Unforgettable Christmas

December 22, 2014 © Thomas J. Kollenborn. All Rights Reserved.

After 50 years, Tom and Sharon Kollenborn still
decorate and enjoy a Cholla cactus
skeleton for Christmas along with their traditional tree.

The spirit of Christmas was in the air in late December of 1955. The first snows had fallen in Arizona’s high country and winter had announced its arrival in the Superstition Wilderness. Low stratus clouds engulfed the towering spires of Superstition Mountain and a slow, drizzling rain fell, meeting with the approval of local cattlemen. 

Deep in the Superstition Wilderness there lived an angry, bitter and lonely old man who had chosen isolation rather than the kindness of friends. “Old Ben” had been prospecting the mountains for more than a decade. He believed the old Dutchman’s lost mine existed and he wanted to find it. His search for the Dutchman’s gold had become as strong for “Old Ben” as anyone’s devotion to Jesus Christ.

My father and I visited Ben over the years because he and Dad had something in common besides the gold of Superstition Mountain. They were both veterans and had served with General John Pershing, the Commander of the American Expeditionary Forces in Europe, during World War I. Both men had witnessed the slaughter in the trenches along the Western Front and had survived the horror of the war in Europe. 

Each year Dad and I tried to visit Ben’s Camp a couple weeks before Christmas to say hello. Ben functioned well in the mountains, but within society he was a misfit. His experiences, no less than that of my father’s during the war, had left his heart laden with hate for those who were associated with the production, distribution and application of war materials designed to destroy thousands and thousands of lives during that terrible time etched in Ben’s mind.

Ben chose to live apart from society because he couldn’t forget the rattle of machine guns, exploding artillery shells, fumes of poison gas, and the screaming agony of the wounded and dying soldiers. The war had been over for almost forty years, but Ben still lived in the shadow of its horror and terror. His mind was scarred for eternity.

Dad had also survived the battlefield of that war and for that reason he understood Ben and was his friend. Ben and my father spent many hours in idle conversation discussing the Dutchman’s lost mine, each being careful not to reveal any important information about its possible location. We often sat under a large boulder in Petrasch’s old camp in La Barge Canyon talking about the Dutchman, Jacob Waltz. Sometimes Dad and Ben would hike up to Petrasch’s old camp on Tortilla Mountain and spend the day. 

Christmas was once again coming to Ben’s Camp in the Superstition Wilderness, but he never celebrated Christmas because he didn’t see any real value in it. He said there was no God or Jesus Christ at Meuse-Argonne, Verdun, or the other battlefields of Europe.

Once again we bid our farewell to Ben and began our hike out of the mountains, leaving the lonely old man to cope with his misery. As we drove home that day I thought of old Ben and his lonely existence.

Arriving home we found Mother had decorated a beautiful tree for our house. The spirit of Christmas filled our home as friends dropped by with a friendly “Merry Christmas.” My mother was always full of the Christmas spirit and she wanted to share it with everyone who would listen or sing carols with her.

On Christmas Eve morning I got up early and talked to Dad about our friend Ben. I kept thinking about Ben and finally suggested to Dad that I wanted to hike back into the mountains and spend Christmas Eve and Day with the old man. I was young and very impressionable at the time. My father’s first concern was my mother and our traditional family Christmas get together.

“What is Christmas, if it is not about sharing one’s friendship, didn’t you teach me this dad,” I inquired?

Mom and Dad decided to allow me to share my Christmas spirit of friendship and giving with Ben on Christmas Day. Mom provided me with a couple of quickly wrapped Christmas presents for Ben and I grabbed a colorful ornament from the tree. I prepared my hiking gear and I was on my way to First Water Trailhead with dad driving and advising.

