Legends of the Lost

There's a Golden Pothole in This Canyon, But You'll Need a Camel to Find It

It's high noon at the end of June, and I'm sitting on a rock waiting for a camel to walk by. I may be a little late. The last of Arizona's wild camels died some 70 years ago, but I don't know how to find this gold without one.

According to legend, John Gordon, a Scotsman, and Juan Perea, a Mexican, were partners who prospected along the Colorado River. In the white-hot summer of 1871, they had struck far eastward beyond any mountains you can see from the river. They probed the Trigo Mountains, then the Chocolates, and on past the Castle Domes and Kofas, home of the vaunted King of Arizona Mine. They spent a month afield living off beans and what water they could dip from canyon potholes. They found nothing.

But they weren't discouraged. Another range lay ahead of them to the east, and they pressed onward across King Valley to what are now called the Tank Mountains. There, after several days of prospecting, they still hadn't found gold. More urgently, they hadn't found any water, either, but they were reluctant to quit. They sat in the shade of a boulder waiting for the sun to settle while they mulled their options. As one does on oppressively hot days, they dozed restlessly, occasionally waking to joke about their predicament.

In late afternoon, a gruff noise roused Perea, and he rubbed his eyes. He couldn't believe the sight, so he nudged Gordon with his boot, and said, "Look at that." There, walking past not 20 yards away, was a camel heading into the canyon behind them. In chorus, they cried, "Water!" for they knew that only a drink would bring a camel out of the sandy plain into a rocky canyon. They snatched their empty canteens and followed.

The camel ignored them and made straight for a water pocket half full from the previous spring's rains. After the camel finished drinking its fill, they too quenched their thirst and lay back to rejoice in their good luck. Then, at water's edge, one of them noticed a golden speck, and when they looked around, they found nuggets strewn on the sandy ground. Gleefully they filled their pockets with treasure and topped their canteens with water so they could return to the river settlement and resupply for a serious round of work at this water hole.

For whatever reasons, when they returned to the Tank Mountains, they couldn't find the camel's tinaja, "tank," even after frantic searching. And I can't find it either. For a range named Tank after natural water holes, there sure are darned few of them. I've walked a dozen nameless canyons without success.

Oh, other gold has been found in these mountains, which sprawl across 100 square miles in a confusing maze of canyons and anonymous hills. Placer gold was mined on the west side from the gulch below Johnnie's and Engresser prospects, but it was a paltry