From the road one gets the most adequate idea of the gigantic dimensions and great solidity of the dam; a few figures illustrating these may be admissable here. The height from lowest foundation is 284 feet; thickness at base, 168 feet; at crest, 20 feet; total length, including spillways, 1080 feet. The cost of the entire work was nine million dollars, of which three and a half millions were spent on the dam alone. Five and one-half years were required to complete the job and formal dedication occurred on the eighteenth of March, 1911, with the redoubtable Teddy himself as master of ceremonies. It was not until nearly four years later that the reservoir was entirely filled. There is enough water in reserve to supply all lands now under the system with sufficient moisture for three years, putting any chance of crop failure from shortage out of the question. About three and a half feet of water annually is required to produce crops in the Salt River Valley and this, with the warm sunshine and fertile soil, brings forth a yield that is amazing to farmers in rain-watered sections. A valuable by-product of the system is the water power available at the dam and at various points on the river. The aggregate will exceed twenty-five thousand horse power, which will ultimately pay for the maintenance of the system, giving the land-owner his water service free.
Crossing the dam, we followed the road for a mile or two to Webb Lodge, a comfortable-looking rustic inn built on a point of land extending well into the lake. A good many Phoenix people come here to spend the week-end and enjoy the excellent fishing. A number of stage tourists also stop at the Lodge for the night, completing the trip to Globe, forty-five miles farther, on the following day. We may confess that the thought of a pause for the night here appealed mightily to us, but our plans did not admit of such a stop, and after a half hour’s rest in the big chairs on the Lodge veranda we signified our readiness for the return trip.
The prospect of immediately retracing our way over the cruel road which we had just covered was not at all alluring and we would recommend to would-be visitors to make arrangements for a through trip to Globe by auto-stage, resuming the railroad there. Our return trip was not entirely without its reward, for we saw many weirdly beautiful effects as the sun went down over the giant hills and the blue shadows veiled the mysterious deeps of the savage ravines. Besides, the viewpoints were so vastly different that it was often hard to believe we were pursuing the road which we followed in coming. The sky was perfectly clear and the western horizon was a vast, burning expanse as the sun disappeared, though there was but little afterglow.
But we were hardly in form to appreciate the weird gradations of light and color and the almost terrifying beauty of the twilight mountains about us. The terrible road had worn the lady of the party to the limit of endurance and our anxiety to get out of the fearful hills constantly increased. It seemed an age before we rounded the black bulk of Superstition Mountains and saw the moonlit Mesa glimmering before us. Even the motor seemed to give a sigh of relief as the car reached the level plain and settled down to a swift, steady pace after the strenuous work in the hills. Mesa and Tempe were quickly passed and we reached the well-lighted streets of Phoenix a little after nine o’clock. The lady was so thoroughly fagged out that she declared there was no possible hope that she would be able to leave the hotel the next day. A night’s rest in a comfortable bed, however, worked wonders and, though there was considerable complaint about sore joints and muscles in the morning, she declared herself ready, after a late breakfast, to carry out our plan to explore the vicinity of Phoenix during the day.
We soon struck a bargain with the old man whose son had piloted us to the dam, to show us, with the assistance of his trusty Ford, what he considered worth while in and about the city. He proved an excellent guide, for he apparently knew every foot of the country by heart, though perhaps he was a little too much of a “booster” to impart unprejudiced information about Phoenix. We found it quite impossible to disabuse him of the idea that we were seeking investments in the valley—he evidently couldn’t conceive of any other reason for the interest we were evincing in the country. He first descanted upon the climate—the practice of every loyal westerner—and we had learned the futility of disputing the asseverations made in such cases.
“I lived in Missouri several years ago and my wife suffered so terribly from rheumatism and other ills that we decided on a change of climate. We moved to Los Angeles and lived there for three years, but there wasn’t much improvement and on the advice of a friend we came to Phoenix a few years ago. My wife is perfectly well now and I feel that I’ve added years to my life. It’s the warm, dry climate that does the business; California is too wet in the winter months. Pretty hot in summer?—Well, yes, but we don’t feel it like you do back east. I stay here the year round and enjoy the weather all the time. The records prove that the sun shines eighty-four per cent of the possible time and there is an average of only thirty-seven rainy days in the year. Yes, it’s good enough for me, and you’ll like it, too, if you decide to come here.”
We first drove about the town and noted the handsome public and private buildings, the wide, well-paved streets, and the many comfortable residences with their pretty grounds. Not many of these could be classed as pretentious, though there are several fine homes on the broad avenue leading to the Government Indian School. The State Capitol, a small but handsome building of classic design, surrounded by ample grounds, is situated in the center of the town. Tucson has given up the claim which it once pressed for the capitol, and no doubt a more adequate structure will be built before many years. There are several imposing public school buildings, classic lines prevailing in the architecture of nearly all of them. A beautiful Y. M. C. A. building with the mission motif predominating, fronts a pretty little park. I have already mentioned the hotels, which of course greatly outclass anything one would be likely to find in an eastern town two or three times as large as Phoenix. Near the city is the Ingleside Country Club, with a handsome club house where winter visitors are made welcome. Nor did our guide permit us to overlook the Insane Asylum adjoining the city and assured us that the big addition then building was made necessary by prohibition, recently adopted in Arizona—leaving us to draw any conclusions we might see fit.
Leaving the town we pursued the broad avenue leading to the Indian school—a splendid road running straight away to the blue mountains, sixty miles distant. It seems to me that I never saw elsewhere mountains so intensely blue as those which surround this Arcadian valley. Perhaps the universal greenness accentuates all colors. Surely it was an earthly Paradise on the day of which I am writing—a bright, fresh day with a light breeze laden with the odors of orange blossoms and new-mown alfalfa. The Indian school is small and the buildings old, but the surroundings seem ideal for teaching the rising generation of red men the ways of civilization.
From the Indian school we drove to some orange groves not far distant and made no attempt to dispute our guide’s emphatic claim that they were quite the equal of the best groves about Riverside or Azusa.
“They can grow any fruit here that can be grown in California,” he declared, “and some that can’t be matured there—dates, for instance. We have frosts sometimes, but I’ve seen worse ones about Los Angeles. Our main crops never fail, though; we can always count on a full yield of grain, alfalfa, sugar beets, or a dozen other staples. And I want to ask you if you ever saw finer cattle than those right before your eyes.”