History

THE COLORADO RIVER

The rowdy group of bravos saw themselves as explorers. Of course, the men had been drinking, and, naturally, this led to some singing. It was January 10, 1858, and and they had all gathered amid the shacks, tents, sand, wind, and loneliness of the infamous military outpost at Yuma ("the Botany Bay of military stations," according to one of the celebrants) to mark the beginning of a great adventure. This cheerful bender has come down to us in the diary of Balduin Möllhausen, a German adventurer, who, that very evening, revealed he also could play a mean guitar. Soon, thanks to his talent, the men were dancing with each other ("bearded men embraced one another with sinewy fists") and stamping their heels to the beat of "Yankee Doodle" and the "Scottish Horn Pipe."

From the Comic Expedition of Christmas Ives to Today's Recreational Wonderland

THE COLORADO RIVER

Many of the partygoers were part of a steamboat expedition commanded by Lt. Joseph Christmas Ives that in the morning would head up the Colorado River to find the head of navigation. They had little idea of either the river's size or how far up its unknown course a boat could go.

In some ways, the Colorado seemed to Americans of the 19th century like the Nile, a great desert river full of silt that had over time built up a huge delta. But there was one sharp difference that lurked in the beckoning country upstream from the fort at Yuma: the Nile in its 4,000-mile length dropped 6,600 feet; the Colorado in a mere 1,700 miles roared down 14,000 feet. Innocent of this reality, the expedition members whooping it up at the party had other problems on their minds: there was a rumor that the United States was about to go to war with the Mormon colonies somewhere to the north in Utah; and the sentiments of the Mojave Indians toward the expedition's visit were uncertain.

So in that traditional boyish spirit that seems to seize men when they drink a lot and dance to "Yankee Doodle" and the like, the soldiers at the fort toasted the men of the expedition with the wish, "When the Mojave Indians lift your scalps, then remember us!" Ives' ragtag band answered in kind: "When the Mormons burn you and your fort to the ground, then remember us!"

Today, hardly anyone remembers those taunts, or the expedition itself. The lower Colorado, which functioned as a vast natural theater for the Ives trip, is much changed, and one must look in odd pockets to find traces of his world.

The old fort itself now is part of the Quechans' Fort Yuma Indian Reservation, the administrative center of the people Ives and his companions called Yuman Indians. From the slight elevation overlooking the river, the eye scans the modern city of Yuma, a place booming because of winter visitors, then catches the river swinging below as it snakes south into the irrigated fields that spill over into the rich deltaic soils of Mexico at the upper end of the Sea of Cortes.

The sense of desolation that clots the pages of early memoirs has vanished. But the Quechan have not. That is one of the many curious notes in these annals of exploration, the fact that the would-be Columbus of the Colorado has been almost lost to memory, but the people he encountered on the river's banks have not budged.

One building on the grounds of the old fort holds the Quechan Museum where a sign sternly advises, "The Quechan are unique because we are one of the fewtribes that is still located in our native territory. We have not been moved by the Spaniards, early Yuma settlers, or the whims of the government." (They are still standing firm with a population of 2,700 and 56,000 acres.) Perhaps the Quechan have held their ground because of a secret weapon in their arsenal that Lieutenant Ives never, well, dreamed they possessed: dreams. They are part of a web of culture that spins upstream to the face of Hoover Dam, a culture that incorporates many tribes and is called Yuman by anthropologists.

As a group, the Yuman tribes tended to dine on native plants, fish, rabbits, and the corn, beans, and squash they grew. They had weak bows because there weren't many large animals to shoot but large and nasty war clubs. They were legendary runners. And they dreamed, dreamed their lives away.

As one old Yuman shaman explained it, "Before I was born, I would sometimes steal from my mother's womb while she was sleeping, but it was dark, and I did not go far. Every good doctor begins to understand before he is born."

This tradition of prenatal dreaming was characteristic of the peoples who lined the banks of the Colorado. Naturally Lieutenant Ives, and pretty much all of the many visitors who dropped by over the centuries, did not have the faintest idea such a worldview existed among the people who hugged the great river's banks. Newcomers even kept getting names wrong, calling the Quechan Yumans, for example, when their preferred name goes back to the very beginning of the world when the people took a special trail called Xam Quechan from the top of a peak on Avikwaame Mountain. Ives, too, as it happened, was a dreamer, but he had a different dream entirely: helping to build the American empire and while at this work promoting his career in the United States Army. Born in New York City in 1828, he graduated from West Point in 1852. A year later, he was on the banks of the Colorado River under the command of Lt. A.W. Whipple, doing a railroad survey along the 35th parallel where he rubbed shoulders with the Quechan and the Mojave Indians.

