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

 

 

Visit Kingman, Arizona for a Haunting Good Time

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.

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.

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.

Aerial view of Slaughterhouse Canyon Road

Slaughterhouse Canyon Road - Kingman, Arizona

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.

What could this be?

“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.

That excuse worked for me as a kid.

Caves for ghosts to hide in? Booo!

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.”

Secret tunnels lay beneath these Kingman businesses

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.

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.”

The Brunswick Hotel ready for a make-over

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 and his friend, Giganticus Headicus

I was having lunch with a friend of mine, Jim, when he asked if I had ever heard of the Giganticus Headicus.

While popping another French fry in my mouth, I shook my head. “Not sure about that, and not sure that is truly a thing.”

Jim often asks me about if I’ve seen this or that while I travel.

Jim travels a lot too. And his main thoroughfare is the ‘Mother Road’, or the ‘Will Rogers Highway,’ or the ‘Main Street of America’ – all three are also known as just ‘Route 66.’

He has seen many things during his years traveling Route 66. At last count, I believe Jim told me he has traveled Route 66, all the way from Santa Monica to Chicago, about three thousand times.

That makes Jim an expert on what is and what is not on Route 66.

I’ve never been to Chicago, not even once. And, changing planes at O’Hare International Airport on the northwest side of the city, does not count as having visited Chicago.

“So what is a Giganticus Headicus?”

“It is a great piece of art, created by Gregg Arnold,” Jim replied.

“Where’s it located?”

“At Antares Point,” he said. “You’ve heard of that, yes?”

I nodded. “Of course, that’s the bar where Luke Skywalker runs into Hans Solo and Chewie.”

Turns out, there is a small village named Antares about twenty miles north-east of Kingman, Arizona. It began, as many villages did, as a railroad siding for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad in 1883. The tracks at this point take a large curve in their design, as the rails headed south toward Kingman.

In 1910, after the National Old Trails Highway made its way through the area, the village was incorporated into what is now Antares. In 1926, Route 66 blazed along the railroad tracks, and the area became a rest stop for those visitors heading either north or south through this part of Arizona.

But, there is more to this little berg than just a fuel stop. There are over six thousand mining claims in the nearby hills, where copper, gold, lead, and silver were found in abundance. The village of Antares actually took its name from the star Antares, in the constellation ‘Scorpio.’ The word is Greek, and means ‘rival of Mars’, due to the reddish tint of the hillsides created by the copper found there.

Though, most of the mines are now closed, there are still over two hundred in operation in and around the Hualapai Valley, where Antares is located.

I found that research rather interesting, as I do most of my research – unless it has to do with how to take a dog stain off a living-room carpet.

But, it also turns out that there is a small stop along Route 66 called Antares Point. It is owned by Gregg Arnold and his spouse, Alie Reynolds-Arnold, and is a place that is truly worth a parking break.

A small A-framed building is the center of Antares Point, which offers visitors a chance for a snack, a drink, and a gaze at some awesome pieces of art work.

Both Gregg and Alie are world-renown artists, and have their studio, the Antares Art Studio, in Kingman.

Alie is known for her work in many art media forms, acrylic, oils, and whatever else great artists use to slap on a canvas to express their inner most creativity.

Tiki god at the point

Gregg, on the other hand, deals mainly in metal works. His metal sculptures appear all over the world, and the more detailed the better.

Some of his work is on display, and for sale, at Antares Point.

The camel of Route 66

 “Gregg is unveiling a new metal sculpture there in two weeks.”

“That sounds like an adventure to me,” I told Jim.

And, it was.

As I rounded the bend just south of the village of Antares, my eyes locked onto a huge green tiki-god like sculpture to the left of the A-frame visitor’s center for Antares Point.

I had to park quite a way down a dirt road from the business since there were about two hundred people milling around for the unveiling of Arnold’s latest creation. Actually, I’m not sure if they were milling, to be honest – I not even sure what that truly means.

“I was just milling around.”

“Well, I was milling better than you.”

There was a car show with some really sweet rides, and people were walking around gawking in admiration or jealousy. There was a band playing near some outdoor benches and awnings. And a man selling ice cream, singing Italian songs – no, those are the lyrics from a song by the band, Chicago.

Watch your speed through town

Anyway, there was quite a crowd and everyone was having a wonderful time while waiting for the blue tarps to be withdrawn from the newest art work created by Gregg Arnold.

Giganticus Headicus, is huge – really a big-headed cement head which looks like it is buried up to its chin in the ground. Standing at fourteen feet tall, it is impressive.

At that moment, the artist himself walked over to me. “What do you think?”

“It’s big and green,” I replied.

Arnold smiled. “Yes, it is, and the first time I used concrete in any of my artwork. The use of concrete was a new medium for me, but it worked out.”

Not being much of an art consumer, except for purchasing a couple of paintings depicting dogs’ playing cards, I asked what inspired him for this project.

