Indian Road 18

Arizona is a big place: 113,998 square miles (295,254 square km), so maybe it's no big surprise that there are many places in AZ I've never visited. The difficulty of the situation is compounded by the fact that this big place is very mountainous, and there's a giant, canyon stretching across the top NW corner of it. The interstate highways transect the top third (I-40) and the bottom half (I-10), and those two highways are connected in the middle by I-17. But that still leaves a big part of the state that must be explored by old highways and unpaved roads. And gas is currently running between $3.50 and $4.10 a gallon, here. Before you wince at how cheap that is compared to what you're currently paying, remember: 113,998 square miles.

This became a particular problem for me when I was trying to set a scene in my new novel in a part of Arizona I'd never visited. I thought I could simply google the place and look up its particulars. I found out that some places are more obscure than others. In this case, the place was the territory through which Indian Road 18 passes, near the southern the edge of the Grand Canyon. I couldn't find photos or maps that gave me enough information to write a convincing scene. So Ernie and I took a 24-hour road trip. We got the information we needed on that trip, but we got more. We found a wonderful spot we never would have visited if it hadn't been for my mission. That place is the Route 66 Roadrunner Cafe, in Seligman.

Seligman is an old Route 66 town, one of the places that almost died when I-40 was built to pass it by. (One of the biggest mistakes America ever made was to deal that fate to our small towns.) Seligman enjoys some attention these days from foreign travelers who are enchanted with the old Route 66 mystique. It's a cute little place, population 456 (give or take), with buildings and signs that were constructed in the mid-20^th Century. Route 66 is the main drag, so you see lots of signs inviting you to stop, eat, drink ice cold pop (or beer), and buy lots of souvenirs. Ernie and I arrived there at around 9:00 a.m., so what we had on our minds was coffee. Not just any coffee, either – we wanted the fancy stuff. The Roadrunner was the first place with “coffee drinks” in its signs, so we pulled over and went in to investigate.

We ended up with a couple of “Fast And Furious” iced coffees, which come fully loaded with 3 shots of espresso. We snagged a couple of muffins too, and scarfed those with a speed and enthusiasm that might have horrified any onlookers, had they been too close. The drinks and the muffins get 5 stars from us, so check the place out if you're passing through. They've got a full menu for lunch and breakfast, as well as plenty of Route 66 souvenirs too, including t-shirts and reproductions of vintage signs. They've even got a bar. The owner let us take some photos, and he's the one who snapped the shot of us at the top of this page, in case you've ever wondered what I and my intrepid partner look like when we're happy.

From Seligman, Indian Road 18 is about another half hour's drive on Route 66. The roadcuts on the way reveal some of the most interesting and colorful deposits of volcanic ash and lava I've seen in Arizona. Once you've turned onto 18, which winds through part of the Hualapai Indian Reservation, you climb onto the Coconino Plateau, which is anything but flat on top. It is complicated by its own mountains, hills, arroyos, and valleys. The road is paved, but not fancy or new, and the speed limit varies as you go along. You have to watch for cows, too. It's 60 miles long, and on the map it just seems to end for no particular reason, not far from the south rim of the Grand Canyon. But there's a very good reason for it to end. It's actually right at the edge of the canyon, on a little piece of land that belongs to the Havasupai Indians. They use it to transport supplies in and out of the canyon (via a small helicopter) and also lead horse- and mule-tours into the canyon itself.

A small tributary canyon runs along the west side of the final mile of Indian Road 18. There's a spot at its head where you can tell a waterfall forms when it rains. The part of the Grand Canyon this little tributary leads into isn't the grandest part – the walls aren't as high or the canyon nearly as wide as you'll find it in the national park (the eastern end), but it's beautiful, displaying uniquely eroded areas of the Kaibab limestone, the cross-bedded Toroweap and Coconino sandstones, the Hermit shale, and maybe even a bit of the Supai layer, at the bottom. It was a part of the Grand Canyon I'd never seen, and the journey up that road helped me immensely as I tried to envisage the scene I wanted to write.

That expedition was the sole reason for our trip, so we had to head back to Phoenix once I'd snapped some photos. On the way, however, we had to make one last stop – at the Roadrunner Cafe for two more “Fast and Furious” coffee drinks. The car needed gas, and so did we . . .

HWY 89 took us back through the Bradshaw Mountains (with a quick stop in Prescott for supper), to Route 93, past Wickenburg and back to Phoenix. It was a beautiful trip, and possibly the only one we'll be able to afford this year. But we made it count. If you're passing that way, I hope you do too.

The Great Unconformty (Even More Fabulous Than It sounds)

This post by Dr. Jack Share about the Great Unconformity and the Grand Canyon is so fascinating, I have to share it (and preserve it on my own log so I can come back and visit it). The photographs are amazing, and worthy of a textbook (for all I know, they ended up in one). Follow the link and wallow in Deep Time!

