Visitors flock to Carlsbad, New Mexico, for its caverns and bats. Less well known, but equally extraordinary, are two aboveground attractions: the Living Desert Zoo and Gardens and its annual Mescal Roast, conducted by the Mescalero Apache people.

We drove south from Santa Fe in the predawn hours on a Thursday in early May. Blessed by heavy spring rains, the land was spectacularly colorful. Near Vaughn, a freight train was silhouetted against the rising sun. Nearby, antelope grazed on expanses purple with prairie verbena. Grasslands gave way to a harsher landscape, where white blossoms spiked upward from soaptree yucca (New Mexico’s state flower). It is easy to understand why the Spanish called this land the llano estacado, or “staked plains.”

    A little before 10 a.m., we swung into the gates of the Living Desert State Park. On either side, ocotillo snaked skyward, tipped with scarlet blossoms. The prickly pears were extravagantly decked out in pink buds and brilliant yellow flowers. We drove up a steep drive to the museum’s spectacular location on a ridge of the Ocotillo Hills, overlooking Carlsbad.

The Mescal Pit

    Friendly museum staff welcomed us to attend the ceremony with no charge. They directed us to the mescal pit outside. A large dirt mound, about 10-15 feet across, rose about five feet above the rocky desert. Dug into the flat-topped mound was a deep pit lined with rocks. A wood fire had burned for hours into white-hot coals. Next to the fire were neatly stacked about twenty heads of agave. About fifty observers and thirty Mescalero Apache, mostly teenagers, sat on small bleachers.

    As we waited for all participants to arrive, a retired park ranger named Mark Rosacker explained that the mescal roast is part of the girls’ coming-of-age ceremony. The rest of the ceremony will take place on tribal lands near Ruidoso in July. Mescal is one of five traditional foods that the girls prepare, along with piñon nuts, desert sumac berries, banana yucca, and honey mesquite pods.

Four girls were celebrating the rite of passage. Rosacker and one girl demonstrated how, the previous day, they had dug the mescal. It is a type of agave, or century plant, called agave neomexicana. They choose a plant that is 16 to 18 years old, just before it sends up the tall, flowering shoot by which the plant reproduces, and then dies. A stout oak stave, sharpened to a point at one end, was placed at an angle just under the plant. Traditionally, the Mescalero hit this with a rock; today, the girls use a sledgehammer. A few hard whacks pop the mescal out of the ground. The girls then chop off the leaves with a hatchet. The resulting head is 1-2 feet across and resembles a giant artichoke with its leaves lopped off.

By now, everyone had arrived. Rosacker requested that we put away cameras as prayers were offered in the four directions in Mescalero. Then each girl picked up a special mescal head marked with a red ribbon. They swung the heavy mescal four times over the pit to honor the four directions and threw it in. The leaders then invited the other Mescalero (teenage girls and boys and a few older men) to heave in the other mescal, and we were allowed to take photos.

Next they opened large bags of side oats grama, a native dryland grass collected for the ceremony. They dunked armfuls of the long, stringy grass in barrels of water, carried them up the hill, and laid them over the agave in the pit. They covered the grass with soggy burlap and then shoveled in three feet of dirt. They packed the dirt, mounded it up, and left it to roast until Sunday.

Living Desert’s Zoo and Gardens

We purchased tickets for the feast and dances on Friday and Saturday nights since they sometimes sell out. Then we were free to explore the park (after paying admission). Indoors, the museum offers displays on geology, culture, flora, and fauna, including a long table of antlers and artifacts to touch and feel (which children would love, and so did we). Outdoors, a path leads to a lily pond and a greenhouse displaying Succulents of the World, which include cacti. The trail then winds through several ecosystems native to the Chihuahuan Desert, which extends from Texas to Arizona and south into Mexico.

The ecosystems, from sand hills to piñon-juniper forest, feature not only native plants but also birds, animals, and reptiles. These are rehabilitated animals injured by cars, bullets, traps, and other human hazards. They remain in the zoo only if injuries prohibit their release back into the wild. We had close-up views of hawks, golden and bald eagles, owls, mountain lion, wildcat, javelina, black bear, antelope, Mexican gray wolves, and other animals.

Camping in Carlsbad

We checked into a friendly, well-appointed KOA campground, complete with cabins, pool, hot tub, delicious barbecue, and weekend pancakes. A roadrunner greeted us on the drive. Bird watching and a lovely desert sunset ended our day.

Friday we found our way to the Blue House Bakery and Café in Carlsbad. Located in a charming little house on Canyon Street, it features scrumptious homemade pastries, espresso, and lunch specialties served on the front porch or out under the trees. Our only disappointment was that it closed Saturday at noon for the weekend.

The Mescalero Apache

We returned to Living Desert at 2 for an information session with Rosacker and Apache representatives. The eldest, Silas Cochise (a direct descendant of the warrior Cochise) was Chiricahua (chee·ree·CA·wa) Apache; the others were Mescalero Apache. In addition to these two closely related groups, the Southwestern Apache also include Lipan, Jicarilla, and various Western Apache groups. Although related, the groups differ. Their Athapaskan languages are also related to those of the Navajo and of some tribes in Canada.

The Apache once ranged from Texas to Arizona and Colorado to Mexico. They fought hard to keep their rugged lands. In 1864 the Mescalero were imprisoned with the Navajo at Bosque Redondo. Many succumbed to starvation and illness; the survivors walked home, without permission, in 1865.

The Chiricahua also spent a long time “walking uphill,” as Cochise put it. They were imprisoned for 28 years in Florida, Alabama, and Oklahoma. When finally released, the few hundred survivors were not even allowed a reservation. The Mescalero agreed to take in their Chiricahua, Lipan, and Warm Springs Apache cousins on their small reservation near Ruidoso.

Rosacker explained that, twenty years ago, Living Desert State Park had realized it lacked information on the area’s original people and their culture. Rosacker approached the Mescalero. Three women, the tribe’s traditional counselors, agreed to bring the mescal roast ceremony back to the park, part of their homeland. In fact, mescal does not grow well on their present-day reservation, high in the Sacramento Mountains near Ruidoso.

