194710 desert magazine 1947 october

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Count ing the new m o d e l s , thereare over 10,500 different lub rica tionpo in t s on all the various cars. That 'swhyno matter howmany times theymay lubricate your carthe U nion OilMinute Men never trust their memory.Your car is lubricated byreference to itsown individual Stop-Wear Guide Card.But you get m o r e than just a goodlubrication job from the Minute Men.

and not by guess!They also clean your car from top tobottom! They clean all window glassinside and out until it sparkles! Theyempty the ash trays and sweep the floor-boards. All door hinges are lubricated.The choke, throttle and light switchesare oiled for easier manipulation , as arethe b rake, clutch andaccelerator pedals.Mechanical points underneath the carand a bou t the engin e are double-checked

for danger signs. Finally, all tires aresmartly dressed with ashiny coat ofrub-ber d ressing and theentire carwiped offwith a soft cloth.Such extra-special service is typi-cal ofallMinute Manope ratio ns. Everystep has been carefully and systemati-cally planned with yo u in mind.Try theUnion OilMinute Men for realservice! Speed. C ourtesy. Cleanliness.

U n i o n Oil M inute Man Se*viceTHE DESERT MAGAZINE


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D E S E R TC A L E N D A R

Sept.-Oct.Arts of the Pacific Coast In-dians, Special exhibit, SouthwestMuseum, Los Angeles, California.Sept. 28-Oct. 5New Mexico state fair,Albuquerque, New Mexico.Oct., first week Indian fair, arts andcrafts market, Shiprock, New Mex-i c o .Oct. 3-4Apache county fair, St. Johns,Arizona.Oct. 3-4Sierra club, Desert Peaks sec-tion, climb of Pinto peak and CerroGordo, Inyo county, California.Oct. 3-4Gay Nineties celebration,Ridgecrest-Inyokern, California.Oct. 3-5Cochise county fair, Douglas,Arizona.Oct. 4Annual fiesta and elk dance,Nambe pueblo, NewMexico.Oct. 4Annual meeting, Southern Ari-zona Pioneer Cowboy association,Mobley ranch, Douglas, Arizona.Oct. 4Gila county fair, Young, Ari-zona.Oct. 8-11Eastern New Mexico statefair, Roswell, New Mexico.Oct. 17-18Greenlee county fair, Dun-can, Arizona.Oct. 17-19Luna county fair, Deming,New Mexico.Oct. 24-26Tombstone Days, Tomb-stone, Arizona.Oct. 25-26Sierra club climb, T oropeak and Martinez mountain, SantaRosa mountains, California.Oct. 27-29American Mining congressand International Mining days, ElPaso, Texas.Oct. 29-31National Reclamation asso-ciation convention, Phoenix, Ari-zona.Oct. 31Nevada Admission day cele-bration, Carson City, Nevada.Oct. 31M ardi G ras, Barstow, Cali-fornia.Oct. 31Halloween Mardi Gras, Tuc-son, Arizona.Mid-Oct.Harvest festival and dolldance, Zuni pueblo, NewMexico.

K e e p y o u rD E S E R T IL o o s e L e aThese gold-


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This picture of Mrs. Tony Yassie and her son,Navajo Indians of Monument valley, won firstaward in Desert Magazine's August contest.Photograph was taken by Ward W. Howland,Los Angeles, California. Zeiss Ikon Nettar cam-era. 1/25 second at f.22midday in June, 1947.

Subject for Desert's October photographic contestis "Desert Clouds." Cloud effects in the skyshould predominate in the pictureand the des-ert offers wonderful possibilities for photograph-ers in this field. See complete rules and prizeoffer on another page of this issue. SecondNavajo boy in Monument valley. Photographtaken by Hubert A. Lowman, South Gate, Cali-fornia. 1/100 second at f.ll. Yellow filter, highspeed panchrom atic film.

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Byron and Walter Jo-Jo Hansen, nephews of Father Crowley, unveiled the monumentdedicating Crowley lake in honor of the Desert Padre.

By MARGARET PHILLIPSPhotographs by Curt i s Phi l l ips

The desert country owes muchto its padresGarces, Kino, Es-calanie, Salvatierra, U g a r t e,Fontthese are just a few of themany robed knights of thechurch who blazed trails in thearid Southwest for the trapper,the gold-seeker and eventuallythe settlers who came to this re-gion at a later date. But wh ile w epay tribute to the Catholic fathersof the 17th and 18th centuries forthe zeal and courage of theirquest for souls, the heroic quali-ties they possessed sti l l l ive inthe hearts of succeeding genera-tions and of today. Father Crow-ley, Padre of the Desert, who metan untimely death in 1940, de-serves a niche in the sam e hall ofhonor as is occupied by thosepadres of an earlier period.

LISTS of gold and red aspen leavessailed overhead, thick as early au-tumn snowflakes, and a sharpbreeze ruffled the beautiful blue watersof the new lake. Two little boys quicklydrew back the veil, revealing the stonemonument dedicated to the memory ofthe Padre of the Desert.If the spirit of the Padre looked downon the scene, he must have been deeplytouched, for it was just such a ceremonyas he himself might have planned. ThePadre possessed a supreme sense of thedramatic and the whimsical, and elementsof both were to be found in the occasion,with Catholic, Jew and Gentile joining todo him honor.When the Very Rev. Monsignor John J.Crowley was killed in an auto accidentvery early in the morning on St. Patrick'sday in 1940, his friends of the desert andmountains proposed to carry through tocompletion his plans for an All SoulsMemorial chapel in Death Valley; butthey wished to dedicate it to the memoryof the Padre of the Desert. The plan wasnot approved by the Catholic church. It

would be unseemly to pay such tribute toany individual priest, his friends weregiven to understand. These friends setabout to find other ways to perpetuate for-ever the name and memory of the Padreof the Desert.When the City of Los Angeles namedin his honor the huge new lake formed byimpounding waters in Long valley, it wasa special tribute to a great man from agreat antagonist. Once the representativesof the city had literally shaken a fist in thePadre's face, but he won from them re-spect and admiration. From his own peo-ple he won love.Probably never before has any mancome to our desert and in the space of afew years won tremendous love and devo-tion from a large and widespread groupof people. If you try to learn the reason forthis great love, everyone will give you adifferent answer, according to his ownviewpoint, for Father Crowley possessedthat universality as a person which Shakes-peare possessed as a writer. He was alwayssincere, always himself, yet as much athome chatting with a blasphemous oldstonemason in the desert as exchangingverbal daggers with Dr. Haines, chairmanof the department of water and power ofthe City of Los Angeles.

Born among the storied lakes of Killar-ney in Ireland, John Joseph Crowley cameO C T O B E R , 1 9 4 7


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to America as an immigrant boy of eleven,one of a large family with little means. Hegrew up in Massachusetts, attended Clarkuniversity, Holy Cross college and St.Mary's seminary, Baltimore. Ordained forthe priesthood in the diocese of Monterey,he served for a few months in 1919 as as-sistant in St. Agnes pa rish, Los Angeles.Because he was so obviously fitted bydisposition to make a fine husband andfather, I once asked him if he missed thefamily he might have had. In his reply tothis direct question, he gave the only ad-nrssion of loneliness which I ever knewhim to make."Yes," he said. "No man ever entersthe priesthood without the consciousnessof a great sacrifice. But if I had a family ofmy own, I could not possibly be 'Father' toeveryone as I am now. I don't even dare tobecome intimate with any special friends,or some others of my people might feelthat my attention was all taken up and thatI had no time for their problems."

With a larger than ordinary capacity forlove, he poured his affection on the great,austere, dramatic land of desert and moun-tains around Owens valley. Even before hesaw Inyo, he yearned toward it when heheard the call issued for a volunteer priestto go to this lonely and little known placein 1919. The county had never had a resi-dent pastor and the four churches its priestwould serve were spread over 10,000square miles. Young Father Crowley ac-cepted the call. Archbishop Cantwell in-formed the volunteer that he would not beallowed to stay more than two years, as itwould make any man queer to stay morethan two years in Inyo.Little Santa Rosa church in Lone Pine,his headquarters, threw up its spire towardMt. Whitney, highest peak in the UnitedStates. Off to the east, and still in his par-ish, was Death Valley, lowest point in thenation. The extravagance of nature in put-ting such extremes into one parish was aconstant delight to him, even when every-thing else was hard.Irish courage and humor sustained himthrough the discouraging first days in thefield. He had no rectory and "lived in hissuitcase" he related, spending most of hisdays and many nights plowing throughsand ruts in a Model T. Sometimes he hada cot in the backroom of one of thechurches and sometimes he stayed in a ho-tel. Services were held alternately atBishop, Lone Pine, Barstow and Rands-burg.

When a permanent priest was placed atBarstow, Father Crowley was asked to re-turn to Los Angeles as assistant to theBishop of Los Angeles. He preferred tostick to the job he had chosen in Inyo.Every year he was urged to return to thecity and each time he declined.To take care of his large congregationin Bishop, he was authorized to build anew church. The week after it was com-pleted, Los Angeles launched its buying

campaign of 1923-24 in Owens valley. Asthe ranches were bought by the city, theirirrigation water was turned into the LosAngeles aqueduct. All Inyo would beturned back to desert, rumor said. Hun-dreds of families sold to the city andmoved out, while others were ready tofight to stay on their lan ds. The P adre wasdeeply concerned over the problems of hispeople and the empty new churches, withtheir mortgages now hopeless of payment.In 1924 Bishop MacGinley appointedhim chancellor in Fresno, and he had nochoice but to accept. For ten years heserved there, winning great honor andrecognition, but in 1933 he fell ill fromoverwork. For eight months he lay in thehospital.

Lying in his bed, he thought over thethings that had happened to Inyo with thepassing years. Desperate farmers had dy-namited the aqueduct in 1927 withoutdoing any good for the country. More andmore people moved away, farms returnedto the desert, and merchants went out ofbusiness. At the end of the buying cam-paign Los Angeles owned 80 per cent ofthe valley lands according to area, or 90per cent according to tax valuation. Citi-zens saw no hope for home building inthe future.

