COCONINO COUNTY AND FLAGSTAFF
Coconino County is one of the vast
slices pared off in the early days of Arizona's history from Yavapai
County — the mother of Arizona counties. Imagine an area as large as
all Vermont and all Massachusetts, with little Rhode Island thrown in —
an area across which 'the Grand Canyon is cut in all its sublime glory,
an area in which stands in solemn majesty one of the most, if not the
most, beautiful and inviting mountain cluster in the United States —
the San Francisco range, 12,611 feet above sea level — this is Coconino
County.
In this county is Sunset Crater, and
the vast lava- fields, which with their outlying connections are far
larger and more wonderful than the classic lava flows of southern
France; in these are found wonderful ice- caves, and in prehistoric
times Indians made their cave- dwellings in holes which they found
almost ready-made for the purpose. Near by are deep clefts in the earth
locally known as Bottomless Pits, made by the flowing of the
acid-charged waters which disintegrated the limestone and washed it
away to deeper depths, and a few miles further on one's pathway is
barred by another deep gash in the earth — Walnut Canyon — in which are
many of the earliest cliff-dwellings made accessible to tourists in
this country of cliff-dwellings. To the east is Black Mountain, from
which one can carry away a million tons of disintegrated lava that, to
the eye of the initiated, appears exactly like coarse gunpowder: and
still further is Canyon Diablo — the Canyon of the Devil — doubtless so
called by the early day pioneers, who, with their slow going ox-teams,
felt it was an invention of the devil to retard their progress to the "
glorious land of Californy " to which they were hastening as fast as
their plodding oxen would take them. Slightly to the east and south of
Canyon Diablo is Meteorite Mountain — it, Sunset Crater, and the Lava
Fields having already been described in another chapter. To the north
is the Painted Desert, these Lava Fields, Black Mountain and the rest
being but outposts or sentinels, as it were, to the land of the vivid
color beyond. In the Painted Desert, swimming like ocean birds in the
blue of the pure Arizona atmosphere, are the Mogollon Buttes,
remarkable basalt figures that tower 10,000 feet or more into the air.
Yonder, a little north and east, is the noted Spanish province of
Tusayan — the home of the Hopi Indians, whose marvelous Snake Dance
has attracted savants and curious sight-seers from all quarters of the
globe. Not far from this region of marvels is the Navaho Reservation
with its Monument Valley, where are rocky towers and temples that dwarf
into insignificance the figures of the Garden of the Gods and Monument
Park in Colorado. Within a few miles is Sagi Canyon in which are found
Betatakin and Kitsiel, those astounding cliff-dwellings first seen by a
white man less than a couple of decades ago. Here, too, close by as
distances are reckoned in this country of big distances, is Navaho
Mountain. This peak is just over the boundary line of Coconino County,
in Utah, and it overlooks what is commonly known as the Four Corners.
This is the place where Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona meet.
Here is a radius of the wildest, most rugged, most tumbled, rocky waste
in the United States, an area half as large as the State of New York
that no white man has yet explored, or even prospected. A few have seen
it, fewer still have skirted its wild edges, half a hundred, perhaps,
have dared to cross it, and one-tenth of that number have made
strenuous endeavor to find out a little more of its marvels. Why go to
Asia, or to the heights of the Himalayas, or the Andes of the South,
when here are places that challenge the strength, the power, the
endurance of the explorer? And it is a region of color, too, that
surpasses the most extravagant endeavor of either writer or painter to
portray. A La Farge, a Reid, a Moran, a Turner, a Tintoretto, a Titian,
a Velasquez aided by all the more and most daring of the modern
painters of the greatest of schools might suggest its color
extravagances, but even though the artist were to paint it ever so well
there isn't a person in the world who would believe it meant anything
real — so why imagine the artists attempting it ?
In the eastern part of the county the
Little Colorado River flows, coming down from the far-away White
Mountains, its course beautifully lined with giant willows and
cottonwoods until it reaches Grand Falls, where it descends one hundred
and twenty-five feet over the solid cliffs, four hundred feet wide, and
soon thereafter enters a narrow, deep and abysmal canyon ere it unites
with the water of the main Colorado River.
On and near the Little Colorado many
cliff-dwellings and other ruins have been found; indeed, these have
been made the subject of a monograph by Dr. J. W. Fewkes, of the
Smithsonian Institution, and many scores of fine pieces of prehistoric
pottery now adorn the shelves and cases of the National and other
museums collected from this region.