The grandson of one of these women, Abraham Chee, explained to us that some tribal members did not want to perform the ceremony for outsiders. But others, such as his late father and grandmother, believed it was important to educate us. Many of us, to this day, know little of the Apache except that they were warriors. They were great warriors—defeated only by the repeating rifle—but, as we would learn, they are a much more complicated people.

In fact, the girls’ coming-of-age ritual is the Mescalero’s most important ceremony. The ceremony recognizes that men may gain glory through brave deeds, but it is the women who were the heart of the Apache and who gave them strength as a people. Women raised the children, moved the home, fed and clothed the family, and created handicrafts. Like the Pueblo tribes, the Mescalero were matrilineal. There are reports of Apache women who served as warriors and shamans. Chee confided that his wife had left her hospital bed, where she was recovering from an operation, to come to the mescal roast.

The panel clarified that the mescal roast had nothing to do with mezcal, the Mexican liquor distilled from agave. Although Native Americans had created alcoholic beverages from corn, distillation arrived only with the Europeans. They explained that the mescal ceremony was a blessing for their people and for us.

Related posts:

1. A Southern New Mexico Gem: Living Desert Zoo and Gardens State Park If you are planning a trip to Carlsbad, New Mexico,...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Santa Fe — Most of them are individually owned or family run out of love for a small-town tradition that has all but died in most New Mexico communities. Some are empty, but all remain crowning architectural landmarks of their downtowns and reminders of time when very little money bought a night of entertainment and camaraderie in small-town America.Six movie theaters built between 1916 and 1948 are the most recent historic properties in New Mexico to be listed in the National Register of Historic Places, the state Historic Preservation Division, Department of Cultural Affairs announced today. They represent architectural styles as disparate as El Raton theater’s Gothic-Revival style complete with atmospheric ceiling, to the stripped-down modernism of Lovington’s Lea Theater and its stand alone tile-and-glass ticket booth that still sparkles from a deeply recessed entrance.

“These listings recognize ongoing efforts to preserve the architectural character of the theaters and the roles they have played as community centers and sources of community pride,” said State Historic Preservation Officer Katherine Slick.

The Keeper of the National Register at the National Park Service listed the theaters this year following the decision in 2006 by the state Cultural Properties Review Committee to list the buildings in Clayton, Clovis, Raton, Tucumcari and Lovington to the State Register of Cultural Properties.

Clayton

In winter months, Roy Leighton fires up the old boiler hours before opening the Luna Theater in Clayton so its clanging doesn’t drown out the movie’s sound for his audience.

He owns the Luna with his wife Nancy, and holds the titles projectionist, ticket man and janitor. He has been known to open the theater on demand, but shows regular features on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. Passersby still stop to photograph the Luna’s distinctive lunar-themed neon sign.

“We could show a movie cost-efficiently for 10 people,” he said of his 375-seat theater. That’s half a row of seats.”

His barrel-roofed, two-story theater with its Mission Revival façade and parapet is considered the best example of a former nickelodeon in the state. It boasted a wood-floor ballroom in the basement until a 1990 flood caused by nearby roadwork severely damaged it.

Originally opened as the Mission Theater in 1916 by the Morris Herztein family after their mercantile store on the same spot burned to the ground, the Luna became a town gathering place and even showed features for free to farm kids. It was purchased in 1935 by Gibralter Enterprises, a group of theater owners in the Rocky Mountain states.

The company updated the theater with new seats and Art Deco fixtures. Opening-night crowds were so large many had to be turned away from Clayton’s premiere of Shirley Temple’s “The Little Colonel.” The Gibralter group sponsored a contest during the opening where local girls received a month of free passes for winning a writing contest.

Consulting architectural historian David Kammer, who wrote the six nominations, said the Luna provides an “excellent example” of how theater operators responded to changing tastes and expectations in theater appearances and amenities.

Raton

El Raton has been closed a year-and-a-half, but owner Fran Eigenberg said she is hoping publicity surrounding the listing of the 1930 Late Gothic Revival-style theater will renew interest in her economically-challenged town.

“We are so pleased, I am so happy, and I think Raton will be as pleased as I am,” she said.

El Raton resembles the Moorish-influenced theaters found in much larger cities with its castle towers, crenellated parapet and stage flanked by interior castellated towers and a series of arched, blind arcades across the top of the proscenium.

Eigenberg upgraded the theater with Dolby digital sound, new bathrooms and other amenities for what is the only motion picture theater in town. Never succumbing to corporate ownership, El Raton has always been owned by the Thomas Murphy family, with daughter Fran now at the helm.

“We could open it tonight,” she said almost wistfully.

Clovis

At one time a vaudeville house, the Lyceum in Clovis was built in 1919 and 1920, and like the Luna and El Raton has space for commercial businesses on either side of its theater entrance. Its stage now extends forward from the proscenium, covering the former orchestra pit. A fly-tower holds the theater’s original stage curtain.

During its peak years of 1920-1940, the Lyceum provided the best show in town. Tom Mix, Will Rogers, Gene Autry, and John Philip Sousa and his band performed on its stage. Its owners, Eugene Hardwick and his sons Russell and Charles chose the Kansas City architectural firm of Boller Brothers, well-known theater designers in the Midwest. They appear to have taken their inspiration for the Lyceum from the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroads depots and Fred Harvey’s “Harvey House” hotels in their design. It featured an air-cooling system, 600 seats and its interior design largely is intact.

The Hardwicks contracted with Paramount Pictures to show films and maintained a tradition from an earlier Lyceum of using the theater for community events. The local MainStreet program and the city took ownership in 1982, remounting the restored marquee, and began holding community events.

Listing the theaters in the State and National registers will draw renewed attention to them, according to HPD. The attention, when coupled with active MainStreet programs and other downtown revitalization plans, could help spur new economic activity downtown and renew interest in these small-town movie palaces.

“Movie theaters were the heart and pride of small-town New Mexico,” said John Murphey, HPD Register coordinator. “Their slow demises as downtowns emptied only accentuated the ghost-town feel many communities took on, leaving few reasons for area residents to stroll their once-busy main streets at night.”

Down the street from the Lyceum, the Hardwicks opened the State in 1940. It is considered the most striking example of modernism found in any New Mexico theatre. A circular glass-block tower rises from above the marquee and reaches higher than the curved parapet that masks a barrel roof. Its modern air-conditioning system and fresh style inspired the Hardwicks to restyle the Lyceum’s exterior, giving it a molded stucco façade in the Moderne style. The Hardwicks kept up to date and retained a competitive edge over theater chains that started to move into Clovis at the time.

