Bob Munson is the Park Manager and Historian for Fort Verde State Historic Park, who is also interested in 16th C. re-enactment. In his own words: I am gratified to learn that there are other Spanish voices besides mine crying in the wilderness.  For what its worth I suppose I should introduce myself. I got interested in Spanish colonial stuff in 1980 and did an eight day 190 mile living history recreation of the Antonio de Espejo expedition of 1583. The expedition was on horseback and traversed the same ground as Espejo 400 years to the day, in 1983. Since that time I've been hooked on 16th. Century Spanish living history. My emphasis tends to concentrate on the Francisco Vasquez de Coronado expedition of 1540. Being a former maritime historian I am also interested in the 16th. Century west coast Spanish shipping and explorations.

Bob Munson

Unfortunately we do not have encampments out here in Arizona, but until two years ago when I had to sell my horses, myself and two compadres would make weekend mini-expeditions. I do however, make school presentations for the Arizona Historical Society every Monday (my day off) during the school year. Do you know Sue and Eric Thing? They and two or three others do the same thing down in Tucson. Unfortunately we half dozen or so are the only ones I know of doing 16th. Century in Arizona.
 
 

Antonio de Espejo began his exploration of New Mexico and Arizona in 1583, in the company of a priest, Father Beltrán and 14 soldiers. The ostensible reason for his expedition was to find Fr. Agustín Rodríguez, who had disappeared in that region the previous year. The Spanish bureaucracy in Mexico City was slow in sanctioning an expedition in any official capacity. Espejo, however, offered to organize and finance a rescue party on his own because he was interested in mining explorations and other possible investments. That Espejo was also facing a charge for murder may have also played no small part in this desire to arrange this venture. Thanks largely to one of the soldiers in Espejo’s small party, Diego Luxán, who kept a detailed journal, the expedition accomplished more than merely establishing the fate of the martyred Franciscan. A wealth of new information about the traversed territory was garnered which would help inspire and lead the officially sanctioned journey of Juan de Onate and his army in 1598, currently the subject 400th anniversary re-enactment events and debate in the Southwest.

For further reading:
 

Expedition into New Mexico Made by Antonio de Espejo, 1582-1583: As Revealed in the Journal of Diego Pérez de Luxán, a Member of the Party Translated by George Peter Hammond and Agapito Rey (Quivira Society, Los Angeles 1929) (Republished by Arno Press 1967)

The Spanish Borderlands Frontier 1513 -1821. By John Francis Bannon (University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque 1974)

or On-Line at:

Texas Explorers-Espejo

ESPEJO, ANTONIO DE
 
 
 

Tim,

Here is the transcript of log from my re-enactment of the Espejo expedition. Looking it over I guess there really isn’t much living history data in it, but maybe it will be of interest. My living history has come a long ways since then.

 
 
 
 
 

MUNSON JOURNAL - Espejo Expedition 1583-1983 29 April l983     Woke up still feeling tired and very sick, what a lousy time to have my annual bronchitis attack. So far the medication doesn’t seem to be doing much good. We finished packing and got underway at 8. Breakfast in Flagstaff and ran some errands then on our way. I love the drive from Winslow to 2nd. Mesa with its wide open-ness and massive soaring volcanic plugs. Only now I am seeing it from a different perspective, studying them as future navigational landmarks, seeing them through the eyes of a horseman and the 16th. century. I am familiar with the country and have studied maps of it, but to Espejo's men what must this country have seemed like?

To be sure, there were awesome towering formations and empty sweeping vistas elsewhere, although not in Spain, but this was the total unknown, beyond not only the furthest frontier of the empire, but beyond knowledge itself. The sense of isolation must have been intense and yet there is no indication they felt it, at most they recognized the vulnerability of their all important animals. Say what you want about conquistador greed and cruelty, but you must admire their incredible courage and self-confidence. The country is green from all the recent wet weather and is lovely, just beginning to dry. Day cool and very windy mostly from the south with blue sky and puffy white clouds, some light squall lines on the high north horizon.