The churches which the Padre had builtfor Inyo had smaller congregations, debtsas large as ever, and no prospects of pay-ing them off. He longed to bring backpeople and welfare to the churches he hadfounded. Through the bedridden months,plans formulated in his mind. In 1934Father Crowley was able to be up a bit, andfor the sake of his health, he was allowedto choose the field in which he wouldwork. A semi-invalid, he returned to thedesert and recovered rapidly.

To bring prosperity and members to hischurches, he had two aims, to make thepeople of Inyo realize that their scenerywas now their greatest commercial asset,and to bring about co-operative relationswith the City of Los Angeles. If the an-tagonistic neighbors could become friend-ly, perhaps Los Angeles would sell backsome of its property in Owens valley andthe little desert towns could again becomeself-respecting, home-owning communi-ties.For a long time the Padre talked hisproblem over with Ralph Merritt, a closefriend and a business man with a brilliantmind. They planned a new organizationfor the county, to be made up of progres-sive and forward looking men from eachtown, men willing to forget the past andplan enthusiastically for the future.Twenty-one men organized as the InyoAssociates, formulated a definite programfor community betterment and appointeda number of committees, including one forthe improvement of relations with theCity of Los Angeles. As representatives ofthis group, Father Crowley and Ralph

Merritt appeared before the Los Angelesboard of water and power."Th e very fact that the people sent theirpriest down made the board members situp and take notice," Father Crowleysmiled.The Padre of the Desert was a modestman, but he knew the force of his ownpersonality; and he enjoyed the confusionthat his presence created at the board meet-ing. The board members were surprisedby the stature of the man w ho had come upagainst them. When they attempted topass the situation off by inviting the Padreto send them a definite statement, a writ-ten outline, of what he wanted, the priestdrew from his pocket a well-formulated13-point program, stating the exact re-quests of the people of Inyo. The interviewclosed with sharp words between thePadre and Dr. Haines, chairman of theboard of water and power.The board investigated the Inyo Asso-ciates and found them solid business men.It had been taken for granted in Los An-geles that all Owens valleyans were dyna-miters, just as it had been taken for grant-ed in the valley that all Angelenos weredirty politicians.Most important of the requests whichFather Crowley presented for the Asso-ciates were two: that the city should ap-point a single responsible representativeto handle the board's affairs in Owensvalley so that matters would not be end-lessly footballed from person to personand department to department, with prom-ises broken all the way along; and thatthe city should sell back valley homes toprivate owners. A great deal of quiet workby Father Crowley and Ralph Merritt be-gan to bear fruit in increased good will,especially as the personnel of the boardchanged.

In September, 1938, these activitiesculminated in a tour of the valley for mem-bers of the Los Angeles city council andthe board of water and power, with a bigdinner in the evening where the Los An-geles men could meet personally with thebusiness men of the valley and learn atfirst hand of the needs of Inyo. ThePadre's sense of the dramatic was at itsbest in playing up the striking and roman-tic possibilities of such a meeting. The din-ner was held around a huge open camp-fire in the dusk, at Whitney Portal, withthe towering rock walls outlined against astarry heaven and the scent of tall pinesin the air.The exchange of wary courtesies beganto give way to genuine friendliness. Onecouncilman rose and stated that he did notsee why the people of Inyo should worryabout purchasing houses when they hadfor a home the protection of these moun-tain walls and the beautiful dome of skyoverhead. Just then the first drops of a

rainshower began to fall."Because the roof leaks," the Padre wasquick to reply, as pleased with nature's co-T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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The Padre ivas beloved jor the ivhole-hearted manner in which he entered into the sp irit ofevery event. When hone Vine citizens dressed in o ld time garb for their Mt. Whitney-Death Va lley celebration, the Padre found himself the garb of a priest of many years agoand wore his costume all during the week of the festivities.

operation as if he had planned even thisdetail. The meeting adjourned to the par-ish hall in Lone Pine.Late in 1938 the first deed was deliv-ered in Big Pine for the sale of city-ownedproperty back to a private owner. Onlytown properties were sold, no ranch lands,and the city retained the undergroundwater rights; but this was sufficient to re-establish morale and make the beginningsof a new economic life. The Father couldfeel that his flock w ould be provided roofsthat would not leak.Claude H. VanNorman had been givencomplete charge of the valley affairs fcrthe city and people found that they cou'ddepend upon the promises he made. Taxsuits with which the county had been an-noyed were dropped by the city. An amaz-ing new spirit of cooperation developed.Bu1", as in all good desert stories, thebasx fight was for water. When the mush-rooming City of Los Angeles was outgrow-ing its water supply, engineers felt thatLos Angeles needed all the resources of theOwens river watershed to protect thecity's million. Obviously, they also feltthat the end justified the means.For a long time some people had con-tended that building a dam across the

mouth of Long valley, north of Owens va1-ley, would insure an adequate supply ofwater for both Inyo and Los Angeles. Get-ting the dam built was essential to thePadre's plans. The city had voted themoney and drawn the blueprints but nosteps were taken to start the project. Onenight the city's chief engineer, attendingan Inyo Associates meeting, attempted towalk out on a discussion of the dam. In adeadly serious joke, the Padre had the doorlocked ard refused to let him go. Beforethat meeting adjourned, the city engineernot only pledged that the dam would bebu'lt, but he set the date for operationsto begin. This is the da n, finished afterthe Padre's passing, which was named inhis honor.

The Padre was supremely proud of thebeauties of Inyo and its neighboring coun-ty, Mono. If the land cou'd not be turned?.!\!cn to farms and orcha rds, he wanted tosee it made into a playground for vacation-ers. Working as chairman of the businessmen's groups, he brought about the organ-ization of a publicity association to tell theworld of the country he loved so well.Only he could have brought together inharmony the various sectional groupswhich had been bickering fcr as long as

anyone could remember. To the peopleinvolved, it seemed a miracle to find them-selves doing teamwork with neighborswho had always been quarrelsome rivals.Calls for the Padre's time were moreand more pressing. He was holding regu-lar services in Inyokern, 68 miles south ofLone Pine; Death Valley, 105 miles east,and Mammoth, 104 miles north. EachSunday he read mass in both Lone Pineand Bishop, with additional regular serv-ices in Keeler. His was the largest parishin the United States, and he never failed

an appointed service. Weekly he wrote anewspaper column, "Tumbleweed," fol-lowed as eagerly by the general public asby Catholics, for its wit and keen drama-tic observation of human nature and ofInyo.He was so sensitive to the remarkablefeatures of the land that he never failedto see incidents which might cause othersto notice the country that he loved so well.In 1936 he planned and managed almostsingle-handedly a ceremony to celebratethe completion of a new road connectingMt. Whitney and Death Valley. A gourdof water taken by an Indian runner fromTulainyo, the nation's highest lake, wascarried successively by burro, man, stage

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At his Fisherman's Mass, a special service held e arly in the morning on the opening Sundayfishing season, the Padre blessed the fishing tackle of Cathrine Byrne. Next in lineis Aim Morhardt, Bishop teacher.coach, auto, train and airplane and pouredat last into Bad Water, Death Valley, in a"Wedding of the Waters."

As a prank, he gathered a photographer,a pretty girl, and several fishermen forfishing pictures on Owens lake, widelyknown to be so mineralized it cannot sup-port fish life. The pictures included oneof the Padre ready surreptiously to applya paddle to the rear of a bending fisher-man. He took an altar boy and read massin the shelter house on top of Mt. Whit-ney. When fishing season opened on Sun-day, he arose to have mass before daylightso that the faithful could save their soulsand still be on the streams by sunrise. Forgood measure, he blessed the fishing tack'ethat it might bring luck to the fishermen.He accompanied a photographic expedi-tion into the mou ntains and read his prayerbook as the horse joggled him over beau-tiful Sierra trails.

The warmth and wit and fantasy of all

his Irish ancestors bubbled in him, disci-plined by the severe training of the priest-hood. A protestant friend, trying to de-scribe his feeling for the Padre, said, "Youknow, generally, when I see a preachercoming, I'd rather cross the street thanmeet him. But Father Crowley was differ-ent. I liked to shake hands with him."

To have people worship God and at thesame time be in communion with the in-spiring handiwork of Nature was his spe-cial ambition. He planned to erect the 14stations of the cress, built as rest housesof native stone, for a pilgrimage fromDeath Valley to Mt. Whitney, symboliz-ing the ascent from hell to heaven. He hadselected spots which gave the most mag-nificent views of desert and mountain.Some of his friends hope that this proj-ect may be carried out in his name.In this sp :rit is a little monument ofdesert rocks, built beside the road where

he died, by usually unemotional C.C.C.boys, as a spontaneous gesture of love.Sometimes I sat in the quiet church andwatched the Padre's heavy, rough, scuffedboots treading firmly under the black sur-plice as he recited the stations of the cross,

Irs voice weary from many miles and manydeeds. Again, in a crowded banquet room,I watched him sparkle, holding the groupin the hollow of his hand, guiding them ashe willed.When I first came to Inyo and heard theRt. Rev. John J. Crowley called "ThePadre," I begrudged him the name. Thepadres belonged to a vanished race ofgiants, I felt. They were men of vision,empire builders, beings at the same timeof the earthiest earth and the most sublimeheavenly devotion. The title was a sacredone to which no man of our generation hadthe right.As I came to know him, this man be-came in my heart, too, "The Padre."



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If your motor trip takes youinto the Navajo country, you willhave more pleasant dealingswith these nomad tribesmen ifyou understand some of the es-sentials of what they regard asgood manners. Their code is dif-ferent from our ownbut it isnone the less sacred to them, a ndif your approach is with sym-pathy, dignity and honestyyou'll find they have a fine senseof humor and the capacity forgenuine friendship. Out of his ex-perience of many years amongthe Navajo, Richard Van Val-kenburgh offers some sugges-tions to those who would like toknow these tribesmen better.

