Picture of the Week – Page 35 – On the road with Jim

Four Ponderosa Picture of the Week

When an Arizonan talks about a pine tree, the red barked ponderosa is most likely what they’re referencing. It’s the common pine tree in Arizona. We have so many of them that our grove grows like a slash across the state’s middle, like a belt, and they continue east into New Mexico. It’s the world’s longest contiguous ponderosa forest in the U.S. Sadly, some of our brightest citizens try to burn them all down each fire season.

It’s a happy tree for me because it means that I’m in the high country when they’re around. Most likely, I’ve traveled to escape the desert heat and spend some time in the shade of the tall pines napping with a bit of fishing line tied around my toe. I have a fond memory of getting up early on a fall morning to drive up to Hawley Lake, and as the sun came up, we were on the Rim Road. The morning sunlight flickered between the tall trees, and I felt like I was driving through the Black Forest in Germany. Although I’ve driven that road hundreds of times since then, I’ve never had the same feeling.

Four Ponderosa – Growing in a grouping that reminded me of a four-poster bed. Maybe I thought that after my long hike and I was tired (and don’t forget, tired).

During my visit to the Hualapai Range outside of Kingman, I was surprised to see ponderosa growing. In the Desert Southwest, they only grow at higher elevations. On the road, I rely on the trees to estimate my height. First, come the pinion pine at around 5,500’, then the ponderosa starts at 6,500’, and then the aspen show up at over 7,500’. The mountain island on top of the Hualapai’s probably is most likely the western edge of our grove. Only the Black Mountains are west of here, and they’re not high enough to support the big trees.

I walked by the ponderosa’s in this weeks image on my way back to Archie after a hike up the mountain. My legs were already sore, and this four-tree grouping reminded me of a four-poster bed. The spacing between them was ideal for hanging a hammock. It’s a good thing I don’t carry one because I would have spent the night, or even worse, I would have rolled over and fallen out onto the ground. That would be just my luck.

I call this week’s image Four Ponderosa, and you can see a larger version of it on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to come back next week when we show another photograph from the Hualapai Mountains.

Until next time — jw

Dean Peak Picture of the Week

There’s a Prime Video series Queen Anne, and I watched this month called Good Omens. We enjoyed it so much that we watched it a second time, and caught a lot of the subtler jokes that we missed the first time. The main characters—an angel and his demon buddy—aren’t very good at their jobs, and consequently, they screw up Armageddon. This riddle was in an episode, “How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” It’s a trick question because as God—the voice of Frances McDormand—explains; Angels don’t dance, that’s something the devil conjured, and there’s not a substantial enough number to count them all, because demons can line-dance in the spaces between the pin’s atoms—funny stuff. When I visited this month’s photo location, I thought about the show’s riddle.

For my August pictures, I only had to walk across the street—as such. My new subject is the mountain range on the west side of the Big Sandy River and U.S. Highway 93—the Hualapai Range. They’re part of the parallel mountain ranges making the Basin and Range Domain which runs from Utah to the California Sierras. From space, these formations look like a pack of caterpillars stampeding across a sidewalk.

The Hualapai’s are a twin to last month’s Aquarius Mountains, except they are high enough—7,000 to 8,400—for pinion and ponderosa pine to grow. That means they are often snow-covered in winter. They fill the area between Wikiup and Kingman.

When my folks lived in Kingman, I heard of a park up on the mountain, but never visited, so last week I loaded Archie and drove up Sawmill Canyon Road (alas, if there was a sawmill, it’s gone now). The DW Ranch Road exit on Interstate 40 is a handy shortcut to use if you’re coming from the valley. It’s less than 10 miles from the Interstate to the County Park which is situated in a tiny valley at the top, and where Kingman residents have packed summer cabins into every available space. As I drove along the deeply rutted streets, I wondered, “How many Ford executives can camp on the top of Hualapai Peak?” In the village’s center, there is a concrete catch basin that’s called Pine Lake, but I couldn’t find public access to it, and—from its color—I’m not sure you would want access anyway. I got frustrated at having to back out of each street I tried and decided to check out the Hualapai Mountain Park and campgrounds.