Working around to the southeast one
passes bridges which have recently been constructed — and nine miles
south of Flagstaff Lake Mary is reached, a beautiful camping and
fishing rendezvous in the heart of the pines. Still further to the
south one drops over the rim of the Mogollon Plateau and finds himself
in Oak Creek, where trout abound to the delight of the fisherman.
Twenty-three miles from Flagstaff, to
the southeast, is Mormon Lake, a fine body of water five miles long and
three miles wide.
In the next chapter, devoted to
Williams, many more interesting facts about Coconino County are
related, which have supplied the scientist and novelist with more
material than, perhaps, any other similar sized area in the world.
Within the borders of Coconino County Capt. Clarence Button gained the
major part of the material incorporated in his Tertiary History of the
Grand Canyon District, a heavy and ponderous tome, which, however,
contains some of the most vivid and enchanting prose-poems of powerful
description in the English language ; here Major Powell gained much
material for his writings on Indians and Cliff- and Cave-dwellings, and
his trip through the " Canyons of the Colorado " naturally brought him
directly across Coconino County. The great biologist, C. Hart Merriam,
wrote one of his earliest and most treasured monographs on The Biology
of the San Francisco Mountain Region, and to this day this fascinating
account is referred to and quoted liberally.
While the experts of the Forestry
Service have found the trees of the county a worthy subject for a large
and illuminating monograph, Professor F. L. Noble came and studied the
Grand Canyon, in the region of the Bass Trail, and wrote his
interesting bulletin entitled: The Shinumo Quadrangle, Grand Canyon
District, Arizona.
One of the professors of the
Geological Survey spent some time in the Petrified Forest and has
written much and learnedly upon the Fossil Forests of Arizona. Many
scientists, also, have been interested and have written much about the
wonderful Meteorite Mountain referred to in another chapter, and almost
the entire portion of a large folio volume was devoted by Dr. Jesse
Walter Fewkes to the Cliff-Dwellings and open ruins of the Little
Colorado River region, most, if not all, of which, are in Coconino
County.
Nor is this all: Betatakin and
Kitsiel — the great Cliff-Dwellings of the Navaho Reservation — have a
special bulletin devoted to them written by Dr. Fewkes, and Dr. Byron
Cummings, the eminent archaeologist of the University of Arizona, has a
monograph ready for publication upon these interesting memorials of the
past.
Then when one thinks of the
scientific monographs of the U. S. Bureau of Ethnology upon the Hopis
and their ceremonies, and the Navahos and their equally interesting
dances and other ceremonies, together with the monographs issued by the
Field Columbian Museum of Chicago, written by Professor George A.
Dorsey, and the Rev. H. R. Voth; of Marah Ellis Ryan's remarkable Love
Letters of an Indian, in which a white woman seeks to penetrate into
the mysteries of a Hopi Indian's heart experiences, and with flashes of
intuition and insight and a rare literary delicacy presents them to her
readers, and in addition considers the numberless magazine and
newspaper articles upon the Indians, their varied ceremonials, their
life, their industries, their social customs, etc., the list becomes
considerably enlarged.
Then it must be noted that the pages
written by Charles F. Lummis and others, in The Land of Sunshine and
Out West, devoted to Coconino County alone, would fill a good-sized
book.
In addition there are the novels of
Zane Grey, half a dozen of them, referring to the region of, or
contiguous to, Coconino County, and all of which are well worth
reading. Especially worthy of note is his Last of the Great Plainsmen,—
the story of Buffalo Jones's experiences on the Kaibab Plateau, on the
northern rim of the Grand Canyon, giving thrilling and exciting
adventures lassoing unusually large and ferocious mountain lions in the
tall timber and among the rugged cliffs of that land of tumbling and
gigantic rocks. I have overlooked Kirk Munroe's fascinating novel, The
Painted Desert, and General Charles King's Sunset Pass, both dealing
with the country either in or very close to Coconino County.
What, then, does this recital mean?
Nothing more than that Coconino County has been the inspiration for a
large literature, and that fact alone reveals its fascination, interest
and allurement to the traveler, sight-seer, and scientist.
The chief city of Coconino County is
Flagstaff. This is on the main line of the Santa Fe transcontinental
line, six thousand nine hundred and eighty-seven feet above sea level,
and so located that its citizens have the most wonderful views daily of
the great San Francisco peaks that overshadow it. I have watched these
mountains in the early morning hours from the west when they were a
deep maroon, shaded here and there with the snow which had a softening,
lace-like effect. The ridges in front were a deep greenish black, the
color becoming more intense, until the sun burst over the mountain's
shoulder and flooded the whole scene with its vivid morning light.
