Crossroads of Tuba City

During the winter of 1776, the fatigued and famished Dominguez-Escalante Expedition passed nearby the present site of Tuba City, Arizona. Of course, the Navajo hadn't settled there yet. This was Hopi territory. 

On November 14, they recorded the following: “[We] arrived at a small farm and camp of the Cosinas [Hopi], all of it pretty and well arranged—the farmland is irrigated by means of the four springs mentioned and by two other copious ones which rise next to it; here this year the Cosinas planted maize, squash, watermelon, and muskmelon. By the time we arrived they had gathered their harvest and, judging from the refuse or scraps of everything we found, it had been an abundant one, and especially that of beans. For if we had made camp here, we could have gleaned half a bushel of it. The farmland is surrounded by peach trees. Besides the several huts made of boughs, there was a very well constructed little house of stone and mud. In it were the baskets, jars, and other utensils of these Indians.” 

At the time the Hopi used this area during the summer to grow crops, using water from several nearby springs. After the harvest they returned to their villages on the mesa, which included the village of Oraibi. 

This is one of the earliest surviving accounts of Hopi civilization by European explorers. No doubt that these Native peoples came in contact with the Spanish prior to this, including Coronado in 1540 and Spanish missionaries in 1629. But other records are difficult to come by. 

Tuba City, Arizona.

The first time I came to Tuba City I had no idea of the rich history that existed here. I came as part of a Junior High wrestling team. We spent the night at Tuba City Boarding School, sleeping in dorms and eating breakfast in the cafeteria. Most of the teams at the tournament were from the surrounding reservations, schools like Shonto, Chinle, and Rocky Ridge. We were the only white guys. We wrestled all day long and didn't leave the school until after dark. 

Thirty years later I decided to revisit the area with two of my kids. I learned that there was much more to Tuba City than I had known. 

Highway 160 is the dividing line that separates the Navajo Reservation on the north from an enclave of the Hopi Reservation on the south. On the Hopi side we drove through Moenkopi, a continuation of the same settlement visited by Father Escalante over two hundred years ago. I was blown away by the adobe houses, dirt roads, roaming dogs, and terraced fields that made me feel as if I had traveled back in time. 

On the other side of the highway was the Tuba City side. Of course, we had to drive by the boarding school. But what caught my attention were all the abandoned houses that seemed out of place with your typical reservation project homes. They almost looked like pioneer homes. Considering that Tuba City was settled by Mormon pioneers, I wondered if these abandoned homes were built by them. 

That last visit piqued my curiosity even more. 

Sign at the Tuba City Boarding School.

The first contact between Hopis and members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or Mormons, came in 1858 when Apostle Jacob Hamblin led a group of missionaries to the village of Oraibi, with the purpose to learn their language and culture. During that visit an unidentified Hopi told of a prophecy that prophets would come to the Hopis from the west and bring them back to the blessings they had lost. They believed the Mormons were the fulfillment of that prophecy. 

During the winter of 1859, two Mormon missionaries stayed to live with the Hopis. One of them was Thales Haskell, a rugged young man who had a gift of learning languages. He also kept a diary during his visit. 

On December 16 he provides the first account of Teuve, the Hopi man after whom Tuba City would be named. “Tewbi,” as he called him, heroically chased down a Navajo who had stolen a piece of cloth from a squaw. He quickly mounted a horse and “soon overtook the thief, and twisted the cloth from his hands.” Haskell describes Tewbi as “a tall and noble looking Oriba.” 

Nearly three months later Haskell again mentions his Hopi compadre: “My friend Tuby traded a robe and Buckskin for a pony with one of them and made me a present of it. I prevailed on him to accept my gun, rather against his will however. He said when he made his friend a present he did not wish anything in return.” 

Three days later on March 5, 1860, he records an important entry: “Traveled 18 miles and arrived at the Movincapy. This is a small stream where the Oribes raise cotton and they recommended it to us as a good place to build a mill and for the Mormons to make a small settlement.” 

