17th July 1997

On the Wild West Trail

Discovering Zane Grey’s Red Indian country

What the coconut tree is to our Mother Paradise-Sri Lanka - the equally tall ‘Saguaro’ flowering Cactus is to the valleys and mountains of Arizona. Against the backdrop of the 3 pronged mountain range, a lone Saguaro (Suhaaro) Cactus giant sheds a cynical smile on a pair of Sri Lankan pygmies. Pix Gail Dalton
"Two generations of Sri Lankan moviegoers learned about the North American Wild West-its breathtaking landscapes and the Red Indian mythology which is still the heart and soul of the Red Indian tribal progeny.

Today these Red Indians live confined to its desert and forest reservations. But Sedona’s Red Rocks mountain range will last, until the last of the pioneering native Red Indian races survive, or the Creator of Earth decides to flatten it to its foundations with a purpose in perspective." These were my thoughts-the moment I reached the Red Rocks of Arizona.

To those of us-Sri Lankans-journalists, writers and film critics, but more importantly to the vast array of readers and filmfans of the post-World War II era, who are known as "war babies," the name of Zane Grey, American author of many a Wild West book and the ‘Westerns’ by MGM and Paramount, through John Wayne and Richard Egan, in particular, still ring a bell as we travel down memory lane.

In my teens, like all others of my age who have passed or are nearing our sixtieth milepost in life’s uncertain journey, I nurtured a dream: ‘Would that day ever arrive when I could see with my own eyes’ the mining towns the stageposts & the ranches, along the historic Apache Indian Trail, the awesome beauty of Oak Creek Canyon-twin sister of the fabulous Grand Canyon-and would I ever set foot at the feet of North America’s miracle mountain range-those skyhigh pinnacles of the Red Rocks, White Mountains and Fort Apache which dates back to the Red Indian wars?"

On this fourth visit to the North American continent (this time with my wife, Lima), the determination to travel the Zane Grey Trail, now officially known as the Beeline (Highway) across the Arizonian desert and forest countryside brought us here to Arizona. Perchance, we met Gail Dalton a man among men from the twin towns of Pine/Strawberry, at a sundown party in Arizona’s capital, Phoenix and he offered us hospitality at his home.

He lives out a solitary life in a log cabin on stilts, elegantly carved out of fir, ponderosa pine and yet- untagged ‘lumber-wood’-sturdy, strong of iron, one among sporadic homesteads which resemble birds’ nests harboured within the confines of the Red Indian Tonto mountain rim which runs relentlessly across a 90-mile trail pointing to Grand Canyon country.

Gail 54, is an architect building constructor, veteran in Grand Canyon State.

By dawn on April Fool’s Day, Lima & I had already arrived at Gail’s home where we were greeted by a smiling signboard at the doorway which read: ‘Welcome to our Mountains’. Perched atop the lofty branches of pine, fur and cedar, a family of giant, furred squirrels and cotton-tail were eagerly waiting for Gail’s breakfast treat. The usual throw of peanuts and baked potato bolts but today, they will savour a Sri Lankan menu.

As is the trait of all Sri Lankan women, Lima, unknown to me, pulled out a cane box containing layers of ‘roti’ and chunks of ‘pol-pittu’ along with a bottle of ‘seeni-sambol,’ mildly tempered with ‘gam miris kudu’ and a topping of coconut scrapings.

It was a ‘Save your Dollars’ admonition for me prepared overnight but more, to accommodate Gail’s red pepper sensitive tongue. We and our furry friends fed on our much missed Sri Lankan delicacy, while sparrows, pigeons and a swarm of Cactus Wren (Arizona’s State bird, so abundant) pecked at the crumbs that fell by the wayside while others took their bounty to nowhere.

Gail is now driving us along State Route ‘87-twice as wide as Galle Road now precipitous, then a long stretch of flat valley, now on the steep climb towards Payson. Zane Grey’s early haunt was Payson - the tiny city which was the way station for Hollywood film crews. Gail de-routes about five miles north of the highway across a magnificent land mass which Zane described as "a split, tossed, dimpled, heaving, rolling world of black green forest-land." With Lima’s home-made Sri Lankan rice and curry hidden away somewhere in the station wagon (my premonition), we stepped into the planked stairway of Zane Grey’s cabin (now rebuilt as a recreation of the original and complete with his memorabilia). I take a quick glance across the pages through which he revitalised and relived the Wild West’s cowboy history.

Zane built his cabin on the creek below the Red Indian Tonto Rim near the headwaters from which a waterfall cascaded. It was destroyed by a forest fire which left the neighbourhood in flames. A wall hanging depicts a desperate Zane leaving the burnt cabin.

Against the backdrop of this rush of sky-blue water lies a rock slab on which he once sat ‘cross- legged-with a sheaf of paper and a plateful of pens - to create the vicissitudes of the Wild West. I sat where Zane once sat-recalling yesteryears and the silver screen reflection of ‘The Call of the Canyon.’

The cross canyon battles that raged among Union and Confederate blue and grey uniformed heavily armed soldiers against the primitive bow and arrow of a host of innocent Red Indian tribes, the trials and tribulations of fleeing mothers and children into the desert of doom with the horrendous thought of being chased out of the land of their birth.

Living on his God-given wit and humour, Zane, so say the memorabilia, befriended Tonto Indian chieftains and delved into momentous past of Red Indian catastrophe. As we mingled among the memorabilia and his century-old writing paraphernalia, (preserved as if they were of yesterday), tears flooded my eyes as I went through historic ‘Zane Grey’ titles: ‘The Last of the Plainsmen’ (1904), ‘Call of the Canyon’, Riders of the Purple Sage,’ ‘Billy the Kid,’ ‘Apache’ and ‘Broken Arrow’ and many more.

Zane died a pauper, as nine out of ten working journalists and dedicated writers the world over do. But Hollywood’s film moghuls made their millions by capitalising on his creative works of Wild West vintage. Zane was dead and gone when Paramount outdid MGM by filming his ‘Under the Tonto Rim’ & ‘The Last Man.’

We are on our way to the Red Rock mountains in Sedona - a second heaven which radiates an electrical glow which, Zane once said, ‘blinds the eye’. Small wonder, then, that Sedona-spelt backwards- reads Anodes.

It is 2 pm - and Lima is serving us her rice and curry lunch at the foot of the red - rock range.

True enough!. Our eyes are already blinded. But from the corner of my eye, I see John Wayne’s rugged face and his vigilant eye, searching for the Apache Indian and his warriors-hiding in the mesa, the butte or the creek across the cliffs, valleys and crevices, waiting for the kill.

Still I write to you from Oak Creek. But on our right stands erect a six-foot redwood ‘pole’ on which Geronimo came down from the Red Rock mountain-the surrendering white flagstaff flying high. That redwood pole-replaced throughout the four seasons following climatic batterings - stands sentinel as a memorial to Red Rock’s romantic past.

Next-Red Rock Country - Twilight of the Gods! - How Hollywood captured the Red Rocks for 48 epic films.

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