A Truly Hidden Abode, Walnut Canyon Monument

Walnut Canyon, Arizona

One of the best rewards while traveling is stumbling upon something or somewhere totally unexpected. It’s like trying out a new recipe and accidentally adding a wrong ingredient, but the dish actually tastes better than expected.

I’m not sure if that is a great analogy, but bear with me.

Having traveled east and west along Interstate 40 for years, I thought I had seen it all.

But one state always surprises me with new treasures.

And that one state is Arizona. 

Along Interstate 40, there are exciting destinations such as Flagstaff, Williams, and Winslow, just to name a few. There is the gateway to the Grand Canyon, Meteor Crater, Grand Canyon Caverns, and one that I have read the highway sign for but never visited: Walnut Canyon Monument, just ten miles east of Flagstaff.

I decided to stop and check out what the hubbub was with this particular monument.

On my travels, I have been to both National Parks and National Monuments, so what was the difference?

A National Park is usually a very large area that protects the ecosystem and natural scenery, and offers diverse recreational activities for the public. This has to be set aside by an act of Congress.

Examples would be Yellowstone in Wyoming or the Grand Canyon in Arizona.

A National Monument, on the other hand, is created by a presidential order (or can be an act of Congress). A monument generally preserves a specific object, structure, or natural feature of historical value.

Examples would be the Devil’s Tower in Wyoming or the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.

Well, it was time to visit this Walnut Canyon National Monument.

The short drive from Interstate 40 to the monument is beautiful, with tall green Ponderosa Pine and Douglas Fir lining the entrance. Being situated at nearly 6,700 feet above sea level, the variety of other trees and foliage is something to truly marvel at. And, if lucky, the traveler may catch sight of an elk or a mule deer. Soaring through the treetops, raptors may be viewed hunting for prey. 

Looking out toward Walnut Canyon from the visitor's center

The visitor center is situated on a sheer cliff overlooking Walnut Canyon, and the view out of the massive glass windows is nothing short of marvelous.

If the center had a bar serving an adult beverage, I may have sat there all day staring out at all the natural beauty. But, alas, they did not, and I wandered off to see what there was to see.

An ancient people known as the Sinagua lived in this canyon, as well as others in the immediate locale and other locations throughout Arizona from 1125 to approximately 1250 AD.

Sinagua is Spanish for ‘without water’. Even though there were plenty of trees and bushes, this area of Arizona lacks a substantial amount of rainfall each year and is subject to long droughts. But the Sinagua people were masters at water conservation, gathering and taking advantage of the small creek at the bottom of the canyon, which is seasonal but did provide the water needed for the settlement of Native Americans.

The canyon floor is nearly 350 feet below the cliff edge of the canyon, and at the bottom are forests of Walnut trees, thus the name of the monument.

Creativity was the key in living at Walnut Canyon

These trees, as well as other varieties, offered the Sinagua a healthy diet of walnuts, acorns, and pinyon nuts. They also gathered grapes and elderberries, as well as growing their own corn and beans on the vistas of the canyon. And they hunted for food and skins with the multitudes of Bighorn Sheep, deer, and antelope that lived in the vicinity. 

These folks were also believed to be traders with not only other local tribes but as far away as Central America. They were masters at handcrafted straw baskets, pottery, and clothing made from animal skins. 

Evidence of the distance they traveled to trade was found by early archaeologists, who found examples of seashells from the Pacific Ocean, turquoise from Santa Fe, and even colorful macaw feathers from Mexico and Central America.

One of many family dwellings of the Sinagua

But the most interesting part of this national monument is how the natives resided. There were no tents, no wooden buildings, but carved-out abodes within the limestone cliffs themselves.

Over millennia, water pounded the limestone, carving large caverns into the rock faces.

It was in these sheltered cliff dwellings that the Sinagua made their homes. The individual rooms were not large but could easily fit a family in the countless structures that can be seen today in Walnut Canyon.

They used natural stone to build walls separating one family from another, and doorways were small for both protection and comfort during all four seasons. Even smaller openings were placed toward the roof of the overhanging rock as a way to allow the smoke from the cooking or heating fires inside the rooms to escape outside, thus not causing a smoke buildup within.

Notice the small opening above the door to allow the smoke to escape

With this information gleaned from the visitors center, it was time to take the one-mile hiking loop around the canyon and see firsthand the ingenuity of a people who lived here for a short one hundred years and then suddenly left. 

Was it a continued drought? Was it warfare from other tribes? Or was it just time to move on?

There is no real solid evidence of why the Sinagua left the canyon, but there is plenty of evidence learned on the hike that these people used the natural surroundings far better than I bet most modern humans could.

It should be mentioned that the trail around the dwellings is pretty flat and easy, but the bloody stairs leaving from the visitor center down to the trail are not for the weak of heart. There are 368 stairs down to the trail, and that means 368 stairs back up to the center, and at an elevation gain of 185 feet, there may be a moment to take a rest and catch your breath.

The trail is easy, the stairs not so much

But the burning of the lungs is worth it when the traveler wanders the trail and beholds the creative mastery of people who settled in Walnut Canyon over 900 years ago.

For more information: https://www.nps.gov/waca/index.htm

John can be reached at beyersbyways@gmail.com

Winslow, Where the Eagles Landed

John R Beyer in Winslow, AZ

My lovely spouse Laureen and I were driving somewhere. Not sure where, since we drive a lot, usually with a purpose, when suddenly a tune began playing on our vehicle’s radio that I hadn’t heard in quite a while. The Eagles were suddenly belting out a song, with frontman Glenn Frey singing about taking it easy. 

