On the Ground in Apache Pass

Seasonally retired Michigan bookseller at ruins of Tom Jeffords's Indian agency

You’ve been with me to Fort Bowie before, when my first day on the trail with my sister brought many unexpected delights. This year I joined three neighbors, and they doubled the challenge: we would hike in both directions, returning not on the low country trail we would take in but by way of a high ridge. I was assured that the mileage would be no greater — 1-1/2 miles each way, for a total of 3 miles — and that surely I could handle it. After all, I’ve routinely been doing a couple of miles back in the neighborhood once a week or so on dog-walk mornings. 

Shade tree at Butterfield Stage station ruins

Therese at Butterfield stop

Because the trail we took in from the parking lot trailhead to the ruins was, for the most part, a repeat of last year’s story, I won’t go over every detail. A few, however, will serve to introduce my fellow hikers from Dos Cabezas. First is Therese (above), the day’s driver and my regular dog-walking companion back in the ghost town. 

Apache Spring

Ah, but already I need to slow down here (as I did so often on the trial!). About three-quarters or more of our way to the fort, my energy level was dropping. Double-checking, I asked Therese if we would stop for a rest break when we got to the fort, and she assured me that we would but said we didn’t have to wait until then. We were coming at that very moment to Apache Spring, a lovely, shady spot with a trickle of flowing water and some nice, big rocks for seating. The other two hikers (to be introduced shortly) were agreeable, and we slipped out of backpacks and dug out comestibles. The water was low enough that I had a chance to explore back almost to the spring itself and to see much more of that cool grotto than I’d seen before from the trail, and that was as satisfying as the rest and refreshment.

And now you meet Dorothy and Sam. These intrepid hikers and birders own and operate the Dos Cabezas Retreat B&B (sorry, they are booked solid for the next 26 days!), and they still find time and energy to put in plenty of volunteer hours in Cochise County. Last month they volunteered for the second year with the Wings over Willcox festival, and they have put in a total of about 40 hours (spread out over many weeks) right here at Fort Bowie, where willing hands under the supervision of a fifth-generation mason from Mexico are using old methods to stabilize what remains of the fort. 

Sam, Therese, Dorothy at gun shed ruin

Sam and Dorothy have worked on many sections, but this particular little ruin, this old wall section of the old artillery gun shed from 1890, is one for which they feel particular fondness. 

Volunteer ranger standing, Sam seated in rocking chair

Therese rocks!

The inviting porch at the ranger station/visitor center seduced us with its beautiful rocking chairs, and our second short break stretched to a full half-hour, as we caught our breath and rocked and visited with volunteer rangers who live the non-winter months of the year in Bozeman, Montana.

Climbing path

But soon it was time to take up the challenge! The trail up to and along the ridge! Our path up (new to me, remember) climbed and climbed and kept climbing, and the higher we climbed, the more spectacular the views. The layout of the fort ruins, spread out before our eyes so far below, looked tinier and tinier in the immensity of the surrounding mountains as we rose above it. 

Fort Bowie below us

Fort Bowie farther below

Looking San Simon way

View north

To our northeast lay the San Simon Valley, straddling the Arizona/New Mexico border, and to the northwest towered Government Peak, a mountain in our own Dos Cabezas range. In fact, from where we were, Government Peak was hiding the distinctive, more familiar, and, by us, much-beloved twin peaks from which our range takes its name. Apache Pass divides the Dos Cabezas and Chiricahua mountain ranges, and it's clear how welcome that mountain opening with its freshwater spring must have been to everyone traveling from East to West.

And oh, the vegetation! We made our way over hard rock and loose stones through a veritable forest of ocotillo wands. “Ocotillo likes limestone,” Sam remarked. And sure enough, on our way down, when we reached the fault line on the path — identified by a sign pointing to the line where sedimentary limestone is left behind and a subregion of igneous granite entered — ocotillo immediately gave way to beargrass, the two different plants keeping each to its own bedrock territory, with areas as distinctly marked off as Midwestern fields of corn and soybeans separated by a fence or hedgerow.

Beargrass region

Dorothy on trail

While I was almost invariably bringing up the rear, sometimes Dorothy lagged behind with me, and that was fun, because Dorothy has an eagle eye for spotting tiny natural wonders, such as an old praying mantis egg case on a branch or a baby cactus hiding under a larger, sheltering plant. 

