Beyond El Camino Del Diablo: Beyond the Devil's Highway

By Eugene Sierras

El Camino Del Diablo (the Devils Highway) today is an unpaved 130 mile route along the border between Arizona and Sonora, Mexico. The current route begins at Lukeville, Arizona 21 miles southwest of Ajo at the boundary between Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument and Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge. From there it continues through barren and isolated Sonoran Desert to Yuma. Some of the features along the way are: San Cristobal Wash, the Agua Dulce Mountains, Papago Well; Camp Grip, the Pinta Sand Dunes and the Pinacate Volcanic Field. The road passes through the Tule Desert and Mountains and into Tule Tank Canyon to reach Tule Well where the road intersects with Christmas Pass Road. The road continues through the Lechuguilla Desert, Tordillo Mountain, and the Tinajas Altas Mountains. The route passes west of Raven Butte and Cipriano Pass. It then follows the western border of the Gila Mountains, passing by the abandoned Fortuna Mine before finally reaching the small community of Fortune Hills on the outskirts of Yuma.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490756042

Eugene Sierras

Angelita V. Lopez is a 6th generation Tucsonan (originally ranchers from Avra Valley). She graduated from the U of A (1963) after attending Catholic Schools and Tucson High. She taught elementary and middle school for a total of 39 years in different school districts in the cities of Anaheim and Burbank, California and Tucson. In anticipation of retirement she and her teaching partner, Colleen DiBiase (also a 2nd generation U of A graduate and Tucson educator) opened a retail Catholic store in the historic Sam Hughes neighborhood. It remained open for 15 years and due to health problems had to be sold, much to the sadness of its loyal customers. Eugene Sierras attended local Tucson schools and graduated from the University of Arizona in 1964. He served in the United States Navy and retired as a Commander. He has completed extensive research in plasma physics, mythology and the Electic Universe and has written not only fiction but about the synthesis of plasma physics, mythology and religion.

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Prologue

R ichard had completed his preflight and BIT (built-in test) for his systems and had informed his pilot Chuck Riorden that all systems were go. He watched the Super Hornet in front of them on Eisenhower ’s port catapult launch, felt the shuttle strike the water break, and noticed the jet blast deflectors lowering to the flight deck surrounded by steam emanating from the catapult. He rogered the flight deck crewman hoisting the Super Hornet’s launch weight and informed Chuck what it was then double-checked that the wing lock indicators, or beer cans, were flush with the wing, indicating the wings were down and locked. This was a visual backup to the warning and caution panel array of lights that informed both cockpits of the aircraft’s st atus.

He felt the war bird move slowly as Chuck added power under the flight director’s command to taxi forward onto the catapult and into position over the shuttle. A quick glance around him brought into view the various flight deck personnel surrounding the aircraft. He observed the squadron troubleshooter, Aviation Airframe Mechanic Petty Officer Second Class Warren, give a thumbs-up to the catapult officer, indicating that from his last-minute inspection the Super Hornet was ready for launch.

After acknowledging the troubleshooter’s thumbs-up and that the jet blast deflectors had been repositioned behind the aircraft, the catapult officer gave the hand signal to Chuck to select military power. Both crewmembers felt the aircraft enter tension as the holdback attached to the flight deck ensured that the aircraft was immobile. After a quick last-minute check and an affirmation from Richard that he was set, Chuck responded to the catapult officer’s command for combat-rated power, or afterburner. After making a last-minute check of all personnel involved, and seeing the position of the ship’s bow to ensure it wasn’t moving downward, the catapult officer answered Chuck’s salute and crouched to touch the deck with his right hand, indicating to the sailors manning the catapult to launch the aircraft.

Richard felt the transverse acceleration or g-force pressing him against his seat, noticed the airspeed indicator working, and informed Chuck of that fact by softly voicing off the peg over the ICS or cockpit intercommunications system.

After Richard confirmed that Chuck had rotated to the correct altitude and was raising the gear and flaps, he reported airborne to Climax Eisenhower’s tactical call sign. Chuck accelerated the aircraft to four hundred knots, made a port clearing turn, and, after ensuring they were clear of all traffic, left five hundred feet for fifteen thousand feet, the prebriefed rendezvous altitude with their flight leader Showtime 204.