“Wow, you know where I’d like to visit?” I asked Laureen.

And soon after, we found ourselves in Winslow, Arizona, and I was standing on the street corner next to a metal piece of art. Actually, the art was a full-sized bronze sculpture of Jackson Browne. Laureen had sauntered off to stand next to a metal representation of Glenn Frey, about thirty feet away from the corner of Route 66 and North Kinsley Avenue.

Jackson Browne and Glenn Frey co-wrote the famous song, ‘Take It Easy’ back in 1972. Actually, Browne had started writing the lyrics in 1971, but was in a bit of a pickle on how to complete it.

The rumor is that Browne had been working on his first album and had these words stuck in his head – “Well, I’m a-standin on a corner in Winslow, Arizona . . .” – and that is as far as he had gotten.

The story goes on to suggest that Browne had been stranded in the town of Winslow when his vehicle broke down. At some point, a woman in a pick-up truck had driven past Browne and lent a helping hand. 

We all love legends.

Hanging with Jackson Browne

It turns out that Glenn Frey and Jackson Browne resided in the same apartment building in Los Angeles, and being struggling musicians, had started up a friendship in the club – ‘Starving musicians and actors guild of greater Los Angeles.’

Browne played the beginning of the unfinished song, and Frey nodded.

“Man, let’s put a woman or women in it, and then we’ll have a hit record,” Frey may have suggested.

So, the following lyrics were born - “Such a fine sight to see. It’s a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowin’ down to take a look at me.”

Browne liked the sound, Frey liked the sound, and the Eagles released the song on their debut album, cleverly entitled: Eagles.

That is pretty awesome, since the song never would have been written in the first place if Browne hadn’t known Frey when they were struggling musical artists.

In fact, according to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, out of Cleveland, Ohio, the song – ‘Take It Easy’ released in 1972 actually helped shape the sound of rock and roll as we know it today.

But for such creative minds, couldn’t the band have come up with something a little more original for their debut album? Something like:

‘The Eagles have landed.’

‘Fly like a bunch of Eagles.’

Or, ‘We can play great songs but can’t come up with a name for our first album except the name of the band.’

In all transparency, according to my research, it may have been that Browne had been stranded at a Der Wienerschnitzel in Flagstaff, rather than the quaint little town of Winslow.

But I can’t even imagine the lyrics of that song.

‘Well, I’m a-standin on a corner in Flagstaff, Arizona with a chili dog and fries. My shirt is a mess, and such a fine sight to see, a car hop with a handful of napkins.’

Nope, wouldn’t make it in the top billion hits. We’ll stay with Winslow, Arizona, for this column.

So, after doing the touristy kinds of things – posing next to the statues for photos, standing in the middle of the street for photos, asking people to take photos of us, taking photos for them, and then taking a bunch of selfies – we were exhausted.

Laureen Beyer standing near the famous truck in Winslow, AZ

It was time to truly take it easy, and we did.

We were staying at the La Posada Hotel in Winslow and believed an adult libation while sitting in one of the many beautiful gardens would be a resplendent way to take it easy.

It was.

La Posada Hotel was built in 1930 by Fred Harvey of the famous railroad Harvey House chain, and designed by one of his favorite architects, Jane Colter.

In fact, it was Fred Harvey’s vision to create the first restaurant chain, and he used that chain and the railroad depots they were situated to draw huge groups of tourists to the Southwest. 

This hotel was to be a shining example for all to see and experience, and Harvey spared no expense on his dream. Well over two million dollars was spent on the hotel and the grounds when it was built in the Depression-era 1929 – that is well over a zillion dollars in today’s money.

And Colter had the run of the whole operation, from the design to the gardens, the linen to be used by the diners, and even the uniforms the staff would be wearing. Colter believed it to be one of her most glorious achievements, and today, La Posada is considered one of the most impressive and beautiful buildings in the entire Southwest.

With the construction of super-highways and the lack of railroad travelers, the hotel only lasted twenty-seven years before it was closed to the public. Most of the interior furnishings were auctioned off in 1959, and by the early 1960’s much of the hotel had been gutted – being used a bit here and there by the Santa Fe Railway as offices.

In fact, in 1994, the railway decided to abandon the property altogether and have it demolished.

Those railroad kingpins – where is their love of history?

But, after the National Trust for Historic Preservation learned of the possible demolition by the Santa Fe, the 80,000 square foot building was placed on the endangered list.

“Tear down La Posada? Never!” Allan Affeldt may have exclaimed to his wife, the internationally recognized artist, Tina Mion.

“But, Allan, we don’t know anything about running a hotel, let alone renovating it,” Tina likely responded.

“Well, it’s a really cool building, so let’s see what we can do to preserve it,” Allan may have been overheard replying to Tina.

And preserve this architectural marvel, they did. 

It took three long years of negotiating with the railroad before Allan and Tina were allowed to purchase the run-down hotel. They moved in on April 1, 1997.

Though it was April Fool’s Day, the couple knew it was no joke and a lot of work was ahead of them. Then came along their third partner, Daniel Lutzick, who took the role of General Manager.

What they accomplished in restoring a building which had been virtually abandoned since 1959 and fallen into almost complete disrepair is stunning.