/ / the door of the hogan is open one iswelcome to enter. But no one everknocks when the door is closed jor"only the mischievous and evil w indsdo that."

Don't Knock on aHoganDoorBy RICHARD VAN VALKENBURGH

Photographs by Mil ton Snow

time I receive a letter askingsuggestions for dealing with theNavajo, my memory shifts backthrough the years to one night when I waswarming myself by the great fireplace inthe long dining room of the old Wetherillranch at Kayenta, Arizona.Softly the authoritative voice of LouisaWetherill was weaving into my mind anindelible pattern of her lifetime of experi-ence in dealing with the Navajo, whichstarted when she and Hastin John estab-lished their trading post in the wild mesacountry of Chief Haskenini at Moonwater,Utah, in 1906."At times, wasn't it lonesome and dan-gerous for you folks way up there allalonewith only primitive Navajo forneighbors and 100 miles of trail betweenyou and your nearest white settlement?" Iasked when she had finished.Mrs. Wetherill smiled. She seemed tobe deliberating before she answered,"Van, your first year with the Navajo willbe one of confusion and wonder. But astime passes you will discover what I havelearned in over some 40 years with thePeople. Treated right the Navajo become

humorous, dignified, and loyal friends."Of course everything depends uponO C T O B E R , 1 9 4 7

the Navajo reaction to your behavior. As aguest in a land where most white men areregarded with suspicion, always rememberthat your acceptance by the People will de-pend upon your ability to accept with dig-nity, sympathy, and honesty the way ofNavajo life."And with this seasoned advice alwaysin the back of my mind I have had reason-able success. The results of my experiencewhich I am passing on to the readers ofDesert Magazine are my own impressionand in some points may not agree with au-

thorities on the subject. Nevertheless, 1hope what follows will serve as realisticand applicable introduction to these Amer-ican Indians.As suggested by Mrs. Wetherill, myfirst year with the Navajo was one of won-der and confusion. My most difficult prob-lem was to descend from the lofty pinnacleof fancied Anglo-super-civilization towhat I believed was John Navajo's low-liness. I learned the hard way . . .My first rebuff was when I learned thatasking questions of a strange Navajo re-sulted in a summary "Hola, Who knows?"which is the prefix of the courteous phraseHolahotza. At the same time I learned that

slight acquaintance gives no one the privi-lege to be too inquisitive or nosey . . .Generally there are three safe channelsthrough which to approach the Navajo.Some Indian service employes have con-nections and will he lp. Then there are mis-sionaries who are influential. Added tothese are the traders who operate over 100posts in the 16,000,000-acre reservation.I believe that the most satisfactory in-troduction to the Navajo is through thekindly auspices of a trader. Among themost cooperative are, Bill W ilson at Nava-jo Mountain, Harry Goulding at Monu-ment Valley, Utah; Cozy McSparron atChinle, Arizona; Roman Hubbell atWinslow, Arizona; John Kirk at Gallup,New Mexico, and Mrs. Stokes Carsonsouth of Farmington, New Mexico.With a 7 5-year tradition of service tothe People such as dispensing medicine,giving first aid, m ediating family q uarrels,interpreting and writing letters, buryingthe dead, creating markets for Navajoproducts, and extending seasonal creditthe Navajo naturally confers with his fav-orite trader regarding strangers.

Good fortune in the guise of an arche-ological job made it possible for me tostart my acquaintance with an extremelyconservative Navajo "outfit." The Peshla-kai dwelt in the jumbled malpais, buff-red sandstone and cinder belt of the Wu-patki Basin, 40 miles northeast of Flag-staff, Arizona.


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1. GRANDFATHER a GRANDMOTHER PESHLAKAI.2.DAUGHTERS (SINGLE)3. DAUGHTER (MARRIED)

1. CAL(ELDER SON) a RED Urn a CHILDREN2. MARRIED DAUGHTERS OF CALa BEDLEF TIS

C H IL D R EN .

FA T (SON-IN-LAW) WIFE a CHILDREN.(LITTLE FATS) a HUSMKD.

! ''r>WwuP AT KI RUIN

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Dignity, loyalty and a fine sense of humor a re the outstand-ing characteristics you will find in the Navajo when youget to know them. And they appreciate dignity andhonesty in others.names must be obtained indirectly andnever from the owner. Generally the Peo-ple have three or four names, i.e., the trad-er's nickname; the government censusname, their "outfit" name, and their cere-monial name.For instance, Cal Peshlakai (or Smith)was known to the government officials as"Mark Anthony" and to his "outfit" asPeshlakai atsidi alangi begai, The EldestSon of the Silversmith. In addition he hada ceremonial name which I never learned.

This little Indian girl is content in the arms of h er jatherEverett McCabe of Tolani Lakes, Arizona, but like otherNavajo children she would not want to be fondled byBilakana or White people.

Possibly it was a war name such as Biyalch'mya, Bent on War, etc.As nearly as I can determine ceremonialnames are secretly given by the mother inchildhood and are seldom disclosed forfear some person with evil intent mightgain power over the owner. Should some-one unwittingly divulge the name theywould be required to make a gift as assur-ance that no harm was meant.It is my observation that many visitorsmake the mistake of attempting to delve

into Navajo religious life without basicpreparation. Ceremonialism is a most in-tricate as well as touchy subject and shouldbe, one might say, a post-graduate coursein Navajo.Of course this does not mean that oneshould refuse to accept an invitation to asing. But leave your camera home, putaway your note book and sketch pad, dresscomfortably, and find out from your spon-sor just what might be a suitable presentfor the medicine man.

^

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The most accessible dance to whites visiting Nav ajoland is the Squaw da nce. Men acceptingan invitation to the dance should hav e plenty of change in their pockets for the Na vajobelles have a way of selecting a Bilakana for a partner and then making himpay for the privilege.

Upon reaching the sing one should lo-cate his sponsor before entering the cere-monial hogan. Don't barge in. For thereare times where and when not to enter aceremony. Proper entry should be madebetween the prayers, which usually runfrom four to 12 verses.Should you attend the nigh: ceremonyyou will not see sand-pictures, for these aredestroyed before the sun sets. Generallythe sponsor will arrange for a visitor to bepresent throughout the night and until theafternoon of the following day. For sleepyheads this is bad, for in some sings no oneis allowed to sleep.The summer visitor to the Navajo coun-try will not view any of the more spectacu-lar major ceremonials. The Dzilkedjib'adji, or 9-day Mountain Chant, and theKledji Hatal, or Night Chant, are not helduntil after four frosts whiten the tips of thesacred mountains.But during the summer there are a num-ber of healing ceremonies lasting from oneto five days, such as the Life Way, FlintWay, Bead Way, Wind Way, and manyothers. The major and most accessible tothe whites is the Anadji. or Enemy Way,which is commonly known as the 'ntah, orSquaw dance.

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Once a purification ritual for warriorsreturning from a raid, the 'ntah (Squawdance) is now predominantly a social af-fair. White gents attending the danceshould have plenty of small change in theirpockets. For the unmarried Navajo belleshave a habit of selecting a Bilakana as adancing partner and making him pay wellfor the pleasure.But prior to getting an invitation to asing one surely will have gained the confi-dence of someone of influence in the outfitwhich is sponsoring the ceremony. And ingaining this trust one will have to demon-strate that they have learned some of thesimple rules of "hogan etiquette."Generally the interior of the hogans aresimilar. After stooping through the loweastern door one sees a circular floor ofhard packed earth with an open fireplaceforward of center and under the opensmoke vent. One never walks over the fireor around food, but along the sidesmento the left and women to the right.Arranged around the wall are trunks,boxes, and rclls of blanket and sheep peltbedding. Above them hang clothing whichusually indicates the section of the hoganwhich is the sleeping place of an individ-ual. For instance, the head of the family

has his possessions under the west wall,the men along the south, and the womenand children along the north.Once I followed the Bilakana custom ofknocking at the door of Grandfather's ho-gan. No one answered. Believing that theold man was gone I went back to myModel T . But just as I was starting to w indit up Grandfather poked his head out andmotioned for me to come back.As soon as I was inside and settled hekindly told me, "If the door or blanket ofa friend's hogan is openwalk right in.But if it is closednever knock. Makesome noise outside so we will know it's aman there. For we believe that only mis-chievous and evil winds knock at doors.And it would have been bad luck for mehad I looked outside and found no one."When eating with the Navajo, whichusually will be with the head of the family,there are things that should be observed.Unless you wish to distress your host bythe possibility of your having sharp painsin your tummy never stick food with a

knifeslice it.Be prepared to be invited to eat soonafter you enter the hogan of friends. That'sa rule of Navajo hospitality. Usually thefood will be barbecued mutton ribs orT H E D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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stew, unleavened bread, and coffee. But beprepared for anything from roasted prairiedog to Vienna sausage.Once after eating I pulled out my cigar-ettes for an after-dinner smoke. Pointingthe pack toward Grandfather I offeredhim one. But he surprised me by avertinghis eyes and saying, "Never point the tipof anything toward a friend. Don't youknow it means he is going to be bitten bya snake!"A word of caution should be insertedhere about drinking water. After a twoweeks' sojourn in the Ganado hospital asthe result of drinking polluted water froma spring, I have since carried my own sup-ply. Should you drink with the Peoplenote that they never leave any water in thedipper or cup, but pour it out.

Should you sleep in a hogan your placewill probably be a pile of sheep pelts justto the right of the head of the family. Andthere is no need to w orry about the proprie-ties. For the men simply shuck off down totheir long calico pants, while the womenmerely loosen their clothing and removetheir moccasins.

