My visits to Black River in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona started in the 1960s. Each summer we jumped into our granddads 1957 Ford pickup and the adventure, our trip up "The Trail", began when turning at the big curve on the road between Clifton and Morenci. We drove up the canyon that held Metcalf past the old structures (inclines) that carried copper ore down from the old/closed mines above. The water of Metcalf Creek ran a turquoise color from the minerals it carried. We might stop to throw a rock or two into the creek. Then up the canyon we continued past reminders of why our family lived in this corner of the earth. Copper is an important part of our society and the Morenci mine is one of the largest of its kind in the world.

Past the mine features we curved up the canyon and just before starting up the switchbacks, we came to a mortared in pipe sticking out of the hill. Not always but usually there was water flowing from the pipe and we would stop for a break. This cold clear water might have been an offering from the "Trail" gods either to boost our bravery or to trick us into continuing on. In these days the road was narrower and not paved. As a 5-year old boy, I did my best not to look over the edge of the road. (Going home was worst because the truck was on the drop off side of the road). Soon we were past this section and on our way to Black River.

Many years later I came to realize how important these trips were in creating the person I would become. The mountains, forests, and rivers became my lifeblood and many of my choices in life were highly influenced by these early explorations. Black River is still my happy place.