195812 desert magazine 1958 december

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HISTORIC PANORAMAS By JOSEF and JOYCE MUENCH

In southwestern Arizona live the peace-ful Papago Indians on a spacious reserva-tion dotted with villages bearing strangenames: Gu Achi, Kom Vo, Chukut Kuk,Pisinemo . . .The Papago have accepted those of thewhite man's customs which fit them, butcontinue to celebrate old ceremonies in themanner of their forefathers.Not often visited but most fascinating isthe Papago Baby Shrine, one of the mostunusual in the nation. A circle of black-ened ocotillo branches partly enclose a pile

of rocks guarded by a tighter circle of up-right sticks. These, peeled from thepricklydesert plant, are white in the sun. Whenthe next ceremony is held, they will bepulled out, added to the surrounding piles,and fresh ones placed in position.According to legend, a flood once en-dangered thewhole land, and the medicinemen announced that only by the sacrificeof some Indian babies could the weathergods be appeased. The rock pile marks theburial place of these children. A service isheld each year over their grave lest thefloods come to Papagoland.

A N E W W O R L D T O S H A R EW i t h F a m i l y a n d F r i e n d s -

Giue a C h r i s t m a s S u b s c r i p t i o n T o d a yDesert Magazine is a thoughtful Christmas presentthat spreads its good wishes over the entire newyear and formany years tocome.

US E THEHANDY ORDER BLANKIN THIS MAGAZINEan d a colorful gift card bearing your name will bedelivered lo the subscription recipient a few d a y sbefore Christmas.

D E S E R T C A L E N D A RARIZONA

Dec. 5-7Dons Club tour to Her m o-sillo, Mexico, from Phoenix.Dec. 6-7Kennel Show, Yuma.Dec. 13Rag Doll Parade, Bisbee.Dec. 14Miracle of the Roses Pag-eant, Scottsdale.Dec. 14Dons Club tour to Wicken-burg, from Phoenix.Dec. 19Christmas Party for wintervisitors, Mesa.Dec. 20Dog Show andParade,Bis-bee.Dec. 28Desert SunRanchers Rodeo,Wickenburg.

CALIFORNIADec. 2-7Southern California OpenGolf Championship, Indian Wells.Dec. 5 Los Vigilantes ChristmasParade, El Centro.Dec. 6Open House at new DesertMuseum building, Palm Springs.Dec. 6Christmas Parade and Com-munity party, Victorville.Dec. 79th Annual Imperial ValleyKennel Club Show, Holtville.Dec. 13Christmas Parade, Lancas-ter.

NEVADADec. 4 Community Golden Anni-versary celebration, Fallon.

NEW MEXICOLate Nov. or early Dec. ShalakoCeremony at Zuni Pueblo.Dec. 8-9Northeastern NewMexicoHer e f or d Br eeder s Assoc ia t ionShow andSale, Raton.Dec. 10-12Tortugas Indians' threeday pilgrimage andcelebration, LasCruces.Dec. 12 Matachines Dance, JemezPueblo.Dec. 12 Feast Day of NuestraSenora de Guadalupe, Taos, SantaFe and rural Spanish villages.Dec. 24 Candle Celebration, Rui-doso.Dec. 24-28 Christmas CeremonialDances at most NewMexico pue-blos. Christmas Eve in Spanishvillages celebrated with little bon-fires for El Santo Nino, lighted

before houses, in streets and beforeNativity scenes.Dec. 26 Turtle Dance, San JuanPueblo.Dec. 26-Jan. 1 Southwestern SunCarnival, El Paso (Texas) .Dec. 31Deer Dance, Sandia Pueblo.

UTAHDec. 10Christmas Parade, Ameri-can Fork.Dec. 13 5th Annual Engen CupSlalom, Alta, Salt Lake City.Dec. 13 Community Sing, Kays-ville.Dec. 21 Oratorio Society's annual

presentation of The Messiah atTabernacle, Salt Lake City.

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Publisher 's NotesThe season's greetings to our DesertMagazine family! The staff at Desertespecially the Circulation Depart-menthas felt the Christmas spiritin a material way for the past sixweeks, for our work-load in gift sub-

scriptions started in mid-October andis still flooding in most happily.Thanks to those of you who use aDesert Magazine gift subscription toexpress your Yule spirit.And there's still time for last-min-ute Christmas gift orders to be sentthrough our Circulation Departmentto those whom you would like tohave enjoy our great Desert South-west for the coming twelve-month inthe pages of Desert.* * *We've had a strong return of ques-tionnaires from the Desert subscriberswho were sampled last mon th. Earlyreplies to the survey indicate that ourpublication has its place in this busyworld. I think we can tabulate theresults of the questionnaire in timeto give a full report to you in ourJanuary issue. * * *Color on the back cover of thismonth's magazine is the start of aprogram that Randall Henderson,founder of Desert, planned long ago.As editor of the magazine he hasdreamed of offering our readers morehigh-quality four-color photos of theSouthwest, and Randall's dream isnow coming true. As the magazinegrows, so will the colorful desertlandbecome a reality in our pages.* * *It is gratifying to note that anincreasing number of our new sub-scribers are families who live in theeastern states. We are glad to sharethe beauty and the wholesomeness ofthe wonderful desert country with ourcousins "back there." Though DesertMagazine may be regional in subjectmatter, we do not want to be pro-vincial in appeal.* * *Because I like to think of DesertMagazine as a friendly publication,an d of our readers as our family, mayI extend a sincere invitation to all ofyou to visit our Pueblo whenever youma y be in the Palm Desert area?Drop in and enjoy the fine arts gal-lery of desert paintings, browsethrough the bookstore, visit oursilversmith, wander through the print-ing plant if you chooseand by allmeans come into the publisher's of-fice and tell us how we should putyour magazine together. You r ideasar e one of Desert's assets. I wantyou to feel that you, as a reader,ow n Desert Magazine we who pub-lish the journal only serve in trust.

CHUCK S HELTONPublisherABOUT THECOVER . . .It was in 1909 that an Indian first guidedthe White Man to the Rainbow-Turned-to-Stonespectacular Rainbow Natural Bridge at 309 feet high, the world's highestnatural arch. Due to its inaccessible loca-tion in southern Utah, a visit to Rainbowis still an adventure. Hubert A. Lowmanof Covina, Calif., took this photograph.

V o l u m e 21 DECEMBER. 1958 N u m b e r 12

C O V E RH I S T O R YC A L E N D A RFIELD TRIPTRUE OR FALSEI N D I A N SWILDLIFEP H O T O G R A P H YLOST M INEN A T U R EP E R S O N A L I T YC L O S E - U P SEXPERIENCEFICTIONE X P L O R A T I O NLETTERSP O E T R YN E W S N O T E SM I N I N GH O B B YL A D I D A R YINDEXB O O K SC O M M E N TB A C K C O V E R

Rainbow Natural Bridge, by HUBERT A. LOWMANPapago Baby ShrineBy JOSEF and JOYCE MUENCH 2December events on the desert 2Trail to the Rockhound's DreamBy NELL MURBARGER : . 4A test of your desert knowledge 7Pueblo Portraits, by JOHN L. BLACKFORD . . 7Duel in the DunesBy E. P. HADDON andMARY BRANHAM . 8Pictures of the Month 10The Old Dutchman's Lost Ledge of Gold

By HAROLD O. WEIGHT 11Lost Birds in a Strange Arid Land

By EDMUND C. JAEGER 14Dolph Nevares of Death Valley

By HARRIETT FARNSWORTH 16About those who write for Desert 18A Sing for Atsa Gai, by JOE KERLEY . . . . 19Hard Rock Shorty of Death Valley 20Canyon Boat Ride in Utah

By RANDALL HENDERSON 21Comment from Desert's readers 26To a Horned Toad and other poems . . . . 27From the Southwest 28Current news of desert mines 33Gems and Minerals 35Amateur Gem Cutter, by DR. H. C. DAKE . . 37Contents of Desert for 1958 38Reviews of Southwestern literature 41Just Between You and Me, by the Editor . . . 42"Little sister . . . Big sister," by JOSEF MUENCH

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by Desert Magazine, Inc., Palm Desert,California. Re-entered as second class matter July 17, 1948. at the postoffice at Palm Desert ,California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registered No.3S8865 in U. S. Patent Office,and contents copyrighted 1958 by Desert Magazine, Inc. Permission to reproduce contentsmust be secured from the editor in wri t ing.CHARLES E. SHELTON, PublisherRANDALL HENDERSON, Editor EUGENE L. CONROTTO, Associate EditorBESS STACY, Business Manager EVONNE RIDDELL, Circulation ManagerUnsolicited manuscripts and photographs submit ted cannot be re tu rned or acknowledgedunless full return postage is enclosed. Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility fordamage or loss of manuscripts or photographs al though due care will be exercised. Sub-scribers should send notice of change of address by the first of the month preceding issue.SUBSCRIPTION RATESOne Yea r S4.00 TwoYears S7.00

Canadian Subscriptions 25cExtra. Foreign 50cExt raSubscriptions to Army Personnel Outside U. S. A. Must Be Mailed in Conformity WithP. O. D. Order No.19687Address Correspondence to Desert Magazine, Palm Desert, California

DECEMBER, 1958


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REN E SPRA GUE is postmasterat Jarbidge, Nevada, and sheand I took a liking to eachother the moment Charlie Harkinsonintroduced us. Dark-haired, full oflife and fun, and slender as a school-girl, no one would guess Rene to bepast her 40th year; yet, she proudlyacknowledges a 30-year-old son, andadmits she arrived here as a small girlin 1910a year after D. A. Bournemade the first rich strike that sparkedthe rush to the canyon.Rene makes her home in the oldMcCormick Building, the first struc-ture in town to have wooden floors."Jarbidge was composed mainly oftents with floors made of a whitishclay which packed almost as hard ascement," said Rene. "These floorsheld up quite well under ordinary use,but were not suitable for dancing."My grandfather was a great handat playing the fiddle, and we young-sters loved to dance to his music. Be-cause we couldn 't jig on the clay floors,each of us was given an end-boardfrom an apple box on which to dance.You can imagine what a treat it waswhen we were allowed to come overto this new building and dance on itsreal board floors!"Constructed of huge pine logsbrought down from the surrounding

Here is the story of a remark-able agate ledge called The Rock-hound's Dream; of an old goldmining camp in the northeasterncorner of Nevada; and of thatcamp's woman postmaster whospends her summers prospecting.