I arrived at First Water about noon and began my hike. A light drizzle fell as I hiked along the trail toward La Barge Canyon. By the time I reached Ben’s Camp near Charlebois the daylight was rapidly disappearing. I called out for Ben as I arrived in his camp, wishing him a Merry Christmas. He called back inviting me into his camp. He immediately scolded me for leaving my parents on Christmas Eve and coming into the mountains. I handed him the two small packages mother had wrapped for him. The delicate glass Christmas ornament had survived the hike in my backpack. I handed him the ornament and then suggested we needed a Christmas tree.  Ben laughed and said, “Your not going to find many pine trees in this desert.”

At that moment I could see that Ben enjoyed having my company. He ended his comment with, “The only trees around here are those devilish Cholla.”

Near Ben’s camp, in the dark, using a small flashlight, I found a Cholla cactus skeleton that would serve as our Christmas tree. The Cholla skeleton made a fitting desert Christmas tree. I piled some large rocks around the base of our tree to hold it in place. Once the Cholla was secure Ben and I went about decorating it. 

We placed the Christmas bulb from my mother’s tree on top of the Cholla. We added a few pieces of tinfoil here and there. We then made some ornaments out of empty Sardine and bean can lids. Ben had a plentiful supply because he loved Sardines and beans. We made a simple garland out of bits of colored string we found in camp.

The tree was not an ordinary one, but then Ben was by no means an ordinary man. This was also no ordinary occasion for Ben. The meaning of Christmas had found its way back into Ben’s heart in that odd appearing Christmas tree. We laughed together of our effort to create a Christmas tree. We had found the spirit of Christmas together.

We sat admiring our handy work when Ben reached into his bag and removed a very old Bible, then placed it under our tree. He looked at me with a tear in his eye, and said, “Isn’t this what Christmas is really about?”

Yes, we were celebrating Jesus Christ’s birthday in the simplest manner. I will never forget the happiness of sharing our friendship on that Christmas Eve.

This lonely old man taught me that it is not how much you have, but the sharing of your friendship with others that is so important.

Since that time many Christmases have come and gone, but few of them are remembered as this one.

My father eventually talked Ben into returning to society and being a friend to others. Ben returned to the world of the living and each Christmas for many years, until his death, we received a card from him addressed to “My Desert Christmas Friends,” and simply signed “Ben”.

After fifty years, Sharon and I still decorate and enjoy a Cholla cactus skeleton in our home for Christmas along with our traditional tree.

The Golden Ghost

December 15, 2014 © Thomas J. Kollenborn. All Rights Reserved.

“The Golden Ghost” Stewart Adams (l) and his friend John P. Cunningham at a camp site at the Peralta Trail head area shortly before Adams’ death in 1934. Photo by Christensen, c. 1934.

Stories of lost gold continue to haunt the minds of men who trespass in the domain of the Thunder Gods. Superstition Mountain is like a magnet for dreamers. Eight decades ago Frank Dobie, an early American author, wrote about the Spanish conquistadors and hidden gold in the Southwestern deserts. Those who searched for the gold were called Coronado’s Children by the author.

Adventurers searching for gold in the Superstition Wilderness today are few and far between. These searchers were called Dutch Hunters, and it was their stories that became the history and legends of Superstition Mountain. These stories are told and retold today around campfires and in local coffee shops.

One might say Jacob Waltz and his legendary Dutchman’s Lost Mine is the Golden Ghost of Superstition Mountain. Since the time of Waltz’s death in 1891 the legacy of his mine has grown to almost unbelievable proportions, and the story is filled with more fiction than fact.  The true Golden Ghosts are the tales and stories passed on from generation to generation. No one can really legislate dreams, according to former Arizona Attorney General Robert K. Corbin. As long as there are dreamers there will be searchers and chroniclers of this infamous story of adventure, death, tragedy, lost gold and glory.

It has been eighty years since Adam Stewart died in his camp deep in the Superstition Mountain range. Stewart came to America from Scotland long before the turn of the 20th Century. He first prospected the mountains of California and then moved to Arizona about 1915. He established his base camp near what is known as the Don’s Camp, located near the Peralta Trailhead. 