Today, La Posada is one of the most sought-after hotel destinations in the United States. It has been rated in the top twenty for hotels in the Southwest by Conde Nast Traveler, and has received numerous other awards, marking this as a worthwhile place to visit.

The historic hotel in Winslow, AZ - La Posada

Besides a first-class hotel and a tasty restaurant, The Turquoise Room, La Posada is also a showcase for unique artwork, much of which was created by co-owner Tina Mion. In fact, the entire complex is a living museum, with artifacts from the early days when Fred Harvey owned the hotel, to Native American history, as well as the history of celebrities who had spent time there in the early days of the hotel's creation.

Such early big names as Gene Autry, Howard Hughes, Charles Lindbergh, Dorothy Lamour, and Clark Gable, just to name a few.

It was the place for the rich and famous to plop down after a long day’s drive along Route 66 heading east or west.

But getting back to the town of Winslow –a small town located in Navajo County, Arizona with a population of nearly ten thousand citizens.

It boasts a main street which brings back the nostalgia of the early days of Route 66, with businesses lining both sides of the street. There is a homey feel to the downtown area, with restaurants and brew houses within walking distance from just about anywhere.

“I like this town,” I stated to Laureen while we sauntered down the sidewalk.

“You like any town with a local brewery,” she responded.

I nodded. “You gotta have your priorities.”

Winslow is also the gateway for so many outdoor activities – Meteor Crater, the Homolovi Ruins, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest, the Apache Death Cave, and so many other places lie within a short drive.

There is a lot to do in this little burg.

One such place brought a tear for both of us. That was the 9-11 Remembrance Gardens. It is just on the outskirts of town, heading east on Route 66. A flag that was flown at the Pentagon flutters not far from two large steel beams from the World Trade Center, twisted and broken. These were donated to the town, and the park, which was built around the beams, was dedicated on September 11, 2002. 

A quiet place to sit and reflect

These beams are the largest entrusted to any community in the nation, and it is the community of Winslow that truly got behind the effort to create this memorial. Everyone from elementary and ROTC students to local business owners volunteered to pitch in to build and maintain this garden.

These beams stand tall and strong in that place for all to see – and for all to never forget.

That alone is reason enough to visit Winslow.

John can be reached at, beyersbyways@gmail.com

Kingman with The Big Texan's

John R Beyer standing next to the humongous cow

I had never seen such a large cow being towed on a trailer behind a solid black SUV. I have seen cows on ranches, on television, and in the backs of trucks, but this cow was huge. Okay, it was not a real cow. The cow was a plastic-molded beast that took up most of a long flatbed trailer and weighed in at over 700 pounds. 

It was being driven by a group of Texans cruising from Santa Monica all the way to Chicago along Route 66. It belonged to The Big Texan Steak Ranch, out of Amarillo, Texas. This world-famous restaurant and brewery promises that if a customer can consume a 72-ounce steak with all the trimmings in less than an hour, then that meal is free.

The cardiologist visit is upon the diner though.

This trip by The Big Texan Steak Ranch was a 13-day advertising odyssey to promote the 100th anniversary of Route 66, tied in with plenty of red, white, and blue as homage to the United States 250th birthday.

The thought of crossing half the country intrigued me as a writer, explorer, and just one proud American, but time can be sometimes challenging, and unfortunately, I could only spare three days on what John Steinbeck called the Mother Road.

I’ve traveled parts of Route 66 numerous times, but this would be the first time in a caravan featuring classic cars, classic people, and a classic plastic cow.

Just one of the many classic vehicles on display in Kingman, AZ

The weather was warm in Kingman as the cow made its appearance, but already a sizable crowd was milling around Locomotive Park near the corner of Beale Street and Grandview Avenue. A tourist can not miss this park, also known as Metcalfe Park, with the huge Santa Fe Steam Locomotive sporting number 3759 detailed along its jet-black metal frame.

As the team from The Big Texan Steak Ranch was setting up for the 72-ounce eating contest, I decided to meander a bit up Beale Street and see what I could see.

I have always liked Kingman, Arizona. It has two distinct sides to it that many cities do not share.

On this side of town, the historic section, you have the history of this once-bustling railroad town. It still is, but in its heyday, steam-engined locomotives would stop for a water fill-up before heading either east or west out of town.

All within walking distance, for those who like to stretch their legs, are the Bonelli House, built in 1915, the Hotel Beale, constructed in 1899, the Hotel Brunswick, erected in 1907, and the Powerhouse, built in 1907, which now hosts the Kingman Visitor Center.

Hotel Brunswick in Kingman, Arizona

Each historic building has its particular niche in Kingman, but one of the most interesting is the Hotel Beale.

Hotel Beale in Kingman, Arizona

An earlier fire destroyed the original Hubbs House at the location, and the rebuilding of the later known Hotel Beale was created with a brick-and-masonry construction. Which is a pretty smart thing to do to decrease an errant structural fire from taking down the entire block.

In 1906, the property was purchased by the actor Andy Devine’s parents, Tom and Amy Devine. The famous cowboy actor grew up there, mixing it up with travelers from the railroad, workers, and those who were just moisying through Kingman on their way to here or there.

Rumor has it that Andy Devine learned his acting skills by meeting so many interesting and sometimes odd fellows who frequented the hotel during his growing-up years in Kingman.

Famous folks like Buster Keaton stayed at the Hotel Beale while filming his movie, Go West, in 1925, and Charles Lindbergh stayed at the Hotel Beale while building a local airfield near Kingman.