T r a i l T o TR o c k h o u n d ' sD r e a m . . .

mountains, and sawn lumber freightedin on pack mules at terrific cost, R ene'sresidence, exteriorly, is showing theeffects of wind and weath er. Inside,however, it's as neat and attractive asa city home, with electrical appliancesand TV, a bathroom with hot and coldrunning water, and other conveniencesnot seen in the average mining campdwelling.But Rene's world doesn't begin andend in her home, nor in the small ad-joining postoffice where mail arrivestwice weekly by stage from Rogerson,Ida ho. Each summ er, after most ofthe snow has disappeared from thehigher ranges surrounding town, shesurrenders the postoffice key to one ofher fellow townsmen, and takes off forthe hills.Packing into the high wild Cratercountry to the southeast, where none ofthe named peaks has an elevation ofless than 10,000 feet, Rene campsalone in a tent for a month or moreat a time while performing the actualpick-and-shovel labor of building trailsand working assessments on her miningclaims. She's a good miner, too, anddespite the fact she calls gold mining"a rat race," Rene admits she can'tleave it alone!She handed me a piece of rock thesize of a small cantaloup e. It was ag-

By NELL MURBARGERMap by Norton Allen

For 14 miles the Jarbidge Rivercuts throu gh a deep canyon linedwith tall palisades and spires.atebut such a confused medley ofcolors I have seldom seen in one stone!Basically it was red and pearl gray;but there were streaks of white, patchesof clear translucence, and flecks ofyellow and green.Then Rene showed me a pendantand a pair of cufflinks cut from thismaterial that even the most discrim-inating lapidary would be proud toown. The agate occurred in a ledgeon Jack Creek, about four miles fromtown by road and foot-trail, she ex-plained."My husband, Carl, and my son andI have staked the ledge as a miningclaim which we call The Rockhound'sDream . There are tons of material inthe deposit, and your readers are per-fectly welcome to collect all they wantfor their own use."If you'd like to see the ledge," sheadded, "I'll be glad to take you upthere tomorrow afternoon . . ."As my answer, I turned to Charlieand asked if he'd care to go along?Charlie has celebrated more than 80birthdays, but I know few men whocan outwalk him over even the mostrugged terrain. Charlie said he'd beglad to go with us.I stayed that night in one of the oldlog cabins on main street. The nextmorning dawned bright and beautiful.

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Shortly after breakfast, however, a fewbig white clouds began boiling overthe skyline. As they met and mergedwith others, they changed from whiteto slate blue, and low rumbles of thun-der began sounding in the west."It's been threatening to storm allweek, but nothing has happened,"Charlie said. "It's been so long sincerain has fallen here 1 think it's forgot-ten how."But despite Charlie's prediction,lunchtime found drops as big as nickelssending up little puffs of dust from thebone-dry street, and making blacksplotches on the old tin roofs and thedusty surface of my car. And whenwe drove to the postoffice, we traveledthrough a cold gray drizzle, mixedwith hail.We were watching the rain and try-ing to glimpse even a tiny break inthe clouds, when Rene came dashingout, carrying two rock sacks and aprospector's pick, and trying to tie ascarf over her head and button herjacketall at the same time."Ready?" she called brightly.I asked if she thought we shouldstill go."Oh , sure!" answered Rene . "It'llbe good for us!"With the summer rain silently fall-ing on the gray road, the thirsty soil,and the earthen roofs of long-vacantlog cabins whose empty windows dis-piritedly reviewed our passage, wemade our way along the single streetof the old mining camp, crossed theJarbidge River, and turned down-stream.I have a great fondness for the Jar-bidge and the rugged land that cradlesit. One of Nevada's few major w ater-ways that eventually reaches outletbeyond the state boundaries, the Jar-bidge winds for 14 miles through oneof the most scenic canyons in the W est.So narrow at the bottom that it canaccommodate only the tumbling stream

and a one-lane unpaved road, the can-yon walls are formed of sheer rhyo-litic palisades and pillars hundreds offeet tall.To superstitious redmen of an earlierday, this was the haunt of Tsawhaw-bitts, most feared demon in their prim-itive world. Lurking behind the greatstone pillars , which effectively screenedhis operations, this man-eating giantwas believed to pounce upon unwarytribesmen, stuff them into a giant bas-ket, and carry them back to his lair.According to the old legend, JarbidgeCanyon had been a paradise; but dueto the depredations of Tsawhawbitts,every redman eventually fled its con-fines to relocate elsewhere. Today,the memory of this mythical monsteris preserved only in the legend and inthe Americanized corruption of hisnameJarbidge but the canyon hasretained its strange and eerie atmos-phere.After traveling down the canyonroad a couple of miles, we angled righton an older road for another three-quarters of a mile to a second fork.Here we parked the car and startedwalking.

Taking the right-hand fork, weskirted the shoulder of the hill on anold trail rutted and caved by thestorms of nearly 50 winters. In thedays when Jarbidge was young thishad been the main stage and freightroad to Rogerson and Twin Falls, Ida-ho . On the opposite canyon wall tothe north the old road climbed sharplyupward toward the Big Island anelevated land area nearly surroundedby streams and the Jarbidge River.

"That was the beginning of the oldCrippen Grade," said Rene. Its road-bed averaged not more than a footwider than a wagon. The slightestJarbidge population fluctuates fromfour in the winter to 24 in summer.

Rene Sprague, Jarbidge's postma ster.mishap could have sent a freight outfitplunging over the precipice and down-ward to disaster, hundreds of feet be-low.In about 150 yards the long-aban-doned turnpike carried us to JackCreek and an old log-and-plank bridge,fallen to ruin. Here the m usic ofrunning water was loud, and in thedense greenery flanking the bridge wecaught glimpses of the stream as itcascaded toward its meeting place withthe Jarbidge.Making our way over the ravine ona pair of old bridge planks still inposition, we left the freight road at thepoint where it crossed the stream, and

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turned up Jack Creek Canyon on aneven dimmer road.Now we were walking through asylvan loveliness not at all like theusual concept of Nevada and whatgeographers of an earlier generationtermed "The Great American Desert."Edging the crystal stream and press-ing closely against the trail was a densethicket of young aspens, willow brush,creek dogwood and small chokecherrytrees. Mixed into this larger growthwere wild roses, gooseberries, grouse-berries andto my surprise and de-lightwild raspberries! Not even theattraction of a waiting agate ledgecould keep me from halting occasion-ally to pick a handful of the soft deli-cately - flavored fruit. Climbing thelower canyon walls above the tangleddeciduous growth were tall slender fir

trees, each like a Christmas tree wait-ing to be decorated; and above thefirs marched the soft gray ba ttalionsof sage inevitable hallmark of thehighland deserts of the West.As we walked single-file along theold road, we passed wild gardens oftall red-and-yellow columbines andblue larkspurs, and clumps of ferns;we saw hoofprints in the moist sandat the edge of the stream where a bigbuck deer had come down to drink,and we glimpsed a water ouzel as itflirted with the spray from a brightcascade.Second of the old log bridges thathad carried this sideroad up the can-yon lay in the water so fallen to ruinthat crossing upon it was quite impos-sible."Here 's where we get our baptism in

the creek!" said Rene. "Do you liketo wade?"Jack Creek suddenly looked like afoaming millrace deep enough to floata barge and swift enough to sweep ahorse off its feet. Actually, the creekwas only a dozen feet wide, and per-haps a foot deep at this point; but itsbed was composed of cobbles androunded boulders, and the water wasflow ing swiftly."I can wade it if you can!" I re-torted. We stepped into the stream.I've never felt anything as cold as thewater that swirled up past the calves ofmy legs to my knees. But it was onlya moment until we stepped out on theopposite bank, and again were head-ing up the canyon toward our destina-tion.It was still raining steadily; and sincethere was no wind in the canyon, everyleaf was freighted with water. Forcingour way through the dense underbrush,we were soon so wet that a subsequentwading of the stream was attended byno qualms whatever.After this third crossing we hadgood hiking the remainder of the way.On the east bank of Jack Creek, nearthe point where Jenny Creek joins itfrom the south, we climbed up thecanyonside a short distance to TheRockhound's Dream agate ledge.Since it hasn't often been my goodfortune to find cutting agate in massesthe size of a young mountain, I hadsuspected that R ene, in her enthusiasm,had exaggerated the extent of this de-posit. But now I saw that she hadnot been extravagant in her descrip-tion. There were thousands of tons ofmaterial in sight and, barring drilling,no possible means of knowing howdeep the agate extended below thesurface. I found ma terial in almostevery color ranging from white tocharcoal - gray, with plumes andblotches and streaks in half-a-hundredother tintsincluding a maroon sovivid I could scarcely believe my owneyes!

Although float scattered over theground was weathered rather badly,material still in place was quite freeof fracturing; and by digging belowthe surface, beyond the frost zone, thisdeleterious feature is largely eliminated.Back at Jarbidge that night, aftereach of us had taken a hot bath,changed to dry clothes, and eaten-agood hot supper, we spread new spaperson the big table in Rene's kitchen andlaid out the several pounds of materialcollected that day on Jack Creek. Re -appraising those samples while bask-ing in the heat from the kitchen stove,I liked them even better than when I'dseen them through the chill half-lightof that drippy afternoon. This wasgood material, and I knew from past

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experience how rockhounds would re-act to it. But did Rene know?"Are you sure it's going to be allright for me to write a story aboutthis ledge?" I asked."Of course it's all right!" exclaimedRene. "My husband and I like rock-hounds! The main reason we stakedthis claim was to protect the ledge forcollectors who might be excluded fromthe property if some commercial in-terests took it over. Naturally, wedon't expect collectors to do any bull-dozing or blasting on our property,and we won't have dealers hauling ourrock away by the truckload. But, rock-hounds are welcome to all the materialthey want for their own use."The Jarbidge vicinity is not suitedfor wintertime collecting or camping.On the high passes that separate thislocality from the remainder of Nevada,

snow comes early and lingers late. Asa consequence, the road from the south(via North Fork, Charleston and BearCreek Summit) is not usually opento traffic before July 1. The road fromthe north (via Rogerson and ThreeCreek, Idaho) may be traveled overmost of the year, and the ground atJarbidge generally is free of snow byApril or May.As for accommodations, the oldgold-mining camp hasn't much to offer.There are a few cabins which can berented in summer, and the ForestService maintains a delightful camp-ground in the trees along the river.Gasoline and oil can be purchased, butno groceries. Fishing is said to begood. As for the wild red raspberries,I can testify that they are strictly foodfor the godsespecially when eatenon a rainy afternoon while agate ad-venturing with two good friends!

