“How about going on another road trip like we did a few months ago?” asked Kevin after I got back with the dogs in Hunter Canyon on Saturday.
“Sure! I’d like to explore Lochiel again, that border town off FR 61.” Kevin concurred.
So after working in the garden and shearing weeds for an hour, then watching the usual political talk shows (the big talk this time, as expected, was the choice of Sen Joseph Biden as Sen. Barack Obama’s VP), we finally took off at 10:30am. We realized it was a little on the late side for a daytrip that ended up taking most of the day.
“I hope we don’t get rained on!” said Kevin as we drove south on Highway 92 into dark clouds lingering over the mountains. There certainly was that risk according to our weather forecast. For now the skies were partly cloudy with white clouds, with distant grey clouds west of the Huachucas.
We have done this drive before, to Patagonia and back via Forest Road 61, stopping at ruins or abandoned mines to hunt for pyrite or copper bits. It’s sparsely populated but the alluvial plains, riparian habitats and jettison mountains in all directions make this valley between the Patagonia and Huachuca mountains an underrated tourist haven. The drive offers head-turning sceneries at every hill and curve. I don’t mind that at all, though, because that gives me more room alone in these mountains that never get above 5000’.
Forest Road 61 starts off Highway 92 as the Coronado National Monument Road. It crests Montezuma Peak (6757’) and the FR begins as the dirt road descends the south side of the Huachuca Mountains. Mexico disappears into the south with the San Antonio Mountains, and lush green valleys below.
This is beautiful country, and I have to ask myself why I don’t explore this region more often.
It has been several years since we explored this stretch. Sadie sat in the front, but her restless spirit would not relent. She was either wanting to join the big dogs in the back bed, or she wanted to hug Dad in the front seat. She whimpered, whined, and barked with the big dogs when cows grazed too closely to the side of the road.
We stopped a few times to walk the dogs, finding unnumbered side trails on either side of the road.
As we approached the international border east of Lochiel we saw piles of rusty steel beams placed on railroad beams to keep the steel off the ground. These steel beams will some day be vehicular barriers along the fence in the near future. Popular with drug smugglers and coyotes, FR 61 will soon host part of the contentious border fence. New warning signs now warn drivers of illegal activities in this area.
The sky began to clear up as we approached Lochiel, once a town of 400 people in its mining hay days. Now just a few houses remain. It's mostly open ranches now. The border station was closed years ago when funds ran low, and the former building is now bordered up and fenced.
Lochil is now a small ranching community owned by a few families who have bought up the historical buildings in the old village square and fenced up the historical buildings: the old customs house and the custom's agent house next door, the chapel, the family cemetery, the post office. NO TRESPASSING signs were everywhere. Even the cemetery held a wooden sign warning trespassers “Private cemetery. This is not a tourist attraction!”
After we drove to the customs house Kevin parked the truck to let me walk with the dogs up the hill to the chapel and cemetery. Even the family cemetery now warned trespassers "This is a family cemtery, not a tourist attraction. KEEP OUT" The locals were serious about no tourists in town, apparently.
I could see the remaining homes of Lochiel from the cemetery gate in the valley below: small homes on large lots, shaded by cottonwoods. The white adobe chapel overlooked the town below the hilltop cemetery. I felt all alone here. No noises, no people, just Kevin at the bottom of the hill smoking his cigarette and waiting for me by his pick-up.
Sadie darted back to Dad when I walked up the hilltop. She's all Daddy's Little Girl. Mexico looked so inviting from this vantage point. The tall distant mountains of the San Antonios, a dark green meadow sprinkled with wild sunflowers and other yellow flowers, and a border fence that is still easily negotiated by passers-by. The lyrics to the Eagle's 1974 renegade song "On the Border" came to mind:
On the Border
Leave me be, I'm just walking the line
I'm out on the border
All I wanted was some peace of mind
Leave me be, I'm just walking the line
I'm out on the border
All I wanted was some peace of mind
I walked further up the road along the border to look south into the lush valley of northern Mexico. The mountain range drove my eyes far into the distance. A frontage road parallel to the border travels in either direction. We drove on it eastward for a mile, crossing a few washes where tire tracks were visible in the sand, and passing the 112 border marker before turning around at a steep, curvy and rutted section of the road. The terrain here was hilly and wooded.
We opted to continue north on FR 61 to Duquesne, passing back into west Lochiel where a group of people were lined up along a white picket fence to watch riders and cows give a show."They're training for the Sonoita rodeo next weekend" explained Kevin. We saw another group of riders in another meadow area further down.
Duquesne was even more deserted than Lochiel. Here no one lived. A few bordered up homes still remain, and much to my chagrin some property near the ruins has been staked out for new development. Why would someone want to destroy this pristine land with endless views of north Sonora?
“Drugdealers” answered Kevin.
