Legends of the Lost

Laguna's Gold Pockets Are Gone, but There's Treasure Hidden Somewhere

The last 25 feet to the top of Sugarloaf Peak is hand over hand, like climbing a ladder. But this seems easy after teetering and lurching up the loose, broken slopes to reach the crest ridge.

I'm here in late spring to scan this land near Yuma for gold yet unfound, and for gold found and then rehidden by Quechan Indians two centuries ago during a bloody uprising against the Spanish.

Sweat slops down my forehead and stings my eyes. Drops of precious water from my canteen wash away the salt, but the sight from the summit slakes all fatigue.

I had seen Sugarloaf many times from afar but never paid much attention until one fall evening the setting sun gilded its slopes with a warm glow. I had to go there. Even though Sugarloaf stands only 668 feet high, it's the signature landmark of the Laguna Mountains. Also called the San Pablo Mountains on old maps, they are a small range, essentially covered by half a topo map.

But they have reason to look old and worn. For eons their obstinate schist and gneiss thwarted the insatiable Colorado River and diverted its course.

The hills below my perch roll away in brown waves of shattered rock until they spill into the verdant thickets of riverside cattails, where lazy currents swirl in the marshy backwater and two fishermen quietly cast for bass.

To the north, proud ranges of mountains stand one behind the other, each awaiting its inevitable fate to crumble and humbly swirl together into faceless, anonymous sands.

But it is the valley below that interests me, the valley where the Colorado River tumbled and ultimately moved that mountain rock, leaving it to languish as riverbanks or dunes. The move is the key, for it was then that the capricious Colorado doled out its precious placer gold.

Setting my pack next to Sugarloaf's summit marker, I unlace my boots to empty sand and gravel into my hand. I flick off the largest stones and then blow gently on the sand until only the heaviest grains and dust are left.

This is gold country, and the thought of finding it is infectious. I flick. Blow. Flick. Blow. Nothing. Not even a sparkle or a sand ruby, like we used to "mine" during school recess. In a sweep of disappointment, I dump my handful of boot rubble and watch it bounce down the cliff.

That's what happened to the gold in these Laguna hills. Worn out by weather, their rock decayed and its remnants tumbled from the heights, down the gullies to the feet of these slopes. Being among the heaviest of minerals, gold settled into cracks and pockets in the bedrock and gravels around the mountain.

It's also what happened to the mountains upstream. They eroded, and the flooding, churning Colorado carried their gold to places like the edge of Sugarloaf, where rocky crevices and potholes caught nuggets and flecks much like a crusty miner would trap them in a riffle box. Gold hides in these natural pockets until someoneplucks it out. Such finds are the dreams of prospectors.

On the ascent, I saw few shrubs and fewer trees. None was big enough to offer me shade. I spotted a jackrabbit that must have been half a mile away, and the magenta flower of a small beavertail cactus dazzled me from clear across the canyon.

And I saw why it's difficult to find gold here. All the rock looks alike. No ledge or vein is obvious. But some with better vision than mine have found gold.

The first placer gold was reported by the Spaniards who marched in and set up missions. Late in 1780, padres under Fray Francisco Garces established the mission and village of San Pedro y San Pablo de Bicuñer on the Colorado's west bank, a short distance below what is now Laguna Dam and upstream from present-day Yuma. Nearby were rich potholes where placer gold could be picked up by the pouchful. Reportedly the Spaniards forced the Quechan Indians to fill those pouches and piled up the gold at the mission.

Someone even tried to dredge gold from below the waterline in 1884 or '85, but a flood smashed the equipment before any money was made. Others found gold in 1907 when Laguna Dam was under construction. With the dam, Mittry Lake covered the lowest placers, but nowadays a few optimists still prowl the gulches and potholes above the shore.

The south and east sides of the Lagunas also had rushes of prospectors with pans in hand. A strike on the Gila River brought some, while others who had failed in California remembered talk of Laguna gold and returned to Arizona. They tunneled and dug on the mountain's east side at a series of claims near Los Flores. Others panned and dry-washed gravel benches just north of the Gila River bridge. Many of the claims are still worked. But those placers aren't the only chance to find Laguna gold. Another one is the gold spirited away from the QueQuechans' oppressors. In 1781 the Quechan Indians at Bicuñer grew tired of working for the Spaniards, listening to their orders, and feeding their soldiers. So they revolted. In a vengeful uprising, the Quechans killed or captured 171 Spaniards and burned the mission. They also may have hidden the mission's gold. Local legend has it that under a full moon, the Quechans swam across the Colorado with the leather bags of gold and carried them to a shrine near Sugarloaf.

There, while the flames of the distant mission flickered in the night, they stuffed bag after bag into a sacred crack in the mountain. Even if we had followed the next morning, we could not have traced their tracks on the hard-tempered slopes. As the trusted carriers aged and died, their secret faded into history.

How much gold? I wish I knew. Where? The Lagunas are rife with small wind-cut caves. Frequently rodents or snakes live in these tiny shelters; coyotes and foxes lounge in their shallow shade during midday. On my descent, I prowl a A few dozen of them, finding only scraps from a coyote's table, a shed snakeskin, several fortresses of cholla balls arranged by packrats, and the dust of nothing. Some suspect that the Quechans left spirits to guard their cache. If so, it is doubly guarded today. Besides the Quechan ghosts, modern man has placed his own lock on the Laguna gold: A military proving ground for heavy weapons, several public shooting ranges, and numerous mining claims with "Keep Out" signs overlay the Laguna Mountains.

One fenced claim enticed me with a "For Sale" sign. My own claim? A chance for two Laguna treasures? I have the number and intend to call.