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National Geographic : 1950 Apr
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The National Geographic Magazine miles before us lay Tonto Basin, one of Amer ica's wildest sections. In the morning I let Rosalio go his way alone so that I might stay and photograph Pablo packing his seven burros. Perhaps some herders are lazy, but not Pablo. Morning, noon, and evening he loaded or unloaded all the heavy kyack boxes, along with bedrolls, water kegs, shovels, and axes. These packs carried virtually all the herd ers' personal possessions. Save for one vaca tion a year, they devoted their lives to the sheep. Packing completed, Pablo fed his horse, un hobbled his burros, and set out to establish noon camp. We faced three days of tough going before we reached water at Tonto Creek (pages 469 and 471). From Tonto Creek it was up, up into the foothills of the Sierra Ancha. For nine days we journeyed without sight of road, fence, or house. Now the trail led us onto a tableland floored with dry filaree, paloverde, and isolated cactus. At a higher level greasewood shrubs atomized the air with fragrance. Atop a giant mesa we found a sprinkling of junipers. The altimeter of changing vegetation registered our ascent. One morning lizards played hide-and-seek with me as I advanced. Startled grasshoppers, jumping ahead, measured my strides. Heat Pursues the Caravan As the sun climbed, so did the heat. Cupped between the Sierra Ancha ahead and the Ma zatzals behind, our caldron boiled. At noon we found two thin paloverdes for shade. Bur ros, dogs, and humans, each sought relief in vain. Lying down, I exposed my shoe soles to the sun; I thought my feet would fry. We had no thermometer but the rising mercury of perspiration. Two days before it was 110° F. in the shade in Tonto Basin, and here it was hotter, with no shade. Below our camp the sheep broke into tiny bands, each group sheltering behind a bush. It was 5:30 before Rosalio had the heart to start them moving. As we were too hot and weary to carry can teens, I was surprised half an hour later to hear Rosalio ask, "You want a drink?" Venturing into a darkening canyon, he led me to a small rock-lined pool. Lying on our bellies, we plunged our faces into the clear water. As I paused for a second drink, I caught the reflection of the dogs, drinking too. Yellow jackets lit on the water, balanced themselves much like us, and dipped their heads. Their thick sterns throbbed like pumps. We did not bother them, nor they us. Thirst quenched, I discovered several thou sand tiny eggs, shining like pinheads at the bottom of the pool. Overtaking the herd, we encountered four rattlesnakes. Woolly Army Routs Rattlesnakes Behind the 6,000 hoofs of the herd, rattle snakes were no danger whatever; they were dead or deep in hiding. But I often journeyed ahead, and so encountered many snakes; not once was I molested. Rosalio told me that in all his years no rattler had ever harmed him. To Pablo they were the "gentlemen" of the reptile tribe, always giving fair warn ing. He never went out of his way to kill one. Occasionally we encountered sluggish, ven omous Gila monsters. Tarantulas were com mon. Scorpions tried to camp in our blankets. By night sometimes Rosalio guarded the herd against marauding coyotes, mountain lions, and bears. Three days out of Tonto Basin we entered Borego Canyon, a 200-foot-deep slash in a green-clad mountain. Scenting its isolated pools of water, the sheep scrambled into the gorge. "Baa! baa!" they bleated. Like the pipes of an organ, the canyon's red granite ribs gathered the sounds and tossed back echoes. Amid this chorus, Rosalio detected a cry of distress. "A sheep is stranded in the rocks," he said. "I go down." I watched him, shoes in hand for sure footedness, as he made a perilous descent down shelving, slippery rock to a ledge where a silly, self-trapped ewe stood dismayed by fear of an 11-foot jump. Not until Rosalio reached the ledge did the sheep make a panic stricken leap for freedom. Lessons in Herding Amid the canyons Rosalio gave us a lesson in herding. I marveled at how well he kept track of all his charges as they spread out into three or four ravines. As Rosalio could not trust his dogs to round up all the strays, he had to scour each ravine, searching behind each bush and boulder. An uncanny ability to distinguish his animals' hoofprints from others helped this master tracker. In these badlands, nevertheless, he must have walked four times the distance covered by his sheep. Scarcely a day passed that Rosalio did not maneuver scattered brigades half a dozen times to hold his army together. Like a field general, he marched his forces out of difficult places with subtle moves. I never ceased to wonder that Rosalio and Pablo got along so well. Other herders got 462
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