January 30
This morning, after a day with my horse on Bute, and another day of rest (today), we decided he is fully fit to travel. This morning he had no signs of lameness. I have the great benefit that my host is a veterinarian, so we can consider this an informed decision.
I have officially declared that she, my host, is the angel of this venture. When she learned I wanted to drive my horses around this area, she said I could bring the horses to her place, and I have based here. I had vaguely wanted to drive in this plain between the mountains, and this has evolved into the trip I have planned to start tomorrow. The mountains themselves are the important part, more than the plain, and this trip is two days across them and in their shadows. I am not exaggerating when I say these low mountains are one of the most beautiful spots on earth. Each time so far that I have driven in my truck next to them I have been in awe. Going slowly by horse will be all the finer.
Having visited Cochise Stronghold a couple of days ago, I can see how the mountains were so important to the Apaches, that most of their life would have been in the mountains. The mountains had the water and the richest vegetation, and other advantages. The lowland plains mostly are desert, and in the time of conflict, the Apaches were vulnerable there if seen. If as I am told, the Apaches traveled mostly on foot, the Army would have had some advantage of speed on horses. But in the mountains, the advantage was to the person afoot. From the mountains, the Apaches could see the Army approaching from much distance. If the Army was approaching one side of the mountain, the Apaches could flee from the opposite side.
This morning I went to look at Apache images. In Tombstone, 20 miles south of here, at the OK Corral (in its original location, a museum) is a display of photographs of C. S. Fly. Fly took almost all of the well known pictures of the Chiracahuas, including those of Geronimo. At a later date I will copy some of them here.
The contrast of the Apache pictures with the presentation of cowboy and mining history of Tombstone made the settlers look coarse, corrupt and immoral. One of the presentations was of the prostitutes of the town. I don’t remember the number but can safely say "plentiful". In the display were certificates issued to women by the town, authorizing their trade. The description of their line of work was “ill fame”. Prostitution continued in Arizona until WWI.
Some of the white folks in this area still fail to impress. I took a wrong turn up someone’s drive yesterday near Benson. It was a trailer house with junk cars and garbage all over, and a junkyard dog that approached my truck. I stayed in the truck and turned to leave. Along the drive, I looked down to see a small recently dead dog lying there. On one of the cars was a bumper sticker, “Proud to be a Republican”. I didn’t see much reason for them to be proud of anything, but what do I know?
I am told that Charles Manson declared Benson to be a special place, something like the center of evil. Used to be there was a Route 666 near here, presumably some indication of the devil, but too many people were stealing route signs, so Arizona change the number.
Maybe the area was in better hands with the Apaches.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
January 28
This was a day of ups and downs.
I started the day talking to woman on a ranch close by the Dragoons who knows a lot of the Apache history locally. She told me that the historic agreement between General Howard and Cochise happened only about 100 yards from where we talking, in her kitchen. She mentioned that Coronado, on his way through Arizona passed through this valley in the late 1600’s. Coronado, when crossing the Dragoons, said they were “sierra[s] muy penascosa”, very rugged mountains. She told me that the Apaches did not much use horses. The mostly walked or ran, which of course was an advantage when they wanted to disappear. They stole horses from ranchers and miners, but those horses were brought home as food. Having seen the picture of Geronimo and Naiche on horseback, I can believe that they found horses useful at some point. I have heard accounts of the Apaches running horses to death in an escape.
This woman told me I would not be able to complete my drive around the Dragoons, as the road on the northwest corner is on private land and unavailable. I drove up that way to check it out, and found that in any case the road crosses a couple of cattle guards where there are no passage gates next to. I consider that a capital crime, but there was no one to tell. EVERY cattle guard has to have a gate next to it.
I left that area and went to the east side, going into the Cochise Stronghold. This is an area where Cochise would retreat to, a favorite living place of Cochise’s people. It was easy to see why. It is what is in New England is known as a gulf, a hollow place in the side of a mountain. From a distance the stronghold would be hidden. The road winds up into the interior valley, crossing flowing water numbers of time. The trees and ground vegetation was the greenest I have seen anywhere in this area. The trees were double size.
Above the green, the cliffs were varieties of shapes and colors. The Apaches found one of the finest places on earth, a place with flowing water in a dry land.
In speaking to someone today about my project of seeing the Apache land as key to who they were and how they lived, I said how the land is the same, and as an afterthought, it is the same as seeing the land when the Apaches were there, because they would have been invisible if they wanted.
I could have spent a day in the Stronghold, but I had to pay attention to the time. I drove out to where the Forest Service road goes to the north along the hills. After a couple of miles I started to wonder if I should turn back. The road was borderline passable for a pickup truck. I was going over grapefruit sized rocks and then a few washes that were wet from last night’s rain. In one place despite four wheel drive, I could not go forward. Fortunately I was able to back up and detour. The road was only 8 miles, but it took a long time. I think I aged my truck 5 years. After those first two miles I decided I had no interest in driving the horses on this road. I came up with a new plan, which was to camp the night just outside the Stronghold, and then the next day to walk from the East Stronghold, which is where I was, to the West Stronghold, which happens to be next to the ranch where I will start. My truck and trailer will be there. I will walk back to them, and then bring the trailer to the horses. Not a full drive around the Dragoons, but at least a good part of it. And I have now driven the truck the whole way. No need to get steamed up about those few impassable .cattleguards at the north end of the mountains.
All of this seemed fine until I got home and discovered one of my horses limping heavily on one front leg. He has been in a safe paddock, with only his mate. The best I can figure is that he slipped in mud. My hope was to start Saturday - two days from now. That is now uncertain
This was a day of ups and downs.
I started the day talking to woman on a ranch close by the Dragoons who knows a lot of the Apache history locally. She told me that the historic agreement between General Howard and Cochise happened only about 100 yards from where we talking, in her kitchen. She mentioned that Coronado, on his way through Arizona passed through this valley in the late 1600’s. Coronado, when crossing the Dragoons, said they were “sierra[s] muy penascosa”, very rugged mountains. She told me that the Apaches did not much use horses. The mostly walked or ran, which of course was an advantage when they wanted to disappear. They stole horses from ranchers and miners, but those horses were brought home as food. Having seen the picture of Geronimo and Naiche on horseback, I can believe that they found horses useful at some point. I have heard accounts of the Apaches running horses to death in an escape.
This woman told me I would not be able to complete my drive around the Dragoons, as the road on the northwest corner is on private land and unavailable. I drove up that way to check it out, and found that in any case the road crosses a couple of cattle guards where there are no passage gates next to. I consider that a capital crime, but there was no one to tell. EVERY cattle guard has to have a gate next to it.
I left that area and went to the east side, going into the Cochise Stronghold. This is an area where Cochise would retreat to, a favorite living place of Cochise’s people. It was easy to see why. It is what is in New England is known as a gulf, a hollow place in the side of a mountain. From a distance the stronghold would be hidden. The road winds up into the interior valley, crossing flowing water numbers of time. The trees and ground vegetation was the greenest I have seen anywhere in this area. The trees were double size.
Above the green, the cliffs were varieties of shapes and colors. The Apaches found one of the finest places on earth, a place with flowing water in a dry land.
In speaking to someone today about my project of seeing the Apache land as key to who they were and how they lived, I said how the land is the same, and as an afterthought, it is the same as seeing the land when the Apaches were there, because they would have been invisible if they wanted.
I could have spent a day in the Stronghold, but I had to pay attention to the time. I drove out to where the Forest Service road goes to the north along the hills. After a couple of miles I started to wonder if I should turn back. The road was borderline passable for a pickup truck. I was going over grapefruit sized rocks and then a few washes that were wet from last night’s rain. In one place despite four wheel drive, I could not go forward. Fortunately I was able to back up and detour. The road was only 8 miles, but it took a long time. I think I aged my truck 5 years. After those first two miles I decided I had no interest in driving the horses on this road. I came up with a new plan, which was to camp the night just outside the Stronghold, and then the next day to walk from the East Stronghold, which is where I was, to the West Stronghold, which happens to be next to the ranch where I will start. My truck and trailer will be there. I will walk back to them, and then bring the trailer to the horses. Not a full drive around the Dragoons, but at least a good part of it. And I have now driven the truck the whole way. No need to get steamed up about those few impassable .cattleguards at the north end of the mountains.
All of this seemed fine until I got home and discovered one of my horses limping heavily on one front leg. He has been in a safe paddock, with only his mate. The best I can figure is that he slipped in mud. My hope was to start Saturday - two days from now. That is now uncertain
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
January 27
Today I moved on from Silver City to return to the Dragoon Mountains. In the week I was away I decided these mountains are about my favorite anywhere, and I got the idea to do a circumnavigation, or less nautically, a drive-around. I estimate the distance to be about 50 miles. The drive will give me the chance to be next to these hills for three days and nights, and admire them in all lights. Most of the local advice I got was negative, with lots of reasons why I couldn’t do it. I don’t mean it to sound arrogant, but my experience is that this is the normal precedent of most of what you do in life when you think up something. I decided to see how far I could get with the plan before total defeat. This afternoon I drove my truck over half the route, till I ran out of daylight. So far the road surfaces look adequate, and - critically important - each cattle guard has a gate beside it. Best of all in the course of my exploration I met a succession of delightful people, who have responded with enthusiasm. I have located a first night’s accommodation for the horses, at just the right place and distance. Stopping to ask some local trail information I met Eve, the owner of the Grapevine Ranch, a guest ranch, and learned that she had ridden the same route I had in mind. She invited us to stop in for lunch when I come by with horses.
The mountain views along my way would have been reward enough today. It is nature's masterpiece in rock! Pictures to follow.
I hadn’t intended to write about this venture until it was a sure thing, but this process of putting it together feels worth telling. So far the obstacles are tumbling like dominoes. The kindness and interest of the people I am meeting makes me feel welcomed to these hills. There is still lots to do, lots of details to be solved, but I am encouraged. I'm back on the road again in the truck tomorrow.
Today I moved on from Silver City to return to the Dragoon Mountains. In the week I was away I decided these mountains are about my favorite anywhere, and I got the idea to do a circumnavigation, or less nautically, a drive-around. I estimate the distance to be about 50 miles. The drive will give me the chance to be next to these hills for three days and nights, and admire them in all lights. Most of the local advice I got was negative, with lots of reasons why I couldn’t do it. I don’t mean it to sound arrogant, but my experience is that this is the normal precedent of most of what you do in life when you think up something. I decided to see how far I could get with the plan before total defeat. This afternoon I drove my truck over half the route, till I ran out of daylight. So far the road surfaces look adequate, and - critically important - each cattle guard has a gate beside it. Best of all in the course of my exploration I met a succession of delightful people, who have responded with enthusiasm. I have located a first night’s accommodation for the horses, at just the right place and distance. Stopping to ask some local trail information I met Eve, the owner of the Grapevine Ranch, a guest ranch, and learned that she had ridden the same route I had in mind. She invited us to stop in for lunch when I come by with horses.