But, as a writer, the most important person to stay at the hotel was Louis L’Amour, who stayed there quite often while working at the Katherine Mine near the Colorado River. That is also why Katherine Landing on Lake Mohave is called such, after the mine's founder’s sister, Katherine.

Unfortunately, the hotel has been abandoned for decades, but there is hope that the city of Kingman or a generous benefactor could bring the building back to its historic splendor.

I was getting a bit exhausted with all the history of Kingman and decided a cold beverage may be in store.

Thus, I found myself at the Rickety Cricket Brewing on Beale Street. A great place for a cold libation and perhaps a bite of this or that. One of my favorite places in Kingman to stop in and enjoy the atmosphere, food, and good selection of taps.

Rickety Cricket Brewing in Kingman, Arizona

Afterwards, I sauntered down Beale Street westbound toward the goings on in Locomotive Park but could not resist stopping in at the Black Bridge Brewery. It was warm, and the walk from Rickety Cricket Brewing had gotten me rather parched. One more for the road - though I was not driving since my hotel was just around the corner and my feet were my transportation for the moment. So, it was actually one more for the sidewalk.

Paul Bakas and John R Beyer are enjoying a rest at the Black Bridge Brewery 

Within thirty minutes, a large crowd was standing in Locomotive Park watching all the action near beneath the tarps covering a long table with folks who believed they could outeat the contest The Big Texan Steak Ranch was dishing out.

Contestants munching away

It was a fun-filled time with laughter, yelling, and goading on by the crowd watching the participants slowly but effectively putting away every bite.

Some attacked the steak alone. Some attacked the side dishes first. Others attacked like a shark seeing a bleeding swimmer on a lonely beach, grabbing every morsel available.

And the winner is???

It was fascinating, gruesome, and fulfilling.

Soon, after nearly thirty minutes, there was a winner and asked how he felt by one of the emcees. Hestated the obvious: “Full.”

It was a great day spent in Kingman. I met new friends, ditched others before they got a chance to see me, and learned that there is no way I could take on the eating wager The Big Texan Steak Ranch offers.

I waved goodbye to the huge plastic bovine and called it an evening, wondering what tomorrow’s adventure would bring.

For more information:

https://ricketycricketbrewing.com/

https://www.blackbridgebreweryaz.com/

https://www.explorekingman.com/attraction-Powerhouse-Route-66-Museum/

John can be contacted at; beyersbyways@gmail.com

Time to revisit Route 66

In honor of the 100th anniversary of the opening of Route 66 from Chicago to Santa Monica, we've decided to re-print various blogs concerning this wonderful extension of American ingenuity. It is a road that needs to be traveled to truly understand the term, Americana.

So, let's begin our journey down those 2448 miles of asphalt.

Laureen Beyer is getting ready for a road trip

In his 1939 novel, The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck referred to Route 66 as the ‘Mother Road’ of America. It was the strip of asphalt that those fleeing the devastation of the Dust Bowl took from the Midwest to the Promised Land of California.

So what is it about Route 66 that beckons millions of people to drive along its nearly two thousand five-hundred-mile path from the beginning in Chicago to its end in Santa Monica each year?

It was time to find out, and one of the best places to start was Kingman, Arizona.

“Ready for a road trip?” I asked my lovely wife, Laureen.

“When am I not?”

We soon set out for the short seventy-three-mile drive between Kingman and Seligman, Arizona, to see what we could see.

Kingman is definitely a place to stop and experience. There is so much history to cherish in this small town, just one hundred and five miles southeast of Las Vegas.

It’s named after Lewis Kingman, a railroad engineer for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. He was quite the engineer, designing over thirteen hundred miles of the Santa Fe Railroad system during his tenure. 

Actor Andy Devine was raised in Kingman, where he learned his love for the West. He appeared in over four hundred films during his lifetime, not including long stints in television western series which aired for decades.

Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart dedicated Arizona’s first commercial airport on Route 66 in Kingman in 1929.

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard were married there in 1939.

To say the least, Kingman is a historical place.

Laureen Beyer having fun in Kingman, Arizona

Driving along Route 66 is not like driving along an interstate. No, if speed is what someone is after, find another road.

Route 66 is meant to be a drive of knowledge. 

A drive learning about the backbone of America, where people ventured in search of a better life for themselves and their families.

A drive along America’s Mother Road is an opportunity to slow down and enjoy each mile along this iconic highway.

Millions of foreign travelers descend on this roadway each year to learn about the thing known as Americana.

Beatrice, a shop owner outside of Kingman, told us, “It is so exciting to see the tourists from all over the world stopping here. They are amazed at all the things they experience driving Route 66. It thrills me.”

As we drove north-east from Kingman, towns such as Hualapai, Walapai, and Valle Vista were soon in our rear-view mirror.

Roughly twenty-five miles north of Kingman is Antares Point. 

It is one of the showcases for the international artist, Gregg Arnold. This master sculptor has made this tiny bend in Route 66 a place for visitors to stop and enjoy numerous art pieces on display.

The small A-frame building housing the artwork is easy to spot along the road, but if the tourist fails to notice it, there is another object that cannot be missed or forgotten.

Standing in front of the artist’s studio is a fourteen-foot-tall green Tiki head, Arnold created in 2003 out of concrete. It is appropriately entitled: Giganticus Headicus. 