Showtime 204 had previously reported airborne to Departure Control and had been advised to switch to tactical frequency button 4, or 255.5 megahertz. Button 4 was the frequency that both aircraft would be working on with an Aegis Cruiser, the USS Lake Champlain, designated as the air warfare commander. Richard did the same and reported a brief two’s up. Lead responded with a double mike click.

Contact, left eight miles, Richard advised Chuck as he tracked their flight leader who was in a gentle left turn to an assigned heading of zero eight zero degrees, permitting them to make a running rendezvous with the lead aircraft. Port to zero six zero degrees.

Richard continued with commands until advised by Chuck that he had visual contact with their flight leader and would join up.

Once aboard in wing position, Lieutenant Commander Rick Skyles in the backseat gave them the hand signal to indicate all systems were up. Richard responded with the same signal to advise the lead aircraft that their systems were up and fully operational.

Commander Jack Silver, the lead pilot and Squadron skipper, gave the hand signal to Chuck to reposition their aircraft into the combat spread position, which was the navy’s tactical formation with two aircraft.

Red Crown, Showtime 204 and 206 are up, state Tiger [fully operational and fueled], Rick Skyles radioed.

Showtime 204, Red Crown, roger; Vector zero seven zero degrees for station, elevator Angels twenty [climb to twenty thousand feet], the air controller on the cruiser directed.

Showtime 204, Wilco, out, Rick Skyles answered.

For the previous two months, Eisenhower had been in the Arabian Sea on station from where she had been conducting missions over Afghanistan in support of NATO operations. Richard and Chuck had flown continuously over Afghanistan until they had developed a good familiarity with their operating area. Almost all their missions were close air support with occasional SAR (search and rescue) and CAP (combat air patrol) missions to break the routine. Unlike the early phase of the war in Iraq, there was no enemy air force over Afghanistan to worry about. Recently there had been a brief stand-down in NATO ground operations because of a temporary truce between the government of Afghanistan and the Taliban.

It was at this time that Eisenhower had been ordered to sail westward. There had been a lengthy public exchange of heated words between the leaders of Iran and Israel for several months, and the Israeli political leadership was implying that they would not hesitate to take preemptive action if they felt their national interests were at stake. As a result, the Eisenhower Battle Group had been repositioned westward closer to the Gulf or Oman. Most of the aircrews didn’t think there was much chance of action because Iran’s president had been making threatening statements against Israel for several years without any overt military action. They had been through this drill before. The upside of the recent move was there might be a chance of a port call at Qatar. Possible but not likely, Richard thought.

The aircrews had been briefed that the Iranians had been sending snooper, or reconnaissance aircraft, out to reconnoiter the fleet. These were usually the slow-moving maritime patrol aircraft designated P3 manufactured by Lockheed and transferred to the Imperial Iranian Air Force. Now used by the Islamic Republic of Iran Air Force, they frequently sortied out to keep tabs on the fleet and occasionally buzz the ships including the carrier. It had been several days since such a sortie, so the aircrews were expecting the likelihood of one today.

Once on assigned station, the aircraft entered a port orbit, or were anchored port with max conserve (fuel conservation) power settings on the throttles. Both aircrews kept a focused visual and electronic surveillance.

The Iranians didn’t show up on their watch, so when the relief section of CAP aircraft was en route, Showtime Flight was vectored back to climax for a daylight recovery. Return and landing were uneventful.

Richard sensed something was up when he entered the ready room. Commander Don Feathers, the squadron executive officer or XO, immediately approached the skipper and whispered something to him.

After their brief conversation, the skipper turned to Richard and said, Richard I need you to come with me and the XO to my stateroom. I have something to tell you.

When the three men entered the skipper’s stateroom, he noticed the ship’s chaplain, Lieutenant Commander Deborah Barker, standing next to the commander’s desk.

What’s up, Chaplain? Richard asked expectantly.

Richard, she replied, please sit down. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.