Then, through the day, I have watched change after change, until, an
hour before sunset, the eyes were dazzled by the glory, beauty and
sublimity of the scene, the sun finally setting in a blaze of gold and
scarlet, leaving maroons, lakes, pinks, reds, and grays upon the peaks
behind.
Climatically, Flagstaff is highly
favored. Owing to its close proximity to the mountains it is never
excessively hot in summer. In winter it has a decided winter climate,
ranging from warm to cold. At times snow falls heavily, giving that
real dash of winter feeling that stimulates one to activity and vigor.
In the summer months it is especially adapted as a pleasure resort, its
elevation, its coolness, its glorious pines, its bodies of water and
excellent fishing combining attractions not dreamed of by those who
only know Arizona of the south.
The perfection of its atmosphere may
well be understood from the fact that when the eminent astronomer,
Percival Lowell, was looking for a site for his astronomical
observatory to follow up his remarkable studies of Mars, he finally
chose the crest just overlooking Flagstaff. There all his important
telescopic observations and photographs of Mars were made that have led
to so much discussion throughout the astronomical world, and attracted
the attention of all astronomers to Arizona and its pine-clad city of
Flagstaff.
Then, too, when it was decided to
establish a State Normal School for the northern portion of Arizona,
Flagstaff was unanimously chosen as the natural location, and one has
but to see the healthy, vigorous, robust young men and women now taking
their courses here to realize that the choice has been perfectly
justified. A more ruggedly healthy set of students it has never been my
privilege to see.
Located on the National Old Trails
Highway, it is essentially the pictorial and scenic route between the
East and the West. When Lieutenant Beale crossed the continent from
Galveston, Texas, with his herd of camels, just prior to Civil War
times, it was over the 35th parallel, the one practically followed by
the Santa Fe Railway today. One might write many pages of romantic fact
about this interesting and almost forgotten page in the history of
American transportation, when Jefferson Davis, the Secretary of War for
the Federal government, was induced to experiment with camels as beasts
of burden for use over the desert areas of the West. In every way the
camels proved satisfactory as carriers. They were able to bear heavy
loads and to travel long distances between sun up and sun set, but
there were two serious objections to them: First. They ate so much that
it was impossible to carry food for them, so they were turned loose at
night to forage for themselves. When their drivers sought them in the
morning they found the camels had traveled such great distances that
the day was gone ere they were able to capture them and return to their
starting points. Then, second, they so dreadfully scared the mules of
the rest of the train that they would run away, scatter the contents of
their peaks over the desert, and generally cause demoralization on
every hand. Hence the experiment was denounced as a failure, and
Lieutenant Beale was sent with the camels to see if they could not be
used somehow on the Pacific Coast. The same objections held here, and
the animals were finally sold or turned loose, a solitary creature even
to-day now and then being seen by hunters in the remoter corners of the
Colorado Desert.
Travelers, therefore, whether riding
on the trains or coming in their own automobiles are on an historic and
famous road. And at Flagstaff they find a suitable radiating spot for a
large number of the wonders of our marvelous Arizona. The chief
drawback is that Flagstaff has no first-class tourist hotel, and until
this great need is supplied the city must naturally suffer. Yet those
who are prepared to care for themselves should not fail to enjoy what
this region affords. For instance, who can resist the temptation to
ascend the San Francisco peaks? One may drive half of the eleven miles
to the summit, and then ride or climb the rest of the way. On the
summit, on a clear day,— and most days are clear here — one sees two
hundred miles in every direction, to the faraway Buckskin Mountains of
the Kaibab Plateau, north of the Grand Canyon, over the Lava Fields to
the Painted Desert of the.east, into the Tonto Basin and Red Rock
country and the Verde Valley to the south and southwest, while to the
west are the wonderful miles of pine-trees, comprising the greatest
untouched yellow pine forest in the United States.
Nine miles to the east are the
Cave-dwellings, where the ancestors of the Havasupai Indians used to
live, and from which innumerable prehistoric implements and pieces of
pottery have been taken. On the second arm of the triangle one drives
ten miles to Walnut Canyon, where the Cliff-dwellings are, passing the
Bottomless Pits on the way, and then ten miles completes the journey by
returning to Flagstaff.
Oak Creek — a most delightful resort
for camping, fishing and hunting — is but twenty miles away, while
forty-five miles brings one over the fine state highway, to that
prehistoric Cliff-dwelling, Montezuma's Castle, and another equally
interesting phenomenon, Montezuma's Well, both of which are fully
described elsewhere.
