I began my fifth day on the Butterfield Overland Mail Stagecoach Route across the American Southwest by following the Gila River Irrigation Canal. Today would be a day full of obstacles to overcome. This was my first day in extremely remote areas of the Gila River Valley, often with no cell service and little to no traffic.
Aside from the few miles I drove on the interstate in the afternoon, I actually did not see any other people on this day of my journey. I made my way along the backroads, skirting the Gila River, and through the sandy washes… some of them were too sandy. Despite running at a low tire pressure, I sank into the soft sandy wash.
My first attempt at becoming unstuck involved the TRED Traction Plates I’d been carrying around over my last few expeditions. I’d had success with TREDs in the past, but I forgot the critical component… securing the TRED to the vehicle … as I leaped forward into more sand, my tire completely buried one of my TREDs so deep in the sand that it was unrecoverable. I hoped I wouldn’t meet the same fate, so I began to dig.
I dug in order to use an outstanding field-expedient recovery technique where you dig an anchor into the ground in order to winch yourself out. Rather than risk losing my sole remaining TRED, I was able to utilize it as an anchor to slowly, but surely, winch myself out of the perilous soft sand…. But it required a lot of digging. The soft sand meant I couldn’t dig very deep. I finally winched myself to an advantageous position, tied down my remaining TRED plate to my bumper using 550 cord, and went full throttle to safety.
I aired my tires back up to 30 psi, rewarded myself with a beverage, and sat down to replot my route bypassing the sandy wash. I ended up doing some backpedaling, which led me to the old US 80 highway, which the trail actually handrails. I cut across towards Dateland, Named after the underrated fruit, the Date. Stopped in and picked up some dates before pushing back towards the trail, the next station was to be Griswell’s Station. I was only able to find some ruins near the highway.
Interestingly, Ormsby’s account here and at Flapjack was also rather vague, including the three stations involved in this general area.. The next stretch was uncharted, and despite sporadic tire tracks, resulted in me blazing my own path. One of the great things about BLM Land is the unique freedom to explore certain areas. I searched the area for Flapjack Station, and found several likely areas, but nothing conclusive.
I pressed on towards the site of the Oatman Massacre where I was to make my camp… only to be halted by my next obstacle.. a dry riverbed crossing with a challenging sandy bank on the other side. And a high-center risk of a berm. My second and third attempts didn’t fair too well either. I realized if I couldn’t clear the berm, I needed to change my angle of approach… to no avail. After pulling out my faithful shovel again and leveling the berm, I gave it one more hard approach, gunning it, as the sun was quickly setting on the horizon…. SUCCESS.
The last climb of the day brought me onto the Oatman mesa, where I stopped to soak in another fantastic Arizona Sunset before making the final push to the site of the Oatman Massacre. I arrived at the site with the waning minutes of civil twilight illuminating my surroundings. In 1851, the Oatman family encountered 19 Indians who killed the whole family except three of the seven children Olive, Mary Ann, and Lorenzo. Lorenzo escaped, and Olive and Mary Ann were enslaved and traded amongst the Indians, where Mary Ann died, and Olive was eventually rescued with Lorenzo’s help …. she lived the remainder of her days in Texas. I read and contemplated their story as I lay under the stars.