The mountain views along my way would have been reward enough today. It is nature's masterpiece in rock! Pictures to follow.
I hadn’t intended to write about this venture until it was a sure thing, but this process of putting it together feels worth telling. So far the obstacles are tumbling like dominoes. The kindness and interest of the people I am meeting makes me feel welcomed to these hills. There is still lots to do, lots of details to be solved, but I am encouraged. I'm back on the road again in the truck tomorrow.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
We took in more Pow Wow this afternoon.
The young singer of the Apache group today had his New York hat on straight. I jump to the conclusion that this is an act of respect.
In late afternoon the MC announced the score of whichever big football game that was playing somewhere. I couldn't picture that happening at the ballet.
A man in a camouflage suit and Army boots had an Army beret with an eagle feather in it. He was carrying his you child.
The drums pound out heartbeat.
The young singer of the Apache group today had his New York hat on straight. I jump to the conclusion that this is an act of respect.
In late afternoon the MC announced the score of whichever big football game that was playing somewhere. I couldn't picture that happening at the ballet.
A man in a camouflage suit and Army boots had an Army beret with an eagle feather in it. He was carrying his you child.
The drums pound out heartbeat.
January 24
Where my horses are is within a few hundred feet of the Continental Divide. South of Silver City, the Rockies taper down to an end. I had wondered if this was the official end of the Rockies, but apparently the accepted belief is that the end is somewhere further north in NM, with a gap between there and here. This, then, is the second end.
Friday night, in mid bizzard, we went to the Red Paint Pow Wow and again yesterday. This event is undoubtedly important in my understanding of the 19th Century Chiracahuas, but I am overwhelmed with impressions. It is easier seeing patterns in history than present. It is like using Google Maps, where you start with large scale and zoom in. Zoomed in, I am in a large room bordered with vendors of jewelry of bead and stone, with lots of people milling around. Half have darker skin. Gradually organization emerges, and singing and dancing begins. Dancers wear elaborate colorful beautiful costumes. Men have headwear with swaying porcupine quill manes, or feathers. Some have large splaying feathers like the stereotypical headdress, one from the back of the head and a second suspended behind, at hip level. There is a general pattern to the outfits, but great personal variation in colorful decoration. We are present at a huge celebration of life and tribal life, and of tradition.
I am trying to see the historical Chiricahuas in this, which is confusing. Most of the participants are Apaches, a category which includes even the Navajoes, who are represented. A smaller number are Chiricahuas, but of course it is usually not clear to us who is who.
Many things go through my mind. How are modern day Chiricahuas related to the Apaches who so successfully fought the Army, other than by kinship? Who are they in their current lives? How do they see themselves, and others?
A Chiricahua father, son and nephew sing for us. The father takes time to review and honor the lives of the Cochise era Apaches, and tells us he is a great grandson, or great-great, of the great leader. He is in the present a holder of the traditional songs. His voice when he first speaks, startles us with its strength and directness, and when he sings it is powerful. There is urgency to his presentation: essential to tell the story and sing the songs with clarity and passion, to get it right.
One of the two younger men, of the three, has a hat that says in large letters on the side: "NEW YORK". The brim is sideways and both he and the other wear baggy gansta pants and shapeless sweatshirts. Their clothes speak rebellion from tradition, but they know the songs and are there singing.
Among the tribes here, the Chiricahua have the most impressive resume, at least the one that made headlines 150 years ago, the ones that movies were made of. It is a history of glorious accomplishment in warfare. But within that heritage things are complicated. Even among the Chiricahua, there was division in the time of Geronimo, with many of the tribe feeling that his actions would bring total destruction of the tribe. He was seen by some as a cause of their 27 year imprisonment. Some of the tribe was employed by the Army, working for the defeat of Geronimo. How was all of this resolved over the years? In the present, I get the impression that the Chiricahua carefully guard membership in the tribe. I had a fascinating conversation with a woman whose grandparents were Chiricahua who escaped the gathering of Apaches for the train trip to prison. Her people lived north of here in Winston, in freedom. The ancestors of this group are now trying to gain federal recognition, not for benefits or land, but just for their own identity. She said the Chiricahua have been very secretive about ancestral records, not helpful at all. Records of Catholic baptisms have supported her case.
In the present, however, there is dancing, singing and camaraderie. Here in a plain large hall in a building outgrown by WalMart, now a county convention center, Indian traditions are stirring. My mind sees the man in front of me, in high moccasins and leggings, running across land I recently drove with my horses, heading for cover in the Dragoon hills. The boldness of his dance costume can inspire both admiration and fear. If I dressed in such things I would probably look silly. There was absolutely nothing silly about him.
The event is an environment of of honoring and tolerance. Armed Forces veterans were honored, making clear that warring in the service of the USA was highly regarded. Older members of the audience were honored with gifts - along with a number of others, our host here, Harriet, a clear non-Indian, was given a basket of food and candy. The confidence of these people allow and welcome our presence, rather than being threated by it.
Several very small children are dancing in the center. They are miniaturized versions of their elders, with equally elaborate outfits. They are followed by adolescents, boys and girls separately, doing fancy dance. The dance of the teens is especially impressive, with their youthful athleticism.
The dance and singing will go on all day and into the night. I come to a point where I can't watch anymore and it is time to leave.
I don't know what to make of it all, but I am deeply honored to be allowed to watch - more than that,even. Welcomed.
Part of my confusion, I think, is that I have been put in my place. This people and this history is beyond my understanding and explanation. My own role is shrunken. I am a participant, a very small part, not privy to the larger picture. I am content. I am happy. My role is experience.
Where my horses are is within a few hundred feet of the Continental Divide. South of Silver City, the Rockies taper down to an end. I had wondered if this was the official end of the Rockies, but apparently the accepted belief is that the end is somewhere further north in NM, with a gap between there and here. This, then, is the second end.
Friday night, in mid bizzard, we went to the Red Paint Pow Wow and again yesterday. This event is undoubtedly important in my understanding of the 19th Century Chiracahuas, but I am overwhelmed with impressions. It is easier seeing patterns in history than present. It is like using Google Maps, where you start with large scale and zoom in. Zoomed in, I am in a large room bordered with vendors of jewelry of bead and stone, with lots of people milling around. Half have darker skin. Gradually organization emerges, and singing and dancing begins. Dancers wear elaborate colorful beautiful costumes. Men have headwear with swaying porcupine quill manes, or feathers. Some have large splaying feathers like the stereotypical headdress, one from the back of the head and a second suspended behind, at hip level. There is a general pattern to the outfits, but great personal variation in colorful decoration. We are present at a huge celebration of life and tribal life, and of tradition.
I am trying to see the historical Chiricahuas in this, which is confusing. Most of the participants are Apaches, a category which includes even the Navajoes, who are represented. A smaller number are Chiricahuas, but of course it is usually not clear to us who is who.
Many things go through my mind. How are modern day Chiricahuas related to the Apaches who so successfully fought the Army, other than by kinship? Who are they in their current lives? How do they see themselves, and others?
A Chiricahua father, son and nephew sing for us. The father takes time to review and honor the lives of the Cochise era Apaches, and tells us he is a great grandson, or great-great, of the great leader. He is in the present a holder of the traditional songs. His voice when he first speaks, startles us with its strength and directness, and when he sings it is powerful. There is urgency to his presentation: essential to tell the story and sing the songs with clarity and passion, to get it right.
One of the two younger men, of the three, has a hat that says in large letters on the side: "NEW YORK". The brim is sideways and both he and the other wear baggy gansta pants and shapeless sweatshirts. Their clothes speak rebellion from tradition, but they know the songs and are there singing.
Among the tribes here, the Chiricahua have the most impressive resume, at least the one that made headlines 150 years ago, the ones that movies were made of. It is a history of glorious accomplishment in warfare. But within that heritage things are complicated. Even among the Chiricahua, there was division in the time of Geronimo, with many of the tribe feeling that his actions would bring total destruction of the tribe. He was seen by some as a cause of their 27 year imprisonment. Some of the tribe was employed by the Army, working for the defeat of Geronimo. How was all of this resolved over the years? In the present, I get the impression that the Chiricahua carefully guard membership in the tribe. I had a fascinating conversation with a woman whose grandparents were Chiricahua who escaped the gathering of Apaches for the train trip to prison. Her people lived north of here in Winston, in freedom. The ancestors of this group are now trying to gain federal recognition, not for benefits or land, but just for their own identity. She said the Chiricahua have been very secretive about ancestral records, not helpful at all. Records of Catholic baptisms have supported her case.
In the present, however, there is dancing, singing and camaraderie. Here in a plain large hall in a building outgrown by WalMart, now a county convention center, Indian traditions are stirring. My mind sees the man in front of me, in high moccasins and leggings, running across land I recently drove with my horses, heading for cover in the Dragoon hills. The boldness of his dance costume can inspire both admiration and fear. If I dressed in such things I would probably look silly. There was absolutely nothing silly about him.
The event is an environment of of honoring and tolerance. Armed Forces veterans were honored, making clear that warring in the service of the USA was highly regarded. Older members of the audience were honored with gifts - along with a number of others, our host here, Harriet, a clear non-Indian, was given a basket of food and candy. The confidence of these people allow and welcome our presence, rather than being threated by it.
Several very small children are dancing in the center. They are miniaturized versions of their elders, with equally elaborate outfits. They are followed by adolescents, boys and girls separately, doing fancy dance. The dance of the teens is especially impressive, with their youthful athleticism.
The dance and singing will go on all day and into the night. I come to a point where I can't watch anymore and it is time to leave.
I don't know what to make of it all, but I am deeply honored to be allowed to watch - more than that,even. Welcomed.
Part of my confusion, I think, is that I have been put in my place. This people and this history is beyond my understanding and explanation. My own role is shrunken. I am a participant, a very small part, not privy to the larger picture. I am content. I am happy. My role is experience.
Friday, January 22, 2010
January 21
How could I have known? We have had a day of snow and more tonight. I am glad to have not clipped my horses' winter fur.
