CAMP VERDE – Morning sun glints off the water at Montezuma Well. Ducks glide across the surface, occasionally diving with a flip of tail feathers. I’m standing on the rocky overlook from which I see ancient cliff dwellings tucked in an alcove, the pond and mountains beyond. It’s a peaceful scene, but I’m not fooled.
I know that when the sun sets, the seemingly placid water teems with thousands of leeches. These endemic invertebrates don’t suck blood like their slimy brethren do. Instead, they snack on amphipods, which are tiny crustaceans. Still, the thought of leech hordes snaking through dark water searching for meat gives me the willies.
I scribble a reminder in my notebook that it’s time to rewatch “Attack of the Giant Leeches,” a 1959 low-budget and unintentionally hilarious sci-fi film. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but the leeches appear to be played by men in garbage bags with suckers attached. That’s enough for me to start making popcorn.
You don’t need a lot of time to explore Arizona — you can pack plenty into a loosely planned day trip. I like scenery, history and quirkiness, so on this mild February day I point my truck toward Camp Verde. Overshadowed by neighboring Sedona, Jerome and Cottonwood, Camp Verde is the Rodney Dangerfield of the Verde Valley.
Despite the leech population, I love Montezuma Well, which is part of Montezuma Castle National Monument. Though thousands of Arizonans have journeyed to the castle, an exquisitely preserved five-story cliff dwelling, only a fraction continue to the well, which lies 11 miles north.
Montezuma Well is a limestone sink formed by the collapse of an underground cavern. A continuous water flow has created a verdant oasis in the middle of desert grassland. Subterranean springs replenish the well with 1.6 million gallons of water a day, an amount unvarying since prehistoric times. This was an important water source for the Sinaguan people. Short trails take you around the well, past ancient ruins and along the bank of Wet Beaver Creek, canopied by Arizona sycamore and velvet ash. It’s spectacular in spring.
My next stop is even further off the radar. The ruins of an ancient salt mine are at the edge of Camp Verde in Prescott National Forest. Decaying timbers, crumbling foundations and hulking, rusted machinery are all that remain of an operation that ceased in 1933. What’s not immediately apparent is that this is one of the oldest underground mines in America.
During the 1920s, employees of the mine’s operator, Western Chemical, began unearthing artifacts such as woven yucca sandals, ax handles and torches. After a mummified body was discovered, an anthropologist was brought in. Ancient tunnels were found, and it was determined that salt was mined throughout the Sinagua era, from about 1140 to 1400. It’s a cool spot, and I spend time scrambling around white hills and snapping photos.
Next, I swing by the Verde Valley Archaeology Center in downtown Camp Verde, a small and informative museum. I’m glad to hear that it is working with the Forest Service to try to make the salt mine a heritage site and get signs posted. The center opened in its current location a year ago and tells the stories of the early people who occupied the valley. It has a short film and a room filled with exhibits.
After a morning steeped in history, I shift gears. Enough with using my legs to get around — I am ready fly. Or at least zip. I go to the Predator Zip Line at Out of Africa Wildlife Park. The zip-line entrance is adjacent to Out of Africa and the ride shows you the park in a whole new way. (A separate ticket is required to enter the park.)
This is the only part of my day that takes a smidge of planning, because reservations are necessary. We riders are fitted with so many harnesses and straps that we could shinny up redwoods. We are driven to a wooden tower. Ably assisted by knowledgeable guides, we take turns careening along steel cables from one tower to another, soaring above lions, tigers and bears. Oh, my. Also above leopards, tundra wolves and an enormous sleeping rhino.
We zigzag from one tower to the next, speeding along five cables each several hundred feet in length. I had never zip-lined before, so I didn’t know what to expect. I have no fear of heights, but I am a crotchety old coot who distrusts anything new. The zipping is a blast, although I feel no need to travel upside down or in weird yoga poses as did the adventurous members of our group.
I enjoy my time standing on the towers as much as I enjoy the zipping. Each stop affords sweeping views, and it is amazing to see the animals from above. A bicyclist rides through the park and a tiger pursues him along the fence line. I see a leopard and lion cuddle together, looking very much from that height like my two cats snoozing at home. I watch another lion stride about his pen roaring, a ferocious sound that seems to shake the tower. After he gets that out of his system, he makes a quieter rowr, rowr, rowr sound — another behavior I recognize from my cats. Dude wants a snack. I feel bad I don’t have a gazelle haunch to toss him.
The tour ends with a final blast of adrenaline, a 1,000-foot-long zip over the herd animals, screaming in just above the treetops and practically giving the giraffe a new part in his hair.
The experience whets my appetite, so I swing back through Camp Verde and stop at the Horn, a casually upscale restaurant that is reconnecting with the valley’s strong agricultural roots.
The Horn is a comfortable place, and I like seeing couches in a saloon. In my youth, I thought they would come in handy for a snooze if I “accidentally” got locked in overnight. Now I look at them longingly because an afternoon siesta is my idea of whooping it up.
Instead, I belly up to the bar for a tasty appetizer and a half pint of Cascade Kolsch, one of the craft beers created next door. Verde Brewing Co. is a nanobrewery, whipping up small batches, each containing a local ingredient. The beer complements the menu, which draws heavily on ranches and farms in the Verde Valley that have been here for generations. History tastes delicious.
I head for home. When my wife asks how I spent my day, she never knows what to expect.
Find the reporter at www.rogernaylor.com.
