Arizona's Impossible Railroad

Up among the clouds. Weather phenomena are another attraction the serious sightseer will enjoy as he moves into the higher altitudes of Mount Lemmon. Bill Daniels Inset: Near the top. Part of Mount Lemmon's all-weather Hitchcock Highway winds sinuously through miles of tall timber. Gill Kenny Thick black smoke curled high above the pine-carpeted Bradshaw Mountains south of the hamlet of Prescott as the little Alco 2-6-0 engine, pulling a loaded flatcar of shiny new steel rails, slowly inched its way up a steep grade.

At the top, burly gandy dancers shouldered the 340-pound rails and carried them to the waiting crew at the end of the tracks. There, in perfect cadence, a team of steel drivers spiked the rails into position.

With each length of rail they secured, Frank Murphy's “impossible” Bradshaw Mountain Railroad was getting closer and closer to becoming a reality.

Murphy, a wealthy mine owner and entrepreneur as well as “a man of vision,” as his turn-of-the-century peers called him, was determined to build a spur line railroad to serve the rich gold and silver mines of the Bradshaw Mountains. It would be his third railroad. He'd already successfully completed two others in north-central Arizona. They were the Santa Fe, Prescott and Phoenix and the Prescott and Eastern. This latter road, running from Prescott south along the east face of the Bradshaws to Mayer, would serve as the jumping off point for the new spur line. Murphy's eagerness to get his road constructed might well have been stimulated by the $390,000 annual gold production in the various Bradshaw mining districts plus the possibility of tons more wealth still waiting there to be discovered. But there was another reason, too, one not commonly known. He was a partner in the rich Poland Mine which the proposed spur line would tap.

With all this at stake, the fact that the railroad would cost millions and was said to be virtually impossible to build because of the mountain's surface instability meant little to the mine owner-railroader.

A hardy breed of men were necessary for track crews in the wilderness. To attract the kind he wanted, Murphy advertised in leading Eastern newspapers, promising $1 a day, about double the standard day rate of the time. By October of 1901, 350 men of diverse nationalities were working on the grades.

For two months development proceeded on schedule. Then, on January 29, 1902, drag-line graders, while blasting a cut for the approach to the #2 tunnel, exposed a massive body of gold and copper over 400 feet long and 12 feet wide. It took only a short time for half of the work force to abandon the road bed and begin digging ore for themselves, leaving road work to fall drastically behind schedule.

Unperturbed, Murphy quickly imported two car loads of workers from the melting pot of the East to pick up the slack. By the time the first steel rails (Below, left) Seesawing up to the 6000-foot height of the Crown King Mining District. Construction of this section of the Bradshaw Mountain Railroad was at first considered an engineering impossibility. Eventually, it required the building of 12 long switchbacks to make the steep grade.

Switchback Trail, oils, 16" x 20" by Bob Eckel (Below, right) Crew and some of the operating officials of the “Impossible” Bradshaw Mountain Railroad, spur line of the Prescott and Eastern, strike a pose for the camera, circa 1910. Scene is the Poland Tunnel, one of the many huge pick and shovel projects that were necessary to complete the line into the rugged Bradshaw Mountains.

Courtesy Sharlot Hall Museum arrived in February, the pace had increased considerably. On April 22, the final grade was completed, and one week later the shiny new tracks of the Bradshaw Mountain Railroad reached the rich Poland Mine. It was April 21, 1902.

A short time later, a tunnel following a vein of gold from Poland joined with a tunnel following the same vein from the other side of the mountain at Walker. The Lynx-Walker Mining District was now connected to the mill and railroad at Poland by means of a 8070feet crosscut tunnel bored through solid rock. The task was eminently worth the effort. During the first week of operation over $180,000 in gold ore moved through the tunnel in mule-drawn ore cars and then down the steep connecting grade to the Prescott and Eastern Railroad.

As luck would have it, at the same time the Poland line was experiencing its 'successes the more southerly MayerCrown King section was having serious engineering problems. The unstable soil conditions which experts had warned of before start of the road, plus the incredibly steep grade, made track beds maddeningly difficult to construct. Eventually, 12 tight switchbacks had to be blasted out of the mountainside to reach the 6000-plus-foot altitude of the Crown King Mining District. Revising budgets upward became as commonplace as the grumblings from the track crews.