Thales Haskell.

Moenkopi is located about 35 miles northwest of Oraibi Village. It is roughly the same location where Father Escalante had passed by 84 years earlier. This “gift,” which would be the seedling of a future Mormon settlement, would also create additional conflict between the two peoples. Apparently not all the Hopis were in agreement that the Mormons should settle there. Also, there is almost always conflict when sharing a limited supply of water. 

Settlement did not happen immediately. It wasn't until over a decade later that a few Mormon settlers began trickling in. Once again, Teuve invited the Mormons to live next to them at Moenkopi. According to local tradition, this was to help protect against raids from the Navajo and Paiute. 

The first colonizers arrived in 1873. While some chose to leave because of the arid conditions, a few hearty souls stayed and began planting orchards and building stone homes. Some lived near Moenkopi while others chose to plant their farms at Moenave, about six miles to the west. 

Typical home in Tuba City, Arizona.

In 1875 the Mormons began to settle at Musher Springs, just west of Moenkopi. It served as a way station for those traveling from Salt Lake to Arizona. In 1878, Apostle Erastus Snow announced that Musher Springs would become an official Mormon Colony. A town was laid out and named “Tuba City” after their friend, Teuve. 

Several families came to live and build their home in this harsh area. One of those families was that of Alfred B. Randall and his wife, Susan Temperance Allen. According to records they had two adobe homes, both covered with pine and earth for a roof. They had a ditch dug for irrigation, grew six acres of alfalfa, and had 112 apple trees, 16 plum trees, 1 pear tree, 2 cherry trees, 1 apricot tree, and 16 peach trees. 

Alfred and Temperance were married in 1891 and spent twelve years in Tuba City, where they gave birth to three girls and two boys. All three girls died and were buried at Tuba City. 

Alfred and Temperance Randall.

During this time there was also considerable Navajo expansion. Conflict between Navajos and Mormons erupted from time to time, which included the killing of Lot Smith, who was gunned down by the Navajo Headman, Atsidí in 1892. 

In 1902 the U.S. Government decided to expand the Navajo Reservation to include the town of Tuba City. By 1903, the government bought out the Mormon settlers and Tuba City was abandoned. 

Navajo Mother and Child at Tuba City Trading Post, 1928. (Marjorie Stiles Collection)

In 2019 I returned to Tuba City again, this time knowing a little more of the history. One fascinating place I wanted to visit was the old Mormon cemetery at Moenkopi. I wasn't sure if I would be able to find it, or if I would even be allowed to go there. In addition, I didn't know if I was allowed to take photos since technically you're not supposed to take any pictures on the Hopi Reservation. 

Like I stated earlier, Moenkopi is located on the south side of highway 160 and is an enclave of the Hopi Reservation. For twenty minutes we drove around the upper village, past the earth-colored brick houses, looking for a small fenced area. We had no luck. Determined to find it I knocked on someone's door. No answer. I asked a guy on the street and he directed me to a nearby trailer. The first trailer I tried had no answer, but there were two dogs and a cat outside. The dog was friendly and let me pet him. I then found the next trailer and a nice lady was outside who showed me how to get in. The cemetery was right behind her trailer and access was through her back yard. I asked if I could take pictures and she said it would be no problem. 

The cemetery has very few original headstones. Most of the graves are unmarked and a handful have modern headstones. A tall monument made of black stone gives a short history. On the north side are a few modern burials that appear to be Natives. 

One of the headstones in the cemetery belongs to two-year old Della Randall, infant daughter of Alfred and Temperance. The young girl was buried here five years before her family was forced to leave, at which time they relocated nearly 100 miles southeast in St. Joseph, Arizona. 

Grave of Della Randall at Old Mormon Cemetery, Moenkopi.

After visiting the cemetery we drove through the lower half of Moenkopi Village. I will say that it is a fascinating place that will give you the impression you have traveled back in time a few centuries. But like the photography, I believe it is not allowed to write physical descriptions of the area, so I will not elaborate any more on our drive through the village. 

