February 2004 Babocomari River Hike PAGE 4 |
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| Pictures of the river just forded looking first East (including our ready-made hop, skip, and jump bridge), then West. A free-flowing stream year-round, the Babocomari provided life in the desert for Ranchers and farmers from the 1880's and on. |
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| A short climb up from the river we find another large adobe ruin, complete with the remainas of a fireplace. Again speculative conversation as to the exact location of the Patterson and/or McLaury ranches are mulled over. The pointed hill shown in the right-hand picture is where the remains of the lookout building was discussed on the previous page (page 3). |
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| Left: As conversations continue, other spread out finding such artifacts as tin cans, old broken bottles, and shells: both old cartridge casings and long, spiral mollusks. Right: With dusk encroaching, it was time to quit our adventure and head for the cars. Scratched and bruised, winded and exhausted, there were only light-hearted complaints. While some begged off dinner and drinks afterwards, all came away satisfied with the days experiences. |
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| Left: At the end of a long day, most of the Babocomari Valley hikers, old friends and new, gather for a group photo. Right: No reason for this shot other than me getting an opportunity to get hugs from good-looking women. |
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| Left: After a long day hiking, we dined at La Casita Restuarant in Sierra Vista. Looking rather smug, Bill is surrounded by bodacious Babocomari babes, Bird Cage Kate and Frankie. Right: On the other hand, I'm grinning like an enchilada-eating fool next to Trailblazin' Annie. |
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| With the talk of Gila monsters in the vicinity, Treese is spinning her version of "the one that got away" with Rod and John obviously believing every word. | Good food with good friends. Dinner was capped with a birthday celebration. Unbeknownst to me, it was my birthday (don't think I like having two birthdays in one year)! The nice little pratical joke capped an ejoyable day of beautful scenes and refried beans. |
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| Spending my last morning in Tombstone as a tourist, I would be remiss if I didn't pay my respects to the kinfolk. On her way into town, Frankie placed flowers on the grave. Call the McLaury brothers what you will, Frankie and I have heard the worst and best from fools and sages. But we and many others are committed to bringing the McLaury brothers story, the good and the bad, into a more balanced light. |
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