Richard immediately thought of Catherine and Bernadette.

Are my wife and daughter OK? he asked as he sat down. An ominous feeling of dread engulfed him.

"The ship received a message from the Red Cross and from Fifth Fleet an hour ago. Your wife, Catherine, suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm today and passed away. Your two-year-old daughter, Bernadette, apparently became frightened and upset about her mother and wandered into the backyard and fell into the swimming pool. When one of your neighbors, a lady by the name of Brenda Jackson, came over to your house with her two-year-old daughter for a play date, she found both your wife and daughter. She immediately called 911, but by the time the paramedics arrived, your daughter was deceased. They rushed your wife to the emergency room and determined she suffered from the aneurysm from a CAT scan. She later passed at the hospital. They were not able to resuscitate her.

Richard, I am terribly sorry, Lieutenant Barker said. If there is anything at all you need, please let me know.

Richard, the skipper said, "I am truly sorry. This is the worst news a man can receive. You need to go home and take care of this. Admin is preparing a set of orders for you for temporary additional duty to Naval Air Force Atlantic at NAS Oceana for as long as you need.

"There is a COD [Carrier onboard delivery] aircraft scheduled for launch at 1500 today for Qatar. You will transfer to a scheduled MedEvac Air Force C-17 from there to Landstuhl, Germany, where you will be routed on the first available flight back to Virginia.

"We will ensure your personal effects aboard Ike are taken care of, and we will do what is necessary once you figure out what you are going to do."

Jack Silver stood up and placed his hand on Richard’s shoulder.

Richard, he said if there is anything I can do, or get someone to do back in Virginia, I want you to promise to let me know as soon as you can. Your squadron mates will do whatever is necessary at this time. Go now. You have much to do before you catch that COD at 1500.

Richard turned to go when he was embraced by the chaplain.

I will pray for you and your family, she said. I pray that the Lord will help you through this time. Godspeed.

Chapter One

R ichard spotted the interstate sign indicating that the exit ramp for Marine Corps Air Station Yuma was one mile ahead. He maneuvered his new 2012 Ford Super Duty Crew Cab pickup into the right lane of Interstate 8 in anticipation of taking the off-ramp. He was pleased with his new truck’s performance on the cross-country trip from Virginia to Yuma, Arizona. Yuma was where he intended to obtain a permit to travel El Camino Del Diablo or the Devil’s Hig hway.

He had departed Virginia Beach five days earlier and had driven across country at a fairly leisurely pace to get accustomed to his expensive new purchase and to reflect on the recent events that had so dramatically changed his life. The recent events of his life continued to play in his mind like a movie stuck on repeat. He had to concentrate on driving lest his mind’s thoughts divert his attention.

After receiving the news of his wife’s and daughter’s deaths, he had operated almost on automatic for several weeks. He only vaguely remembered his journey from the USS Eisenhower in the Arabian Sea to Germany and from there to Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia where he was greeted by the base chaplain, Commander Brent Schipholt. The chaplain was only the first of many people he would deal with. He was taken to the base administration office where he was checked in and granted emergency leave.

The visit to the morgue to view his wife and daughter replayed over and over in his mind as he had first seen them, both beautiful in death and at peace. The chaplain’s assistant, Petty Officer First Class Margaret Baylor, had been a godsend. She had arranged for him to sign the necessary forms for the service at the base chapel, the burial in the Westover Cemetery with a view of the ocean to the east, the paperwork request for transfer to the inactive reserve, and the other myriad administrative requirements that seemed so tedious and never ending but which would determine his future. She even attended to the minutia required for the reception after the ceremony for their friends, neighbors, and relatives.

His mother had been a great comfort to him. She had loved her daughter-in-law and granddaughter and had stood by him through his grief. Although Richard had been determined not to weep, he had done so without shame as the two most cherished people in his life had been lowered into their graves side by side into the family plot where his father lay. It was at that moment that the realization of the family Catherine and he had planned and longed for would never be. He had often thought of his future son during the long lonely hours at sea and had anticipated the games of catch with a baseball, the visits together to the air shows they would attend as a family. He had hoped that seeing the Blue Angels or the Thunderbirds would also inspire in his son the same desire to fly as it had him when he had attended similar air shows with his parents and sister.