Then, with a last major push, and after exceeding cost estimates by 300 percent, the breakthrough to the top finally came. The "impossible" Bradshaw Mountain Railroad was at last a reality.

By 1907, The Pine Grove, Tiger, Big Bug, Turkey Creek and Crown King mining districts were all contributing to the railroad's coffers, producing over $1,140,000 in gold and silver.

Murphy's Bradshaw Mountain Railroad was at once recognized as a masterstroke, a brilliant feat of engineering. But it might never have come to pass with such relative ease had not a rascally young builder of streetcar railways appeared on the scene in Prescott several years earlier.

In the 1870s, gold and silver ore had to be hauled down the Bradshaws on mules, then taken by wagon across the vast desert to the Colorado River and on to smelters in California for processing. Hostile Indians, scorching heat, lack of water and numerous breakdowns plagued each mile, Because of the expense and the risk involved only the highest grades of ore were freighted and the rest left on dumps and mine tailings.

Then in the early 1880s, the problem was partly solved when the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad, later called The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, completed laying track across the northern quarter of Arizona Territory, through such towns as Flagstaff, Williams, Ash Fork and Seligman. But while it offered With their backing, Yavapai County authorities issued $300,000 in bonds to cover the cost of building the road, half of what “experts” said it would cost. Charlie Beach, rancher, businessman and local “rounder,” was selected general superintendent of construction of the Prescott and Arizona Central, and soon afterwards track crews were waiting in the wings anxious for the first ties to arrive.

The project, which from the beginning was known as the “Bullock Road,” involved running track from the Atlantic and Pacific lines south from Seligman over the headwaters of the Verde River, across vast Chino Valley and then through the “Point of Rocks,” now known as Granite Dells, to Prescott.

The terms of the proposed agreement with the County authorities and other principals called for completion of the line no later than midnight of December 21, 1886, or a $1000 a mile ($72,000) penalty would be imposed. Bullock had no idea how close he would come to missing that deadline. He signed the agreement in May, 1886. There was no turning back.

Construction went smoothly for the first few months until several “tent saloons”, which usually followed in the wake of new railroad track construction, were erected along the rightof-way. Almost immediately trouble followed. But the editor of the Arizona Weekly Journal was quick to absolve Bullock and point his finger at the true culprit. “It was because of the deathdealing, double-distilled, red-nosedpainting and fight-provoking beverages sold by the recently opened saloons near the graders' camp”, he wrote, “and not . . . Bullock that caused dissention within the camps.” Later, the editor of the Daily Phoenix Herald reported to Superintendent Beach: “The consumption of beer in the camps of the railway builders is enormous,” he said. “At Bismarck I saw an entire freight train of 30 cars laden with bottled beer from a Chicago brewery, bound for the nearest town at the end of the track. The chief engineer of construction reported to me that an average of one bottle of beer per tie laid was consumed, and that the tie and the beer cost the same: 504. Thus, the workmen pay as much for their drink as the company pays for one of the most important elements of railroad construction.” But beer wasn't the only problem to plague the railroad.

At Chino Station, Col. J. W. Andrews, a long-time Bullock foe, began a series of harassment tactics to direct east-west passage, it was still some 70 miles to the north of Prescott and its rich working mines which at the time were producing over $100,000 in gold and silver annually.

The need for a spur-line railroad linked to the mainline was becoming increasingly necessary. But no one was interested in building the 70-mile-plus connecting link from Prescott to Seligman. Then, in 1883, Tom Bullock arrived in the growing capitol city and things began to happen.

Bullock, who had earned a considerable fortune building streetcar railways in New York, had visited Prescott briefly in 1882 to investigate mining opportunities for English investors. (Spude, in his book, A Shoestring Rail road, notes that Bullock might first have arrived in Prescott in 1871, apparently having walked from Los Angeles, after which he tended bar on Whiskey Row, then left town to become a mule skinner, eventually making his fortune in New York building street railways.) Now, one year later, the 32-year-old promoter was in his old familiar haunts again, this time to build Prescott's first railroad.