Indeed some beautiful glass mansions stood isolated near several mountain tops. But I don't think I'd want to traverse the steep rutted roads to and from Nogales for shopping. Once the homes come up the paved roads will be next, then more convenience stores and the tranquil life of this valley will be gone for good. This part of Arizona deserves to remain isolated.A full-sized van driven by an elderly man slowed us down twice along this road. We passed him twice and saw him pass us while we were stopped at the old Harshaw townsite, now nothing more than a creek crossing, lush meadow and one lone adobe ruin.
“I hope he makes it to Patagonia before we get back in the truck” I said. He slowed down even more when he saw us.
A family cemetery dating back to the early part of the 20th century still remains across the street from the Harshaw Townsite lot, the last resort for local families of the Jimenex, Tapia, Sotos, Acevedos who lived here over 100 years ago. The iron-wrought crosses, fake flowers and cement frames of the graves were lined in colorful memorabilia of the deceased. Despite the old graves, the hillside lot is still maintained with care. The surviving family of Miguel Soto, a rancher and cowboy who died in Harshaw in 1912, now live in Tucson, according to a historical marker on Miguel's grave.
We were now very hungry and ready for a bite to eat in Patagonia. There are several restaurants there we've eaten at over the years, one is the Cowboy bar off Highway 82, the other now closed. That left us with the Velvet Elvis Pizza Company, also right off the highway. I once saw a short feature on that place in Arizona Highway, the TV travel series that used to air Saturday mornings at 5am.
"Oh, Pizza!" said Kevin as he negotiated the pickup off the road to park. The sky was overcast but there was no full shade for the dogs. We ordered our plain pizza and sat outside to be able to watch the truck from our vantage point.
We did not know that this restaurant was an all-organic food restaurant. Our pizza crust was whole wheat and not quite baked through. (It was very al-dente) but we didn't tell the waiter that when he came by to check on our food. We were too hungry and wanted to drive back via the Flux Canyon Road. We were now losing daylight by eating.
The pizza was OK. I like whole wheat crust but Kevin gave the pizza a "C." Service was fine and the inside decor not as gaudy as the title suggested. The interior had mostly South American art on the walls, so that the lone velvet Elvis on the wall seemed rather out of place and downright tacky. All the staff spoke Spanish. (I learned later that the owner is from Ecuador).
The dogs enjoyed the leftover pizza crust. We let them out to drink, pee and eat and then we continued our return drive. It was now after 5pm. We had about two hours of daylight. We would be coming home in the dark going back the way we came and driving 30mph.
Flux Canyon road is accessible just a few miles south of Patagonia to the highway's east. After a flat meadow start the narrow, primitive road quickly ascends steeply over jutting boulders and some rather hair-raising turns with steep drop-offs. By now storm clouds were moving in and a heavy rain quickly followed. This had potential of turning into a nightmare if we were stuck on a primitive road during a flood.
The road looked damp from a previous storm. I didn’t want to have to experience the sensation of tumbling down a primitive road, losing the dogs and our lives and laying there for days before someone discovered us. This is a region where we seldom see others. This is a place we must come back to and discover more backcountry roads. This mountain range is full of discovery.
The fresh rain left the blooming grasses coated in a silvery sheen. This was Canon Moments to the tenth power. Caterpillars of unknown variety were eating on grass blades and roadside shrubs in full force.
I recognized every stop on this road: the abandoned mines on either side, the abandoned Blue Eagle mine along Alum Gulch (now closed off as a Superfund Site) and the old mining equipment off the road. This is perfect camping country.
And once again, as we’ve done many times over the years, we promised each other we’d come back here for a weekend camp-out. We stopped briefly at both sites, found no pyrite, and drove on.
Once we hit Harshaw Road again we were back on familiar territory. We only stopped for pee breaks and to give the dogs a rest from the constant rumbling of the at-times poorly-grated road.
Sara and Sadie now were exhausted. Sadie slept behind Kevin in the cab, Sara rested her head in the back bed. Sammy, as usual, refused to sit or lay down out of fear he’d miss barking at a cow or rabbit. The cows were grazing along the road in big herds now.
Duquesne and Lochiel were now deserted of any activity as we drove through them again. Ravens (or were they black vultures?) huddled in tree canopies along washes. Lights began to come up along the border although Mexico looked dark The setting sun broke its light rays and poked through a storm cloud in two distinctive rays.
This was perfect smuggling country. Kevin brought out his .45 for added safety and scanned his left and right peripherals as he drove. I would not have driven this stretch alone.
“Sara will take care of the illegals” said Kevin, referring to her protective nature when strangers approach the vehicle. I have no doubt in her determination to protect us.
As we approached Montezuma’s Peak we saw the lights of nearby Naco, and further south the lights of another Mexican town. Cananea, perhaps? We had never noticed lights in Mexico before because we don’t drive this isolated Forest Road at night. It was so tempting to dream of walking south into Mexico and never turning back. This part of Sonora is breathtaking and I can only assume it’s more beautiful further south.