Tucumcari

West of Clovis is Tucumcari where the Odeon opened in 1936. The facade’s glass block, decorative geometrical molding and large fluted vertical column supporting an Art Deco-style neon sign announced Hollywood had come to Tucumcari.

As with all six of the historic theaters, the Odeon began as a family business run by the Hurley family with partner Gene Hawkins. The chose the name “Odeon, ” a popular theater name in France at the time, but townsfolk just called it “the new theatre.” The Hurleys received congratulatory telegrams from movie greats Frank Capra and Mary Astor when it opened in May of 1936.

Lovington

Further south, Lovington welcomed the opening of the Lea Theater with a parade that ended with live performances and speeches given from the new theater’s stage. Although the town had several small theaters dating from as early in 1910, its boom and bust economy had stagnated until oil fields were developed nearby in the 1940s.

The Lea Theater opened in 1948 as “one of the finest, small-city movie houses in the United States” its boosters proclaimed. In stark contrast to the surrounding buildings that line the courthouse square, the Lea’s modern touches made it a stand-out.

Built by the R.E. Griffith Theaters, Inc., a regional theater chain based in Dallas, business boomed at the Lea through the 1950s. The town’s population nearly doubled after the discovery of oil nearby at the South Lovinginton Pool. The Lea, like many of New Mexico’s theaters, hosted numerous civic events and even a Mrs. America contest where women were judged on appearance, homemaking abilities and poise.

The theater changed hands in the 1960s and went dark in the late 1980s . Reopened after an extensive restoration in 1991 by the Joy family, it won the New Mexico MainStreet “Best Building” award in 1997. The Lea County Museum, which operates from a hotel listed in the State Register, shows old films at the Lea.

Technorati Tags: arts,entertainment,clovis,curry county,feature

Related posts:

1. Homes For Sale And Other Real Estate In Clovis, New Mexico ClovisHomeTours.com is the website for you if you’re looking for...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Mimbres-Paquime Connection

Map by SouthernNewMexico.com
 
For informational purposes only.
Consult a good atlas or road map
for driving instructions.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Technorati Tags: maps

Gadsden Purchase Territory

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Technorati Tags: The Apache Kid,people,southwest

High in the San Mateo Mountains of the Cibola National Forest in New Mexico is Apache Kid Peak, and one mile northwest as the crow flies, at Cyclone Saddle, is the Apache Kid gravesite. The hiker who comes across the marked site in such a remote area may wonder who the Kid was, and perhaps will ask himself why, so far from the usual tourist attractions, such an elaborate memorial has been assembled. In the story of the Apache Kid, much of it fact and part of it legend, rests one of the Southwest’s many intriguing sagas.

The Kid was born in the 1860s, possibly a White Mountain Apache, and his family settled at Globe, Arizona Territory, in 1868. His name, Haskay-bay-nay-natyl (“the tall man destined to come to a mysterious end”), was too much for the citizens of Globe, who called him “Kid.” The Kid learned English, worked at odd jobs in town, and was soon befriended by the famous scout, Al Sieber. In 1881, the Kid enlisted in the Indian Scouts, probably at Hackberry, Arizona Territory, and showed such aptitude for the job he was made sergeant, eventually rising to the rank of first sergeant within two years.

The Geronimo Campaign of 1885-1886 found Kid in Mexico early in 1885 with Sieber, and when the Chief of Scouts was recalled in the fall, Kid rode with him back to San Carlos. He re-enlisted with Lt. Crawford’s call for one hundred scouts for Mexican duty, and went south in late 1885. In the Mexican town of Huasabas, on the Bavispe River, Kid nearly lost his life as the result of a drunken riot in which he had been a participant. Rather than see Kid shot by a Mexican firing squad, the Alcalde fined him twenty dollars, and the Army sent him back to San Carlos.

It was during Kid’s eighth enlistment in the scouts, which began April 11, 1887, that he found himself in a situation that would lead to a court-martial, imprisonment, a civil trial, a new sentence, escape, and life as a fugitive. The course of the disastrous events unfolded, as did so many among the Apaches, with the brewing of tiswin, a beverage made of fermented fruit or corn. Brewing tiswin was illegal on the reservation, but with the agent, Captain Pierce, and Al Sieber both gone on business, the time seemed auspicious for a tiswin soiree. Kid had been left in charge of both the scouts and the jail, but before he and the scouts could get to the camp where the tiswin was flowing freely, two men were dead.

One of the dead was Kid’s father, Togo-de-Chuz, and the other was the man who had killed him, Gon-Zizzie. Kid’s friends had killed Gon-Zizzie, but the blood-price did not satisfy Kid; he and his scouts went to Gon-Zizzie’s brother’s place, and there Kid killed the brother, Rip. Kid and his scouts then returned to his father’s camp, where they joined the others in drinking tizwin. The drunk lasted several days, and finally, perhaps filled with remorse and certainly hung-over, the scouts made their way back to San Carlos to face both Sieber and Captain Pierce.

Kid and his scouts arrived at San Carlos on June 1, 1887, and found that neither Sieber nor Pierce was in a mood to deal generously with them. A crowd of Indians, some armed, had gathered to witness the punishment, and when Captain Pierce ordered the scouts to disarm themselves, Kid was the first to comply. The scouts’ firearms were laid on a table near Sieber’s tent, and Pierce ordered Kid and the others to the guardhouse to be locked up until further action could be decided upon. They were about to comply when a shot was fired from the crowd, and soon the firing became widespread.

In the melee that followed, the disarmed Kid fled, Sieber’s tent was shredded by bullets, and a massive .45-70 bullet smashed Sieber’s left ankle, crippling him for life. It has never been determined who fired the shot that struck Sieber, but it is known that neither Kid nor the four scouts ordered to the guardhouse with him did the shooting. They ran for cover, managed to secure horses, and with perhaps a dozen other Apaches fled for wilderness. The Army reacted swiftly, and soon two troops of the Fourth Cavalry were following the fugitives up the banks of the San Carlos River.