Dorothy called our attention to this darling little baby cactus

Other times it was Therese who slowed her pace to be companionable. “I just love plants!” she exclaimed once, after the two of us had paused to delight in bright green ferns and patches of fruiting moss in moist cracks of rock shaded from sun, while Dorothy and Sam led the way ahead.

Therese spotted moisture-loving ferns in cool, shady spot

Sometimes, though, I stopped long enough with my camera that the other three grew small in the near distance ahead, and if a mountain lion had been stalking us, I would have been its dinner. But somehow that dire possibility seemed remote, and I enjoyed my quiet moments, too. I smiled gratefully and happily to myself, looking at my hiking companions farther up the trail and knowing with confidence that they were keeping tabs on me, too, and would miss me were I to slip on a loose rock and plunge off the side of the mountain!

The weather forecast for the day had foretold cloudy skies and temperatures in the 50-degree range. The longer we were out, however, the brighter the sun and the more layers of clothing we shed, and by the time we were on the road back to our ghost town the outdoor temperature had reached almost 70 degrees Fahrenheit. So will we have rain tomorrow? Will we have, perhaps, even snow? What will be, will be. Whatever the future, our happy quartet was brimming with contentment, even as we began excitedly planning our next outdoor adventure.

More rocks!

More mountain flora!

More open spaces!

When Therese dropped me off back at the cabin, the front door was wide open to let the sun stream in, and David and Sarah greeted me eagerly. “Did you two go anywhere?” I asked the Artist. No, he and our dog had stayed home, enjoying the day at the cabin. All three of us were happy with the day we had had.

But I do have one final doubt, because I find it hard to believe my friends and I walked only three miles. With all the ups and downs and steep climbs and big steps, it felt like at least five to me.

Paper Pages, Dusty Mountain Trails

It was now late afternoon and the sun had passed over the far side of the long cut. The rocks in the pass rose almost perpendicularly on either side of the narrow trail; several of the boulders seemed to be far off balance, past the point where they should fall off and roll down into the pass.

- Elliott Arnold, Blood Brother 

It was not late but early afternoon as our party of four approached Apache Pass on Wednesday, as we had set out from Dos Cabezas right after lunch, and the road to old Fort Bowie is not many miles past our winter ghost town cabin. I’d spent time that morning with Elliott Arnold’s novel, a fictionalized account of regional history, with much background and detail focused on Cochise, chief of the Chiricahua Apaches during the period covered in the novel, and Tom Jeffords, who eventually became the Indian agent for the Chiricahuas following a treaty made between Cochise and General O. O. Howard. A few sentences stray into New Mexico from time to time, but most of the encounters and incidents in the book take place between the Dragoon Mountains and the Chiricahua range, my winter stomping grounds. 

In December, 1858, Cochise received an invitation from the station agent at the Apache Pass depot to bring his entire tribe to the station, with its newly completed store, to receive presents as a gesture of good will from the Butterfield [Stage] people, who had by then on numerous occasions felt the power of the friendly hand of the Chiricahua chief. 

Remains of Butterfield Stage Station

Old stage route

Cochise had realized that his people could not survive forever if they continued to war against the ever-increasing number of whites pouring through Apacheria, so he had promised safe passage to the Butterfield stages, and he kept his promise. He even went so far as to punish Apaches from other groups who trespassed on his territory and violated his agreement with the whites. Cochise made these choices for the good of his people. For a while most of the whites were content merely to pass through on their way to California; even then, however, all was not well for the people of Cochise, and it much became worse as the numbers of whites increased and not all were transients. 

… While most continued on their way to California, many were settling in the great valleys. Whether they remained or moved on, their passage was a noisy one. Their transit was emptying the countryside of game far more rapidly than Cochise had thought possible. Ranchers and farmers appropriated water holes and caused the game animals who used to come to those holes to move elsewhere. 

Within the space of months the numbers of deer and elk diminished speedily…. The mountain sheep found new summits to roam. There had been wild turkey, not in great amounts, but enough to fill the larder of the Indians who hunted silently and did not cause entire flocks of birds to fly away over noisy gunfire.