(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 4 AND 5) Below Ehrenberg the Colorado River courses southward to the Sea of Cortes, continuing a 1,450-mile journey that takes it past some of the Southwest's most outstanding recreational areas. (RIGHT) The Imperial National Wildlife Refuge north of Yuma provides a sanctuary for the Colorado's wide variety of birds and plants.

THE COLORADO RIVER

Whipple at the time was quite taken with the Quechan/Yuma Indians, noting, "To this day among the Yumas I have never seen anger expressed by word or action, nor known one of their women to be harshly treated. They are sprightly, full of life, gaiety, and good humor." They also were big: the earliest record of them, left by the Coronado expedition around 1540, described them as giants.

Following his work with the Whipple survey, Ives bagged command of a steamboat exploration of the lower Colorado pegged for 1857 and '58. However, it is worthwhile to note that the exploration was not his idea, and there already were steamboats on the Colorado River.

The crossing at Yuma, in use since the 16th century, had flourished since the gold rush of 1849. For years merchants had brought supplies up from the Sea of Cortes to feed the bored soldiers. One of the entrepreneurs, George A. Johnson, had done the natural thing for any pioneer worth his salt: he tried to get a government subsidy for exploration of the river to the north, a kind of federally financed sales survey for his steamboat fleet. In 1856, Jefferson Davis, then secretary of war, swallowed the bait (the river would be the gateway to an "Inland Empire," many thought) and got Congress to fork over $70,000. Johnson was sitting pretty, since he had the boats, the knowledge of the treacherous river, and now, apparently, the money.

Except that 1856 was an election year, and, when new President James Buchanan took over, he appointed John B. Floyd his secretary of war. And Floyd, after surveying all the available talent, decided that the best man in the United States to lead a steamboat into the unknown upper Colorado was Lt. Joseph Christmas Ives one of his in-laws, as it happened.

Ives saw this expedition as his ticket to glory. When Johnson offered to rent the Army one of his steamboats at a reasonable fee, Ives had a better idea: he had a stern-wheeler built in Philadelphia, then taken apart and shipped around Cape Horn to San Francisco, brought from there by ship to the head of the Sea of Cortes, off-loaded onto the sands while being threatened by some of the highest tides in the world, reassembled, and then run upstream against currents that almost overwhelmed it and sandbars that hung it up for hours every day. Ives himself finally abandoned ship, commandeered a horse and rode on to Fort Yuma to await his smoke-belching toy.

The boat, the Explorer, was small, sported an open deck with a huge boiler squatting in plain view, and drew too

WHEN YOU GO: YUMA

Although the crossings today take place on the concrete bridge of Interstate 8 and not the waters of the Colorado River, Yuma remains the primary portal between Southern Arizona and California. The region's legendary past as witnessed by Ives is showcased at several popular attractions.

Getting there: Yuma can be reached by Greyhound Bus, Amtrak, or regional and commuter airlines. The city is 184 miles southwest of Phoenix via Interstate 10 west to U.S. 95 and U.S. 95 south.

What to see and do: Eighty-three years after it incarcerated its last outlaw, the Yuma Territorial Prison attracts 140,000 law-abiding visitors annually, roughly 45 times the number of prisoners (3,000) it housed during its entire 33 years of operation. Highlights of this state historic park are a tour of the spartan cells, a climb up the lookout tower, and a museum that chronicles its colorful inhabitants, including "Heartless" Pearl Hart who greeted a stagecoach with her Colt .45. Open every every day except Christmas. Admission is $3 for adults; $2 for those 12 through 17; children get in free.

The key role Yuma played in the 19th-century settlement and development of the Southwest is conveyed through exhibits, artifacts, and costumed tour guides at the restored Quartermaster Depot, the centerpiece of the Yuma Crossing National Historic Landmark. Open every day except Christmas. Admission is free for children under five; $1 for those six through 15; $2 for adults; and $1.50 for seniors (55 and over).

Eye-catching exhibits at the Quechan Indian Museum retrace the tribe's intriguing culture, creativity, and clashes. Open Monday through Friday; closed during the noon hour and on holidays. Admission is $1.

