Charlie H. Johnson, Jr.
HIKING IN THE SUPERSTITIONS
In 2003, I began writing the second in a series of psychological mystery novels which I began with Duplicity, published in 2002. I had decided before I completed Duplicity that I wanted to locate the major part of the next book in Arizona, at and about Superstition Mountain. The continuing lead character in this series is Carlos, a kind of burnt-out hippie from the early 1970s, who earns a meager living as a psychic detective in 1990s New York City. Duplicity was set in New York City, but I wanted a dramatic change of scene to confront Carlos with new challenges, new things to fear, and a wholly different context for his next adventure and brush with death. The book was to be entitled Superstition.
Actually, I had ulterior motives in the selection of Arizona and Superstition Mountain. In 1956, my father had just retired. We had always lived in Colorado, and my mother and I decided we needed a change of scene. For us, at the time, Arizona seemed the logical choice. First of all, it was warm there in the winter and it didn’t snow. But, also, my mother had always been interested in the Native-American peoples and cultures of the Southwest, archeology and western history, and her interests had become mine. So, Phoenix seemed to have it all. We moved. We lived there for less than a year—it was September when we got there and June when we left. The increasing heat was a little more than we’d bargained for.
Nevertheless, while we were there, every Sunday we went exploring. I learned quickly to love the desert. There seemed to be a never-ending list of places we wanted to go and things we wanted to do. Sometimes, we just went out to some unusual place in the desert and walked around, exploring. More than once, we drove to dry dams listed on the map. We visited Cudia City, a false-fronted western town north of Sunnyslope (where we lived in not-too-genteel poverty) that had been used in the making of western movies. Other times, we visit archeological ruins or museums. There were many other trips, and each was interesting, exciting, and educational in its own particular way.
On a couple of those journeys, we went to Superstition Mountain. In fact, Superstition had been another major factor in our decision to move to Phoenix. On the map, of course, it looked a lot closer than it actually was when you were driving a 1947 Plymouth sedan at 35 to 40 miles per hour. We had been thrilled to see it on our right side as we were headed towards Phoenix from Globe on our move into town. Despite the challenges to our old car, after we were there for a while, we had to go back. We did go back several times, drove up Highway 88 from Apache Junction all the way to Roosevelt Dam, Tortilla Flat and back. We’d stop on the way and hike off the road for a ways, exploring, visualizing the exciting events we had read about: The Lost Dutchman Mine, Weaver’s Needle, the Peralta Trail, etc. The rocky desert, the weird and wonderful Saguaro cacti, Jumping Cholla, the occasional rattlesnakes we found and trailed then left in peace--everything about it was fascinating and exciting.
I had been unconsciously looking for a reason to return to Superstition for many years—and the book was it.
It just so happened that two of my best friends from college wanted also to go to Arizona at about that same time: Bill wanted to escape the cold Denver winter and Rusty wanted to visit old friends she knew there. So, we started planning, and made arrangements for a visit in February. We were there for several days, did a lot of things, went a number of places, had a lot of fun, and enjoyed each others' company.
But, a high point for me was hiking trips we made into the Superstitions.
The first time we went out, Bill, Rusty and I drove out Highway 88 to the First Water Trailhead. All three of us hiked in for a ways, but not too far, as we also wanted to drive on up towards Roosevelt Dam. We stopped at the tourist ghost town of Goldfield (which was the setting for a memorable comment by Bill regarding an artisan working there that I later put into my book).
The second time we went up to Superstition, it was just Rusty and I. Bill had something else that he
wanted to do—maybe take some medicine or a nap. It had rained that morning, and we had some doubts as to whether we should go or not. Finally, prepared with rainwear, we decided to chance it. When we left on Highway 88 from Apache Junction, we were instantly fascinated by the changes in the desert and mountain under slightly foggy, misty rain conditions. No longer was it the sun-baked rocky mass it had been just a day or so before. Now, it was more mysterious, occasionally cloud-shrouded—like a scene from a Romantic painting. The rocky outcroppings of the mountain became the spires of a Medieval castle in the distance.