Twenty miles to the southeast is the
famous Natural Bridge of Arizona. This was discovered by Dave Gowan in
1873. He built a small shack there, cleared off some land and planted a
number of fruit trees. According to Garth W. Gates, in Arizona:
" For twenty-five years the
whereabouts of Gowan were unknown to his Scottish relatives, when one
day in the early nineties Mr. Goodfellow read in his copy of the
Newcastle Chronicle a story by a British traveler about a remarkable
natural bridge in far-off Arizona and of the old Scotchman who lived
there. Thinking it might be the long-lost uncle, he wrote. Months
afterward came the reply and sure enough, the Gowan of the story was
the wandering kinsman. Anxious to get back to his old life of
prospecting, Gowan finally prevailed on his nephew to take his young
wife and three little children and make the 6000-mile trip by steamer,
rail, wagon and horseback that led from the quiet little Scottish home
to the wild mountain spot that seemingly offered so little.
Some day there will be a book written
about Dave Gowan, his adventures as a sea captain, later as pioneer
Arizonan sheep-raiser and prospector, of his work in beginning the
development of the little ranch at the bridge, of the Goodfellows, of
how they came, of what they did. There will be a chapter about the
winding trail over which the burros hauled down a board or two at a
time for the little buildings that were put up before the road was
blasted out. There will be chapters about the remarkable orchard, the
delicious apples, pears, apricots, peaches, flavored perfectly by the
mile high climate. There will be a chapter on the old-fashioned
vegetable garden, and, best of all, the old-fashioned flower beds with
the hundreds of big velvety butterflies that add another lovely touch
to the fairyland nature of the place. And the meals that Mrs.
Goodfellow prepares are famous from Roosevelt to Flagstaff, and for a
wonder are really as good as we were told they would be."
One of the Government scientists thus
describes the bridge and its origin:
" The vertical distance from the top
of the bridge to the creek bed is about one hundred and twenty-eight
feet on the north and one hundred and fifty feet on the south end. The
opening beneath the bridge averages about one hundred and forty feet in
width, and the length at the narrowest place, approximately four
hundred feet. The thickness of the arch is approximately seventy-five
feet, leaving the height of the opening beneath the arch between sixty
and seventy feet. The altitude of the bridge above the sea level is
approximately four thousand seven hundred feet. The origin of the
bridge is as follows:
"Several large springs that flow into
the valley from the east side contain lime in solution, which, upon
evaporation or loss of carbon dioxide, is deposited as travertine. For
many years these springs have been depositing travertine in an old
valley of erosion cut into red porphyry. As a result of this an almost
level floor of travertine of approximately the same height as the
springs increased in width toward the west, filling the valley until it
has forced the stream against the porphyry wall on the west side. In
one place the travertine was strong enough to support itself, until it
was built over the stream to the opposite side of the valley, thus
forming a natural bridge. The rock of which the bridge is composed is
stalactite in structure and quite compact. Beneath the arch of the
bridge are several caves of considerable extent, from the roof of which
hang stalactites and from the floor of which stalagmites arise. These
caves are reached from below by ladders which have been erected by Mr.
Goodfellow, the owner of the bridge.
" The extent of the terrace above and
including the bridge, is about twenty-five acres, and is covered with a
good soil which is irrigated from the springs and produces abundant
crops of fruit and alfalfa. A small portion of the north end of the
cultivated tract is apparently not underlaid with travertine, but is
formed by sediment carried in by a small stream."
Again to quote Mr. Gates:
"The first glimpse one gets from the
hilltop of the little emerald gem of a ranch hundreds of feet below is
as thrilling as it is beautiful, and its charm grows as one learns the
story of the bridge, the farm and the road that winds so invitingly
around the big hills. Of the twenty-five acres in cultivation over four
are right on top of the bridge, and one walks through the alfalfa and a
fine old vineyard on the way to the trail that leads down into the
canyon and under the arch, and unless the guide has told you, the fact
that you arc walking on the bridge is never suspected, for it's too big
to be seen from the top."
