Elephant Butte Lake Photo by Sherry Fletcher

Located on the southwestern shore of Elephant Butte Reservoir, Elephant Butte offers residents and visitors mild sunny winters, hot summers moderated by afternoon thunderstorms or lake breezes, and practically perfect weather in the spring and fall.

Elephant Butte State Park is the state’s largest park, with camping, boating, and fishing on the 43 mile long reservoir. Three marinas, numerous marine service and storage facilities along with restaurants, a golf course and lodging facilities serve the many folks who use the lake.

Special events and holidays rev up the tempo a bit, when up to 100,000 visitors venture in for the fun. Fireworks displays on Easter and Independence Day attract viewers from land and sea. Brightly lit boats provide a Parade of Lights between Christmas and New Year’s. The Balloon Regatta, a combination boat and balloon event, provides ballooning fun without a big city crowd. Numerous fishing tournaments, golf tournaments, sailing regattas, power boat and jet ski races provide competition along with recreation.

Beginning as a small retirement community, Elephant Butte is taking advantage of its lakeside attractions, and growing to meet the demand. Elephant Butte combines with its neighbor, Truth or Consequences, five miles away, to provide small town living with wide open opportunities.

Elephant Butte and nearby Truth of Consequences can be a destinations in themselves for those seeking a hot springs getaway or lake recreation, or they can serve as a base for area explorations. Many historic communities, including Williamsburg, Arrey, Derry, Winton/Chloride, Caballo, Cuchillo, Engle, Monticello/Placita, Las Palomas and Winston, add character to the varied Sierra County landscape. Hillsboro and Kingston are popular destinations about 32 miles west in the Black Range Mountains of the Gila National Forest. Fourteen miles south sits Caballo Lake State Park, and Percha Dam State Park is located on the Rio Grande river 20 miles south of T or C.

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Elephant Butte Lake
at sunset
Photo by Sherry Fletcher.

“Hi, how’s the weather? It’s snowing? Oh, too bad. We just got back from the lake!”

That’s my usual telephone conversation with relatives from the north on winter weekends. In its quieter months, Elephant Butte Reservoir, New Mexico’s largest lake, offers solitude and clarity that summer users will never know. The bright, clear sun, the mirrored lake surface, the warm, still air, describe many days throughout the winter months.

Add an occasional fish-splash and lots of bird sightings. Winter at the lake features great blue herons, sandhill cranes, a returning osprey, seagulls, grebes, cormorants, and pelicans. Golden eagles live in McRae Canyon, feasting on fish when people go home. Lots of ducks and other waterfowl are startled to find anything on the water besides themselves.

And we are on the water. We pack a portable lunch to eat on the boat. Sometimes we have turkey and dressing and cranberries on the sailboat. No wind, so we motor to a secluded cove. Of course, all coves are secluded in December. On a high hill behind the cove, we watch a golden eagle perch on a cactus.

One winter Saturday we sailed a 14-foot day sailer. It didn’t have a cabin, so we made sandwiches and shoved off. We didn’t get far because there was little wind, but we floated, feeling the movement of the boat in the water, hearing the small water slaps echoing against the hull. Reclining in the boat, we were warmed by the sun, feeling protected from all troubles.

A canoe offers more intimate encounters with birds that frequent the lake in winter. Paddles quiet, we watch herons snoozing or fishing, sandhill cranes flying, screeching, overhead, or a stark black and white osprey roosting on a sailboat’s mast.

We’ve sailed on winter nights, telling the children the story of Orion and the bull. Taurus, the bull, was put into the sky to keep Orion the hunter from terrorizing the Seven Sisters. You can see their constellations in winter, first the Sisters (the Pleiades) rise in the eastern sky, then the bull (a large sharp triangle), then Orion, with his sword hanging from his belt. A classic winter story, best told with the visual aids twinkling in the sky.

Sometimes the lake is not so warm. Winds come blustering through the Narrows, whipping the water into whitecaps, swells and crashing waves. With the cold northern winds, our many layers of clothing are still not enough. Hot drinks from a thermos and a safe harbor provide a refuge for observing nature’s intensity.