To some overly squeamish white folksthe intimacy of hogan life in which an en-tire family eats, sleeps, works and meetsthe crises and necessities of life is revolt-ing. But soon one become conscious of theinnate modesty of the People. The onlytime I have ever observed a "long hair" orconservative Navajo expose his body wasduring a ceremony.And while it may surprise some white

folks, the Navajo do not credit the Bila-kana with too much delicacy, owing to theincreasing appearance in their country ofwhite women rigged out in scant sunsuitsand men in shorts. It behooves us whostrive for Navajo respect to avoid makingspectacles of ourselves in either dress orbehavior.Another aversion is too strong perfume.While the younger generation indulges incheap scents of the dime store variety theold folks detest the smell of anythingsweet, as illustrated when Grandfatheronce chided, "A dead dog smells badbutwhat real'y makes me want to vomit is the

smell of that oil smeared on ycur hair."A m ;nor breech in Nava :o etiquette bya Bildk^na is overlooked w'th condescend-ing /?ood hu mor. ;As Grandfather once putit, "What can you expect from a tribewhich has only one God and then swearsby his name." But there are some thingsthat are not overlooked and can result inJohn Navajo drawing up his blanket anderasing you from his landscape.Once I almost ruined my good relationswith the Peshlakai by repeating a questionfour times regarding historical informa-tion that Grandfather was kind enough to

give me. I wished to expand certain points.But he believed I was questioning h is wordwhich is an insult to a Navajo of character.Picture-taking in the Navajo country

is no problem if properly handled. Neversteal a picture. Possibly the first time yoursubject might not mind. On the otherhand, you might come up against an oldNavajo who would resent your obtainingthe "power over him" that the imagemight give you. And the result could be anunpleasant few moments and a brokencamera.Occasional pictures of ceremonials, par-ticularly sand-pictures, filter out to publi-cation. Most of these are posed and nottaken during an actual ceremony. In onecase, according to the Navajo, they werestolen and the People were sure that thephotographer was punished by the Godswhen he lost his car in a flash flood.To facilitate picture making one shouldmake arrangements with the Navajo be-fore even showing the camera. An agreedsum should be paid, part in advance andpart on com pletion. A nd to clinch the deal,definite arrangements should be made forthe return of prints by way of the trader.The most serious trouble I ever encoun-tered in the Navajo country was heapedupon me by the malicious meddling of astudent whom I was sponsoring in the FortDefiance, Arizona, region. I had repeated-ly warned him never to pot-hunt or disturbany burial cairn or hokai, the "fear hogan"in which death had occurred.My first inkling of his activity came likea stroke of Male Lightning when Old Sam,

a medicine man friend, stalked into my of-fice and spoke with quiet scorn, "That boywho you said was a good one is a witch.Two days ago Hastin Bakaih saw him digsome turquoise from a grave near FlutedRock!"There was only one answer. I called inthe ghoul, and after making him replacethe stones I insisted that he pack and leave.It was the only thing that would appeasethe Navajo. And he was lucky that he leftwith his hide. For he had committed themost serious of all Navajo crimesthedisturbance and robbing of a Navajograve.And thus by the succession of experi-ences that started in th e camps of the Pesh-lakai by the barren terraces of the LittleColorado river, and through the Dinebi-keyab of Navajoland, to the hogans of theToledo in the pinyon-fringed rincons ofthe Continental divide, I began to knowthe People.

Near 20 years with the Navajo is onlythe beginning. No white man's life is longenough to give him the wisdom that lieswithin the four sacred mountains. Andeach succeeding year teaches the sincerehow little they really know and how muchthere is to learn. But for those who arewilling to view with sympathy, dignity,and honesty the way of the People, thedoor of Navajo understanding will beginto open.

Hard Rock Sh ortyof D eath V alle y . . ."Sure they's lots o' rubber plantround here," said Hard Rock Shorty,tilting his chair a little farther backto avoid the sunlight slant'ng in un-der the sagging porch roof of the In-ferno store. "Some folks call itY-ooley, but it's jest plain rabbitbush t' us. Chock full o' rubberchaw it an' your spit'll bounce. Butthem auto tire factories ain't th'first t' use it. No sir!"He adjusted the creaking chairagain, clamped off a chunk of cutplug and ruminated with his eyesclosed."Did you make rubber out of it?"prodded the tourist."Not me," said Hard Rock. "I'mstrictly a gold man. But I'll tell yuhwho did. Oncet I wuz follerin' astreak o' color way up in th' Pana-mints an ' I come acrost a band o' big-horn sheep. Soon's they saw me, they

started arunnin' till they come up t'the edge o' a cliff."Now when them wild sheep iscornered, they jumps right off a cliff,landin' on them big curvin' hornslike on a rockin' chair. Well, whenthese here sheep hit on them horns,durned if they didn't bounce."Yuh can jest bet I laid off hun tin'gold an' started studyin' them sheep.An' I found they wuz livin' on a iso-lated range with nuthin' but rabbitbush t' eat. They'd et so much o' thatrubbery stuff them big horns o' theirswuz all solid rubber."Hard Rock plunked his chairdown on the porch and poked thetourist's vest with his forefinger."An' yuh know what? Them ani-mals wuz smart 'nough tuh knowwhat they had, all right. Soon as theysaw a man with a rifle, them sheepall started walkin' backwards, usin'them rubber horns to e-rase theirtracks!"

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Snakes of this genus are very small in size and of a retiring nature. One may reside on thedesert a life-time and ne ver see this fellow .

By GLENN E. VARGAS

/ATE spring and early summer in the desert is the timewhen wild life hunts food with its greatest vigor. Eve-ning twilight brings the period of activity for nocturnal

animals. At this time in the sandy regions of the deserts ofsouthern California, southern Nevada, and western Arizonathe Banded Burrowing Snake, Sonora occiphalis, may be found.This snake, no more than a foot in length, may be encounteredcrawling with a peculiar worm-like thrashing across the openareas. If threatened with danger, it will tunnel under the sandand can burrow almost as fast as it crawls on the surface.The coloration of this snake is basically of alternate blackand yellowish-white bands across the back, encircling the bodyin the region of the tail. In seme variations there is also a brightorange band dividing the white band. The belly is yellowish orwhite. The snout is long, flat, and shovel-like, which explainsthe ease of burrowing. This burrowing is accomplished by rais-ing a small quantity of sand with the snout and forcing the headinto the space opened. This action repeated allows the snake toadvance underground with astonishing rapidity. Specimenshave been taken from over a foot below the surface of sanddunes.As an additional protection, the underjaw closes inside theupper so that sand cannot enter the mouth while the snake is14

burrowing. Habits and foods have not been studied thoroughly,but the little snake is known to eat soft-bodied grubs and smallscorpions, and lizards and their eggs are suspected to be an itemof its diet.Captive specimens show a vicious nature. They will cour-ageously stand their ground and strike at objects put to them.It is very interesting to watch a snake about eight inches inlength and about as thick as an ordinary lead pencil repeatedlystrike at its captor's hand and retreat only when bodily movedback.The genus Sonora, commonly known as Western groundsnakes, includes seven other species according to the classifica-tion of William Stickel. These are: South Texas ground snake,ranging in southern Texas and adjacent Mexico; Great Plainsground snake, ranging in Kansas and Colorado south throughTexas and New Mexico; Arizona ground snake, ranging inGreat Basin from southern Idaho to Arizona and Utah; Blanch-ard's western ground snake, ranging in Brewster county, Texas,and adjacent Mexico; Gloyd's ground snake, confined to theGrand Canyon of the Colorado; Vermilion ground snake, rang-ing from southern Idaho to Arizona; Vermilion-lined groundsnake, southern Nevada, Southern California and into LowerCalifornia.

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Like a prospector looking for a legendary goldmine, Marshal South has returned again and againto a mountain canyon near the old Vallecitos stagestation in California's Anza Desert state park inquest of a spring rumored to be located there. Hedoesn't find this spring on this latest tripbut thereis always drama in secluded places for a poet, andMarshal's trail leads to other interesting discov-eries.

'Peiett "TtailiBy MARSHAL SOUTH

^ V U D G I N G b y theheight of the morning sun it must haveI been about ten o'clock when I came around the corner of& the low rock, where the squaws had done their grinding,and entered the old camp ground.It hadn't changed much. Several years hadelapsed since I hadlast seen it. But despite progress and automobilesincludingnow the insatiable ramblings of jeepsthe Spirit of the Desertholds pretty tenaciously to its own. It was that veteran prospec-tor, Charlie McCloud, I believe, whodrove the first car throughthe creosotes and into this old Indian campsite many years ago.Many people have followed the tracks that Macmade. All thestorage ollas that once were cached among the rocks on themountainside have gone. Also most of the smashed potteryfragments that at one time littered theground among the hugeboulders that dot the camp area. But the lash of hard summerthundershow ers still uncovers shiny black fragments of obsidianthat fell from thehands of ancient arrowmakers. And,once in awhile, with great luck, you will find a perfect arrowhead.The deep-worn mortar holes in the rocks, however, defy thehands of both Time and souvenir hunters. And the slop-rig,polished rock, down which I have always liked to imagine theyoungsters sliding, is still there. Maybe the ghosts slide downit yet, on moonlight desert nights. I know that I would, if Iwere a ghost. It is tempting. But then, of course, some peopledon't believe in ghosts.There was an empty pop bottle on the flat rock beside thebiggest mortar hole. And,before I sat down to fix the thong ofmy rawhide sandal, I gingerly took it away and hid it deep un-der some debris behind a boulder. Empty pop bottles are, Isuppose, perfectly all right in their way. And in the centuriesto comewhen Time will have blotted our present age and allits workssome scientist will probably dig them up and ex-claim over them. But at present, somehow, in the desertandespecially in silent lonely places that have a more or less sacredfeel to thempop bottles jar me. I once took a friend who wasan archeologist to one of the undisturbed, forgotten old desertcampsites. He could pick up the old grinding stones, laid thereby fingers long since turned to dust, and describe the womenwho had last used them.I didn't try that with the pop bottle. I didn't want to.Some-how my imagination is too vivid.I spent a fewminutes sitting on thegrinding rock and fixingmy sandal. The knot through the sole, under the big toe, hadworn off and I had to slide the thong forward through theloopsand re-knot it. A Yaqui sandal, if it is properly made, is one ofthe simplest things in the world to mendand also the mostcomfortable to wear. But youhave to get used to themboth asto feel and as to looks. Most feetand peopleare too civil-ized to countenance them.