Today is the start of the Red Paint Pow Wow here in Silver City. The timing of this was perfect, as we could see before I left home. My wife Pam has joined me here for the week.
We just sampled the Pow Wow this afternoon, looking over the numerous vendors of jewelry. Tonight there is a special event of singing and dancing by Yaquis, Chiracahua Apache, Navajo and San Carlos Apache. Other tribes, some from great distance, will perform over the weekend.
I found it notable that the program asked for respect for the US flag. The official policy is a patriotic attitude towards the US. My own read imagining the position of the Chiracahuas, is that they have nothing to prove, and complaints about the government and history are too small a response for a history of misdeeds on the part of white folks, and the government. These are not people for trifles.
Silver City gives a strong clue in its name. This is a mining area even to the present. Copper is the product now, but some traces of gold and silver show up in the mining. The town was founded in 1870. Here is some history from Wikipedia:
The founding of the town occurred shortly after the discovery of silver ore deposits at Chloride Flats, on the hill just west of the farm of Captain John M. Bullard and his brother James. Following the silver strike, Captain Bullard laid out the streets of the Silver City, and a bustling tent city quickly sprang to life. Although the trajectory of Silver City's development was to be different from the hundreds of other mining boom towns established during the same period, Captain Bullard himself never lived to see even the beginnings of permanence, as he was killed in a confrontation with Apache raiders less than a year later, on February 23, 1871.
The town's violent crime rate was substantial during the 1870s, Grant County Sheriff Harvey Whitehill was elected in 1874, and gained a sizable reputation for his abilities at controlling trouble. In 1875, Whitehill became the first lawman to arrest Billy the Kid, known at the time as William Bonney. Whitehill arrested him twice, both times for theft in Silver City, and would later claim that Bonney was a likeable kid, whose stealing was a result more of necessity than criminality.
Me again: This was a town in the midst of Apache territory. In the 1870's and 80's, all in this town would be familiar with death by Apache. Of course, the history of the town indicates that the miners and townspeople were pretty good at killing each other, too.
How could I have known? We have had a day of snow and more tonight. I am glad to have not clipped my horses' winter fur.
Today is the start of the Red Paint Pow Wow here in Silver City. The timing of this was perfect, as we could see before I left home. My wife Pam has joined me here for the week.
We just sampled the Pow Wow this afternoon, looking over the numerous vendors of jewelry. Tonight there is a special event of singing and dancing by Yaquis, Chiracahua Apache, Navajo and San Carlos Apache. Other tribes, some from great distance, will perform over the weekend.
I found it notable that the program asked for respect for the US flag. The official policy is a patriotic attitude towards the US. My own read imagining the position of the Chiracahuas, is that they have nothing to prove, and complaints about the government and history are too small a response for a history of misdeeds on the part of white folks, and the government. These are not people for trifles.
Silver City gives a strong clue in its name. This is a mining area even to the present. Copper is the product now, but some traces of gold and silver show up in the mining. The town was founded in 1870. Here is some history from Wikipedia:
The founding of the town occurred shortly after the discovery of silver ore deposits at Chloride Flats, on the hill just west of the farm of Captain John M. Bullard and his brother James. Following the silver strike, Captain Bullard laid out the streets of the Silver City, and a bustling tent city quickly sprang to life. Although the trajectory of Silver City's development was to be different from the hundreds of other mining boom towns established during the same period, Captain Bullard himself never lived to see even the beginnings of permanence, as he was killed in a confrontation with Apache raiders less than a year later, on February 23, 1871.
The town's violent crime rate was substantial during the 1870s, Grant County Sheriff Harvey Whitehill was elected in 1874, and gained a sizable reputation for his abilities at controlling trouble. In 1875, Whitehill became the first lawman to arrest Billy the Kid, known at the time as William Bonney. Whitehill arrested him twice, both times for theft in Silver City, and would later claim that Bonney was a likeable kid, whose stealing was a result more of necessity than criminality.
Me again: This was a town in the midst of Apache territory. In the 1870's and 80's, all in this town would be familiar with death by Apache. Of course, the history of the town indicates that the miners and townspeople were pretty good at killing each other, too.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
January 20
Before I began this trip, I consulted with my philosopher. Just the notion of it pleased me. Yes, it is probably a good idea for a traveler to spent a little time in contemplation of purpose and concerns. Surely a journey is a deeper experience with a small effort to bring these things to consciousness. Plus, a good philosopher, which he is, will add depth.
Cris is concerned with how we see and understand things. He makes the point that when you add a dimension, in effect your perspective changes. If you have two dimensions and go to three, for example, what appears to be a dividing barrier in two dimensions, may only be a line on the surface, seen from a third dimension. Add time, and you might have a “wisdom” to see that the condition of a moment that could lead you to despair may evolve to something better. You gain that time-aided perspective. Cris, who inspires me with his humane views, trusts that this is good news for resolution of human conflict.
I had concerns about writing a blog. How can you properly tell a story from inside, when you don’t know outcomes? Might I just lead my patient readers down blind canyons? It is an act of faith to try anyway.
Yesterday, on my route to Silver City, I stopped at the Amerind Foundation museum in Dragoon, in Texas Pass, near the top of the Dragoon Mountains. Interstate 10 goes through the Pass. Many people had spoken highly of Amerind.
The Museum houses many artifacts of local archeology, plus items bought from elsewhere that had come from this area. The exhibits go back more than a couple of millennia, however my interest, as ever, was Chiracahua Apaches. In the room devoted to them, I saw beautiful beaded shirts that displayed an attention to fine detail and design. Knee length mocassins were crafted skillfully, and I could picture them worn in a 12 hour run across desert, returning from a raid, pursued by cavalry. Those runs, while more strenuous than travel by horse, gave the Apache the ability to disappear up near invisible mountain trails where horses couldn’t follow. Those moccasins had to be very well made. I saw a bow and arrows that Geronimo himself had made (in captivity. He sold such things to whoever would pay), and signed. That sent a chill of excitement through me to be so close to something his hand had touched.
In the same room a video was playing continuously the WBGH Public Television film “Geronimo and the Apache Resistance”. I had seen the tail end of it on TV recently, but not the beginning. The film is comprised of interviews of grandchildren of the Chiracahua survivors. Until recently, the descendants were reluctant to talk, because of cultural strictures concerning talking about the dead. In this film, however, the people strive to give a clearer image of the era of warfare, from the point of view of the Apaches. “Quietly and affectingly told” the New York Times aptly said.
The film gives a picture of a people struggling from the invasion of their land, and then the efforts of the invaders to kill them. Under these pressures, the Chiracahua changed from hunting and gathering to some of that but also a reliance on raiding. Settlers and miners came equipped with food, horses, cattle and weapons, and were easy targets for the Apaches, who had the advantages of acclimation to a hard land, and a thorough knowledge of its terrain. They became specialists in raid-and-disappear. The film documents the attempts of a people to survive. At times even Geronimo tried reservation life - at the dry and barren San Carlos Reservation. The Apache tried to rely on the integrity of the US Army, yet time and time again found the Army used deadly deception and easily broke essential promises. When Geronimo first surrendered in the spring of 1886, he and Naiche quickly came to the conclusion that the Army intended to execute them, and they fled, a group of 20 men and 13 women. The second surrender was later that year, after tribe members were already being shipped to POW imprisonment on the east coast of Florida, and Geronimo and Naiche’s band would be totally isolated before final extinction. After the second surrender,he Army did not execute them, but did break promises to unite them with their families (they were initially imprisoned in a second fort on the Florida panhandle), and more importantly, did not return the people to Arizona in two years as promised, but imprisoned them in the east for 27 years. Under these circumstances, Geronimo, Naiche and the others of the warring Apaches did not see an alternative to war, for the sake of their lands, for the survival of their people, and for their sense of essential dignity. All of this is well presented in the film.
Many factors complicate the picture. Political pressures, cultural differences, personalities - all make this a complex story.
Nonetheless, you cannot ignore things like the major accomplishment of the Apaches, evading control of the Army for roughly 25 years. You can’t ignore the occasional humane actions of some of the Army officials. You can’t ignore what was called the savage brutality of the raiding and warring Apaches. You can’t ignore the occasion of Teddy Roosevelt inviting Geronimo to the White House. The Apaches were equally feared and respected.
Ultimately their treatment by the government was brutal also. One hundred twelve Chiracahua children were shipped to the Carlisle School in Pennsylvania. Twelve died the first year. In nine years, 37 had died, and perhaps more among ones sent home.
Despite all this, somehow to the present day the Chiracahua show a strength that is remarkable among tribes. They have adapted to life in a non-Indian world, while still retaining important aspects of Apache culture. They are like the doll that always rights itself.
I started out talking about perspective because I came away from the Museum with a distinctly shifted perspective. I felt perhaps some of what I wrote earlier I see in a slightly different way. And I see that this is a problem of blogging, while at the same time the blog can be seen as a process of coming to understandings. What I write about the Apache today may be out of date next week. Please have patience!
This morning, here at 6000 feet in Silver City, we had four inches of snow, and where my horses are, at 7,000 feet, more.My Norwegian horses looked pleased.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
That's not us heading for Silver City. We'll use the truck.
Just north of here was the route of the Butterfield Stage Route, Missouri to California. The company lost lots of drivers and station employees to the Apaches, who saw them as easy prey.
Does anyone know if any of the original Butterfield route can still be driven by horses?
Just north of here was the route of the Butterfield Stage Route, Missouri to California. The company lost lots of drivers and station employees to the Apaches, who saw them as easy prey.
Does anyone know if any of the original Butterfield route can still be driven by horses?
Monday, January 18, 2010
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Here's a correction on my estimate: The Dragoons are 25 miles long. This site gives a nice overview of the geology:
http://skywalker.cochise.edu/wellerr/students/dragoons/mark_alexander_geology_web_page.htm
I drove the horses this morning again, heading for a time towards the Dragoons. I was struck by how little this area has changed. Yes, there is a scattering of houses, scraped roads and occasional fence, but the land and the vegetation looks unchanged. This isn't a place where land gets plowed. There is some cattle grazing, but the landscape is still mesquite and yucca. The mountains, thankfully, don't have towers on top. It is easy to image Apaches behind bushes or laying in the grass. Driving along I picture they would wait till the coach passed and attack from behind (unlike stagecoach robbers in the movies). That way they would have a chance to shoot without counterattack.
Driving along the south wind blew my brim hat back on its chin string, again, an image from the movies.