Stormy or calm, the lake in winter offers beautiful panoramas, with Kettle Top and the eastern mesas in sharp relief. Sometimes it’s so blue and bright it hurts your eyes. With the sky blue and the lake blue, and the far-off mountains blue, the landscape needs a little brown dirt to separate the colors.

Sunsets come early, usually before we’re ready, pinking up the soft grey clouds before fading to dark.

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Elephant Butte Lake Annual Balloon Regatta Photo by Julia Cooper

The blue skies over Elephant Butte Lake will be dotted with CFO’s (colorful flying objects) during the weekend of April 21-22, 2001. Hot air balloons and kites will soar into the sky early Saturday morning, weather permitting, and will repeat their colorful performance early Sunday morning.

The Elephant Butte Balloon Regatta is a unique event in that each hot air balloon is teamed with a boat and its crew.  Balloons are launched along the beaches and, if the winds are right, they maneuver over the water, drop down over their assigned boat, retrieve a baton from a boat crew member, rise back into the air and head for a target. The balloonist dropping a baton closest to the target wins the competition.

On Saturday, after the balloons have landed, all eyes will be on the sky once again as the kite flying event gets underway at 10 a.m. and continues until 5 p.m.  The Kite Festival will be held at the Elephant Butte State Park Reservation Area. Entry to the park and the event is free and open to anyone who can fly a kite, from children to senior citizens.   A registration booth will be set up in the reservation area for all entrants.  Award certificates will be given for participation:   smallest kite, largest kite, best homemade kite, most beautiful kite, best of show, youngest overall flier, oldest overall flier, and field courtesy.  Entry levels will include pre-teen, teen, adult, and senior (55 and over).  Two Candy Drops are planned, one for children ages two through six, and another for children ages seven through ten.  The Festival will also include exhibitions, kite building workshops, and a kite hospital for those whose kites needing minor repairs.  See our website at www.patpendergrass.com/kite.html.  This is a “family affair,” so grab a blanket, pack a snack, and come out and fly your kites!

Vendors selling quality items will be setting up under a tent in a locale near Quality Inn.  T-shirts and pins made especially for the 21st Annual Balloon Regatta will be for sale throughout Saturday.

An outdoor barbeque on the grounds of Quality Inn begins at 6 p.m. Open to the public, the menu will include barbequed brisket, beans, cole slaw and an assortment of beverages.  Tickets are for sale at the chamber office. Balloonists and their crews will be at the barbeque, so you might get a chance to talk with the pilot who flies your favorite balloon!

This will be a fun, family-oriented day, so pack the kids and the car and head for Elephant Butte for a “butteyful” day or weekend.

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A windsurfer at Caballo Lake, a favorite haunt for “wave riders” Photo by Ed Conley.

Is windsurfing a popular sport in this desert land of ours? Travel only as far as Caballo Lake on any breezy day and you can witness a dozen or more windsurfers (also known as boardsailors), sporting wide smiles on their wind-blown faces, as they glide seemingly effortlessly over the white capped waters.

Most of these sailors are members of the Southern New Mexico Windsurfing Club, a prestigious group of aging baby boomers who escape the pressures of work by heading to the lake for an afternoon of adrenaline mirth. You might even catch me there. Windsurfing, for those not in the know, is the solo sport of sailing while standing on a kind of surfboard while manipulating a sail attached to a pivoting mast. Windsurfing has been around since the 60s, the brainchild of two Southern Californians – one a sailor, the other a surfer. The duo patented the new hybrid sport, dubbing it windsurfing, and the board, a Windsurfer, which was the only equipment massed produced in the early 1970s. But by the late 70s, windsurfing was hot in Europe . . . one in every three households had a “sailboard” stashed in their garage. So turned on by the sport were Europeans, they began producing their own versions of the craft, which Americans then, as they do today, consider unmatched. The number of windsurfers grew enormously in the 80s, both in Europe and the United States. Today, windsurfing is well ensconced. Pros participate in the World Cup and in the Olympics.

