By Will C. Barnes

This article appeared in the July 27, 1922 issue of "The Breeder's Gazette"

The semi-annual migration of Arizona sheep for the spring of 1922 has just closed. Nowhere in the range regions of the west has the trailing of sheep back and forth between the summer and winter ranges persevered as it has in Arizona. This state has two distinct physical divisions. The northern half is mountainous, and lies at an average elevation of about 6,000', while the southern half lies mostly under 2,000' and the greater part close to around 1,000'. In the south, on the vast, open, unoccupied deserts, the sheepmen find a winter range that has no equal in the west when conditions are right. Given an average season, the November rains bring a rank cover of forage plants, such as the various needle grasses, alfileria, geraniums and other palatable weeds that make glorious sheep feed, and are especially valuable in developing lambs. Also, the rains fill up the desert water holes, so that stock can utilize almost every acre of the desert.

For many years the Arizona sheepmen have used these ranges with great success, their ewes being "bucked up" for February lambing. The fall migration begins late in October, when the coming of winter drives the herds from the mountains. There are three established sheep drive-ways across the national forests, extending down into the desert foothills. Over these in the fall, pass upon 200,000 sheep, which number on the return in the spring, is practically doubled by as many more lambs born on the western end of the forests and through the open range, making a total of 400,000 to 500,000 sheep that take this twice-a-year trip across the state. The longest of three Forest Service trails is the Heber-Reno driveway, which is a little over 130 miles long, and averages a mile in width. Over this trail 65,000 adult sheep passes down each fall, and return every spring with quite as many lambs. The movement over the driveway is timed and controlled by the Forest Rangers, who count the sheep into the driveway, see that they move at least three miles per band for each day, and also that they do not leave the driveway and trespass on the adjoining cattle ranges. Mix-ups do occur because of careless herders, but as a rule the movement is carried out with remarkable little trouble or friction.

Coming north, the sheep must cross the swift and deep Salt River on a suspension bridge built by the sheepmen. Here the Ranger meets each band, counts them as they cross the bridge, and issues a free crossing permit to the herder in charge. He warns him to keep moving and avoid leaving the driveway, which is plainly marked on both sides by red metal signs, while down the center runs a row of signs of particular shape, so that the herder "wallowing" along behind his band in a cloud of dust can have some definite idea as to just where he is. The herds cross the Salt River bridge at regular intervals, each owner being advised definitely the exact hour and date his herd should cross, so that they follow one another in regular order and with little confusion or delay. The elevation at the bridge is about 1,400', while at the top of the "rim rock" where they climb out of the Tonto basin and "top the mountain", it about 7,000', and so one naturally looks for some steep hills to climb. Nor are they disappointed, for while the whole route is "up and down" crossing many steep mesas, there are particularly big "climbs" of about 2,500'each.

I had not seen this driveway for a number of years, one of last experiences in the cow business in Arizona being the trailing of 500 old cows over it to the alfalfa fields at Phoenix, and so a trip over it recently with a pack-outfit gave me an excellent chance to see the changes in 25 years, as well as note the manner in which the sheep are handled. At the north end, just at the rim of the Tonto Basin, where the trial climbs fully 2,000' in a short distance, we met three bands that had made the climb, and were resting under the shady pines after their hard work. The herders had bedded the bands down the night before, at the very foot of the cliff, and had thrown them on the trail at the first crack of daylight. Every foot of the way was over a jungle of broken rocks, oak brush and small trees, together with a cloud of fine dust. There were often jump-up places of two feet or more, and the wonder to me was that the little lambs stood it as they did. Certainly their tender feet should get sore at such usage, but apparently they did not, for while the three bands of ewes rested at the top and chewed their cuds in complete contentment, glad undoubtedly to have their trail behind them, many of the little fellows played around, jumping from high rocks to the ground or from, great logs, like a lot of frolicking children playing "follow your leader". Meantime, we dined with the herders who had thrown the three camps together for company and while two cooked, the others laughed, joked and gossiped as if their tremendously hard work of getting their sheep up the cliff was but child's play. A huge "dutch oven" full of fried lamb, two buckets of strong coffee, two "dutch ovens" full of "sour dough" biscuits, and a pot of frijoles (beans) made up the meal, and the way it disappeared before the onslaught of those eight herders and the two forest officers spoke well for their appetites and digestive apparatus. Then, while the herders packed up their burros, we made our way down the cliff, bound south, stumbling over rocks, pushing our unwilling horses over the "jumps", winding back and forth across the face of the mountain, until with no more than rolling my saddle horse over a couple of times, due to his stumbling on a loose rock, which cost him considerable hair and some cuticle, we reached the foot of the cliff, glad indeed to have it behind us. Four days later and close to the desert we came to what is known locally as the "jump-off' where, after several miles of fairly level going, the trail comes apparently to an end in thin air, for the cliff drops off 3,000', the first 1, 500' of which is simply a mile wide mass of loose sandstone rock that offers a most unstable, uncertain footing. Of trail there is no sign. The view from here looking down into the valley of Tonto Creek is most inspiring. Thirty miles to the south the smoke from the great copper smelters at Globe hangs in the air like a pall. Ten miles across the valley the snow capped "Four Peaks", once the haunt of the Apaches, pierce the brilliant sky. To the left a huge emerald green area marks part of the Roosevelt Dam Lake, while in the center of the valley, a wide green ribbon of cottonwoods show the course of Tonto Creek, which with the Salt River, fills the Roosevelt Dam Lake with irrigating water. For an hour we enjoy the sight spread before us, and then face the job of getting down that mountain side. Our horses stumble and fall over the rocks, the pack horse especially showing a strong objection to making the trip, but finally we reached the bottom, after three hours of hard, hot work, and splash joyously through the clear waters of Tonto Creek, beyond which stands the welcome Ranger Station, where we unpack for the night.

Generally the herders take two whole days to cover the climb from the creek up to the top of the "jump-off', camping on several fairly level spots along the trail, and packing water for camp purposes from a deep canyon at one side, where, under the shady sycamores and cottonwoods, a little spring breaks out and runs for half a mile before losing itself in the rocks.. As to the feed conditions on this trail, I found them quite as good as they were 25 years ago. There were no signs of damage to the range excepting at a few points where, due to fences or physical obstructions, it became necessary for all the herds to pass through narrow places for half a mile or so. Last spring was an excellent one, the alfifleria being unusually heavy and plentiful, and the sheep all came north from the desert in fine shape.

IT IS WONDERFUL MOVEMENT of range animals, this twice a year migration of half a million sheep, and but for the action of the Forest Service in establishing and maintaining these public stock driveways, the winter ranges of southern Arizona would not be utilized to their full capacity, as they now are. The Forest Service allows the bands 140 days in which to make the trip, which is ample for their needs. Entering the southern end of the driveway at the rate of two or three bands each day, the first bands are often climbing the last big hill into the mountains 130 miles to the north as the last bands are starting in at the lower end.

Back Home