I'll add some pictures of my horses from yesterday, taken by a neighbor.
http://skywalker.cochise.edu/wellerr/students/dragoons/mark_alexander_geology_web_page.htm
I drove the horses this morning again, heading for a time towards the Dragoons. I was struck by how little this area has changed. Yes, there is a scattering of houses, scraped roads and occasional fence, but the land and the vegetation looks unchanged. This isn't a place where land gets plowed. There is some cattle grazing, but the landscape is still mesquite and yucca. The mountains, thankfully, don't have towers on top. It is easy to image Apaches behind bushes or laying in the grass. Driving along I picture they would wait till the coach passed and attack from behind (unlike stagecoach robbers in the movies). That way they would have a chance to shoot without counterattack.
Driving along the south wind blew my brim hat back on its chin string, again, an image from the movies.
I'll add some pictures of my horses from yesterday, taken by a neighbor.
January 18
I think I am getting the hang of picture posting. More to come.
It occurred to me that in my writing about the Apache I might have given the impression that they were misunderstood and abused. This was true, no doubt, but the story is much more complicated. There was an exchange of violence, and the Apaches held up their end. Larcena Pennington's story was one I knew from Pumpelly, and I suspect it was known nationally at the time. Here is a recent and detailed writing about her. It speaks for itself, and gives an indication of the fear experienced by settlers and miners in that era. For the feint of heart, scroll past.
Larcena Pennington, Arizona pioneer survivor
By Kimberly Matas arizona daily star Tucson, Arizona Published: 10.31.2009
Hardships were part of life for Southern Arizona pioneers in the mid-1800s, but the trials endured by Larcena Pennington Page would have brought the toughest frontiersman to his knees. Her survival after being kidnapped, stabbed, beaten and left for dead by a band of Apaches was near-miraculous. Larcena was a young woman with a lot of responsibilities when she arrived in Southern Arizona in 1857. After her mother's death, it was up to Larcena and an older sister to care for their 10 younger siblings as they rode in a wagon train with their father from Texas to California. However, by the time they reached Fort Buchanan near Sonoita, in what was then Apache country, Larcena was ill with mountain fever and the Penningtons were forced to drop out of the wagon train while she recovered. The family settled near Sonoita, where it cultivated vegetables and earned money by providing hay to the fort. The Apaches mostly left the family alone except for occasional raids to steal corn from its garden. A year after arriving, Larcena, a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, good-natured woman, married John Hempstead Page, a lumberman who hauled timber from the Santa Rita Mountains to Tucson. They lived at Canoa Ranch, but John often spent long stretches working at a lumber camp in Madera Canyon. Larcena, missing her husband during his many absences, eventually persuaded John to take her with him on a trip to the lumber camp. They were accompanied by another frontiersman, and Larcena brought along Mercedes Quiroz, an 11-year-old Mexican girl whom she tutored. The party of four had no sense of danger when it pitched its tents beside a stream in Madera Canyon the first night. After breakfast the next morning, the men left camp — Page riding ahead to check on the next load of lumber and his partner gone in search of wild game. Once the men were out of earshot, a band of five Apaches, who had been following the group throughout the previous day, attacked. Larcena grabbed a pistol, but the gun was wrestled away from her. Before marching their captives into the hills, the kidnappers ransacked the campsite. The hilly trail was difficult, and the temperature was cold. It was March 1860, and snow still lay in large patches on the ground. As the group walked, Larcena tore bits of cloth from her dress and bent twigs in her wake to signal the rescuers she hoped were in pursuit. "My inability to travel at the speed which they desired was the cause of my receiving the most brutal treatment at their hands," Larcena later said. "They several times pointed a six-shooter at my head, as much as to say that my fate was already decided upon and that I was to be made a victim of savage barbarity." Near sunset, when Larcena no longer could keep up, her captors forced her to remove her corset, skirt and shoes, leaving her nearly nude. Suddenly one of the Apaches stabbed her in the back with his lance, causing her to tumble down a ravine. The others followed, stabbing her repeatedly — 11 times in all — and pelting her with rocks until she lay motionless in a snowbank. When Larcena finally regained consciousness, three days had passed. The chilling snow had slowed the bleeding from her wounds. Fearing the Apaches who had kidnapped her were nearby, she did not want to use the same trail they'd traveled. Instead, after slaking her thirst with snow, Larcena used natural landmarks and the position of the sun to get her bearings and set off bushwhacking across the desert. Barefoot, blistered from the glaring sun on her bare skin and weak from blood loss, "my feet gave out the first day and I was compelled to crawl most of the distance," Larcena said. "Sometimes after crawling up a steep ledge, laboring hard for half a day, I would lose my footing and slide down lower than the place from which I started." She subsisted on snow and wild grasses. During the frigid nights, she clawed shallow indentations in the hard earth and slept. All the while, search parties led by her husband and soldiers from the fort were scouring the vast landscape looking for Larcena and Mercedes. On the 12th day of her ordeal, Larcena reached a high point on a ridge. From the perch, she could see the camp where she'd been abducted and men passing through the site. Tying her petticoat to a stick, she waved her makeshift signal flag and screamed for help, but her shouts went unheard as the party moved on. It took Larcena another two days to crawl to the camp. She found a log still smoldering in the fire pit and, using water from the nearby stream, she scraped up enough of the flour left scattered on the ground by the Apaches to make a humble meal — she fashioned dough into patties and cooked the flatbread over the fire. After spending the night sleeping next to a warm campfire, Larcena moved on. It was on the 16th day that she finally found help after stumbling into another campsite along the logging route. Hair clotted with blood, wounds gaping, skin blackened by the sun, emaciated and nearly naked, she shocked the men who saw her approach. One declared her to be an apparition. They could not believe the 23-year-old had survived more than two weeks in the desert and had traveled 15 miles in her condition. The men transported her to Canoa Ranch and sent for her husband and a doctor. Edward F. Radeleff, an accountant for a Tubac-based mining company, rode with the doctor: "There I saw the poor woman. Lance thrusts in both breasts and in numerous other places, bruised from rocks thrown at her by the Indians, almost everywhere covering her with blood, emaciated beyond description, her hands and knees and legs and arms a mass of raw flesh almost exposing the bones, caused by crawling over the cruel rocks, uphill and downhill." After two days' rest at the ranch, Larcena returned to Tucson, where she was reunited with Mercedes. The little girl had been recovered as part of a prisoner exchange between the Apaches and the soldiers at Fort Buchanan. Unfortunately, her 16 days in the desert weren't the last anguish Larcena would suffer. She was pregnant with her first daughter when, a year later, her husband was killed during an Apache ambush. Within the next several years, she lost five more family members. Her father and two brothers were killed by Apaches, one sister died of miliaria and another from pneumonia. Yet when the rest of her grief-stricken family decided to return to Texas, Larcena stayed behind. She married miller and miner William F. Scott, had two more children and lived out the rest of her 76 years uneventfully in downtown Tucson, near the street — Pennington — that bears her family name.
I think I am getting the hang of picture posting. More to come.
It occurred to me that in my writing about the Apache I might have given the impression that they were misunderstood and abused. This was true, no doubt, but the story is much more complicated. There was an exchange of violence, and the Apaches held up their end. Larcena Pennington's story was one I knew from Pumpelly, and I suspect it was known nationally at the time. Here is a recent and detailed writing about her. It speaks for itself, and gives an indication of the fear experienced by settlers and miners in that era. For the feint of heart, scroll past.
Larcena Pennington, Arizona pioneer survivor
By Kimberly Matas arizona daily star Tucson, Arizona Published: 10.31.2009
Hardships were part of life for Southern Arizona pioneers in the mid-1800s, but the trials endured by Larcena Pennington Page would have brought the toughest frontiersman to his knees. Her survival after being kidnapped, stabbed, beaten and left for dead by a band of Apaches was near-miraculous. Larcena was a young woman with a lot of responsibilities when she arrived in Southern Arizona in 1857. After her mother's death, it was up to Larcena and an older sister to care for their 10 younger siblings as they rode in a wagon train with their father from Texas to California. However, by the time they reached Fort Buchanan near Sonoita, in what was then Apache country, Larcena was ill with mountain fever and the Penningtons were forced to drop out of the wagon train while she recovered. The family settled near Sonoita, where it cultivated vegetables and earned money by providing hay to the fort. The Apaches mostly left the family alone except for occasional raids to steal corn from its garden. A year after arriving, Larcena, a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, good-natured woman, married John Hempstead Page, a lumberman who hauled timber from the Santa Rita Mountains to Tucson. They lived at Canoa Ranch, but John often spent long stretches working at a lumber camp in Madera Canyon. Larcena, missing her husband during his many absences, eventually persuaded John to take her with him on a trip to the lumber camp. They were accompanied by another frontiersman, and Larcena brought along Mercedes Quiroz, an 11-year-old Mexican girl whom she tutored. The party of four had no sense of danger when it pitched its tents beside a stream in Madera Canyon the first night. After breakfast the next morning, the men left camp — Page riding ahead to check on the next load of lumber and his partner gone in search of wild game. Once the men were out of earshot, a band of five Apaches, who had been following the group throughout the previous day, attacked. Larcena grabbed a pistol, but the gun was wrestled away from her. Before marching their captives into the hills, the kidnappers ransacked the campsite. The hilly trail was difficult, and the temperature was cold. It was March 1860, and snow still lay in large patches on the ground. As the group walked, Larcena tore bits of cloth from her dress and bent twigs in her wake to signal the rescuers she hoped were in pursuit. "My inability to travel at the speed which they desired was the cause of my receiving the most brutal treatment at their hands," Larcena later said. "They several times pointed a six-shooter at my head, as much as to say that my fate was already decided upon and that I was to be made a victim of savage barbarity." Near sunset, when Larcena no longer could keep up, her captors forced her to remove her corset, skirt and shoes, leaving her nearly nude. Suddenly one of the Apaches stabbed her in the back with his lance, causing her to tumble down a ravine. The others followed, stabbing her repeatedly — 11 times in all — and pelting her with rocks until she lay motionless in a snowbank. When Larcena finally regained consciousness, three days had passed. The chilling snow had slowed the bleeding from her wounds. Fearing the Apaches who had kidnapped her were nearby, she did not want to use the same trail they'd traveled. Instead, after slaking her thirst with snow, Larcena used natural landmarks and the position of the sun to get her bearings and set off bushwhacking across the desert. Barefoot, blistered from the glaring sun on her bare skin and weak from blood loss, "my feet gave out the first day and I was compelled to crawl most of the distance," Larcena said. "Sometimes after crawling up a steep ledge, laboring hard for half a day, I would lose my footing and slide down lower than the place from which I started." She subsisted on snow and wild grasses. During the frigid nights, she clawed shallow indentations in the hard earth and slept. All the while, search parties led by her husband and soldiers from the fort were scouring the vast landscape looking for Larcena and Mercedes. On the 12th day of her ordeal, Larcena reached a high point on a ridge. From the perch, she could see the camp where she'd been abducted and men passing through the site. Tying her petticoat to a stick, she waved her makeshift signal flag and screamed for help, but her shouts went unheard as the party moved on. It took Larcena another two days to crawl to the camp. She found a log still smoldering in the fire pit and, using water from the nearby stream, she scraped up enough of the flour left scattered on the ground by the Apaches to make a humble meal — she fashioned dough into patties and cooked the flatbread over the fire. After spending the night sleeping next to a warm campfire, Larcena moved on. It was on the 16th day that she finally found help after stumbling into another campsite along the logging route. Hair clotted with blood, wounds gaping, skin blackened by the sun, emaciated and nearly naked, she shocked the men who saw her approach. One declared her to be an apparition. They could not believe the 23-year-old had survived more than two weeks in the desert and had traveled 15 miles in her condition. The men transported her to Canoa Ranch and sent for her husband and a doctor. Edward F. Radeleff, an accountant for a Tubac-based mining company, rode with the doctor: "There I saw the poor woman. Lance thrusts in both breasts and in numerous other places, bruised from rocks thrown at her by the Indians, almost everywhere covering her with blood, emaciated beyond description, her hands and knees and legs and arms a mass of raw flesh almost exposing the bones, caused by crawling over the cruel rocks, uphill and downhill." After two days' rest at the ranch, Larcena returned to Tucson, where she was reunited with Mercedes. The little girl had been recovered as part of a prisoner exchange between the Apaches and the soldiers at Fort Buchanan. Unfortunately, her 16 days in the desert weren't the last anguish Larcena would suffer. She was pregnant with her first daughter when, a year later, her husband was killed during an Apache ambush. Within the next several years, she lost five more family members. Her father and two brothers were killed by Apaches, one sister died of miliaria and another from pneumonia. Yet when the rest of her grief-stricken family decided to return to Texas, Larcena stayed behind. She married miller and miner William F. Scott, had two more children and lived out the rest of her 76 years uneventfully in downtown Tucson, near the street — Pennington — that bears her family name.