I learned to windsurf from my later-to-be husband Ed, 16 years ago in my native Michigan. My first day on the water I felt like a four year old learning to ride a bike. My knees trembled uncontrollably, my teeth chattered, and my heart thumped in my ears. Worse, the threat of drowning loomed. I never much liked watersports. I wasn’t into getting wet, unless it was a bubble bath or a hot shower. But to impress my boyfriend, I said, “Yes” when he offered to teach me how to “ride the waters.”

Three hours of lessons that first day left me numb and exhausted. I spent a lot of time in the water – not on the board. Most of my fears were, however, misconceptions. First, I assumed that windsurfing would be hard to learn, but it’s not – certainly no more difficult than learning to ride a bike. After my second lesson, I was cruising. In two weeks I was freestyling – making turns and doing sail spins, albeit awkwardly. Today, I’m satisfied with cruisin’. I gladly leave slalom sailing (high-wind), bump-and-jump-sailing (high winds, choppy waters) and wavesailing (high winds and open swells) to the pros.

Second, I was convinced that you had to be strong, almost Herculean to master the sport. But that too is a fallacy. Rather, windsurfing requires finesse, not muscles. (And women possess more finesse than men do, as everyone knows.)

Third, although windsurfing may appear perilous, it’s not. It happens to be one of the safest activities around. In fact, windsurfing doesn’t even rank on the National Sporting Goods Association list of dangerous sports. Don a lifejacket and you’re ready to rip.

Fourth, you don’t need a graduate degree to learn how to “rig” (putting the sail, mast, boom and board together). A little practice is all it takes. Nevertheless, rigging is my least favorite part of windsurfing. Fortunately, Ed does it with finesse, which is one of the reasons I married him.

Yep, there’s no other sport quite like windsurfing. It’s fun; it’s exhilarating. It combines the titillation of surfing with the serenity of sailing. You can sail alone or amongst throngs of comrades. More important, you need not be daring, muscular or 20 to “do it.” Just ask me.

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Victorio Hotel in Kingston, built in 1883.

Christmas was coming to Kingston. The Christmas spirit was in the air. Every burro that came into town over mountain trails packed a Christmas tree, a big bunch of mistletoe, or a branch of red berries. A little of the evergreen went to decorate Mrs. O’Boyle’s cabin where the Catholics of Kingston would gather on Christmas afternoon to celebrate the birth of Christ; some of the holiday green went to brighten up the eleven saloons of the town; but most of it went to adorn Pretty Sam’s new dance hall, the Casino.

An immense crowd was expected in Kingston on Christmas Eve, for in 1882 the town was the metropolis of the Southwest. Nobody knew what the population was – there was no Caesar Augustus to order an enrollment – but it was set at twenty-five hundred. And the great crowd had been invited by Pretty Sam to celebrate the opening of the Casino.

Sam’s new dance hall had been under construction for several months and was the finest and biggest in all the southwestern frontier. It was at least one hundred fifty feet long and fifty feet wide, and had a hardwood floor, waxed and polished, until dancing upon it became a feat, especially for a person with new shoes.

Pretty Sam was not the man to do things by halves. To the opening of the new dance hall he invited everybody in the whole countryside, and sent special invitations to all the big guns. Everything was to be free, including the big spread at midnight. The elite of Silver City, Lake Valley, Hermosa, and Hillsboro were to be there.

Now level land was at a premium in Kingston, and in order to get a central site for his grand building Pretty Sam had to be content with a location that meant extra work. The front door was on a level with the street, but the back end of the building was supported on a trestle which raised it about thirty feet above the creek. Pretty Sam concluded to run a bridge from his back door to the other side of the canyon, but this had not been finished in time for the opening.

The double door at the back had, therefore, been bolted, and the space just in front of it partitioned off to serve as a cloak room on the opening night. In order to be on the safe side, the windows on the end of the building that overlooked the creek had been nailed shut. Some of the guests might sit on the window sill and be careless enough to fall out; or, when the party got into full swing some guests might mistake the window for a door and step out. It was better to play safe.

The big night arrived. It was cool and crisp with a bright moon lighting up the landscape like day. The hall was gay with flags and bunting, and the air was filled with the scent of evergreen. The best orchestra of El Paso had been engaged to furnish the music.