Apache wickiup

Eventually — and it did not take long — 

The deer and the elk were gone, and without them there was nothing to provide the shirts and trousers, the hip-moccasins. There was grain from the government store, but there was no fresh meat.  

A few of the Apaches had look around and had found some more of the yellow nuggets and had got white men’s clothing in exchange. But the clothing was designed for the cattlemen and farmers in the lowlands and offered little protection against the cold [of the mountains]. Besides, no Chiricahua Apache, no matter how much he tried, could accustom himself to white man’s shoes.

Chiricahua women repaired moccasins as well and for as long as possible, but without the deer and elk both clothing and sustenance were harder and harder to come by. Would the situation have been less dire if it hadn’t been for gold fever? It made no sense to the Apaches, how silly and excited and childish the whites became over gold. It could not be eaten, and the metal was too soft to be used to make tools or weapons.

… The Americans lost the dignity of their manhood when they saw the yellow iron. They gushed and became effusive and uncovered their emotions as no Indian ever would under any circumstances. They had no restraint. 

Ironic, I can’t help thinking, the coincidence of sound between the English words gold and greed. 

We all know how it ends. The story of Cochise and Tom Jeffords is told in books and movies, embellished fiction and straight nonfiction, and I’ve made mention of it before in other posts. Besides, the general story was repeated from New England to California as the “manifest destiny” of the young United States was achieved. Cochise was fortunate enough to die a natural death in his beloved mountains, but after his death, the fate of his tribe took a turn for the worse. Americans in barrooms and Congress, living rooms and offices, argued the relative merits of competing policies regarding Native Americans — concentration vs. extermination — but in practice, both policies were pursued. The Apache chapter of American expansion eventually culminated in the removal of all “hostiles” from southeast Arizona, including women and children and the very Apache scouts who had fought with the U.S. Army, to concentration camps in Florida. According to the government’s story, these Apaches were prisoners-of-war. Even the women and children? Even the scouts who had been their own fellow soldiers? For shame!

Remains of Indian agency, where Jeffords was agent

My sister had not been eager to hike the 1.5-mile trail from the trailhead parking lot to the old fort ruins, where we would meet our husbands, but she did it for me, and I was grateful — all the more so when we came upon points of interest long before we reached the old fort. The most moving to me, for some reason, was not any of the old building sites but Apache Springs itself. Water is life. I had not imagined we would see the spring, coming upon it after our trail skirted high ground above another surprise, a deep, wooded canyon.

Apache Springs

Wherever on the earth one occurs, there is something holy about a spring. I felt as pilgrims must feel when visiting the grotto where St. Theresa is supposed to have had a vision of the Virgin Mary, gods and ghosts all around me. 

Brother-in-law and Artist at ruins of Fort Bowie

While the women had been hiking the trail, the men had been exploring the remains of the old fort. After a rendez-vous and some modest purchases at the visitor center, we retraced our steps by vehicle and went “around the block” — the long one — down along the mountains and around to the Mustang Mall and back up the Kansas Settlement Road for supper at the cabin. If we could see a composite picture of all our party’s thoughts and impressions after the day’s expedition, two white American men and two white American women, all born in the mid-20th century and doing our best to adjust to the 21st, what would be revealed? Nothing simple, I’m sure of that.

Cochise Stronghold in Dragoon Mountains

On ne peut pas tout planifier

I don’t remember the context, but the observation was made to me years ago, with a Gallic shrug, by my friend Hélène: “One cannot plan everything.” So true, isn’t it? And while sometimes we chafe against life’s surprises, other times they are nothing but delightful and can even “save the day” once in a while.

We had two objectives on Saturday when we made a trip down to Tombstone with a visiting friend. The first was stymied — rather, we were in accomplishing it — precisely because it was Saturday. Also, apparently, because it was Saturday the streets of Tombstone were thronged with tourist families, despite a biting wind. None of the three of us had ever seen such dense crowds in the Old West town before, so we had not expected to find so many full parking lots or such lines waiting for restaurant tables. Doubtless the visitors were having a wonderful time. At least, I hope they were. We three, however, had had a quieter day in mind and decided against achieving our second objective, possible though it was. Instead we made a beeline for an open door we had spotted while circling blocks looking for a place to park. 