January 18
Sonoita hosts a Border Patrol station. As you drive into town you see a field full of full size brand new vehicles. It gives some indication of the scale of operations, given that these are the vehicles not at work. The government has to be General Motors biggest customer.
Just above Tombstone yesterday I went through full time Border Patrol check station on Rt 80. The check was perfunctory and polite. I can't imagine it is too productive, as anyone involved in illegal activity might well have the sense to take an alternative route, or walk well around it.
The local folks I have talked to confirm that the Border Patrol is a grand scale demonstration of failed policy.
Sonoita hosts a Border Patrol station. As you drive into town you see a field full of full size brand new vehicles. It gives some indication of the scale of operations, given that these are the vehicles not at work. The government has to be General Motors biggest customer.
Just above Tombstone yesterday I went through full time Border Patrol check station on Rt 80. The check was perfunctory and polite. I can't imagine it is too productive, as anyone involved in illegal activity might well have the sense to take an alternative route, or walk well around it.
The local folks I have talked to confirm that the Border Patrol is a grand scale demonstration of failed policy.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
(enroute to Dragoon Ranch)January 17
The driving event was excellent. My horses were uncooperative in the first two parts, and then in the hazards they were the best they had ever been, turning together on a light cue, maintaining speed, and courageous in tight spaces. It was like all the training I had ever done with them came together on that field. I was elated.
I stayed the night at Grass Ridge, and left for the Dragoon Ranch at first light of dawn, an hour's drive over a couple of ridges and valleys, to be on the valley - more like a plain - between the Rincon and Whetstone Mountains to the west and the Dragoons to the east. I had the Dragoons in sight all day. After driving the horses twice on the endless dirt roads, I drove the truck over to the mountain. The Dragoons are not terribly high, except that they start from the valley altitude of 5000 feet. The highest peak is 7600 feet. The range extends from ground level to ground level over 12 miles, north to south. My host just said, "Twenty years driving by that, and wow!" It is a range of remarkable complexity, which made it an excellent hiding place for the Apaches. The Cochise Stronghold is in the interior, a place where his band often successfully hid. I look for clues to history from the terrain, and realize that once the Apaches retreated into the hills, the cavalry would have been highly reluctant to follow them, as the Apaches best knew the terrain and were masters of ambush.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
January 15 night
I am back at the fairgrounds and it is quite cold. I miscounted the stars, so to speak. The sky is carpeted with stars. At home I see the brighter ones. Here the combination of few lights and low humidity means I see the dimmer stars. The entire sky is covered with glitter.
I heard an Arizona tall tale tonight, from the husband of the woman running the event. He said that in a really rainy year they discovered that the frog that had been there all along didn’t know how to swim.
He also told me that the surrender of Geronimo in 1886 did not end the era of Apache conflict. He said the conflict continued in Mexico until 1930! I trust this to be accurate. He has been an Arizona resident for 60 years.
Enough. It is too cold. I’m into the sleeping bag.
January 16
Today I compete the horses at the Grass Ridge Equestrian Arena Driving Trial, a one day event. I have met numbers of loyal driving compeititors, including one who I at least knew by phone, who had bought a harness from me. I have made a contact who will let me base for a couple of days in the territory where I want to drive this week.
I am back at the fairgrounds and it is quite cold. I miscounted the stars, so to speak. The sky is carpeted with stars. At home I see the brighter ones. Here the combination of few lights and low humidity means I see the dimmer stars. The entire sky is covered with glitter.
I heard an Arizona tall tale tonight, from the husband of the woman running the event. He said that in a really rainy year they discovered that the frog that had been there all along didn’t know how to swim.
He also told me that the surrender of Geronimo in 1886 did not end the era of Apache conflict. He said the conflict continued in Mexico until 1930! I trust this to be accurate. He has been an Arizona resident for 60 years.
Enough. It is too cold. I’m into the sleeping bag.
January 16
Today I compete the horses at the Grass Ridge Equestrian Arena Driving Trial, a one day event. I have met numbers of loyal driving compeititors, including one who I at least knew by phone, who had bought a harness from me. I have made a contact who will let me base for a couple of days in the territory where I want to drive this week.
Friday, January 15, 2010
January 14
Last night showed the wild side of Arizona. A half hour after I bunked out in the trailer, lightning started flashing in the distant sky, and then rain came in. The rain was the kind that sounded like it was drilling holes in my aluminum roof. Could be there was hale, but I didn’t go outside to check. Now lightning was all over the sky, crashing all around. I wanted to believe the storm would quickly blow over, but it lingered, teasing with brief letups. I worried about the horses shivering, but when the rain tapered off and I went to check them, I could see that with their Washington fur, they were only wet on the surface. After giving them some extra hay I headed to bed.
Tonight I am sitting in the Steak Out Restaurant in Sonoita AZ. Today has been one of the most interesting day’s travel ever. I started from Apache Junction at 8:00 AM and drove south towards Tucson. The first part was broad desert surrounded by mountains at some distance, the Superstition Mountains to the north. The desert is cactus and scrubby brush with a floor of gravel. Further south, but still north of Tucson, I drove through many miles of irrigated fields, irrigated I think from the Gila River. I am not sure what all grows there, but cotton is part of it. Approaching Tucson, I pass that field where large numbers of surplus airliners are mothballed.
My immediate destination was the town of Tubac, south of Tucson. I was on the trail of Raphael Pumpelly, a personal hero. Pumpelly was a prominent geologist from 1860 to the early twentieth century. Notably, he discovered iron range (Mesabi?) on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Likely you have driven his iron. Detroit was a car building capitol because of the proximity of Pumpelly’s iron. He was professor of geology at Harvard. He taught the Japanese how to mile coal under the ocean. He did a lot of things and wrote lucidly and well about them in a style that is not dated. His autobiography is “The Reminiscences of Raphael Pumpelly”. If I successfully encourage one lucky person to read his story, I will consider my work done.
Today it is Pumpelly’s first job as an engineer that I am tracking. In 1861 he was hired at I believe the age of 23 as the engineer. He traveled from the Missippi River by stagecoach on what later became the Butterfield route to California, and his account is worth reading for that story alone. The stage rolled 24 hours for however many days, with stops only for horse changes every 10-12 miles. The rough motion prevented sleep except in brief snatches. Pumpelly was an adventurer though. The challenges of stage travel was nothing compared to the hazards from Apache attack. He had been well warned, but accepted the risk.
Pumpelly arrived at Tucson, rested a few days, then got on a stage south to Tubac. This was the route I traveled today, and I tried constantly to see it through Pumpelly’s eyes. By and large, ignoring the occasional Jack-In-The-Box or convenience store, it was easy. Desert is still desert and the mountains still ridge each side. I know he experienced the thrill I did. This is scenery painted with a big brush. It energizes a joy to be alive. Pumpelly, though, would have worried about Apache attack. With the Civil War started, the Army, which had to some degree limited Apache raids, had been pulled to fight the South.
I may not have mentioned the Apaches earlier. My foremost interest in coming to Arizona and New Mexico is to learn about this remarkable culture. For those who do not know, I will tell a little Apache history. This had been their homeland since before the Spanish arrived. The Spanish and Mexicans fought them. In 1840, the Mexicans resolved to exterminate the Apaches, a notion that severely underestimated the resources of the Apache. As Americans arrived, the Mexicans were still the prime Apache enemy. With their traditional hunting and gathering culture disrupted, some of the Apaches changed from hunting to raiding, providing themselves with food, horses and weapons from settlers. Relations with the US deteriorated when the Army deceived Cochise and some of his family into coming for a parley where he was captured, to punish him for a death which he actually was not responsible for. Cochise escaped, and then escalated the conflict by capturing several white men for hostages, to negotiate release of relatives. The Army refused. Cochise killed the hostages, and the Army killed his relatives, but did release his wife and son. Part of Apache culture is the practice of revenge, and the war was on. In time, Cochise was killed, and Geronimo, though not the chief, was the warrior leader. I should note here that some Apache bands accepted government terms and moved to reservations. Even Geronimo and Cochise tried that, but I think you could say it was intolerable to their dignity.
