The Family at Serpiente

by Raymond Tolman

  “Then in 1955, concluded Corey, “The area was included in the White Sands missile range and the entire peak and surroundings were fenced off. No one to this day is allowed into the area.

  Dr. Douglas said, “So the gold is still there?”

  Corey answered, “Not only is it still there, it is now the property of the United States government. You can be arrested for just trespassing on the range. They say it is too dangerous because of unexploded ordinance.”

  “I suppose,” entering in the conversation and not wanting to be left out nor thought of as being timid, I said, “One of the most famous examples of hidden mines is the one that was found is in the Cerillos Hills, east of Albuquerque. There, turquoise has been mined by the Pueblo Indians for the last thousand years.” I glanced over to Corey for a look of approval, not getting it I then smiled at Hidalgo who was nodding approvingly.

  “That’s true, said Hidalgo. “Even the Spanish are rumored to have hidden many things away there. During the pueblo revolt of 1680, the Spaniards from a small mission on the East side of the San Francisco River in the foothills of the Mogollon Mountains secreted a hoard of mission treasure and mined bullion from two area mines. The mines are thought to be located just west of the San Francisco River and North of the present town of Glenwood. Somewhere in the lower foothills of the Frisco Mountains in the Gila National Forest there is supposed to be a fortune.”

  I continued my story as the others listened, “Others say that the Spaniards carted the treasure into the foothills of Ladrone Mountain, broke down and buried the entire loot there, wagon and all. Then they traveled using the wagon horses over to the Rio Grande River and headed south to El Paso. But then, some of my sources say they might have been discovered by the local Apache Indians who killed them. Anyway, it’s all a mystery and the loot has never been found.”

  We were slowed down coming into Espanola as a car crash had occurred ahead of us. Attempting to fill in the lull in the conversation Corey spoke up.

  “I know another story,” said Corey. “Bill King who now lives in Los Lunas tells a story of his father who first opened a mine by Manassa, Colorado known as the Lick Skillet Mine. His father bought the area in order to graze some cattle, but it takes a vast amount of land to raise even one cow there. The soil is extremely thin just like it is where we are going. Under a thin layer of sand and dirt is just plain old lava, thousands of feet deep. One day while traveling across the land he discovered an indention or sink in the land and his curiosity got the best of him so he went over to explore. What he found was a shallow hole that had been covered over by felled cedar trees. Curiously he began digging into them and found a stone ax.

  This wetted his curiosity even more so he dug the whole mess out. What he discovered was an ancient turquoise mine that had been hidden by the natives. He reopened the mine as the Lick Skillet Mine because he couldn’t make any money until the price of native turquoise went through the roof years later. Now, his grandson is a wealthy man who lives in comfort and Manassas turquoise is highly valued because of the matrix colors in the gem rock.”

  Hidalgo said, “There were hundreds of mines across the Southwest that were opened by the Indians, mostly turquoise and later gold and silver. The Spanish found many of them but most were kept secret. During the pueblo revolt nearly all of them were destroyed, caved in, or just plain hidden in order to keep the Spanish from discovering them.”

  “Those early Spanish people were too greedy, and things have changed little. Look what happened to Native peoples all over the United States. They were removed from their lands and deported to reservations, usually the most worthless land that could be found. Then, when gold and silver was found on that land they were relocated to even more worthless land despite treaties or laws that the white man wrote. Now as they find oil or uranium on those most worthless of lands and now that they have become valuable they want us to move again. We are tired of being pushed around, but there is little we can do about it.” Empathetically we looked at each other for a moment then Hidalgo suggested we find another café for lunch.

  Rinconada

  We stopped in Espanola for one last meal that we didn’t have to cook for ourselves when Hidalgo said, “I’ve been talking all morning, its’ your turn Dr. Douglas.”

  Dr. Douglas stopped him mid-sentence with a “Just call me Wayne” followed with “Let me give everyone a little background geology of this area.”

