Skulls are usually hidden away where they’re hard to find, but the Giant Skull of Date Creek is right out in the open, and it’s been in the exact spot for more than 100 years. The skull is actually a huge boulder painted white with black eyes, nose and a black toothy mouth so it looks like a real skull, even to those who are “imaginationally” challenged. Like many pieces of rock art, the origins are a bit hard to trace, but local legend says it was the work of some railroad workers who had extra paint and extra time on their hands.
Today’s question: I was at Lake Pleasant recently, and I thought I saw a lizard running across some rocks as fast as can be upright on its back legs. Was I hallucinating?
I don’t know. Do you hallucinate often? I was waiting at a stoplight once and thought I saw Mr. Peanut—you know, the Planters peanuts guy — in the next car. I thought I was hallucinating, but when I looked again, it really was a guy in a Mr. Peanut costume. I wonder where he got it. That would be a pretty cool thing to have.
Anyway, no, you were not hallucinating, at least not in this case.
The territorial days were a period in medical history of great scientific breakthrough; however, most surgeons in Eastern medical citadels preferred to be conservative in their treatment. Doc Goodfellow epitomized many frontier surgeons. Limited in their facilities, they had no choice but to experiment if their patients were to have any chance at all.
The fearless physician, on more than one occasion, entered dangerous, smoke filled shafts to rescue miners trapped and injured in a mining accident.
He once performed plastic surgery on the face of a victim of an accident, then refused pay because the man had been injured while trying to help other victims. When the great earthquake struck Bavaispe, Sonora, in 1887, Doc loaded up his wagon with medical supplies and rushed to aid the survivors. To the people of Bavaispe, he became El Doctor Santo, (the “sainted” doctor) and was given a special medal by Mexican President Porfirio Diaz for his efforts.
Looking down into the Grand Canyon has always been a test for those vertigo because it’s thousands of feet from the top to the bottom.
And now, in what would appear to be an attempt to make it even scarier, the Hualapai Indians have the Skywalk, a glass-bottomed walkway that allows those with a high queasiness quotient to view the Canyon from 4,000 feet while they’re jutting out over the sheer drop into the thin air that surrounds the gorge.
Ever since man first set foot in this land called Arizona, he has felt compelled to name every river, waterhole, mountain pass and trail. Inspiration was usually drawn from great natural spectacles and awesome beauty, but not always. Among Arizona’s fabulous mineral laden mountains lie the skeletal remains of storied ghost camps of yesteryear, born in boom and died in dust, the fragile wooden walls, concrete ruins, monuments to hopes and aspirations that didn’t always pan out.
These ghostly reminders of the past were generally populated by a variety of boisterous, rough and tumble miners generally characterized as unmarried, unchurched, and unwashed. They named their temporary abodes after former hometowns or countries, girlfriends, local geography, dappled with a liberal touch of tongue-in-cheek humor.