Nearby attractions: The Colorado River nourishes two national wildlife sanctuaries north of Yuma: Imperial National Wildlife Refuge, which straddles the river, and Cibola National Wildlife Refuge, where winged winter visitors include Canada geese and sandhill cranes. The 666,000-acre Kofa National Wildlife Refuge northwest of Yuma is a favorite haunt of skilled hikers and a home to bighorn sheep, golden eagles, and other rugged desert dwellers including native palm trees.

Accommodations: Yuma has more than 40 hotels and motels and is within short range of several sites for tent and recreational-vehicle camping.

For more information, call the Yuma Convention & Visitors Bureau, (602) 783-0071 or the Yuma Crossing Foundation, toll-free 1 (800) 829-YUMA.

Much water. Altogether the vessel had the look of a skateboard with the power plant blossoming on it like a diabolical mushroom. The hull was too weak and had to be reinforced. Ives was quite proud of his craft, but his companion, Möllhausen (a veteran of the Whipple expedition), described it as "a water-borne wheelbarrow," and the Quechan dismissed it as "the chiquito boat."

After the singing, dancing, and boozing of January 10, Ives and his band were poised to make history on the morning of the 11th. Unfortunately nobody got down to the wharf on time, possibly because of hangovers, and so they were hours late in getting under way.

The Quechan gathered to watch and, according to Ives' official report of the expedition, "The men grinned, and the women and children shouted with laughter, which was responded to by a scream from the Explorer's whistle; and in the midst of the uproar the line was cast off, the engine put in motion, and, gliding away from the wharf, we soon passed through the gorge abreast of the fort and emerged into the open valley above."

Possibly, the Quechan's merriment flowed from two facts, one that Ives had to acknowledge, and one that he left out of his report. Within two miles and in plain view of the fort, the Explorer ran aground and stayed there for the rest of the day and through the night: "this sudden check to our progress affording an evening of great entertainment to those in and out of the garrison."

The second detail, the one missing from his fulsome federal report, weighed even more heavily on Ives' dreams of glory. On December 31, while Ives was still (FOLLOWING PANELS, PAGES 10 AND 11) Rippling sand borders the Colorado in the Imperial refuge.

(PAGES 12 AND 13) Taylor Lake in the refuge invites visitors to savor moments of rest and relaxation.

(PAGES 14 AND 15) A constantly changing scene greets the river as it flows through Imperial, a long and narrow refuge whose variety also encompasses lakes, marshland, and desert.

WHEN YOU GO: PARKER

The sandy banks of the Colorado River that would one day serve as Parker's front porch might not have impressed Ives and his crew, but they have become high-powered magnets for water lovers, attracting anglers and boaters of every stripe.

Getting there: Located 169 miles northwest of Phoenix, Parker is 35 miles north of Interstate 10 on State Route 95. K-T Bus Line travels daily to Phoenix and Las Vegas.

What to see and do: Almost every activity along the 11mile "Parker Strip" relates to the cool waters of the Colorado. Waterskiing, inner-tube floating, and riverside camping are favored ways to pass the hot summer months.

Parker Dam, 15 miles upriver, is the world's deepest dam. Workers dug 235 feet through sand and gravel before reaching bedrock. It's easier to fathom the dam's depth when you realize that only its top third is visible. Visitors can take free self-guided tours. Open daily.

Dry land also offers worthy diversions. The Colorado River Indian Tribes Library and Museum, two miles south of town, displays the trademark crafts of its four resident tribes and artifacts from prehistoric Indian cultures. Admission is free; donations are accepted. Open Monday through Friday from 8:00 Α.Μ. to 5:00 P.M., except during the noon hour.

Thirty-five miles south of Parker is Quartzsite, a small, sleepy town of a thousand or so residents that swells to more than six times that size when winter visitors arrive. In January and February more than 100,000 rock hounds descend on this onestoplight town for the Quartzsite Pow Wow, an annual gem-and-mineral show that usually starts the first Wednesday in February.

Special events: The Parker SCORE 400, a 400-mile dirt-road race on vehicles ranging from motorcycles to Baja buggies makes tracks on both sides of the river. The town's biggest drawing card, it's held in late January or early February.