Exploring A Grand Mystery

Carving Grand Canyon: Evidence, Theory, and Mystery, by Wayne Ranney, is the next logical book to read after the one he co-wrote with Ron Blakey, Ancient Landscapes of the Colorado Plateau. In Ancient Landscapes, the authors describe the environments in which the layers of the Colorado Plateau formed and illustrate those concepts with paleogeographic maps. As you study those maps, you can't help but try to impose the Grand Canyon on them, since it's the feature that best exposes the layers. At what point, you may wonder, does the canyon begin to be carved?

Carving Grand Canyon is the best answer to that question. It narrates the attempt by geologists to formulate a unified theory of how the Grand Canyon formed and how long it took to do so. Once you've started reading it you'll realize that theory is – complicated.

Fortunately, it's also fascinating – a story of rivers and basins, faults and frost wedging, lava flows and karst collapse, personalities and plate tectonics. If you look at a map of the Canyon, from Lee's Ferry to Grand Wash Cliffs, you may suspect that it's not simply a question of how old the Colorado River is (though that's the most pertinent question). It's a question of what else can happen in a region that large, over millions of years during which several unique conditions persist.

One of the most interesting controversies is whether a paleocanyon may have existed, one that continued to be cut down to current levels in parts of the Grand Canyon. The graphic on page 124 beautifully illustrates the argument that a paleocanyon existed in Mesozoic layers above Eastern Grand Canyon that have since eroded away. The relatively new study of karst collapse near the Kaibab Upwarp also sheds some light on the mystery of how the river cut through the southern tip of the upwarp.

This book is for people whose curiosity burns when they look at the Grand Canyon, trained geologists and armchair geologists alike. It is lavishly illustrated with photographs, cross-sections, maps (some of which are paleogeographic), and diagrams that make the text clear and easy to understand. It offers a coherent answer to a question that is far more complicated than it seems. And best of all, it sparks as much curiosity as it satisfies. Buy two copies – one for your reference library, and one to take with you as you explore Grand Canyon, a place with enough wonder to fill a lifetime.

Wayne Ranney: Geologist, Adventurer, and Mapmaster Flash

You may recall that I mentioned, sometime in the recent past, the paleogeographic maps are fabulous. Or you may not. But they are. And what's even more wonderful is that Wayne Ranney, one of the guys behind those afore-mentioned fabulous maps will be speaking at the Heard Museum on Tuesday, December 11, at 1:30 p.m. To 3:00 p.m. He'll be signing copies of his books in our book store afterward. I've posted a review of the book he co-wrote with Ron Blakey, Ancient Landscapes of the Colorado Plateau, which features maps that depict what the Colorado Plateau may have looked like millions and even billions of years ago.

 I will soon be posting a review of Carving Grand Canyon: Evidence, Theories, and Mystery (2nd Edition) which casts light on past and recent arguments about when the Grand Canyon began to form.

 And I look forward to diving into Sedona Through Time, which delves into the formation of one of the most beautiful places on Earth: Oak Creek Canyon.

We have all three titles available at the Heard Museum Book Store, and Mr. Ranney will be signing there after his lecture. Don't miss it!

Paleogeographic Maps Are Fabulous

Think of the nerdiest comic book fan drooling over his favorite graphic novel - that's how I look when I have this book in my hands. As a geology student who lives in Arizona, I have good reason to be such a geek. Every time I visit the Colorado Plateau, I have a thousand questions about how the strata formed. This book answers most of those questions, and illustrates those answers beautifully with diagrams, cross-section charts, photographs, and "paleogeographic maps." Those maps allow the reader to see what the area may have looked like in the past, from the last part of the Precambrian Era, 1.7 billion years ago, through the Mesozoic with its dinosaurs, to the the Cenozoic and our present epoch. If you've ever tried to visualize the supercontinents, or what the Four Corners area may have looked like when it was turned on its side and hugging the equator, the paleogeographic maps are hugely helpful.

Readers who are more interested in archaeology will gain some perspective as to why the ruins in the Southwest are unique - we've got the perfect strata for canyons, creeks, and cliff dwellings. And anyone who would like more background on the geology of their favorite National Park on the Colorado Plateau will find this book handy. As for me, I'm a happy geek pouring over the details of how each layer was formed and where it's exposed in this landscape I love so much. I will refer to this book again again, until it falls apart and I have to get another one. It's money well spent.

Oak Creek Canyon, Vortex Of Fabulosity

As Ernie and I drove south toward Sedona on HWY 89, I mused about all of the years I've been visiting that spot. No doubt about it – Sedona, in its pre-vortex, pre-nouveau-riche, semi-old-west-town incarnation was a lot more fun than it is now. But Oak Creek Canyon, Sedona's raison d'etre, remains beautiful, magical, and delightful. There is no place like it on Earth, and the not-so-simple reason for that is its geology.