“I thought of it while sleeping one night,” he replied. “I woke up and hurriedly jotted down the design. It was like an obsession with me. I’m sure being a writer, you probably get up in the middle of the night with something important on your mind.”

I nodded, but didn’t reply. The only time I get up in the middle of the night is to find the nearest restroom.

“For the entire month it took to complete it, it was all I could think of. I was totally obsessed and was physically and emotionally exhausted once I had completed it.”

Gregg is a very passionate artist. He created the large tiki-head project at the studio in Kingman, and then transported it to the site at his Antares Point location.

“I wanted something to draw a person’s eye, as they drive by on Route 66. This did the trick, and they stop, and I get to talk with them about the importance of art and also, the magnificence of this road.”

“What is going to be unveiled?” I asked.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” He smiled.

Taking my leave from Gregg, I walked into the visitor’s center and was really amazed at the pieces of art that lined countertops and shelves around the rooms. Small pieces, medium pieces, and some large metal artworks, that were incredible in all their detail. Wandering through the store, I saw art magazine after art magazine with stories concerning this highly creative artisan. 

Visitor center behind Arnold's artwork

Of course, there were also books, photographs, signs, and other Route 66 memorabilia for sale, as well as a snacks and drinks for the visitors.

As I exited the store after purchasing something, Gregg was standing on the front porch of the establishment. I asked him how he got his inspiration for such a varied array of art works.

“My art just comes to me. I don’t know how or why, but it does.”

Being as successful artist as Gregg is, his imagination must be on over-drive most of the time. 

While waiting for the unveiling, I busied myself chatting with car enthusiasts, Route 66 enthusiasts, art enthusiasts, and enthusiasts of enthusiasm.

“I’m really enthused by being here,” said one lady.

The time for the unveiling was suddenly upon us – time speeds by when everyone is enthused.

The new metal structure, which stands at sixteen feet tall, is located on the north-west section of the property as planned by Gregg, so anyone traveling Route 66 would be able to see it right away. As though, anyone driving by wouldn’t first see a giant green head tiki-god in the front yard of Antares Point.

That may slow a driver down a bit.

Gregg stepped up onto a concrete platform in front of the tarped covered stature, microphone in hand and spoke to the large crowd gathered all around.

The covered stature

He explained very eloquently why and how he created the art work.

“This metal stature is to be the guardian of Route 66,” he stated. “I wanted something very special and meaningful for anyone traveling this wonderful roadway. I also desired it to represent the strength of our wonderful nation, and to stand tall with all those who have served her and continue to serve her, no matter their occupations.”

At this moment, the tarps dropped, revealing a truly beautiful metal stature, of a female holding a shield, a crown, and carrying an American flag.

Gregg Arnold with his newest art project

The crowd’s reaction was over-whelming with clapping, cheers, and other loud noises of approval.

I looked the whole situation over, the people, the art work, and the place – and realized that not only was Gregg a very accomplished artist, but his love of this country was palpable.

It was certainly worth the drive to share in this moment along Route 66 at Antares Point.

The protector of Route 66

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Use a Brain while camping

 

According to the 2017 American Camper Report, nearly 41 million Americans went camping in 2016. That’s about fourteen percent of the population venturing out into nature, having a great time – the other eighty-six percent didn’t have any good times in 2016.

Anyone who has spent time enjoying the great outdoors camping and staring up into the endless, inky dark night sky, knows what I am writing about.

It’s awesome. Being out in nature, which is one of the few pleasures we can indulge in at this time, is a wonderful experience. Fresh air. Sunshine or moonshine (I mean looking up at the moon – not the stuff my uncle used to make in his bathtub). Time with family and friends. Just an overall quiet, good time.

And obviously, with the numbers reported by the American Camper Report, a lot of people enjoy camping on their time off.

We do, and we did recently. Never having spent much time in the Hualapai Mountains, just outside of the city of Kingman, Arizona – we decided to do some rough camping. Rough camping is defined as, not having room service, or any service at all for creature comforts.

No calling down for a bottle of cold bubbly at ten in the evening. No sheets turned down with a little mint waiting on the pillow. No tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion that seem to disappear at check-out time.

Nope, simply a tent, sleeping bags, propane stove, foldable chairs, and your own personal toiletries. That’s rough camping, baby!

The mountain range in Mohave County, was named after the Hualapai people who once lived there. Their name actually means, people of the tall pines – and there is an abundance of tall pines in these mountains.

If one wants to be an expert, the Hualapai Mountains in the Mohave language is – Amat ‘Avii Kahuwaaly (pronounced as it is spelled). These mountains have five tall peaks which overlook the valley to the north of the city of Kingman.

“You know, the mountains are going to be chilly in the evening,” Laureen noted, as I packed up our vehicle for the trek.

“I’ll build a fire.”

The look, only she can give, had me rethink that last comment. “It’ll be a propane fire.”

