Hot springs & cemeteries

I find myself less than 100% regarding explorations of the area we are camped, due in most part, I'm certain, to the pace that I was maintaining at home.  Now that I'm away, I find myself kicking back a bit mentally to some ease of days.  Of the many places hereabout to be explored, fished, hiked, photographed or discovered, my mind allows me to say "mañana", which is not to say we're doing nothing; it's just that we're not attempting to do it all at once.

Our rainy arrival here continued wet through another day and night.  Mt. Graham did not release its wreath of moisture-laden clouds for yet another day, making for some ethereal scenes.

Unsettled weather made a perfect time to be inside for a soak & a massage at Kachina Spa. 

In an odd twist of fate, my massage therapist there was going that very night to a place that I have read much about and have wanted to visit.  The rub (pardon the expression) is that it is private; access is only with permission.  A historic hot spring spa with a fascinating past, including a huge guitar-shaped pool and once being owned by Mick Jagger, I have written about it before, but have never been able to gain access.  

And . . . said therapist invited us along - wow! - but continuing rain & lightning deterred us - dang!  It seemed less than optimum, so we declined the kind invitation.

Solomonville, now reduced to Solomon, is an area that has drawn us, with its ancient crumbling adobes and ramshackle buildings surrounded by fields of cotton - the nearly sole crop in the Gila Valley.  The town was the seat of government for Graham County from 1883 to 1915.

You can be certain if there's a Solomonville, there is a Solomon: in this case, an enterprising Polish couple - Isadore & Anna - who emigrated to the U.S. the day after their wedding, and who affected the course of history in southeastern Arizona.

 

That ambitious enterprising couple commenced creating and supplying charcoal to the copper mines, and continued to expand their influence with multiple merchandising endeavors, hotels, banks, livestock, farming, milling & freighting, to name a few, and Isadore was appointed county treasurer. 

Other pioneers followed as the mines, farms, economy and governing bodies waxed and waned.

Because the Solomons eventually removed to California, they are not buried here.  One family, in particular, drew our attention the first time we drove to the graveyard.  In fact, the matriarch, Rosalia, spoke to Chris from the grave; he wrote her story in a hauntingly beautiful song.  We visited her once more, realizing that when she was born in 1836, that place was still part of Mexico, being prior to the Gadsden Purchase, and that when she died in 1921, it was United States territory.

The majority of the burials there are marked only by haphazardly placed piles of stones punctuated by creosote bushes.

At the end of the day, we returned to the Graham Cemetery on another hilltop across the valley to leave flowers for my sweet sister-in-law, Sharon, and to remember her and her extended family & forebears who are there.  She & I were both Sunday births, and I loved her dearly.

Our day may have been bookmarked by graveyard visits, but the bulk of it was off on an explore.  Smarting from missing our chance to go to Indian Hot Spring, we headed off for one that is open to the public, but that we had never checked out.

And along the way as usual, we found other things of interest, including an abandoned ranch house constructed of poured concrete, replete with extensive corrals and the crumpled remains of a windmill, since replaced efficiently by a solar-powered well pump.

 

As we were out walking up a knoll on the ranch, we were startled and excited by two very low-flying large aircraft.  They seemed to be skimming along following the various levels of the terrain.  We watched as they passed right over us and then gained enough elevation to cross a pass between two mountain peaks.

Usually, despite distractions along the way, we attain our destination goal, and that day was no exception.  Hot Well Dunes promised a hot springs, a tantalizing prize at the end of a drive.  When we arrived, we were surprised that no one else was in sight as we set off through the brush on what appeared to be a path winding around gnarled tamarisk and thick brush.

In an opening through the chaparral, we found a scuzzy waterhole reminiscent of many a cow tank throughout the west.  Was that the hot spring we were promised, because if it was, there would be no dipping on our part.  The site is a BLM recreation area with the major attraction being sand dune ripping & tearing on ATVs, so we wondered if the hot spring was so low on the list of appeals that we had found our shangri-la.

Fortunately, after our walkabout, we pressed on and found that a few folks were camped here & there, and that there really were hot spring pools - two to be exact, and that no one else was utilizing them.

The señor called this shot "The life of Riley-ette", and so it seemed.  The crystal clear water flowing through the pool felt about 103 degrees, perfect for repeated relaxed soaks followed by lying back on the cool concrete, feet in the water, head pillowed on a towel and an almost imperceptible breeze on wet skin.

As with so many things, there is a story with Hot Well Dunes.  The site is out in the midst of a prehistoric lake bed many miles in diameter. In 1928, there was an entity test drilling for oil; instead, at about 1,900 depth, they hit hot water that ran to the surface as an artesian well at about 106 degrees.

The Bureau of Land Management has made improvements and monitors the site where water flows across the desert surface, creating a small riparian environment in the midst of sand dunes left behind when the lake evaporated.  In addition to nature's sand, man has left behind huge drilling machinery parts.  I can never understand how much equipment is left to rust away in the boonies, but I've seen it in many places.  Why is it not worthwhile to haul it out to use elsewhere?