During the Parker Enduro Classic, a five-hour contest along a 13-mile stretch of the river, professionals reach speeds up to 125 miles per hour piloting record-setting inboards, outboards, and jetboats. Held in late March.

In June, the river is packed for the annual Colorado River Inner-tube Race, which awards prizes in a multitude of categories.

Accommodations: Parker's few dozen hotels and motels are located both in town and farther up the strip. Among the riverside campgrounds suited for tent camping and recreational vehicles are La Paz County Park and Buckskin Mountain State Park.

For more information, call the Parker Chamber of Commerce at (602) 669-2174.

You and your steamboat on board and not notice it. If I find the river navigable, I will have it published to the world before you can launch your boat and leave tidewater.” Whatever the insults traded, Captain Robinson was worth his weight in gold to Ives. The captain soon discovered an infallible method for discerning navigational hazards: he watched for groups of excited Indians to line the banks at points where they anticipated the Explorer would meet ruin from a submerged rock or a sand bar.

Less than three weeks out of Fort Yuma, steaming slowly above what is now the Imperial wildlife refuge, Ives confronted an irksome visitor: the General Jessup returning downstream. From Möllhausen's diary of the trip, we know that both boats tied up on the bank, and the two crews swapped tales of the river. Ives, busy commander that he was, found no time to mention this meeting in his official report. Johnson had discovered the head of navigation at the entrance to Black Canyon far to the north, a point beyond which rapids made the use of steamboats a bit insane. While Ives steamed on after this brief visit, his rival swiftly publicized his discovery in the San Francisco newspapers, and Lieutenant White, who commanded the soldiers on the General Jessup, shipped off an official report to the War Department.

Apparently, Ives' in-law, Secretary of War John Floyd, was loyal as a dog, because neither announcement seemed to make a dent. White's report was never published as a government document and may still molder in some federal warehouse. It was not until the 1970s, when Möllhausen's diary finally surfaced in English, that proof existed of this encounter between the two steamboats.

THE COLORADO RIVER WHEN YOU GO: LAKE HAVASU CITY

After leaving the General Jessup, the Explorer returned to its normal condition: total boredom. John S. Newberry, a civilian brought along to report the region's geology, left a vivid record of the daily life aboard: "Day after day as we slowly crawl up the muddy Colorado confined to a little, tucked-up, overloaded, overcrowded steamer with no retreat from the cold, heat, wind, or drifting sand, and nothing but the monotony of an absolute desert to feast our eyes upon, and nothing but bacon and beans and rice and bread and sandor rather sand and bacon, etc, to eat, sleeping on shore on a sand drift, eyes, nose, mouth, ears, clothes, and bed filled with sand - with almost everyone discontented and cross."

In this cheerful mood, the expedition crept past what is now Cibola National Wildlife Refuge, past what became Blythe, California, and Ehrenberg, Arizona, past giant intaglios created by natives on the slopes above the river, past self-sufficient nations of people who laughed as they watched them from the banks.

The natives (Quechan and Chemehuevi on this stretch) soon became essential to the expedition, not simply as mailmen, but as a source of food. With beads and strips of cloth, Ives bought beans from them to feed the crew, while the naturalists on board bartered for specimens of lizards and mice for their collections.

They moved past what is now Parker, Arizona, still wailing about sandy beans, and entered what is now Lake Havasu, glided past the mouth of Bill Williams River (a splendid wildlife refuge today, rich in waterfowl) and almost missed locating it. Of course, what they saw was more of Newberry's "absolute desert," in contrast to present-day Lake Havasu City with its London Bridge (which, since this still seems to be a place for dreamers, runs neck and neck with the Grand Canyon as a tourist attraction and kicks in about 35 million dollars annually to the economy).

Just above the lake and around where the Needles rise in Topock Gorge (a small but beautiful wildlife refuge), Ives got lucky. He ran into some Indians who were friends from the visit of the Whipple expedition. On February 14, while the Explorer was tied up at a Mojave village, a chief, Cairook, arrived. He crossed the river standing on a raft while four of his tribesmen, swimming at each corner, powered the craft. "Cairook," Ives noted, "is a noble looking man. He is nearly six feet and a half, A spot should be reserved in the Entrepreneurs Hall of Fame for Robert McCulloch, the California chain-saw magnate who founded this company town in 1964, adding a few extra amenities, namely the authentic London Bridge. McCulloch paid $2.5 million for the bridge and more than twice that to transport and reconstruct it, transforming unknown Lake Havasu City into a travel destination for noveltyseeking tourists.