The crowd was a strange one. All were wearing their glad rags. Those who had dress suits had been asked to wear them, and not a few appeared with swallow tails, white shirt fronts, and stove-pipe hats. Officers’ uniforms were also to be seen and a few brand-new pairs of overalls and brogans.

Colonel Parker led the grand march. He was a West Point officer who had joined the Confederates on the outbreak of the Civil War. He was now about sixty years of age, but he managed to get his two hundred seventy-five pounds into his old West Point uniform. His partner in the grand march was Big Annie, a lady from Missouri. She was corn-fed and the least that can be said about her size is that she was a grand partner for the Colonel. She was dressed to kill.

Four other colonels were there:  Colonel Harris, who had gained his title by sitting forty-eight hours in a stud poker game without getting up from his chair; Colonel Crawford, who wore the latest styles and gained the title because he was a regular windjammer and had sold more wildcats than anyone that ever crossed the Rockies; Colonel Jim Finch, who gained the title because he was able to tell by the sound whether it was a 45 or a 45-70 Winchester that was fired; Colonel Bob Hopper, who could tell by the taste whether he drank Old Crow or Sam Thompson. Of course, judges and major were more or less plentiful. At that time a man without a title was a small potato.

As a special attraction, Sergeant “Dog-Face” Connelly, who ran the Orpheum, was to bring all his girls to the dance after the show. All the society women of surrounding towns were present, of course, wearing their best bibs and tuckers, and all the ladies from Shady Lane, including Lousy Lou, Old Hat, Deaf Carrie, Jew Etta, Big Jennie, and Scotty, the latter being an expert at the “Highland Fling.” Bloody Mary was there. She was Cornish and had won her name because she used the word bloody to describe everything from a hairpin to her latest flame. Kate Stewart, the town beauty, came in late, looking like a fashion plate.

There was a sprinkling of many nationalities in the crowd:  Greek George, French Joe, Dutch Henry, Hunky Pete, and the Big Turk; also Americans, Irish, Scotch, Blue Noses, Shad Backs, and Cousin Jacks.

Ed Doheny and Neil Boyle were two of the dudes who appeared in dress suits rented from El Paso. Dress suits and castor hats were aired at this dance that were old in Hickory Jackson’s time. French Joe wore a white fur hat that he had brought with him from Canada.

It is safe to say that no one present was inclined to put any slight on Pretty Sam’s hospitality. There was plenty of liquor for all and sundry – champagne, whiskey, wine, gin, and mescal. The company was in high feather. The girls were looking their best, the music was enough to make a dead man dance, and the old sourdoughs and desert rats were making up for a year of hard and lonely work. It seemed at times as if the floor must surely fall in under the lively dancing.

There had come to town the day before the dance a gay young dame from Denver. John Roach, the gambler, met her at the stage and took her to the hotel. Johnny had been having a run of hard luck, and for several days had been trying to drown his troubles in tarantula juice. Though generally a dandy, he had not shaved for days. Being in no shape to attend the dance, he told his lady friend to stay away from the low-brow affair. Then he went to his cabin and to bed.

The Denver dame heard nothing except the big dance, and the more she heard the more she wanted to attend it. The landlady at the hotel promised to get her an escort. The young man she picked out was Lewis, a Tar Heel from North Carolina, the nephew of Colonel Bob Hopper. Lewis was a smart Aleck and seemed to think that prospectors, miners, gamblers, and all other Westerners were a breed beneath his notice. Lewis and the Denver girl were both good dancers and cut a big swath when they got out on the floor.

By midnight the celebration was going at top-speed. Cornish Mary was calling for a “bloody lunch.” John Brock man was shouting for Limburger cheese and beer. The Duck, an ex-Episcopal minister, and Sig Lindauer, a merchant, were arguing the difference between a clog and a jig. Judge Bell and other Virginians were singing the strains of “Old Black Joe” to the picking of the banjo. The Georgetown clique – Smith, Hilde, Sternes, and Deemer – had formed a committee to wait upon the orchestra with a request for the “Spanish Cavalier.”

With some trouble the different groups were cleared from the floor in order that Lewis and the Denver dame could do one of the latest dances, the two-step valse.