We are prohibited from camping at the ruins of Awatovi tonight and must camp at Keams Canyon. Awatovi means "High Place of the Bow Clan" and the site is quite large, but mostly non-descript mounds of wall rubble, only on the south edge is there an area of free standing walls where we could delineate a plaza and the entry way. No way of determining where the church of San Bernardino (built 1629) or the fortified stable were located. A breath taking view of the valley far below littered with the awesome crags which will be our beacons tomorrow. The escarpment is truly lovely, dropping straight off. Carol Anne and I are very much aware and in tune with, the significance historically; and culturally, of Awatovi and in light of those facts we never really expected to ever be able to actually come here. I can't say what Carol Anne's feelings were, but they were obviously deep in this place of tragedy for a people she has lived with so intensely. For me I'm afraid the knowledge I was walking ground I know Espejo trod, seeing vistas he saw, experiencing some of what he did, became dominant in my thoughts. The site does have an eerie feeling intensely desolate and deserted, yet lovely and with an odd presence. Our visit was all too short for our desire to soak up and feel this place.

Back in camp at Keams Canyon Captain Burgess came by and in talking of Awatovi he noted that he never ever sends lone patrolmen to the site at night. Ramon Lomatewama could not participate in the re-enactment and I suspect this was because he did not wish to become unpurified by association with this site as he prepares for the upcoming religious season. Conversely, Mr. Honanie of' the Tribal Council who came by to wish us well is from Hotevilla, which didn't even exist in November 1700 and thus has no background in the massacre, views Awatovi more with pride as the wellspring of his clan (the Tobacco clan).

The animal transport group arrived at the camp about sunset as did Tony Kreider and Joe Meehan who had brought my just completed and never tried, buff' coat and Estradiota saddle.

In the evening we held a muster along traditional Spanish lines to declare our equipment to the crown authority.

I am taking a rapier, hand and a half' broadsword, lance, dagger, morrion helmet, breastplate, leather buff coat, and an adarga (leather shield). I am riding a large bay gelding named Clyde and using a dun pack mule named Juan.

Bill has a broadsword, a morrion helmet and armor for the head and flanks of his horse. He is riding a gray gelding named Pancho (who has the lean rangy look of a Peruvian barb) and packing a black mare named Sadat.

Bob has a broadsword, a sallet style helmet, a dagger, and a leather strong doublet. He is riding a roan gelding named Roany and is packing a sorrel gelding with white face named Blaze.

We got our equipment squared away and packed and went to bed early. When we went to sleep the weather was cool but clear.
 
 

30 April
 
 

Awakened about 2 AM by a steady rain. Our tarp leaked but we just lived with the cold puddles.

Rolled out at first light facing a bleak gray day with a cold wind blowing spitting rain. Furled the flag, got the horses loaded and we all went to Awatovi. The heavens really opened up a cold wind-driven rain as we tried to saddle up. I'm sure if the weather had been like this in 1583 Espejo would have merely delayed his departure until better conditions. We could not have the luxury of waiting however, and so depressed as we were, we proceeded with preparations. In addition, Clyde did not take kindly to the saddle mounted broadsword.

It also became evident that the pommel of my estradiota saddle is too high for me to be able to wear my breastplate during the ride. I tried wearing the chainmail jacket instead, but couldn't get it on over the bulk of my buff coat. These 2 failures really disappointed me as I had really wanted to experience wearing metal armor on a long term day to day basis in the field. Thus my morrion will be the only plate I wear on this trip (I was pleased to note the helmet with its sheepskin lined arming cap kept my bald head and ears warm despite the cruel wind, my buff coat also went a long way to breaking the wind for which my congested lungs were thankful).

So finally we got all packed and on our way into the face of the southerly wind. The support personnel waved good-bye returning to the Verde Valley.

