Rocks in His Head

Above me in a remote corner of the Navajo Indian Reservation, seeming to defy gravity, a sandstone buttress flares 200 feet skyward from its earthly base. The appeal of such natural arches is their beauty. Each of these caprices of nature is interesting; each displays a different result of the artistic collaboration of rock, water, and time. Like many people, I enjoy climbing into or through the arch opening. Perhaps it's like attaining the summit of a mountain. I don't feel I really have experienced the arch until I pass through it.

A PORTFOLIO

Discovering natural arches often takes stamina and requires the help of a guide, especially in the Monument Valley Tribal Park on the Navajo reservation. Fred Cly of Mexican Hat, Utah, guided me through the backcountry during a rainstorm to the Eye of the Sun Arch. When we arrived, the area below the arch was flooded, impeding our movements. But the view was spectacular, and we found good examples of Anasazi petroglyphs.

Another area in which natural arches often are difficult to reach is the Grand Canyon. One, discovered (or rediscovered) by former Sen. Barry Goldwater in a side canyon of Marble Canyon, is seldom visited. Others, scattered in obscure and impossible locales throughout the Canyon, are best seen from the air. Years ago I flew over one of these remote arches radiating majestically from a fin of Redwall limestone in the western Grand Canyon. It is so far from any road, so difficult to find and reach, that it has become a symbol to me of the last few places in Arizona that are nearly as unattainable as the surface of Mars.

The ancient Indian cultures also were attracted to the natural stone arches. Several I have visited harbor small ruins or rock art near, under, or on their spans. It is an exciting double discovery to happen upon wonders of nature and archeology, and although the shelter of an arch might have been a good building place for practical reasons, the ruins nestled under the vaulting spans are more nearly works of art, melding gracefully with the natural forms and constructions.

A PORTFOLIO

One of the state's most unusual places to find natural arches is in the deep, sinuous complex of slot canyons in northern Ari-zona. In some areas, flash-flood waters channeled through the narrow passage have sculpted small arches in sandstone fins high above the canyon floors. Despite their size, these arches appear to meet all the require-ments of those who catalog and count these anomalies, and their delicate beauty is the match of any of their larger cousins. I have heard stories about a giant lost arch somewhere on the Vermilion Cliffs. I doubt it has escaped discovery by cowboys, hikers, or pilots all these years, but it could be there, hidden in some majestic alcove, or some for-gotten canyon. Even if no more great arches are found, Arizona always will be a treasure trove for arch lovers. From Lake Mead to the Petrified Forest National Park and from Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument to Monument Valley, nearly 100 rock openings dot the Arizona landscape. With that many to expe-rience and photograph, my work will never be done.

Photo Tour: Join the Friends of Arizona Highways and author-photographer Tom Till on a photo exploration of magnificent Monument Valley, October 1-3. This popular trip fills quickly, so it's not too soon to make plans. For information and reservations, call the Friends' Travel Desk, (602) 271-5904. Photographer Tom Till lives in Moab, Utah, just outside Arches National Park, the perfect location from which to pursue his passion for natural arches. He is working on a scenic book, New Jersey, Images of Nature, for Westcliffe Publishers.

(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 30 AND 31) As if perched on the nose of a giant being, the Spectacles Arch peers across Monument Valley.

(RIGHT) This fancifully shaped formation in Monument Valley is aptly called Ear of the Wind Arch.

Dogs of the Old Southwest

When you think about the animals of the Arizona frontier, horses and cattle come to mind immediately. Then maybe deer or bear or lion. Perhaps even coyote or javelina. Nobody thinks frontier dogs. Yet here's how one old-timer described Tucson in 1880: "And dogs. They were countless big ones and little ones, hairy ones and hairless ones, scrubs and bluebloods. They barked all night long, and, when not barking, they were raising an equal level of sound by their fights." Flagstaff was equally "pestered with all kinds of worthless dogs."

A scourge to many town-dwellers, the canines proved a boon to jailers who found savage dogs more effective than walls in preventing escapes. And in the countryside, dogs were companions, helpers, even lifesavers. They would tackle any creature from bear to rattlesnake and take on such jobs as controlling cattle or deterring hostile Apaches.

Most moving are the stories of a dog's devotion to its master. In the 1860s, Harry Lee lived alone on an isolated ranch about 10 miles from Prescott. One day a stranger left a pregnant "old yellow hound" with him, swearing that it was "injun' trained" and would always growl, not bark, "if redskins is anywhere about." Not long after, Old Fan presented Lee with two pups and then demonstrated its expertise as a bellwether of Indian raids. Lee recalled the dog awakened him one night by "pushing its nose into his face... growling low in its throat," and then running out toward the potato patch and back. That was enough for Lee. Grabbing his shotgun and revolver, he headed quickly for the tunnel he had dug for just such an emergency. When the moon rose, he peered out the peephole and, seeing movement, shot at several dark shapes. At this, "several of the raiders burst out of the potato patch like a covey of startled quail, with Old Fan and her pups right at their heels."

Sometimes a dog's heroics occurred almost immediately upon its arrival. John Spring, a schoolmaster and Army sergeant, owed his life to such a dog. On their way to Tubac in November of 1868, Spring and his companions were eating supper around a campfire when a half-starved hunting dog suddenly appeared. They fed it well, and it responded by staying close to Spring. That night one of the soldiers drank too much whiskey and fell asleep during his watch. Spring, awakened by the alert dog "pulling violently at my overcoat," heard the "stamping and rearing" of the mules. Rising hurriedly, he was in time to see several Indians disappearing into the dark. Later he found their tracks close to the camp. "Had it not been for the dog's watchfulness, a very few minutes would have sealed our fate," he said. He rewarded the dog with a sumptuous breakfast and a hug.

But Spring's relationship with the dog didn't last long. That day on a bird-hunting trip, he accidently discharged his shotgun when the dog ran between his legs, knocking him down. Annoyed, Spring kicked the mutt. The dog responded to Spring's inconstancy by running away, leaving the sergeant to regret his angry impulse.

The Apache as well as the white man trained dogs to hate the smell of the enemy. "These lean and hungry Apache dogs, some as big as loafer wolves," also helped their masters by keeping them warm in the tepee at night and by killing calves on the range, according to author Ross Santee. The relationship of Indians and their dogs is, in fact, an ancient one, dating to the Hohokam, who buried dogs in the graves with their younger children.

In the 1850s, when Englishman S. W. Cozzens journeyed through the Southwest, Indian villages were aswarm with dogs. Cozzens accompanied the Apache chief, Cochise, to his rancheria and when they reached the bluff above the village "in an instant, it seemed to me, the barking of a thousand dogs, mingled with the shouts of the warriors and the screaming of the women and children, heralded our approach." By contrast the Yumas were reported to have only "a few pet lap-dogs at their ranchos."

Other travelers brought along their own dogs, some unused to desert terrain. Charles Pancoast remembered that while making his way through the desert with a group of '49ers, his companions suddenly saw water and began shouting, "A river!" But the dogs had already spotted it and were running far ahead. As it turned out, however, both man and beast had been fooled by a mirage. The next day, when