A little “book nook” called our names. It turned out to be another Friends of Library bookstore, and not even really a store, because, as the volunteer at the desk explained, “We don’t sell books. You just leave a donation.” So we did, all three of us, and our otherwise pointless trip enlarged our personal libraries.

Is a last-minute idea a plan or something else? Cold and hungry, we took refuge in Benson at the Horse Shoe Cafe. Stopping in Benson also gave us the opportunity to introduce our visiting northern Michigan friend to the work of a Southwestern artist acquaintance, mural painter Doug Quarles.

On Sunday, we started out with a sketchy plan, but a plan nonetheless. Only a few miles from our winter cabin is the road leading to Apache Pass and what is left of old Fort Bowie. Twice I had been thwarted in attempts on this road: the first time, my friend Clare and I wanted to hike the trail to the fort ruins, but a flat tire on the road in put the kibosh on that plan. When the tire was finally changed, I couldn’t blame Clare for not wanting to tempt another on that road. Then last year the Artist and I turned in but went less than half a mile before the washboard surface determined him to turn around. The Artist hates washboard! But knowing I have had a yen to explore Apache Pass Road, the Artist suggest we give it another try. And hallelujah! There were only hints of washboard now and again!

And oh, what a wonderful surprise! I hadn’t thought it through, I guess, because I’d pictured a continuation of the straight road — not minding that, because of beautiful grassland, grazing cattle, and mountain views — until we got to a parking lot. It was so much more than that! 

Signs warned in words and with icons of “curves” and “mountain grades” as we proceeded. I thought of travel with my parents and sisters in Kentucky and South Dakota and how we girls loved signs promising winding road ahead. 

Ocotillo and prickly pear cactus near trailhead parking lot

We stopped at trailhead and read information on the kiosks and picked up an informational brochure with map. Sarah would have been happy to take the mile-and-a-half trail to the old fort, but it isn’t that much fun having a dog on a leash on a trail. Also, the wind was very cold! And the Artist wasn’t really up for the hike, anyway, though I explored a few steps to find small yellow flowers in bloom, which of course only whetted my appetite for more of the trail.

(Readers, could this be comb draba, Draba oligosperma, a member of the mustard family, even though Audubon’s Field Guide to North American Wildflowers, Western Region, does not include Arizona in comb draba’s region and gives its flowering time as May through July? If it isn’t comb draba, what is it? The flower definitely has four petals, and the leaves are leafless and hairy. Arizona people, can you help out here?)

Our Michigan visitor and I went down the trail just far enough to cross the creek (I can never resist the sight of running water) and inspect the stone ruins of an old miner’s cabin before our whole party continued by car on the exciting road — which, after a while, much to our surprise, turned into paved road. It was then we remembered that we could stay on this road clear to the other side of the expressway to the town of Bowie on our way back to Dos Cabezas. 

But first, old Fort Bowie —

Construction began on the fort in July of 1862, and it was closed in 1894, eight years after the “Apache Wars” ended, i.e., after Cochise (hereditary chief) and Geronimo (public spokesperson) surrendered to the United States government. Fort Bowie was established as a national historic site in July 1972.

(I was baffled for a long time by the local pronunciation of Bowie. “Boo-ie,” people around here say. The explanation, it turns out, is that the fort was named for regimental commander George Washington Bowie, who pronounced his name with the ooh sound in the first syllable, unlike James Bowie, who claimed to have designed the first Bowie knife.)

The fort ruins and visitors center, like Apache Pass Road, were much more than we expected — ruins more extensive, visitors center more welcoming and informative. 

If I am interpreting the site correctly in light of the historic map recreation, the remnants of stone wall, set apart from adobe remnants, originally housed the fort’s powder magazine and gun shed. Corrals and stables were to the left in my photographs, barracks and quarters to the right. 

Naturally, I could not leave the visitors center without a book. Here is the one I chose — this time — but I will be reading about Cochise and his son, Naiche, for a long time to come. 

Fort Bowie merits more than a single visit, and I am resolved to hike the trail before this year’s Arizona season comes to a close. Leaving to continue north to the town of Bowie, and from there to I-10 back to Willcox, we circled back southeast at last, having made a complete circuit around my beloved Dos Cabezas Mountains. Much more of an expedition than we’d set out on, but definitely worth the extra effort and a slight departure from the original sketchy plan.