By this time we were getting hungry so we drove back to the Diné side of the highway to Tuba City and arrived at the Hogan Family Restaurant. This was a recommendation from a Navajo neighbor of mine. We already knew what we wanted to eat when we walked in: Navajo burgers! 

If you've never experienced a Navajo burger, you should try one. They are the same as a normal hamburger, except much bigger. And they use fry bread instead of buns. I will admit that when we got our order I was a little disappointed because the beef patties were a little charred. But it was still very tasty and well worth the visit. 

Navajo burger at Hogan Family Restaurant.

Next to the restaurant is the Tuba Trading Post, a historic building built in 1891. Part of the building is octagonal in shape, being built with limestone rocks from Moenkopi Wash. Outside is a traditional Navajo hogan. The trading post is on the National Register of Historic Places. 

Inside they sell all sorts of Pendleton blankets, Navajo jewelry and other hand-crafted items. Most of the items were out of my price-range, but I still admired the beauty of them. I did, however, buy a few issues of a monthly publication called “The Leading Way.” It is described as “The wisdom of the Navajo People.” I've bought several issues in the past and can only find it on the Rez. It is very informative on a variety of cultural subjects from the perspective of the Navajo people. 

Historic Trading Post at Tuba City, with hogan at left.

Inside Tuba City Trading Post.

We moved on and drove the streets of Tuba City. I was completely amazed at how many abandoned homes there were. Other than the section with the businesses, it looked like a ghost town. Many of the windows were boarded up and a couple of the homes had been burned. I've seen this a lot on the reservation and have often wondered what was the exact cause of it. I usually conclude that it has to do with the socialistic nature of the reservation, where many of these homes are owned by the tribe, without true ownership, giving no incentive to take care of the property. 

Some of the abandoned homes were very old, almost looking like pioneer houses, but I didn't quite think they were 130 years old. They were large brick structures that I felt were unlikely to have belonged to the Navajoes. I went back to the restaurant and asked for their insight and they said the homes belonged to teachers and doctors during the 1950's. 

We didn't have as much time as I had hoped for, but we drove around as much as we could and surveyed the town. I took note of an insurance company in a trailer, and also a radio station in a trailer. We also passed by the old boarding school where I wrestled and it appeared to be closed up. 

Old "pioneer-looking" homes in Tuba City.

Our final stop was the cemetery. I had never been to a Navajo cemetery. It lied on the outskirts of town on a sandy road off the pavement. There was no organization to the graves except for a few fenced family plots. Burials were spread far through the brush, with Mother Nature having her way with most of the grounds. Fences and headstones had blown down, weeds grew everywhere, and dozens of varmint holes had been dug in the sand. 

I was impressed with the high number American flags. It was the most I had ever seen in a single cemetery of that size except on Memorial Day. You could tell that family members of veterans were proud. Sadly, some flags flew in tatters while others sat on the ground. 

Most of the mounds were piled several feet high. Some were covered in a type of flag-stone. Most were decorated with trinkets belonging to the deceased. Some of the headstones were homemade, perhaps just a painting on a rock. 

Cemetery at Tuba City.

Across the road was the old cemetery. I looked at it, but didn't dare walk through. It looked like it was rarely visited. No paths and a lot of sage brush. I wondered if any of the graves were visited by family members, or if they had long since been forgotten. I know that with many of the Native tribes there is a taboo about being near the dead. I am sure that their customs and ours are very different. 

We left Tuba City much too soon that day. I still had many questions left unanswered. But I am learning. I certainly have a bigger picture of this area that Navajo, Hopi and Mormon have all called home. ♠

This is the "old" cemetery at Tuba City.

 

Sources 

Escalante, Silvestre Velez, and Ted J. Warner. “The Dominguez-Escalante Journal.” University of Utah Press, 1995. 

Haskell, Thales. “Journal of Thales H. Haskell.” Utah Historical Quarterly, Vol. 12, Nos. 1-2 (January-April, 1944) : 68-102. 