P u e b l o P o r t r a i t s

T R U E O R F A L S E Here's the monthly I.Q. test forthe desert fraternity. But youdo not have to live among thedunes and cactus to make a passable score. The q uestions cover a widerange of subjectshistory, geography, botany, minerals, Indians and thegeneral lore of the desert. These monthly lists of questions are designedboth as a test of knowledge for the desert student, and as a course ofinstruction for those who would like to become better acquainted with thisdesert land. Twelve to 15 is a fair score, 16 to 18 is good. Only the superstudents get over 18. The answers are on page 34.1A rattlesnake has two fangs. True False2Ocotillo is a species of cactus. True False3The famous Lost Dutchman mine in the Superstition Mountains ofArizona has been found and is now a large gold producer. TrueFalse4Pioche is the name of a historic mining town in Nevada. TrueFalse5Mark Twain once worked on a newspaper in Virginia City, Nevada.True False6The University of New Mexico is in Santa Fe . True False7T he floor of Death Valley is below sea level. True False8Salt River Valley in Arizona gets its irrigation water from the Colo-rado River. True False9Feldspar is a harder mineral than calcite. True False10Woodpeckers sometimes make their homes in Saguaro Cactus.True False11Ranchers along the shore of Salton Sea use the sea water for domesticpurposes. True False12The largest city visible from the summit of C harleston peak in Nevadais Las Vegas. True False13The Mormon leader Joseph Smith never saw the Great Salt Lake.True False14Geronimo was a notorious Navajo chief. True False15The junction of the Green and Colorado rivers is in Utah. TrueFalse16Organ Pipe National Monument in southern Arizona derives its namefrom the fluted rocks in that area. True False17The Jicarilla Indian reservation in New Mexico belongs to theApaches. True False18Papago Indians in southern Arizona harvest the fruit of the Saguarocactus for food. True False19Some of the richest placer gold strikes in the Southwest have beenmade in sand dunes. True False20H ighway 80 crosses the Colorado River at Blythe. TrueFalse

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Dancer of San Juan Pueblo, New Mex-i c o . She holds cerem onial arrows.By JOHN L. BLACKFO

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By E. P.HADDON andMARY BRANHAM

7HIS WAS the time of morning twohours before dawn when much of the desert wild-life is abroad, and we had come toobserve the passing parade. Weparked our Jeep beside a cluster ofsmall dunes in thedesert north of LasVegas and west of Nevada's SheepRange, in the land of bristling Joshuatrees. The white dunes glistened inthe bright glare of a bigdesert moon.Three rattle-tipped sidewinders hadcrossed in front of us in the last half-mile of our wandering, and now wesat silently on the side of a dune tolook in on the world these reptilesshare with other small creatures.A many-entranced burrow was afew feet from us. Numerous otherdenentrances, mostly at the foot of smallshrubs , also were within sight. Soon,Kangaroo rats were scampering about,oblivious of our motionless presence.We scattered grain about, and thedainty creatures were eating at ourfeeteven taking grain off the toesof our boots.A smaller Kangaroorat that tried to movein tooclose tothe foodsource was u n w e l -

comed by his larger rivals. Theystopped gorging their cheek poucheslong enough togive therunt a thrash-ing with their long legs. But, thesmallmouse was not to be outdone. Itwaited until its opponents haddepos-ited pouches of grain in nearby bur-rows, and then moved in on theirstorehouses. With cheeks bulging itscampered beneath a shrub coveringthe entrance to its den.A deadly newcomer appeared onthe stage. Less than two feet long,the appropriately-named sidewinder isone of Nature's cleverest adaptationsfor traveling over loose sand. Itsbodyliterally glides insideward loops, mak-ing for good silent traction its tinyrattle ready to buzz positive defianceto antagonists of anysize.The curtain suddenly rose on ades-ert drama. One of the big rodentscaught thesmaller Kangaroo rat againraiding its storehouse, and launcheda vigorous attack on the thief, drivingit away.With movements so swift the eye

Gila monster tracks. Heavy bodymade furrow between foot prints.could hardly follow, the unnoticedrattler's arched neck straightened outwith a speed no creature could dodgeand thesnake sank its sharp curvedfangs hard into the large Kangaroorat's flesh. There wasn't a sound.Therattler quickly drew back into positionfor another strike an unnecessarygesture, for theKangaroo rat quiveredhelplessly and fell on its side. Cauti-ously, therattler approached thedeadcreature, touched its nose against therodent, moved completely around itand nudged thestill body. Then, withopen mouth, it drew the rat down-ward into its throat.

During that interval when there is ablending of moonlight and dawn, ajackrabbit crouched on a dune to ourright, silhouetted against the easternglow. His body was rigidly still, theonly evidence of life a slight twitchingof ears. In a wild burst of speed therabbit disappeared.With the coming of dawn, manydoorways to the inner dune weresealed against theheat of the coming

d e s e r t day, but toThe unmistakable tracks led hem to an nc re dibl e sight: some ofthedoors thatr e m a i n e d o p e n , theslanting sunlight was _ _ _ _ _ ^a struggle between a Gila monster and a sidewinder.DESERT MAGAZINE

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an invitation to emerge and maketracks in the sand. Dapp er and gaudy,a collared lizard perched on a nearbyridge in the early sun, and beyond himwe saw heavy tracks where a Gilamonster had dragged itself clumsilyalong."Reading" the sand was interesting;here was the record of what had passedduring the windless night. A few fluffsof fur, two rabbit paws and mussed-up sand here fox and rabbit had

"After a few moments, the side-winder straightened out, as thoughdisgusted with the whole situation."collided; a thin, even line through thesand made by a small creature's tail;a mound of freshly-turned sand wherea coyote had dug up its dinner.

In the sand before us we saw themost unexpected duel of all. Aheadlay the Gila monster we were tracking,his powerful jaws grasping the mid-

section of a deadly sidewinder. Therattler's fangs were imbedded in thetough beaded skin on the big lizard'snecksunk so deeply the snake quiv-ered as it strained to withdraw them.Any other victim would have beenwrithing in pain, but not the Gilamonster. Nor was there evidence thatthe rattler was suffering anything morethan hurt dignity at being held in themonster's vice-like grasp.

Fortunately, for the snake, the Gilamonster had only pinched the fleshof one side. Had he taken a firmhold across the spine, it would havebeen fatal for the snake. Contrary topopular belief, rattlesnakes are deli-cate creatures and their backs arerelatively easily broken.Once its fangs were free from thelizard's neck, the snake thrust theminto the enemy's head. After a fewmoments the sidewinder straightenedout, as though disgusted with thewhole situation. The Gila monsteropened its drooling jaws, from whichoozed a mixture of saliva and venom.The rattler slid away and retreatedinto the first open doorway it found,seemingly none the worse for the en-counter.We watched the Gila monster forthe next hour, curious to see whateffect, if any, the snake's venom wouldhave on it. The lizard slowly movedfrom shrub to shrub in the dunes, ap-parently unharmed.Two deadly reptiles had dueled,each equipped with death-dealing ven-om, and the battle had ended in ano-decision draw.

G i l a M o n s t e r s I n N e v a d a ?Gila MonsterHABITAT The Gila monster 'snatural habitat generally is regardedas being restricted to the Arizona-Sonora border country, and readersof this story may wonder what oneof these poisonous lizards is doingin Nevada. The range of distribu-tion (see map) extends northwardacross the tip of southern Nevadaand even into the southwestern cor-ner of Utah.

DESCRIPTION 12-16 inchesfrom snout to vent; the thick tailan additional one-half to one-thirdhead - body leng th. Tail usuallybanded; body color, in general, ispinkish or dull orange, and black.Sides of face, underside of head, andfeet usually blackish brown to black.Thick skin is beaded.FOOD Bird and reptile eggs,nestling birds, rodents, young rabbits.MISC.Only poisonous lizard inU.S.; can climb trees; nocturnal.

SidewinderHABITAT The sidewinder orhorned rattler occurs in the LowerSonoran Life-zone, as does the Gilamon ster. But, the sidewinder's rangeis more westerly, taking in Califor-nia's Mojave and Colorado deserts.This small rattler frequents the sandyflats and washes of deserts, especiallywhere there are scattered bushes andhummocks .DESCRIPTION IVi to 2V * feetin length; has stouter body than mostother rattlesnake species; relativelylarge broad head; rattles on tip oftail. The hornlike projection over itseyes is its most distinguishing char-acteristic. Color varies from cream,pink, tan, light brown to gray blending well with ground.FOODSmall mammals and liz-ards.MISC. Primarily nocturnal, butsometimes active at dusk and day-time, especially in spring and fall.

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We have twofirst prize winners inour . . .P I C T U R E S O FT H E M O N T H. . . c o n t e s t . The j u d g e scouldn't decide which ofthese photosto give first, andwhich togive sec-ond place honors toso they calledit a tie . . .

T h e S i l e n t S t r u g g l eThe young Saguaro Cactus andthe Ironwood Tree grew up side byside. Prevailing winds bent theIron-wood over the Saguaro, causing con-stant irritation that twisted thecactusinto this grotesque shape. But as itgrew outward instead of upward,the Saguaro killed the Ironwood'smain trunk. Photograph was takenon theMcDowell Indian Reservationin Arizona byBob Pay ne of Phoenix.Camera data: Busch Press Camera;Pan X Film.

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G e c k oT h e v a r i e g a t e d g r o u n dgecko lives in southwestern

Utah, southern Nevada, south-ern California, Arizona (exceptthe northeastern corner), BajaCalifornia and Sonora. Thedark bands on the body arewalnut-brown, thelight bandsa dull yellow. Rarely seen inthe daytime, this lizard's chiefenemies are nocturnal desertsnakes, especially the leaf-nosed snake. Geckos feed oni n s e c t s . D i ck R a n d a l l ofBoggs, Wyoming, is the pho-tographer. Heused a Hassel-blad Camera; Verichrome Panfilm; No. 6 flashbulb.