It was while this was going on that Johnny Roach appeared on the scene. Having slept several hours, he had brightened up, and with a drink or two under his belt he had set out to take his lady to the dance. Finding that she had gone without him, he flew into a rage. Arming himself with a Springfield rifle, he headed for the dance hall.

He made himself known by crashing his rifle through the glass in the front door. Then he began to shoot. Luckily he did not see Lewis and his lady, and the shots were directed at the lights. In a twinkling the main light was shot out. Virtually every guest had a gun under his swallow-tail coat, and quite a volley was fired in the general direction of the front door.

The main body of the guests made a wild rush for the double door in the rear of the hall. Over went the partition and crash went the bolted door. Leading the rush was Big Annie, and her weight decided the fate of the door, for she was the first to land on the dry creek bed thirty feet below, with French Joe a close second. The few others who went over landed in a general heap. Big Annie’s screams for help put the gunman at the front door out of mind, and a great scramble took place to get down to her on the creek bottom.

Dan O’Leary ran like mad for Dr. Guthrie, the only medical man in town. The doctor had taken a Christmas toddy and gone to bed. O’Leary, terribly excited, could hardly talk straight, mumbling that the doctor must come at once. Now, Dr. Guthrie had at one time been scalped by the Cheyenne Indians; in his hurry he did not stop to put on his wig, nor even to throw a coat over his nightshirt.

The excitement of the shooting and Annie’s accident had had a very sobering effect upon the crowd, and they had reached the stage where a reaction was sure to come. Teeth were chattering and nerves were jangling, when the wild-eyed O’Leary arrived with a creature in a loose white garment, whose face went clear to the back of his neck, and whom they did not remember seeing before. It was the last straw. People fell over one another in trying to get away.

Some, moved by a wholesome fear, scattered to their homes and were among the first to gather for the Christmas services when the bell gave the summons the next afternoon; but most of the crowd came together in the new dance hall. Colonel Parker took this chance to make a speech.

“My friends,” he began, “I have been asked to make a few announcements to the crowd gathered here tonight, and this I want to do before you again take the floor to dance.

“Tomorrow the post office will be open till one o’clock, so you will have time to sleep off this dance and get your mail, besides. There may be a letter you will not want to miss from mother, perhaps, or wife, or sister, or friend, or sweetheart.

“The Catholics of the town are invited to Mrs. O’Boyle’s cabin to celebrate this great feast with hymns and prayers. The Protestants of the settlement are invited to gather here in Pretty Sam’s Casino. The Episcopal minister, whom you all know better as The Duck, will lead the hymns and prayers for you. The collection taken up at both meetings will go towards building a fence around the graveyard.

“No saloons will be open tomorrow afternoon or evening. Keep sober. Make it a day of memories – memories of Santa Claus and Christmas trees and Christmas toys; memories of mother and the lessons she taught us; memories of those whom we have loved and lost.

“Your mothers will be thinking of you – of the hard life you lead; of the changes you will find at home when you go back; of the children who have grown up since you left. She will be wondering what this life is like that you lead among new friends, new ways, and new strikes. Write her a letter tomorrow, my friends, and send her a few dollars if you can afford it.

“Enjoy the good dinner you may get here or at Mrs. Boyle’s or in your own cabins, if you would rather do that. I ask God to take care of you and to guide you in this hard life. May He take you to His Heavenly Kingdom at your death. Let us forgive and forget in this season of peace and good will to men.

“And now Sam, I want to thank you in behalf of your guests. You did not save your best drinks till last, but I congratulate you upon your great act of hospitality. You led your guests into a state of inebriation bordering upon comas, and then furnished an incident which in a few minutes made them so sober they can start all over again with a mighty thirst. A merry Christmas I wish you, Sam, and all the company.”

And so it happened that Pretty Sam’s dance went into history as the biggest bang-up in the annals of Kingston. Johnny Roach was arrested shortly after leaving the dance hall and put in the jug. No complaint was made against him, and as he promised to pay Big Annie’s doctor bill and to stand the damages in Pretty Sam’s Casino, he was out in time to eat his Christmas dinner with the dame from Denver.

