Back Road Adventure

Tough Luck Pummels the Crew of This Turret Peak Safari

My battered four-wheeldrive truck slid sideways on the slope of the worst trail I had ever tackled. The brand-new spare tire I'd put on 10 miles back lurched against a jutting rock, and with a pop, air rushed out into the rockribbed wilderness. In no time at all, we found ourselves sitting on three good tires in the middle of a spectacularly rugged wilderness 20 miles down a jeep trail with an attitude. We were headed for Turret Peak, an imposing 5,848-foot volcanic mound, visible from distant Interstate 17, about 45 miles north of Phoenix in the Tonto National Forest. We had anticipated adventure in our determined search for the true location of one of the most desperate battles in the Apache wars, but this seemed excessive.

Sam Palmer dentist, history buff, and backcountry addict stepped to the side of the road and eyed the tire dubiously.

"This is exactly why the cavalry used to shoot mules," he observed.

Softly I banged my head on the steering wheel.

"Who'd-a-thunk-it," commented photographer Gary Johnson, patting the other flat tire mounted on the back door. The first flat had hardly fazed us. But then the second truck in our little expedition (driven by a friend who dropped out and stayed behind) gave out, the victim of a clogged fuel pump. And now this.

"Maybe we should start back," ventured Johnson, already concerned about the massing clouds that blotted out the warm light he sought for his picture-taking.

"We're too close to stop now," said Palmer flatly.

They turned and looked at me. "Ah, well," I said with a shrug. "How much worse could it get?" Johnson rolled his eyes.

But how could we turn back, so close to the heart of the mystery?

The Battle at Turret Peak in 1873 effectively broke the back of the Yavapai and Tonto Apaches in their doomed war with the U.S. Cavalry and its Indian allies. The primaryaccounts of the battle have been lost, but the secondary accounts placed it atop Turret Peak. Conflicting versions suggest the troops and their Indian scouts killed between 23 and 47 warriors and captured between seven and 13 women and children all without the loss of a single soldier.

Led by Apache scouts from rival bands, the Army had set off after the renegades who had captured and tortured to death three Wickenburg settlers. They had then vanished into the rugged wilderness of the Bloody Basin, but a cavalry patrol captured an Indian woman who led them to the band's hiding place.

Under the cover of darkness,

the troopers swathed their hands and feet with rags, crept up the mountain, and surrounded the band. At dawn the soldiers and scouts attacked, scattering the Apaches, some of whom reportedly leapt off a cliff to escape.

We worked on the first flat tire, plugging the puncture with a nail and convincing ourselves it would get us out if we stopped frequently to fill it with a bicycle tire pump. Then we shouldered our day packs for the twoor threemile hike to Turret Peak. The jeep trail soon dwindled into the chaparral, so we pressed on through underbrush, down a steep hill, and along the boulder-strewn bottom of a stream. Eventually we climbed out of the canyon and onto the broad bench at the foot of Turret Peak, which loomed above us like some grim fortress of the storm giants. The big gray clouds above us loosed their first spatters, and rain drummed onto the brim of my leather hat. I couldn't quite fit the surviving account of the battle into the landscape before me. We decided that the cliffs from which the Indians supposedly jumped might actually be the edge of the mesa on which the band had camped. Unfortunately we ran out of time to speculate further. Triumphant but pressed by the storm, we hurried away from the battleground. Once I thought I heard a moaning in the wind, but I don't believe in ghosts — even in such a place. We made it back to the truck and hastily pumped up the tire only to discover our makeshift patch wouldn't hold. We decided that Palmer should hike back to our other vehicle, the one with the balky fuel pump, while we tried to fix the flat. We hoped the friend who'd dropped out of the expedition had the vehicle fixed and would rescue us. We worked on the tire awhile longer before gathering firewood and settling down for the long haul. We rejoiced over some snacks, told jokes, exchanged insights about relationships, and speculated as to what kind of fools would drive deep into the wilderness without a working spare tire. I tried not to think about what restless spirits might lurk just beyond the reach of the fire, still defending their ancient territory. Just past midnight, Palmer returned with the friend in his monster four-wheel drive, a tire patch kit, and several cans of the gunk you spray into tires to seal leaks. Then we struggled out on that awful road, following the beams of our headlights over the ruts and boulders. We made it to the paved section of Dugas Road, where we'd come in past an abandoned settlement, at about 4 A.M. Everyone headed home, leaving me standing in the dark beside my truck.

TIPS FOR TRAVELERS

A four-wheel drive is required for any back road to Turret Peak and be warned that all the roads are slick and dangerous when wet. For an easier route than our author followed, take Interstate 17 north to Bloody Basin Road (Forest Service Road 269), Exit 259. Go east 17.4 miles to FR 44. Turn left. Continue for 4.1 miles and park at the turnaround just above a crossing of Bishop Creek (you will have crossed the creek twice before). Follow Bishop Creek east for two and a half miles. The entire drive is an hour and a half to two hours one way.

Back road travel can be hazardous if you are not prepared for emergencies. Whether you are traveling in the desert or in the high country, be aware of weather and road conditions, and make sure you and your vehicle are in top shape and you have plenty of water. Don't travel alone, and let someone at home know where you're going and when you plan to return. Odometer readings in story may vary by vehicle.