John R Beyer with Giganticus-Headicus

As we meandered about the place, at least twenty other vehicles loaded with tourists stopped, snapping photos of each other with the Tiki Head, before wandering into the studio. 

Giganticus Headicus is a big hit with those driving by Antares Point.

After leaving Antares Point, we soon passed through Peach Springs, Nelson, and Yampai before reaching the town of Seligman.

John R Beyer visiting Seligman, Arizona

Originally a railroad encampment known as Prescott Junction, the town was renamed Seligman, after Jesse Seligman, a railroad financier, in 1886.

It was a thriving locale along Route 66 until Interstate 40 was built on the outskirts of town in 1978. The town seemed to be on the verge of becoming a ghost town when the citizens banded together and demanded that the State of Arizona recognize Route 66 as a historic highway in 1987, and to ensure Seligman was accessible to those driving by on the freeway.

Thus, a few off-ramps were built, allowing travelers to exit the interstate and explore downtown Seligman.

Seligman soon became a major destination for tourists. An eclectic group of shops like the Rusty Bolt, bars like the O.K. Saloon, and restaurants like the Roadkill Café, line Route 66, beckoning the curious to stop and enjoy.

We wandered the town and soon realized why so many visited this little berg in Northwest Arizona.

It is just plain, good old-fashioned fun.

John can be reached at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

Willow Beach - a great place for a respite

Willow  Beach Marina, Arizona

I first came across Willow Beach Marina years ago when powering northward on Lake Mojave from Catherine Landing in Bullhead City, Arizona.

It was one of those perfect early summer days when the temperature hadn’t reached cooking an egg on the asphalt hot and the skies promised to be crystal blue and cloudless.

So, untying my pontoon boat from the slip at Katherine Landing, my buddy Paul and I headed out for the roughly 50-mile trip across the deep blue waters of Lake Mojave. We would top off the fuel at Cottonwood Cove Marina, east of Searchlight, Nevada, before continuing on to Willow Beach Marina.

Paul wanted to see the marina, which he hadn’t seen in decades.

“It’s funky,” he said. “There’s a bar right on the water, which is a great place to grab a cold one.”

One thing he did not know was that the Willow Beach he remembered no longer existed as it once had.

The new and improved Willow Beach Marina and Store

Monsoonal floods happen along the Colorado River. In September of 1974, a massive wall of water crashed down El Dorado Canyon just ten miles south of Willow Beach, leaving nine people dead, and the small resort of Nelson Landing devastated. It was never rebuilt.

The National Park Service does its best to warn visitors of the dangers when sudden pop-up storms rise in the dry deserts near the Colorado River, and of how those storms can trigger life-threatening situations.

Please take heed

Willow Beach was founded in the 1940s by locals from Las Vegas as a small fishing and boating community. Even back then, the Park Service had warned about possible flooding down the steep canyons that reach into the Colorado River.

People, as people often do, shrugged their shoulders and realized that there are times when the rains and hard-packed desert sands don’t play well.

One person stated, “We know we live in a flood plain. It just goes with the territory.”

In 1992, a so-called 100-year storm caused a wave of water over 10 feet roaring down Jumbo Wash just 200 yards south of Willow Beach. Then again, in February of 1993, an unseasonal flash occurred, sending yet more torrents of rain, causing over a $100,000 damage to the area - destroying buildings, roadways, and other improvements.

But the continued ‘unusual’ storms occurred throughout the decades, causing so much damage to the Willow Beach Beach and Marina that it had to be rebuilt by the National Park Service.

It was no longer the ‘funky’ place Paul had remembered from years past. No, it looked like any other marina with plenty of slips, a fuel dock, restaurant, market, and a new and improved camping area.

Willow Beach parking and marina during the summer

So recently Laureen, my lovely wife, and I headed to Las Vegas for a few days and decided to take US 93 from Bullhead City to Sin City, while making a short detour at Willow Beach. 

Laureen Beyer enjoying the views from Willow Beach patio

The three-and-a-half-mile road from US 93 to the marina is narrow, twisty, and in need of some repair, in my opinion. In some spots, I would not want to maneuver our Bounder with a boat attached to the rear end - it would be very slow going and apt to upset the folks behind us.

But once we arrived at the marina, the winding road was a thing of the past. The views of the Colorado River were spectacular, with blue waters and towering cliffs both north and south of the marina.

The winter weather on this trip was a bit on the cooler side, but the sun was shining bright overhead, making it a bit more manageable.

We were surprised at how many folks were out and about on the wide sandy beaches and carrying kayaks of all sizes back and forth from the parking lot.

Visitors taking in the blue skies and blue waters at Willow Beach

The region is not only known for regular power boating, but paddling northward toward Hoover Dam, a mere 12 miles in kayaks, canoes, and paddle boards. A few miles south of the Hoover Dam is the marvelous natural destination of Emerald Cave.

Looking Northwest toward river running from Hoover Dam

People from all over the state and country visit this area to view the vibrant green water when sunlight strikes the walls of Black Canyon and then is reflected into the water, usually in the mid-afternoon. 

The cave was once a landmark for engineers to measure the water flow that ran past the Willow Beach Gauging Station, built in 1931.

Laureen and I watched as groups of people either paddled off separately toward Hoover Dam or joined paid tour groups to Emerald Cave.

They were wearing shorts and tank tops. Laureen and I both had on sweatshirts. We were not going on any tour that day.

The Willow Beach Harbor Marina and Camp Store lured Laureen in like a trout.