Once we reached the edge of the mesa and began our descent into Talahogan Canyon we were truly alone. In the face of the wind my gray velvet shirt sleeves offered my arms little protection from the damp cold, but except for that and my face, I wasn't physically too uncomfortable. Once around the west end of the mesa and out of the canyon we made good time across the flats. The recent rain kept the dust down which was a blessing. We were headed straight on schedule towards Nipple butte and it began to look as though, despite the miserable weather, we would have a long but fairly easy straight shot into camp at Chandler Springs (Espejo's Ojo Triste) at Pyramid Butte. We watered our horses at a tank, which was obviously a luxury Espejo did not have, but then we ran into an obstacle he did not face: Jaditto Wash. Peering down into the incredible depths of this steep sided gash in the alluvial sediment, our hitherto rising spirits sank. There was no apparent way across it and it did not appear to get any shallower from what we could see upstream. In addition it was running water in the bottoms and having been stuck in reservation quicksand once in my life I had no desire to repeat the experience, even if we could get down there. We decided we would waste too much valuable time trying to find a route across (which might no longer exist anyway, this was where Espejo's guides would have been invaluable). So I ran a triangulated fix of Star Butte and Egglofstein Butte, plotted a course across the heads of the tributary canyons to Snake Butte and we set off.

This turned into a real slogging and things really looked bad when Pancho suddenly collapsed sick, Bill barely kicking clear as he fell over and avoiding a mashed leg. We redistributed Bill's pack and he rode Sadat. We got Pancho back on his feet but had to slow the pace to keep him able to go on, as it was he went down two more times. The weather closed in and at times our navigational buttes were obscured by rain. Also, something blew into my left eye and it began to film over, so badly that by the time we hit Snake Butte, I could barely see Clyde's ears through the opaque gray mist. my right eye continually watered because of the wind. Although eyeglasses existed in the 16th. century I am not wearing my glasses on this trip (don't even have them along) to get an idea of some of the difficulties of the common soldier of the period.

We headed for Tees Toh and ran into Tony and Joe who had been looking for us quite concerned when they hadn't been able to spot us in the Nipple butte area. We staggered into a camp site near a well at Seba Dalkai after sunset. I was pleased that although chilled and fatigued I was not sore or raw except in one place where a knot on one of my codpiece points had rubbed a raw spot on my groin just above the right testicle.

Although we had taken no water or food since daybreak, after unloading, watering. feeding and combing our animals, we were so tired it was an effort to force down a handful of pemmican. We doctored Pancho, rolled out our bedrolls (mine consists of wool blankets in a roll of light canvas) and went to bed. If all had gone well today we would have marched 22 miles and ended at Espejo's campsite at Chandler Springs. As it was, we marched 26 miles and camped at Seba Dalkai, seven miles short of Chandler Springs, an inauspicious beginning and doubly discouraging as it makes tomorrow's already long march even longer.
 
 

1 May
 
 

Fortunately the weather cleared soon after sunset and we had no rain last night although the wind continued to blow fiercely from the south-southwest. I slept fitfully as I couldn't get my feet warm. I slept fully clothed except for my boots which I wrapped in my cloak to serve as a pillow. Up at first light and my left eye was pretty much back to normal although I was terribly dismayed to find Juan missing: managed to track him down and catch him with the aid of a young Navajo. Ate some pemmican, got packed and on our way right at sunrise. Clyde is turning out to be a much more powerful horse than I realized with a long easy stride which out distances all the other animals with ease. I came to call this his Clyde Stride and it was a constant battle to slow him down to keep him with the others. He also has tremendous stamina, being the last one to tire on a march.

Although the wind was still fierce and cold in our faces the day started clear and the sunshine warmed our spirits if not our bodies. But about the time we reached Chandler Springs a few puffy white clouds began to appear and gradually got thicker and we knew we were going to be in for it again today. Still, it gave me a chance to enjoy the exquisite majestic scenery in the bright clear light and to view Bob and Bill which gives you a downright uncanny feeling of looking at real 16th. century Spanish conquistadors, especially with the wide sweeping vistas as a backdrop.