It's a small canyon – at least, compared to its giant cousin up North. Yet it shares a lot of the same layers you see exposed in the Grand Canyon. The mnemonic to remember with that chunk of the Colorado Plateau is this one: Know The Canyon's History – Study Rocks That're Made By Time.

Know – Kaibab: sandy limestone, greyish-white

The – Toroweap: also sandy limestone, a bit darker

Canyon's – Coconino: cross-bedded sandstone

History – Hermit: shale

Study – Supai: it's complicated

Rocks – Redwall: limestone (gray, but stained red by      hematite)

That're – Temple Butte: sandy dolomite, sandstone, mudstone, and limestone

Made – Muav: limestone

By – Bright Angel: shale

Time – Tapeats: sandstone

All of those layers, starting with the Tapeats at the bottom and ending with the Kaibab on top, are Paleozoic. In Northern and Eastern Arizona you can find at least a few Mesozoic layers too (from the Age of Dinosaurs): Moenkopi, Moenavi, the Chinle layer of Petrified Forest National Park, the Navajo Sandstone of Monument Valley, etc. It gets complicated, depending on how far North and East you go. Arizona was at the edge of the continent when a lot of this stuff formed, so you see layers from shallow seas, sandy shores, dune-y deserts, and river floodplains.

Ernie and I observed the whimsical shapes into which the Moenkopi layer likes to erode when we hiked through Wupatki. If we had continued North on HWY 89 (or the equally delightful alternate route, 89A) we would have seen more of this layer in Utah. Heading South on 89, we dropped in elevation, losing any hint of the dinosaur age, but discovering some interesting layers in Oak Creek Canyon that are not seen in the Grand Canyon. The east side of the fault that forms Oak Creek Canyon is topped by a thick basalt layer, a lava flow. But the Kaibab, Toroweap, and Coconino layers were eroded on this side of the fault, so the layer under that is the Hermit.

Much of the west side (1000 feet higher than the east) is topped with the Kaibab limestone. The basement rock is the Redwall layer – a lot of Sedona is built on that layer. Above that is the Supai, which is actually a group of layers, mostly sandstone and mudstone. The Hermit shale layer sits on top of that; despite its name, it is a complicated mix of sandstone, mudstone, and conglomerate. And on top of that is an 800 to 1000-foot-thick layer unique to the area: the Schnebly Hill formation, a series of gold and rust-red layers of sandstone, mudstone, and limestone. The sandy parts were were once coastal dunes.

Another layer pinches out inside the Schnebly Hill formation, a greyish band of Fort Apache Limestone. Coconino sandstone tops many of the formations on the south side, but it merges in places with the Schnebly Hill formation, giving the rocks a nifty striped appearance.

Like the Grand Canyon, Oak Creek Canyon can surprise you as it suddenly appears out of the landscape. This is particularly true if you approach from Flagstaff. The North end of the canyon is hidden among trees. Then you get to drive down the niftiest switchbacks on Earth, observing some spots where the layers have literally been pulverized by the fault. Invariably, when I'm driving through oak Creek Canyon, I have to pull over to let impatient motorists pass. For some reason, they like to zoom through this paradise, as if they could actually be bored by the sight. Poor, doomed souls. I hope my spirit will take this route to the Great Beyond, once I've left this mortal form behind.

In the meantime, this mortal form is very happy to hike various spots in the canyon (after having eaten a delightful lunch at the Galaxy Diner in Flagstaff). The first spot I wanted to hit was the trail near the West Fork of the Creek. You have to pay to get into this spot – it's not a State Park or a National Park. But it deserves to get a little moolah for its upkeep, and I'm grateful it never draws the same sort of crowd you would see at Slide Rock State Park. (Try visiting Slide Rock in January if you just want to hike and don't care about swimming – hardly anyone is there and it's spectacular.)

After that, we headed for Midgely Bridge (or as the locals call it, Midgely Bridgely). The climb down to the trail that begins under the bridge is a little heart-stopping, but you get an amazing view of the fork in the creek and of the Supai rocks. You can hike all the way down to the creek from there, a hot proposition if it's summer and the sun is shining. Fortunately for us, it was a cloudy spring day, so down we went. Wildflowers and rock formations caught my eye on the way down, and I saw some evidence of ancient hot spring activity in some of the rocks that had eroded from higher spots.

Hiking back up was much more of a challenge (for me, at least – Ernie is a mountain goat), but we still had enough energy to explore a part of the road (now a trail blocked to motor traffic) where the old bridge used to be. It was mysterious, and hinted at other spots not often accessed by casual hikers in the canyon. Some day, Ernie and I will spend a season there, exploring the general area. This is my fond ambition . . .