Reilly, P.T. “A Brief History of the Tuba City Area.” Northern Arizona University, Chinle Library.

Smallcanyon, Corey, "Contested Space: Mormons, Navajos, and Hopis in the Colonization of Tuba City" (2010). All Theses and Dissertations. 2557.

Into the Sierra Blanca de los Lagunas (Day 1)

[“From the land of the Comanches a very long and high sierra comes down, running from northeast to southwest as far as the Lagunas, in what we could see for more than seventy leagues; at this season, toward the north from El Rio de San Buenaventura it displayed its tallest shoulders and peaks covered with snow, wherefore we named it Sierra Blanca de los Lagunas. Tomorrow we shall begin climbing it and going across where it appears less lofty.”—Entry from The Dominguez-Escalante Journal, September 18, 1776.]
 
Today has been the hardest day of hiking in my life. I am exhausted as I write by headlamp, but at least we are safe. Let me explain how we got here.
 

Bridge over a small tributary creek.

We started late this morning. I wasn't worried about the time. There are three of us (me, Dave and Devin) and we each hefted on our heavy packs—enough food and gear to last four days. Our journey began.
 
We traveled what seemed like an endless distance through the Uinta River Gorge. The trail was a lot rockier than I expected. Often it was quasi-unrecognizable over a field of boulders. Going was very slow. Every mile we hiked felt like three. Our goal—Fox Lake—sat 14 miles away.
 
There are a lot of fabled stories from this area of Spanish gold. As we walked through the quaking aspen I looked for crosses carved on the trees. This is also Ute territory (the Uintah Utes were known by the Spanish as the Lagunas). As I observed the trees I found many unusual carvings that almost looked like old Indian masks.
 

Bridge over Uinta River at mile 3.

Even though today is August 1, the snow is still melting on the mountain. The river was a raging torrent. Random streams flowed down from the slopes above us that didn't even show on the map.
 
The heavy backpacks took their toll on my body. My shoulders burned and my legs became weary. As we worked up the canyon, we obviously climbed in elevation as we went.
 
Ahead of us on the trail I spotted two cow elk. Their clay-colored hides stuck out prominently against the timber. They stayed ahead of us and we didn't see them again.
 

It is monsoon season here and we were fortunate to not be on the mountain yesterday because it rained heavily for most of the day. But today as we hiked the thunder clouds built up and soon we found ourselves scrambling for our rain gear. I have a poncho that covers most of my pack when I put it on.
 
We hiked for about an hour in our rain gear. Even after the rain stopped, the thunder continued to roll and echo off the slopes.
 

We got rained on EVERY SINGLE DAY for at least an hour.

We passed a father and his adult son, who were glad to see us. They said we were the first people they had seen since Sunday (today is Thursday). He is from Montrose, Colorado and had injured his leg five miles east of Painter Basin and decided to turn around. He was grateful for the patience of his son since he was only making about a mile-an-hour.
 
I will admit that by this time we started to get a bit concerned. We were moving at a lot slower pace than we had expected. The trip to Fox Lake was 14 miles and I wasn't even sure how far we'd traveled. According to the map, there would be four streams crossing our path before the trail began to leave the gorge, but we had crossed many more streams than four. About this time we spotted a major flow of water merging with the river on the far side of the gorge. I pulled out the map and determined this was Atwood Creek. We were now able to pin point where we were and we weren't quite half way yet!
 

Confluence of Atwood Creek and Uinta River.

I won't bore you with many of the details of our continued march through the wilderness, other than to say it was grueling and tiresome. Our bodies began to wear down.
 
At 6 pm we finally reached Shale Creek, which is the final stream before climbing out of the canyon. I had hoped to refill my water bottles here, but the water was a chalky-white.
 

Footbridge over Shale Creek.

The trails from this point forward were next to awful and sometimes non-existent. We were lucky not to get completely lost. When the trail became faint we would look for other clues such as sawed-off logs to know we were on the right path. I was also grateful for the horse that recently traveled over this trail because we often saw his tracks.
 