Although the armchair scholars draw Espejo's route as a straight line from Chandler Springs to Sunset Crossing, we soon became aware that no horseman was going to take his animals down the steep escarpment of the south edge of Ives Mesa unless there is a secret trail somewhere, especially when by curving slightly east you ride open, relatively flat, rolling country all the way to the river. Thus, although not strictly by the map, I firmly believe our route today truly followed Espejo’s actual route.

We stopped at a Navajo hogan for directions to a water tank which took us a mile or so off our track, but which also gave us an inkling of what we were facing if we went straight shot route over the edge of Ives Mesa. I had two dates for lunch at this water stop. We then continued our forced march the weather gradually turning nastier. Although tired, still not sore but my toes go numb periodically from lack of circulation. and that point knot is still rubbing that one inch sized spot raw,. Although I tire, I don't find the morrion to be cumbersome or appreciably heavy. It is not uncomfortable although it does restrict peripheral vision to a degree surprising in an open helmet and covering my ears it makes hearing difficult, although with this constant wind it is impossible to talk or converse so we ride in silence, I doubt if we have exchanged 3 dozen words all day. Late afternoon, we had covered over 30 miles and the day was beginning to take on a nightmarish quality of never ending. Even Clyde was beginning to slow down, with his Clyde Stride he & I tend to be the scouts, but now he was content to plod alongside the others. Pancho, whose vicious jealousy in guarding Sadat from other male horses was exacerbated by his feeling sick, was tired enough to not fight Clyde's presence alongside. It began to hail which makes a rather pleasant musical ping on my helmet. Tony met us with his truck with the cheery news that we still had over ten miles yet to go. He did give us each a shot of blackberry brandy which was amazingly reviving. We pushed on in the gathering gloom and increasing cold. About four miles out Bob's artificial right knee gave out and he had to lie down. Once he was rested we pushed on. It was now dark and raining and we could only aim for the lights of Winslow. Although I had gotten a glimpse of the river before darkness fell, I couldn't navigate on this sighting. Then Juan got balky and the final three miles was a struggle of dragging him by a bight around my pommel and a constant stream of terminology I haven't used since I was in the navy. Bob laughed, saying he hadn't expected someone as refined as I am to have such a vocabulary.

We had figured we would get to the river, strip the animals, care for them and just crash, but it was a most welcome surprise to find Carol Anne and Tony there with a roaring fire going and a steaming cauldron of hot rich chili full of spices. I got the animals picketed, unsaddled and cared for then just lay down by the fire with a bowl of chili. It may not have been historically accurate, but I wasn't going to quibble. "40 miles a Day on Beans and Hay" in a new light for me. Twelve continuous hours in the saddle today. We did 41 miles today and I'm bushed, cold and wet. As the day progressed I would look back at the distant outline of the butte at Seba Dalkai which would look so far away and think "my God that’s a long way off. I've come all that way on horseback?", it was that ridiculously pleased awestruck pride in what I had done so far that kept me going. Juan is a good mule who normally leads well if you make allowances for his making the trip a moveable feast by trotting ahead to the limit of the lead rope so he will have time to grab mouthfuls of vegetation as you ride by.
 
 

2 May
 
 

Inspecting Clyde this morning found a saddle sore on his back which really upset me although Bill and Bob don't think it's serious and gave me some medicine for it. Up and on our way at 8. I later learned that last night Carol Anne and Tony laid even odds as to whether or not we would continue today. I don't think there was ever any question in our minds that we would push on, but I guess last night we presented a pretty sorry spectacle. I was very pleased that we had gotten back on schedule by camping at Sunset Crossing where Espejo camped.

