Journey into the Unknown

the Evil's Highway

IT NEVER WAS AN EASY TRIP. Not then, not now. But with a name like El Camino del Diablo, "the Devil's Highway," you wouldn't expect it to be.

The easiest sections of the road were challenging, and the difficult sections were downright perilous. With 250 miles of desert to go and 130 miles of that without permanent water one's canteen, or gas tank, could never be too full.

Not everyone survived the journey. The ordeal of traveling by foot, horse, wagon, or car from Caborca in Mexico's state of Sonora to Yuma on the Colorado River in Arizona has killed the unlucky and the unprepared. One relieved survivor of the Devil's Highway recalled the trip as "a shortcut through hell." Other travelers may have called it worse names. before they died of thirst or exhaustion.

Even in recent years, some travelers have been hard-pressed to survive its rigors. The first leg of the trip was straightforward enough. In Sonora the road began in the frontier towns of Caborca or Altar and then passed through a few outposts offering water and grub.

A Journey into the Hot Breath of the Unknown

the Devil's highway

Midway one could lay over at Quito-vac, an ancient spring, and then Sonoyta or Santo Domingo, neighboring villages on the intermittent Sonoyta River. On the second leg, one more water hole could be counted on: the spring at Quitobaquito. (See hike story on page 56.) But then the trip to Yuma became a leap of faith across the desolate stretch known as El Camino del Diablo. In a wet year, water might be found a few more miles downriver where it pooled on the surface. Or, perhaps, in the sand-filled hole in the rock at Tule Tank. And, possibly, if not too many travelers had passed that way, the pools at Tinajas Altas, "High Tanks," might hold enough for canteen, livestock, or radiator. In this land, averaging just three to nine inches of yearly precipitation, a miraculous rainstorm could turn into a deluge, filling every arroyo with salvation. The route always has been iffy and risky. Yet many people have used it. Prehistoric and historic Native Americans lived and traveled in the area. El Camino was but one segment in their intricate web of trails connecting every water hole, harvest camp, and hunting ground from Unfortunately, word of the bonanza arrived just at the end of spring, and some of those who left immediately were undersupplied or unprepared for the rigors of summer travel. Some were just plain unlucky. As many as 400 died. Stone crosses marked their graves along the trail.

One observer half a decade later reported, "All traces of the road are sometimes erased by the high winds... but death has strewn a continuous line of bleached bones and withered carcasses of horses and cattle, as monuments to mark the way."

Boundary-survey parties studied the land after the Gadsden Purchase in 1853. They mapped, described the geology, and cataloged plants and animals. After a second boundary survey in the mid-1890s, other scientists arrived to study the region and its storehouse of wonders. WJ McGee, William T. Hornaday, Carl Lumholtz, and Forrest Shreve headed the list of botanists, geographers, ethnologists, archeologists, and zoologists seeking to unravel the mysteries of this corner of the Sonoran Desert. But, by then, El Camino had become just another lightly traveled country trail.

It wasn't until 1915 that someone had the gumption to navigate El Camino in a motorcar. He was Raphael Pumpelly, a mining geologist. Half a century earlier, Pumpelly had nearly died on El Camino when bandits dogged his heels, and he ran out of water. But a rare rainstorm saved him from dying of thirst. He returned with his children to reminisce and retrace his route using cars.

From the heart of Mexico to the Pacific Coast. The first of the foreign travelers was a Spanish contingent in 1540 led by Capt. Melchior Diaz, 80 years before the pilgrims arrived at Plymouth. Then Padre Eusebio Francisco Kino, founder of a string of missions including San Xavier del Bac near Tucson, traversed El Camino in 1699.

Though difficult, the route was direct, following a natural geologic corridor between rows of rugged mountains and seas of sand. Word spread, and, sporadically, others followed, until by the early 1800s the route was known as the Sonora Trail and, later, the Yuma-Caborca Road. Sonoran settlers pressed on to San Diego, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Some returned to Sonora for visits and business. Their merchandise, carried by pack animals and carts, included enslaved Indians. When gold was discovered in California in 1848, the miners from northwestern Mexico used the road, as they rushed for the goldfields.

But the auto trip was also plagued with difficulty and danger. The Model T Fords repeatedly bogged in the sand, and the expedition, running short of water, finally resorted to laying canvas strips along the road for traction while the passengers pushed. The cars sputtered and broke; one was left behind for repairs. Eventually the party made it from Ajo south to the Mexican border and then west to Yuma. Two men in the next group that tried to cross the route by car reportedly died. Kirk Bryan, who toured the area in 1917 for the Geological Survey, advised motorists to carry ample supplies plus more than ample water. He noted that even in September, after the brunt of summer's heat, he and his survey partner used "for all purposes, including drinking, cooking, washing, and filling the radiator, from nine to 13 gallons a day."

Then in July of 1925, Godfrey Sykes drove El Camino to establish a series of rain gauges. Sykes had ridden part of the route on horseback in 1907, and he well knew the story about prospector Pablo Valencia and professor WJ McGee.

