Old haunts
June 9, 2015

Changes, always changes . . .

Changes in the air with the way I do business, that is to say how I live my life.  I am reaffirming my way of approaching things as if I were remembering today from a future date.  Viewing today from the perspective of some tomorrow gives it a whole different slant.

Will I look back at today and say, "I wish I had . . ."  or will I be able to say "I'm glad I did . . ."?  Not unusual for me to weigh my activities in such a way; however, I have noticed of late there have accumulated a plethora of the former, thus the decision to pack even more into an already wonderfully full life.  In other words, "Self: get with the program and stop procrastinating".

Rusty & Betty . . .

All of which leads me to a recent day's travel into the desert of my youth.  Our friends, Rusty and Betty, carved out a day from their schedule to spend with us on an explore of their section of Arizona, the region where my paternal grandparents and my parents ranched back in the day.

Meeting at their Lake Pleasant camp, west of the lake itself, we encountered our first dilemma.  The "mule" we were to head out on was out of gas.  Some finagling and siphoning later, we four loaded up along with Shaggy Dog and proceeded off to see what we might see.

A permanent fixture in my existence, Rusty Hastings knew, ranched, cowboyed and mined with my grandparents and my parents, and is actually kin in the peculiar way that I count kin.  His sister was married to the brother of Lucille Thomason, who was my aunt via her marriage to my Uncle Lewis Kelley, a union that ended in divorce: therefore, Rusty is my former step uncle-in-law once removed (or something).  Don't even try to argue; it is absurd enough without putting more energy into it.

Castle Hot Springs . . .

In and amongst my numerous requests for photo stops, we had the opportunity of going to Castle Hot Springs.  By way of history: the place was developed as a resort in the 1800s.  An interesting aside I learned from our useful friend, Wikipedia, was that it was used for rehabilitation for wounded soldiers after World War II and that John F. Kennedy stayed there for three months to recover from his combat injuries.

My childhood memories of Castle Hot Springs may mirror what it was like for resort visitors of old who traveled there in horse-drawn conveyances over many miles of desert terrain.

Before we were told it was a bad thing, we children were often relegated to the pickup bed, leaving the enclosed cab for the adults.  Don't get me wrong - we youngsters were just fine with that and had great times back there with no parental interference.  That method of travel paled a bit, however, when long distances in summer heat were involved, especially on roads like the Castle Hot Springs road from which voluminous clouds of dust boiled into the pickup bed.  That was when we kept our eyes squinted and our mouths closed and numbly awaited arrival at a destination, any destination that would allow us to breathe freely again.

It surely was not much different for stagecoach passengers whose goal was that wonderful resort oasis.

I shall never forget how astounding the sight was when we would have been for what seemed like hours (and probably was) in the dust and heat, and we would come around a bend in the road and there, as if a miracle, was green lush grass lawns, rows of tall palm trees and beautiful historic buildings - an incredibly welcome respite from the harsh desert surrounding it.

In the interim between then and now, the main hotel burned, sadly, and the place has not been open as a resort, so we were grateful to have the chance to revisit those lovely grounds.  For me, especially, it felt like a step back in time to even before my childhood visits. 

My parents' first ranch - the AD - was headquartered at nearby Hell's Gate, and I have photographs of them "taking the waters" in the 1930s, the occasion of the pictures evidently being a visit by kin from Texas.  I will share copies of those photos with the current Springs owners and with Sharlot Hall Museum.

I found this shot online of even earlier visitors in 1908:

The grounds are well maintained, as are the remaining buildings.

A palm-lined road conveys us from the grassy flat up to the canyon where the hot water pours out of the rocks.

I love the color streaks left on the rocks from the water's minerals.

Here water is flowing through the bathing pools; a metal gate can be closed to allow the pool to fill.

We enjoyed some relaxing and visiting in that lovely canyon.

The flow continues past the pools to nourish the grounds before it disappears under the sand.

Obviously, not all the structures have survived intact.

 

 Hell's Gate . . .

Another stop along the way was for photos of the upper end of the massive rock cleft known as Hell's Gate.  When Mom & Dad married in 1938, he took her to the ranch there.  Aged 15, she was in love with her cowboy, and a darn good thing - it had to have been quite a shock for the Prescott-raised girl to be out there with no electricity or running water and a new baby within the year.  She cooked for the family and ranch hands and dealt with it all one way or another; I never heard any complaints from her about those times, difficult as they must have been.

Rusty and I were photo hogs of the day!

Our mule for the day. . .

. . . ably maneuvered by Rusty all day long.  At age 88, he continues "a-goin' and a-blowin", as my old Pappy would have said.

Morgan City Wash . . .

Throughout the years, Rusty has prospected and mined in addition to his other endeavors.  One of his mines was located on Morgan City Wash in the vicinity of a small settlement long crumbled away to nothingness, and in that one, he and Dad collaborated.  

Somewhere back in the '50s/60s(?), they set up an arrastra to crush the gold ore.  Over time, that mechanism disappeared only to be rediscovered recently; evidently, the same elements of nature that covered it from view revealed it once again.

Our day was filled with tales upon tales about the folks who have passed through this hard country, some who remained for a spell and moved on and others who spawned generations to know and love the region.  Even before Anglos populated the region, sparsely though it was, Spaniards sought gold here, too.  Rusty talked about a Spanish mine just above the wash where he and Dad explored and Dad smoked them out when he lit off the masses of pack rat nests in there.

Little remains of Morgan City itself; its boundaries are marked off as private property, so for a change, we did not trespass.

That country is rugged and beautiful to behold.  I like to think about Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Lewis & Rusty riding and working out there, and all the folks who made it home and wrested a living from the land.

Jojoba beans ripening.

Our desert jaunt included the obligatory snake.  This bull snake was a great big ol' feller, but he wouldn't straighten out so I could measure him.  We escorted him to safety off the road.

Sad to bid our friends farewell, but grateful for the time with them.  Anyone interested in horseback excursions, searching for gold or any desert adventures can contact them through Betty's Trail Rides at http://www.yourarizonamoments.com/index.html.

Meanwhile . . .

I have received some chastisements of late about our not being out & about and blogging thereof.  It is true that we have been more stick-at-homes than usual because of work and landscaping the back yard plus a "few" other activities, but we have been out a few times.  Most recently was a jaunt to Granite Basin Lake and a hike along Mint Creek.

 

The hike took us up high enough to see out to snow-capped San Francisco Peaks with a nice view of the colorful Sycamore Canyon rim in front of the mountains.

This spectacularly handsome dude was up for a photo.

Back at home, this tiny king snake has been spotted lurking around our property several times; however, he is quick to take cover when I show up with the camera.