Flagstaff is also the natural
outfitting or starting point for the Painted Desert, the Navaho
Reservation, and the Hopis. Thousands of people have already seen the
Hopi Snake Dance, and hundreds of thousands will yet wish to do so, as
they cross the continent. On the way to the Hopi village one may go by
way of Leupp, crossing the Little Colorado River on the new $45,000
bridge now being built by the Indian Department, and where a school for
the education of the Navahos is in active operation. Here about one
hundred and thirty of these young Bedouins of the Painted Desert may be
seen, absorbing the knowledge of the white man, and at the same time
the interested visitor may see the Navahos in their summer or winter
hogans, weaving their remarkable blankets, or, if one is fortunate
enough to strike them at the proper time, he may see their wonderful
dances. Few people dream of the fascination and thrilling enhancement
of, for instance, the Navaho's Fire Dance. To see twenty, thirty naked
aborigines dancing around a flaming fire of burning coals giving out so
fierce a heat that an ordinary spectator must stand fifty or more feet
away to be able to bear it and yet to see these natives reach down and
light wands that they are carrying in their hands—these are astounding
facts that one can scarcely believe. Then, when this unbelievable thing
has been done, they take large handfuls of cedar bark, set fire to
them, and chase each other, until one is caught and then sponge him
down with the flaming brands, and one doubts whether he is not
hypnotized into imagining that he sees things that do not exist. Yet a
reference to the Fifth Annual Report of the United States Bureau of
Ethnology, page 442, will reveal that what I have written here is the
serious and sober truth.
So, too, with the Hopi Snake Dance.
Several of my own trips to see this wondrous ceremonial have been
started from Flagstaff. This dance has been so often described that to
attempt it again here would be a work of supererogation. Yet no
description can ever equal the reality, and no American should deem his
education upon his own country complete until he has seen it. Elsewhere
in these pages a very brief and condensed account of the dance will be
found.
Flagstaff has long lacked a
first-class tourist hotel, but just as this book is going to press the
agreeable announcement is made that two of Flagstaff's most solid
citizens, David Babbitt and T. A. Riordan, are about to supply the
need. Plans have been made and arrangements completed for the erection
of a four-storied, reinforced concrete structure, with white marble
cement facing, to occupy the quarter block of one of the finest streets
in the city. There are to be seventy-five rooms, each with individual
bath, and the hotel will be the most complete in northern Arizona.
A theatre capable of seating four
hundred people will be part of the same structure, so that two great
needs of this thriving community will be met at the same time.
To the west of Flagstaff, eight miles
away, is Fort Moroni, a fortress built by the Mormons to defend
themselves from the Apaches, when, in 1880, they were on the warpath.
The Mormons had a contract to cut ties for the new railroad, the
Atlantic and Pacific — as the Santa Fe was then known. Everything
seemed to be at peace until the report came to them that the Apaches
were killing every white man and woman they could find. Immediately
consternation reigned, and the Mormons gathered together, retreated to
this spot, built the fort, and remained within or near its shelter
until all danger was past. This was the last raid the Apaches ever made
to the north.
It was about this time that Lieut.
Charles King, now general, was seriously wounded at Sunset Crossing,
some fifty miles or so east of Flagstaff, and the story of which he
graphically tells in one of his novels.
The principal industries of Coconino
County are cattle, sheep, and lumber. Over 100,000 cattle and 300,000
sheep are now roaming the ranges and day by day adding wealth for their
owners.
A feature of the cattle industry is
now being made available for the entertainment of tourists. Every
August and September there occurs the annual round-up, where the cattle
are gathered in from the ranges, sorted, branded, and disposed of at
the will of their owners. This is a sight for a life-time, and under
proper guidance can be seen by everybody who is willing to drive out
into the cattle country. With such a guide as my old friend Al. Doyle,
of Flagstaff, women may go with perfect confidence, assured that they
will see one of the most fascinating and thrilling sights of their
lives.
The largest part of Coconino County
is within the Coconino National Forest, and from the trees of this
forest come the logs that keep the two great lumber mills of Flagstaff,
as well as three others, in active operation. The first and largest of
these mills was started and operated for several years by Edward E.
Ayer, who was afterwards associated with Marshall Field in the
establishment of the Field Columbian Museum, of Chicago, of which he
was the president for several years.
The five mills, the other three of
which are located at Williams, Riordan and Cliffs, are now cutting
350,000 feet of lumber a day.
Source: Arizona,
the
Wonderland: The History of Its Ancient Cliff and Cave Dwellings, Ruined
Pueblos, Conquest by the Spaniards, Jesuit and Franciscan Missions,
Trail Makers and Indians; a Survey of Its Climate, Scenic Marvels,
Topography, Deserts, Mountains, Rivers and Valleys; a Review of Its
...By George Wharton James Published by The Page Co., 1917
