Month: May 2022

AMERICA’S INSANE POST-WAR DAM PLANS FOR THE COLORADO RIVER by Jim Stiles (ZX#9)

The plan at Marble Canyon is astonishing in its ambition. (You may have to read this twice to understand its full implications.) The Bureau of Reclamation calculated that the vertical fall of the river from the first Glen Canyon dam site to “the headwaters of the potential Bridge Canyon reservoir was about 1,260 feet. That kind of water movement is perfect for the generation of hydroelectric power. To avoid building even more dams within the boundaries of Grand Canyon National park, BuRec offered the “Kanab Tunnel option.”

“To take advantage of this drop and yet avoid the construction of dams or other works in the park, the Bureau of Reclamation suggests a plan to divert waters ‘not needed to maintain a steady stream for scenic purposes in the park’ through a 44.8 mile tunnel from just above the east end of the park to a power plant on the Colorado River near the mouth of Kanab Creek. The capacity of the Kanab Tunnel would be 13,000 second feet. A 298 foot dam at the Marble Gorge site would divert water to the tunnel. Water released from the dam for scenic purposes in the park would pass through the power plant.”

“Scenic purposes?” The idea was to allow just enough water down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon for it to still at least look like a river.

60 YEARS LATER: STILL SEARCHING FOR DENNISE SULLIVAN..by Jim Stiles (ZX#8)

There is no ‘good’ ending to this story…The last moment that anyone knows with absolute certainty where Dennise Sullivan was on the night of July 4, 1961 came barely a minute or two after Abel Aragon fatally shot her mother, Jeannette, and critically wounded Charles Boothroyd. Dennise had tried to escape the scene in the Volkswagen Beetle, had managed to travel barely seven-tenths of a mile, when Aragon, after repeatedly ramming the small car, forced her from the road. The VW came to rest near a culvert, just west of the Seven Mile Canyon switchbacks. She was never seen again.

Coming up the switchbacks at that precise moment was an oil field worker named Leonard Brown. He was headed west, back to his rig and was almost an eyewitness to the shootings. Minutes later he found a bloody Charles Boothroyd lying in the middle of the road. But first, before he realized that anything wrong had happened, an eastbound Ford sedan raced past him. According to Brown, he saw the Ford and thought nothing of it, but barely 200 yards later— 15 seconds — he came across the VW. It was that close.

REMEMBERING DICK SPRANG… By Harvey Leake (ZX#7)

Canyon Surveys was the name a trio of Glen Canyon adventurers gave themselves to reflect their passion for discovery and documentation of the outstanding geography, history, prehistory, and scenic wonders of the place. They consisted of Dick Sprang and his wife, Dudy Thomas, of Sedona, Arizona, and veteran river man Harry Aleson of Richfield, Utah. Two four-legged companions accompanied them, as Dick described in his always eloquent way:

“Two additional members of our party […] may surprise you: Pard: my splendidly level-headed shepherd dog—in the tradition of Ed Meskin’s dog—and Mickey, Dudy’s supremely tough, gray and white, short-haired tomcat, who was built like a buffalo, had the heart of a lion, and walked the canyons, wading water, with a tiger’s stride, utterly fearless, militant, shrewd, never a problem, always keeping up, and thoroughly at home loving to doze in Anasazi ruins. We called him our Moki Cat. So far as we know, nobody else ever took such an unlikely character down Glen Canyon and up many of its tributaries on four separate trips. If you have wondered if we three were somewhat crazy, your suspicions stand confirmed.”

Dick had enlarged the prehistoric steps, and, with the aid of ropes, a harness for Pard, and a fishing creel to hoist Mickey, they all made it into the upper canyon where they spotted the dwelling. Dick was thrilled.

ZEPHYR AMERICA: A Lens on the Whimsical, the Wondrous & the Weird #1 …from Jim Stiles (ZX#6)

In 2011, I returned to that part of New Mexico and to the Bueyeros Church, wanting to share the experience and the oil condensate odor with a new friend, and discovered a new resident and perhaps landlord/priest of the parish. It was a white dog—the friendliest sweetest animal I think I have ever encountered—especially considering I was a stranger. He ran out to the car to say hello, then followed us around the church and through the old cemetery, with a permanent smile emblazoned upon his beatific face. His tail never stopped wagging. And if I paused, his instinct was to roll over on his back and wait for a belly rub. It seemed like a good idea. If white dog was as divine as he appeared to be, a good belly rub might get me absolved of at least a few of my more troubling sins.

We stayed half an hour, then walked back to the car. He followed us and waved goodbye as only happy dogs can. Finally I asked him if he were Jesus himself and he just rolled over on his back and grinned at me again . I think he was.