It was here Adam Stewart met Dr. Rolf Alexander and John P. Cunningham. Dr. Alexander was a dentist who had aspirations of becoming a geologist. John P. Cunningham was a multi-millionaire ice cream manufacturer from Chicago. Alexander introduced Stewart to Cunningham as his partner in the mining operation near the Peralta Trailhead. 

Steward and Cunningham became good friends. The Chicago millionaire ice cream maker invested money in Adam Stewart’s dream to strike it rich in the Superstition Mountains.

Stewart was an honest and humble man who Cunningham respected and wanted to help. The old prospector was convinced the Lost Dutchman Mine was on his claims in Willow Canyon (Peralta Canyon). Stewart had spent almost twenty years searching for the Lost Dutchman Mine, but never succeeded in finding it.

It wasn’t really the gold that brought Cunningham and Steward together.

After meeting Stewart, Cunningham realized he had gone to school with Stewart in Scotland and they had even dated the same girl. This interesting story became part of Cunningham’s love for the Superstition Mountains in 1917. 

Cunningham made a special trip to Arizona in 1934 to visit Adam Stewart and reminisce about the past. It was Cunningham and a photographer who filmed Adam Stewart, his mine, the Superstition Mountains on 16 mm film in 1934, providing historians with some of the earliest films ever shot in the Superstition Mountain area around the Peralta Canyon.

Adam Stewart died in November of 1934 leaving behind many years of hard work on his Superstition Mountain claims. His tenacity to search for gold in the Superstitions provided this humble man with credibility among his peers and friends. His white handled-bar mustache was his trademark and many of his friends remembered him as a honest, hard working man.

Rolf Alexander had the “pipes” played in the memory of Adam Stewart at a site just under the Dacite Cliffs three days after Stewart’s death. The Golden Ghost of Superstition Mountain has impacted the lives of many men and women.

Going Home to the Reavis

December 8, 2014 © Thomas J. Kollenborn. All Rights Reserved.

Tom Kollenborn going home to Reavis, circa 1956.

A flash of lightning, a clap of thunder and the threat of rain made the old Reavis Ranch house a haven to weary hikers, horsemen and cattlemen that rode or walked the trails of the eastern portion of the Superstition Mountains for more than a half of a century. This old skeleton of a ranch house survived almost thirty years alone in the heart of the Superstition Wilderness Area with little or no maintenance.  Many friends of the old Reavis Ranch house tried desperately to help the old ranch house limp into the Twenty-First Century.

The Friends of the Reavis Ranch cleaned, cleared, hauled trash off and repaired the old ranch house for more than a decade.  Their effort was a labor of love, nothing more. We all understood the character and spirit of this old house after spending a few days in it. The roar from the fireplace, the clanging of the tin roof, the wind blowing through the breezeway and the attic, the squeaking of a door hinge were all familiar sounds. The house had plenty of mice and even an occasional family of raccoons. The beauty and solitude of this valley has made it a popular destination for hikers and horsemen. 

Since 1956, I have traveled to and from the Reavis Ranch on foot, horseback and by vehicle on many different occasions. I can recall the old road and how rough it was between Castle Dome Corral, through Windy Gap and on to Plow Saddle. I can remember the friendly smile of Alice Stone and the strong handshake of Floyd Stone when welcomed to their mountain ranch. I can recall the closing of the road and Mary Leonard’s article in the Arizona Republic about the old ranch in 1967. Only those who have spent time at the old ranch in Reavis Valley know what we have lost.

The Reavis Valley is a pristine ecological niche of the Upper Sonoran Desert with the old ranch serving as a window for humanity. The Reavis Ranch house burned down November 30, 1991. The old ranch house has been gone for more than twenty-three years.

The Reavis ranch house was constructed about 1937. William J. Clemans Company patented the ranch in 1919. Clemans purchased the ranch from John J. Fraser in 1909, and Fraser acquired the ranch shortly after the death of the old hermit, “Elisha Marcus Reavis” in 1896.