I should note here that the Apaches I am writing about are generally referred to as the Chiracahuas. Even among this group, some chose reservation life, and some actually worked for the Army in tracking Geronimo. One, named Fun, worked for the Army, then returned to fight with Geronimo, presumably advising Geronimo on Army habits and tactics.
The Army pursued these people for more than 25 years, and in the end, Geronimo, when it was clear that continued conflict would leave all of his people dead, surrendered on his own terms. The government then imprisoned Geronimo and his people at a fort in Florida, and then Oklahoma for 27 years. Now, half the band’s descendents still live in Oklahoma and the other half on the Mescalero Apache reservation in New Mexico. They never returned to their traditional lands.
I might add to all of this that I learned the Apaches in New Mexico established the first Indian casino, prior to government approval. They are still a force to be reckoned with!
Meanwhile, I am heading towards Tubac. Pumpelly arrived and took charge of 40 employees at the Heintzelmann Mine in the Cerro Colorado Mountain. Over a time, everyone Pumpelly worked with was dead. Apaches killed some, and in the end, apparently Mexicans killed more, wanting it to appear to be the work of Apaches. Pumpelly stayed a step ahead or behind, and missed death on numerous occasions. One of his associates, named Wrightson, was killed by Apaches. A mountain near Tubac is named for him.
I wanted to find the mine. I found the historical society in Tubac, and soon had several people looking for maps and accounts. Finally, in an old book, we found the mine, renamed Cerro Colorado Mine, and were able to pinpoint the location. By now it was 4:00PM, and much as I would like to have seen the site, I needed a place to overnight the horses, and Tubac was not looking promising. I continued on to Sonoita via Nogales, on the Mexican border. I will return to Tubac, this trip or another.
At Tubac or a little before, the land changes. The altitude is rising, and desert gradually turned to grass. After the ride south to Nogales, I entered the next valley (parallel to the one of Tubac) heading north, with more altitude, and more grass. I am learning about the Apache. Their land was not the desert I imaged. Still tough country, but richer. The hills are closer and the vegetation higher. To see it, you can picture the ease with which the Apache could hide or disappear. The land is complex, so they constantly had the advantage over the Army of knowing the land well.
I am in Sonoita for a horse event. An Arena Driving Trial happens Saturday, and I am entered. This will let me meet some local driving folks and get some advising on where I can drive my horses in this region. I am looking for trails in the heart of Apache country.
My horses are in a pen tonight at the Sonoita Fairgrounds. After dark the temperature was a cool 43. Apache Junction is 1700 feet. Here it is 5000. Mountains insulate us from population. The sky is dark with 10 times as many stars as I usually see.
January 15
Last night was cold enough there was ice on the horse water. Here is another clue about Apache territory. With the high altitude and bright sun, they saw large temperature swings, summer and winter. I am told they were known to sleep on the ground, with no covering down to 37 degrees. The scientific accuracy makes me suspicious, but I get the point.
My belief is that there were no weak Apaches. Life in this place, at that time, did not provide for any sort of weakness. That is my theory, and of course it is mostly based on second or third hand accounts. But now I have see the edge of their lands. It is very exciting.
I know a little more. Many aspects of Apache life were highly proscribed. Their folktales indicate a rather rigid worldview, yet their actions showed flexibility and cunning resourcefulness. Family was (is?) of very great importance to them. Girls were thoroughly trained in the skills to support nomadic homelife. Boys were learning the wide range of skills to fight, raid, endure hardship and become the men they needed to be to fight the Americans and Mexicans when the boys of those cultures were still in kneepants. No wonder the Apaches did so well against greater and vastly better equipped enemies. Plus the Apaches were really fighting for their very existence.
I probably need to renote from time to time that very many Apaches did not make this choice of opposition. Their choices no doubt had merit and they undoubtedly suffered less loss of life. The opposition and fierce independence of the Chiracahuas (and not all of them, and not all of the time) is unique in US history. It is my understanding that the whole nation followed the events of the Apache conflict and knew the leaders as fearsome celebrities. Indeed, years later, President Teddy Roosevelt invited the aged Geronimo to the White House and honored him. Even President Grant, a man perhaps no known for softheartedness, showed some compassion for the Apaches, and dispatched a highly ranked general to visit Cochise and make peace with him instead of pursuing extermination.
Last night showed the wild side of Arizona. A half hour after I bunked out in the trailer, lightning started flashing in the distant sky, and then rain came in. The rain was the kind that sounded like it was drilling holes in my aluminum roof. Could be there was hale, but I didn’t go outside to check. Now lightning was all over the sky, crashing all around. I wanted to believe the storm would quickly blow over, but it lingered, teasing with brief letups. I worried about the horses shivering, but when the rain tapered off and I went to check them, I could see that with their Washington fur, they were only wet on the surface. After giving them some extra hay I headed to bed.
Tonight I am sitting in the Steak Out Restaurant in Sonoita AZ. Today has been one of the most interesting day’s travel ever. I started from Apache Junction at 8:00 AM and drove south towards Tucson. The first part was broad desert surrounded by mountains at some distance, the Superstition Mountains to the north. The desert is cactus and scrubby brush with a floor of gravel. Further south, but still north of Tucson, I drove through many miles of irrigated fields, irrigated I think from the Gila River. I am not sure what all grows there, but cotton is part of it. Approaching Tucson, I pass that field where large numbers of surplus airliners are mothballed.
My immediate destination was the town of Tubac, south of Tucson. I was on the trail of Raphael Pumpelly, a personal hero. Pumpelly was a prominent geologist from 1860 to the early twentieth century. Notably, he discovered iron range (Mesabi?) on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Likely you have driven his iron. Detroit was a car building capitol because of the proximity of Pumpelly’s iron. He was professor of geology at Harvard. He taught the Japanese how to mile coal under the ocean. He did a lot of things and wrote lucidly and well about them in a style that is not dated. His autobiography is “The Reminiscences of Raphael Pumpelly”. If I successfully encourage one lucky person to read his story, I will consider my work done.
Today it is Pumpelly’s first job as an engineer that I am tracking. In 1861 he was hired at I believe the age of 23 as the engineer. He traveled from the Missippi River by stagecoach on what later became the Butterfield route to California, and his account is worth reading for that story alone. The stage rolled 24 hours for however many days, with stops only for horse changes every 10-12 miles. The rough motion prevented sleep except in brief snatches. Pumpelly was an adventurer though. The challenges of stage travel was nothing compared to the hazards from Apache attack. He had been well warned, but accepted the risk.
Pumpelly arrived at Tucson, rested a few days, then got on a stage south to Tubac. This was the route I traveled today, and I tried constantly to see it through Pumpelly’s eyes. By and large, ignoring the occasional Jack-In-The-Box or convenience store, it was easy. Desert is still desert and the mountains still ridge each side. I know he experienced the thrill I did. This is scenery painted with a big brush. It energizes a joy to be alive. Pumpelly, though, would have worried about Apache attack. With the Civil War started, the Army, which had to some degree limited Apache raids, had been pulled to fight the South.
I may not have mentioned the Apaches earlier. My foremost interest in coming to Arizona and New Mexico is to learn about this remarkable culture. For those who do not know, I will tell a little Apache history. This had been their homeland since before the Spanish arrived. The Spanish and Mexicans fought them. In 1840, the Mexicans resolved to exterminate the Apaches, a notion that severely underestimated the resources of the Apache. As Americans arrived, the Mexicans were still the prime Apache enemy. With their traditional hunting and gathering culture disrupted, some of the Apaches changed from hunting to raiding, providing themselves with food, horses and weapons from settlers. Relations with the US deteriorated when the Army deceived Cochise and some of his family into coming for a parley where he was captured, to punish him for a death which he actually was not responsible for. Cochise escaped, and then escalated the conflict by capturing several white men for hostages, to negotiate release of relatives. The Army refused. Cochise killed the hostages, and the Army killed his relatives, but did release his wife and son. Part of Apache culture is the practice of revenge, and the war was on. In time, Cochise was killed, and Geronimo, though not the chief, was the warrior leader. I should note here that some Apache bands accepted government terms and moved to reservations. Even Geronimo and Cochise tried that, but I think you could say it was intolerable to their dignity.
I should note here that the Apaches I am writing about are generally referred to as the Chiracahuas. Even among this group, some chose reservation life, and some actually worked for the Army in tracking Geronimo. One, named Fun, worked for the Army, then returned to fight with Geronimo, presumably advising Geronimo on Army habits and tactics.
The Army pursued these people for more than 25 years, and in the end, Geronimo, when it was clear that continued conflict would leave all of his people dead, surrendered on his own terms. The government then imprisoned Geronimo and his people at a fort in Florida, and then Oklahoma for 27 years. Now, half the band’s descendents still live in Oklahoma and the other half on the Mescalero Apache reservation in New Mexico. They never returned to their traditional lands.
I might add to all of this that I learned the Apaches in New Mexico established the first Indian casino, prior to government approval. They are still a force to be reckoned with!
Meanwhile, I am heading towards Tubac. Pumpelly arrived and took charge of 40 employees at the Heintzelmann Mine in the Cerro Colorado Mountain. Over a time, everyone Pumpelly worked with was dead. Apaches killed some, and in the end, apparently Mexicans killed more, wanting it to appear to be the work of Apaches. Pumpelly stayed a step ahead or behind, and missed death on numerous occasions. One of his associates, named Wrightson, was killed by Apaches. A mountain near Tubac is named for him.
I wanted to find the mine. I found the historical society in Tubac, and soon had several people looking for maps and accounts. Finally, in an old book, we found the mine, renamed Cerro Colorado Mine, and were able to pinpoint the location. By now it was 4:00PM, and much as I would like to have seen the site, I needed a place to overnight the horses, and Tubac was not looking promising. I continued on to Sonoita via Nogales, on the Mexican border. I will return to Tubac, this trip or another.
At Tubac or a little before, the land changes. The altitude is rising, and desert gradually turned to grass. After the ride south to Nogales, I entered the next valley (parallel to the one of Tubac) heading north, with more altitude, and more grass. I am learning about the Apache. Their land was not the desert I imaged. Still tough country, but richer. The hills are closer and the vegetation higher. To see it, you can picture the ease with which the Apache could hide or disappear. The land is complex, so they constantly had the advantage over the Army of knowing the land well.
I am in Sonoita for a horse event. An Arena Driving Trial happens Saturday, and I am entered. This will let me meet some local driving folks and get some advising on where I can drive my horses in this region. I am looking for trails in the heart of Apache country.