We were now on the homestretch as the clock neared 8pm.
Kevin went straight to bed as we got home. I got comfortable on the couch and watched the rest of the Beijing Olympics closing ceremonies.
“I hope he makes it to Patagonia before we get back in the truck” I said. He slowed down even more when he saw us.
A family cemetery dating back to the early part of the 20th century still remains across the street from the Harshaw Townsite lot, the last resort for local families of the Jimenex, Tapia, Sotos, Acevedos who lived here over 100 years ago. The iron-wrought crosses, fake flowers and cement frames of the graves were lined in colorful memorabilia of the deceased. Despite the old graves, the hillside lot is still maintained with care. The surviving family of Miguel Soto, a rancher and cowboy who died in Harshaw in 1912, now live in Tucson, according to a historical marker on Miguel's grave.
We were now very hungry and ready for a bite to eat in Patagonia. There are several restaurants there we've eaten at over the years, one is the Cowboy bar off Highway 82, the other now closed. That left us with the Velvet Elvis Pizza Company, also right off the highway. I once saw a short feature on that place in Arizona Highway, the TV travel series that used to air Saturday mornings at 5am.
"Oh, Pizza!" said Kevin as he negotiated the pickup off the road to park. The sky was overcast but there was no full shade for the dogs. We ordered our plain pizza and sat outside to be able to watch the truck from our vantage point.
We did not know that this restaurant was an all-organic food restaurant. Our pizza crust was whole wheat and not quite baked through. (It was very al-dente) but we didn't tell the waiter that when he came by to check on our food. We were too hungry and wanted to drive back via the Flux Canyon Road. We were now losing daylight by eating.
The pizza was OK. I like whole wheat crust but Kevin gave the pizza a "C." Service was fine and the inside decor not as gaudy as the title suggested. The interior had mostly South American art on the walls, so that the lone velvet Elvis on the wall seemed rather out of place and downright tacky. All the staff spoke Spanish. (I learned later that the owner is from Ecuador).
The dogs enjoyed the leftover pizza crust. We let them out to drink, pee and eat and then we continued our return drive. It was now after 5pm. We had about two hours of daylight. We would be coming home in the dark going back the way we came and driving 30mph.
Flux Canyon road is accessible just a few miles south of Patagonia to the highway's east. After a flat meadow start the narrow, primitive road quickly ascends steeply over jutting boulders and some rather hair-raising turns with steep drop-offs. By now storm clouds were moving in and a heavy rain quickly followed. This had potential of turning into a nightmare if we were stuck on a primitive road during a flood.
The road looked damp from a previous storm. I didn’t want to have to experience the sensation of tumbling down a primitive road, losing the dogs and our lives and laying there for days before someone discovered us. This is a region where we seldom see others. This is a place we must come back to and discover more backcountry roads. This mountain range is full of discovery.
The fresh rain left the blooming grasses coated in a silvery sheen. This was Canon Moments to the tenth power. Caterpillars of unknown variety were eating on grass blades and roadside shrubs in full force.
I recognized every stop on this road: the abandoned mines on either side, the abandoned Blue Eagle mine along Alum Gulch (now closed off as a Superfund Site) and the old mining equipment off the road. This is perfect camping country.
And once again, as we’ve done many times over the years, we promised each other we’d come back here for a weekend camp-out. We stopped briefly at both sites, found no pyrite, and drove on.
Once we hit Harshaw Road again we were back on familiar territory. We only stopped for pee breaks and to give the dogs a rest from the constant rumbling of the at-times poorly-grated road.
Sara and Sadie now were exhausted. Sadie slept behind Kevin in the cab, Sara rested her head in the back bed. Sammy, as usual, refused to sit or lay down out of fear he’d miss barking at a cow or rabbit. The cows were grazing along the road in big herds now.
Duquesne and Lochiel were now deserted of any activity as we drove through them again. Ravens (or were they black vultures?) huddled in tree canopies along washes. Lights began to come up along the border although Mexico looked dark The setting sun broke its light rays and poked through a storm cloud in two distinctive rays.
This was perfect smuggling country. Kevin brought out his .45 for added safety and scanned his left and right peripherals as he drove. I would not have driven this stretch alone.
“Sara will take care of the illegals” said Kevin, referring to her protective nature when strangers approach the vehicle. I have no doubt in her determination to protect us.
As we approached Montezuma’s Peak we saw the lights of nearby Naco, and further south the lights of another Mexican town. Cananea, perhaps? We had never noticed lights in Mexico before because we don’t drive this isolated Forest Road at night. It was so tempting to dream of walking south into Mexico and never turning back. This part of Sonora is breathtaking and I can only assume it’s more beautiful further south.
We were now on the homestretch as the clock neared 8pm.
Kevin went straight to bed as we got home. I got comfortable on the couch and watched the rest of the Beijing Olympics closing ceremonies.
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