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T h e O ld D u tch m a n 'sLo s t Led ge o f G oldThe prospector drove his burro cart out of the rough and uninhab-ited country south of Picacho with 50 pounds of gold ore in his pack.That night he revea led the story of discovery, and next d ay disappeared.

By HAROLD O. WEIGHTMap by Norton Allenfeet long, practically flat-bottomed,with quite a flare to the sides butrunning straight back from mid-bowwith no closing in at the stern. It wasa wonderful boat for shallow water.The Indians had used them in thatcountry back to the '80s. They usedthem to gather up wood and haul it into Needles where Monahan & Murphywould give them half the selling pricefor all they brought in.

"I loaded up with beaver traps andgroceries and necessaries, and cametrapping down the river. Slow."In the course of time Ed reachedan ideal camping site on the Californiaside three or four miles above thefuture site of Imperial Dam . It wasa little rincon, formed where a washentered the Colorado, accessible toboth river and shore.He remained there several days.One morning it rained. After theweather cleared, Ed built a fire to dryout clothing, bedding and equipment.That afternoon he heard a crashingand rumbling from th e shore. The oldDutchman, guided by the smoke fromEd's fire, had come into camp."He had two burros hitched to a

T W A S 1 9 1 0 o r 1 9 1 1 w h ? n !heold Dutchman brought his richore into my camp," Ed Roch-ester said.Through that long-ago summer Edhad been running a wiggletail in thebig mine at Gold Road, north of Oat-man, Arizona. A wiggletail is a stop-ing drill. It won that nickname be -cause of the movements the drill makeswhile operating. For reasons equallyclear, a stoping drill also was knownas a "widow-mak er." In those daysthey were operated without water, andsince the drilling was always upward,the operators were forever fogged ina cloud of fine dry quartz dust thatalmost guaranteed silicosis."After a while I began to get cloggedup in the lungs," Ed went on. "Iknew it was time to quit mining. I hadbeen thinking about prospecting alongthe river, so that fall I went down toNeedles and bought a boat for $10from a Mojave Indian (Ed pronouncedit 'Moharve', the way almost all theold-timers do)."It was one of those Mojave boats,designed by the government for useon the Colorado. A rowboat, 16 to 20

Ed Rochester at his camp on theColorado during his Beaver-trappingdays. It was here he met the Dutch-man who had made the gold strike.cart," Ed said. "A cart made of thefront half of a wagon the frontwheels, the hounds, the rocking bolster.It was a pretty heavy outfit for twoburros. The old man was perched ontop of a pack lashed to the bolsters."He was confused and hungry, soI invited him to supper. He ate as ifhe was starved to death."

After the meal, as they sat besidethe fire in the gathering dark, the oldDutchman said: "You got a big boatthere. How about putting me acrossthe river?""Maybe I could put you and theanimals across," Ed answered, "butnot your cart.""Well, that's all right," the Dutch-man said. "An d I'll pay you well."He went to the cart and took out abundled-up piece of canvas. It con-tained 50 pound s of ore beautifulrocka yellowish quartz so rich thatbright free gold showed in every chunk .From the pile he selected three piecesand gave them to Ed."You put me and my burros on theArizona side with enough grub to getto Quartzsite," he said. "There's alot of gold in those rocks."As the night hours slipped by, theDutchmanwell fed and warmtoldEd the story of his wonderful ore.He had started out from Quartzsitewith a grubstake furnished by WilliamE. Scott, the local grocer. He workeddown through the Trigo Mountains,stopping for a while at Jim Butler'scamp. He reached the Colorado oppo-site the town of Picacho, and crossedto California on the crude ferry.The old Dutchman did not stay

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long in Picacho. Striking down riverin the direction of Laguna Dam, heprospected as he went. This countryin the big bend of the Colorado is alonely land, even today, with few jeeptrails, few visitors and no permanentinhabitants.Soon he came to a little basin fairlyhigh up in the hills. From it he couldsee one little green spot of ColoradoRiver bottomland. He couldn't iden-tify this pa rt of the river. He also saw,in a southerly direction, rising smokewhich he reasoned came from the set-tlement at Laguna Dam.There was a waterhole in the basin,so the Dutchman camped and pros-pected. And in this vicinity he foundhis high-grade vein with gold stickingout of the rock right on the surface ofthe ground. He settled down to workthe strike as long as his supplies wouldlast. But, they "lasted sho rt," for his

%% >,*>. " * /

burros broke into the grub sacks andate or ruined most of the food. Theold Dutchman had to get out or starve.He hitched up, loaded the ore hehad dug, and headed for the smokeat Laguna Dam. He was nearly outof the mountains when he came tosteep-walled Senator Wash, which hecould not cross in his cart. So heturned down the gorge toward theriver. Then he saw the smoke fromEd Rochester's camp, and made hisway to it.Now he wanted to get back toQuartzsite, pay Scott for his grubstake,get together another outfit, and returnto his promising strike.Next morning Ed and the Dutchmanferried the burros and supplies acrossto Arizona Territory."It was quite a chore," recalled Ed."We had to throw the first animal down,tie him, and then skid him into the

boat on skinned cottonwood poles. Onthe other side it was even harder skid-ding the animal out of the boat ontosolid ground."Then we started on the jenny. Wehad quite a time with her. She hadone ear cropped offthe sign of anoutlaw burro in those days. Whenwe did get her across, she boggeddown between boat and shore. Wehad a time digging her out of thatmud."After the old man and his outfitdeparted in the direction of McPher-son Wash, Ed returned to his camp onthe California side, and next daypulled out down river.In Yuma he sold the three pieces ofgold ore at Sanguinetti's store."Sanguinetti paid me $62 and oneof his big black cigars," Ed said. "H ealways gave you a cigar when hebought gold from you."Then I sold my boat for $7,shipped the beaver furs I had trapped,sold the traps, and went to Los An-geles."Ed hadn't even learned the Dutch-ma n's name . "We never asked peopletheir names when we met in the backcountry in those days. Names didn 'tamount to anything, anyway."But, he did not forget the old pros-pector and his gold. Ed was in Qu artz-site the following year, and he askedScott about the Dutchman. Yes, thestorekeeper remembered him, buthad n't seen him for a long time. Yeshe'd given him groceries the yearbeforebut he did that with everyold prospector who came by, whetherthey had money or not.Jim Butlerthe man with whomthe Dutchman had stopped off in theTrigos before making his strikewasin the store. He broke into the con-versation."Why, one of that old fellow's bur-ros came into my camp about a monthago!" he said. "You know that meandock-eared jenny. I recognized her aspart of his outfit. But, I have n't seenhim."No one, as far as Ed knows, sawthe old Dutchman after they parted onthe bank of the river.The same year Ed went to Quartz-site to see Scott and Butler, he madeanother trip down the Colorado. Thebig summer runoff, backed up behindLaguna Dam, had so changed theriver bottom that he no longer recog-nized the channels. The immenseoverflow had mudded in all that coun-try, but he did locate the Dutchman'scart stashed in the arrowweed. Themud was so deep only the top of thewheels showed.The old man had not come back toreclaim his cart, and looking up into

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the tangled mass of hills, Ed wonderedif he had ever gotten back to hisgolden ledge.A year's weather had erased alltraces of the cart tracks, and Ed wasnot equipped for a long search. Sohe continued on down the river, stop-ping at the Buena Vista Mine (laterknown as the Sena tor). None of theminers there had seen the old fellow.Another two years passed beforeEd again camped in the rincon. Notrace of the cart was evident in themud this time. With a canteen andsome grub, Ed hiked back into thesavage barren hills, the old man's de-scription still vivid in his mind."I found a little basin from whichyou could see a little speck of riverbottom," Ed told me. "And there wasa waterhole, too. I found where heor someone had hacked the upperlimbs off ironwood trees for burros tobrowse on. With a modern-day pros-pector, there would have been notrouble finding a camp . There wouldhave been a pile of tin cans. But inthose days we seldom used cannedrations, and there was no sign of acamp in the basin."But the rest everything else fitted. It was as the old man haddescribed it. There was just one thingwrong I found the ledge, but couldn'tfind the gold."The basin Ed located lies to thenorth of Roche ster Basin. It containsperhaps 100 acres, and has two fair-sized washes cutting through it. Edtraced a route over which the Dutch-man could have gotten into the basinwith his cart from the Picacho side,and a way he could have gotten out,heading down toward Laguna Dam.Following this trail, Ed came to wherethe prospector's cart would have beenblocked by Senator Wash. Ed turneddown the wash bank, saw how the oldman could have driven to the campon the river.Again it all fitted together. Nomissing links, no false notesbut alsono gold.In the intervening years, Ed and thelate Earl Kerr of Picacho, made many

Old-timers on the porch of the C. V. Ku ehn store in Quartzsite in 1915.From left: Daddy W oods, Frank W eber, Jim Butler the man w ho saw theold Dutchman in the Trigos, J. Chamberlain, Gus Anderson and FelipeScott son of the man w ho grubstaked the Dutchman on his last known trip.attempts to find the Dutchman's gold."And we kept the story to ourselvesbecause it seemed so certain the goldwas there. After all, I had seen it!"But, the vein eluded them. Why?Possibly it was a small cropping andthe Dutchman had taken all the richore that showed. More likely, thebasin Ed found is not the only one thatfits the Dutchm an's description. Orpossibly, intentionally or by chance,the old prospector twisted his story.Almost every ore is as distinctive,to an expert, as a man's fingerprints.Since that day, Ed has never seen oreidentical to that beautiful yellowishquartz with its golden burde n. Thenearest thing to it is the rock of theold Senator Min e. But, once he didhear an ore described that might be theDutchman's."A tramp miner who had put inquite some time prospecting in theTrigos told me he had seen Ramonan Indian I knew who lived around

Steep walls of Senator Wa sh, left, prevented the D utchman from driving hiscart to Laguna Dam. Ferguson Lake Road, right, was built a few yea rs ago.