As we climbed higher in elevation, some of the heavy timber gave way to open and often wet meadows. Some of the tallest peaks could now be seen rising in the distance.
 
Try as we did, we still were not making good time. The hues of sunset came and cast a beautiful light on the meadows and streams and distant peaks. We saw a deer out feeding about this time.
 
But then came the inevitable darkness. At first we refused to use artificial light and let our pupils dilate to follow the trail. But then it became necessary to fish out our flashlights and use them to illuminate the way. It is kind of a crazy notion for three guys, thirteen miles from the nearest road, in a wilderness completely unfamiliar to them, to be walking in the dark at an elevation above 10,000 feet, hoping to find a lake they've never seen!
 
But at last we found that lake—Fox Lake. It was 10 pm when we first shined our lights on its dark waters, making today's hike 11 hours long.
 
We are all exhausted and Devin is feeling sick. We spent the next hour pitching our tents over a ground that is very damp. I skipped dinner and only ate a piece of jerky and a protein bar.
 
Nearly my whole body hurts, especially my feet, legs and shoulders. My socks, shoes and pants up to my shins are soaked. I think we are all anxious to get to sleep and find some new energy for tomorrow.
 
Total distance today: 14 miles. Elevation at camp: 10,778 feet. Total elevation gain: 2,966 feet. 

Highway 257

The route between Southwest Utah and the Wasatch Front is usually traveled via Interstate 15. It wasn't until I talked with Pete Dotson that I knew there was an alternative.

Pete was a burly man with a thick brown, but graying beard, who wore bibbed overalls and long sleeves everywhere he went. He swore he would travel to Salt Lake no other way. “Just too many people,” he would say.

The route that Pete spoke of takes the backroads through the West Desert of Utah. Depending on your point of view, it can be either drab and boring, or mysterious and intriguing.

Along this route is a 67-mile stretch between the rural towns of Milford and Deseret. Utah Highway 257, as it is officially known, offers an empty landscape to the casual observer. It is common to pass fewer then ten cars on a single drive—and the biggest hazard is hitting either an antelope or cow. But to those who dig deeper, Highway 257 offers a rich blend of history and geological wonders.

Over the years I have taken Pete's advice and have found many occasions to take this lonely backroad. Although I have only scratched the surface, each time comes with new discoveries.

Remains of Fort Deseret along Highway 257

Just 4.5 miles south of the northern terminus of Highway 257 lies the crumbled remains of Fort Deseret. Thick adobe walls made of mud and straw, and supported by wooden frames and posts, still stand just off the road. A collapsing bastion exists on the northeast corner, as well as “peep holes” in the walls. The east wall is the best preserved, and in the middle is a “gate” supported by a wooden frame that the visitor can pass through to explore inside the fort. Although the interior is filled with rabbit brush and lacks most of the back walls, it is enough to give you a feel of what it must have looked like when first erected.

The town of Deseret was created in 1859 by Mormon settlers on the lower reaches of the Sevier River. The growth of new settlements began to create a strain between the Mormons and Indians, as the natives began to see much of their wildlife habitat turned into farms, thus diminishing their food supply. They also suffered from smallpox and measles, which they blamed on the white man. After initially seeing the Mormons as friends, they now began to view them as intruders.

In 1865, a Ute leader by the name of Black Hawk led a group of discontented Indians on a series of raids to secure food for their people. The raids began in Sanpete Valley in Central Utah and spread throughout the state to Deseret where the Pahvant Indians stole cattle.

As a precautionary move, Brigham Young ordered that the men from Deseret form a militia and that a fort be erected. It took just 18 days for 98 men to build the fort. The structure was 550 feet square, with corner bastions ten feet high and walls three feet thick on the bottom, tapering to a foot and a half at the top.

Although Fort Deseret was never used to protect the people, it served as a deterrent. On several occasions it was used as a corral to protect the cattle from Indians.

