One time, way back in the 1980s, on a lengthy peakbagging trip 300 miles from home, I found myself in Lake Havasu City, home of the London Bridge. After gassing up, I headed south on Arizona State Highway 95, and, near Cat Tail Cove State Park, found the wash I was looking for. Two miles was about as far as I could drive up it, heading east, before I was forced to park.
My goal today was the high point of the Bill Williams Mountains. This small range was named for one William Sherley Williams, known as Old Bill Williams, a mountain man who traveled through much of Arizona in the early 1800s. Williams came west from St. Louis, serving as a missionary to Native Americans. He eventually gave up that life and spent the rest of his years traveling the west as an expedition guide and trapper.
My friend Barbara Lilley, peakbagger extraordinaire from California, had given me some beta on the route. She described a series of washes to ascend to finally reach Peak 2700, the range high point – it was almost seven miles one way. There was some tricky orienteering to be done with the old 15′ topo map, so I’ve gotta tell you I was paying close attention all the way. Thunder and a few sprinkles accompanied me. I won’t kid you, there were so many changes of direction that I was marking the route on the way in. The peak was right where Barbara said I’d find it – her register entry said they’d had a tough day when they did this one. It rained on me a few times, but that was no big deal – in our bone-dry air, your clothes dry quickly. The return trip was easy, it just felt long. Barbara was right – I too was done in by the time that truck of mine came into view. This little climb had entailed 2,300 vertical feet and almost 14 miles on foot.
When I regained my truck, I drove back down the wash to the highway, then south a few miles to Bill Williams National Wildlife Refuge. Here, I turned east into the refuge and drove along the Bill Williams River. In Arizona, we don’t have a lot of rivers or creeks that flow year-round, but this was one of them. It was fed by run-off from the Alamo Dam. Talk about beautiful terrain! Spectacular cliffs and peaks all around. The foliage in the refuge along the river is thick and green, almost jungle-like. I found a place to camp where I could hear the river running, surrounded by interesting birds and lots of bugs. Bugs are a rarity in our dry Arizona air, so it was unusual to see them.
I woke up to a heavy dew the next morning. After some breakfast, I drove a quick half-mile east to keep an appointment with a fellow named Ron Hill. He was the manager of the Planet Ranch and was expecting me. Some time before, I had contacted him by phone, telling him I was going to be climbing in the area and could I arrange passage across their ranch roads to get from one point to the other. He was most agreeable and had invited me to visit him at the ranch. He treated me like royalty. He let me fill all my water jugs, then gave me a cold coke to enjoy while I called home on the ranch phone. He even gave me a red bandana with the ranch insignia as a souvenir of my visit. It turned out that Planet Ranch was owned by the City of Scottsdale, over 160 miles distant. It had 13,000 acre-feet of water rights. The ranch has so much water, they irrigate and grow alfalfa. The proximity of the river attracts all manner of wildlife. He said that he’s seen both deer and cougar in the front yard of the ranch house in the same day. He gave me good directions, then escorted me to the north gate of the ranch. Allowing me to pass through the locked gates of the ranch saved me from a very long detour all the way around. He wished me well and I thanked him profusely for his kindness.
My 30-mile drive north to Icebox Junction on the Alamo Road was without incident. I won’t bore you with the details, but many more miles of back-country driving put me at the base of Fools Peak, the high point of the Rawhide Mountains. On its summit, the register showed that Barbara Lilley and Gordon MacLeod had been there two years earlier, followed by Bob Martin one year later.
A lot more back-road driving finally brought me, in fading light, to Eagle Point Well. There, I made a blunder that could have been very costly. I was backing my truck up along the road and not paying close enough attention. I felt a huge lurch, and got out out to look. My right rear wheel had gone off the road and was hanging in mid-air at the edge of a deep, steep-sided gully. I found a few scraps of lumber by the nearby well and used them to quickly extricate the truck. Thank God it worked – if it hadn’t, I’d have been in a world of hurt because this place was so remote.
The next morning I set out in the half-light and climbed Eagle Point, elevation 3,480′, the high point of the Artillery Mountains. The summit was the westernmost bump, where I found a register with Lilley and Martin signatures. Good views of the east end of Alamo Lake from there. It was an easy return to the truck, Years later, this range underwent some changes – the old 15′ map was replaced by better 7 1/2′ ones. Madril Peak became the new range high point, and it was duly climbed by all the usual suspects.
I left the area and drove north quite a few miles to find a turnoff to the McCracken Mountains. Once parked, it was short work to reach the summit of Peak 3926. Thence back to the truck and out to and north on Alamo Road. When I reached the Chicken Springs Road, it was 17 easy miles back to Wickieup. There, I gassed up and phoned home.
Heading south on U.S. Highway 93, I drove 30 miles to turn off at Mile Post 148. A dirt road of three miles took me to something called Olea Ranch. As I pulled up to the ranch house, the owner came out and talked to me. He and his wife live in this tiny place like a couple of hillbillies. He told me that the Poachie Range was being considered for wilderness status, then asked me if I was one of those “wilderness types”. He gave me a few tips as to which roads to drive, once I told him where I wanted to go, He also said it’d take me at least four hours on foot to the top. I thanked him and left.
The road was barely driveable to Little Trough Spring, where I parked. Choosing not to go in via Asa Spring, instead I headed up a northern ridge via Points 3725 and 4350. It was fairly brushy, but cow paths helped enough that I was okay wearing shorts. From where I parked, it took 1 hour 27 minutes to reach the top. The high point of the Poachie Range is Arrastra Mountain, which is 4,807′ in elevation at Poachie Benchmark. On top, I found a register with six prior entries. There were some good long views to Alamo Lake, Mohon Peak and Mount Hope. I stopped back at the ranch house to say thanks and goodbye. The rancher was incredulous when he heard how little time my climb had taken – I guess he didn’t deal much with peakbaggers. In 1990, the Arrastra Mountain Wilderness was created to encompass this area.
After leaving the Poachie Range, I drove to Bagdad. Not the Baghdad, as in Iraq. It was a small mining town owned by Cyprus Mines. Funny thing is, I worked for that company in the summers of 1965 and 1966 when I was a student. I camped near the town and spent a quiet night. First thing the next morning, I climbed up easy ridges to Grayback Benchmark, elevation 5,133′, the high point of the Grayback Mountains. Once back at the truck, I turned south and drove the 250 miles back home to Tucson, another great peakbagging trip under my belt.
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