It was warm, sitting there in the sun. But not too warm. Afriend, when I had set forth on my expedition, told me that Iwas slightly crazy to go on walking trips in the desert in July.

The deep-worn mortar holes of ancient Indian dwellersdefy the hands of both Time andsouvenir hunters.And when I told him that I liked the desert heat and that, asfar as I wasconcerned, it never really got too warm, he retortedthat that wasbecause I had lived there too long and had gottenall dried up and cracked "like all the rest of those desert rats."For which I thanked himand then made a few edged re-marks about theenervating heat of his allegedly cool pine-cladmountains. My friend and I understand each other very well.

I finished my sandal repair, shouldered my light pack andcanteen and started up the canyon. I would have enjoyed bask-ing longer amidst the sunlit hush and peace of the old boulder-pillared camp ground, but some slight twinge of consciencegoaded me on. After all I had supposedly come out to look fora spring hadn't I? I ought, therefore, to make some effort tofind iteven though I didn't expect to. Rider and I hadsearched for this same spring very thoroughly years before. Andhad just about convinced ourselves that it was a myth. But mycredulityin the matter of springsis colossal. And I hadheard a new rumor. I really didn't believe it. But the excuseit gave to go searching was too strong to be resisted. So here Iwas.The canyon was familiar ground. Years beforebefore we

had settled on Ghost mountainwe had penetrated its depthsand had been halted, suddenly breathless with something likeincredulous awe, at the spot where, through a gap between thetumbled walls of savage rock, all the mystery of the blue andpurple badlandsleagues distant and far belowhad burstabruptly upon our vision. The same view, today, halted meagain. And for a long while I stared at it with thesame fascina-tion. Some places hold us with shadowy chains. We know notwhy, but they arehome. They belong to us.This view out over the distance phantom ed reaches of theVanished Seawhich is now Imperial V alleyhas always heldme. Whether it be from the summit of Ghost mountain or fromany other vantage point the effect is always the same. I can for-get the towns and the highways and the cultivated fields andthe irrigation canals that I know are there, hidden by the haze

of distance. I do not see them or sense them. I can see only theseathe sea that is there no longer. In the changing light itsO C T O B E R , 1947 15


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ghostly waves heave and the tide-rips make grey riffles aroundits rocky headlands.I spent several hours exploring the lower reaches of the can-yon. That is to say I employed my time in clambering up overand between titanic boulders the size of houses, that lay jum bledin the mountain gash like heapings of marbles some giantschoolboy had flung into a ditch.The ravines which rare floods and the wind-storms of ageshave worn in the flanks of these desert mountains are fearsomeplaces which, if not haunted by demons, hobgoblins and malig-nant spirits, as they sometimes seem to be, are at least under thespell of an awful desolation and thirst. The sides of the moun-tains, as you work down into the drier fringes of the lowlands,become increasingly barren and more sun-blasted. Bare, heat-blackened rocks cling ominously to the slopes and ridges in po-sitions which appear to defy the laws of gravity. At any moment,it seems, they might turn loose and fall thundering into thecanyon depths. And many of them have so fallenthe infernoof stone monsters which choke the gorge depths is testimony tothat.

Between these grim masses are chinks and dark crevicesthrough which, by squirming, an active human can sometimesmake his way. But it is a cautious business. For always there aredark holes underfoot that yawn into blacker and more mysteri-ous depths. The winds of thousands of years have howledthrough these rocks and scoured them in places to the slipperypolish of ice. To lose footing and go plunging down into one ofthese subterranean death-traps would be all too easy.Of course there wasn't any spring. At least I didn't find it.Sometimes I think that old timersespecially when they havepassed a certain ageare a little unreliable. Not intentionally.But they get their geography mixed and superimpose Arizona,Utah, New Mexico and California locations one upon the other.So that the resultant picture is a bit fuzzy. I hunted in vain forthe "three big boulders, leaning together" with a dead junipertree "just about a hundred yards to the east." Maybe it's there.And maybe not. Anyway I abandoned the search and began tomake my way back along the ridges toward the old Indian trailthat runs to Vallecitos.It's a rough trail and poorly marked. But I had traveled itseveral times before. Just as I reached the first old Indian trail-marker however I was surprised to meet a mountain sheep. Wealmost ran into each other as I turned the corner of a clump ofrocks. For an instant he stopped, startled. Then with a boundhe swung aside and fled nimbly up the precipitous slope, skip-ping from boulder to boulder as only a mountain sheep can. Hewas a big ram and I felt pretty certain he was the same one thatI had seen two years back on the other side of Pinyon peak.Meeting him here seemed to lend color to the possibility thatthere might be a spring in the vicinity after all. But it is slimevidence. Mountain sheep range a long way from water. In factin the Pinacate mountains, in Mexico, south of the Arizonaborder, they are reputed to get along without water entirelypossibly subsisting on the moisture contained in the bisnagacacti.The day was edging toward twilight when I broke free fromthe cluttered desolation of rocky ridges and headed across theocotillo-staked desert toward the old Vallecitos stage station.I had sudden evening company, too. For, happening to glancealoft, I was aware of a streaming flight of buzzards passingabove me, headed for the sunset tinted heights of the distantsouthwestern sierras. There must have been hundreds of them.They flew slowly, in an irregular, streaming formation, like acloud of ominous warplanes. What the reason is for these buz-zard migrations I do not know. They are not a regular occur-rence. It is only at long intervals, in this particular desert sec-tion, that all the wandering birds that are usually so solitary,congregate. Only a few times during our long residence on

Ghost mountain have we seen such mass flights. And they arenot always in the same direction. If they were more regularthey would be more explainable.16

The old stage station was deserted, and in the dusk the sha-dows lay heavily across the lonely tule marshes which borderit. I spread my single light blanket on the ground beside one ofthe adobe pillars and, after a long drink at the pumpwhichnow makes the waters of the spring accessibleI stretched outto watch the bats flittering around the treetops and to look forthe diamond points of the stars as they appeared one by onethrough the growing velvet of the night. Far away beyond thetule marshes a coyote yammered and the sound quavered lone-somely across the whispering dark.Desert trailing, on foot, has many advantagesprovided youknow something of your territory. The desert is no place forfoolhardy stunts or for the taking of long chances as to waterespecially in summer. But, with reasonable caution, there ismuch to recommend walking. Walking, in these days of auto-mobiles and frantic haste, is almost a lost art, it is true. Andthat is a pity. Because in no other way can you gain such an in-timate acquaintance with any region. Walking is cheap andhealthful and to all those who are outdoor-minded I would mostheartily recommend it. Carry a notebookand a sketchbooktoo, if possible. They will add to your fun. Butand this is aserious warning as regards the desertbe sure you know some-thing about your territory before you start. Don't try to crosslong, unknown stretches of waterless country. There are plentyof easy trips.

TIME!Here, in the silence and the heat, ivhere Time steals past onslippered jeet,They, who b efore possessed this land,have left their trace o nevery handA shattered jar, a lonely grave, old ca mpsites where the grease-ivoods waveTrails, dimm ed by years and sandstorm 's blast these left asrecord "They who passed."Who owns the land? Beneath the sun, in blots of indigo and dun ,The shadows of the c louds move by, beneath the arch of

turquoise sky.Sunlight and shade in patterned change across the wasteland'sendless rangeTime on soft feet. And who shall find, the reco rds ive shallleave behind?Aged Canyon Explorer Bids Cheerful Farewell . . .

Julius F. Stone, 91, pioneer Grand Canyon and Coloradoriver explorer, died at his home in Santa Monica, California,on July 25. Friends scattered over the nation received cards withthe verse:"With a ripple of merry.laughter,A smile and a gay good-bye

To all who made life worth living;Back to the dust go I. "On the card was the picture of a burned out candle. Stone leftthe cards with orders that they be mailed on the day he died.Stone first saw the Colorado river in 1877. In 1909, withNate Galloway he made a successful voyage down the river fromGreen River, Wyoming, to Needles, California. He publishedan account of his trip in 1932 under the title Canyon Country.In 1938, in his eighties, he made another voyage on the riverand was planning a third when ill health overtook him. Duringhis life he collected a large library of material about the river,including original journals of men in the two Powell expedi-tions.He was a retired Columbus, Ohio, industrialist, and was anamateur astronomer and geologist in addition to his interest inthe Colorado river.



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This little papoose is Ipputts, son of JoePickyavit of the Pahvant Utes in Utah.Photo courtesy Frank Beckwith.

HOST RANCHB y N E L L M U R B A R G E RCosta Mesa, CaliforniaTh' sky is as blue and as boundless;Th' autumn has just as much gold,

And th' first breath of spring, if not sweeter,I reck on s as sweet as of old . . .But up in th' juniper country,Where th' winds of th' mesa blow free,Lies a desolate heap of adobeThat once was th' Seven-Bar-Tee.Here's a rusty shoe from a mustang's hoof,And a piece of a saddle gir th;A forty-five shell and a Spanish bitTrod deep in th' sun-baked earth.But no smoke drifts from th' cook shackWhere th ' old dinner gong s t i l l swings .And th' tumbled corral and th' sagging barnShelter only th' skulking things.The bunkhouse is s t rangely s i lent ,I ts c reaking door swung wide;And folks tells me my pals, th' punchers,Are r idin ' th ' Great Divide .A n d m e b be t he y a r e . . . B u t, s tr an g er ,Come out once , in th ' moonlight , with meAnd I 'll show you white horses and ridersOn th' range of th' Seven-Bar-Tee! DESERT DISCOVERY

B y M IL DR E D L UC ASTrona, Cal i forniaI 've walked on many city streets,Been dazzled by the colored lights,But now I view with deepest aweThe starry signs of desert nights.Through galleries of art I 've strolledAnd stood before their paintings rare,But looking on the purple hi l lsThere 's nothing can with that compare .I 've entered great cathedral hallsWhere many souls become new-born,But now I feel my soul expandWith every fragile desert morn.