Telegrams were sent from San Carlos to San Francisco, Headquarters Division of the Pacific, and to Washington, D.C., as the Territories braced for another Apache outbreak. Territorial newspapers in Arizona and New Mexico were quick to pick up the story, and the Army began to feel the heat of irate editorials. For two weeks the errant Apaches led the cavalry a good chase, until, aided by Indian scouts, Kid and his band was located high in the Rincon Mountains. The troopers surprised the Indians and captured their mounts, saddles, and equipment. Kid and his followers escaped into the rocky canyons and ravines, but faced the prospect of survival without horses while pressure from the Army increased daily.

After some negotiation, Kid got a message to General Miles stating that if the Army would recall the cavalry he and his band would surrender. Miles called off further pursuit, and on June 22, eight of Kid’s band gave themselves up. Kid and seven others surrendered on June 25. Miles decided to try Kid and four others by a general court-martial, despite the fact that they did not, in all probability, understand the charges pending against them.

The trial was concluded, and to no one’s surprise the men were found guilty of mutiny and desertion, and each was sentenced to death by firing squad. General Miles, upset with the verdict, ordered the court to reconsider its sentence. The court reconvened on August 3 and the convicted men were resentenced to life in prison. Miles, still not satisfied, reduced the sentence to ten years. The sentence began with the men in the San Carlos guardhouse until such time as the Army decided where to send them. The Army decided, on January 23, 1888, to send the prisoners to Alcatraz Island, California, rather than Fort Leavenworth Military Prison. Taken to Alcatraz under heavy guard, the five began what was to be a brief incarceration.

In reviewing the trial, the Judge Advocate General’s office had become convinced that prejudice existed among the officers on the court-martial, thus precluding a fair trial. On October 13, 1888, Secretary of War William C. Endicott authorized the remission of the remainder of the sentences of the five prisoners, and by November they were back at San Carlos. Meanwhile, the Indian Rights Association, concerned that the incarceration of Apaches as federal inmates in state prisons was the result of federal usurpation of territorial jurisdiction, had sued on behalf of two incarcerated Apaches. The court agreed to the release not only of the two named in the suit, but to the release of all the Apaches held as federal prisoners in Illinois and Ohio. Eleven murderers were to be returned to San Carlos as free men, and the outrage in the Southwest was immeasurable.

By the middle of October 1889, Sheriff Glenn Reynolds of Gila County had arrest warrants for most of the freed Apaches, and among them was Apache Kid. The trial of Kid and three others for assault to commit murder in the wounding of Al Sieber was set for October 25, 1889. The four were found guilty, and on October 30, each was sentenced to seven years in the Territorial Prison at Yuma. On November 1, along with five other prisoners, they began what was to have been a stagecoach journey to incarceration in a prison notorious for its brutal living conditions, a prison aptly called “Hell-Hole.”

The journey was to have been a two-day trip by stage from Globe to Casa Grande and from there by rail to Yuma. Sheriff Reynolds chose a deputy, W. A. “Hunkeydory” Holmes, as guard, and Gene Middleton, the stagecoach owner, as driver. All three were armed. Except for Kid and Hos-cal-te, considered to be the most dangerous and shackled at both wrists and ankles, the Apaches were shackled by twos, leaving each man with a free hand. A Mexican horse thief, Jesus Avott, was unshackled.

On the second day, after a night at Riverside, the coach had to make a steep ascent at Kelvin Grade, and all prisoners but Kid and Hos-cal-te were put out to walk. As the coach made the grade and disappeared from view, the prisoners over-powered Reynolds and Holmes. Holmes died of fright, and Reynolds was killed with Holmes’ rifle. Middleton was also shot and horribly wounded with Holmes’ rifle, but survived. The prisoners unlocked their shackles with keys taken from the dead bodies of Holmes and Reynolds and disappeared into a developing snowstorm. Jesus Avott cut a horse loose and rode into nearby Florence with the grim news.

By a strange course of events, Apache Kid was no longer an admired and honored scout, but a fugitive with a price of five thousand dollars on his head. It was widely believed that Kid used the San Simon Valley in Arizona and Skeleton Canyon in New Mexico as his avenue for travel to and from Old Mexico. Into the 1920s and 1930s, rumors circulated along the border that Kid had been seen, men had talked to him, he was alive on a ranch in Sonora, and on and on. Who knows? As our Mexican neighbors say, “Solo Dios sabe, Señor, solo Dios!”

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Technorati Tags: water,outdoors,activity,activities,southwest,travelogue

In the realm of travel, nothing can approach a successful river run on good water, with the opportunity for some gamefish along the way. Okay, maybe if we could work some hunting into that river run, too. That should be next.

Browsing the magazine rack the other day – the most likely place, along with the local honky-tonk, to find me wasting my time – I spied a new outdoor magazine. At least it was new to me. River Runner featured a splashy cover, color inside, and some worthwhile information in regards to whitewater and float trips. I’m all in favor of whitewater and float trips, but what I looked for in River Runner was a fishing story. There was no fishing story, no fishing article at all. Fish weren’t even mentioned. From cover to cover, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles of water were covered, but as to fishing, River Runner obviously had other things on its mind.

I have this little book at home, a guide to river running in New Mexico. A moderately useful book which does say something about fishing. It says, in effect, fishing and river running don’t go well together in New Mexico because river running is done in the spring time, the water’s murky then, and so the fishing very poor. “Don’t bother,” is the message. I suspect if the author was a fisherman he would realize that the water isn’t always murky and, even when it is, you can often catch catfish till your arms ache, and catfish inhabit most any river you can run in New Mexico.

But there’s more. The “Bible” of the modern canoeist would have to be The Complete Wilderness Paddler by Davidson and Rugge. A very useful book this, a lively anecdotal ream of information full of good humor, and it is indeed complete. Except for fishing. In this, Davidson and Rugge are quite candid. They don’t know much about fishing, don’t much care, and they say so. But wanting to make their book “complete” they solicit the knowledge of a friend who does know something about fishing, and he is granted several sparse pages to tell us that fishing is a worthwhile activity when canoeing the wilderness, for which we fishermen are grateful.