Getting there: Lake Havasu City is 206 miles northwest of Phoenix, 19 miles south of Interstate 40 on State Route 95. Daily K-T Bus Line service links it with Phoenix, Las Vegas, and points in between. Mesa Airlines serves Lake Havasu City from Phoenix.

What to see and do: It's hard to top London Bridge as a tourist attraction, especially when it's in Arizona. At the bridge's base is "English Village," a collection of shops, galleries, and eateries in a "ye-olde" architectural style.

Although the bridge attracts attention, it is primarily Lake Havasu's abundant blue water that attracts repeat visitors. Anglers prize the largemouth bass, crappie, channel catfish, and the imported (and flourishing) saltwater striped bass. Pleasure boaters stream into their favorite spots. The calendar is filled with fishing derbies and weekend boat races. You don't need to own a boat; concessionaires in Lake Havasu rent everything from jet skis to houseboats. Parasailing rides also are available.

Nearby attractions: Retrace a patch of Ives' journey by renting a canoe and gliding down through Topock Gorge, a haven for waterfowl in the Havasu National Wildlife Refuge that has remained virtually unchanged since the Explorer's visit. Ives himself gave the Needles, a majestic rock outcropping, high praise: "A scene of such impressive grandeur I have never before witnessed." Canoe rentals and shuttle service to the put-in point for the seven-hour float can be arranged in Topock where Interstate 40 crosses the Colorado.

Accommodations: Lake Havasu City has more than 1,000 hotel and motel rooms and too many RV parks to count. Its 23 miles of Arizona shoreline are prized by tent and RV campers. Lake Havasu State Park has more than 200 campsites that are accessible by water only. The park's information office, across the London Bridge, provides maps and directions. The Bureau of Land Management administers recreational areas between Davis Dam and Quartzsite from its office on State Route 95 at the south end of town.

For more information, call the Lake Havasu Area Visitors & Convention Bureau toll-free at 1 (800) 242-8278.

and has a magnificent figure and fine open face." He also had a good-looking wife whose description took up a lot of Möllhausen's diary ("Her well-developed upper parts were void of clothing....").

Ives was still a bit nervous. He wondered if the Mojave would kill them all, or perhaps that the Mormons themselves might descend the river and slaughter his expedition. A third nightmare that entertained him was that the Mormons would simply get the Mojave to kill the expedition members.

We do not know what the Mojave thought of their visitors, but clues can be found to this day. Just below Parker, on the Colorado Indian Reservation, the tribe maintains a museum. One simple sign in the exhibits states their fundamental position about Johnny-come-latelys. "It is known that Desert Cultures have occupied the Colorado River for the past 9,000 years .... But recent archeologic studies have shown aboriginal useage in excess of 23,000 years."

The small museum has the world's best collection of Chemehuevi baskets (among the tightest woven ones on Earth) plus displays of the world Ives entered but failed to notice, the world of dreamers. In this world, male sky lay over female Earth and the result was Matavilla, the creator of man. “Plunging his stick,” the lesson continues, “into the ground, he made water come forth.... Three times he stepped this with his foot until the fourth time it flowed southward to form... the Colorado River.” Amelia Flores, 41, a Mojave, tends the museum. She was born on the reservation (one shared with the Chemehuevi, Navajo, and Hopi due to a shuffle of populations engineered by the Bureau of Indian Affairs). “We stayed here,” she explains, “myself and two brothers. It's home. I lived in Phoenix for two years, and it was another world.” Her expression does not suggest it was a particularly desirable one. She prefers the world by the Colorado under the gaze of Spirit Mountain, a powerful touchstone for the river people.

“I was brought up,” she continues, “in the Christian way, but, when I go into the church, I still carry my Indian self with me.” And what that means is that she dreams. But not quite successfully, she admits.

Some of the old people still dream in the traditional ways, the dreams that happen before birth, the dreams in which the fetus slips from the womb and goes wandering and learns songs and discovers its true role in life. Such dreams give one power, visions that are necessary for any form of success in warfare, lovemaking, gambling, or any other activity. Knowledge is useless without proper dreams.

Flores sometimes speaks of her dreams to elders in the tribe and asks what they mean, but the old ones will not tell her. She must learn the meanings on her own.