Jlitile PaB y C . F R A N K L I N L Y E NCypress, California

On his mother 's back he swings ,Quite secure f rom harmful things ;And the shawl wherein he cleavesIs of wool the squaw so weaves:I t is warm and s trong to holdPapoose there within his fold;And the l i t t le one so quaintSeldom moves or makes complaint.What a joy is s imple heal th;Innate love his truest wealth.His is not to cry or whine;Hear t that 's kind, ye t leonine!W ho can bear the pain of strife,Pay for freedom even with life.W e have need for such as he,Makers of true charity.When the race of life is doneW ho shal l say that they have wo n?Only victory is trueWhen the sky for al l is blue!Tiny babe , fair Nature 's he ir ,Nurtured by her tender care ,You shall be our emblem yetEre the sun on you shall set!Child of freedom,Live , l ive on!

SWEETWATERB y H E L E N L . V O G E LIndio, California

Gently, sweetwater, from mountain fastnessp o u r ;Sparkling, sweetwater, bejewel the desert floor.Kiss it, sweetwater, and cradle it in green,Flashing and glowing, a lovely tourmaline ;Flow on to vineyards and quench each thirstyroo t ;Make lush the green bud; enr ich the purpl ' l ingfruit.Flow on, sweetwater, that blushing brides maywearBlossoms of orange as crowns upon their hair.

Hold fast your passion of floodwaters in spring.Spend your desire in the waterfall 's wild fling,Forc ing your madness through gorge and can-yon maze,Peaceful again through the lands where cattlegraze .Gently, sweetwater, bedeck the desertland;Green grows the verdure where you havetouched the sand.Clear pools and green trees and peace beneaththe shade,White gold, sweetwater , for which al l menhave prayed.

DESERT NIGH TB y E L M A R O B ER T S W I L S O NPhoenix, Arizona

The white stars lean so low, it seems that oneMight brush the ir lus ter with upl i f ted hand;The scrubby creosote, day-drenched with sun,Still pours its pungent perfume over sandThat stretches in a muted, waveless seaTo scour the calloused heels of distant hills;With each breeze-lilt, the palo verde tree,In trembling showers of gold, her blossomsspills.The night seems dedicated to an oathOf boundless silence and pure reverieNo man would dare to violatethen bothAre gloriously shattered. SuddenlyThe mockingbird gives voice to rapturous songHe must have learned at heaven's parapet,And all seems righted that was ever wrongFor, briefly, paradise on earth is set.

A WESTERNER'S PRAYERB y J E AN R OGE R SAlbuquerque , New Mexico

Give me this land,This stage of changing sceneSnowy peak and desert sand,Turquoise sky and meadow greenBlend in perfect tone.Give me this seaOf grassland wide and deepThat rolls yonder, in the leeOf craggy mountain steep,As do the breakers on the shore.Give me this air,Clear and blue and freeFresh from plain and summit bare,From silver stream and pinyon tree,Its tangy breath is pure and sweet.Give me these, O God, I pray,And let me here forever stay! DESERT SANDS

B y H A R O L D J . G R E E N B E R GSanta Barbara, CaliforniaThe desert is an ageless mystery:Deep, silent shadows steal across the sand,As if inspired by some huge, unseen handIn dazzling lines as far as eyes can see;Shadows and light, fantastic in design,Space without end, with freedom in its wake,A promise of romance in every line,A dream of beauty for the world to take. NIGHT WINDB y W I N I F R E D O W E N SFountain, ColoradoThe night wind sweeps the desert floorW ith a swish of his great giant broom.He dusts each sage as he passes byAcross the great wide room.While high up in the star-filled skyThe moon looks down and smiles.He knows this world is free and cleanFor miles and miles and miles.

DREAMERB y B E SSIE SAUNDE R S SPE N C E RPueblo, ColoradoA mellow voice came calling meTo leave my fragile cloud,And come where fruit was on the treeAnd tune of life was loud.

I changed my dreams for sweetened breadAnd drank an ear thly cup,But linger, cloud, above my headAnd keep me looking up. DESERT PAINTINGB y S T E L L A K N I G H T R U E S SLos Angeles, CaliforniaWhere sands curve soft in silvery dunes,

The bright verbenas closely cling.Across the pale blue mountain peaks ,A cloud drifts like an angel-wing.

AH, W I S D O MB y T A N Y A S O U T H

Ah, Wisdom, Wisdom, what would I notgiveFor thy fair gifts, to teach me how toliveUnto the fullest! Every day I ownThe steps I gained, the tests I newly wonI earned through you. And all my soul'sde l ightIs vested in thy Power and Truth andLight .

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LLvion ikelz AJdan.oot6By MARY BEAL

f/ OME plants are confirmed thieves, filching a livingj from well-conditioned neighbors. Settling down besidea chosen host, the plunderer pushes its roots down tofasten upon and draw nourishment from the roots of its victim.The guilt of the thief is disclosed by its lack of green color,which needs light and air for development. Subsisting uponpurloined "prepared food," it has no use for leaves, which havebeen reduced to scales.First on the list belongs to the Broom-Rape family and isknown botanically as

Orobanche cooper/(o r Oroban che ludoviciana var. cooperi)The appearance of this curious growth bursting from theground always seems incredible, and fascinating in its peculiar-ity. The stout, fleshy, scaly stems shoot up 5 to 9 inches, dullbrownish-purple or greyish-purple in color, the herbage glan-dular and often so hoary with greyish hairs as to look frosted.There may be a single spike or often several smaller spikesclosely encircling the main stem, all crowded with bracts andpurple and yellow flowers. The calyx lobes and bracts arelanceolate and the 2-lipped corolla is tubular, about an inchlong and noticeably curved, much paler outside and glandular-hairy. The 2-lobed upper lip is purple, erect or recurved, the

lower lip 3-lobed, light purplish with 2 yellow ridges extendinginto the throat or all light yellow, all lobes acute. From Marchto July you may find this Broom-Rape, usually growing ingroups, on mesas and washes, in valley and mountain areas inthe Mojave and Colorado deserts and Arizona, extending intosouthern Utah, Nevada, western Texas and Mexico. Its favoritehost is Burroweed (Franseria dumosa) but it does not scornother Composites, such as Hymenoclea salsola. In Arizona ithas been found sponging a living upon species of cactus.Orobanche multijlora var. arenosa is similar except that itsstem is rather slender and the purplish corolla lobes are round-ed. It is found in Arizona and California desert mountains andnorthern Mexico from April to July. Another species occasion-ally found on the desert is

Orobanche jasciadataCommonly called Cancer-Root as are the other Broom-Rapesat times, because of their use in the treatment of ulcers andcancerous grow ths. It is very different in appearance from theabove species. The flowers are borne in loose clusters on slen-der naked peduncles, often several inches long. The short calyxhas 5 pointed triangular lobes and the tubular corolla is over aninch long (up to IV2), spreading at the tip into 5 roundedlobes. The whole plant is of one color, yellowish or dull pur-plish or reddish. Those I have found high in the Providencemountains were very pale yellow. They tap for nourishmentspecies of Sagebrush (Artemisia) and Buckwheat (Eriogo-num). Their desert locations are from 4000 to 8000 feet in the

mountains of Arizona, California, Nevada, Utah, to westernTexas, from May to August.The Lennoa family also is addicted to stealing its food. It hasthe same general characteristics as the Broom-Rape gang butshows structural differences that easily identify its members.

18

Burroweed is the favorite host of this plant sponger,Orobanche cooperi.

Pholisma arenariumThe thick fleshy brown stem, 2 to 6 inches above ground,ends in a dense oblong spike, single or compactly branched,densely crowded with leaf-scales, bracts and flowers. Thegreyish-brown scales, bracts and calyx lobes are glandular-hairy.The violet-purple corolla has a conspicuous white margin andis shallowly 5 to 7-lobed and ruffled, like a miniature Petunia.Its hosts are Rabbitbrush and a few other Composites, andBuckwheat. It may be found from December to June in theCalifornia deserts and Lower California, usually on sandy mesasand w ashes.The Lennoa family also claims the remarkable "Sand Food,"

which is known botanically asAmm obroma sonorae

This oddity is mostly subterranean, only the flat button-likehead (2 to 4 inches broad) showing above ground. The thickscaly succulent stems are like an elongated radish, pushingdown 2 to 5 feet to reach the roots of various perennial herbsand shrubs. In March and April the upper surface of the woolydisk is covered with a dozen or more tiny violet-purple, funnel-shaped blossoms. The long roots are much relished as food, rawand cooked, by Mexicans and Indians, and have been a valueditem of their larder. Those Americans who have had the pleas-ure of eating them found them an unusually palatable and satis-fying food, much like yams, when roasted; sweeter and juicierthan a radish, when raw. These Sand Roots are very plentiful inthe extensive sand dunes of Sonora and Lower California andare found less abundantly in the dune areas of southwesternArizona and southeastern California.



19/48

Rockhound s poured like a wave over the ground the Utah society had dynam ited to exposethe sherry-colored crystals.

Day for Topaz CollectorsGolden topaz in a silver-grey jewel casket of rhyolitethat is whatmore than 100 rockhounds found when they trekked to Topaz cove in theThomas mountains of western Utah as guests of the Mineralogical Societyof Utah. To reach the sparkling gems, they followed a trail which once re-sounded to the rumble of Overland stage and the hoofbeats of Pony Ex-press. The old stage stations have disappeared, and the road is lonelierthan it w a s 80 ye ar s a go . But at the end of the trail there is a rich rew ardfor gem collectors who go there today.