It was an appropriate resting place he had thought at the time for a navy wife and daughter who had also served by giving him unconditional love and reason for living and the desire to make a good and full life for his family.

Bernadette, his daughter: the joy of his life. She was the sunshine in each day that he was home. He would hug and kiss her when he left for work in the morning, and she would squeal with delight when he returned in the afternoon as she ran to him and jumped into his embrace.

Although he preferred that they not come to the pier to see the Eisenhower leave on those departures when he did not fly aboard, she insisted that she see her daddy on the big ship. The memory of Catherine holding Bernadette on the pier waving good-bye was in sharp focus, and they lowered her coffin into her grave. He knew she had tears in her eyes. She would later tell him that Bernadette would tell her mother not to cry. Daddy would be home soon.

Daddy would be home soon: that was the perennial fate of the American sailor. Some never returned. He had been lucky to have been able to do so, to return to the warmth, love, and embrace of his family. For what other reason is there to live?

The rapidly approaching off-ramp brought his attention back to the interstate and the big Ford. The 2012 Super Duty 6.2-liter V8 gasoline engine had given him twenty-three miles per gallon on the highway, and he figured about seventeen miles per-gallon driving through town. He had spent over $33,000 for the basic truck before he had added the tonneau cover and rugged all terrain tires.

He glanced down at the global positioning system (GPS) readout on the large screen on the console and saw that he was only about 3.5 miles from the air station. He exited the ramp and waited at the bottom for the traffic light to change, then made a left turn, and headed toward the air station. He saw two marine F/A-18/F Super Hornets taking off in formation and rolled down his window to hear the familiar sound of the engines in afterburner. The road traffic precluded him from following their flight path with his eyes, but he knew they were probably headed for the Chocolate Mountain Aerial Gunnery range in California just across the Colorado River, which served as the border between California and Arizona. He had spent several weapons deployments here at Yuma during tactical training on the gunnery range with his squadron: Fighter Attack Squadron 103, or VFA 103 in navy jargon.

Stopping at the gate to the main entrance, he showed the marine on duty his military identification card. He also provided his orders, which directed him to detach from active duty and proceed to his home of record, which was Virginia Beach, Virginia, effective February 29, 2012. Since today was February 25, he was technically on active duty although on termination leave.

The marine sentry saluted him and advised him that they were conducting random security checks of all incoming traffic and directed him to pull over to the right onto the paved inspection area manned by five marines in fatigues armed with M16 rifles and 45-caliber semi-automatic pistols. After turning off the engine and exiting the truck, he again provided the sergeant in charge with his identification card and orders and unlocked the tonneau cover to provide access to the marines for inspection.

Good morning, sir, the sergeant said. What is the purpose of your visit here to Marine Corps Air Station Yuma today?

I’m headed for the range management department office to pick up my request for a permit to travel the Barry M. Goldwater Range and the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge. I’d appreciate directions to the Range Management Office after we’re done here.

Yes, sir. Do you mind if I ask why you’re traveling the Devil’s Highway alone? I’ve been on stretches of that route, and it’s a barren and desolate place with not a whole hell of a lot to look at or do.

Richard looked at the young sergeant. He guessed he was about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, obviously a career marine. He was lean, and with his closed-cropped hair, he looked like a college athlete. His eyes, Richard saw, had the distinctive look of some of the combat infantrymen that he had come into contact with when he attended close air support briefings with the marines embarked on the amphibious ships of the battle group. Since he was in fatigues, he couldn’t determine from his ribbons where he had served, but he instinctively knew that he was a veteran of combat in the Middle East, either Iraq or Afghanistan or both.