Ehrenberg long ago pounding upsome funny ore that looked like noth-ing this miner had ever seen in thatcountry. A yellowish quartz rich ingold."Had Ramon found the little basinand its treasure? Or was the ore hewas crushing the remainder of that 50pounds the Dutchman was taking backto Quartzsite?Today, Ed's campsite in the littlerincon lies under the waters behindImperial Dam . But the country of theDutchman's lost ledge remains un-tamed, uninhabited, unchanged. Andas we stood on the high ground notfar from the vanished rincon andlooked into the hills from which theDutchman's queer cart with its preci-ous cargo had rumbled nearly half acentury gone, Ed said: "If I had justback-tracked him that first time . . ."But you've got to understandinthose days and around this countrygold was very comm on. You saw iteveryplace. You didn't pay too muchattention. A fellow broug ht in a pieceof goldwhy, it was just a new pros-pect. Yeah. Good ore. Good ore!But you didn't go wild about it. Youdidn't ask him where it came from,or anything like that."If he wanted to, he told you. Likethe old Dutchman. And if he hadn'ttold me, I wouldn't have asked. Itwould have been as impolite as askinghim his name."Still if just that once I had!Those big cart wheels would have leftsigns any good tracker could have fol-lowed right back to the basinand tothe Dutchman's gold."

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O ut of place birds thatlose their way into thestrange environment of thedesert add interestanda touch of mysteryto the outdoor scene.

l o s t B i r d si naS t r a n g eA r i d L a n dBy EDMUND C. JAEGER, D.Sc.Curator of PlantsRiverside Municipal MuseumSketches by Morris VanDame

HUMID August afternoonwhile dark storm clouds hunglow over themile - an d - a -half-high San Bernardino Mountains andadjacent desert slopes to the north-ward, I paused for lunch in the creo-sote bush belt of the Mojave Desert.Altitude here was2800 feet.Soon lightning knifed its zigzagcourse through the black clouds, andthe ominous accompaniment of deeprolls of thunder followed. After sev-eral especially sharp peals of thunder,dark curtains of rain descended overthe mountains, and strong gusts ofpine-scented winds swept down uponm e .And with the breezes came somestrange avian visitors birds seldomseen on the lowdesert floor. Evident-ly frightened by the storm in theirmountain home, a flock of Gambel'sChickadees and several Plain Titmicehad flown down into themore peace-ful land of creosote bushes.The strange environment proved noobstacle. Almost immediately thechickadees began flying from bush tobush in their typical erratic fashion,turning upside down and twirling abouton thewoody stems of the plants whilediligently hunting insect food. No rdidthey neglect their chickadee songs andsociable call-notes as the band of 15to 20 birds kept well together.

The Titmice were ill at ease at first,probably because they had no leafyoak trees to be in. Butsoon I heardtheir scratchy butpleasing chickadee-like notes; indeed, the strange sur-roundings stimulated them to new ef-forts at music-making.As soon as theweather in thehighaltitudes cleared, the birds left asquickly as they came.For reasons often unknown birdssometimes stray from their usualhaunts or get lost on their migratoryflights and end up far from the long-established nesting areas of their spe-cies. It is always interesting to findsuch misplaced birds, and to observethem as they seek adjustment to theirnew surroundings.Early onemorning in April, whileseated before mycampfire in a broadsmoke tree wash in the mid-Mojave

Desert near Amboy, I noticed nearbya small olive-brown bird of unusualmarkings: pinkish legs, the center ofthe crown bore an orange stripe bor-dered by a narrow black line. Itwalked from bush to bush, and Isensed that this was nocommon bird,bu t a total stranger to the desert,doubtlessly a spring migrant far outof its range. It was a forest-dwellingEastern Oven-bird, one of the mostinteresting of theground warblers, itsname derived from the architecture ofits nest. I kept mysparrow-sized birdunder observation for 30minutes, onlyonce hearing its loud penetrating song,tee'-a-cher, tee'-a-cher.

Dr. Francis B. Sumner of La Jollasaw an Oven-bird in May, 1920, onthe Mojave Desert near Lavic wherethere was a windmill and water. Itflew in under the shade of a truck

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parked near the dry lake, and beganwalking about in characteristic teeteryfashion. This was the first observationof an Oven-bird inCalifornia. Perhapsmine was the second.The Southwestern desert has its ownwarbler, the Lucy Warbler, also knownas Desert Warbler and because of itshabit of frequenting and nesting inmesquite thickets, Mesquite Warbler.I identified my first one under ratherstrange conditions and certainly in anout-of-the-way place for this activesomber-colored brush-loving bird.Tom Danielsen and I were return-ing home from a pine-nut gatheringexpedition in Southern Nevada on avery warm afternoon in mid-Septem-ber. Stopping at a rather desolate-looking service station, we noticed asmall sharp-beaked bird hopping aboutin the shade at our feet. It was indif-ferent to our presence, and with butslight difficulty Tom reached downand picked it up. The little fellow wasnot only fatigued, it was very thirsty.We got it to take liquid by droppingwater from the end of a finger into itsopen beak. This revived it consider-ably. It was evidently in southwardfall migration, and in passing over thehot desert had become exhausted. Thestation attendant said many birds camehere in summer, both by day andnight, many so spent and dehydratedthey never revived.We put our Lucy Warbler in anopen - screened can wrapped aboutwith a wet towel to keep down thetemperature, and sped westward to themountains where we turned it loosein the cool shade of trees.Handsome VisitorThe handsome Pileolated Warbler(olive-green back, yellow face, dis-tinctive velvet-black cap, and brightyellow underparts) winters in CentralAmerica. It is rarely seen on ourSonoran deserts except during migra-tory flights. I became acquainted withthis restless bird sprite one springafternoon while walking among theJoshua trees on the Mojave Desert. Afriendly male Pileolated Warbler ap-peared before me, flitting from bushto bush. To my amazement it flew tothe shoulder of my companion, andfor some moments rested there. I wasso near I could see in greatest detailhis handsome feathered coat. He wasevidently a stray, taking time out fora moment's rest and opportunity tofeed while on his migration flight.

Another of my great bird surpriseswas the finding of a black-hoodedpink-billed Harris Sparrow in the des-ert of Sonora. This bird breeds andnests in far northern Canada west ofHudson Bay. In migration and duringthe winter months it is found in thewest-central states, especially in east-

ern Nebraska, western Kansas, Okla-homa and Texas. The last place Iwould have expected to find one ofthese large sparrows was on the desertyet on a December day I saw a loneand probably very lonesome one deepin Papagoland along the Sonoita Riverwhere extreme arid conditions prevail.The bird was loitering about likea lost soul in some ironwood trees.Its plaintive minor-keyed whistlingsong, whee, whee, whee, first drew myattention to this handsome finch. Theblack adornment of its head-top, faceand breast are similar to the markingsof the common Desert Sparrow."A cardinal in red and gray," is ashort description sometimes given forthe aristocratic Pyrrhuloxia. Its prom-inent but stubby yellow beak hasearned for it the name Parrot-bill. Isaw one of these beautiful crested birdswhile camped in a broad sand wash

on the west coast of the Gulf of Cali-fornia. The Pyrrhuloxia is a finchclosely related to the grosbeaks, bunt-ings, goldfinches and towhees allmembers of the Fringillidae family.First ObservationThe Pyrrhuloxia I saw that lateafternoon was a male made conspicu-ous by the red of its face, throat andupper breast; its tail was dull red, andback gray. This observation mayhavebeen the first of this bird west of theGulf. Ordinarily, it is only seen inand around the oak forests and low-land brush and tree thickets of south-ern Arizona andSonora and southwardto Sinaloa and Puebla.A related Pyrrhuloxia frequents theoak forests at the lower end of BajaCalifornia, but differs from its northernrepresentative by being smaller and

having a larger beak. There is anotherPyrrhuloxia in Texas and northeasternMexico that is darker than theWesternbirds. Misplaced MammalsOnce in a while we find mammalsout of place, too. Some years ago LeeSmith of the Camp Cady Ranch onthe Mojave River where it flowsthrough exceedingly dry creosote bushflats, showed me porcupine quillsplucked from the muzzle of his dog.This is the only time I've ever seenevidence of forest-dwelling porcupineson the bleak Mojave Desert. Thenearest area known to harbor porcu-pines was 50 miles away.At the time of this visit to CampCady, my host housed me in a cottagewhich had a screened sleeping verandajutting out over the river bank. WhenI awoke in the early morning I wasdelighted with a rich medley of birdsongs, among them the notes of a fly-catcher. In the screw beans and wil-lows was a pair of Vermilion Fly-catchersan unexpected and stimulat-ing find. The only other desert areaswhere I have seen this fine colorfulbird are at Mecca near the Salton Seaand at the oasis of China Ranch nearTecopa on the Amargosa River, twosmall Vermilion Flycatcher islands ina vast sea of aridity.

I hope this account of misplacedbirds will induce you to watch forsimilar occurrences while on desertwanderings. Many stimulating sur-prises can be ours if we are alert tothings we see and hear in the outdoors.The best times to see lost birds are inautumn and spring, the usual periodsof migration.

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Ranch (today Furnace Creek Ranch)."This was a situation not to betaken lightly," said Dolph . "Gre en-land Ranch consisted of nothing morethan a big adobe house, a barn, corraland alfalfa fields which produced feedfor the company's dray mules andcattle. No other sign of civilization asfar as eye could seeonly shimmeringalkali flats, glowering mountains anddesolation. No excitement in prospectexcept the once-a-month mail stage oran occasional visit from Borax Smithwho unexpectedly dropped in on hiscamps to keep in personal touch withhis men."