  “The entire Rinconada consists of various types of extrusive igneous rock, mostly sheets of plain old black lava, formed after a series of cataclysmic volcanic eruptions during the late Cenozoic Age. Intermittent earthquake activity further fractured the lava in innumerable places. Those cracks were later intruded with many types of mineralized rock such as quartz or as hot springs which later produced deposits of turquoise and many other precious minerals. This process has continued through recent times, and in places, still continues.”

  “Jemez, the largest continental caldera type volcano in America is located along the southern edge of the Rinconada. It produced layers of volcanic rock in some places thousands of feet thick. The Rio Grande River which courses thought the eastern flank of the volcano has continued in its original course, throughout this part of New Mexico. Down river, and south of the Rinconada, the river has changed course many times in the geologic past. At one time it even carried the waters of the Arkansas River which flowed south, down into New Mexico but volcanism in the northern end of the San Luis Valley of Colorado changed its course to what it is today, running into eastern Colorado and finally into Oklahoma. At one time, before the Rio Grande Rift opened up, the Rio Grande River was thought to have run on the back side of the present day Sandia Mountains forming what was to become Lake Estancia. After the last Ice Age the river changed back to the course it now flows. Lake Estancia became salt beds that can still be found southeast of Estancia.”

  “Under that volcanic rock of the Rinconada is sedimentary rock with alternating and interweaving layers of rock from many prehistoric environments. Ancient seas produced limestone sediment imbedded with entombed shells, petrified wood, petrified sand dunes, coal beds, petroleum deposits, and much more.”

  “Underneath much of central New Mexico, volcanic activity produced a vast geothermal hot spot. This unnatural heat created a geological wonderland of geysers and warm pools for ancient creatures that lived there, such as bathing dinosaurs. An environment somewhat reminiscent of today’s Yellowstone region, but much grander, warmer, and geologically as well as biologically active, the heat created vast travertine and mineral deposits throughout this era.”

  “Even as New Mexico became dryer and hotter at the end of the Cretaceous Era, during the latter part of the age of dinosaurs, this area enjoyed a unique semitropical climate with rivers flowing in places now covered with vast flows of lava thousands of feet thick.”

  “Geologist figure that there is a world of features under all that lava, there are fortunes to be made if only someone could get to them. Until recently, it was assumed that few knew about the mineral bearing rocks that lay beneath the hundreds, and in most places thousands, of feet of once molten rock. But there may be those who apparently know secrets, which is why I am here.”

  American Indian Roads

  While waiting for the waitress to bring out our meals Corey reentered the conversation. “My turn, just because you have a PhD and Hidalgo knows a wealth of New Mexico history doesn’t mean Penny and I don’t know anything.”

  Corey said, “There exists now only a thin layer of soil, on top of that volcanic mesa called the Rinconada, that provides a life hold for only the meanest and toughest of creatures both plant and animal. But when people first ventured onto the Rinconada, after the last Ice Age, the climate was much wetter than it is now. It was much easier to live there, with abundant game and a vast forest of cedar and pine trees blanketing the mesa.”

  “Some of the people found shelter in the cliffs overlooking the Rio Grande River Gorge
, looking somewhat as it does today, with cliffs that offer protection from the afternoon sun and prowling enemies. These cliffs overlook deep canyon chasms with many secret places to hide away. The Anasazi built well-worn trails throughout the Rinconada as well as the entire Southwest.”

  “Recently, high altitude photography has revealed early American Indian roads across the entire southwest and well into Mexico. Many long sections have even been found in places many feet wide; literally roads. But away from the major trade routes, trails are harder to trace, even with aerial photography. Sometimes there is only a trace of a trail, an ancient puzzle that tantalizes and intrigues us to know more about them. Apparently early American Indian trails were everywhere, going to places now secret and unknown. The combined effects of a hotter and dryer climate along with deforestation have all but erased them and many of the trails have disappeared. Even now, few would bother to explore the traces of those early pathways with the frigid winters and searing heat in summer which allows only a subsistence life anytime.”

