Hike of the Month

"As the story goes," I say, "the Peralta family came up from Mexico in the 1840s and discovered a fortune in gold in these mountains. But the Apache supposedly killed them and sealed the mine entrance. Ever since, gold seekers have been searching for it. Personally, I have strong reason to believe that the mine never existed."

That's what I tell my hiking companion (a transplanted New Yorker) as we strike out on the Peralta Trail, heading north into the overpowering desolation of Arizona's Superstition Mountains. Our destination is Fremont Saddle, a 2.3-mile walk, and a close-up view of the awesome spire of Weavers Needle. The desert trail is well-defined, crossing and recrossing a boulder-strewn wash, angling always upward.

WHEN YOU GO

From Phoenix, take U.S. Route 60/89 east through Apache Junction, continuing on toward Florence Junction. There is a sign at milepost 204 that directs you to the Peralta Trail via a dirt road to the left. Follow the dirt road approximately eight miles until it ends in a parking area. At the north end of the lot there are two trails. The one on the left is the Peralta Trail. Always carry water, a minimum of one quart per person (more in warm weather).

For more information write or call the Tonto National Forest, Box 5348, Phoenix, AZ 85010; (602) 225-5200.

Now the trail follows along the canyon wall steeper, weaving its way through the fields of house-size boulders. "Sometime in the 1870s," I tell my friend, "an old Dutchman named Jacob Waltz, or Walz, started paying for his supplies with raw gold. The story spread that he had located the old Peralta mine in the Superstitions, or a brand new mine, depending on who was telling the story."

"Ah," comments my companion, "and thus the legend of the Lost Dutchman Mine."

"Right," I reply, "but I'm a skeptic. I don't believe the Lost Dutchman Mine ever existed either." We stop to drink from our water bottles.

"Then there was poor Adolf Ruth," I say. "Like hundreds of others, he came into possession of the only accurate map to the Lost Dutchman Mine. He quit his job and, in 1931, came into these mountains alone. Months later they discovered him in two places. His skull with bullet holes was found in one place, and the rest of his body in another. All of his belongings were intact, except . . ."

"The map was missing," my friend interjects. We stop for a breather.

"Some estimate," I say, "that more than a hundred hardy gold seekers have died in these mountains. And thousands of others have spent their savings looking for the Dutchman's mine."

"I took a geology course in college," my companion tells me. "Lava rock is the very last place you would ever expect to find gold."

I smile. My friend is correct. "That's why I'm a nonbeliever." "Well," says my friend, "we can forget about those silly tales and concentrate on the scenery."

After a moderately strenuous two-hour climb, we top out at Fremont Saddle. And there before us is the immense spire of Weavers Needle, approximately 1,300 feet high from base to top. Legends state that the needle is the key to locating the lost mine and incredible amounts of gold.

We sit and rest, drinking in the brooding, overpowering majesty of the vast and empty wilderness that surrounds us. And though I am convinced there is no gold in the Superstitions, I feel a sudden rush of excitement. For a certain period when I was a kid, I became swept up by tales of lost Superstition gold. I devoured every book I could find on the subject and floated off frequently on fantasy expeditions.

Since our arrival at the saddle, a small cloud has been blocking the sun. As I sit, the cloud moves away, and harsh sunlight causes the towering needle to cast a sharp and lengthy shadow across the tossed landscape.

A storage cabinet of my mind suddenly swings open, and a diagram from one of those childhood books leaps out. The hair stands up on the back of my neck. Nearly word for word, I can see the caption beneath the diagram. It's all coming back. Something like, "When the sun reaches the proper position in the sky . . . ." What was the rest of it? "The needle will cast a long shadow into a dark crevasse on a distant canyon wall."

Holy cow! That's exactly what the needle is doing! It's a deep crevasse. An almost hidden crevasse. Oh brother! I'm remembering the rest of it. "The dark crevasse is the location of the lost mine." That's what it said. And I'm looking right at it!

I stand up suddenly. "We need to head back," I say. "Head back?" replies my friend. "Why head back?"

"Burros," I say. "Burros?"

"I need to get back to town and price a couple of burros." "Why don't we go over there and sit in the shade," suggests my friend. "That sun is hot."

"A pick and shovel, too," I tell him. "Rest for a few minutes . . . relax." "A tent."

My friend is splashing water on a handkerchief. "Put this against your forehead."

"And dynamite . . . we'll need lots of dynamite!"

He's looking at me strangely. He doesn't seem to understand."