Legends of the Lost

In Southwest Arizona's Chocolate-colored Trigos, Losing a Silver Lode Comes Easy

I'm going back. I didn't find lost silver in southwestern Arizona's Trigo Mountains, but it was fun looking. Since the late 19th century, reports have trickled in describing a ledge of silver 15 feet wide and four feet high. Something that large even I should be able to find, especially when it is said to be obvious, where andesite touches older schist or, depending on the version of the story, younger granite. And, like discovered ores in the area, it should be flagged by cliffs stained with carbonates or iron. The reports were gathered by author Harold Weight, who spent his life prowling the Southwest and conversing with prospectors and desert rats. The first to locate the phantom silver of the Trigos was Jose Mendivil, the same prospector who found the Silver Clip Mine in 1881, but he got lost in other business and never returned to the ledge. Later, a couple of local Indians showed the lode to the superintendent of the Clip, but he was too busy running one mine to go off digging for himself. A cowboy from Yuma told about finding the silver while driving cattle through a canyon north of the Clip Mine, but on the next trip he couldn't match the terrain with his memory and never relocated the spot. Finally, in the 1940s, a prospector familiar with the region found the ledge, built a testimonial monument to hold his claim, and went to town to file for rights to mine it. When he returned, he could not find the silver or the monument, even after days of intense searching. Each of the four thought the lost lode might be as rich as the ore from the Clip Mine, itself. But until we find it, we'll never know. There are common links to the reports of the phantom silver of the Trigos: It is north of the Clip and within a day's walk. It is in a geologically jumbled area, and it is obvious when you see it. A look at the maps rules out the first place I would have searched, the Trigo Peaks area, because they are too far north and are actually separate from the main Trigo range. Within walking distance are several regions of schist that fit the description, but they extend between two and 15 miles in circumference. That's a lot of ground to survey. The granite hills? They're south, not north, of the Clip. And the country is rough, a mess of side canyons, cliffs, box canyons, hanging canyons, sills, and dikes. The canyons are so tight that there is no horizon or reference point. The rock all looks alike. It is a maze, as confusing as downtown in a big city that has no signs, addresses, or street names. It also is the ultimate in solitude every turn is secluded with only a slit of sky overhead. Imagine crumpling the map and then trying to find your way from here to there. There are other mines in the Trigos. Mendivil found the rich silver of the Clip Mine, and another prospector found the silver lode that became the Red Cloud Mine in the southern Trigos. Between 1883 and 1887, the Clip produced more than a million dollar's worth of silver ore. It even had its own processing plant along the Colorado River, and ore was shipped by riverboat. When the region was booming, the Trigo mines produced 5 tons of silver, as well as copper, lead, gold, and manganese. The Clip was six miles by jeep trail from flatland, so any claim beyond it would be even more remote. Water, too, would have to be trundled to the site. The difficult search would be even tougher today. The region is protected by a Wilderness area on one side and a weapons training range on the other, with unexploded shells dotting the landscape and lying just under the surface. However, I just want to see that ledge, not mine it. My first search was a delightful hike. The trip started with a drive to Cibola, a settlement on the banks of the Colorado River. Although no one seems to know why this spot was given that name, it does conjure thoughts of the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola that Coronado sought in 1540. Modern Cibola isn't on the road to anywhere. By car it's accessible only from the north, although we could come by boat like the early travelers who visited the Trigos. From Cibola I drove along scenic river levees, which keep the once wayward Colorado within its banks. Tamarisk trees and cattails lined both sides of the levees. Formations of geese honked overhead, and anglers in boats drifted down the river, trying to entice fish to strike their bait or lures. An abandoned cabin now stands tottering on the bank, mute testimony to the wanderings of the river and to played-out mines. From the river, the road winds eastward toward the stark Trigos. It is hard to imagine a rougher, drier-looking contrast to the wide Colorado. On a gravel terrace where the river flooded in millennia past, I parked the car at the Wilderness boundary, shouldered my pack, and headed up Lopez Wash. Remembering that the lost ledge was a day's walk north of the Clip, I decided that Lopez two drainages north of Clip Wash might cut straight to the matter. It may, but in a day of wandering, I can't prove anything. Cliffs guard the mouth of the canyon on both sides. A wide gravel wash carries a line of smoke trees and blue paloverdes clear to the Colorado. Though dry most of the year, the wash occasionally runs bank to bank with flash floods. Wild burros, remnants of those early mining days, live in the hills and cut deep trails to the river, their only source of water. The volcanic andesite rock is eminently brown with hues of red, black, mahogany, and chocolate. I can see why these peaks were originally called the Chocolate Mountains. The northern portion of the range was renamed the Trigo Mountains after the native wheat, plantago, which was once a staple in the diet of Quechan Indians and early settlers. It's ironic that these rich mountains are named after a common plant instead of a precious metal. The thin soil on the slopes supports a few foothill paloverdes, ocotillos, and chollas. In addition to innumerable niches, alcoves, and keyholes on the ridgeline, several side canyons beckoned and, as I passed each of them, I wondered if the lost ledge was up that one. Checking them all could take a lifetime. The arroyo snakes through the canyon. One minute the sun beat heavily on my back; the next I walked in deep, cool shade. Eventually the canyon narrowed and grew more mysterious, but the hour was late, and I was reluctant to venture into side canyons in hopes of finding my way out. On the return trip, the canyon looked like a stranger. My boot prints passed rock faces and cliffs I would have sworn I had never seen before. Everything looked different. I understood how four prospectors could find and then lose a whole ledge of silver. I didn't find the phantom ledge, but the search was so pleasant that I intend to return. Springtime should be beautiful. I'll see you there.