in for the night. I stretched out on my sleeping bag and closed my eyes tightly, shutting out those rigid figures still watching silently from the rim.

The heavens were bursting with color when we broke camp the following morning. That marvelous painter of the skies, the sun, with its characteristic "free-style" technique, had mixed flaming reds and brilliant golds on plentiful cloud palettes which hung in the eastern sky.

As we rode along in the early light we passed numerous cattle along the stream and the air was filled with the lusty bawling of hungry calves awaiting their breakfast.

We had gone only a short distance when we saw a deep, narrow gorge, known as Horse Camp Canyon, leading off to the north. We had been told that occasionally it contained a waterfall near its mouth. Leaving our horses tied to a mesquite we walked up the canyon for a look. About two hundred yards brought us to a beautiful flower-fringed pool at the base of a rounded cliff about thirty feet high. At present only a trickle of water from a tiny subterranean spring flowed from its rock face. However, the path of what, at times, must be a sizeable falls had been carved into the stone by the intermittent waters of a presently dry creek. This was an exceptionally pleasant spot and even without the added beauty of the falls it was one of our trip's most enjoyable "sideshows."

We made good time as our horses once again headed up the Aravaipa. The stream flowed along without serious obstacles and the going was easy. As we drew near the upper canyon the landscape began to change. The walls, now the color of baked mud, receded to less impressive heights. Many of their surfaces contained great numbers of small water-erosion holes, indicating a softer type of sandstone.

By the time we reached the point where Turkey Creek joins the Aravaipa the sound of crowing roosters told us we were getting close to Lupe Salazar's place, and a few minutes later the ranch house came into view. Lupe was just coming out of the main corral as we rode up, and when he saw us his face broke into a smile of welcome that was as sincere as it was broad. He greeted us like we were the oldest of friends and soon had us seated in his kitchen before plates full of bacon and eggs.

Lupe stood over his old wood stove nursing a pot of coffee. "You know," he reminisced in a quiet voice, "I've lived along the upper Aravaipa all my life - raised sevenchildren in a little cabin just down the creek. "Two of my sons, Tex and Bill, have their own places upstream a ways now, but the rest of them left the canyon a long time ago." "It's funny, I suppose," he continued after a moment,"

"but I've never wanted to leave. Some folks say that seventy years is too long for a man to stay in one place, but I've just never found a better place to live." He carried the steaming pot over to the table and filled our cups. "I visited my sister in Los Angeles once," he said ashe sat down, "I hadn't been there an hour before I was homesick for the Aravaipa."He glanced out of a window at the canyon that had been his life-long home.

"No," he said with a look of contentment on his face, "I've just never found a better place to live."

Lupe's father, Paisano Salazar, apparently felt the same way about the canyon. He had, Lupe told us, been one of the real pioneers of the upper Aravaipa Country. Having come from Mexico as a young man, he had spent the rest of his life helping in the development of his new homeland. It was in his honor that Paisano Canyon, which branches off from the Aravaipa near here, was named.

One of the most interesting anecdotes Lupe told us of early canyon history concerned his grandfather. At the age of 107 he decided to leave Mexico to try to find his son, Paisano, whom he hadn't seen for many years. He set out on his little burro, with only a vague idea of where to search. Making inquiries of everyone he met, he moved slowly through Arizona's San Pedro Valley. Eventually, he came to the Aravaipa and being told thatPaisano was on the other side of the mountains, made his way through the canyon to where his son lived. He stayed for a year and had reached his 108th birthday before he re-packed his burro and made the long journey back to Mexico.

After he had finished breakfast Tex Salazar came by in his pick-up to see his father and invited us on a trip through the upper canyon. We drove for several miles past pleasant pasture land with light brown sandstone buttes standing like statues along its perimeter.

Frequent ranch houses along the way indicated more people here than I had anticipated. It is nearly forty miles out to the Safford Highway (U. S. 70) and although the road is good gravel it seemed a long way for so many people to go for supplies. I asked Tex about it and learned that there is a little town called Klondyke, boasting a church, store, and filling station a few miles up the road.

We turned around a short distance past "Chimney Rock," a well-known landmark in the area, and returned to the ranch.

Ray and I started back to the lower canyon immediately. Clouds had been gathering all morning and a light drizzle was beginning to fall. We didn't relish spending a wet night in our sleeping bags and decided to try to make it through before dark.

Moving along rapidly we hardly noticed our own wet discomfort as we watched the now familiar scenes slipping by. The soaring cliffs, washed clean by the continuing rain, were more colorful than ever. As the day wore on, picturesque little waterfalls began to spill from the canyon's rims, splashing downward from ledge to ledge until they joined the Aravaipa.

Its slowly rising waters called to mind stories I had heard of flash floods which had swept through the canyon carrying away trees, cattle, and once, just two years ago, a house trailer. The trailer was recovered, but it had been badly smashed from its beating against the canyon.

We were in no immediate danger, unless the rain should increase greatly, but I couldn't help feeling a little uneasy when we went through the narrowest passages where driftwood from a previous flood had lodged in crevices nearly thirty feet above our heads.

Late in the afternoon, only a mile or two from the lower canyon, we saw a number of javelinas (wild hogs) just across the stream. Seeming hardly disturbed by our presence, they followed slowly in single file along their well-worn trail, disappearing finally over the crest of a near-by ridge.

A short time later we came to the hill below the Panorama Ranch where we had first entered the Aravaipa. This little stream had led us through some unforgettable country in the past two days and as we climbed from its waters for the last time we felt like we were taking leave of a friend.

But we were not yet quite ready to say goodby to the canyon. The Woods had told us of a road that led through their upper range to a spectacular view on the Aravaipa's rim.

And so, the following morning, after a torturous fifteen miles of back-country driving and a mile hike, we stood on the rim of the Aravaipa, near its junction with Virgus, for our final view of the inner canyon.

Sheer cliffs fell away to the canyon's floor over 700 feet below where the stream could be distinguished only as an occasional gleam of silver among the green of the cottonwoods. Virgus Canyon coming in from the southeast, added its massive walls to complete this breathtaking panorama.

When, at last, we turned away and headed back to the truck I thought again of what a small number of people had ever really seen this amazing canyon of the Aravaipa and gave thanks that I was fortunate enough to be one of them.