But the day was waning, so we stopped at our favorite coffee joint on HWY 89, before looping back to do the spectacular drive along HWY 179. Some of the niftiest formations reside there, and at one point the setting sun set the rocks ablaze. I had to pull over to one of the overlooks and snap some photos. I just managed to catch the sunset lighting up the rocks before the light shifted and the moment passed. My heart brimmed with satisfaction.

Sipping iced mochas, we headed back to Phoenix on I-17. I would rather have lingered and extended our day trip into days, weeks, months. But I comfort myself by considering the fact that Oak Creek Canyon, Walnut Canyon, Sunset Crater, Wupatki, Montezuma Castle, and dozens of other wonderful spots are in my backyard.

I just need to venture there from time to time.

Weird And Wonderful Arizona

If you've never been to Arizona, you're missing one of the wonders of the world. Plenty of other places are beautiful. Plenty of other places have history, or political power, or cultural significance. But Arizona is a unique collection of oddities and wonders that you won't find anywhere else.

This isn't something you would necessarily believe if you only visited Phoenix. Not if you've never been to the Desert Botanical Garden, or the Heard Museum – not if you feel beauty is only solid green and humid. I admit, it's easier to appreciate Arizona if you like geology, lightning, birds, and giant, columnar cacti. You may think you'll only see desert vistas here if you don't know that our highest peak is around 12,600 feet and that we have snowy, forested mountains as well as deep, dry basins.

But I admit our reputation as a desert state is well-earned. All four of the great deserts of North America dangle their toes into Arizona. To the North is the Great Basin Desert, spilling over our border from Utah and Nevada – it's a rain-shadow desert full of scrubby sage-brush. In the North-West is the Mojave, whose most famous feature is Death Valley, another Wonder of the World – its signature plant is the Joshua Tree. From the South-East, the Chihuahuan Desert spills into Texas, New Mexico, and the South-Eastern basins of Arizona – it harbors shrubs and small, tough cacti. But the biggest desert in Arizona is the Sonoran, in the South and South-West. It's the only place in the world that has two rainy seasons. And the Sonoran is the American desert with the warmest winter. That's why we're the only place in the world where the Saguaro grows.

Stand alone in the open desert among a group of saguaros, and you won't feel alone. They live between 100 and 200 years, and they have a presence. Think of them as the Ents of the desert. They can be a scruffy lot, and they often make faces at people. Some of them look more dead than alive. But some of them top 50 feet, and one famous guy has over 100 arms.

Arizona is Geology Heaven, a place where the rocks aren't “haired over” by vegetation. We have a long, varied volcanic history, starting about 1.7 billion years ago when our chunk of North America plowed into the ancient Canadian Shield. The Grand Canyon is unparalleled in its ability to represent millions of years of sediment laid down by shallow seas and by lakes, rivers, and even sand dunes. But Arizona is one, giant erosion feature – we have many other canyons. Oak Creek Canyon is an enchanted place with deep red sandstone. Walnut Canyon is carved from the same cross-bedded Coconino sandstone and Kaibab limestone found at the top of the Grand Canyon.

Despite decades of plundering by fools and yahoos, the Petrified Forest features the best examples of petrified wood in the world. You can see petroglyphs on Newspaper Rock and near one of the preserved archaeological sites in the park. But my favorite thing about Petrified Forest is its bizarre Chinle layer, which doesn't quite look like any other sedimentary group I've ever seen. It's made up of shale, silt, mudstone, a little sand, and silica from volcanic ash. It's colors range from blue to red, pink, brown, green, yellow, tan – based on whatever trace elements are present.

We have a meteor crater. We have a volcano that last erupted about 1000 years ago. We have more bird species than any other state in the union. We have thunderstorms that sound like atomic explosions. We have snowstorms AND sandstorms. We have the best Mexican food in the southwest (stop squawking, Texas and New Mexico – you know it's true). Navajos and Hopis own most of the North-East part of our state – a place that looks a lot like Mars. The Spaniards never successfully colonized us, thanks to the Apaches and their original Homeland Security. The coldest winter temperature on record for Phoenix was 16 degrees Fahrenheit – the hottest summer temperature was 123 degrees Fahrenheit.

And we're good-looking, too. Though we can be a scruffy lot. And some of us make faces at people.

If you're thinking of visiting, try all of those places I mentioned. You'll be amazed. But you'll barely scratch the surface of what's here. I've lived here over 50 years, and I'm still exploring. Sometimes I dream of visiting other places. Sometimes I even go. But I'm like the saguaro. This is the only place I can live.

Maybe if I live another 50 years, I'll even grow some more arms . . .