“I just want to see what they have,” she said.

In other words, my wallet may be a bit lighter when we left Willow Beach to head back toward Las Vegas.

Amazingly, after spending about ten minutes within the store, we left without purchasing anything but a simple magnet stating we had been to Willow Beach. It’s a habit that if we enter a store, we buy something, no matter how small, as a way to say thank you to the proprietor. 

“That was awesome,” I said.

“The store?” Laureen asked.

“That and the fact we still have enough cash for the rest of our trip.”

Being seasoned travelers, we had brought some snacks to enjoy while on the road, so I drove out of the parking lot and headed for the vista point a hundred or so feet above the marina.

John R Beyer at the overlook near Willow Beach, Arizona

The view was gorgeous as we sat quietly nibbling on salami, cheese, and crackers while taking in the majesty of the Colorado River both north and south of Willow Beach.

This sight hadn’t been available when Paul and I had boated to the Willow Beach Marina from the waters edge, and today I was glad for the short detour to take it all in.

“It’s beautiful,” Laureen said.

I simply nodded. Sometimes words can not compete with Mother Nature.

For more information: https://willowbeachharbor.com/

John can be reached at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

A Haunting we will go in Two Guns, Arizona

It is that time of year that brings communities together. To laugh, to share, and to just find the joy in being alive.

It is October – and that can only mean one thing – Halloween.

Ghosts, goblins, witches, and cryptids do their best to scare us to an unpleasant place.

It is the month to mutilate the pumpkin and paint the cat black.

One of my favorite seasons.

As Laureen and I were driving west along Route 66, after visiting Winslow, Arizona – we decided to stop by a place that is so haunted, so scary, so unnaturally spooky that most humans would not dare to tread there.

Laureen Beyer standing on a street corner in Winslow, Arizona

Not being like most humans, we knew it was an experience we just had to visit on our very own.

Laureen is not that fancy on these spectral sorts of sites but since I was driving . . .

After pulling south off Route 66 by the ruins of the town of Two Guns, I was busy scanning my hand-held GPS looking for the scariest area near Two Guns.

“I don’t think this thing is working,” I told Laureen. “If I’m holding it correctly, we’re somewhere between Vienna and Salzburg.”

No reply from Laureen.

Suddenly I heard her from about 50 feet away. “It’s right here, I can feel it.”

The reason Laureen does not like to travel to many supposedly haunted places is due to the fact she actually ‘feels’ something. A sense or foreboding of what may have occurred in the past at such a place.

Me, I usually feel hungry or thirsty. 

As in earlier articles concerning ‘haunted places’ I tend to be a bit of a skeptic. Don’t really think folks from the afterlife are lingering around waiting for me to invade their space.

“Hey, you are now in my personal ghost space. So rude of you that I will throw this antique rocking chair at your head.”

Of course, I do have to admit I have heard or seen things that I can not explain while traveling here and there.

I once saw a boy scout escort an elderly woman across the street in Houston, and I thought that only happened in Hallmark films.

“What is right here that you can feel it?” I asked Laureen, finally giving up on the hand-held GPS which had me now somewhere east of Moscow.

“The cave, it’s right here,” she replied.

The Apache Death Cave in Two Guns, Arizona

The cave, Laureen was mentioning, was the famed Apache Death Cave located about 12 miles west of Meteor Crater in Arizona along Route 66.

The legend is terrifically sad.

In the late 19th century, the two dominate native tribes residing in the area were the Apache and the Navajo. These two groups did not get a long well together and often raided and killed each other over territory or perhaps because they did not like each other.

But in 1878 it is rumored that some Apaches entered two Navajo camps and killed everyone except three young girls whom they kidnapped.

Other Navajo warriors hearing of this diabolical action started to chase the Apache to seek their revenge and get the girls back.

The Navajo were closing the gap of the fleeing Apache but suddenly lost sight of them near the edge of the Canyon Diablo, a long arroyo that meanders through the territory.

Getting off their horses, the Navajo looked high and low and low and high but could not locate the Apache.

Just then, as the story goes, one of the Navajo thought he heard voices coming from somewhere below him and then found a deep cave carved into the Kaibab Limestone.

Sure enough, the Apache had ridden into the large cave with their horses and captives hoping to trick the tracking Navajo.

The ruse did not work.

Grabbing a lot of sagebrush, the Navajo decided to smoke the Apache out of the cave by lighting the bushes on fire.

Moments later, a few Apache ran from the cave but were immediately killed by the waiting Navajo.

It only took a few minutes to realize the captives had been murdered by the Apache, so the rest of the Navajo posse decided to finish the job and continued to throw large amounts of burning sagebrush into the mouth of the cave.

There was no chance for escape for any of the Apache trapped within the walls of the cave. 42 Apache succumbed to the smoke and fire.

Perhaps a memorial for the Apache who tragically died here

I wandered over to where Laureen was standing by a small rock border, and she pointed downward. Sure enough, there was a cave which seemed as though the walls may have been smoke damaged sometime in the past.

“The hairs are standing up on head,” she stated.

Looking at her perfectly quaffed hair, I did not know what to say. So, I said nothing.

An old wooden ladder type of bridge ran across the width of the cave allowing the visitor a chance to get closer into the cave.

The ladder was not truly stable looking

“You first,” I said.

“Me never,” Laureen replied.

After a few tense moments of rock scrambling and teetering on the wooden bridge, I found myself at the bottom of the cave. 