While Ives crawled his way up the Colorado in 1858, he dreamed also. He wanted success, wanted to make a great discovery so that his career would be ensured. He also recorded the presence of Indians but mainly as a potential threat or as examples of poverty-stricken savages. He did not for one instant suspectthat from Fort Yuma to the end of navigation, he was in the midst of an endless tapestry of deep dreamers.

THE COLORADO RIVER

To be fair, the Mojave cannot discover any memory of his visit among their oral traditions which suggests how little his tiny steamboat meant to them. The Quechan and Mojave don't even mention Ives in their respective museums.

Above the Mojave villages, Ives came into his own. He finally crept past the point where the General Jessup had turned back, and in early March entered the mouth of Black Canyon, a darkwalled chasm. It was a fine day, and Ives, Möllhausen, and Newberry lounged on the tiny upper deck behind the boiler taking in the scenery. The river seemed simple here, a nice deep channel leading ever onward to that fabled Inland Empire. It was the kind of moment when the delights of command are manifest. Möllhausen recorded this grand time in detail: "We heard the words, 'No bottom!' from the man with the sounding pole. 'Bravo!' resounded from every quarter. The boat glided on. 'No bottom!' resounded again; the shadows of the high rock walls engulfed us.... Yet the last word had hardly faded away when a dreadful jolt violently convulsed the steamboat with seam-splitting force .... Dr. Newberry, Lieutenant Ives, and myself changed our position to the extent that we found ourselves in a similar situation as above but upside down in the bottom of the vessel with the crates on us."

The Explorer had almost destroyed itself on a submerged rock. Ives, not to be stopped by a mere rock, sped away in a skiff with some rowers and made it upstream to a point just above the site of today's Hoover Dam. Here he saw Las Vegas Wash coming in from the west, and he instantly and mistakenly decided this must be the Virgin River, although that stream still lay above him.

To be fair, he did note that the dry wash looked pretty pitiful for a river. "I now determined not to try to ascend the Colorado any farther," he reported. "It appeared, therefore, that the foot of Black Cañon should be considered the practical head of navigation ....

The mission had been accomplished, well, accomplished for the second time actually, since Johnson and White had already told him that the mouth of Black Canyon was the end of the line for commercial navigation.

Ives swiftly returned downstream to the safety of his battered steamboat. "We saw fresh Indian tracks in the sand, and hastened... not knowing in how close proximity our unpleasant neighbors might be." Here the entire expedition

"We heard the words, "No bottom!" from the man with the sounding pole. Yet the last word had hardly faded away when a dreadful jolt violently convulsed the steamboat with seam-splitting force.

turned south and hurried back to the Mojave.

There were, as always in any exploration, a few problems remaining. Ives and his companions, despite their mail deliveries by Indian runners, felt out of touch with current events and constantly wondered if that rumored war with the Mormons had actually begun and whether legions of "Saints" were marching down upon them with murder on their minds. They kept conjuring up the same demon, that the Mormons would get the Mojave to rise up and slay them. Möllhausen became so spooked by this notion that he sent a farewell letter to his wife, one which he later explained this way: "You said my last letter was written in a melancholy frame of mind. You were right, my little angel, but I also believed that it would be my last for we were only 55 men. We camped in woods on the bank of the Colorado and were surrounded by 2,000-3,000 Mojaves, who were incited by the Mormons, and who owing to their fearful painting and by their weapons of war, and the absence of their women and children and owing to the shooting of one of our mules, only too clearly gave evidence of hostile intentions.

"We were at our posts night and day. In my game bag lay 80 greased bullets, in my small leather pouch 36 rounds of buckshot, in my vest pocket 50 revolver cartridges, and after I had honed a long knife as sharp as a razor, I sat down with my back against a tree; on my right arm my rifle, on the left a double-barrelled shotgun, on my knee paper, and thus I wrote you, in the face of a terrible, wild, aroused, hostile horde of Indians ....

The Mormons upriver also were ill at ease: was this Army expedition stumbling up the Colorado really an invading force sent to crush Zion? The leadership dispatched Jacob Hamblin, their greatest man with the Indians and a legendary missionary, along with a few companions to spy on the ominous invaders. Earlier, Ives had sent a runner to Fort Yuma with a message requesting a pack train of supplies. And now this mule caravan was approaching, and the Indians reported it to Hamblin as an army.