After paying a day fee, I parked in the trailhead parking lot and checked out the maps. It was already after five when I started on the path to Stair Step Overlook, about a half-mile hike. I was never athletic, and I don’t claim to be in great shape today. I grew up uncoordinated, and when I was a kid, I was always the last pick for team sports. But, I regularly walk now, and my average speed is over two miles an hour. I figured a 15-minute walk at the most, so I grabbed my camera and left my water in the truck. I was wrong. It took 10 minutes—coming back down the mountain. The trail climbed four-hundred feet in that half-mile. As I hiked, I followed a group of two men and a woman who were in their early thirties and equipped with day-packs. I followed them inch-worm style; they walked out of my sight and then they’d be resting when I caught up.

When I finally got to the overlook, my new hiking friends were lounging on large granite slabs and taking in the view. As I climbed up the stairs, I looked up to see six of them before my eyes could focus again. The woman looked concerned and asked, “Do you need water?”

“No,” I replied. “I only wanted to get here and take some pictures. I’m going back down right after that.”

Then the guy with the beard drove a stake through my heart, “Man! I hope that I can be hiking up and down some mountainside when I get as old as you are.”

I did get a shot from the overlook, but I took this week’s featured image on the drive home. I call it Dean Peak because that’s what this point’s name is. When I took this shot, the sun was almost down, and the lower part of the mountain was already in the shade. I hope you enjoy viewing it.

You can see a larger version of Dean Peak on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to come back next week when we’ll be showing more from the Hualapai Mountains.

Until next time — jw

Mohan Range: A Lost Horizon in Arizona’s Bermuda Triangle Picture of the Week

Have you ever looked at an Arizona road map and noticed the big empty swaths—entire regions with no towns, no intersections, no welcome signs? A third of the state looks uninhabited. That’s not cartographic laziness—it’s the truth. Some places were never meant for people. Look at a land-ownership map and you’ll understand why. Much of the terrain south of I-8 is military proving ground (because what better use is there for a desert than dropping bombs?). To the north, you’ve got the Grand Canyon and vast stretches of tribal land. And over in the west—well, welcome to the Bermuda Triangle of Arizona.

Three roads trace its edges: U.S. 93 on the west, I-40 to the north, and Arizona 89 on the east. Unlike the Sahara-style sandscapes you might expect, this isn’t a wasteland. The land rolls between 3,000 and 10,000 feet in elevation, a mix of grasslands and mountains. It gets summer monsoons—thunderheads stack up there most afternoons. It looks like it should be dotted with towns.

But it’s not.

This month, I decided to poke around this odd no-man’s-land. I set my sights on the Aquarius Mountains, taking Upper Trout Creek Road—a little loop that climbs over a saddle and drops down the far side before ending at a quiet religious retreat. There’s a parking area where I stopped, took in the view, and turned around. That’s where I captured this month’s image: Mohan Range.

Mohan Range-Very few know or have visited the Mohan Mountains in Arizona. — Named by the scouts of General Crook, the Mohan Range whispers of forgotten trails and undisturbed land—where silence stretches further than the road.

The Mountains You’ve Never Heard Of

I hadn’t either. You don’t see the Mohan Range from U.S. 93—it’s tucked behind the Aquarius Mountains. But it’s real. Mohan Peak stands at a respectable 7,500 feet, putting it in Arizona’s top 100 summits. From Interstate 40 or some spots in Prescott, it’s visible—if you know where to look.

Naturally, I came home and Googled it. I expected to find a line or two. Instead, I struck gold.