In this year, 2020 – yeah, the one we’d like to forget – has seen, according to the National Interagency Fire Center, over 47,277 wild fires in ten states. Arizona alone, had seen more than 1,600 itself as of November 1^st.

With a quick call to the Mohave County Parks Department, I spoke with a very informative person who informed me that no fires of any type were allowed.

“So, my thought of a log fire the size of Kentucky is a no-go,” I mentioned.

 “That would be a no.”

“Understood, how about a self-contained propane fire – a small one?”

“That’s the only type allowed.”

We chit-chatted for a few minutes on how destructive the forest fires have been in Arizona and the rest of the Southwest, as well as the Northwest.

“People-made or nature produced?” I wanted to know.

I knew that in Northern California in August, a rare dry lightning storm had caused over one thousand separate ground fires. I hadn’t heard of any event of that magnitude in the state of Arizona, but was curious.

“People caused.”

“Dumb people?” I asked.

“Who else would start fires when the forest is as dry as it is?”

So, we packed up and drove off to the Hualapais for a little rough camping. I did bring some little mints for the sleeping bags though. That’s just the thoughtful kind of guy I am. I hope my wife appreciates how lucky she is. Maybe one of my readers will write in and tell her how good she’s got it. But I digress.

Hualapai Mountain Park, where the campground is located, was actually constructed in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps for the crews working on the Davis Dam, located near the town of Bullhead City, Arizona.

                                                  Beautiful area to spend some time

It seemed that while the huge construction project was under way, the workers felt a little overwhelmed, after sweltering in summer temperatures that rivaled that of the surface of the sun.

“It’s really hot, boss.”

“Hey, it’s not that hot. Only my nose melted off today, not my whole face. Now get back to work!”

So, the camp was built in the Hualapai Mountains, where the summer average temperature is quite cool compared to where the dam was being built, perhaps by thirty degrees. Here, the workers could cool off in the mountain air, while listening to the soft breezes whistling through the tall pines, instead of the constant cacophony of construction equipment.

It was a peaceful setting, and only about 45 miles from the construction site. The park still has rock cabins from those days, that visitors can rent by the day, the week, or the month. Right near the campsite we stayed, there is a rock bridge over a creek built by those same workers who constructed the Davis Dam.

                                           John standing on original 1930's rock bridge

History permeates the park. It is truly fascinating, and shows the determination of those who built the dam, to make a nice, comfortable, and soothing place to escape when not working in the heat of the desert by the Colorado River.

We pitched camp around two in the afternoon and just sat in a couple of chairs, enjoying the coolness of the mountains.

“This is lovely,” Laureen observed.

“I can’t hear you over the soft breeze through the pine trees,” I replied.

                               Laureen, enjoying a warm dinner, cold wine and propane fire

At that moment, a Park Ranger’s truck pulled up in front of our campsite. Ranger Gino stepped out and advised us that no wood fires were allowed.

“Got the propane one ready,” I replied.

He was, as many people I meet along the byways – a fount of knowledge. It was actually he, who informed us of how the campground was created back in the 1930s. Ranger Gino was just a guy who loved his job and stopped by each campsite explaining the do’s and don’ts that would be accepted on his turf.

“You know, where you’re camped is the highway for our elk.”

He then explained that all sorts of wildlife visit the campground, depending on the season. There were the elk, he had mentioned, as well as bear, mountain lions, deer, and other animals. “Just don’t feed them.”

“I only brought enough food for the two of us,” I reassured Ranger Gino.

It seems, like many parks through-out the nation have witnessed, visitors believe it’s kind to feed the wildlife, which then don’t behave like wildlife. The animals become dependent on hand-outs from human visitors, and when they don’t receive a freebie snack, they often become demanding and aggressive.

“We’re all actually trying to retrain guests how to interact with the wildlife. They are, after all, wild animals.”

Ranger Gino left and fifteen minutes later a six-foot-tall elk walked by our camp. It stopped, looked at us and then moseyed on her way into the forest to bed down for the evening.

It was a beautifully majestic sight within a few feet of us.

Then it happened.

New campers came and started to set up camp two spots down from us. I say, started to since within minutes of being there, one of the campers decided that starting a huge bonfire was a great idea in a dry forest.

Ranger Gino, arrived like a superhero with radar, and leaped from his truck.

“Oh, no – no – no,” he yelled, as the female fire starter looked at him in surprise.

“You can’t have an open fire,” he stated. “There’re signs everywhere forbidding it.”

“It’s not an open fire; it’s on the ground,” she responded.

Ranger Gino looked a bit perplexed at that statement.

I smiled at Laureen, “She is a dumb human, I think.”

She was, and our big ears picked up that she and her friends were being booted from camping here for the remainder of the year. Ranger Gino didn’t even issue a fine as he could have – gave them a break. What a nice guy!

Other than that, the camping was wonderful and peaceful – but one thing to remember is to always follow the rules when out in the great outdoors.

And don’t be dumb. It’s embarrassing for the rest of us who have to share this Earth.