My horses are in a pen tonight at the Sonoita Fairgrounds. After dark the temperature was a cool 43. Apache Junction is 1700 feet. Here it is 5000. Mountains insulate us from population. The sky is dark with 10 times as many stars as I usually see.
January 15
Last night was cold enough there was ice on the horse water. Here is another clue about Apache territory. With the high altitude and bright sun, they saw large temperature swings, summer and winter. I am told they were known to sleep on the ground, with no covering down to 37 degrees. The scientific accuracy makes me suspicious, but I get the point.
My belief is that there were no weak Apaches. Life in this place, at that time, did not provide for any sort of weakness. That is my theory, and of course it is mostly based on second or third hand accounts. But now I have see the edge of their lands. It is very exciting.
I know a little more. Many aspects of Apache life were highly proscribed. Their folktales indicate a rather rigid worldview, yet their actions showed flexibility and cunning resourcefulness. Family was (is?) of very great importance to them. Girls were thoroughly trained in the skills to support nomadic homelife. Boys were learning the wide range of skills to fight, raid, endure hardship and become the men they needed to be to fight the Americans and Mexicans when the boys of those cultures were still in kneepants. No wonder the Apaches did so well against greater and vastly better equipped enemies. Plus the Apaches were really fighting for their very existence.
I probably need to renote from time to time that very many Apaches did not make this choice of opposition. Their choices no doubt had merit and they undoubtedly suffered less loss of life. The opposition and fierce independence of the Chiracahuas (and not all of them, and not all of the time) is unique in US history. It is my understanding that the whole nation followed the events of the Apache conflict and knew the leaders as fearsome celebrities. Indeed, years later, President Teddy Roosevelt invited the aged Geronimo to the White House and honored him. Even President Grant, a man perhaps no known for softheartedness, showed some compassion for the Apaches, and dispatched a highly ranked general to visit Cochise and make peace with him instead of pursuing extermination.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Jan 12 Apache Junction
One of the folks here in camp is Tanya Bear, aka T-Bear. She is a veteran endurance rider and easily acknowleged as the best rider here. She has a pickup which is end to end graphics which promotes her project, which is a series of ultra distance endurance horse races. Over several days competitors ride 450 miles, and the top riders get cash prizes - $30,000 to the winner. To this point no endurance races pay prizes, so what she is doing is new. I was glad to hear she is taking a lead from the existing endurance events in protection of the horses.
Today I planned to drive my horses, but saw Mike Miller heading out with his mules around 11 o'clock. I had not known him before yesterday. We took off towards the west, picking our way through scrub brush and cactus. In this desert area there are multiple trails, so you can search around till you get one going the right way. A hundred years ago many people were digging holes and boring mines for gold. I am aware of one mine that is still happening. We had some trails that were clear, but more often we were driving over ruts and rocks, and in some places over bare rock surfaces. Mike's mules plodded on impressively without protest. We were trying to go behind a ridge of low hills, to get on a loop that is part of the Apache Trail, a former stagecoach route. The stages probably hauled a lot of gold out of this area. We were making good, if rough, progress until we came to a section of trail that was like boulder surfaces, and we realized we had met our match, and turned around. We were back to the park at 4:30.
After several days of 75 degrees and a light cooling breeze, we should see some clouds and a bit of rain tomorrow.
Today I planned to drive my horses, but saw Mike Miller heading out with his mules around 11 o'clock. I had not known him before yesterday. We took off towards the west, picking our way through scrub brush and cactus. In this desert area there are multiple trails, so you can search around till you get one going the right way. A hundred years ago many people were digging holes and boring mines for gold. I am aware of one mine that is still happening. We had some trails that were clear, but more often we were driving over ruts and rocks, and in some places over bare rock surfaces. Mike's mules plodded on impressively without protest. We were trying to go behind a ridge of low hills, to get on a loop that is part of the Apache Trail, a former stagecoach route. The stages probably hauled a lot of gold out of this area. We were making good, if rough, progress until we came to a section of trail that was like boulder surfaces, and we realized we had met our match, and turned around. We were back to the park at 4:30.
After several days of 75 degrees and a light cooling breeze, we should see some clouds and a bit of rain tomorrow.
Monday, January 11, 2010
January 11 Apach Junction AZ
Could it get better? I arrived here at 8:30 last night, well after dark. I was guided in by my friend Tom Short, from Washington, a horse driver himself. The horses went into a pen and I slept as usual in my trailer. When I awoke, I looked to the east to see Superstition Mountain (Iam close to adding photo, so will show that later. It is a high vertical face of basalt columns, reddish brown, towering over us. You look at it through the day as the light changes. A movie of it could hold your interest. I am looking forward to sunset to see that mountain image.
We are in another horse heaven. This is a park owned by a Vietnamese couple (she is a horsewoman) which has facilities for motorhomes and stalls for horses. People disappear for hours off riding their horses in the desert. Tom and I each hitched our horses and he introduced me to the trails. The ground is dry and gritty, with survivor plants that live on no water except during the brief rainy season. The sagauro cactus stand about like cliches of New Mexico. I have to say I saw the first ones just over the border in New Mexico. I saw not a single one on the California side, though I would have thought the climate to be the same. As we drove we also watched carefully for the choia (not sure of spelling) cactus. Those are the plant version of a porcupine. We carried a special comb and pliers in case they spiked into a horse's leg - or ours. I am advised to be careful to avoid them. It as good to travel on the trails here with my friends to learn the territory a bit. Snakes I am told do not emerge until some time in February.
At the park there are thirty or more motorhomes and trailers, plus me. Many have more than one horse, so that means quite a herd.
I'll keep this short today as I am borrowing computer time from friends who have wireless via ATT. I foolishly left my computer in Norco, and it is now in the mail to Apache Junction.
Could it get better? I arrived here at 8:30 last night, well after dark. I was guided in by my friend Tom Short, from Washington, a horse driver himself. The horses went into a pen and I slept as usual in my trailer. When I awoke, I looked to the east to see Superstition Mountain (Iam close to adding photo, so will show that later. It is a high vertical face of basalt columns, reddish brown, towering over us. You look at it through the day as the light changes. A movie of it could hold your interest. I am looking forward to sunset to see that mountain image.
We are in another horse heaven. This is a park owned by a Vietnamese couple (she is a horsewoman) which has facilities for motorhomes and stalls for horses. People disappear for hours off riding their horses in the desert. Tom and I each hitched our horses and he introduced me to the trails. The ground is dry and gritty, with survivor plants that live on no water except during the brief rainy season. The sagauro cactus stand about like cliches of New Mexico. I have to say I saw the first ones just over the border in New Mexico. I saw not a single one on the California side, though I would have thought the climate to be the same. As we drove we also watched carefully for the choia (not sure of spelling) cactus. Those are the plant version of a porcupine. We carried a special comb and pliers in case they spiked into a horse's leg - or ours. I am advised to be careful to avoid them. It as good to travel on the trails here with my friends to learn the territory a bit. Snakes I am told do not emerge until some time in February.
At the park there are thirty or more motorhomes and trailers, plus me. Many have more than one horse, so that means quite a herd.
I'll keep this short today as I am borrowing computer time from friends who have wireless via ATT. I foolishly left my computer in Norco, and it is now in the mail to Apache Junction.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Still in Norco
Can’t believe people live here in Southern California like it is normal to have it be sunny and warm in the winter. What are they thinking?
When I am in the LA area I can never get the words of the Tracy Nelson song out of my head: “California was crazy, made me so tired and lazy. I want to feel free and easy, so I’m going back to Tennessee.” I can’t say I am tired, but lazy, maybe.
While waiting for Jennifer to finish work this morning, I went to check out the horse event which is at the town horse grounds in walking distance. Lots of young girls are chasing cans in the arena. I know it is a simple event, but I love to watch those horses run flat out to the finish line. Roland, Jennifer’s husband, says there are events there every weekend day.
In this town, people commonly ride their horses on sidewalks through the town. The sidewalks, however, are unpaved dirt. I think perhaps we can drive on them. This should be a model for towns everywhere. I saw a business with a pen out front, a place to hold your horse while you go in.
Jennifer and Roland have treated me royally. In their corner of Horsetown, they keep six horses, three dogs, several cats, and a turtle. I have not yet seen the turtle, who is hibernating in the barn. I have the impression that if you poke him in winter, he stirs and groans, “Go away I’m sleeping” and becomes still again. He doesn’t eat. I wonder if he dreams.
My horses are standing in the shade swishing their tails at the occasional fly. They hadn’t been using those tail muscles for months!
When I am in the LA area I can never get the words of the Tracy Nelson song out of my head: “California was crazy, made me so tired and lazy. I want to feel free and easy, so I’m going back to Tennessee.” I can’t say I am tired, but lazy, maybe.
While waiting for Jennifer to finish work this morning, I went to check out the horse event which is at the town horse grounds in walking distance. Lots of young girls are chasing cans in the arena. I know it is a simple event, but I love to watch those horses run flat out to the finish line. Roland, Jennifer’s husband, says there are events there every weekend day.
In this town, people commonly ride their horses on sidewalks through the town. The sidewalks, however, are unpaved dirt. I think perhaps we can drive on them. This should be a model for towns everywhere. I saw a business with a pen out front, a place to hold your horse while you go in.
Jennifer and Roland have treated me royally. In their corner of Horsetown, they keep six horses, three dogs, several cats, and a turtle. I have not yet seen the turtle, who is hibernating in the barn. I have the impression that if you poke him in winter, he stirs and groans, “Go away I’m sleeping” and becomes still again. He doesn’t eat. I wonder if he dreams.
My horses are standing in the shade swishing their tails at the occasional fly. They hadn’t been using those tail muscles for months!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Jan 8
From Fjord Heaven to Horsetown USA
Yesterday we passed the test. No truck gets into LA on south I-5 without crossing The Grapevine, which is the stretch of road over what I expect is the coastal range. We slowed to 40mph which matched most of the tractor trailers, and just chugged up. A several cars were off to the side with open hoods and steam clouds. To stay on the safe side of overheating, I turned the heater up with full fan and put my windows down. That helps. A truck whose engine and brakes pass this test can go anywhere.
I am enjoying the pleasant 70 something temperature, sun and soft breeze of Southern California. We are in Norco, which I am told is east of LA,
though I couldn’t say where I might have seen LA stop and anything else begin. I guess you know you are in Norco when you start to see horses everywhere.