By HAROLD O. WEIGHTr OPAZ cove lies there," said LillianLockerbie, secretary-treasurer of theRocky Mountain Federation ofMineralogical societies. She placed herfinger on a map of the Thomas mountainsabout 100 air miles southwest of Salt LakeCity. The map was spread on a table inthe Gold ballroom of the Newhouse hotelin Salt Lake. The 1947 convention of theRocky Mountain federation was closing,and around us rose the excited dickering ofcollectors making last minute purchasesand exchanges. Jade and dinosaur bone,variscite, petrified wood and a thousandO C T O B E R , 1 9 4 7

and one mineral wonders were beingwrapped and packaged for their return tocollections scattered over the westernstates.In the morning, June 14, a two-day fieldtrip to Topaz mountain, sponsored by theMineralogical Society of Utah, would getunder way."I could give you road directions," Mrs.Lockerbie went on, "but you would prob-ably end up wandering all over the desert.That's why we're having guides with thecaravans leaving Salt Lake tomorrow. ButCharlie and I are starting early and we'll

mark every road branch. So if you want totry it alone, just follow the paper flags."Lucile and I did want to try it alone.There are many places of historical andgeological interest along the road to theTopaz field and we didn't want to beforced to keep up with a rockhound cara-van. There had been a cold rain in SaltLake City the day before the conventionopened, and some of the visitors from Wy-oming and Colorado had driven throughblizzards. But Saturday morning dawnedclear. The air was crisp and the snow lowon the Wasatch and Oquirrh ranges.For more than ten years I had dreamedof hunting the tawny gems that cluster inthe cavities of that grey mountain-mass ofrhyolite in west central Utah. I almostmade the trip in 1945 when I was in theair force, awaiting shipment at CampKearns. While on pass in Salt Lake City,I met Lillian and Charles Lockerbie. Theytook me on a Utah society field trip into

the cool, flower-lined trails of the Wasatchmountains where we collected ludwigite19


20/48

Charles W. Lockerbie, U tah societymember, prepares to dynamite the gem-bearing rhyolite -while rockhound Altalooks on.from an old mine dump. That trip was aglorious break in the monotonous roundof squadron work-call, guard duty andkitchen police at Kearns.A weekend at Topaz mountain wasplanned. But the army had other ideas, andthe day I expected to be hunting topazcrystals found me with my nose againstthe window of a troop train, watching thedesert mountains of Utah vanish in the au-tumn haze. I reluctantly filed the trip awayamong my more urgent post-war projects.Even with the fluttering crepe papermarkers to guide us, we had trouble withthe route. Topaz cove always has been iso-lated. Probably the Paiutes and their an-cestors knew all about the sparkling rocksat Topaz and the mountain men may havegone that way. But the first scientific ob-server to record the presence of the beauti-ful gem stones was Henry Engelmann, ge-ologist with Captain James H. Simpson's1858-9 expedition to map a wagon road

Junius ]. Hayes, of the University ojUtah and president of the Miner-alogical society, supervised the FlagDay ceremonies.from Camp Floyd in Salt Lake valley toGenoa, Nevada. This was the same Simp-son who in 1849 reported discovery ofChaco Canyon and Pueblo Bonito in NewMexico.In 1890 George Frederick Kunz, in hisbook Gem s and Precious Stones of NorthAmerica, declared the Utah specimensprobably the most beautiful and brilliantcrystals of topaz to be found in the UnitedStates. But as late as 1937, when Profes-sor Junius J. Hayes, president of the Utahsociety and a group of friends made theirfirst trip to the field, they wanderedthrough the sagebrush for two days, look-ing for Topaz mountain.We filled the gas tank at Stockton, lastsource of supply directly on the road wewere following, and checked our watersupply. Normally, no water is available atTopaz cove. At 52.5 miles from Salt Lake,beyond St. Johns station, the paving end-ed. The speed of the car slowed to match

]ean Rottman of Salt Lake City, one ofthe youngest collectors, with the screenshe used to recover topaz crystalsfrom the gravel.road conditions, and the passing country-side took on details. In the sagebrush weregorgeous magenta-pink blossoms of theopuntia cactus, tall sego lilies, apricot mal-low, white prickly poppy, pink thistle andbrightly-red Indian paintbrush. As thelonely road twisted up through the pass inthe Onaqui mountains, we reached thelevel of the junipers.This almost forgotten road once hadbeen the main street of America. It hadbeen the Pony Express route from 1860until the transcontinental telegraph madeit obsolete in 1861. The Overland Stageand freight lines maintained stations alongthe road from 1858 to 1868. Emigrantswho traveled this way knew it as the Simp-son route but to the Mormons it wasEgan's trail. Howard Egan, Mormonguide, frontiersman and express rider, pio-neered the road in 1855, when returningfrom California.Every Pony Express and stage station

Topaz crystals rom Tho mas mountains, Utah (enlarged).

'


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Topaz cove, 130 road miles southwest of Salt Lake C ity, where 103 mineralcollectors attend-ing the 1947 convention of the Rocky Mountain Federation of M meralogical societiesspent a weekend collecting crystals.

site along this road is marked with an at-tractive native stone monument and ametal plaque. They were sponsored byUtah Pioneer Trails association and Ore-gon Trails Memorial association, andwere erected by the Civilian ConservationCorps.The stations are gone. Seldom are thereeven mounds of rock to recall the waysidedepots where jaded horses were replaced,passengers fed and Indian attacks beatenoff. Once outposts of onrushing civiliza-tion, civilization now has passed them by.Even the sites of station wells, dug withmuch effort through stubborn desert earthare forgotten. And the road itself, save forsuch infrequent caravans as this migrationof the tribe Rockhound, is lonelier than itwas 80 years ago.But whirling dust devils in the ruttedtracks on the grey flats bring memories ofrocking Concords and mudwagons. Thesound of wind on a moonless night be-comes the rumble of wheels and the creakof leather throughbraces. So little has thisraw land changed one feels that at anymoment a page of the book of time mightturn backward and the frontier breatheagain.O C T O B E R , 1 9 4 7

We reached Simpson springs at 90.2miles. Southwest of the monument rowsof rock and erosion-filled excavations out-line what once was one of the most impor-tant stage stations in Utah. Simpson'ssprings was the jump-off for the dreadedstretch of road that rounded the loweredge of the Great Salt desert. From herewater was carried for westbound animalsand horses.On the slope to the east of the road arethe green-painted buildings of a grazingservice camp. From the springs the oldstage route headed southwesterly abouteight miles to Riverbed station. Only dur-ing cloudbursts does the river bed carrywater today. But in late glacial times, thewaters of Sevier lake flowed northwardthrough it into evaporating Lake Bonne-ville. The river bed, where the road entersit, is about 2000 feet wide and 130 feetdeep. When the stages ran, there was a100-foot well at Riverbed from whichbrackish water was hauled to Dugwaystation, ten miles southwest. Station andwell have vanished, but the monument,about a quarter of a mile off the road, in-dicates where they were located.Bonneville was the last of four huge

fresh water lakes which filled the GreatBasin during the ice ages. At its highestpoint, the vast body of water was 1000feet above the present level of its last bigremnant, Great Salt Lake. It extended intoIdaho, Nevada, and to within 50 miles ofthe Arizona border. Professor F. J. Pack,author of Lake Bonneville, a PopularTreatise,wrote that if the lake ever shouldresume its old level it would submergemore than 100 cities and villages and makehomeless more than 90 per cent of Utah'spopulation.During the thousands of years that thegreat lake was at its height, the Dugway,Thomas and Drum mountains formed a50-mile island and the road which we trav-eled across the flats would have been un-der 700 feet of water. On the flats we re-alized again what Mrs. Lockerbie meantwhen she said that road directions werehard to give. There are roads all over theplace.We left the old stage route at 108.1miles, swinging south on a comparativelynew truck trail which proved to be thepoorest section of the road. During wetweather this clay track probably would beimpassable. Ahead to the right we could

21


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SALT LAKE CITYVio ST. JOHN(86.8 MILES)

SITE OFR I VER B ED STA(PONY EXPRESS ft .OVERLAND STAGE)

.4}^.H ILL SHOWING LAKE'3V/?::TERRACES FROM LAKE8ONNEVILLE PERIOD

west. Founded in 1940, it now has a mem-bership of 120 and publishes a big an-nual bulletin with illustrated features onminerals, geology and rock localities of

see the triangular point known as PilotPeak, guide to the topaz field. Presentlywe passed its south base andfollowed thecurving trail into Topaz cove.As weclimbed steadily toward the endof the road, every likely spot along thewash in the shade of the juniper trees wastaken up by car or trailer. When the cargrunted around thelast grade and I pulledou t of the road the sun was low, but itsclear sharp light fell directly into thegreatU-shaped bowl, etching the black-greenjunipers against the light grey of the tow-ering slopes which walled us in.Professor Hayes, who was supervisingthe camp, welcomed us to Topaz city."The main wash is crowded," he said,"but there is plenty of room on the flat."22

As we walked up the road, hetold us aboutpreparations made to assure success of thefield trip.The Mineralogical Society of Utahshould be proud of its Topaz cove camp-ground. There were tables and benchesunder the big junipers along the mainwash. Fireplaces hadbeen constructed andrestrooms set up. Members and friendshad hauled wood and water. And manyhours hadbeen spent improving the road.Signs marked Rockhound Broadway andRockhound Main street and city limits.And the throngs of convention delegatesbustling about gave the cove a metropoli-tan appearance.The Mineralogical Society of Utah isone of the most active societies in the