McGee had spent the summer of 1905 at Tinajas Altas recording the weather. The prospector had ridden through McGee's camp one August morning and didn't return until eight days later. Valencia miraculously had survived six and one half of those torturous days without water. McGee nursed him back to health.

Alone, Sykes foundered in the heavy sand several times, and he, too, nearly lapsed into heatstroke. Undaunted, he continued his semiannual rain-gauge readings for several years.

Throughout, no one settled between Quitobaquito and Yuma, not the padres, the immigrants, the scientists, or anyone else. Sure, miners tented at the Fortuna and Papago mines; someone set up a shack at Tule Well in hopes of selling water; and ranchers sometimes ran line camps. But permanent civilization? Nothing developed.

So this land remains despoblado - an unpopulated and untamed tract of desert. And thanks to Wilderness areas and mil-itary ranges, it is likely to remain so.

the evil's highway

Continued from page 6 Today we can retrace the entire El Camino trip in four-wheel drive, airconditioned beasts with fat tires, but the region still isn't for the casual camper. It has too much sand, too many thorns, too little entertainment, too much nothing. Most visitors now are serious students of natural and human history coming to tread paths of antiquity or feel the pulse of Nature.

Our starting point one spring day is the oasis at Quitobaquito Springs in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument where, sitting under an immense cottonwood, we watch ducks paddle on the pond. It's cool and peaceful.

But we cannot stay at this last outpost. We must head west. Like those before us, we're pulled by hope and pushed by fear. From the spring, the route jogs north to catch a branch road on which an occasional freight wagon carried supplies to the early mine at Ajo and returned to Yuma with ore for milling abroad.

When we enter the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge, we bounce westward across creosote flats and through mesquite thickets. Not long ago, the refuge was designated a Wilderness, like Organ Pipe.

As a wildlife refuge, its primary role is to protect animals and plants. If we're alert, we may spot a Sonoran pronghorn, desert bighorn sheep, golden eagle, blue sand lily, or desert primrose.

And we'll have plenty of time to look. This trip imposes a different pace. The unimproved road is rough and slow, like the wagon trail it once was. Deep ruts angle across it, and soft sand in rain-cut washes keeps us shifting gears. Jagged rocks loom out of nowhere. Old scrub limbs and cactus spines snap and scratch, grab and jab.

Once botanist Forrest Shreve, a veteran of desert camping if there ever was one, wanted to drive El Camino, but his own car was in the shop, so he borrowed his wife's. She insisted he drape canvas strips along its sides like a cowboy's chaps to protect the paint. Another visitor came in a rented Blazer; at check-in time the company demanded he pay for a new paint job. One friend recalls driving 80 miles and never getting higher than second gear . . . and repairing three tires, to boot.

One day, heavy rain turns the road into a muddy ditch, stranding us for hours. We learn to take things easy and don't feel guilty for stopping to sit a spell under a tree while a covey of Gambel's quail chicks scratches and pecks in the only lane. Come nightfall we camp near Papago Well. Originally dug to serve Papago Mine, it later filled the troughs of Jim Havins' cattle camp. Now the windmill spins to fill its tank to sustain a variety of wildlife.

Fragrances intensify at night, and we catch the drift of the ineffable perfume.

Fragrances intensify at night, and we catch the drift of the ineffable perfume. A coyote yelps in the distance, and a stealthy mule deer visits the tank for a drink. Come morning we awaken to cooing doves.

A few miles to the west, piled stones and a rusty cross mark prospector Dave O'Neill's grave. Early this century, he was one of those who roamed the region searching for the big strike. He gave out along the road, and after his burros wandered back to the Papago Mine, searchers found and buried him.

Several times his grave has been vandaldalized by treasure hunters, but, as with most who fell along the trail, his friends had purloined his valuables, even his pocketknife and plug of tobacco. This wasn't disrespect, just frugality.

At Las Playas we rejoin El Camino, which had looped south of the border at Quitobaquito. Here we see more dust devils than water. Scrubby mesquites tangle the dry lake floor.

After summer rains, the playa comes alive with toads that have survived a year underground. The tracks of hunting ravens stamp the dry mud. On the horizon, we see the distinctive refuge namesake, Cabeza Prieta Peak. Its black cap of rock marks a pivotal guidon for the next 50 miles.

Las Playas grades into the Pinta Sands, named after the two-toned range to the north. Some seasons these sands burst with lupines, primroses, lilies, verbenas, and sunflowers, but in dry years the seeds and sands swirl in the wind. The dunes encircle a peninsula of the Pinacate lava flow.

Here on a moonless night the black basalt swallows light, and campers brave enough to snuff their lantern are rewarded with a glittering array of stars. The Milky Way shines brightly; constellations leap into focus. Still, the faint glow from distant cities reminds us that even in this remote spot we cannot entirely escape civilization.