Bullock's pleasing personality and sharp wit quickly rallied to his support some of the leading citizens of Prescott: Levi Bashford, C. P. Head, the town's wealthiest merchant, banker Hugo Richards, Thomas J. Butler, and William Hazeltine, founder of the first bank of Prescott.

stop construction. In response, Bullock's 40-man crew asked for rifles to chase the Colonel and his men off the right-of-way.

Irate ranchers, bickering over rights-of-way, set fire to equipment several times and, at one point, drove five snorting bulls into a work camp. Then came the rains and the floods. The proposed railroad began to look like a lost cause.

But Charlie Beach was able to rally the crews, and in time they were laying an unimpressive mile-a-day of track.

Understandably, Bullock's Road was the main topic of conversation in town, especially on Whiskey Row, where Prescott's drinking establishments were built. There, odds of 10 to 1 were being given that Bullock would never make the December 31, deadline. But Bullock and Beach, solving one major hurdle after another, kept the crews working and the line slowly making progress.

As the Prescott and Arizona Central continued to advance, saboteurs, probably hoping to hedge their bets, some as high as $5000, tried to put a halt to construction. The (Flagstaff) Arizona Champion of June 1, 1887, reported that one of the road's locomotives was seriously damaged by vandals who blew out its pipes while another locomotive had its cab soaked with oil and set afire. Other efforts were less effective. Range hands tried, unsuccessfully, to dynamite a caboose. Then a section of rail was removed from its bed, but the little train jumped the track, with only minor damage, before it reached the break. Later, one of the many bridges which spanned the gulches and washes of the area was set afire, but a sudden thunderstorm miraculously appeared in time to extinguish the flames.

Nevertheless, as the deadline approached, odds for completion were exceeding 20 to 1.

On the other side of the coin, the Bullock Road had captured the hearts of the Prescottonians. Enthusiastic citizens would excitedly burst into a saloon and shout, "They made three miles today and still working!" and just as hurriedly, charge out to spread the good news about town.

By December 30, 1886, one day before the midnight deadline, the railroad had reached "Point of Rocks" six miles north of Prescott. By early evening of the 31st, as the sun slipped behind Thumb Butte, over 200 workers had pushed the line to within two miles of the mountain hamlet.

The midnight deadline was rapidly approaching and excitement was running high as the exhausted track crew fought to lay one rail after another in the dim light of lanterns. As they rounded the last bend and headed for the end of the line enthusiastic citizens suddenly rushed out to help the hag-gard crew. Like the grade B westerns of the 1930s and 40s, at five minutes before midnight, the last spike was driven home.

Prescott had its first railroad.

To make it official, on New Year's Day Governor C. Meyer Zulick hammered a gilted spike into the last tie painted a patriotic red, white and blue.

Bullock's Road was ready for business.

And business it was.

Almost at once, mule teams from the mines were hauling wagon loads of ore to the railhead at Prescott.

For the first few months of operation, until a turntable could be built, the road's two small engines, the 18-ton F. A. Tritle and the 16-ton "Hassayampa" had to run backward the full 72 miles to the transfer point at Seligman, their small size limiting them to pulling only three or four box cars and a passenger coach, both secondhand.

Nonetheless, it was a railroad and Prescott citizens were proud of it.

Operating personnel, however, were not about to let pride stand in the way of making a few extra dollars or having a good time. The set fare of 10 cents a mile for passengers, for example, was paid only rarely. Knowledgeable travelers soon found they could get better rates from the conductors.

Like the fare, the road's time schedule also was adjusted to suit varying circumstances. It often happened that social amenities required holding it up for an hour or two at the depot at Bang-hart (Del Rio) while a few bottles of beer were consumed, or a crap game was completed. And more than once, the little train stopped at Chino Valley while the crew went on a meat-hunting expedition.

John Aitken, telegraph operator at Banghart, went to a more civilized extreme. In order to avoid having his poker playing interrupted, he ran a telegraph extension from a saloon in Prescott to the depot in Banghart so he could handle both pleasure and business at the same time.

Somehow, Bullock's Road managed to continue operating in this fashion for five years, while investors failed to realize any significant profits. But it couldn't last.

