Photos by Samantha Demangate
Waking up well rested and ready to take on another day of driving, my girlfriend and I packed up and hit the road. Miles of barren desert passed by us as the I-10 runs deeper into the Sonoran Desert. The harsh landscape stretched infinitely ahead. There are few places more humbling and disparaging than the deserts of North America. It’s hard to imagine that hundreds of thousands of people hike for days across this landscape, risking their lives for better opportunities in the United States. Politics aside, anyone who’s spent time here knows how drastically perilous this journey is.
Just a few miles from the Arizona border, the town of Blythe sits straddling the mighty Colorado river, the primary water source for millions of acres of desert farmland. From our window the town looked like a mirage reminiscent of Mos Eisley from Star Wars, minus the spaceships and spaceports (a scene easy to imagine until you actually reach Blythe). Agriculture is king in this part of California. Nothing is more dominant here than the dense clusters of date palms stretching out for miles. When we arrived, the dry wind was blowing so violently from the north that semi’s had to pull over. Sage brushes violently impacted our vehicle and immediately disintegrated into shards of twigs.
After stopping to get gas we continued on our way past the Colorado River and intro Arizona. Swarms of dune buggies raced alongside us on dusty paths that snake between boulders and desert shrubland. Tucked within these thickets of parched forest are hundreds of RV campers and shooting ranges, sometimes reminiscent of a Fallout game, minus the radiation.
After turning north on highway 60, then again shooting north on highway 71, the landscape begins its slow incline. As the low Sonoran landscape starts to give way to high desert, expansive ranches begin to cover the land. Few people call this unforgiving region home. For centuries the towns here have endured war, mining boons, severe draughts, and the occasional outlaw insurrection. Needless to say, history and western folklore run through the region’s veins.
Highway 71 reaches its end where highway 89 begins its shift Northeast, becoming the Whitespar highway that winds up the steep mountains of Yarnell, AZ. Here on June 30th, 2013, a large wildfire swept through the twenty person fire crew known as the Granite Mountain Hotshots. Nineteen firefighters lost their lives in the Yarnell fire, the largest firefighter casualty since 9/11. Today a solemn memorial to the brave team stands just past the bend known as elephant curve.
Past the small town of Wilhoit, Highway 89 begins another upwards series of hairpin turns, through the Prescott National Forest wilderness. The road continues its relentless zig-zagging until you reach the town of Prescott. Famous for its palatine estates and former red-light district known as “Whiskey Row,” the town is full of fun things to check out. The nation’s tallest residential estate, the 128ft (38 meter) mansion known as the Falcon Nest, is located here.
Just past downtown Prescott Highway 89a, also known as the Pioneer Parkway, soars above the Prescott Valley and begins snaking its way up into the Black Hill Mountains. As it peaks around the northern rim of Mingus Mountain and descends into the Verde Valley the town of Jerome is there, sitting vulnerably on its slope facing the Northeast. Once a booming copper mining town full of brothels, bars, and gambling rings, it became one of the wildest cities in the West. After the Great Depression, the price of copper tanked and the mines and their demand for labor left. Jerome, now barely considered a town, had to look for a new source of revenue. After marketing the town as a ghost town, some of the Verde valley’s most notable wineries saw the beautiful, yet quirky location as the perfect place to open their small businesses. Today, the town is full of locally owned artisanal shops, restaurants, and tasting rooms located in buildings with incredible history and lore.
We decided to spend the late afternoon walking around town. After finding parking we explored Main Street, peering into the abandoned Barlett hotel with its mesmerizing art displays that were harmoniously morbid and slatternly; blending in perfectly with the crumbling facade. Just down the street, the Connor Hotel and its iconic shops, bars, and tasting rooms beckoned us. Art studios and creative spaces dot the little town, adding to its character, which can best be described as advertently convivial.
As the evening passed we got in our car and used the remaining daylight to scope out the surrounding ruins. Abandoned mining tracks run around the foothills of the town, linking abandoned buildings and precarious mines. The sight is quintessentially western. Continuing on Highway 89a at night we were off to Sedona, where we planned on spending three days roaming around its famous hiking trails and energy vortexes. Our second day exploring Arizona felt like a long history lesson, with intermittent awe-inspiring views, highlighted by a visit to one of America’s most fascinating small towns, now one of our favorite destinations.