Dinner for Borax SmithDolph accepted the job. Even be-fore he had time to order new supplies,he heard horses galloping down theold Randsburg Road one hot summerevening. When the rig stopped at the

Ranch door, Borax Smith and hispartner, Ryan, stepped out. "We'rehungrier'n coyotes, Dolph!" boomedSmith. "Rustle up some grub, quick!"Dolph was panic stricken. Smith,then in his sixtiesdark, athletic ofbuildwas considered a good scoutby his men, even though he hadamassed a fortune. Dolph didn 't knowthis, and he stood staring at his boss.Serve a millionaire grub? Why he hadnothing to cook! Not even a table toserve it on!"I was at wit's end," said Dolph, hisblack eyes twinkling, "but, I told themI'd do my best. In time I rustled upmy old stand-by, pork-and-beans andsome canned meat, and with apologiesseated my distinguished guests aroundan upturned feed box.""No apologies! No apologies,Dolp h!" roared Smith. "This is thebest grub I ever ate!""Perhaps it was, that day," Dolphreminisced. "Smith and Ryan hadbeen out scouting the Lila-Cthe bigborax strike that proved rich enoughto bring in the Tonopah & TidewaterRailroad and boom went DeathValley!"Dolph served the Greenland Ranchwell for the next two years. ThenSmith sent him out on the desert asa prospectornew borax deposits hadto be found, and what adventuresomeyoung fellow wouldn't keep his eyecocked for a few good gold claims ofhis own?By now isolation and the Valley'sterrific summer heat held no terror forDolph Nevares. Besides, things werebeginning to happen arou nd him. In1900, the cry of "gold, gold, gold"rang out across the Valley with dis-covery of the Confidence Mines. With-in seven miles of it, Yeomen and hispartner, Barbour, located the fabulous

Last Chance, whose gold turned upin great varnished kidney - shapedchunksa single bucketful estimatedat $80,000!Dolph smiled. "I was saving mymoney because there wasn't any-place to spend it, nor did I have timeto strike out on my own, not evenwhen Rhyolite went boom right undermy nose. But, after eight years onBorax Smith's payroll, I quit him andwent looking for land I could settleon."In wandering along the foothills ofthe Funeral Mountains, Dolph oftenstopped to rest and chat with a fellownamed Watkins, who was squattingon the rocky sun-baked hillside knownas Cow-Creek Ranch . Watkins livedin a wickiup built of arrowbush, andowned little else besides a two-horseteam and light wagon. He liked Cow-Creek Ranch because of its 110-de-gree hot water pools bubbling up atthe old Indian campsite farther up thehill.

When Watkins died suddenly, leav-ing the land unclaimed, Dolph lost notime. From the state he bought the320 rocky hillside acres as PatentedLand. When the cry of "gold" rangout within shouting distance of Cow-Creek, Dolph hurried away to get inon the excitement. His new ranchwould have to wait.Finley from Colorado and his part-ner Lee, a Kentuckian, had struck itrich in the Funeral Mountains only 12miles east of Dolph 's place! A fairroad led into the Hayseed Mine fromBeatty, Nevada, but a trail was badlyneeded over the Funerals into DeathValley, and Dolph built it."Alone, I hacked, picked and shov-eled out that trail in record time," re-called Dolph. Today it leads to thealmost forgotten old Hayseed Mine,later called Lee Camp.

Boom at Hayseed"People poured into the Hayseed.Buildings went up overnightstores,homes, shacks, tents, a big hotel, afive -stamp mill, a postoffice tha t serveda thousand pop ulation. But, the profit-able stringers played out and in threeyears the people were gone, and thecamp was left for wind, sun andvandals to wreak their havoc."Time went trickling on. New boomtowns kept coming and going. Dolphand his partner, Dick Ryan, had col-lected some promising gold claims oftheir own."The four Christmas Mines werethe best," said Dolph."They brought us $12,000 througha promo ter named Brevis. But. myrichest strike was made in 1910 just

north of Cow-C reek. It required sixparallel claims to cover it safely. Icalled it the Conglomerate. It was myfavorite because it was so full of sur-prises. Nowhere else, except by drill-ing in Africa, had anyone discovereda claim so flush with low-gradequartz."Dolph picked and hacked at theConglomerate almost steadily for twoyears, and the need for a cabin atnearby Cow-Creek was becoming in-creasingly evident."Lumber was my problem," he saidwith a shrug. "Lu mb er was scarcerin Death V alley than ice in July. Ihad no time to drive outside to get it.Deserted mining camps had beenpicked clean. One day I hiked up tothe old Lee Cam p. Several wind-blown buildings remained, and Ibought enough lumber for $500 fromthe owners to build a two-room cabinand considered it a bargain."

Feud with the IndiansWhat more could a desert rat askfor? A cabin a thousand feet abovethe Valley floor, hot water pools, free-dom and contentment. "W ell," Dolphlaughed wryly, "maybe not alwayscontentm ent. Every time the Indianscame to bathe, they'd fill the poolswith rocks. I'd tote 'em away, andthey brought 'em back. This went onuntil I took advantage of the Indians'lazy streak. One day I took the rocks

so far away my visitors lost interest inbinging 'em backand we lived inpeace."Hot water on the hill meant cityconveniences in the cabin. In time,hand-dug ditches circled several acresaround the cabin, and hot water ranfrom the kitchen faucet.Plant life indigenous to the Valleymoved in. Dolph, encouraging Na-ture, planted palms, cottonwoods andathels that thrived in neighborly con-fusion with arrowbush, tules, desertholly and mesquite treesa cool in-

viting oasis encircling his two-roomcabin.Wildlife moved in: cottontails, kitfoxes, packrats, chipmunks, badgers,coyotes, birds by the hundreds andoften wild burros. It was not unusualfor bighorn sheep to graze at a seepsoutheast of the cabin in spite ofIndians waiting behind rock - walledblinds to get their meat ration.Dolph cleared a space west of thecabin and circled the plot with irriga-tion ditches. Here he planted apricotand fig trees, and a small vineyard.

Next spring his garden produced oni-ons, beans, peppers and watermelons.The garden thrived. So did the

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rabbits. The melons grew large andluscious. Dolph seldom got one, forthe coyotes loved them . In time, fruittrees bore abundantly, grape vinesproduced delectable fruits. Dolph gotsome. So did the birds. Content withlife at his enchanting oasis in theFunerals, Dolph weeded and hoed hisgarden while changes were taking placein the Valley.

This area was becoming popular asa winter resort, and visitors straggledup the rugged hogback to Cow-Creek.Each winter more came. They lovedit. Some came for a day's picnic,others for extended camp-outs de-lighting in the hot water pools, themem orable shadow - patterns shiftingover the formidable Valley below."One day I looked around wonder-ing where time had gone60 yearsof it!" Dolph sighed. "I slacked up

on prospecting. Decided to keep upassessment work on only a few goodclaims. But this sort of left me at looseends. When I was offered a job atMonument Headquarters as gardener,I took it."Dolph Retires

With the exceptions of weekendsspent at his cabin, Dolph stayed on thenew job for 10 years. Still active, andtough as a pine knot, he retired andwent up to the cabin to watch theworld go by. However, other interestshad their eyes on his charming oasis.More water was needed for the Val-ley hotels. Cow-Creek Ranch, the onlyprivately owned ranch in the Monu-ment, was a likely source. Severalyears passed in negotiations, thenDolph sold out and left Death Valley.When I recently visited my oldfriend in his neat little cottage in SanBernardino, he still was chipper, stillblessed with his rare sense of humorand good memory."What's become of the old Con-glomerate?" I asked. A sad little smilecrept over Dolph's happy face, a tone

of longing tinged his voice:"Oh, I still hang onto my favorite.That hole still makes me feel like amillionaire although somebody elsewill take out its gold. Yes , often I getmighty homesick for Death Valley.Wish I had time to relive every day ofit."Cow-Creek Ranch will live in mem-ory as a monument to one man's infal-lible faith in himself; a faith that flour-ished and strengthened while facingobstacles that would have brokenweaker spirits. "This faith," saidDolph, "was always nourished by myunfailing confidence that I would liveto see Death Valley pay off in morethan goldand it did."

W o r ld W i l l R e v e r t to S t o n e A g eS a y s S c i e n t i s t f r o m C a l - T e c h

The world is rapidly approachingthe day when mineral deposits will beexhausted and the metal industries willhave to derive their raw materials fromcommon rocks. This was the predic-tion of Dr. James Bonner at the an-nual meeting of the Desert ProtectiveCouncil in the Desert Magazine puebloat Palm Desert in October.Dr. Bonner is professor of biochem-istry at the California Institute of Tech-nology, and co-author of the bookThe Next Hundred Years.Nature lovers are justified in askingthat wildlife and recreational areas bereserved in their natural state, andeven if some mineral resources are in-cluded in such areas, it will make littledifference in the long span of time.Eventually it will be necessary to de-rive all the world's minerals from com-mon rock, and the reservation of lim-ited areas for recreational use will notgreatly hasten the day when the iron,copper, lead and other minerals re-quired by an industrial civilizationmust be taken from deposits of suchlow grade that today they are regardedas common rocks."It is good for people to have wildareas as a place of retreat from thepressures of a highly complex com-mercial and social life," Dr. Bonnersaid. "Le t's learn to do without thepresent high grade resources a littlefaster so we may reserve at least asmall portion of the earth's surface inits virgin state. Our children will thankus for doing so."Dr. Bonner said the fossil fuels, coaland petroleum, will be nearing exhaus-tion in the next 50 years, but by thattime the harnessing of nuclear energywill have reached the stage when wewill have an ample power supply.Dr. Ho race Parker of Balboa Island,California, and author of the Anza-Borrego Desert State Park guide book,was elected president of the DesertProtective Council for the comingyear. He succeeds Col. James Wester-field, who was re-elected to the boardof directors and will serve as vicepresident in the year ahead. Otherdirectors re-elected were Nina PaulShumway, Dr. Ernest Tinkham andDr. C. E. Smith.Harry C. James, executive directorof the Council, gave a detailed reportregarding the availability of publicland for recreational purposes, basedon information given him by the Fed-eral Bureau of Land Management inLos Angeles.Title 43 of the Public Lands law

permits any state, territory or politicalsubdivision, including counties andmunicipalities, and also non-profit cor-porations and associations to acquireup to 640 acres of the public domainin any one year for public or recrea-tional purposes. Federal officials inthe Los Angeles Land Office expresseddisappointment that Southern Califor-nia towns and counties have not takenadvantage of this law to secure publicland for recreational use. There wouldbe a nominal charge for such lands,but it would be only a fraction of theirappraised value.

The Council passed a resolution urg-ing that no decision be made as toprotective works for Rainbow BridgeNational Monument until Glen Can-yon Dam is completed, the new reser-voir filled, and an on-the-ground ap-praisal made of the need for such pro-tective works. It has been the attitudeof the Council that protective damsand a pumping plant such as wouldbe necessary to prevent water from thereservoir backing up under the Bridgewould be more destructive of the scenicvalues in the Bridge area than wouldthe estuary which during limited per-iods would fill the Bridge Creek chan-nel beneath the great arch.