Laureen Beyer going very slowly toward the cave

It was dark inside the cave. 

“Do you feel anything?” 

“Yes,” I replied.

“Wow, what?”

“I think I dislocated my right shoulder.”

The cave was longer than I had thought it would be. I wandered a bit bumping into this wall or that wall, once nearly knocking off the top of my head on a low ceiling and thought that if the ghosts of the murdered Apache were not going to talk to me, it was time to call this adventure off.

Besides, it did seem rather spooky in that dark hole in the ground alone.

One needs to very careful exploring such places

“You want to come down, and see?”

“Nope.”

After dusting myself off and making sure my forehead was not bleeding, I noticed that Laureen was not looking quite herself.

She told me that there was something in the immediate surroundings she could sense. A sense of doom, of tragedy, of unmistakable horror.

“They were afraid to die in such a way.”

I do not question her feelings. I may do it inwardly but not outwardly.

But there was something different in that cave – I am not saying I felt what Laureen did, but it was rather oppressive in the cave. Almost suffocating, but that could be the close quarters and wandering around in a dark place by yourself.

New Reality paranormal investigators, Shawn and Cody, had visited the Apache Death Cave in the past and recorded their investigation for their hit series.

They felt and heard things while pulling their stint within that cave.

We spent time with them when they investigated a haunted ranch house in Lucerne. We all heard and experienced things that long haunting night.

These guys are experts in this paranormal field.

But I am still a skeptic. I am waiting for Casper to come sit next to me on the sofa and explain clearly why he is a ghost and why I need to believe.

In 1881, a bridge was built across Canyon Diablo by the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad and a small tent city, named Canyon Diablo was constructed for the workers.

But that little tent city grew up to be a rootin’-tootin’ full-time town which made Tombstone look like a children’s nursery school.

The population boomed to 2,000 folks overnight and there was at least one killing in the streets near the dozen saloons, gambling halls, and brothels each day.

Some of the ruins at Two Guns, Arizona

In fact, the first Marshall hired to protect the town was shot dead three hours later. It was a lawless town.

Boot Hill became so full that the undertaker ran out of room for any new customers.

One problem with this tale, according to the Republic Newspaper out of Arizona, is that this town probably never existed.

In an article written by Scott Craven, the town had been created by a fictional writer by the name of Gladwell Richardson who passed away in 1980 who had written nearly 300 western novels under various pseudonyms.

When the bridge was completed, the tent city moved on.

It was also Richardson who first wrote about the Apache Death Cave in his only non-fiction book about the town of Two Guns, Arizona. Prior to him writing about it in his book the tragic event had never seen print.

Seems, that both a town so wild Doc Holiday would have circumvented it and a horrific story such as the Apache Death Cave had occurred there should be more mention of it in the history books.

But, as with many historical records, things may get a bit exaggerated by those writing those histories.

Those silly writers. Who do they think they are embellishing here and there?

We walked around studying the layout, checking this out and checking that out and Laureen said she could still feel that something tragic had occurred here in the past.

Perhaps something had happened to the Apache and Navajo in the 19th century and perhaps not.

A town may have been here that was totally lawless but perhaps not.

That is the way with myths and legends, they grow stronger as the decades slip by.

Are they true or does it really matter?

For further information: https://azdot.gov/adot-blog/two-guns-sordid-history-i-40  

Kingman Haunts

 According to local resident, Art, there are some strange sounds coming out of a long and relatively narrow canyon near his neighborhood.

“Yeah, I have heard what could be referred to as shrieks in the late evening hours,” he said.

My buddy Paul had traveled with me to Kingman, Arizona to check out a couple of possibly scary haunts.

Laureen said nope when I advised her that the first stop would be Slaughterhouse Canyon.

Drone shot of Slaughterhouse Canyon, Kingman Arizona

After showing her some research I had conducted on the chilly-willy versions of what had gone down in the canyon there was no way Laureen would travel with me.

I asked Paul.

“Are you buying lunch?”

“If I have to,” I responded.

“You do and I’m going.”

Laureen feels things when it comes to the ghouls and goblins from the supposed afterlife. She’ll state something to the effect – “Something bad happened here; I feel a sense of doom.”

Like a good husband, I nodded my head.

Slaughterhouse Canyon is easy to locate in Kingman. Drive onto Andy Devine Avenue and look for the sign with a big finger pointing and the written words beneath it - ‘This way to Slaughterhouse Canyon – but beware.’

It is just northwest of a large housing tract where our new local friend Art lived.

In an article from the online site ‘Only In Your State,’ the canyon received its scary name from an event which may have occurred in the mid-1800s.

A family consisting of a father, mother and three children lived in a ramshackle cabin in the canyon next to a consistently running creek. The husband was a miner but not a particularly good one and the family had a tough time financially.

One day he left and never returned. With no one supplying what the family needed, the mother grew desperate watching her children getting hungrier and hungrier by the day. Legend has it that she could not take watching her children starve the death, so she murdered them to save them from such a long and painful death. She then threw their remains in the creek and took her own life soon afterwards.

Visitors to Slaughterhouse Canyon have reported feeling the anguish that still permeates the air, according to the article. And on evenings and nights when the air is quite still, it is said that you can hear the screams of the children.

Spooky caves are everywhere in Slaughterhouse Canyon

With all due deference, Paul and I were there in the late morning hours and all we heard were birds chirping, lizards scampering, and butterflies flapping.