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Built in the 1880’s, the Barber Shop Café offered customers a bath, shave and haircut until about fifty years ago. The building is preserved much as it was—the original mirror still spans the width of the café with a sign stating “Baths 25 cents.” Nowadays, instead of shaves, baths and haircuts, the Barber Shop Café now serves customers the best food for miles around.

Barber Shop Café

Carrie Felice Carrillo attended Culinary Arts School and ran a catering business in Los Angeles, California. Her mother, Angela Detloff, grew up in Hillsboro and was working in Los Angeles as a pattern maker for a major fashion designer. Angela returned to Hillsboro in 1999 looking for a place to retire. She purchased the barber shop and after several trips back and forth between California and Hillsboro to ready the barber shop for use as a café, they came back to stay on April 17, 2000.

The Barber Shop Café has been a success and both Felice and Angela prefer the small-town atmosphere and friendly people of Hillsboro to the fast pace of city life, but their life in Hillsboro can hardly be called “retirement.” On any given day you’ll find Felice seating and waiting on customers while Angela is hard at work in the kitchen.

The current fare includes a variety of sandwiches, salads, burgers with iced tea, fresh-squeezed lemonade, hot tea, soda, milk shakes, and chai to drink. Felice is constantly adding variety to the menu.

Carrie Felice Carrillo and her mother, Angela Detloff. Photo by David Burch.

The café is popular not only with local townspeople but for miles around. The Barber Shop Café has not had to resort to advertising: word of mouth has made regulars of people as far away as Las Cruces and El Paso. The day I ate there, customers slowly began to show up when the café opened at 11:30 and its seven tables were full, with more townspeople gathering outside, by 12:25.

Felice also owns Felice Carillo’s Weaving Shop in town, which sells blankets and other woven goods, leather goods and pottery. Felice plans to expand the shop to add a courtyard dining experience for shoppers.

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Truth or Consequences Photo courtesy TorC/Sierra County Chamber of Commerce

The “Jewel of the Rio Grande,” or Truth or Consequences, is bordered by the San Andres and Black Range Mountains on I-25 between Las Cruces and Albuquerque. It claims its fair share of snowbirds who flock there to enjoy mild winters, lakes and mountains, hot mineral springs, golfing, the El Camino Real Historic Trail, Geronimo Springs Museum and the Auto Museum.

T or C was chartered in 1916 as Hot Springs. In 1950, it became Truth or Consequences in response to Ralph Edwards’ request that a town in America take on the television game show’s namesake. Edwards still makes an appearance every May to celebrate the change.

At 4,260 feet above sea level, with a population of 7,500, T or C is the seat of Sierra County. It serves an agricultural and ranching community whose population is spread over 2,771,200 acres of land on 420 farms and ranches.

T or C and its nearyby neighbor, Elephant Butte, can be a destinations in themselves for those seeking a hot springs getaway or lake recreation, or they can serve as a base for area explorations. Many historic communities, including Williamsburg, Arrey, Derry, Winton/Chloride, Caballo, Cuchillo, Engle, Monticello/Placita, Las Palomas and Winston, add character to the varied Sierra County landscape. Hillsboro and Kingston are popular destinations about 32 miles west in the Black Range Mountains of the Gila National Forest. Fourteen miles south sits Caballo Lake State Park, and Percha Dam State Park is located on the Rio Grande river 20 miles south of T or C.

Other nearby area attractions include Cuchillo Museum and Saloon, Emory Pass Vista, Lake Valley Scenic By-Way, Engle Vineyards and the Mimbres Valley.

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Hillsboro Apple Festival. Photo by Carla DeMarco.

Caballo is a town of people who want to live by Caballo Lake and Caballo Lake State Park, too few to warrant a population figure on New Mexico maps. Easily reached on N.M. 90, it sits approximately three miles east of Interstate 25, 15 miles south of Truth or Consequences. Named for the mountains and the likeness of a horse’s head on the north end, it is home to year-round residents, snow birds, and the merchants who serve them..

The very curvy sixteen mile stretch of N.M. 90/152 from Caballo to Hillsboro rises from the Rio Grande Valley to over 5,180 feet in the Black Range mountains. The Box Canyon on this road was used by Apaches to hide and wait for freighters and stage coaches. Flash floods were so dangerous that businessmen in Hillsboro and Kingston strung telegraph wires between the two towns to warn travelers on the highway.