And I almost bought a book this past weekend, a nationwide river running guide on display at a bookstore in Las Cruces. I didn’t buy it, because in all the hundreds of pages describing possible float trips coast to coast there was very little on the sport of fishing. In describing the Colorado River the author said bass, catfish and trout were available in places, but cautioned that the guided float trips allowed little time for fishing. On down! What is this? Granted, fishing is not for everyone. There is nothing inherently noble about the sport; it’s good if you like it and that’s about all. But statistics prove a lot of people do like it; even more people are fond of river running. I would have surmised there would be a lot of overlap amongst fishermen and river runners, but the literature on river running seems to indicate that we’re talking about two different sets of people. Myself, when I run a river, I’m gonna fish.

One spring day I put my thirteen foot canoe on the flow just below Socorro in order to run through the Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge in Southern New Mexico. There was a great rush of water going through and I expected excitement, catfish and some fine informal nature study on the float. There was plenty of excitement. It was a big runoff. Technically speaking, there were no rapids, but I was riding along at a speed that only a strong jog along shore could keep up with, and the sand waves would well up out of nowhere and a situation in a thirteen foot canoe became suddenly tenuous. The rise and fall was equal to anything I’d ever encountered on a windy lake. I worked my paddle hard to stay head-on to the waves, the water would slop in nonetheless, and just when I would begin to envision myself going down, the sand waves would disappear. A little bailing, or a dump-out ashore, and I was ready for the next rush. That was a good float. Lots of thrills, but nothing really to worry about. Either that or I had learned to quit worrying.

And the wildlife was there. The Bosque lines either shore, and though I was often close to roads or dwellings, my seclusion was secured by a jungle of cottonwoods, willow, alders and salt cedar. Mule Deer peered at me through the leaves at several places along the route. The dark cormorants, looking like a vague cross between a heron and a loon, stood watchful and at home on snags over the river. A coyote put on a wonderful display, lilting over a mud flat at full gallop, kicking up an ongoing and disparate spray with every foot down and glancing over his shoulder at a canoeist as he ran. But I caught no fish.

I picked my campsite for the night specifically for the backwash pool nearby that said “catfish.” I felt a channel cat was likely there and a flathead a real possibility. I had beef liver for bait, which is certainly more likely to entice a channel cat than a flathead, and I got a chunk of it on the bottom of that muddy pool hooked on the end of an eighteen inch sliding sinker. It was proper rigging, I thought, and a likely pool. During the night I was awakened as the rod bent down from a strong pull before the drag released the pressure. I rolled out of the bag and grabbed it and set the hook and after one more short, strong run the hook pulled out. It was a good fish, probably a catfish. But it was gone, gone, and that was all for the night.

The next day I floated on down through mellower water, gliding past the big, blackrock lava mountain to the take-out near San Marcial. A guy fishing by the railroad bridge there had a large channel cat caught, about the size of the one I had in my mind’s eye from the night before. He said his weighed twelve pounds. I don’t think he was exaggerating. In spite of his trophy, this local fisherman said this stretch of the river was not the best. It seems the Bureau of Reclamation “de-waters,” to use the parlance, this stretch of the river each year, putting the entire flow in the irrigation ditches. The river itself – the BOR calls it the “floodway” – dries up and the fish die in great gatherings, trapped in the mud wallows. The river must therefore repopulate each spring with the run-off, the fishing coming largely from downstream, out of Elephant Butte Lake. Still, twelve pounds is a nice channel cat. I left disappointed with my fishing results, but intrigued, again, by the possibilities.

That same spring, my friend Karen and I canoed the Caballo Dam to Hatch run, a twenty mile stretch of the Rio Grande through farm lands. This too, is “de-watered” a part of each year but a fine guitar picker at the Buckhorn Saloon in Pinos Altos told me a story of someone “grabbling” a forty-seven pound flathead from out of the waters somewhere below Caballo Reservoir. Right away my blood was up. And friend Karen needed a little fresh air and some downtime. She also carried a far off hope that three days away from cigarettes in the company of someone who didn’t smoke them would cause her to kick the habit.

At the Percha Park, a state facility, we left my pickup and loaded that thirteen foot canoe at bankside. A young man with presumptions of authority kept mumbling to us something about a permit he felt we needed to be doing this. We nodded out heads, waved our paddles and shoved off. Permit my ass! There was plenty of water and with the silt filtered out by the dam it was fairly clear. I was certain hidden in the depths were a lot of forty-seven pound catfish, as well as walleyes and bass.

A Great Blue Heron lifted off ahead of us and led us downstream to our first camp, carrying my hopes for a fish killing I felt was long overdue. After supper, friend Karen helped me roll out and bait up the trotline which we presented to whatever fish might be interested in the likely piece of water we’d selected. Then we sat around the fire and I loaded up my pipe with a wonderfully aromatic blend from the only tobacconist in Silver City. Friend Karen sat on her hands, squirmed around like a nervous squirrel, then finally asked for a drag. I passed it over and she drew deeply, satisfying. Then she did it again. I thought I was going to have to get cross to get my pipe back! But I did get it back, and I finished the bowl. Later, I caught friend Karen rummaging around in my duffle. She found the pipe and tobacco; just luckily I’d planned well in bringing enough tobacco for two people.

There was good weight on the trotline in the morning. But no action. The weight was a preponderance of moss which had gathered along the cord and collected around each hook. No forty-seven pound catfish ever weighed so much! We were a good while disentangling the line and it began to look like a long way to Hatch. All day the sun shown on a good current which was swift but calm, and in spite of our proximity to modern agriculture were all manner of ducks, egrets, herons, muskrats, beavers and a school of large carp mouthing the surface as they scooped up the billowy cottonwood seeds that had landed there. I also saw many big chunks of moss float by. Each spring, it seems, the moss cuts loose in a river cleansing action, and I suppose if you were into watching moss you could say the timing was perfect. We’d hit the peak of the moss run.

Evening of second camp I left friend Karen by the campfire smoking my pipe while I waded the river, a big live tadpole I’d caught with my hands impaled on the hook as bait. I figured I could entice a nice fish before the moss got to my hook, but the moss always got there first. Within minutes the slow heavy pull of moss required me to reel in and clean my bait. Within minutes of removing all moss I felt that steady pull again. There was no escaping the green cloying stuff.