“We have a lot of coyotes around here and that’s the sound I hear coming from inside the canyon,” Art said.

“No blood curdling screams of anguish and pain?” I asked.

“Nope, just coyotes baying at the moon.”

Enough said, that is a haunting sound all of its own. 

We drove along a well graded dirt track along Slaughterhouse Canyon Road – yes, there is a road by that name -- but we did not see any old ramshackled house where the mother and children may have lived.

Paul checking out some crumbled ruins in Slaughterhouse Canyon

However, there was a strange sort of round rock and metal structure that looked old. We mused what it may have been since there was no plaque telling us what it had been.

“An old icehouse to keep food fresh,” Paul pondered.

“A storage box for tools,” I said.

But with plenty of modern-day graffiti sprayed on it, we knew now it was a party place for youngsters who told their parents they were going to the library to study.

There are some creepy abandoned structures along the way

That excuse worked for me as a kid.

Neither one of us felt haunted while in the depths of the canyon. That is not to say something tragic did not happen long ago and if all the stories about the mother and children are true, may they rest in peace.

What a horrible decision that must have been made by a parent. That perhaps is a haunting enough story.

“What now?”

“Ghost hunting makes me thirsty,” I replied. “Let us find an old place for an adult libation and I will wager it is haunted too.”

The Sportsman’s Bar is in the historic section of Kingman and was built in the early 1900s. It is a wonderful place to visit.

A long wood bar top, which appears to be the original, stretches for nearly a hundred yards into the interior of the establishment. Pool tables, a jukebox, dart boards, animal heads mounted on the walls, American flags, and a ceiling made of metal panels, make this place one of the coolest saloons I have visited. Not that I visit many but have read stories of those who have.

The Sportsman’s Bar makes folks feel welcome with comfortable stools lined belly-up against the bar itself and that is where Paul and I plopped down.

Tammy Gross, the General Manager, and bartender extraordinaire, asked what we would be having.

“First,” I said. “Is this place haunted?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of or at least I haven’t noticed anything.”

But the way she said it, I knew there was more to that story, and there was.

“Well, one day I was here alone, and the jukebox just started playing by itself,” she said. “We have it programmed to play random songs unless a customer puts money in and chooses the songs.”

“Uh huh,” I said.

“It ran through every song with a Tuesday in it. Ruby Tuesday by the Stones, Tuesday’s Dead by Cat Stevens, Sweet Tuesday Morning by Badfinger, I Think It’s Tuesday by the Drunks and every other song that had a mention of a Tuesday.”

“Huh,” I said.

“Yes, it was a Tuesday.”

“Makes sense since it was a Tuesday,” I replied. “It wouldn’t if it had been Wednesday, or they may have been pretty dumb ghosts.”

Tammy then mentioned that some other staff had seen lights go off and on with no one present. Sounds of people walking on the roof when no people were there.

“You know there are tunnels beneath all the buildings on this street. Tunnels the early miners used. No one is allowed to enter now due to their condition, but rumor has it that there is even an old Speakeasy down there used during the prohibition years.”

Interior of the Sportsman Bar, Kingman AZ

A gentleman was sitting next to me by the name of Dean spoke up.

“I camp out near Sitgreaves Pass on old Route 66 out of Oatman and I’ve heard some things during the night I cannot explain.”

Turns out Dean is quite the outdoorsman and spends his time camping here and there when he has a chance. Along Sitgreaves Pass is a long view of the valley heading toward Kingman and he finds the solitude enjoyable.

That is until one night around midnight he was awakened by the sound of someone using a pick-axe nearby.

A lot of small mines had been started and abandoned near Oatman in the late 19th century but not much activity during the 21st century.

Well, someone or something was going to town trying to dig for riches on this evening.

“I got up, looked around and walked toward the sounds. The picking was so close I knew I would bump into whoever was working so late in the night on their mine. But suddenly the noise stopped. I stook there for a long time and nothing else happened. In the morning, I checked all around where I had heard the pickaxe, and nothing had been disturbed. It was very chilling to say the least.”

Perhaps an old miner had returned to try their luck one more time near Sitgreaves Pass without knowing a live body was nearby.

Next door to the Sportsman’s Bar is the Hotel Brunswick, listed as one of the most haunted hotels in the area.

The once famous and glamorous Brunswick Hotel, Kingman AZ

Ghosts and shadow people wander all over the hotel – in fact, some shadow people walk through living people. Very rude indeed.

A little girl ghost frequents the dining room.

“Tammy, what about the Brunswick next door?” I asked. “Shadow people, ghosts wandering here and there without a care in the world.”

She looked around. “You know a shadow person is an entity in a sense that looks like a person. I have seen them.”

“At the Brunswick Hotel?”

She shook her head. “I’m pretty much of a local and have been in the hotel, the restaurant, and the bar lots of times. No shadow people there.”

“Huh,” I said.

“But others have seen them and heard strange sounds when the place was supposed to be empty.”

Unfortunately, the Brunswick Hotel was closed for refurbishing. The owners want to bring it back to its original beauty and will be something to see. The once grand establishment was built in 1909 and has hosted famous folks like Andy Devine, Barry Goldwater, and Clark Gable to name just a few. It was the poshest of the posh during its heyday.

Is Kingman haunted?

Could be, but more importantly historic Kingman deserves a visit and you never know, there’s always the possibility a ghost may introduce themselves.

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com