The San Carlos Apache Nation is 1.8 million acres of upland country, it is a reservation and as such is under tribal jurisdiction. 9,000 Apache live on the reservation, 65% of them live below the poverty line.
There is a Casino within a few miles of entering the reservation from the west. Not being close to any major towns it does not bring the income to the community that some tribes receive from gambling.
Having been neither scalped by locals nor mauled by bears during the night, I loaded up and headed off across the reservation .
San Carlos encompasses mountains, high plains and river valley terrain and is some of the best conditioned wild country I seen so far. Cattle are run on the shrub covered hillsides but not so densely stocked as to actually see any. Permits sold to visitors to hunt, fish , hike and camp on the tribal lands, one of the tribe's sources of income.
In the 1870s the US government ordered all Apache West of the Rio Grande onto the reservation and detailed troops to keep them there. Ostensibly this was done for their own protection for at the time the Mexican government were paying top dollar for Apache scalps.
The Apache were the very last of the native tribes to meet this fate. They were nomadic warrior people, their raiding parties feared by Indian and colonist alike.
Their physical strength, horsemanship and knowledge of the land was legendary. It was said they could cover 75 miles a day on foot indefinitely and arrive ready to fight. They knew every inch of their vast homelands and could find water wherever it might be.
For ten years all the Apache were interned in San Carlos, to some it was already part of their home range to others it was a foreign place inhabited by rival factions. Every morning they were counted up and escapees were hunted down.
A decade passed and the Apache were given permission to return to their traditional hunting grounds. However some groups decided to stay their elders saying their ancestors had a connection with the Gila River that irrigates the nation.
Modern Apaches on the reservation live in simple western style wooden houses, drive cars, shop at the supermarket and mostly speak English to each other. Like most of the poor in the USA, the majority are obese.
Unfortunately a great many are alcoholics.
Riding a bicycle through the reservation on the Old Highway 70, the most striking thing is the thousands of glass bottles tossed into the bush. They shimmer in the morning sun. They would be quite beautiful were they not such a symbol of the tragic fate of many people of this once proud nation.
The first 20ft of the wild land either side of the highway is disrespected by it's custodians like nowhere else I've been. It's remarkable I didn't cut up my shoes, tyres or tent ground sheet as I snuck off into the bushes last night.
I was flagged down by a lovely Apache family at about 10am. They stopped their battered old car to meet and greet me. They asked me about my journey and seemed really excited to meet me. They proudly told me I was on Apache land and joked that I should pay to pass through. They were down to earth and welcoming, warm and friendly.
They invited me to join them at an Indian bar. It was a kind invitation and the first time an American has invited me to join them in their social activities.However, seeing as every single one of them was already completely sloshed and it was 10 miles in each direction to the nearest village I chose not to take a ride with them.
It's pity I'd have liked to spend some time with them to see what makes them tick.
I cycled through Peridot looking for the Apache Cultural Centre I had read was there. The small plywood building was closed and in a state of disrepair. In fact many well intentioned facilities in the populated areas of the reservation have been let go and a general air of neglect surrounds parts the settlements as a whole.
I rode the long straight road through the tribal lands with the snow capped Mt Graham to the south. Dropping down into the Gila Valley the bushy plains became groves of oak and other trees. This is good fertile land for Arizona , far from the barren wastelands I had imagined the Indians being given. It is good hunting land on the high ground and good farming land in the valley. Only a couple of fields of crops were actually being cultivated. The rest has been left wild, it remains a lovely place.
On the western side of the reservation, at a run down public rest area with broken water fountains and closed down services,I met another pair of Apaches. They told me they were Apaches and this was Apache land, they seemed very proud.
Sadly, despite speaking English well they couldn't explain what it means to them be Apaches. Both men spoke with the heavily slurred words of those who have been drunk for so many years they will probably never sober up.
They showed me a notice board where posters used to display information about Apache history and tradition. The posters are mostly gone now they explained.
Not all hope is lost in San Carlos, I saw signs on the schools declaring "Project Head Start"would help the children to get themselves educated and open doors to a better future. I met the tribal wardens who police the land, sober, upstanding and helpful men. Good people in the community are working for a better tomorrow.
But in a time when trouble is around every corner for the people of the USA I fear it may be doubly so for those already on the margins of society.
Leaving the reservation the landscape changes soon enough. The fertile valley floor is being exploited as one might expect. Cotton, beef, corn and other food crops are being mass produced.
I saw a spray paint sign warning against the environmental damage done by thirsty cotton plants, "Grow hemp and food ", it advised. Wise words or someone who wants a smoke and some munchies? Either way they're unlikely to be heeded in a county famous for it's cotton production in the country which originally outlawed production of hemp.
I stopped in the local grocery store in Fort Thomas, a one shop town. The lady kindly gave me a free cup of coffee. As I sat to drink it I took in the scene.
A family of Apaches bought burgers and fries. A white man in a ten gallon hat came in for something mundane.
Other wares on display alongside the usual corner shop fare included: hand made Indian Burden Boards and leather bags, hunting rifles, shot guns and a collection of second hand stereo systems.
"Yep, you're in the wild west now boy!", I laughed to myself as a I thanked the lady and rode out of town.
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