I’m willing to bet that you’ve served in the Middle East, the sergeant said, surprising Richard by his similar thought. Still, there’s some danger along the Devil’s Highway, sir, what with all the illegal immigrants and smugglers crossing that part of the border. Although it’s patrolled by the border patrol, we do receive reports of people being killed by thieves who prey on the immigrants. Also, the drug smugglers are usually armed and will not hesitate to kill someone to keep from being observed and reported. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

Yes. This is not a spur-of-the-moment thing. It’s something I’ve planned with my father for a long time. However, he’s passed, so I’m doing it alone. It’s kind of like a memorial to him.

Hey, Sarge, one of the marines said as he approached the two men, you should see what’s in the back of the truck.

Tell me, the sergeant replied.

He’s got night-vision goggles, maps, compasses, MREs [meals ready to eat], several empty five-gallon water containers, survival knives, bedding, and camping equipment, binoculars, two portable survival kits, and other survival type gear, the young marine said.

That makes sense. He’s here to pick up a permit from the Range Management Office to travel the Devil’s Highway. Did you see anything illegal or what might be contraband or weapons?

No, he replied.

OK, sir, it looks as if you’re all set here. The Range Management Office is on Ordnance Street and Iwo Jima Way. It’s about a half a mile directly southwest of the water tower that you can see from here.

Thanks, Richard replied. I appreciate it. I’ll pick up my permit then head for the exchange to pick up a few items and something to eat.

I know that firearms are not permitted to be brought on base, but I know you’re not planning to travel the Devil’s Highway without some protection. What are you going to do about that? the sergeant asked.

Thanks for your concern, Richard replied. After I leave here, I’m headed toward the UPS receiving facility in Yuma to pick up a box of weapons I sent from my home in Virginia Beach. I’ve already received permission to carry them from both the Range Management Office and the Fish and Wildlife Service office. I’ve listed them by serial number and the amount of ammunition. I saved myself a lot of trouble by shipping them ahead.

What kind of weapons?

I have an AR15 and two hundred rounds of ammo, an American 45-caliber, an Austrian 9mm semi-automatic pistol, and an American 5 shot 38mm revolver with a couple of boxes of ammo for each.

I guess you are prepared, although I would never travel the route alone. I’ll take your word for it that you know what you’re doing. Good luck, he said, saluting him.

Thanks, Sergeant. And thank you for your service, Richard replied, looking directly into his eyes.

After he had picked up the permit and confirmed he had permission for the list of weapons he had submitted by mail with his applications, Richard spent about thirty minutes picking up a few items at the exchange, then bought a sandwich and coffee from the restaurant, and sat down to plan the rest of his afternoon. After he retrieved his weapons from the UPS facility, he would check into the Desert Hotel where he had made reservations for one night. He would again check his route to enter the Devil’s Highway through Fortuna. He would camp tomorrow night on the trail.

He planned to spend two or three nights en route. He would pick his campsites on the trail, although he desired to camp one night in the Tinajas Altas Mountains. He would set up camp off the route and use his camouflage tarp to cover his truck. He planned to take photographs and keep a journal of his trip, ensuring several stops along the way. Although the length of the route was only about 130 miles, he was prepared to remain on the desert for five days if necessary. The temperatures in February normally ranged from the low to midseventies during the day to the low to midfifties at night, but he was prepared for both warmer and colder temperatures in the event of a passing cold front or other system.

As he sat at the table, drinking his coffee, he heard the voices of young children and looked up to see a young mother with two girls about ages three to five years old. He immediately was filled with emotion, and he thought of his Bernadette and Catherine.

Put it away for later, he thought to himself. You will have time to think this all through while on the trail. Richard had learned to compartmentalize his personal thoughts and emotion when flying, particularly in combat. He had learned to discipline himself to ensure his entire focus was on the mission and the aircraft. Not only his life but that of his wingmen and the success of his mission depended on it. Although it was extremely more difficult with the death of his wife and daughter and the loss of his future, he knew it was essential to compartmentalize his thoughts and memories and bring them out only when he could afford to. Failure in combat or flight could be lethal. Failure at this point in his life could result in an empty desperation in facing the rest of his life. There would be time enough to reflect on recent events and their meaning while camped on El Camino Del Diablo, the Devil’s Highway. He was becoming more anxious to get started.