We made it to Hatch, hitched a ride back to my pickup and took the scenic route home. Friend Karen, seated on the passenger side smoking the last of my pipe tobacco, professed satisfaction with the trip; it was good downtime. Fishermen are not so easily pleased.

The Gila River in New Mexico offers a fine float trip for raft, kayak or canoe during the few weeks out of the year when there’s enough water for the float. Fishermen find Brown and Rainbow Trout, Smallmouth Bass, and Channel and Flathead Catfish at places along the flow. One who floats the Gila drifts through the land that Victorio, Mangas Coloradas, Geronimo and other Mimbres Apaches called home. Earlier, the cliff dwelling Mogollon peoples lived here. One can drift through the last great wilderness in the Southwest, the first designated wilderness nationwide. The fishing can be very good, in part because the free-flowing Gila is a viable stream, in part because the good fishing is not readily accessible.

One spring day I put my thirteen foot canoe on the Gila, and accompanied by a hound and a tom cat, rounded the bend into the wilderness. No visible sign of the ancient Mogollon people or the predacious Apache was in obvious view but my mind’s eye had tiny wizened Mogollon Indians stuffing corn into rocky crevices while balanced precariously on the high rock bluffs. And equine buccaneers stood mounted on the ridges, largely camouflaged by piñon, juniper and ponderosa pine. Certainly my imagination had a good view of those who came before, but no better I’m sure than their ghosts watching me.

In time my imagination was drawn away from historical meanderings, and my necessity became riveted on what became an endless series of Class I, II, and occasionally Class III rapids, spaced a quarter to a half mile apart by strong, even currents. And the winding, meandering stream put current and rapids up against rock walls and dirt banks, creating deep pools. You didn’t need to be any expert angler to see that this was a stream designed for game fish. With the hound and the tom cat riding up front and creating a precarious balance, I shot through numberless rapids over the next two days. On a couple of occasions, more in caution for the hound and the cat, I lined down.

On the evening of the third day I finally got around to what I’d come for all along – game fish in the wilderness. First I baited up six or seven hooks on the trotline with beef liver, tied one end to a bush, the other to a rock, and tossed the rock out halfway across a deep run. Then I snapped a small Mepps spinner on and used a lightweight spinning rod to toss it here and there into the flow, working upstream. At the lower end of a riffle I hooked a foot-long rainbow and didn’t horse him any getting him in. I let him work and he worked good, colorful and swift in the water, before he came ashore. Later, working a pool, I hooked a stronger fish, who fought deeper, longer and just simply bent the pole more before yielding. I knew it was a Smallmouth Bass long before I got him in. This fish too, was about a foot long. About then I wouldn’t have traded places with the blessed in heaven: Deep in the nation’s first wilderness, I had just caught a fine specimen of the gamiest fish that swims out of the last free-flowing river in New Mexico. And I wasn’t working for wages.

But I wasn’t done with having it all. Next, I lofted the spinner into a deep cut under a rock wall and worked it slow and deep, jerking it like a jig. Directly the line went off upstream and I nailed him. Not so swift as the trout, but nearly as dogged as the bass, the foot-long channel cat nosed away from his tormentor until he flat wore out. I dined on fried filets of three species and marked the catfish first, the trout second, the bass third. But any one would have pleased the most discriminating connoisseur.

In the evening, the hound, the tom cat and I sat around the fire, waiting for a breakfast catfish to snag himself on the trotline. Presently, a persistent splashing told me there was one hooked; as I got up to retrieve the catch, I thought that river running is indeed great sport. And certainly there are special thrills if that river has whitewater. He who is satisfied with that and cares not for fishing is spared the many disappointments with which fickle fish and water may taunt the angler. But the fisherman on a float trip at times has rewards all his own.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Technorati Tags: food

At holiday time people throughout the world honor traditions, and New Mexico is no exception. One tradition many here look forward to on Christmas Eve is a steaming bowl of posole (po-SO-lay), a spicy corn stew that is known as the ceremonial dish for celebrating life’s blessings.

New Mexicans have been enjoying posole for centuries. The cuisine here springs from three cultures: Native American, Mexican, and European. The Rio Grande Pueblo Indians, and their ancestors, the “Anasazi,” or “ancient ones,” relied on corn, beans, squash, and chiles for sustenance. These early crops became firmly entrenched in the culture, forming the foundation of New Mexican cuisine even before the Spanish arrived.

Corn has been and is the major food plant of the Native Americans. Red, yellow, and blue corn are cultivated in New Mexico. The corn is ground into meal and flour for use in breads and tortillas, and it is processed into posole corn.

Posole corn is prepared by soaking hard kernels of field corn (traditionally white, although blue is sometimes used now) in powdered lime and water – a method thought to mimic the ancient preservation of corn in limestone caves. After several hours, when the corn kernels have swollen, the liquid is allowed to evaporate and the kernels to dry.

Posole is different from hominy, another kind of processed corn, which tends to be softer and more bland. Compared to hominy, posole’s flavor is intense and earthy, its consistency more robust. Since posole corn can be difficult to find, hominy is often used as a substitute in posole stew.

The variations for posole are many. Some make it with chicken rather than pork; some prefer to use vegetable protein rather than meat. While posole in Southern New Mexico is always made with red chile, it is not uncommon to find Northern New Mexico posole made with green chile.

The posole pictured here was prepared by Valentine Esquivel, owner of the Coffee Pot Restaurant in Deming, New Mexico. Valentine said his recipe is for “Guadalahara-style” posole, and is the exact recipe his mother used when Valentine was a boy in Mexico City. This recipe serves 20-24 people.

Note: Posole can be easily adapted for vegetarians.

Ingredients for Posole

12 dried long red chile
10 lbs. Boned pork roast cut into 1″ cubes
1/2 head of garlic peeled and chopped
A large pinch of Mexican oregano
1/2 of a large onion, chopped
Large can hominy
Salt

Preparation

Break open the chiles and remove the seeds and veins. Put the chiles to cook in a medium sized pot. Cover with fresh water and gently boil until chiles are very soft. Let the mixture cool and using a favorite method, blend the chile and the water to make a paste and strain.

Meanwhile, put the cubed pork, oregano, garlic, onion and salt into a large heavy pot and cover with water. Boil meat gently for 30 minutes. When the meat is soft, add the chile and hominy and cook for 15 to 20 minutes until the mixture is boiling nicely.