  “But the greatest feature of the present day Rinconada is the Rio Grande Box Canyon, a deep chasm created by the tumultuous volcanic tug of war between Jemez volcano and a resilient Rio Grande River. Currently the river is winning. The river begins its decent into the layers of volcanic rock well up into Colorado, leaving deep talus piles of boxcar size chunks of black volcanic rock on the canyon sides. For most river runners the upper box is generally considered un-runable, except by the best of the best, experts in kayaks. They are people who are willing to risk their lives. People who are willing to spend more than one night sleeping on top of an angled volcanic rock because there is no other place to lay down. No beaches, no nothing accept a roaring river with endless class five rapids.”

  “The lower box is now the premier training ground for the whitewater enthusiast who may someday get to run the upper box. The lower race course section is easily observed from a blacktop road and it has classic river rapids, which at any water level provides thrills for thousands of New Mexico white water boaters.”

  “Further downriver the river cuts through the southern edge of the Jemez caldera. Along the river anywhere there is a slab of volcanic rock with a smooth surface; one is likely to find designs carved into the rocks. Then there is the Bosque where Espanola is located. Below that, in the canyon, a wealth of petroglyphs or Native American pictures can be seen carved into the rock. They can be seen all the way down White Rock Canyon from the river’s edge. Frankly, we may find ourselves searching for one of those ancient trails that can lead us to our destination.”

  I ate the last of my hamburger, set my drink down, and asked, “What exactly is the story of the Armijo Shack?”

  The Story of Armijo

  “Well, I learned about this place from my uncle Bo when he was visiting us out at the ranch in Serpiente” continued Corey. “When he was a little boy his folks had attempted to homestead on the Rinconada after moving by covered wagon from Oklahoma. They lived there for about two years and finally gave up, moving on to Albuquerque where it was far easier to find work and make a living.”

  “A few miles down the road from the homestead was the old Armijo shack, a black tar paper shack with the exterior completely covered with flattened and nailed cans that held the black tarpaper to the re-sawn lumber of which the shack was constructed. The home had a bed, a table, and an old potbellied stove on a dirt floor. Living there was hard.”

  “Everyone thought Armijo was a little fetched in the head and he was obviously dirt poor. But he was also known as a walker and hiker, a traveler who disappeared for weeks at a time. Maybe he was a poet, but he never worked and was considered by some of the locals as a borroachon veijo or old drunk, despite the fact that he was seldom actually seen drinking anything but water. But upon closer inspection, Armijo was nothing like people imagined, certainly not an old drunk.”

  “One day everything changed for Armijo. While at the trading post in town it was noticed that he was paying for his few groceries and a new skillet with pure gold dust. This is a meticulous procedure, exchanging a weighed amount of the gold for goods and then the difference returned in coins. It was only a matter of time until others began to notice. Yet he would spend only the tiniest amount, from a small bag hung around his neck.”

  “Like many mysterious people of the southwest, he never spent a grain of dust for more than he needed. He never disclosed or talked about the source of the gold, and no one thought he had more than the dust in that tiny pouch, hardly enough to attack him for. But then, everyone was dirt poor, and desperation causes good people to do deplorable things.”

  “Late one afternoon, Armijo who had become a friend of the family and frequent visitor, stopped by the homestead for a visit and a meal. There was very little to eat, mainly pinto beans and a few garden vegetables with a rabbit serving as the meat, but Armijo was a particularly modest eater and he always carried a generous supply of his own tortillas. Fortunately for us, he shared them all with the family. They were a treat, fat and brown from the wood stove on which Armijo made them. Armijo never used table utensils, preferring to use a tortilla for everything utilitarian.”

  “The meal, of course was just a pretense for he and Uncle Bo to sneak out to the woodshed for several rounds of moonshine. In a state of drunken delirium, Uncle Bo and Armijo boasted and laughed at each other’s lies, but later Armijo got serious, speaking of different worlds, and places of mystery, and especially one magical place found by pure accident. His story kept the other boys, who were well hidden but within earshot, curious and spellbound. This is that story as heard by Uncle Bo and passed on to me from his memory.”