Though listed as a ghost town, Hillsboro has a few hundred residents; many are retirees, artists and writers. Some of the old stores house antiques and crafts for sale to tourists in the summer and during the Apple Festival on Labor Day weekend. Described as “a gentle and pretty town,” Hillsboro is a peaceful setting with flower filled yards and old cottonwoods lining the main street.

Hillsboro’s history began in 1877 when two prospectors discovered gold. It became the seat of Sierra County where miners registered their claims. It was also a frontier town and as such attracted such people as Sadie Orchard who came from London in 1886 via Kingston. Madame Sadie owned the Ocean Grove Hotel and provided miners with wine and women, running brothels in both Hillsboro, on Shady Lane, and in Kingston on Virtue Avenue. Later, with her husband, she ran more respectable establishments. Sadie lived in the community until her death in 1943.

The Hotel is now occupied by the Black Range Museum displaying memorabilia of the era including items belonging to Sadie Orchard, mining equipment and things used in Tom Ying’s Cafe, known as the Chinaman’s Place.Ying died in 1953 at age 104 ( some say 116).

As the riches of the town dwindled, ranching and, later, apple orchards became important industries. The county seat was moved to Truth or Consequences (then known as Hot Springs) in 1938, and many of Hillsboro buildings fell into disrepair. There is a remarkable General Store, though, that opened in 1879 and has continued operation since that date, today serving food and home made pastries. A few galleries and gift shops, a B & B, post office, and library also remain in service.

Nine miles farther west a slight turnoff from this highway brings you to the former hard-working, hard-drinking and hard-playing ghost town of Kingston. Today 30-some people, many of them artists, live in the few houses remaining. Operating in the town is the Black Range Lodge, completed in 1940 from the tumble down ruins of Pretty Sam’s Casino and the Monarch Saloon. In addition there are also the Soar Gallery, the Percha Bank Museum, Percha Creek Bed and Breakfast, the Ol’ Millsite Things and Stuff Store, and Camp Shiloh.

At one time this boom town housed the old Kingston Brewery, the Percha Bank which still stands, twenty-two saloons, dance halls and a theater where Lillian Russell’s troupe performed.

By 1885 Kingston had grown to a population of seven thousand. Its silver mines and other ores had produced revenue of ten million dollars. The three-story Victorio Hotel, named after the well-known Apache Chiefton and once a landmark, lost the top story by fire in the 1930s. It is now a private residence.

Lake Valley is another New Mexico ghost town with a history of riches and demise. Once occupied by 4000 people over 100 years ago, it is now managed by the Bureau of Land Management. The adobe schoolhouse and chapel are being restored.

Located 18 miles south of Hillsboro, Lake Valley is reached by Back Country Byway, the paved two-lane state highway 27, about 48 miles in length. There are several drainage areas with low water crossings that can fill with water after heavy rains. If you encounter running water it is wise to wait it out rather than risk crossing. It is here, though, that you may see deer browsing along the highway.

The history of Lake Valley begins with the discovery of ore in 1878 by George W. Lufkin, who named the town Daly after George Daly, killed by the Apaches. Later it was renamed Lake Valley after a small lake in the region.

The ore produced was of a fabulous richness. One nugget, valued at $7000, was displayed in Denver in 1882. Two days after a couple of miners sold their claim for $100,000, the new owners found a subterranean room and christened it “The Bridal Chamber.”

It was one of the richest single silver strikes in American history, producing some $2 1/2 million worth of pure horn silver, so pure there was no need to smelt it.

The demise of Lake Valley began when silver was devalued in 1893. A fire in 1895 destroyed Lake Valley’s main street. The saloons, hotels, general stores and newspapers gradually disappeared until today the schoolhouse presides over scattered mining ruins. Once used for Saturday night dances, the schoolhouse is available now to groups for dances, weddings, parties and reunions for a small fee.

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Postmarks from three cities

Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, universally called T or C, is the third name for that city. When it was first settled it was called Palomas Springs, so named because of the large number of doves (palomas) residing in the cottonwood trees along the Rio Grande.