By 1891 the Bullock Road was in serious trouble. Rotting ties and broken rails were scattered over the landscape. Spring floods washed out bridges and half-hearted repairs caused numerous delays.

By 1892, the pride of Prescott had become the joke of the town. Some even referred to it sarcastically as "the Mud Ball Express." And with good reason.

On more than one occasion the railroad bed would sag after a hard rain, sending the engine flying off the track. The Hassayampa, the lines' 16-ton "tea kettle" locomotive, was the first to take a plunge. It laid on its side in a muddy wash for three weeks before several mule teams could be brought together to rescue it.

About the artist: Recreating the romance of old-time railroading is Bob Eckel's first love.

Drawing from his engineer's soul, he creates trains that shake, rattle, rumble and roar with life yet have a distinct feeling of the past about them.

Popular with railroad and nostalgia buffs, Eckel has paintings hanging in the permanent display at Steamtown U.S.A., the Pennsylvania Railroad Museum and the White House. In Phoenix, his work is featured at the Thompson Gallery.

By the latter part of 1893, the Bullock Road was knocking at the door of bankruptcy, while, ironically, millions of dollars were just waiting to be made.

The Bradshaw Mountains at this time were literally dotted with thousands of potentially rich mines. Stamp mills for processing the rich ores had been built from the machinery delivered to Prescott by the P&AC. All that was needed to tap this immense wealth was an efficient and well-run railroad.

Bullock's Road, however, was no longer in shape to take advantage of the situation. It took its last breath when the flood of 1893 came roaring down Chino Wash, tearing up large sections of track and the main bridge across the wash. This act of God, high freight rates, and the slipshod manner in which the line had been operating opened wide the door for competition to step in. And it did, in the form of Frank Murphy's "Impossible" Railroad.

To their credit, the Prescott and Arizona Central did try to compete with Murphy's line, but repair and labor costs greatly exceeded its ability to generate profits. On August 18, 1893, two months after completion of Murphy's line into Prescott, and after six years of controversial hit-and-miss operation, Bullock filed bankruptcy papers, and the Prescott and Arizona Central Railroad, the pride of Prescott, faded into memory.

With the introduction of railroading into north-central Arizona, Prescott's population had more than doubled, and mining activities and ore shipments increased dramatically, in some cases over 600 percent.

In the late '90s, new copper, gold and silver deposits were discovered and caused another rush to the Bradshaws. By 1900, the mines around Crown King and Big Bug were working at maximum capacity. With the completion of the Bradshaw Mountain Railroad, and prior to the World War I boom, railroading in north-central Arizona experienced phenomenal growth and exorbitant profits. It was to last for 14 more years, declining just prior to Frank Murphy's death in June, 1917.

Morris Goldwater, one of Murphy's associates on many railroading ventures, provided a fitting epitaph, "in the annals of Arizona history," he said, "it would be hard to find a name of one who did more for others and received less acknowledgement than Frank Murphy."

In contrast to the boom days of the war, the post World War I period was bleak and dismal and held less promise for railroading. Metal prices fell drastically, and the rich claims of the Bradshaw Mountains began to play out. By 1918, ore shipments had fallen to an all-time low while freight rates climbed dramatically. By this time the Poland branch of the Bradshaw Mountain Railroad was becoming increasingly unsafe.

Dilapidated engines, with their boilers leaking, had to be doubled-up to make the steep mountain grades.

The Crown King line was the first to go. The Poland branch continued to struggle along. Then, in slow, painful stages, a piece at a time, it too began to drop into history. On August 1, 1920, the end came. The Poland branch of the Bradshaw Mountain Railroad was finally abandoned.

Today, all that remains of these once proud railroads are scattered remnants dotting the landscape, echoing the memories of an era lost to time. Rabbits, coyotes, cattle, and bobcats now freely roam the old weed-tangled and eroded railbeds. An occasional flutter of startled quail taking flight have replaced the screeching, clanging and rumbling roar of the proud iron horses. With a whisper, the era of railroading in north-central Arizona faded into history.

Editor's note There are several areas in north-central Arizona where railroad buffs can still get sight of and, in some cases, actually follow the old roadbeds, and see some of what still remains of the places which made history during the railroad era.