  “Like hundreds of others before him, Armijo had prospected the Rinconada for the pink, quartz-bearing rock in which gold was found, and in a few tiny spots, he actually found quartz ore with gold streaks in it, but in most places the gold was too inaccessible or expensive to mine. The easy pickings had already been mined out long ago. Gold of any consequence had never been found along the Rinconada and what was found would require vast amounts of money, water to process, and know-how to get out. Armijo, like everyone, found tiny trace amounts, little or nothing.”

  “So years ago, he gave up prospecting and settled down to the life of a hobo, that is someone who works part time when the opportunity arises, but usually just lives by camping out and living off the land. In those days this was not so usual. Armijo was a hermit, neither seeking human companionship nor dependency on others and certainly not like so many that had learned to live off the work of others.”

  “One morning along the banks of the Rio Grande River, after rising from a short meal of catfish, beans, tortillas, and coffee, Armijo carefully cleaned and packed up his personal gear, hid it, and began one of those spring walks he so often took after breakfast, traveling and doing his exploring before it got hot in the day. Not particularly going anywhere or for a purpose. But from this river base camp, the only way out, besides going up or down the river, was to plunge straight up the talus rock piles in hopes of finding trails higher up. So after finding a likely spot Armijo took it upon himself to climb up the canyon wall seeking a cure for his curiosity. It was on one of those short walks that so often turns into an all day affair as he explored on; climbing past house size talus piles that lined the side of the canyon that he discovered something unusual.”

  “A more uninviting place to explore one could not imagine, but he could see what appeared to be the tops of small pine trees extending beyond the cliff of rocks far above him. The entire mountain had slumped away sometime in the distant past, leaving a small flat area about one third of the way up the canyon. There Armijo could see a tiny island of green in a vast maelstrom of black volcanic rocks. But he was confused about how to reach that area.”

  “After being pinned to the canyon wall for an hour or so he stumbled onto a sandy path. Not really a path, just a place to put your foot that wasn’t up against a rock. A gentler walk at last, but the sand played
out, turning into a dead end. He had a bit of an overhang above him. To go further would require some technical climbing of which he was terrified.”

  The check came, and the pretty waitress filled up everyone’s glass with fresh ice and drinks but everyone just sat there spell bound by Corey’s story.

  “Discouraged and tired, he started back down but then noticed a cut back route. The cut back provided a route unseen by someone climbing up the canyon wall. In only a few minutes, following the new route he found himself on his back, breathing hard, on a flat area of sandy rock. As soon as his breathing finally calmed down he could hear something. Far off in the bottom of the canyon the river made roaring sounds as the water flowed over the rock bed producing tumultuous cataracts. But this sound was a trickle of water, and close.”

  “As he reached the summit he found a tiny valley of stunted trees and brush, a world the size of someone’s small yard, a microclimate with ancient soil. What fascinated Armijo was the trickle of a tiny stream. Completely invisible from the rim of the canyon, this very tiny stream has deeply cut into the soil and through the ions even into the volcanic bedrock. At one time it obviously carried much more water from a mysterious source. The tiny creek was easily stepped over, a deep crack with water flowing down it and disappearing beneath the rocks he had just climbed up.”

  “Armijo got down on his belly and dropped down as a way to satiate his thirst. He reached down into the shallow water, lifting up handfuls of water. But in the gravel of the stream he noticed a bright metallic rock, gold. Reaching down he pulled out a bean sized gold nugget. His curiosity naturally peaked at the prospect of finding a little gold, reaching down to the stream and running his fingers through the sediment in the gravel he found other tiny traces of color, enough, he thought to himself, that he would return many times. And so he spent the next half an hour or so, mostly on his belly, slowly tracing the tiny stream that meandered up the valley and he delighted in finding the occasional speck of gold. But as he worked his way across the tiny valley, crawling on his belly, it also became evident that the stream was going to disappear under more talus rocks, and he would probably never find where the gold was coming from.”