Bill's doctoring seems to be doing Pancho good. Today was sunny and clear with only a slight breeze which was a welcome change from the first two days. I find that not including a heavy, long-sleeved doublet in my 16th. Century wardrobe was a major omission in the light of previous weather conditions. A velvet shirt provides little protection and I can't wear my cloak on horseback as it has no arms slits and Clyde has a fit with it flapping. My gray trunk hose ripped wide open last night one whole leg totally gone through the crotch.

We crossed the Little Colorado on the old railroad bridge as the river was running very swift and deep. We gloriously rode down the flood dike trying to keep the animals from munching the abundant loco weed.

The pommel came off Bill's broadsword and he lost it (nearly lost the grip too) thereby depriving him of one of the two items essential to a conquistador in the middle of nowhere (his weapon, the other item being his horse).

After leaving the river we were into the gently rising grasslands, punctuated by low, wind-blasted, outcrops of red sand-stone. Watered at the Hancock ranch but kept on going I fear this trip will be one series of forced marches to keep on schedule, a fact which at times takes the edge off an ability to appreciate the scenery. With only a few puffy clouds and a gentle breeze, we were at last able to talk and I had a chance to get to know these men I'm traveling with. Bill is 71. He never graduated from school and so has done a little of just about everything in life; truck driver, oil fields, railroads, ranching, bar owner, construction, salesman etc. and in the process has become a well educated man and fairly wealthy (although he still lives in the same small river-rock house he built when he finally settled down in Cottonwood 30 years ago). Bob is 58 and was a marine in World War II. After the war he became a horseback patrolman for the Fish and Game Dept. for seven years before getting his degree and becoming a High School math teacher. He has lived in Bridgeport for 30 years. Bob is a very quiet soft-spoken rather gentlemanly man who gives that feeling of having an underlying character of iron. Bill likewise has the stamp of strong character and lean strength, but is more boisterous. They are both superb horsemen and magnificently self-reliant. Good men to know, men whose opinions mean-something, men you can trust. Not infallible, but ready to live by the consequences of their actions.

Ever since this trip began the San Francisco Peaks have been visible, constantly dominating the horizon and yet, to the best of' my memory, Luxan never mentions them in his journal. He also never once mentioned the weather. We arrived in Sunset Pass about 4 (3:15 by my pocket sundial, a copy of one found in the Mary Rose of 1545) and made camp at some tanks in Jacks Canyon. We are camped under a pair of huge old cottonwood trees (one has a circumference of 9 feet).

Very cloudy in the late afternoon and dropping rain to the south of us. When we first got in I pulled everything off Juan and Clyde and before I could get them picketed they both rolled in a cockleburr patch and it took me over an hour to comb out their manes and tails.

After dinner we sat around the campfire talking until turning in about 9:30. I can hear a hoot owl nearby which is always a good omen for me. I am still not raw or sore, just tired. Got sunburned on top of my windburn today. We traveled 22 miles today.
 
 

3 May
 
 

We slept in today until the sun was actually up. 400 years ago today the Spanish stayed in camp here resting and we decided to accurately fulfill the schedule by doing likewise. Even the horses are taking it easy, they have spent the bulk of the day laying down at their pickets. We had toasted blue corn meal tortillas and corn meal cakes for brunch, but generally spent the day taking care of' the horses and equipment, taking baths in one of the tank pools, looking over the maps, napping and talking.

I can see where the battle of 1 November 1874 took place from where I am lying. I recognize the features described in the reports, but Sunset Pass is much broader and shallower than the impression one gets from the writings, nothing like actually seeing a place. Something which can also be applied to the armchair scholars who plotted Espejo's route from Luxan's journal without actually having traversed the terrain first hand. In the evening we had roasted chicken (NOT Col. Sanders) and Tony brought out a bottle of brandy. I’m not much of a drinking man, but I must admit the brandy was most welcome and tonight it was very pleasant to sit and talk around the campfire with Bob, Tony and Bill. There wasn't enough liquor for anyone to even get tipsy, but it did mellow off the rough edges.