We are indeed in Horsetown USA, as the sign announces when you enter Norco. Jennifer Wells invited us to stay at her place. She has a total of six horses, including three Haflingers and two Haflinger mules. I don’t think I had seen a Haflinger mule before - they are strikingly handsome. Jennifer recently drove her Haflinger pair in the Rose Bowl Parade.
We will spend two days here which will include time to go driving with Jennifer on Saturday.
From Fjord Heaven to Horsetown USA
Yesterday we passed the test. No truck gets into LA on south I-5 without crossing The Grapevine, which is the stretch of road over what I expect is the coastal range. We slowed to 40mph which matched most of the tractor trailers, and just chugged up. A several cars were off to the side with open hoods and steam clouds. To stay on the safe side of overheating, I turned the heater up with full fan and put my windows down. That helps. A truck whose engine and brakes pass this test can go anywhere.
I am enjoying the pleasant 70 something temperature, sun and soft breeze of Southern California. We are in Norco, which I am told is east of LA,
though I couldn’t say where I might have seen LA stop and anything else begin. I guess you know you are in Norco when you start to see horses everywhere.
We are indeed in Horsetown USA, as the sign announces when you enter Norco. Jennifer Wells invited us to stay at her place. She has a total of six horses, including three Haflingers and two Haflinger mules. I don’t think I had seen a Haflinger mule before - they are strikingly handsome. Jennifer recently drove her Haflinger pair in the Rose Bowl Parade.
We will spend two days here which will include time to go driving with Jennifer on Saturday.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Jan 5
From the horses’ point of view at the end of the first day on the road, we'd landed in a version of horse heaven. We are at the farm of Gayle and Pat Ware, in Eugene OR. In Gayle’s barn are about 30 Fjord horses, undoubtedly all distant Norwegian cousins. Gayle boards and trains horses, and somehow almost every one of them is Norwegian. She even has a Norwegian Dole horse in the barn. The Dole Hest, as they are known, are extremely rare in the US.
Gayle is an old friend and veteran of the Fjord world, universally respected as a trainer, and as the trainer of her own stallion, a horse who has excelled in the reining world, in open competition. When someone asks me, “Can you ride theses horses?” , Gayle is one of the people I point to. Pretty safe to say she is likely the best skilled Western (style) rider of Fjords.
We had an easy and straightforward trip on the road, but moist to wet the whole way. The first two hours were on the back road along Hood Canal, Rt 101, with open water on our left and the bottom slopes of the Olympic Mountains on our right. After Olympia, we had interstate highway the rest of the way. Only when we approached Eugene did we get solid downpour.
The horses got to spend the night loose in Gayle’s indoor arena, and I enjoyed an evening of good food and catching up on old stories. I should note that when I did my cross country trip with horses, I spent the very last nights of the trip at Gayle and Pat’s farm, which was then in Libby MT. It is a particular treat to start this more humble trip at their place.
Gayle gave me a very useful tip. She said when you are introduced to an ugly newborn baby, and don’t know what to say, you have to hope the baby has some hair, and then you can say, “He-she had a LOT of hair”. This came up in a story she told me of a visiting horse sage and entourage who were looking over her horses, and one of a friend. They were expecting some useful comments, but the person said almost nothing. When Gayle checked with her friend, who also was puzzled, her friend (who knew the baby line), said, “I think they just said my horse has a lot of hair! Gayle, whose horses performance and offspring speak for themselves, was unperturbed.
Jan 6
Long day today, just under 600 miles. Given that Oregon and California have 55mph limits for trucks and trailers, it was a lot of hours for horses and me.
We started out in rain, in Eugene, and had some form of rain or shower all the way through the Siskiyou Mountains, on through Redding CA. I had concerns about snow in those high altitudes, but all was rain. Those mountains are some of the views I know anywhere. For many miles I watched spruce tree tops floating above the low fog, with fog above, a dreamy peaceful view - quiet food for the spirit.
Past Redding and the notorious California town of Weed, the land flattens into the great California food producing machine. To each side of the road are orchards or vineyards the size of Rhode Island.
I drove rather relentlessly to be sure not to arrive too late at the training center of Roger Cheverly. The last part of the trip was along the tops of levees in the Sacramento River delta. His wife drove to the horse area at 9:00P to meet me. Roger I knew was from Britain, and so too his wife Marion. She as it happens was from southern Scotland, from Fife. I told her I had studied in Fife at the University of St Andrews. It was a pleasure to hear that Fife accent.
The horses went into a secure pen, and I spent my second night sleeping happily in the trailer.
Jan 7
The morning temperature was 45. I am happy for the few additional degrees of warmth. Fog that travels up the Central Valley made everything but the barnyard invisible. I had arrived in the dark and would leave in the fog, so I still don’t know what the area looks like, except for long flat disc-ed fields and vineyards.
The horses had eaten well and had good gut sounds. My largest concern trailering is that their anxiety turn into some form of the dreaded colic. Stomach gurgles are the music of health.
Roger came at 8:00 to start his day of training. He told me was recruited to come to the US because of his skills in the electronic side of information technology, That served him well until after 9-11 when his employer had to let him go because they had government contracts, and resident aliens were no longer allowed to do that work. He decided to make the move to train horses, which rewarded him an immediate large drop in blood pressure. He specializes in driving training, and appears to have plenty of work.
I left at 9:30, as Roger prepared to hitch one of the horses. I wanted plenty of daylight to get down to LA.
From the horses’ point of view at the end of the first day on the road, we'd landed in a version of horse heaven. We are at the farm of Gayle and Pat Ware, in Eugene OR. In Gayle’s barn are about 30 Fjord horses, undoubtedly all distant Norwegian cousins. Gayle boards and trains horses, and somehow almost every one of them is Norwegian. She even has a Norwegian Dole horse in the barn. The Dole Hest, as they are known, are extremely rare in the US.
Gayle is an old friend and veteran of the Fjord world, universally respected as a trainer, and as the trainer of her own stallion, a horse who has excelled in the reining world, in open competition. When someone asks me, “Can you ride theses horses?” , Gayle is one of the people I point to. Pretty safe to say she is likely the best skilled Western (style) rider of Fjords.
We had an easy and straightforward trip on the road, but moist to wet the whole way. The first two hours were on the back road along Hood Canal, Rt 101, with open water on our left and the bottom slopes of the Olympic Mountains on our right. After Olympia, we had interstate highway the rest of the way. Only when we approached Eugene did we get solid downpour.
The horses got to spend the night loose in Gayle’s indoor arena, and I enjoyed an evening of good food and catching up on old stories. I should note that when I did my cross country trip with horses, I spent the very last nights of the trip at Gayle and Pat’s farm, which was then in Libby MT. It is a particular treat to start this more humble trip at their place.
Gayle gave me a very useful tip. She said when you are introduced to an ugly newborn baby, and don’t know what to say, you have to hope the baby has some hair, and then you can say, “He-she had a LOT of hair”. This came up in a story she told me of a visiting horse sage and entourage who were looking over her horses, and one of a friend. They were expecting some useful comments, but the person said almost nothing. When Gayle checked with her friend, who also was puzzled, her friend (who knew the baby line), said, “I think they just said my horse has a lot of hair! Gayle, whose horses performance and offspring speak for themselves, was unperturbed.
Jan 6
Long day today, just under 600 miles. Given that Oregon and California have 55mph limits for trucks and trailers, it was a lot of hours for horses and me.
We started out in rain, in Eugene, and had some form of rain or shower all the way through the Siskiyou Mountains, on through Redding CA. I had concerns about snow in those high altitudes, but all was rain. Those mountains are some of the views I know anywhere. For many miles I watched spruce tree tops floating above the low fog, with fog above, a dreamy peaceful view - quiet food for the spirit.
Past Redding and the notorious California town of Weed, the land flattens into the great California food producing machine. To each side of the road are orchards or vineyards the size of Rhode Island.
I drove rather relentlessly to be sure not to arrive too late at the training center of Roger Cheverly. The last part of the trip was along the tops of levees in the Sacramento River delta. His wife drove to the horse area at 9:00P to meet me. Roger I knew was from Britain, and so too his wife Marion. She as it happens was from southern Scotland, from Fife. I told her I had studied in Fife at the University of St Andrews. It was a pleasure to hear that Fife accent.
The horses went into a secure pen, and I spent my second night sleeping happily in the trailer.
Jan 7
The morning temperature was 45. I am happy for the few additional degrees of warmth. Fog that travels up the Central Valley made everything but the barnyard invisible. I had arrived in the dark and would leave in the fog, so I still don’t know what the area looks like, except for long flat disc-ed fields and vineyards.
The horses had eaten well and had good gut sounds. My largest concern trailering is that their anxiety turn into some form of the dreaded colic. Stomach gurgles are the music of health.
Roger came at 8:00 to start his day of training. He told me was recruited to come to the US because of his skills in the electronic side of information technology, That served him well until after 9-11 when his employer had to let him go because they had government contracts, and resident aliens were no longer allowed to do that work. He decided to make the move to train horses, which rewarded him an immediate large drop in blood pressure. He specializes in driving training, and appears to have plenty of work.
I left at 9:30, as Roger prepared to hitch one of the horses. I wanted plenty of daylight to get down to LA.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Close to start of trip
Today is January first 2010. I am getting close to being ready to start my trip south from Washington state through California to southeastern Arizona. I will go by myself, with my two Norwegian Fjord Horses in the trailer, and a wagon. For the past couple of weeks I have worked on the truck, doing all of the service that is due, and making minor repairs on the trailer. The horses have been resting and eating. This last week the veterinarian came to do Coggins tests and inspection for health certificates. The horses are now legal to travel. Today I spent the morning with the farrier, and the horses are shod. The first nine bales of hay are squeezed into Into the nose of the trailer. I just need to gather together the hundred items that I need to travel -- horse harness and feed, clothes, books, tools, and all the rest. My departure date is flexible, from as early as Monday, but it could be Wednesday.
Last night at a New Year's Eve celebration I ran into my friend Cris, and that reminded me that I should not start without the benefit of a consultation with a philosopher, which he is. We will meet tomorrow morning. He already got me thinking about the nature and clarity of my intentions. He feels that clear and defined intentions lead to the desired results. I argued in favor of fuzzier intentions that allowed the space for the unknown treasures -- whatever they are-- to present themselves. We have not resolved this, but it is a fruitful line of thought.
Other than being ready to turn the key and go, my other consideration will be weather patterns. My principal risk of snow and ice should be on I-5 south of Medford, Oregon, and perhaps I can successfully avoid those conditions.
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