Left: The Great Stone Face.  Right: Painting of Joseph Smith by David White Rogers.

Less than two miles south of Fort Deseret is a graveled road that leads toward the west for over five miles and then curls around an outcropping of black rock. This site must have had significance to Native Americans of olden times as there are many petroglyphs on the rocks, including what appears to be an eye at the top of the hill. But for Mormon settlers, this was the location of The Great Stone Face.

Atop the same rocky hill is a natural stone structure that looks very much in profile as Mormon founder and Prophet, Joseph Smith. By now it had been well over a decade since the Mormon leader had been murdered in Nauvoo, Illinois. The Saints had moved and settled in the west, and as they began to explore the region around Sevier Lake, they were excited to find a stack of lava rock in the likeness of the Prophet.

Of course, the rock may also have had significance with the Paiutes, as they may have seen the likeness of a chief of a god. With the abundance of petroglyphs, there is no doubt that this site held a level of importance.

It is also interesting to note that just a few years earlier, in 1850, Nathaniel Hawthorne published a short story entitled “The Great Stone Face,” referring to a similar stone structure. In the story, a local Native American folklore states that this stone profile would resemble someone who is “the greatest and noblest personage of his time.” This is certainly how the Saints viewed Joseph Smith, and I wonder if Nathaniel Hawthorne's short story played a role in the naming of the rock.

North face of Pahvant Butte.

The pathway of Highway 257 is roughly paralleled by the old route used by the Dominguez-Escalante Expedition of 1776. As they searched for a course to Monterey, California, they pushed forward from Santa Fe, traveling northward through southwest Colorado and into present-day Utah. From the Wasatch Front they curled southward into what is now the desert of Millard County.

On October 2, the group camped south and a little ways east of Deseret near a prominent hill they would call El Cerrillo. Years later this knoll became known as Pahvant Butte, an iconic mound in the middle of a desolate valley, seen from miles away on all sides. The company had difficulty pushing directly southward as they ran into the shallow lakes and marshes of Clear Lake.

Upon arriving, they recorded in their journal:

“In the afternoon we pursued our journey to the south-southeast because the marshes and lakes were not letting us go south, which was the direct route to the pass through which we were to leave the plain. After going three leagues we halted near a small bluff which stands on it. Wherefore we named the stopping point, where there were marshes with much pasturage but with brackish water, El Cerrillo. Today three leagues.”

Shallow waters of Clear Lake.

The butte was named after the Pahvant Indians, a band of Southern Paiutes, with whom the company had an encounter earlier that day. The waters of Clear Lake are home to a wide variety of fowl. A good graveled road leaves the highway and travels on a causeway over the shallow waters.

At one time there was a town built nearby with the name of Clear Lake. Unlike most of the other communities, it was settled by non-Mormons, many of them from the Midwest. Ten families lived in the town and most farmed. A canal was built from the lake to the new settlement. Nowadays there are no vestiges of the former inhabitants other than some inconspicuous piles of concrete.

The Dominguez-Escalante group moved on the following day:

“On the 3rd we left El Cerrillo, made several detours because we were surrounded by marshes, and decided to cut across by going over the east river mentioned, which appears to sink into them and the plain's other lakes—and which abounds in fish. The ford was sticky and miry, and in it the mount which Andrés the interpreter was riding fell and pitched into the water, dealing him a hard blow on one cheek.”

Union Pacific Railroad.

Pronghorn are often seen along Highway 257.

Continuing further south, the highway parallels the Union Pacific Railroad. The track runs to Milford and eventually Lund, which used to be a major transportation depot. Today the carriages are filled entirely with freight rather than people.

Anyone traveling the lonely stretch of road must not only watch for wandering cattle, but also for skittish antelope. More than once I have come frightening close to striking a darting pronghorn.

Located to the east of the highway are the barren Cricket Mountains. There are many dirt roads that take off in that direction and skirt the hillsides.

Dried hardpan of Sevier Lake in distance.