To serve, ladle the posole into heavy bowls and serve with thinly sliced cabbage and radishes, quartered limes, oregano, chopped onion, and fresh corn tortillas. Besides these side dishes, posole is usually served with sodas or cervesas.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Technorati Tags: people,Roswell,Chaves County

Space of all kinds surround Roswell. Wide open spaces, Robert H. Goddard’s space experiments, and the crash of a UFO. Has the beginning of space exploration here been overshadowed with all the hype of the UFO crash in 1947? Probably. At the Houston Space Center and Cape Canaveral and Kennedy Space Center, Robert Hutchings Goddard is known as the Father of Space Exploration.

But it was here in Roswell in the 1930s that Dr. Goddard brought his experiments to life. They were the forerunner of the Apollo Spacecraft crew setting foot on the moon in 1969. What humans had dreamed of and had written of in fiction was now a fact. Earth had been left behind and the heavens were being explored.

Why was Roswell chosen? Because of its terrain, altitude, and climate, plus a small population of only 11,000. The name of the field where he made his test flights was known as Eden Valley. Many years later in reminiscence, Mrs. Goddard said it was truly an Eden. “Townspeople came to call, invited us to social occasions and overlooked our Eastern accents, accepting us as their own.” Those are some of the same reasons many people move to Roswell 65 years later.

While Dr. Goddard’s experiments were on hold during the Great Depression, something significant occurred that would ultimately serve as a Memorial to him. The Works Progress Administration (W.P.A.) built the Roswell Museum Federal Art Center, one of 67 such centers in the United States.

The background of his life offers insight into his contribution to the space program. His schooling was haphazard due to poor health, so he resorted to self-education by studying scientific and mathematical texts. When he entered high school he was two years older than his classmates.

He gave the commencement address at graduation, ending with, “It has often proved true that the dream of yesterday is the hope of today and the reality of tomorrow.” It was perhaps prophetic of his life.

Inspired by Sir Isaac Newton’s theory that to every action there is always opposed an equal reaction, he felt this principle was the key to sending up rockets.

He continued his schooling and his experiments, after one of which he became known by the derisive name “Moon Man.” This made him very hesitant to give publicity to his experiments.

One person who knew him well said, “For years he carried on his work virtually alone. He experienced frustrations of many kinds: financial difficulties, problems of health as well as the resistance of a new mechanical device to taming and development.

“What he tackled almost single handedly has since taken billions of dollars and thousands of engineers to do now. Yet he designed and built rockets that contained all the essential devices of those found in huge space rockets of today.”

Colonel Charles A. Lindbergh was interested in rocketry and was influential in obtaining financing for Dr. Goddard. He had confided to Lindbergh that if he were given $25,000 a year for four years he could accomplish in 48 months something that otherwise might take a lifetime. Colonel Lindbergh was successful in securing grants from the Guggenheim Foundation. In late 1934, the Lindberghs made a surprise visit to the Mescalero Ranch to see the Goddards, setting the whole town of Roswell abuzz.

The Navy wanted him to work on a liquid fuel, jet-assist rocket and wanted also the option to move him to Annapolis. In 1942 the Navy exercised its option, and the Goddards left Roswell for Maryland in July to work on a project at the Naval Engineering Experiment Station. Thirty-five more patents were issued while he was at Annapolis.

In April of 1943, Dr. Goddard contracted a cold and by the end of June his voice was extremely husky. By 1944, his crew could barely understand him. He continued his visits to the throat specialist, and his wife raised the question of cancer of the throat of which his father had died. It proved to be the cause of his huskiness and a laryngectomy was performed in July of 1945. On August 10, 1945, he died quietly and was buried in the family plot in Worcester, Massachusetts.

Shortly after his death, Mrs. Goddard sold the Mescalero Ranch in Roswell and began transcribing his notes to establish the importance of his work. It took her and two assistants nine months to complete the typescript.

The idea of the Goddard Rocket and Space Museum came into being at a dinner honoring Mrs. Goddard. During discussions following the meal she generously offered to make the fabulous collection of Goddard memorabilia available to the Roswell Museum. Her one requirement was that this vital historical collection be properly housed and displayed.

She felt the collection should be exhibited at the Museum because, “The friendly warmth of this typical western community and the vast open spaces around it afforded an ideal atmosphere for the creative efforts of my husband. He spent ten happy and fruitful years in Roswell, bringing to reality the dreams that are still so much a part of today’s efforts in space.”

The Goddard missile and rocket collection were formally offered to this non-profit, city-owned Museum on May 6, 1958. On this date the City Council authorized the enlargement of the Museum to provide the requested housing and display space.

Since Dr. Goddard had been a Rotarian, Roswell Rotarians decided to undertake the reconstruction of his shop at a cost of $15,000. The fundraising was a successful community-wide effort.

NASA presented the Museum with a scaled replica of his first successful liquid-fueled rocket. Other companies subsequently assisted in obtaining his tools and original equipment.

In conjunction with the Workshop reconstruction, the Robert H. Goddard Planetarium was constructed at the west end of the Museum and Art Center. It is the largest Planetarium in New Mexico, seating 120 people.

During the 91st Congress in 1970, a concurrent resolution recognized the Goddard Rocket and Space Museum in the Roswell Museum and Art Center as a fitting tribute to Dr. Robert H. Goddard, space pioneer, 1882-1949.

And it is here visitors and residents can walk through the replica of his workshop and marvel at what Robert Goddard used to create his rocketry.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Christopher Blackwell discusses the vagaries of thundereggs Photo by Jay Jackson

It’s easy to miss. The country’s largest public display of thundereggs – a dazzling array of color – lies hidden in a small dirt building with a cave-like entrance and a sign that has the appeal of a high school science book. But, for the curious, to crack open the rough-hewn wooden door to the Basin Range Volcanics Geolapidary Museum and Rock Shop 10 miles southeast of Deming and two miles below Rockhound State Park  is to find the pearl in the oyster, the pea in the shell game or, in this case, the rainbow hidden in the plain rock.

For a buck, museum manager Christopher Blackwell turns on 4400 watts of electric lights and personally guides visitors through the unique world of thundereggs.