Twenty - five years ago, HarriettFarnsworth of Palm Springs, Califor-nia, came out from Atlanta, Georgia,to take a look at the desert."Its wide open space spelled peaceand contentment, its interesting oldtimers became my friends," writes theauthor of "Dolph Nevares of DeathValley" in this mon th's magazine. "Ifollowed them into the back country,lived their rugged life and loved it.Three months spent in a cave, whereI went to study and photograph wild-life, was an adventure of which I hadlong dreamed. The winter I spentalone in Dolph Nevares' cabin inDeath Valley stands out as a high-light of my desert wanderings."Her desert articles have appeared in

20 publications. "T o sum it up ," sheconcludes, "I'm a dyed - in - the - sanddesert rat . . ."18 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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SPOKE TO Claw Begony, thethin-faced long-haired Navajo, ashe entered the trading post, buthe merely grunted, stopping just insidethe doorway to stand with loweredhead and downcast gaze.I went on with my work. He wouldtell me what was troubling him whenhe was good and ready; not before.Presently he came to the counterand extended his hand. I placed minein it, and he held it an instant, notshaking it, then let his han d slide aw ay."I've come to talk to you about ourfriend, Atsa Gai," he said, his usuallysoft voice harsh w ith grieving. "H e'sda-a-tsa. Yah-go da-a-tsa! Very nearto death."He was visibly moved. White Eagle,the laughing gambling life-loving youngAtsa Gai, was failing rapidly. Butwhat more could be done for him?A sing had been held for Atsa Gaibefore I persuaded him to go to theIndian hospital in Tuba City for treat-

Medicine man prepares for a sing.ment. He had been sent home fromthere, his case pronounced incurable."We've done all we can," I remindedClaw gently.He shook his head.

"No sickness can stand against theright med icine," he said solemnly. "Ihave visited a man at Tees Toh. Heknows about Atsa Gai's sickness. Hesays his medicine is so powerful it cansuck the evil spirits from Atsa Gai'sbody, right up the smoke hole of thehogan. But he is very old now and heneeds help. He has trained two youngsingers in his own way . . . He willcost us a lot of money."Claw wanted me to help, and hewouldn't ask me directly. I had at-tended healing sings, and considered

them pure superstition. Sure, it gavethe Navajos a chance to get together,gamble and trade, and probably theywere sincere in their belief; but I

The Navajo, a man ofmany friends, lay dying.For this sing they wouldemploy powerful medicineeven six-shooterstodrive away the evil spirits.couldn't see how incantations, chants,sand paintings and herb tea could curea desperately ill person.Still, if there was the remotestchance that a sing would benefit AtsaGaieven spirituallyI couldn't re-fuse to help.I told Claw that I would give flour,sugar, coffee, cookies and candy. Andat the last minute added, "And I'llgive the medicine man a blanket."Claw Begony nodded in satisfaction."I go to Tees Toh," he said.

The news spread quickly over thedesert grapevine, and the Navajos be-gan to assemble. Atsa Ga i was wellliked, and because of his long illnessthis would be a dram atic sing. It alsowould be a great challenge to themedicine man of Tees Toh. Few Nav-ajos in the area would want to miss it.I had known Atsa Gai for severalyears. He was one of my first visitorswhen I took over the lonely tradingpost at Kayenta, Arizona, and I hadliked him at first sight.Tall, handsome and straight as ayoung tree, he was more of an extro-vert than other Navajos I had known.His was an outgoing friendly big-hearted nature . He loved to laugh,especially at himself.Perhaps that was why he was asuccessful gambler. Losing didn'tworry him. Gambling was fun, not alife-and-death m atter. If he won, hewon. If he losthe'd try again later.He was considered wealthy. He hadgood horses, much silver and turquoise,and a pretty wife who was an expertweaver. But in the midst of his pros -perity, trouble, in the form of a legmalady, crept in.One day he limped into the store,his handsome face drawn with pain."How 'd you hurt your leg?" I asked."I didn't hurt it," he laughed. "Ithurt me. I wish it would stop hurtingme."But it grew worse. Before long heno longer could stand the pain ofriding in the saddle, and when webrought him home from Tuba City todie, he was a skeleton of his formerself.I went to see him the morning be-fore the sing, and at first glancethought he was already dead. When Isaw the faint lift of his ribs, I kneltbeside him and spoke.Once he opened his eyes, but they

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were blank. Heseemed very far away.I went back to the trading post insorrow.Claw Begony came again that after-noon."To chase evil spirits away forgood," he said, looking at the riflesand six-shooters on the pawn rack,"medicine man says he'll need gunsand ammunition.""What are you going to do withthem?" I asked, startled.He ignored the question."When you hear thesingers tonight,it will be time for you to come," hesaid."Okay," I said. "I'll lend you theguns and give you ammunition. Justdon't kill anyone."There were 40 singersyoungmenwith leather lungs. Their weird chant-ing sent gooseflesh over me as Clawescorted me into Atsa Gai's hoganthat night.The dwelling was notmore than 14feet wide, with mud plastered overjuniper logs. It had a smoke holenear thecenter of thedomed roof,butwith a heavy rughung over thedoor-way, there wasn't a breath of air inthe crowded little room.Atsa Gai lay on a sheep pelt nearthe north wall, through which hisbodywould betaken should hedie. Strandsof his loosened long black hair layacross his bare chest, and his eyeswere closed. He waspale, as thoughthe medicine man had sprinkled himwith sacred pollen.

Against the south wall a group ofmen were busily tearing a bolt of clothinto small pieces and tying candy,cookies, cigarettes, gum andother giftsinto the squares. Claw and severalother men sat near the door, each ofthem armed with the borrowed fire-arms.The medicine man sat beside theclear-burning juniper fire built justbe-low the smoke hole. Hisyoung help-ers watched himintently as he meas-ured out various herbs from buckskinpouches, andplaced them, with chantsand incantations, into a white porce-lain cooking potsteaming over the fire.He was very old and withdrawn,apparently unaware of anything excepthis ownmovements.After the last ingredient wasaddedto thesacred brew, there was a shakingof gourd rattles, a swishing of eaglefeathers, a low intense chanting. Then

the potwas removed from the fire.While thebrew cooled, themedicineman and his assistants meditated, headsbent. The calico bags were stackedin a little pile. The singers outsidechanted the sacred songs. We sat insilence waiting.As if at a signal, though I saw none,one of theassistants went toAtsa Gai,lifting theinert figure to a sitting posi-tion. The medicine man followed,carrying the pot of brew.Suddenly, there was a surge of ex-pectancy, an electrical tingle in theroom. Alleyes were on themedicineman . Something was about tohappen.Slowly he pressed the rim of the

H a r d R o c k S h o r t yof Death Valley

" Y e p , they's a lotta mineralsprings over in the Amargosacountry," Hard Rock Shortywasexplaining to the crowd of tour-ists on the leanto porch at In-ferno store."There's that alum spring upEight Ball Crick. Then over inthe badlands is the soda springs.An' there's salt springs andmag-nesium springs an' a lotta others.But the one yu want to keepaway from is that m agnetic springup near Pisgah Bill's iron mine.That water has somuch pull it'lljerk the tin can right outta yourhand when yu try to dip up adrink."OF Pisgah usta git a lot o'

meat off that little pond belowthe spring. Ducks 'd fly in thereto spend the night when theywuz headin' south in the fall.When one o' them birds had aband on his leg, like them birdmigration fellers put on 'em upnorth every season, the duckcouldn't take off again. Toomuch magnetism in the water."Bill had duck meat all onewinter, but he finally had togiveit up. Ate somuch o' that mag-netized bird meat his stomachgot magnetic. Swallered hisknifeone day an' if there hadn't beena doctor over at theConsolidatedMine Bill woulda strangled todeath."

porcelain pot to Atsa Gai's lips. Theliquid dribbled down the sick man'schin and chest. I could scarcelybreathe."Drink!" I begged silently. "Drink!"Atsa Gai's body seemed to stiffena little. In the stillness wecould hearhim suck in some of themedicine. Hestopped, panting audibly, before mak-ing a feeble motion to take the pot inhis hands. Then he drank. Noisily.Greedily.Outside, thechanting rose involumeuntil the soundprimitive, compelling was all but unbearable. And asAtsa Gai swallowed the last of thebrew, Claw Begony and his compan-ions began firing through the smokehole, while the menwith the bags ofgoodies tossed them after the bullets.This was the test. Thecrucialmo-ment.I leaned forward, tears streamingdown my cheeks, my eyes on AtsaGai's face.Then heopened his eyes. Helookedup and recognizing me, he smiled."It worked!" I exulted. "He'shealed!"Afterward, walking home in thecold early morning air, I marveled atmy emotion. But, in spite of myself,I believed he washealed.Atsa Gai came to see me a fewweeks later. He was still gaunt andpale, and he still limped, but he wasevidently well on the way back tohealth. I couldn't resist invading hisprivacy of thought."Gambler," I asked, "did youreallybelieve you'd be healed?"There was nomirth in hiseyes whenthey met mine."The medicine man told me theevilspirits would besucked up through thesmoke hole when I drank the medicine,and he said the bullets would chasethem away forever . . . I believed,andit was so," he replied.