The one big regret all four of us feel is that Joe isn’t making the ride with us. Strangely enough, Tony has no desire to make the ride. Clyde's back is better, Pancho is feeling better and Juan has no problems at all. Turned in about 9:30.
 
 

4 May
 
 

Up at first light and on our way by sunrise. The 4th. of May has always been a special day for me, so many important things have happened in my life on 4 May that I usually use it as a day to take stock of where I am and what my life is doing. It was a 4 May that I landed in Alexandria, Egypt, and on another I first reported aboard Mullany for duty in Kaohsiung, Taiwan, and of course 4 May is my parents wedding anniversary, an event which made me possible. Well, today I am celebrating the probability of losing my job three weeks from now by making a 16th. Century trek through the middle of nowhere.

We went through Sunset Pass via Red Tanks where Clyde tried to water and sank into mud so deep even my stirrups and rapier scabbard are covered with it. Finally managed to flounder our way clear but Clyde had to go thirsty. We are not periodically walking our horses dismounted although we stand down for a few minutes every 7 or 8 miles or when we water. Standard cavalry practice was about 10 minutes dismounted travel every hour or two. I had envisioned the country between Sunset Pass and Chavez Pass as heavily wooded it is actually quite open grassland with some scrub, and trees only near the passes.

Day cooler and a little breezier than yesterday, but only a few high clouds. We spotted Chavez Pass in the mountains on the horizon as we cleared Sunset and just head straight for it cross country. About two miles from Chavez Pass we came to a well established set of holding pens and metal tanks fed by a donkey engine and the flow of clear water was truly a delight to the eye even if it did come from a pipe. We entered the Pass following the old dirt road known as Rimmy Jim's Highway. The pass is just exquisite with its heavy park-like stands of close trees (cedars and junipers). There was also the clear cool splash of a mountain stream rushing and bubbling crystal beside us which was most pleasant.

I was unable to spot the famous Chavez Pass ruins, but could not take time to look for them even though Clyde was tending to outdistance the others with embarrassing frequency.

We ascended through a pretty, little, heavily vegetated canyon and came out into the open south of Long Lake. Really lovely, a crisp highland Arizona day, felt like you were literally sitting on top of' the world, unable to go any higher, and that combination of grass, basalt and cedars I love.

We rode a mile and a half out along Long Lake to look around. We had located a camp spot near the lake and rode back to it and made camp. Steak and flour gravy dinner was delicious. As usual we had eaten no lunch although I had a piece of jerky at the donkey engine tank.

Long Lake is not a particularly pretty lake, very shallow with brush and scrub trees extending a long way out into, it, it reminds me of a swamp. We talked around the campfire ire until turning in about 9:30. Total distance marched today 24 miles.
 
 
 
 

5 May
 
 

Woke up about 2 AM to find Sadat loose from her picket, got up and secured her. Had barely gotten back to sleep when I was awakened by diarrhea. While being thus sick I noticed that Blaze had broken loose so I secured him. Not a particularly restful night’s sleep. Up at first light and on our way well after sunrise in anticipation of a fairly easy day's ride. I however had a premonition about this day and felt we were tempting fate. We set out cross country but trended too far north to pass south of Soldier Annex Lake which we hit on its eastern shore. The weather was cold, gray and quite windy, the ugly brown water of the lake being blown into a cold evil chop.

We ran into a fence which we ended up having to take down and put up again to get past. We swung west between Soldier Lake and Soldier Annex Lake and fought our way up a stiff escarpment and out into fairly open country. Here the cold wind hammered us in the face unmercifully. I normally like wind, but this constant blowing in the face can be quite wearing.