As we drove along 88, headed into Superstition again, my excitement grew. This time, we were going to hike a long way up the trail that I had read so much about in my research. The aura of mystery which usually accompanies any venture into Superstition was heightened by the moody, changeable weather and the possibility of eminent danger. We passed by Goldfield, piles of mine tailings, the store that sells tourist supplies, maps and curios and displays old wagons and rusting mining equipment where the road bends to the left. Then, we reached First Water Trailhead. For me, that name has an excitement and fascination as I had always wondered who had named it and why. Where was the “first water,” and where had those who named it come from, and where were they going?
This time, we went a little further up the road than we had a day or two before. We parked the car, donned our rainwear and set off. It was misting rain, but, with experienced hiker and backpacker Rusty telling me it’d be fine, I took her word, and we didn’t let the mist daunt us in our search for experience and adventure. This would be an adventure for me in more ways than one. Just by accident, several month before, I had found a virtually new pair of hiking boots in a dumpster, and this trek would be my first trial of them. My experience with new shoes or boots had been that there would be blisters and lots of chaffing. So, I wasn’t sure how far I’d be able to go, but I wanted to try them out, and hiking on Superstition seemed to call for something more than Adidas. I hoped for the best.
Still on the flat, we followed tire ruts up towards a low hill with a craggy outcropping on top in the medium distance. After about half a mile, we found a trail leading off towards the hill, and we left the wheel ruts behind and followed the trail from then on. After a ways, off to the left of the trail about 50 or 75 yards we spied the opening of a cave. We decided not to explore it then, but on the way back, if we had time.
The trail meandered in the direction of the hill, and we followed it until we were on the hillside. Skirting the left flank of the hillside, it made a sharp left and crossed a low ravine with a trickle of water running through it. The trail stayed on the bank for a while, then went down into the ravine. After less than a quarter mile, it crossed the ravine again and went back up on a high bank. Once up there, the way flattened out, and we walked through low acacia and Ironwood trees, lots of Jumping Cholla and sagebrush.
Not too far along, we came on a mysterious arrow scratched into the soil of the trail. It didn’t point forwards or backwards on the trail, but in another direction off into the brush. We didn’t follow it, but it definitely added to the aura of mystery the weather conditions had already created.
About this time, I remembered that I was wearing the new boots. The only problem was some slight chaffing at the boot top on my lower calf. I sat down, pulled my socks up and doubled them over where the chaffing problem was, and went on, still expecting pain and blisters later.
A little further along, we came to a spot where the trail widened and the vegetation was different from the surrounding area. I remember having read about Superstition—and maybe it was about this very place on the trail—where, when the vegetation was different in an area, it was probably because it had once been cleared for some kind of human habitation. I told Rusty this, and we spent a few moments walking around the area looking for other signs. Sure enough, we found the remains of a couple low stone walls which may have been corrals or parts of old dwellings. There were other signs, too: A place where the earth was dark with what must at one time have been ashes of a fire. But, the rains and passage of time had blended it in with the surrounding soil and reduced what could have been identifiable as ashes to merely dark soil. There was also a depression that looked man made, where water from a trickling creek collected.
We sat on the stone wall. I smoked a cigarette, wondering what the settlement there must have looked like when it was bustling with life: prospectors, burros, tents or low buildings, people talking, maybe planning what they’d do with the fortune that awaited them out there somewhere. Did they also think about the danger that often stalked men who sought gold in the Superstition back country—about the violent death that perhaps awaited them? These ruminations were complemented by the somber weather conditions.
After a while, we got up and started off again. The trail left the flat area behind and went up over a steep (4-5 foot) ridge. From there, it ran along a low ridge, climbing now for maybe a quarter mile. After reaching a high point, the trail veered off to the right and followed another ridge that continued a grade upwards. We reached a high point where there were a few large rocks and sat down to rest. I lit a cigarette. We speculated on how much farther we should go.
