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The ‘ZEPHYR AMERICA’ Files…Volume 1 —(Horses, Sunsets, Grain Silos, Tucumcari & Pinky) —Jim Stiles (ZX#76)

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A compilation of the Zephyr America series that appears exclusively on the Zephyr Facebook page (almost every Wednesday morning). These posts contain additional photographs not seen on Facebook…

…For the last few months, I’ve added a regular feature for those of you who follow us on the Zephyr Facebook page. But many of you don’t and, of course, as the latest FB post drops lower and lower on your screen and disappears from sight, it disappears from mind as well…at least it does me. So every couple of months, I’m going to compile the best of them here, in one website post. If you enjoy going back and having a look, it will be much easier now…In this first compilation I range from horses and cows, to sunsets and Tucumcari, New Mexico, to birds of any color, to Pinky, the Divine Dog of Buyeros, New Mexico…

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A 1910 Expedition to Rainbow Natural Bridge —By Harvey Leake (ZX#75)

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Despite her remarkable fortitude in the face of previous ordeals and hardships, 32-year-old Nelka de Smirnoff nearly reached her limit during her 1910 horseback ride to Rainbow Natural Bridge. The daughter of Count Theodor de Smirnoff, a Russian nobleman, and Nellie Blow, a wealthy St. Louis socialite, she had experienced the best of both American and European culture while growing up. When she was 25, she volunteered to serve with the French Red Cross as a nurse to soldiers wounded in the war between Russia and Japan. A year later she joined the Russian Red Cross and dealt with the horrific effects of war to the injured men she treated. But the stamina she gained through those trying situations was barely sufficient for the challenges that confronted her on the Rainbow Bridge trail…

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ROCK INSCRIPTIONS: WHEN DOES VANDALISM BECOME HISTORIC? –Jim Stiles (ZX#74)

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But when does a carved name on a rock stop being vandalism and take on a historic value of its own? Where do we draw the line? A century? Fifty years? I struggled with that question a lot when I was a ranger, though over the years, I came to believe that every one of these carvings is too special to be removed.

The above inscription has special meaning for me, because I found it during a backcountry patrol in 1977. It would be fairer to say I “re-found” it, many years after other humans, most likely Basque sheepherders had added their own names and comments (whether the ‘B.S.’ next to Julien’s name was an expression of doubt re: the inscription’s authenticity, of it just happened to be the man’s initials, the Julien inscription had surely been seen. but perhaps decades earlier.

I stumbled upon it purely by accident, toward the far north end of the Devils Garden. I saw the Basque inscriptions first and noticed that it was a perfect campsite. It was at the base of a small natural amphitheater—the sandstone tower and fins blocked the weather coming from the north or east. A fifty foot stabilized dune to the west of the site protected campers from the western winds. It was only after I stood directly in front of these larger inscriptions that I noticed Julien’s name. I had heard it before and thought it was worth writing up a report on my find. I had no idea it would create so much interest…

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TOM ARNOLD: Moab’s VW Mechanic, Philosopher & Ed Abbey’s Pilot (ZX#73)…by Jim Stiles

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Tom Tom’s VW Museum has never been easy to miss. It’s located at the intersection of Mill Creek Drive and Spanish Valley Drive, an intersection known to locals as Chicken Corners. It’s the Gateway to Spanish Valley, where in the last two decades, many of the other junk cars and washing machines and spare tires have vanished — replaced by half million dollar faux adobe second homes and condos.

But TK’s Museum still stands. At its zenith, Arnold managed to squeeze 250 vintage Volkswagens onto a two acre lot that he bought 50 years ago. It was his pride and joy. Others still curse the site and wish some mega-billionaire would fly in, buy the property and scour his collection from the face of the earth. But Tom…or Tom Tom…or TK …always took the criticism in stride and with good cheer. “They just don’t know how to have a good time… I’m having a good time.” He did to his last breath…

For the record, he was born Thomas Arnold, but we knew him by many names— Tom, Tom Tom, TK, or more generically—The Volkswagen Guy. For decades TK serviced VWs of all kinds, with varying degrees of success. As all of us who once owned VWs, the cars were almost born with the intent to drive us crazy, and consequently, we owners were surely cursed with varying degrees of masochism. But Tom loved them all. And he loved to collect the ones that he could not revive.

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1963-64: GLEN CANYON’S LAST DAYS…w/ Hite’s Beth & Ruben Nielsen (ZX#72)

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Arth Chaffin and Ruben Nielsen thought there might be non-archaeological treasures to be salvaged as well. The river had seen its share of mining operations over the last century, and even old cabins and sheds. Most of them, like Bert Loper’s old cabin, were drowned by the rising waters. But there was other possible salvageable booty, and I’m just speculating here, but they have been looking for more practical treasures, like compressors, small Diesel or gas engines, scrap iron, copper wiring, discarded tools, old drill steel, tools, ladders…the kind of material that mechanics and people tied to the mining industry might find of value.