Pancho is feeling sick again so Bill switched to riding Sadat and packed him. Pancho won't wander off very far from. Sadat so Bill didn't try to lead him. In his irritability from his sickness Pancho would periodically sneak up and nip Juan or Clyde in the rear. This nonsense went on for a couple of hours until during one such attack old Juan let him have it full bore with both hind legs.

Juan periodically tests me to see if I mean business about walking beside Clyde by suddenly planting all four legs locked. When taken unawares this can darn near pull me out of the saddle and/or turn Clyde 90 degrees, but then I swear at Juan (I can now see the old time necessity for muleskinners to be so colorful) and take a bite on his lead rope around the pommel and Clyde drags him along until he gets the idea he's going to have to tag along. He's such a sweet placid looking old thing it belies his occasional orneryness. He also tries to walk on whichever flank allows him to use Clyde as a wind break which means he sometimes drags the rope over Clyde's rump which he doesn't like.

We sighted on Pine Mountain and cut to the left of it. In the process saw two herds of antelope which were lovely. On the south flank of Pine Mt. we dropped into a series of heavily brushed and treed shallow canyons which slowed our cross country rate (something the Spanish faced too). We crossed numerous lovely running brooks of clear water and during a water stop at one Pancho nipped Juan who bolted and disappeared. Bill happened to be mounted and immediately gave chase returning a few minutes later with Juan in tow.

We sighted a number of' elk, including one that ambled alongside us in the brush fifty feet away for awhile. Bill commented that I darn near could have thrown my lance and gotten him for fresh meat (you don’t throw lances, and while carving it up we would have undoubtedly met the only Game Ranger within a thousand square miles). It was a beautiful sight. all The further west we went the boggier the ground got from the recent melting snow until finally the horses were floundering in the mud so bad we could barely make headway. After pushing through this nightmare of' muck for awhile we finally came to a road we could travel on since the roads dry much quicker. The road led us to Happy Jack only a half mile from our route. Four miles from Happy Jack we turned off' towards Stoneman Lake.

The last few miles in to camp a mile west of Stoneman Lake Clyde got balky which concerned me as it is so out of character for him, but I can find nothing wrong. As usual got the animals cared for and then Carol Anne and the kids showed up. Really neat to see them and yet somehow they introduced a hectic note that has been lacking so far despite the forced march feel of the ride.

Dinner of rice with jerky gravy and tortillas. March 23 miles today. It was really good to sleep with Carol Anne tonight. When we first started this project Joe made the observation that it Would be impossible to keep 20th. century thoughts and concerns from intruding on the relatively simple and uncluttered mind of a 16th. Century soldier. I realize now that until tonight I have been thinking almost purely in 16th. Century terms and processes, very simple and straight forward basics, and that’s why tonight's intrusion of 20th. century clutter has struck me as being so hectic. Until tonight I have, with only one or two minor exceptions, not thought once about my 20th. Century life or anything beyond the immediate concerns of the ride. Even my talks with Bob and Bill about their backgrounds have been in the context of the ride.
 
 

6 May
 
 

Up at first light and soon on our way near upper Rattlesnake Canyon. The drop into Rarick Canyon was simply beautiful with lots of lush greenery and outcrops of red rock below the basalt escarpment.

Day was clear and warm with only a slight breeze. As we approached Montezuma Well Bill found a gate in the fence which saved us some riding. We rode up to the rim for a brief look. I was disappointed that we could not spend some time on the Well rim to savor this moment to the fullest; 400 years ago today their horses stood where I rode, they saw these waters and viewed these totally collapsed pueblos as only recently abandoned buildings. But the kids at Beaver Creek School were waiting after classes to see us so we had to hurry on.