Chapter Two

R ichard was on the highway at 6:00 a.m. The desert air in Yuma was cool and comfortable with low humidity. He felt alive and anticipated entering the Devil’s Highway just east of Telegraph Pass in the Gila Mountains near the town of Wellton. He had eaten a hearty breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant. He had topped off the Ford’s large thirty-gallon tank the night before. He had stopped at a grocery store after dinner at the Cactus Café near the hotel to buy fresh provisions and ice and to fill the seven five-gallon water containers in the bed in addition to the five gallons in one-gallon containers that were on ice in the rear of the cab.

Each day is a new beginning, he thought to himself. Today is really the first day of the rest of my life, no matter if it is an overused cliché.

He steered the big Ford onto the interstate and accelerated to the posted speed limit of fifty-five miles per hour within the city. He knew there would be a border patrol checkpoint on the outskirts of Yuma before he began the ascent into the Gila Mountains through Telegraph Pass. It had not been manned when he had passed through it entering Yuma, and it was not manned as he passed it eastward bound.

Once on the interstate beyond the Gila Mountains, he looked for the entrance to the frontage road from the highway. He took the exit and entered the frontage road that would take him to the beginning of El Camino. A glance at his GPS indicated the trail head was less than two miles to the east. He could see the green fields of the farmlands north of Interstate 8 in the Mohawk Valley watered by the canal of the same name, which originates from the Colorado River. He figured it would be the last time he would see green farmland as he turned south from the frontage road to enter the dirt road, which was the Devil’s Highway.

He entered the trail and selected his first destination on the GPS: the Tinajas Altas, or the High Tanks. It was thirty miles to the area, and he would make a stop there and possibly climb the tanks. He would determine his action based on conditions at the time including people in the area. He wanted to avoid them if at all possible. It was Tuesday, and he hoped that few people would be out and about during the week although he knew that the Devil’s Highway was popular with off-road enthusiasts as well as campers and those seeking a bit of adventure on a day trip.

He thought of his father as he drove the Ford through the dirt trail, which was well traveled and not rough. He would select four-wheel drive only when he needed to. He anticipated from reading descriptions of the trail and studying the topographic maps that there would be requirements for four-wheel drive along some portions of the trail, but this section was smooth. He kept the truck at thirty miles per hour so that he could concentrate on the scenery and let his thoughts wander.

He had partially opened the two windows of the front and relished the crisp cool air. The temperature gauge in the cab indicated it was fifty degrees Fahrenheit outside. The local paper had forecast a high today in Yuma of sixty-eight degrees. The dome of the sky was a deep blue with no clouds in sight. It was a pleasant beginning.

At sea, as he was standing on the deck of a destroyer, the horizon was about seven to eight miles distant depending on the height of the deck above the water. Obviously, mountains penetrating the sky were visible beyond the arc of the horizon. During his travel through Arizona, he was struck that almost during the entire journey through the state he could see mountains in the distance. He thought he could see the peaks of the Tinajas Altas Mountains ahead to the southwest of the trail.

He passed a beam of Cipriano Pass to his right as he followed the trail just to the east of the Tinajas Altas Mountains and stopped by the road to read a sign that had been erected by the Luke AFB Natural Resources Management, which he presumed was the controlling office of the air force for the Barry Goldwater Range.

He pulled the Ford off the trail and dismounted to more closely read the words on the monument:

The Road of the Devil is a rough unpaved route that begins in Altar and Caborca Mexico and crosses southwestern Arizona ending in Yuma. Prehistoric peoples used the route to transport shells and salt from the Gulf of California. Spanish soldiers led by Melchior Diaz in 1540 were the first Europeans to travel this route. More than 150 years later, the Jesuit priest Father Kino traveled this region while exploring routes to California. After the discovery of gold in California in 1849, thousands traveled the Camino in search of gold and new lives. Historians estimate that more than four hundred people died of thirst on the Camino during the 1850s. At one time, at least fifty graves could be identified along the route. Today the area (part of which is listed on the National Register of Historic Places) is under restoration. Please stay on the road and help us protect this historic resource.

Richard felt that now he was truly on the Camino and in