Interesting bit on the Apache in central Arizona

Tranquillity, wildlife abound on reservation

Ron Dungan The Arizona Republic Dec. 14, 2007 02:01 PM

FORT APACHE RESERVATION – The storm has passed; the coyotes have stopped howling and faded into the hills. A starry night gives way to dawn and mist comes off Hawley Lake. My truck bounces over gravel roads and nothing moves. The land is still.

The roads lead through hills of lakes and streams where a native fish called the Apache trout once thrived. The land is healthy, the waters clear. Black bears, deer and turkeys roam about, and this is the hour to see them. I watch for movement but see nothing until a few elk scatter.

The Apaches know this land and manage it with a deft touch. They lived in what’s now Arizona for generations, until White men came and a long, bloody war erupted. When it ended, the government forced the Apaches onto reservations and settlers pressed the countryside as if the land, too, must bend to their will. The newcomers fished for native trout until few remained, and then dumped new species into the streams to take their place. They hunted the Merriam’s elk to extinction – the last one was seen in 1895 – and fixed that by transplanting Rocky Mountain elk. Dams stopped the flow of rivers, and cattle pounded the banks. People cut the trees, killed off the grizzly and silenced the wolf. advertisement

The Apaches kept to the reservation. The Bureau of Indian Affairs and its predecessors controlled the tribe’s business and then oversaw the tribal councils elected after the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934. The Apaches had little say about their land in those days.

Taking control of the land

Nobody is at Christmas Tree Lake when I arrive. The tribe limits the number of visitors to 20 a day, and nobody has bothered to sign up. You must pay $25 for the privilege of coming here, and the fishing is poor in late summer. Apache trout share the lake with brown trout, and some of them get big. Within 15 minutes, I have landed a nice brown. Then the action slows. I switch flies and gaze into hills of aspen and fir. My mind wanders. An osprey cries.

Apache efforts to take control of their land came about slowly. In the 1940s, they closed some remote streams to fishing to protect the dwindling Apache trout.

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