On Interstate 17 north of Phoenix, take the Bumblebee turnoff. The old stage road leads to the mining town of Cleator (much of it still standing). From Cleator, the dirt road follows the roadbed of the Bradshaw Mountain Railroad, zigzagging some of the old switchbacks up to the 6000-foot level. At the top, stop for refreshments at the Crown King Saloon and admire their collection of historic railroad photos.

Five miles south of Humboldt, on Arizona Highway 69, turn left at Poland Junction. The dirt road runs for nine bumpy miles to the site of the mining town of Poland and the nearby Walker Tunnel. Little remains of either place today, but the scenery and nostalgia are worth the trip. Check locally for road conditions.

At Sharlot Hall Museum in Prescott (415 W. Gurley Street) are photos of most of the historic railroads of Yavapai County and a locomotive on display. Admission is free; hours are 9-5, Tuesday-Saturday, and 1-5 on Sunday.

Bowman's Diggin's (one mile south of Mayer on Highway 69) is a small railroad museum with numerous photos, maps, timetables, lanterns and other relics of county railroads. Museum hours are 10-6 TuesdayThursday, Saturday and Sunday. Admission is by donation.

Yours Sincerely

Good creative writing implies that one not only has an above-average ability in stringing words together, but a superb talent for seeing and interpreting what one sees as well. When such a talent presents itself it's a cause for celebration. When more than one comes to the fore - and they are very young to boot it's darn near incredible.

Below are some student creative writing examples we think fit this singular category superbly. But read them and judge for yourself.

Dear Editor: For the past twenty years I have been helping students to become more aware of themselves and their environment by stimulating their minds with visuals, both stills and films. They respond creatively in written expression, using varied forms and patterns. My main source of outstanding photography has been Arizona Highways.

This spring, in previewing the film "The Grain in the Stone" from the series: The Ascent Of Man, I was fascinated with Bronowski's story of Canyon de Chelly.

Since none of my students had ever heard of the canyon, I filled all the bulletin boards with pictures I had collected from Arizona Highways. The pictures held alive for them the structure, color and uniqueness which they had first seen in the film.

I am enclosing some "samples" of student responses from our Kirby Hall Anthology of 1979. I could not have taught writing without that fund of knowledge and beauty.

The child-god played in ancient muds to form the massive mud-paddies, scattering them over the desert floor to make chocolate cupcakes for the sun and wind to nibble.

Tall stone candles burn down with the flames of the winds. Only the worn size of the buttes tells us when the centuries have melted.

SECRET SUNS

Smiling once, its wrinkled cheeks Of age and timeless sand Impressed the rock with rhythmed sways From desert's daily hand. Caves of light encompass dusk Their shadows but a glow, While cities drift in flexing rock, Affixed in tranquil flow. Imprisoned life had anchored fast: Nomadic tribes had paused, Yet burnished hearts stood still in peace Till calm and death set laws. A glowing course of sleeping thoughts Breathed life to dormant hills, For man had grown; he finally saw His secret sun stand still.

TRACES SHUT AWAY

Harsh fate slapped man's hands away from leaving his unplanned abode, The die was cast; all attempts to leave the canyon became forgotten. Memories of other men became legend, a legend soon lost in the turmoil of daily strivings. The sound of stonemasons working echoed over worn cliffs, through hilly sands, and in crevices unknown. The wall barriers, however, were too much for the sounds to delay discovery for centuries. The forgotten ties between tribes lost a communication. It is interesting to see what man could do when left alone in a silent ravine where only simple tools were needed.

HIDDEN CITY

The grain in the stone stands high amidst the barren sand, Reaching toward the sky of the old and ancient land. Listen, they tell us stories of that which used to be. Look, they paint us pictures for all of us to see. Olden cities are hidden in the Canyon de Chelly, But the people who live there. no one can really say.

Archaeologists study the structure the eroded shape and form, Trying to bring to light all the mysteries to be born. They then translate their findings into ideas that do excite, And seek the deep beginning Of the unkow floor and height. Olden cities are hidden in the Canyon de Chelly, But the people who lived there... no one can really say.

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS 1978 INDEX NOW AVAILABLE

The index for all 1978 issues of Arizona Highways is now available for purchase at the price listed below. All prices include postage. Please do not send orders to Arizona Highways.