Thus, mutually bolstered with ignorance and misinformation, the two sides reconnoitered each other. Hamblin and his colleagues hid in a willow thicket across from the moored Explorer and sent one of their number, Thales Haskell, across to find out what Ives and his men were about. His sudden appearance scared the Ives expedition half to death.

Once again, Möllhausen captured the horrific moment: "In spite of the flattering phraseology which this individual uttered, yet nobody doubted that we were face to face with a spy, who with pernicious intentions toward us planned to go to the Mojaves. Although he demonstrated much cunning and carefully avoided giving himself away owing to an unheeded word, nevertheless the glances of a deeply rooted hatred (RIGHT) Upstream from the Imperial refuge, the Cibola National Wildlife Refuge offers excellent boating, fishing, and hiking.

(FOLLOWING PANEL, PAGES 22 AND 23) Near Ehrenberg, rich farmland bugs the banks of the Colorado, one reason that some have called the river "Arizona's Nile."

THE COLORADO RIVER WHEN YOU GO: BULLHEAD CITY

Bullhead City, popular with winter visitors looking for a cozy place to park their motorhomes and set a spell, is becoming known as the gateway to Laughlin, Nevada, the younger, more casual cousin to Las Vegas. Getting there: Bullhead City is 35 miles west of Kingman via State Route 68 and is served by Greyhound Bus, USAir, and Mesa Airlines.

What to see and do: Even before Laughlin became its sister city, Bullhead City had two aces up its sleeve: hot weather and cold water. From spring through fall, fleets of water-skiers cut white lines through the water, while fishing and boating are plied on the river year-round. At night, the bright lights of Laughlin's many waterfront casinos blink out an almost irresistible welcome. To entice big - and little - spenders, several casinos offer free shuttle service across the river to their docks, although it's simple enough to drive over the short bridge north of downtown Bullhead City. Besides everybody's favorite casino games, the hotels offer stage shows and lounge acts, bountiful buffets, and, often, inexpensive accommodations. Boat and jet-ski rentals and dinner on paddle wheelers can also be booked through the hotels.

Nearby attractions: The old mining town of Oatman, 16 miles southeast of Bullhead City off State Route 95, gives tourists a glimpse of the way the Wild West was. Situated on the original U.S. Route 66, Oatman's biggest draws are staged weekend gunfights and its persistent panhandling burros. Six miles north of Bullhead City is Katherine Landing, a major riverside resort operated by the National Park Service. Amenities include a motel, camping and RV facilities, a marina, a boat-launch ramp, and a swimming beach. Rentals from fishing boats to houseboats are available here. Up the river, long and narrow 67-mile Lake Mohave snakes through desert hills and canyon walls. Accommodations: Bullhead City has more than 1,100 hotel and motel rooms, numerous RV parks, and a number of camping options. Information on all is available from the chamber of commerce, (602) 754-3891. Laughlin has an estimated 8,000 hotel rooms and facilities for RVs. For information, call toll-free 1 (800) 227-5245.

Continued from page 20 with which he regarded us when he believed himself unobserved, did not escape us .... "Yet on our part he wasn't exactly greeted with best wishes, for repeatedly I perceived remarks which intimated that our men would rather have seen him hanging from a tree ...."

Somehow, the two groups stranded in the vast amphitheater of the Colorado's canyons and valleys managed to avoid starting a shooting war. Ives then decided to explore the upper Colorado by mule and dispatched Capt. Robinson, the Explorer, and a skeleton crew south to Yuma. The Explorer, like everything Ives touched, had a sorry fate. She was bought by his rival Johnson for $1,000, stripped of her piddling steam engine and used as a barge. A flood finally sank her in 1864. Ives and the bulk of his men went overland (guided by those dreaded Mojave because every true explorer needs to hire someone who already knows the way) where they visited the Grand Canyon (becoming the first known Europeans to reach its floor), the Hopi villages, and then on to Fort Defiance, Santa Fe, and home. It was on this leg of the journey that Ives earned a kind of immortality when he peered into the Grand Canyon and wrote it off as "a profitless locality," the kind of spot, he added, which having once been visited there is "nothing to do but to leave."