P H O T O C O N T E S TYou are inv i ted to enter desert-subjectphotographs (black and w h i t e , 5x7 orlarger) in Desert 's monthly photo contest.O n e e n t r y w i l l be s e l e c t e d e a c hm o n t h , and a $10 c a s h p r i z ea w a r d e d to the p h o t o g r a p h e r . Allo t h e r e n t r i e s w i l l be r e t u r n e d p r o -v i d e d p o s t a g e is e n c l o s e d .For non-winning pictures accepted forpubl icat ion, $3 each wi l l be paid. Thecontest is open to al l, and t ime andplace of pho t ograph are immaterialexcept that the photo must be of aDesert Southwest subject.A d d r e s s alle n t r i e s to:P H O T O C O N T E S T

D E S E R T M A G A Z I N EP A L M D E S E R T , C A L I FO R N IA

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C an y on B oa t R i dein Utah

By RANDALL HENDERSONMap by Norton AllenN THE GREAT chasm whichthe Colorado River has slashedthrough the southern Utah andnorthern Arizona plateau, workmenare drilling and blasting the sidewalkin preparation for the construction ofGlen Canyon dam. Within a few yearsthe new reservoir to be created willhave backed 187 miles upstream be-hind the dam and inundated some ofthe most colorful and fantastic terrain

in the West.I have wanted to make one moretrip into the gorgeous tributary can-yons of that region before they aresubmerged, and I welcomed the invi-tation of Gaylord Staveley of the Mex-ican Hat River Expeditions to becomea member of one of his San Juan-Glen Canyon boat parties. We madethe trip last June.Our party of 2217 passengers andfive boatmenleft Bluff, Utah, in fiveboats the morning of June 19. I knewthese boats well, they are of plywood

and fiber-glass construction, designedoriginally by Norman Nevills for theSan Juan river runs which he inaugur-ated in the late 1 930s. Following the

Within a few months risingwater behind a cofferdam in GlenCanyon of the Colorado River willbegin the transformation of ascenic area of millions of acres insouthern Utah. Some lovely can-yons will be inundated, but num-berless new scenic vistas will bemade accessible around the 400-mile shoreline of a new reservoir.death of Norman and Doris Nevills inan airplane crash in 1949 the equip-ment was taken over by Frank Wright.Wright added new boats, the ones inuse today, but of the Nevills pattern.A year ago Gaylord Staveley boughtthe equipment from Wright and con-tinues to operate as Mexican Hat Ex-peditions. Gay's active associate inthe river enterprise is his wife Joan,daughter of Norman and Doris Nevills.Joan plans the commissary for the rivertrips, as did her mother many yearsago for her father.

Below Bluff the San Juan flows be-tween high sidewalk for many milesand occasionally Indian petroglyphsare seen on the rocks. The curren t isfast, but the few mild riffles cause noboating problems.At 21 miles from the start Gay

pulled ashore where we made camp ona sandbar. The skipper and his youngboatmen gathered firewoo d and cookedan appetizing dinner while the rest ofus spread our bedrolls among the wil-lows and salt cedars in accordancewith the traditional pattern of the riverrunners, women upstream, men down-stream.Next morning it was only a 12-milerun to Mexican Hat where we stoppedto load additional provisions for the8-day journey ahead. The hydrog-rapher at the U.S.G.S. gauging station

at Mexican Hat told us the river dis-charge was 5500 second feeta ratherlow river but ample for our voyage.In the afternoon run below MexicanHat we followed the winding course ofthe famous Goosenecks, where theriver in a series of graceful curvesdoubles back on itself like a sidewinderin motion. Here we encountered sandwaves three and four feet high. Thesandwaves come and go in midstream,piling up in a parallel series of hugerollers. They are quite harmless, andpassengers generally get a thrill in

riding them. Hitting them bow or sternforemost is a sort of slow-motionbucking pony experience. Broadside,they are a rubber-cushioned roller-D E C E M B E R , 1 9 5 8 21


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Canyon sector of the Rio Colorado.I use the term "drifted" because thatis the manner of travel on most of theSan Juan and Glen Canyon expedi-tions. Very little rowing is done. Thecurrent carries the boats along at fromsix to 10 miles an hourand whowould want to go faster in a settingof such majestic beauty?Side CanyonsImmediately downstream from wherethe San Juan enters the Colorado aresome of the most fantastic and color-ful side canyons to be found in all themountainous regions of the West.

First there is Hidden Passage wherethe boats are moored at the base of avertical sandstone wall, and the pas-sengers discover a narrow passage inthe cliff where they may enter andfollow a tiny stream far back into theheart of a great domed massif. Some-times it is necessary to wade, and thissummer even to swim to reach thelittle waterfall which terminates thewinding slot. Maidenhair ferns growin soft strata in the walls where waterseeps out. It is always cool and restfulin this narrow corridor.Across the river and just a fewmiles below is Music Temple, a favor-ite side trip for all river voyagers, andthe despair of the photographers be-cause so little sunlight penetrates the

great domed room.Music Temple was named by MajorJohn Wesley Powell. He camped here

August 12, 1869, and his notes con-tain the following record:"On entering we find a little groveof boxelder and cottonwood trees; and,turning to the right, we find ourselvesin a vast chamber carved out of rock.At the upper end there is a clear deeppool of water bordered by verdure.The chamber is more than 200 feethigh, 500 feet long and 200 feet wide.Through the ceiling and on throughthe rocks for 1000 feet above, thereis a narrow winding skylight, and thisis all carved out by a little streamwhich runs only during the showersthat fall now and then in this aridcountry. . . . Here we bring our camp.When 'Old Shady' (the cook) singsus a song at night, we are pleased tofind that this hollow in the rock isfilled with sweet sounds. It was doub t-less made for an academy of musicby its storm-born architect; so wenamed it Music Temple."Guest RegisterFrank Wright and I placed a guestregister in Music Temple May 7, 1953,and when I returned this year the reg-ister's 150 pages were filled with over4000 nam es. Since there was no morespace for entries and its binding wasshowing the erosion of many thousandsof hands, I wrapped it in plastic andbrought it out for permanent safe-keeping in the archives of ColoradoRiver travel. Soon after G len Canyondam is completed Music Temple willbe submerged and its beauty and de-lightful acoustics lost to mankind for-ever.Just downstream from Music Templeis Mystery Canyon where at certainstages of the river it is possible forsmall boats to enter the sidewall ofGlen Canyon through a narrow slotand follow a winding passageway farback into the sandstone cliff. The pas-sage is too narrow to use oars, andpassengers propel the boat by pushingon the sidewalls. The passage wassilted up when we arrived theretooshallow for the boats and the quick-sand too treacherous for wading. Thiscanyon was named by Norman Nevillson one of his first trips through GlenCanyon. He found where prehistoricIndians had cut hand and toe nichesleading to the top of the wall. How-ever, time and weather had so disinte-grated the sandstone as to make itimpossible to ascend to the top. No r-man never solved the mystery of whythose steps were chiseled in the rockor their destinationbut they supplieda name for the canyon.

We crossed the river again to visitTwilight Canyon, another tributarywhere the erosion of countless ages bycloudburst torrents carrying a highsand content has gouged out greatoverhanging amphitheaters at the hair-

pin bends in the gorge. This placemight also have been called Echo Can-yon for the sound waves from anynoise are bounced back and forthamong the sidewalls and clefts in ababble of echoes.Among those who have had theprivilege of visiting these and otherscenic side canyons and glens alongthis sector of the Colorado there is adeep sense of regret that all these lovelyplaces are to be submerged under thenew man-made lake. At one timethere was a growing tide of popularinterest in reserving the sector of theColorado River from the southern Utahboundary north almost to Moab asthe Escalante National Monument.Charles Kelly, one of the sponsors ofthe idea, wrote the story for the Feb-ruary '41 issue of Desert Magazine.Later, Kelly told me that Secretary ofInterior Harold Ickes favored the pro-posal and was planning to press forits acceptance in Washington andthen circumstances caused Ickes toresign.

New VistasBut while the scenic side canyonsat river level will be inundated, thosewho are acquainted with this lovelysouthern Utah terrain agree that thewaters of the new lake at a higher levelwill give access to many new vistas ofrare beauty which are now inaccessible.That night, our sixth day on theriver, we camped at the mouth of For-bidden Canyon tributary . Names hereare a little confusing for the streamwhich flows in Forbidden Canyon isGay Staveley, skipper ofthe Mexican Hat Expeditions.

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Kane Creek Terminal, where San Juan and Glen Canyon boatmenleave the river because Glen Canyon damsite is closed to navigation.Aztec Creek. This is the river approachto Rainbow Bridge National Monu-ment. In recent years, since RainbowLodge burned and the original 14-mile overland trail to the Bridge wasmade impassable by storms, a greatmajority of the visitors to Rainbowhave trekked in from the ColoradoRiver, a distance of six miles accord-ing to the sign boards, but probablysomewhat less than that.All river voyagers stop at ForbiddenCanyon. Two river parties werecamped there when we arrived at sixin the evening, one of them a troopof 33 Boy Scouts from Salt Lake Citywho had floated down the river onrubber rafts from Hite Ferry crossing.

A fairly good foot trail follows Az-tec Creek four and one-half miles up-stream to its junction with BridgeCanyon, a tributary of Forbidden Can-yon, and thence one and one-half milesalong the floor of Bridge Canyon tothe great arch which is Rainbow Nat-ural Bridge.Water Under RainbowAccording to the engineers who sur-veyed the contour of the new reservoirshoreline, when the lake is filled anarrow finger of water would back upin Bridge Canyon immediately under-neath die Bridge span.Public Law 485 authorizing theconstruction of the Upper ColoradoRiver Storage Project including GlenCanyon Dam, specifically provides"that as part of the Glen Canyon Unitthe Secretary of Interior shall take

adequate protective measures to pre-clude impairment of the RainbowBridge National Monument."Engineers for the Bureau of Recla-mation have stated that they can pro-tect the Monument area by construct-ing a barrier dam in Bridge Canyonbelow the Bridge, and a diversion damupstream with a tunnel which will di-vert the storm water from above outof Bridge Canyon. A third installationwould be a pumping plant at the bar-rier dam to dispose of storm waterwhich might accumulate in the immedi-ate area of the Bridge, between the twobulkhead dams.

Float in EquipmentThe engineers have suggested thatif this construction program is deferreduntil they can float the heavy equip-ment for construction of the two pro-

tective dams to the site on the risingwater in the new reservoir they canavoid the necessity of blasting roadsoverland to the localeand thus pre-serve as much of the wilderness aspectof that area as possible.Conservationists are divided in theiropinions as to the installation of pro-tective works at Rainbow Bridge. TheSierra Club of California is insistingthat the barrier dams be built and theMonument fully protected against anybackwater from Glen Canyon Dam.The Desert Protective Council hastaken the position that a backwaterestuary in the creek beneath the Bridgewould be less destructive to the scenicvalues of the area than would the pro-

posed dams, tunnel and pumping plant.In order to forestall any hasty actionwhich might later prove to be ill-ad-vised, the Desert Council at its Octobermeeting passed a resolution asking thatthe

195812 desert magazine 1958 december

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