Please make checks payable to: Arizona State Library Association. Mail your order to: Department of Library Archives and Public Records, Third Floor, State Capitol, Phoenix, Arizona 85007.

Bookshelf

by Mary Lu Moore Inquiries about any of these titles should be directed to the book publisher not ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. Book prices listed do not include postage costs.

Ray Manley's Indian Lands, by Ray Manley, text by Clara Lee Tanner, Ray Manley Photography, 238 South Tucson Blvd., Tucson, AZ 85716. 1979.72 p. $6.00 hard cover; $3.00 soft cover.

Where are some of the most beautiful places in Arizona? On Indian lands, of course, which occupy 25 per cent of the state. These are the highlands of the Hopi, Navajo, Hualapai, and Apache, the canyon homes of the Havasupai, and the desert reaches of the Pima-Maricopa and the Papago.

And Ray Manley, who has been occupied with the scenic photography of Arizona and the Southwest for nearly 40 years, has seen and recorded them all in his own unique style. Here in 64 pages of color splendor are Canyon de Chelly, the Hopi villages, Monument Valley, Grand Falls, Rainbow Bridge, the Grand Canyon and much more.

Complementing the full-color images is an interesting, easy-to-read, text by University of Arizona Anthropologist Clara Lee Tanner, herself the author of numerous books on the Indians of the Southwest. Because this is a book designed for travelers, both the armchair variety and those with itchy foot, Ms. Tanner goes all out to provide a broad-gauge background of facts about the area.

Dividing the Indian lands into three large sections, she has delineated each in terms of geology, topography, flora and fauna. Then the reader is given a view of the land in terms of the ancient people who lived there, following through to the tribes of today, with information on how each tribe developed and created its own culture.

Ray Manley's latest book is a delightful guide to the colorful Indian Lands of the Southwest.

Central Arizona Ghost Towns. By Robert L. Spude and Stanley W. Paher. Nevada Publications, Box 15444, Las Vegas, Nevada 89114.1978.48 p. $7.50, hardcover; $2.95, softcover.

Nevada Publications produces items about Arizona also. Among their newer output is this study of abandoned mining camps and mills of central Arizona. Robert Spude's early childhood outings among these fascinating relics led to serious study and subsequent publications. Supporting Spude's research is that of Nevada writer Paher, plus southwestern artist Roy Purcell's realistic sketches and a quite meticulous map by prominent Tucson cartographer Don Bufkin. Well-selected photographs from major Arizona historical collections graphically portray varied activities in the mines and in the towns which serviced them.

For easy reference, a table of contents lists the ghost towns in alphabetical order, while in the very readable text they are grouped geographically for convenience of a day's or weekend's trip. After reading this volume, enthusiasts will want to beat a path to the real thing. We strongly recommend the softcover format, since all important desert travel trips and the Bufkin map have been omitted in binding the hardcover edition.

Hoover Dam, Lake Mead, and Lake Mohave. By Carlos Elmer. W. A. Krueger Co., Phoenix, Arizona. Available from: Carlos H. Elmer, P.O. Box 4005, Scottsdale, Arizona 85258. 1978. 16 р. $1.25, softcover, plus 60¢ shipping.

Growing up in Kingman, Arizona, in the 1930s, Elmer had a ringside seat for watching construction of Hoover and Davis dams and creation of Lake Mead and Lake Mohave. As a youth he worked for the Grand Canyon-Boulder Dam Tours. Now, nearly 50 years later, the author conducts a nostalgic tour of this same area, with spectacular photos of his own and of other famous colleagues. Having aroused your interest, he also adds suggested readings for more information. This is another of the readable-lookables of northern Arizona for which Elmer is well-known.

35mm COLOR SLIDES

This issue: 35mm slides in 2" mounts, 1 to 15 slides, 40 each, 16 to 49 slides, 35¢ each, 50 or more, 3 for $1.00. Allow six weeks for delivery. Address: Slide Department, Arizona Highways, 2039 West Lewis Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona 85009.

(Inside back cover) Soldier Canyon in the Santa Catalina Mountains. This rugged sunkissed area is a special photo stop on our tour of Mt. Lemmon, which begins on page 30.