Clemans and his two sons, Earl and Mark Twain ran the ranch from 1910-1946. Billy Martin Sr. served as foreman of the Clemans Cattle Company from 1915-1946.  Prior to Martin, William “Billy” Knight served as foreman from 1891-1915. To this day there are old catch pens deep in the forest made entirely of wood, not one nail or a piece of wire was used in their construction.  The range was so brushy the Clemans’ cowboys had to trap a lot of their cattle.

The Reavis Ranch road was started in 1910 by a group of Mesa promoters who wanted to sell lots in the pines south of the Reavis Ranch. They never completed the road. Bacon and Upton purchased the ranch from the Clemans Cattle Company around 1946. Bacon and Upton completed the road into the Reavis Ranch in 1948. Floyd Stone, Bacon’s son-in-law, and Kenneth Lockwood purchased the ranch in 1955 from John A. Bacon and Upton. Stone and Lockwood sold the ranch to the United States Department of Agriculture in 1966 for $80,000 and twenty acres of patented land near the Apache Trail.

Shortly after the government purchased the Reavis Ranch they closed the access corridor. The reason for the closure of the road was the extreme maintenance cost and the danger to vehicular travel. After the road was closed in 1967 only hikers and horsemen were able to access the Reavis Valley and the ranch.

A sort of sadness prevailed when news of the Reavis Ranch fire spread among those who had visited the old ranch over the years. I suppose many of the wilderness purist believed the fire was a blessing to the wilderness concept, but many hikers and backpackers were disappointed to find their severe weather haven destroyed by fire. Now outfitters and packers will have to carry more gear and take more animals to provide adequate service to their customers. Many will just miss the old ranch house because of the nostalgia associated with it. I must admit I really enjoyed being a part of this history. The destruction of the old Reavis Ranch house ended an era in the history of the Superstition Wilderness Area.

Settlers and cattlemen have lived in the valley since 1874, and the Reavis Valley had served as the first Camp Geronimo for the Boy Scouts in 1920 before the Spade Ranch north of Payson became their permanent home. Arizona’s Governor Campbell rode horseback to the Reavis Ranch in 1920’s to visit with the Boy Scouts at Camp Geronimo and tell them stories around a campfire. Even post cards told the story of the idyllic Reavis Valley.

I visited the Reavis Valley in 1994, not for the last time, but to see the old ranch house once more. Only the walls were still standing and the chimney towered above the old house like a monument to the past.

I returned to the site of the old Reavis Ranch in October of 2000. None of the walls of the old ranch were standing. All that remained was the concrete slab the old ranch house was constructed on. I was amazed how obliterated the site was. All human history had just about been eradicated and the valley had almost returned to its pure natural state.

My most memorable visit to the Reavis Ranch was on Christmas Eve in 1989. We rode up to the ranch two days before Christmas. It was a cold December night and we had a roaring fire in the fireplace that kept the room warm. I found a poem written by an Apache Junction fireman called “The Night Before Christmas At The Reavis Ranch.” The poem was dedicated to the old Reavis Ranch and its unique character that charmed so many people who visited it. The poem mentioned the mice, the raccoons in the roof, the creakiness and moans of the old building and sound of trickling water in Reavis Creek. The poem was near a small Christmas Tree that was still standing and told the story “the night before Christmas at the old Reavis Ranch.”

This poem brought back so many memories of this old ranch and its inhabitants from the bygone days, the cowboys, cooks, and visitors who were a part of this history. This old ranch meant a lot to those who experienced it. It’s now gone, but its memory is still fresh in our minds. I didn’t have a pen to copy down the poem, and I also didn’t have the heart to take the poem away from others. I left it to be shared by those who might have visited the old ranch that particular Christmas week end.

The ranch was to be destroyed like all man-made things in a wilderness and was only a temporary fixture on the landscape. Those who knew the old house undoubtedly had a better understanding of man’s mark on the wilderness and the value of this place. The old ranch is now only a memory in the minds of those that once lived or visited there.