West of this mountain range, constituting a large swath from north to south are the dried remains of Sevier Lake. From a distance the ivory-colored hard-pan is reminiscent of the Bonneville Salt Flats. At the extreme northern end the Sevier River flows into the lake. I don't know if the lake was full when the Mormon Pioneers arrived in 1847, but since that time the river has been used quite extensively for irrigation, sucking volume from this long meandering waterway.

Another much smaller riverbed follows a portion of the highway. The Beaver River comes from the south and southeast, a collection of melted snow and springs from the Tushar Mountains. At its largest it is a freshwater torrent as wide as a two-laned road. As far as I can tell, the farms near the towns of Beaver and Milford suck the river completely dry by the time it reaches Highway 257.

It appears that Mother Nature depleted a portion of the Beaver River in 1776. The D&E group still found a trickle of water: “. . . we came to an arroyo which seemed to have much water, but we found only some waterholes where the horse herd might be able to drink. Nevertheless, we stopped here because there was good pasturage. All over the arroyo there was a kind of white scum, dry and thin, which looked from afar like linen spread out, for which reason we named it Arroyo de Tejedor.”

As they traveled further south, the flow of the Beaver River picked up as they found beautiful meadows and good pasturage for their horses. I would dare say that those beautiful meadows no longer exist.

Ruined structure at Black Rock.

As Father Escalante and his party moved forward, they crossed a nearly inconspicuous boundary they called South Pass, entering into what is now the Escalante Desert. Nearby are a group of ruined structures belonging to the abandoned settlement of Black Rock.

Established as a ranch in 1876, Black Rock eventually acquired a store and Post Office. When it became a depot on the Los Angeles and Salt Lake Railroad, thousands of pounds of wool were shipped from the small settlement. A small pumice quarry north of town employed many people. A schoolhouse was built and operated for 40 years.

The railroad began to consolidate operations during the 1930's, causing the town of Black Rock to wane. Only the foundations of the former buildings exist. There is, however, a modern ranch on the premise, and it appears that the local springs have been used to water fields and livestock.

I found faint petroglyphs on rocky ridge above the springs, indicating that people have used this place for hundreds of years. The tawny hills and barren valley are testimony to the isolated and dry terrain. In a land like this, any place that can sustain life is a gem.

Antelope Springs is a surprising oasis in the Escalante Desert.

Several miles west of Black Rock is another oasis in the desert. Antelope Springs was a stage stop in the 1860's. It is hard to believe now, but there was once a hotel, saloon, livery stable and barn on the premises. The springs are still there, although I was unable to find any signs of the old buildings. The springs have created a small pond, as well as a large marshy area, well suited for fowl.

From my readings, I can't find any evidence that the D&E expedition came across the springs at Black Rock or Antelope Springs. Instead, they camped near a hill called Red Rock Knoll, some two miles west of Black Rock. The company was in dire straits at this time. Their Indian guide had deserted them, leaving no one who knew the territory. They were tormented with an early winter storm that blanked the hills and valley, and stranded them for two days with no firewood.

The Beaver Bottoms.

When they finally continued, they trekked south and entered into what is called Beaver Bottoms, a point in the valley that tends to collect a lot of stagnating water. Their journal records the tribulation:

“We traveled only three leagues and a half with great difficulty, because it was so soft and miry everywhere that many pack animals and mounts, and even those that were loose, either fell down or became stuck altogether.”

The mire still flanks Highway 257 north of Milford. Just east of here, spreading across the valley like a forest of white giants, is a wind farm. Personally, I'm not a big fan (no pun intended) of new turbines sprouting up in divers places, but it sure grabs the attention of those driving by. In a way it beholds its own beauty. I guess I'm a little old fashioned and prefer to see the land as it was in 1776—or a thousand years earlier.

Another ten miles of driving will bring you to the southern terminus of Highway 257 and the small town of Milford. There's a lot of discoveries yet to be make along this 67-mile stretch of apparent barren highway. I think Pete Dotson knew what he was talking about. ♠

Wind farm near Milford.