We arrived at the school just as the school buses were starting to load and the kids all gathered around us. I think most of' them were more interested in the horses than in the Spanish, although some of' the guys were interested in our swords and helmets. One girl asked how long I had worn my clothes and seemed rather dismayed when I told her for a week. We then rode to the Creek at McGuireville, such beautiful clear sparkling water. Crossed the Creek onto the flat north of our house. From here on out our ride will be in civilization and begins to turn into a dog & pony show, the wilderness feel part of' it is sadly over. I put Clyde in his old corral for the night. While I enjoyed a long hot shower and bed to sleep in, I am rather saddened that we didn't camp at this site since it was the thought that they had camped where my house now sits 400 years ago tonight which initiated this whole project three years ago. I am really feeling down tonight. March 22 miles today.
 
 

7 May
 
 

Miserable night's sleep, bed was too soft and warm. Since today is the shortest march of the journey, we elected to wait to leave until noon. We saddled up about noon and skirted along the base of the White Hills, an easy march of only 10 miles. Made camp at Sheeps Crossing and were soon inundated with hordes of' friends, relatives and well wishers. The family and friends were most welcome, T could not have made this ride without the support of' Carol Anne and my parents, they kept me going through all the times during preparation when I became convinced the whole idea was crazy and/or a waste of precious money. But the mobs of other people really got on my nerves. I got Clyde taken care of' and picketed and then went down by the river to watch Dawn and Leif swim. Built a sand torreon and fantasized about having a torreon here in 1583 and what Espejo's reaction would have been to have found such an outpost of' Spanish culture here in a supposedly unexplored area.

I am not reacting well to the mob scene with all its boisterous noise and confusion. Its great to be the center of' attention, but I just want to crawl off by myself someplace quiet and listen to the water go by. Although the day was actually hot, I did not find my helmet at all warm or uncomfortable which surprises me, but then, having worn it continuously since Awatovi I guess I'm getting used to it. Went to bed early in my 1583 bedroll, but didn't sleep well.
 
 

8 May
 
 

Last day. Up at first light and got Clyde ready to go. Today, for our triumphal entry into the mines and Cottonwood I am carrying the red and white Spanish flag on my lance. Bill's young riding friend Bo showed up wearing more feathers than clothes, just enough fringed leather to be decent, riding her appaloosa bareback. So I guess our expedition now has its own version of Cortez’ Malice.

We set out cross country heading for the copper bearing strata near. No real excitement at the nearing culmination of 3 years worth of effort or the re-enactment, just a weary depression. We arrived in the mine area high on the flank of Mingus Mountain near Jerome and thus officially ended our quest, ended a dream. Ended a journey some said I would never be able to complete. The view is the same as that from Jerome; a magnificent sweeping vista with the valley 2000 feet below. I suspect the beauty was lost on Espejo in his disappointment over the mines, it was just rugged country he would have to traverse. We turned our horses downslope and began the long slog into Cottonwood, I electing to tarry bringing up the rear until the Clyde Stride brought me to the front again. I'm going to miss spending my days with Clyde, he is a powerful, magnificent, spirited yet friendly horse. We arrived quietly in Cottonwood and that how it ended, not with a bang but a whimper. Today's march 19 miles. Total distance marched by the expedition: 187 miles.

We put the horses in Cindy's corral and after caring for them went to Bill's for a barbeque with relatives and friends which was nice. All the support group were there including Joe and Ted Honyoma (the Hopi who helped us at the start of the trip in laying out the planning). Ted also had his very pretty wife with him. There was one intensely painful element and that was my heart ached for Joe who hadn't been able to make the ride with us, you could just see the hunger in his eyes.

And so the captains and kings departed. Loaded Clyde in Curly's pickup and took him home. Put him in the corral, took care of' him and the gear then got cleaned up.
 
 

From the'98 Anza Days Press Release:

 
Bob Munson, Park Manager at Fort Verde State Historic Park, gives a sometimes grisly look into the life, clothing and weapons of a 16th Century Conquistador. Audience participation is a big part of his presentation, particularly when he asks a volunteer from the audience to model women's clothing of the time. Bob is an avid promoter of living history and re-enacted the Espejo Expedition of 1583, in period clothing and on horseback

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