One of the first search hits was from the Peakbaggers website. These folks climb the top 100 mountains in each state—for fun. (No, I don’t understand them either.) But their post was solid: detailed, well-written, and packed with photos. That page led me to something even better—a beautifully photographed article by Kathy McCraine about the O RO Ranch.

A Quarter Million Acres of Off-Limits

So why aren’t there any towns in this triangle? Because nearly all of it—over 250,000 acres—is the O RO Ranch. It’s private, and it’s vast. This is cowboy country, in the old sense of the word. The eastern part of the ranch stems from an original Spanish land grant—the Baca Grant, which the U.S. government actually honored. Later, the Mohan Ranch to the west was folded in, and the two became one: Arizona’s oldest and largest cattle operation.

According to McCraine, life here hasn’t changed much. Cowboys still ride the range on horseback and sleep in teepees. There’s no town, no road system, and definitely no Starbucks. And they don’t want company.

I loved one line she wrote:
“Cowboy wannabes need not apply.”

Take the hint. If you’re driving through, heed the signs. This is not a place for sightseeing unless you’ve got an invite, a saddle, and some serious grit.

The Road Less Photographed

~~You can see a larger version of Mohan Range on its web page here~~. And as always, we hope you’ll come back next month for another installment of Arizona’s overlooked corners and dusty crossroads. There’s something special about these places—where history lingers, maps go blank, and the silence stretches for miles.

Until then, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
—jw

Aquarius Boulders Picture of the Week - Wikiup, Arizona

Long before Arizona was a state, it belonged to another country—Mexico. In retaliation to the Alamo massacre, the U.S. declared war on our southern neighbor and took away half of their land. When Mexico surrendered, we tossed fifteen million dollars (the same amount as the Louisiana Purchase) on the bed and said, “The money’s for the room, babe.” Our newest land acquisition was called New Mexico Territory, but—because it was so vast—we split it into several states. Arizona was the last to make the team.

To see what their money got, cigar-chomping Washington politicians handed some change to a young lieutenant—Amiel Weeks Whipple—then told him, “Here, kid. Grab a couple of guys, a tape measure, and measure the backyard.” This expedition was Lt. Whipple’s first across our state. He started in San Diego and headed east, surveying land along the new border. His second journey was in the other direction, and this time, he was to lay out a railroad route along the 35^th Parallel—Interstate 40.

I mention Lt. Whipple because, when I research how an Arizona location got its name, it is often cited in Arizona Place Names—that’s the reference I usually use. As he worked his way across the territory, surveying, mapping, and fighting Apaches, Whipple didn’t have the luxury of stopping someone to ask, “Excuse me, but what do you call those mountains?” Not many people lived here, and many who did were cranky. After all, air conditioning hadn’t been invented yet. Instead, if a place needed a name, he’d make something up that seemed to fit.

That’s precisely how the Aquarius Mountains got their name. Whipple, who found abundant water sources in the range, named them after the mythological water bearer. If you’ve driven to Kingman, you’ve passed by the Aquarius Range. They are on the east side of U.S. Highway 93 from Wikiup north to almost Interstate 40. The highest peak is Snow Mountain, with an elevation of 5880′, so it sometimes has snow. Several dirt roads go up into the range, which will be the routes we’ll scout for exciting photographs. We will be spending the month of July photographing along the Aquarius’s back roads.

The first road I’ve always wanted to follow has perplexed me since I drove U.S. 93—Upper Trout Creek Road. Give me a break; this is the Upper Sonoran Desert (the transition zone); how can a creek be cold enough to support trout? It doesn’t, or at least not this particular Trout Creek. This one is a tributary of the Big Sandy River. As soon as the road crosses the Big Sandy, it’s called something else according to Archie’s navigation system (but not on the Gazetteer). I drove the road to the ridge, where I was treated to a beautiful vista to the east.