ROADMileage

LOGSALT LAKE CITYTO TOPAZ COVEFrom Salt Lake

00.0

25.534.835.038.139.241.947.349.051.3

52.5

63.364.073.679.082.2

Leave Temple Square,Salt Lake City and followU . S. 40 past Saltair, Sun-set and B l a c k Rockbeaches, Garfield smelters. U . S. 40-50 swings right.Keep straight ahead (left)to Tooele valley.Road branch right toWendover. Keep straightahead.Tooe le , k e e p s t r a igh tahead through town.Tooele Ordnance depotr ight . K e e p s t ra igh tahead.Combined Metals Reduc-tion plant. Keep straightahead.Stockton. Check water, oilan d gas..Branch. Keep r ight .Railroad crossing at St.John station. Follow statehighway 36 south. Ju nc tio n. C o n t i n u estraight ahead. Right roadis to Dugway provinggrounds.Straight ahead. Road leftgoes to Desert ChemicalWarfare station. Pave-ment ends here. S t ra ig h t a h e a d . Le ftbranch goes to farm. T U R N R I G H T on dirtroad into Onaqui moun-tains.Lookout station historicalmarker right of road.Junction. Keep right.Road branch left. Keepstraight ahead.M apMileage86.8

90.290.998.7

108.1116.8123.0124.1124.8126.8128.1

130.0

00.0Junction. Take left fork.Dugway proving groundsright.3.4Simpson's springs stationmonument, right of road.4.1Road Y. T a k e r i g h tbranch.11.9Riverbed stage station site,y4 mile right of road.21.3Leave main road for leftbranch paralleling Dug-way mountains.3 0. 0 F ai nt b r a n c h . K e epstraight ahead.36.2Y joining main Eurekaroad. Turn right on mainroad.37.3Road branch left. Keepstraight ahead.38.0Road branch left to Delta .Keep straight ahead.40.0Leave main road for rightbranch, heading towardPilot peak.41.2Faint branch -ight. Keepleft. Follow main traveledroad to43.2Rockhound campsite atend of road in Topaz cove.



23/48

the region. Pre ent officers, besides Presi-dent Hayes are Marie P. Crane, first vice-president; William T. Rogers, secondvice-president; Marcia F. Bagby, secre-tary; Kenneth R. Tanner, treasurer; andSears P. R oach, historian.The collector who visits Topaz covewill not go away empty handed. Whenthe sun falls across the gashes and slopesof the cove, its light is reflected in thou-sands of bright flashes. Before we hadgone 50 feet, Lucile had rescued severalwater-clear crystals from the dust of theroad. The crystal-hunter soon learns thatsome of the brightest glitters come frombits of topaz too small to locate. But com-plete crystals are there, and thev can befound easily as soon as the rockhound'seyes become adjusted to the type of speci-men he is hunting.Not all the visitors were busy makingcamp. We met Walter H. Koch, of SaltLake City, returning from the head of themain wash through camp. He was proudlybearing a large fragment of rhyolite. Thecavities in it Were filled with glowingsherry-colored crystals of topaz. It was amuseum piece."I just found it up the canyon a littleway," he said. From up that canyon camethe sound of shouting. Apparently the to-paz hunt was in full cry. It is hard work toobtain the sherry-colored crystals, but theyare worth the effort. They must be dug,chiseled or blasted from the cavities of thegrey rhyolite where they are imprisoned.Once found, they must be protected fromdirect sunlight or intense heat or theirglorious color soon fades.Topaz is an ancient gem, named for aRed Sea island whose inhabitants wereforced by Egyptian rulers to collect thegem crystals found there and deliver themto the royal gem cutters. The name topaz,however, has been applied to many yellowstones, so it is possible that the Red Seastones were not our present gem, which isa silicate of aluminum and fluorine. Puretopaz is colorless, but impurities make ityellow, brownish grey, sherry, and paletones of blue, green, lilac, violet and red.Yellow is the color most sought in gems.

Topaz will scratch all the common min-erals except corundum, being number 8 inMoh's scale of hardness. It crystallizes inthe orthorhombic systemthree axes atright angles to each other and of differentlengthsand the crystals are prismatic inform. The stone has a perfect basal cleav-age and its fracture is conchoidal to un-even.Topaz occurs most often in acid, igneousrocksin veins or cavities in granite orrhyolite. Alfred M. Buranek, Utah geolo-gist, says Topaz mountain contains 1500feet of rhyolite in five flows. The crystalsoccur throughout the mountain and inother places in the Thomas range in thelighter colored rhyolite where flow struc-ture is not prominent. The rock is markedby cavities in which form the topazes andO C T O B E R 1 9 4 7

Chester R. How ard, new president oj the Rocky Mountain Fed eration (right),shows his p rize topaz crystal to Richard M. Pearl, vice-president oj the newAmerican Federation of M ineralogical societies.their accompanying minerals: Red beryl,garnet, pseudobrookite, hematite, fluorite,calcite and bixbyite. Comparatively largeclusters of opaque grey topaz crystals,called sand crystals, are common in thearea. They have inclusions of small grainsof quartz, and shine in the sun more bril-liantly than pure topaz. In the cove at To-paz the best localities are high in the mainwashand at a noticeable white knollwest of the campsite and at spots on theslope of Topaz mountain about one-halfmile east and one-half mile west of thewhite knoll.All over the cove the smoke of cookingfires rose, and in the long twilight the gemhunters came home from the hills. Dark-ness was greeted by a bursting rocket. Redflames hung against the darkening blue.From the main wash came the cry:"Campfire! Campfire!"When we dropped into the wash, theenormous fire was casting fantastic lightsand shadows through the rocks and juni-pers and upon the faces of the people gath-ered in a semi-circle there. Another rocketrushed into the night, bursting in a flameof white. The flare drifted to the southwestas it swung slowly beneath its parachute,and the circle of light outlined trees, buttesand mountains as it passed.

Around the campfire were 103 rock-houndscollectors from Utah, California,Colorado, Idaho, Washington, Oregon,New York, Indiana, Wyoming and NewJersey. They talked rocks and sang songsand drew more closely together beside theroaring fire in the quiet desert night.It was Flag Day, and during the after-noon a homemade staff had been erectedon a little hill commanding the campsite.Now spotlights flashed on, illuminating

the flag as it snapped and fluttered in thenight breeze. The rockhounds rose fromaround the dying fire and sang "Americathe Beautiful" while a guitar picked outthe tune. As the last embers faded intodarkness the campfire circle broke up andTopaz city settled down to as complete restas rockhound-hunting mosquitoes, whoalso were holding a convention, wouldpermit.The smell of bacon mingled with that ofsage is one of the pleasantest alarm clocksman has devised. It hustled the rock-hounds out of their bedrolls early in an-ticipation of the big event of the day. Utahsociety members were going to blast into arhyolite outcrop to assure to everyone someof the sherry-colored crystals.As we hiked up the big wash to theblasting-site, we saw collectors searchingfor crystals. Some worked with shovel andscreen, sifting gravel in the wash. Othersused small screens and chisels and screw-drivers, picks and hammers, and scratchedinto sandy corners with their bare hands. Atreasured find had been made by DorothyCraig, secretary of California Federationof Mineralogical societies, who had flownfrom Los Angeles. She carefully un-wrapped topaz crystals coated with smallflat crystals of hematite.Finally we came upon the blasting crew,in charge of W illiam T. Rogers, Utah Cop-per company geologist and field trip chair-man. He, with Charlie Lockerbie, Earl M.Van Deventer of the Owyhee society ofCaldwell, Idaho, and other volunteers,were working with single-jack and hand

drill, slowly driving holes for charges. Al-though the rhyolite was comparatively softthev worked hard for nearly three hoursbefore they were deep enough. At last caps23


24/48

and fuses were attached to the dynamiteand the holes charged. Rogers warned col-lectors to clear the area. Soon from behindevery rock within sight of the spot curiousheads darted out, peering cautiously, thenwithdrawing for all the world like be-leaguered desert tortoises. Amid shouts ofadvice and warning, three men lighted thefuses, at 30 second intervals. Rogers, light-ing the last one, had about two minutes tofind cover before the first would explode.After an interminable time, there was aquivering roar, a burst of grey dust, andrhyolite spilled down the wash. A secondshot shook the hillside, but the other failedto fire. Finally Rogers went swiftly to theunexploded charge and pulled the fuse.His action was like a "come and get it!"to a hungry crew. Rockhounds poured outof hiding and surged down upon the blast-ed ground. Yelps of excitement announcedthat many colored crystals had been uncov-ered, and sight of the outcrop vanishedunder a wave of collectors of all sizes andages. A later blast uncovered more bootyand as the field trip drew to a close, thecamp filled with eager hobbyists compar-ing prizes.In the afternoon, cars started to moveout of Topaz cove, scattering to near statesand far. They had come for topaz crystals,and all of them carried away specimens.They also carried with them an idea whichmay solve a problem growing more press-ing as the years pass. At the campfire Pro-fessor Hayes had announced that the Min-eralogical Society of Utah had filed upontwo claims in the Topaz mountainarea, that the society intended to do thenecessary work upon them and patentthem.The claims will be open to anyone whowishes to collect upon them. The onlypurpose of the society is to guarantee thatTopaz mountain always will remain opento rockhoundsthat no selfish individualor group will be able to block off the fieldwhich the Utah group has done so muchto develop.Most dealers have seen their businessesgrow as earth science and gem cutting so-cieties expanded. Most of them realize thatclubs will remain active and healthy onlyso long as their members can take fieldtrips, find material of their own and in-terest others in their hobby. It would beinteresting to compare sales of lapidaryequipment and cutting material in an area,such as California, where hobbyists makefield trips, with those of areas where nocollecting material is available.

If the day should come when all fieldsare closed to the rockhoundsthat daywould mark the beginning of the end forlapidary dealers. Most people understandthat. But for the few dealers and amateurswho seek to corner any new finda findfrequently made by rockhoundsand toclose off and strip collecting fields, per-haps Professor Hayes and the Mineralogi-cal Society of Utah have found an answer.24

The big a d v e n t u r e in Barry At-water 's l ife was w h e n he quit as t e ady pay ro l l job as interiordecorator to live on the ra ther un-cer ta in income of a c ompara t ive -ly unknown art is t . But Barry had

t he c ou rage to do i tand he hasm a d e a go of it. Here is th

194710 desert magazine 1947 october

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