For such a historic route, we might expect place-names every few miles, but here names are few and signposts fewer. Folks probably coined their own appellations for places, much as I find myself doing. One spot I call "Windy Camp." For two days the northern winter wind blew, evoking one of the ancient Tohono O'odham prayers to their god litoi: "Please stop the wind." Even the intrepid Padre Kino was turned back by a north wind that roared night and day for more than a week. Our camp at Tule Well is under the limbs of enduring mesquite trees, fed by water within 35 feet of the surface. Sometime in the late 1800s, an enterprising merchant hand dug a well with a mind to sell water to travelers. He didn't last, but the well did. The water is still brackish and offensive, but more palatable than when Raphael Pumpelly and his family drank from it on their trip in 1915.

the evil's highway

Later Pumpelly ran into a friend who had been there earlier. The friend inquired how he liked the water. Pumpelly replied, "Not much." The friend smiled and said, "Naturally, for we found and left a man in it two years ago." Three miles to the west, an unobtrusive side canyon conceals Tule Tank, a natural rock catchment where we find water by digging into the sand. Tracks of desert bighorn sheep and the aromatic elephant tree, related to Biblical frankincense and myrrh, greet us. A few miles beyond Tule Tank, we break out of the hills, and the trail lines straight for Tinajas Altas. Psychologically this must have been the hardest part of the trip in the early days. In the clear desert air, the tanks loom deceptively close, but 11 slow miles of sand, rock, and thorn stand ahead. Eight miles out from the tanks, a stone ring encircles an arrow pointing to Tinajas Altas, as much to encourage as to inform. Many perished in this stretch, some within mere yards of the upper tanks, whose slick granite ramps they were too weak to scale. One surveyor counted 50 graves on the flats, though in recent decades all have been erased by careless campers. Always a focal point for marauders, revolutionaries, and smugglers, this canyon now endures off-road enthusiasts, target shooters, and litterers. In good health and with traction shoes, we clamber for the upper tanks. Nine sets of them sit in this narrow defile. It's tough going. The buzz of bees and hummingbirds in the chuparosa fills the canyon, and the trill of a canyon wren welcomes our arrival. The water and shade revive us. Then we, like those long before us, must decide which fork to take to Yuma. One route, the sporadically graded "good" road, rolls north to Wellton. From there we can go to Ligurta and follow the Gila River to Dome and then into Yuma. Pioneers desperate for water and livestock forage broke directly for the Gila. For us it is a fast way to paved roads and convenience marts. The alternate route, a more direct but riskier track to Yuma, snakes west through a pass in the mountains. This fork was for stronger parties, and even today it is seldom traveled and difficult to follow without maps. The leg angles northwest toward the Colorado River and wanders through the stripped site of the Fortuna Mine. This section is the starkest of the trip with barren rock, sparse plants, and shifting sands. After an interminable grind on the good road, we abruptly intersect a paved subdivision street, aptly named El Camino del Diablo, and then roll smugly into Yuma, where early travelers crossed the Colorado River at Algodones or Pilot Knob. Give the devil his due: if this indeed is his highway, he surely picked a special place for it. We're lucky. We had just one flat tire and added only a few scratches in the paint. But we rubbed the desert heartland and wheeled across our own history on one of Arizona's first "highways." We know we've been somewhere.

WHEN YOU GO

Nearly all of El Camino del Diablo north of the ArizonaMexico border lies within restricted areas that require access permits. Permission and information on travel conditions, flower displays, and camping can be obtained from the following: Supervisor, Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Route 1, Box 100, Ajo, AZ 85321; (602) 387-6849. Manager, Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge, 1611 N. Second, Ajo, AZ 85321; (602) 387-6483 or (602) 387-5226. Fleet Liaison Officer, Yuma Marine Corps Air Station; Ranger Flight Scheduling, (602) 341-2216 or (602) 341-2325 (for range pass).

Many perished in this stretch, some within mere yards of the upper tanks, whose slick granite ramps they were too weak to scale. One surveyor counted 50 graves on the flats, though in recent decades all have been erased by careless campers. Always a focal point for marauders, revolutionaries, and smugglers,this canyon now endures off-road enthusiasts, target shooters, and litterers. In good health and with traction shoes, we clamber for the upper tanks. Nine sets of them sit in this narrow defile. It's tough going. The buzz of bees and hummingbirds in the chuparosa fills the canyon,and the trill of a canyon wren welcomes our arrival. The water and shade revive us. Then we, like those long before us, This trip is a self-contained venture: all gasoline, water, and supplies must be carried with you. There are no facilities along the way, not even reliable water. High-clearance four-wheel drive vehicles are required. At times the road is impassable or closed for military training. All off-roading is illegal.

Most visitors allow two to three days and prefer traveling between October and May. Supplies and accommodations can be found in Sonoyta/Lukeville, Ajo, Gila Bend, Tacna, Wellton, and Fortuna/Yuma.

TIPS FOR TRAVELERS

Back-road travel, especially along the Devil's Highway, can be hazardous if you are not prepared for the unexpected. Be sure you and your vehicle are in top shape and your gear includes the following: appropriate clothing and appropriate footwear, food and water, medication, first-aid kit, sunglasses, water-purification tablets, shovel, maps (road and topographic), compass, tools, spare tire, and tow chain. Be mindful of weather and road conditions.

Last, don't travel alone and let someone at home know where you're going and when you plan to return.