Back in Washington, he became the engineer for the still unfinished stub of Washington's monument, and then, when the Civil War began, the ambitious officer made another career decision: he joined the Confederacy, a move that effectively retired him from the U.S. Army for good. With his usual knack for(FOLLOWING PANEL, PAGES 26 AND 27) Seagulls flock to Lake Mohave's coves. (PAGES 28 AND 29) Canoe trips into the Havasu National Wildlife Refuge begin at Topock Gorge. (PAGES 30 AND 31) These sand dunes are at the north end of Lake Mohave. (PAGES 32 AND 33) The Colorado offers excellent fishing in Black Canyon.

THE COLORADO RIVER

The Quechan and the Mojave, such incredible runners that Ives hired them to race back to Fort Yuma and bring up the mail, have never left the river. They still run today 'proving the Mojave spirit is alive in us.'Continued from page 25 sidling up to opportunity, he soon became an aide-de-camp to President Jefferson Davis but apparently flubbed this chance when he offended Mrs. Davis by repeat-edly opening her private letters by mis-take. After Appomatox, his career was finished, and he died in New York in 1868 at age 40.

Möllhausen fared somewhat better. He returned to Germany and began his real life's work: cranking out about a hundred romantic novels celebrating the American West for the German market, which was addicted to such material.

Captain Johnson, effectively erased by Ives from the history books for decades, did all right for himself, too. In 1859 he married Estefana Alvarado, the 19-year-old daughter of a big clan in San Diego. The next year, his capital in steamboats and land was valued at $100,000. A visitor to his ranch left this portrait of Johnson at his ease: "The Captain had a great fancy for blooded horses and cattle. He has a (LEFT) Quiet coves, a bustling marina at Katherine Landing, and boat tours to Davis Dam are attractions of the riverlike Lake Mohave. The waterway is 67 miles long, but at its widest spot it measures just four miles.

couple of fine stallions, the pride of his eye, and some of the finest colts in the country. He is a prince of generosity and knows not only how to live and take comfort, but how to make others comfortable around him."

Johnson died in San Diego in 1903 leaving this description of his adversary for posterity: "Lt. Ives was very vain. He talked of the Colorado expedition as 'the event of his life' destined to make fame for his children."

Although steamboats continued to struggle up the Colorado for decades, they were never a particularly bright idea for a river characterized by wide swings in its flow and shifting sandbars. The slow and cumbersome boats eventually were retired by highways and railroads.

Today, they live on in a bizarre form: the tour boat on Lake Havasu, though petroleum powered, is fitted to mimic the look of a steamboat. And across from Bullhead City, Arizona, a casino at Laughlin, Nevada, is constructed to look like a giant paddle wheeler, though it sits on land and seems driven mainly by slot machines and electronic poker games.

The great river itself now is a series of impoundments behind dams, a place of irrigated agriculture, retirement communi-ties, various Indian reservations, and a string of national wildlife refuges that retain shreds of the natural world that Lieutenant Ives and Captain Johnson encountered. On these preserved stretch-es of the original river, time vanishes, and there is nothing but rock, desert, river, and calm.

The river itself is still a place of dreams. What could be more fanciful than Lake Havasu City with its London Bridge, brought over stone by stone from England to arch an artificial channel cut into a dry desert, or the mock English village beneath the span? No doubt the old Quechan and Mojave dreamers would have been stunned by the originality of such a vision.

The people of the river, the Quechan, the Chemehuevi, the Mojave, never left, lingering on portions of their former holdings. There are still stirrings that suggest beneath the surface of modern life, the world of dreams still persists. Steve Lopez is a Mojave who today is reaching into the past. He is bringing back the running that so impressed Ives.

"In the beginning," Lopez notes, "the Great Spirit, Matavilla, put the Indian people on this Earth to preserve the land, animals, and people. The Aha Macav, which means in the Mojave language 'the people who live alongside water,' have served as guardians of the Colorado River and the land around it since time immemorial. Mojave Spirit Runners completed a 46-mile relay run through the Ward Valley, showing the Mojave people still hold the land and water sacred to their hearts, and proving the Mojave spirit is alive in us today."

The run, in June, 1991, was to protest the creation of a low-level nuclear-waste dump near the Indians' lands. Participants ran 11 miles through the valley to the base of Old Woman Mountain and then entered a 17-mile climb to the old woman statue. Nearby was an ancient Indian dwelling, a cave, and running water. Pecked into the rocks were petroglyphs. The Indians counted 24 desert tortoises as they ran.

"Of course," Lopez explains, "we did not touch or harm them but respected them. These turtles have been here forever .... Any dreams that occurred were not reported.