In the early 1800s the area west of the river was considered a neutral place where all Indian tribes could bring their sick or wounded to soak in the healing springs. At that time, the springs were actually mud bogs. The original springs are located next to the Geronimo Springs Museum, named for the famed Apache leader who visited. Bath houses are located in several places within the community for those who want to test the healing waters now.

The post office was opened in 1911 as Palomas Springs but was changed to Hot Springs in 1914. That name was kept until Ralph Edwards, the master of ceremonies of the radio show “Truth or Consequences,” offered to host an annual celebration and nationwide broadcast to any city willing to change its name to Truth or Consequences. The Hot Springs Chamber of Commerce spread the news of the offer to advertise the city free of charge. No longer would it be confused with Hot Springs, Arkansas, or all the others throughout the United States.

A special city election was held, and the vote was to change the name to Truth or Consequences. However, a protest was filed by 295 area residents, so there was another election. This time the “yes” vote won by an even greater margin. The town became Truth or Consequences on March 31, 1950, although the post office was not changed until a year later.

Ralph Edwards kept his promise and aired the first live, coast-to-coast broadcast of “Truth or Consequences” from the city of Truth or Consequences.

But 1950 was not the end of elections regarding the name change. In January, 1964, the question went before the people again. The “yes “vote majority once more retained the unusual name.

Yet again on August 18, 1967, another majority voted to keep the name Truth or Consequences. Now there is a Ralph Edwards Park and a Ralph Edwards room in the Geronimo Museum.

Each year the city honors Ralph Edwards, and he honors them with a return visit to the city that accepted his challenge.

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Jenny Audrey of Hillsboro. Photo by Jay Jackson

A musician from the bar who got into his car and tried to outrun the water was also killed – found weeks later buried in sand a few miles downstream in the Percha Box, Sue said. Killed also were an artist and her husband who had been camped on Main Street.

Building in Hillsboro. Photo by Jay Jackson

After the waters passed, many buildings throughout town, especially along Main Street, stood in mud with collapsed walls and sagging roofs. Some people, still living there today, saw a lifetime of possessions wash down Percha Creek. Hillsboro’s bridges and roads were gone and its electricity was out. For days, the town was closed and under police guard against looters.

“I’d say it was a time of miracles for us,” said Bonnie Guess.

Her first Apple Festival was the year of the flood.

“My Aunt Lydia (Key) who owned the Black Range Museum had been telling us we should really come to the Apple Festival,” she said. “We were living in Albuquerque then. We came in 1972 with antiques to sell and were staying with her in her house just east of the bridge – the rock house with the big rock wall. Ten or 12 of us were in the house. There was the most horrible lightening and thunder I’d ever seen and never hope to see again in my life. We didn’t go to the dance because of the weather. None of us could sleep because of the terrible lightening and thunder . . . the wall of water sounded like ten locomotives in a train switching station.”

The 12-foot wall of water, she said, split immediately in front of her aunt’s house, filling in the 10-foot deep ditch south of them and flooding houses to the north. Her aunt and uncle lost only a woodworking shop, while their neighbor to the north was “standing with wet feet on top of her bed which was completely covered with water.”

The two-story rock house south across the creek was almost completely washed away, trapping a woman and her 10-year-old child under a piano.

Bonnie and her family assisted in the rescue of both their neighbors and, with their house intact, were able to provide a base for rescue workers.

“The wall of water was held back by angels,” Bonnie said. “We lost the shop, but it never came into the house. In the morning, when we could see, it was awesome. Everything was gone. The east bridge stood but both ends were washed out and no one could cross. In the morning there was a report of another wall of water coming, but it was not so large . . . Yes, I’d say it was a time of miracles for us.”

Undeterred, and with a new dike, Sue, Bonnie and the people of Hillsboro have continued the Apple Festival which today, 25 years later, still draws thousands of people from throughout the region for a weekend out at the end of summer.

For most in this area, late summer rains bring welcome relief to hot August days. But for Sue, Bonnie and perhaps a few others, that refreshing splatter of rain also carries the distant roar of 1972 and the year the festival ended early.

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