It was believed by the Warm Springs Indians of Oregon that thundergods living in the Mount Hood and Mount Jefferson volcanos threw hot rocks at each other when they had their explosive quarrels, Blackwell said, explaining how the name thundereggs came to be used to describe the occasional hollow rock that is filled with colorful minerals.

In fact, early theories about the eggs were similar to the mythology, namely, that the colorful insides of the rocks were due to volcanic “bombs” tossed into ash, he said.

However, the present theory, furthered by the museum’s owner, Robert Paul “Geode Kid” Colburn, is that cavities formed by escaping gas left porous rock shells that were filled with water. Minerals in the water – like agate, silica and mud – gave the eggs’ yolks their individual designs and stunning colors.

Theories, though, quickly pale when the lights come on with a “thunk!” and visitors find themselves face-to-face with row after mesmerizing row of polished, paired egg halves staring back from long, glass cases. If one looks closely enough at the sparkling blues, reds, greens and browns, Blackwell said, there’s a face in one, a beach with waves in another and even one that looks like a pistol.

Next to each group of rocks is a bit of information that Blackwell expands upon for those interested.

A person can visit for the beauty or the science of the rocks, he says, both of which are in abundance at the museum.

The museum started some 12 years ago when Colburn wanted a place to house his life-long passion for finding and polishing thundereggs. He has on display the first egg he found at 13 in the Berkeley hills of California. Though he has eggs from around the country, 80 percent of those in the museum have come from his mines in Luna County.

Of note are a couple of uncracked, 16-inch diameter eggs from nearby Rockhound State Park and an equally large cracked rock that has an egg within an egg within an egg.

Although bigger collections exist, the museum’s display is the largest open to the public, Blackwell said.

The eggs, most of which are found in the northern part of the western American mountains, were first mined in Oregon in the 1920’s. They’re rare: one percent of ash bed with geodes (hollow rocks) have eggs and only one percent of those eggs are considered good, making them a treasured find by rockhounds, Blackwell said.

When asked by a couple if it’s possible to tell which rocks are eggs, Blackwell said no, not at first.

“But you do learn a little when you’ve mined an area for awhile,” he said. “Learning an area is really no more than learning a fishing hole.”

“We’ve lost a big part of the rockhound hobby over the past 20 years,” Blackwell said, “with a loss, too, of those who could teach newer rockhounds. Rock books can be a problem, because they just add new sites to their lists, never rechecking previous public sites, some of which have been dug out for years.”

But despite all this, the search for thundereggs remains a popular pastime.

For those interested, the museum also sells eggs for anywhere from one dollar to hundreds. All work from mining to final polish is done by Colburn and Blackwell.

“Every piece is cut and polished one at a time,” Blackwell said. “Though not really an economically efficient means, a person gets the same polish on the stuff for sale as on collection pieces.”

And the same individual attention is given as well to museum visitors as well.

Blackwell said that when he was young he wanted to guide people around as a forest ranger, “but, unfortunately, they don’t do that much, so I just do it here.”

“You know how you become an expert?” he said, squatting down to talk with a young boy who just completed the tour with his family. “You find something most people don’t know anything about and learn a little bit.”

For those rockers who thrill at the prospect of a rare find, pulling off the road to Rockhound State Park and on to the thunderegg-paved driveway of the Geolapidary Museum and Rock Shop is one of rockhounding’s few sure things.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

The West Street Inn has a large master suite and second smaller bedroom.

The West Street Inn is Silver City’s newest and most elegant private guesthouse. The inn is available as a short term rental and features executive accomodations. It is designed in a contemporary southwestern style with warm glazed walls, tile floors, comfortable furnishings, and quality bedding. Whether you are vacationing in the area, traveling on business, or considering a relocation, the West Street Inn is your ideal choice in fine affordable lodging.

Located in the heart of Silver City, the West Street Inn is within walking distance of Western New Mexico University and the historic downtown area where restaurants, art galleries and shopping abound. Here you are close to everything the Silver City area offers while enjoying the privacy of your own fully furnished guesthouse. With a large master suite and second smaller bedroom, the West Street Inn will accommodate a single person, a couple, or even a small family in comfort and style.

Amenities

Fully-equipped kitchen including coffee maker, microwave, blender, crockpot, outdoor grill, and all cooking utensils.

» Phone with answering machine
» Second port for computer hookup
» TV, VCR & stereo
» Washer/Dryer
» Fully equipped kitchen including:
   Coffee maker
   Microwave
   Blender, Crockpot
   Outdoor Grill
   All cooking utensils
   Coffees, teas, sugar, etc. provided

Terms and Conditions

» $85.00 per night
» 2 night minimum
» 3 night minimum on holidays
» Weekly and monthly rates also available upon request
» Major credit cards and checks accepted.
» 50% deposit will be due two weeks in advance of arrival.
» Reservations accepted within two weeks of arrival if paying by credit card.
» Cancellations with more than 14 days Notice – Full Refund
» Cancellations with less than 14 days notice – West Street Inn reserves the right to keep your deposit.
» Check-in is 3:00 p.m.
» Check-out is 11:00 a.m.
» Well behaved children and pets welcome
(the house has an enclosed yard).
» As an additional service we are happy to shop for your groceries before your arrival if you provide us with a basic list. There is a $25.00 fee for this service.

Reservations

» Make a reservation online at our reservations page.
» You may also contact us by phone at (505) 534-2302 or by e-mail: weststreetinn@zianet.com

Directions

Relax on the porch after an exciting day.

The West Street Inn is located at:
1303 N West St
Silver City, NM
88061-4637
(Click here for a map to The West Street Inn)

Silver City is located south of Albuquerque and West of Las Cruces, New Mexico. We may be reached via Interstate 25 or Interstate 10. Hwy 152 leads from Interstate 25 straight to Silver City and offers a beautiful scenic drive through the Black Range.
(Click here for a map to Silver City)

However, if you are coming from Interstate 25 and you are travelling at night, we recommend the following route: turn off onto Hwy 26 at Hatch, turn North on Hwy 180 at Deming, then continue North to Silver City. While this route looks longer on the map, the travel time is about the same. If you choose to travel on Hwy 152 at night, be on the look out for deer and cattle and observe the speed limit signs. We look forward to your arrival!

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.