The trail continued into a large draw, then apparently up on the other side, towards a much higher mountain in the distance. On the left side of the trial from where we sat, there was a vista of a wide flattened space rising to another, then higher hills in the distance. I believed it was the Massacre Grounds, where, according to one of the many legends surrounding the Lost Dutchman Mine, a party of Mexican miners packing burro-loads of gold ore was attacked and slaughtered by Apaches. We could see the tip of Weaver’s Needle over the top of the hills.
It was still misting lightly, maybe 3:00 or 3:30. We talked about how much farther we should go before turning back, but finally decided that, because we had to be back to meet Bill for dinner by 6:00 or so, we’d better do it here.
On the way back, of course, we reversed all the topographical features we met on the way up, but they seemed to pass by faster on the way down. It was still misting, and my boots still weren’t giving me any pain. By that time, I was astounded by workmanship which could produce something that felt so comfortable and painless on the first wearing over a challenging course.
Coming back down the trail from the low hill we had skirted when we began, again we spied the cave in the distance. We left the trail and hiked over to it. There was a low wash which ran along the hillside in front of it. From close up, we could see that it was man-made. It was a mineshaft, but it didn’t go back more than twenty or thirty feet. We wondered who had made it, how much work it was, and how disappointed they must have been after all that work, to have left it behind.
Questions and more questions. That’s what we found on our hike. The desert of Superstition is full of unanswered questions. How old was the trail we took? Who had followed it before us? Who drew the arrow in the sand? What did it point to? Who made the encampment on the cleared land. How long did men stay there before abandoning it? Why did they leave? Why was the mineshaft left uncompleted? Did the miner leave it behind? Maybe something else happened that abruptly ended the his digging. What?
The Superstition Mountains are filled with mysteries. Many questions with no one to answer them. The silence of the desert landscape harbors many secrets—and tells none. When you walk there, you are surrounded with an almost palpable sense that you are not alone. Ghosts and spirits must inhabit that landscape that so many men have trod, where so much has happened, where so many men died, of which so little is known.
The misty rain, the cloud-shrouded peaks, the inscrutable marks of the passage of men on the landscape, the many questions--all invested our brief hike into the Superstitions with a sense of mystery and drama that is not usually the result of a hike into the back country anywhere else. What you take away from a hike into the Superstitions is a sense of the power of the past. When you walk over those hills, into the ravines, up the rocky inclines, and look into the distance, you move through a landscape that is enchanted. Yes, it’s beautiful, but that’s only one of its enchantments. It is also haunted, and the haunting is what you take away with you. You think of it afterwards. You’re not the same as you were when you started into it. Your perceptions have been altered.
We left the mine shaft behind and soon reached the ruts that led up back to the road and our car. In the car, driving to Phoenix, we re-entered a different time and space, and it picked us up and carried us back to our schedule. We drove away, leaving Superstition behind—in space and time, but not in experience. A hike into the Superstitions affects your world view, not in powerful, but in subtle ways.
For me, it was a perfect experience. First, because it was exactly what I’d hoped it would be: a journey into the past and the unknown. Second, because it was a wonderful event to have shared with someone very dear to me—my friend Rusty. Third, because it gave me with unique perspective and insight to put into my book.
If you’re interested in how I used this hike into the Superstitions in my book, read the fictionalized version in Superstition. You’ll recognize the landmarks….
© Copyright 2010, Charlie H. Johnson, Jr., All Rights Reserved
Take a Trip to Superstition Mountain
Experience More its Mystery:
Superstition Mountains, Arizona (YouTube)
One version of the story of the Lost Dutchman Mine (YouTube)
Here's another version (YouTube)
And, here's another....(YouTube)
And, this one has a lot of good historical facts, but starts the story all wrong (YouTube)
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