And so Arth and Ruben built a “barge.” It was constructed from empty sealed 55 gallon drums–about fifty of them— which they lashed together and over which, constructed a deck of sorts. On the deck, they pitched two canvas tents for their personal use.

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JANUARY 1931: THE STRENUOUS LIFE — by Harvey Leake (ZX#71)

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On January 6, 1931, as darkness fell over northern Arizona, veteran explorer John Wetherill and his young companion, Henry Martin “Pat” Flattum, huddled by their campfire in the depths of Glen Canyon of the Colorado River. They had taken refuge from the biting wind in an alcove eroded into the base of a high sandstone cliff. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire, their soft conversation, and the “sh-sh-shush” of the drifting ice floes as they rubbed against the shore ice.

…Wetherill, who was sixty-four years old, seemed unperturbed by their difficulties. “Signs of many beaver on the river but no other animals until tonight, when we camped in a cave, where the Ringtail cat seems to have made its home. The canyon walls are getting lower,” he wrote.

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THE GREAT AMERICAN VACATION—‘OUT WEST’: June 1966 — Another Ancient Stiles Family Album (ZX#70)

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By midafternoon of the next day, we were almost to Tucumcari, New Mexico, about 1200 miles from Louisville. The country was wide open now and we could see for miles. My brother and I were puzzled by large black spots on the rolling high desert and wondered if there had been a fire. Then my brother noticed that those black spots were moving. We were looking at the shadows of cumulus clouds rolling over the land. We had never seen anything like it in our lives….

…..But my father drove right past Desert View. Before I had time to whine, he explained his theory. “Every tourist always stops at the very first pullout. Did you see how crowded it is? Instead we’re going to the next turnoff. It was just half a mile or so further and he was absolutely right. Nobody was there. My brother and I had been bickering in the backseat, when my dad said, “Look out the window.” Suddenly our bickering stopped. My poison ivy quit itching. My father seemed wiser than I’d thought just five minutes earlier. It was the Grand Canyon. Words failed all of us.

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SHOULD ARCHES’ ‘WOLFE RANCH’ BE RE-RENAMED ‘TURNBOW CABIN?’ —Jim Stiles (ZX#69)

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Once, while driving cattle up Salt Wash, Toots and Marv came to a place where the horse would have to jump. “Dad didn’t want me on the horse when it jumped, so he scooped me off and sat me on a ledge. All of a sudden he grabbed me back. Well, there was a big rattlesnake right there between my feet…it had 14 rattles on it.”

In the evenings, Marv demonstrated the art of making flour sack biscuits. “He never used a pan. He’d roll up the sleeves of his long-handled underwear which he wore year-round. He’d scrub his hands and he’d get this sack and roll the top down and make a hole in the flour and smooth it out just like a bowl. Then he’d put in some baking powder, some salt and some shortening and mix it all around. Then he’d start adding water, a little drop at a time, and just keep working it with his hand. When he got enough he’d pinch it off and when he was through, you couldn’t find one lump left in that flour sack.”

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SEARCHING for KLATU & MY UFO VACATION —Jim Stiles (ZX#68)

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Suddenly, one of the assistant scoutmasters, Mr Schneider yelled, “What the hell…heck is that?” (He didn’t want to corrupt his boys). We all looked skyward as he pointed to three bright lights moving silently across the sky. It was like nothing any of us had ever seen before. Imagine a pencil dangling from a string, in total darkness, but with three lights attached to it, at both ends and the middle. It almost appeared to be wobbling across the sky. We were all speechless. It crossed our field of view diagonally, then paused, pivoted on its front light, and changed direction. As it disappeared over the tree line, the three lights seemed to waver, like a snake crossing open ground. It’s been more than half a century since that night. But I was hooked.

When we finally got home, my parents asked about the hike, but all I could talk about was the UFO.

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MOAB’S OTHER WILD RIDE — CHARLIE STEEN’S 1950s URANIUM BOOM — by Maxine Newell (ZX# 67)

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Uranium fever became a national affliction when Steen announced his strike. Go-for-broke prospectors poured into the little town of Moab by the thousands, lured by the $100 million bait. The town was besieged by a boom which was to surpass the gold rushes of the previous century.

Hopeful investors, loan sharks, and promoters followed the prospectors in. New businesses set up wherever they could find room, on the Main Street drag, in private garages or in tents. One realty firm operated from a tiny log cabin which was the revered historical home of an early-day pioneer. Moab’s new slogan, “Uranium Capitol of the World,” was splashed on store fronts, stationery and souvenirs. The town sported a Uranium Building and a Uranium Days Celebration. The term “uraniumaires” was coined to identify the new mining magnates. Someone finally got around to dubbing Charles A Steen the “Uranium King of the World,” and the title stuck.

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