This week’s image is from Granite Flat, halfway up the mountainside. When I stopped, the sun was going down behind the Hualapai Range (on the west side of Highway 93), and its rays cast a warm glow on the rocks, peaks, and low clouds hovering in the sky. I call this shot Aquarius Boulders. It’s a scene looking north with Hwy 93 in the valley to the left and the Aquarius peaks to the right.

~~You can see a larger version of Aquarius Boulders on its Web Page by clicking here~~. Be sure to return next week when we set off for another adventure exploring Arizona’s back roads.

Until next time — jw

Salvation Peak Flag Picture of the Week

Castel Hot Springs Resort — Castle Hot Springs Resort—Originally built in 1896 by Frank Murphy, the owner of the Congress Mine, it will reopen in October, so cash in your IRA and visit. I believe the tarp covers the garden where the chief grows fresh vegetables for the restaurant.

It doesn’t matter which way you travel on Castle Hot Springs Road, either clockwise or the other way, will get you to the historic retreat—the luxury resort for the rich and famous built-in 1896. Your choice of travel depends on whether you want to drive through the mountains via Morristown or north of Lake Pleasant via Castle Creek. As a history buff, I prefer the original route, but I also live closer to the old railroad depot, and I’m too lazy to drive that distance to Lake Pleasant.

After moving to Arizona, I heard stories of the ghost resort from friends, but I didn’t look at it for thirty years. After the last of my infamous station wagons was totaled while parked in the Sun City Boswell Hospital parking lot, we replaced it with my first SUV—Shadowfax. It was an Olds Bravada with ground clearance and four-wheel drive that was good enough to begin exploring back roads. One of my first outings was to Castle Hot Springs. As a film shooter back then, I didn’t have a perfect shot of the main house, so I didn’t bother taking any pictures.

There’s quite a bit of history that would make good stand-alone stories. Trivia like:

The hot spring was found by Ft. Whipple Calvary soldiers tracking bandits.
Frank Murphy—the Congress Mine owner—bought the land, built the buildings, and paid for the road.
The resort thrived during the first half of the 20^th Century, catering to the Roosevelts, Rockefellers, Vanderbilts, Wrigleys, Zane Gray, and Clark Gable (there had to be famous actresses who visited, too, but I didn’t discover any of their names).
Murphy’s brother, when he was the territorial governor, turned the resort into Arizona’s Mar-A-Lago because winters were too cold in Prescott. And because Warren Murphy ran the state from here, Arizona’s first telephone was installed in the hall of the main building (I believe it survived the ’76 fire).
The temperature of the hot springs water is 12oº, which is the same as every Phoenix household during summer.

There’s another more interesting story, however. The resort was dark during the Second World War because of rationing and shortages. After the war ended, Walter Rounsevel, owner and general manager, leased the property to the U.S. military as a recovery and rehab facility for injured officers. One of those officers was a young lieutenant whose back was injured after a Japanese destroyer rammed his PT boat. The officer’s name was John F. Kennedy, and he spent several months recovering at Castle Hot Springs, soaking in the springs, hiking trails, and golfing.

Salvation Peak Flag - For providing a place for injured servicemen to recuperate during World War II, the Castle Hot Springs Resort got special dispensation to fly an American Flag on Salvation Peak 24 hours a day. — Salvation Peak Flag—During World War II, the Castle Hot Springs Resort received special dispensation to fly an American Flag on Salvation Peak 24 hours a day to provide a place for injured officers to recuperate.

For its part in helping with the recovery of these servicemen, a special dispensation was given to Castle Hot Springs to fly an American flag 24 hours a day atop Salvation Peak. The flag was visible along the road before and after passing the resort, and I took several shots of it even though the sun was directly behind. My favorite version is this week’s featured image, which I call Salvation Peak Flag. Although it looks formidable, Salvation Peak is a smaller outcrop of Governors Peak, which is located within the Hells Gate Wilderness area.

You can see a larger version of Salvation Peak Flag on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to return next week when we present the final photo I made on my Castle Hot Spring Road outing.

Until next time — jw