Objects in Mirror Are Farther Than They Appear
Our first stop of the morning was the Arizona Water Company station where we filled the 200-gallon water tank by plugging three quarters into the coin machine to buy approximately 150 gallons of water. At the nearby gas station (our second stop, because Jim, our trusted guide, doesn’t drive into the desert with anything less than a full tank of gas), you can also shell out a dollar to buy five gallons of water that has been treated by reverse osmosis.
After that, it’s a short drive down AZ-85 before we turn onto the dirt, gravel, and washboard road that winds through desert that is managed by the Bureau of Land Management, National Park Service, or US Fish and Wildlife. Our destination: three water stations that are fully permitted and legally maintained according to contracts with each agency.
Jim, who should know, says this route is the best because it is the most remote and the most beautiful. And he’s not wrong. This stark stretch of the Sonoran Desert has it all: Towering saguaros (which don’t grow arms until they are 75 years old), blooming ocotillos (which have not produced any leaves in a move that prioritizes reproduction over survival), dry arroyos crowded with Palo Verde (that haven’t seen rain in months) and trackless mountains (which lie approximately halfway between the border and Highway 8).
Migrants are often pointed to el norte and told that Highway 8 is a mere two days away, but that is a lie. Depending on how much time is spent wandering lost in the desert, the walk from the border to Highway 8 is more than 100 miles. Most migrants have already walked unimaginably far, many are traveling with children, and nearly all are suffering from blisters, dehydration, and other illnesses or injuries. The temperatures can drop below freezing in the winter months, then soar to well over 100 degrees in July and August. “They are playing with fire,” says Jim. “They can’t carry enough water to travel that far.”
Which is why these three barrels have been been placed at the halfway point along what is known as The Devil’s Highway or El Camino Del Diablo.
When we arrive at the first water station, Jim explains that each station features a barrel, a stand, and a marking flag. Each barrel has been outfitted with a bung lock to prevent tampering and contamination with turpentine, gasoline, or other poison, which would be initially undetectable because the tank would look otherwise intact. Undeterred, the vigilantes have resorted to removing the spigots and using the barrels for target practice in order to drain the tanks.
Let me rephrase that: Vigilantes have stolen the spigots, illegally discharged a firearm on public land, drained water that has been legally permitted, and poisoned a precious and life-saving resource that is a human right.
Two months ago, Jim arrived at the first station on our route. The tank had been shot through with a .22, which, I have since learned, is “for varmint hunting, plinking and youth shooters.”1 So you won't have to look it up, “plinking” is target shooting at “non-standard” targets. It is considered a “leisure” activity, generally performed “in one's backyard, in an open field, or on other private land, the owner of which does not demand entrance fees.” It almost goes without saying that none of these definitions apply in this case.
You will be relieved to know that none of the tanks had been vandalized or drained on our route. In fact, usage at these three tanks has been low or non-existent because of the policies of the current administration.
Jim believes that it is important to keep the water flowing and as fresh as possible, so we drained each barrel before refilling it.2 His last water run was a month ago, so the water has been heating up and cooling down ever since.
Our last stop of the day was the Luis and Cindy Urrea Station, approximately 33 miles from AZ-85 in the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge. By this time, Tom and I are total pros. We know how to remove the bung with a special wrench (which I bet is called a bung wrench). We know to put the plank of wood down to distribute the water more widely. We know how to run the hose all the way out to achieve peak flow rates. We have learned how to secure the hose with a clamp so that we don’t have to stand there holding the hose. Instead, we multi-task by replacing the tattered flag, which requires pulling the stake out of the rock-hard ground, getting out of the way so it doesn’t fall on us, using wire cutters to remove the flag, retrieving the box of brand-new flags, securing one to the very long pole with new wire, and resurrecting it, Iwo Jima style.
The station is named in honor of Luis Urrea, who wrote The Devil’s Highway, which tells the story of 26 men who crossed mid-afternoon near Quitobaquito Springs on May 19, 2001. By the afternoon of May 20, with temperatures as high as 96 degrees, they were out of water. Early in the morning of May 21, the guides collected more money to buy water and left the group, never to return. By mid-afternoon, the men decided to continue walking. On May 22, temperatures soared to 108 degrees and two men died. On the morning of May 23, four members of the group encountered a Border Patrol agent. By May 24, all 26 of the men were found, but only 12 of them were alive.
Urrea vividly describes the scene when some of the men were found.
“Five men stumbled out of the mountain pass so sunstruck they didn’t know their own names, couldn’t remember where they’d come from, had forgotten how long they’d been lost. One of them wandered back up a peak. One of them was barefoot. They were burned nearly black, their lips huge and cracking, what paltry drool still available to them spuming from their mouths in a salty foam as they walked. Their eyes were cloudy with dust, almost too dry to blink up a tear. Their hair was hard and stiffened by old sweat, standing in crowns from their scalps, old because their bodies were no longer sweating. They were drunk from having their brains baked in the pan, they were seeing God and Devils, and they were dizzy from drinking their own urine, the poisons clogging their systems.”
Just one month before this tragedy, Humane Borders had sought permission to install a water station in this area, but their application was denied.
I asked Jim why he thinks it is important to continue doing this work when usage is so low because I knew he would have a good answer and he did. “In the past 2-3 years, I have seen such fluctuation in border policy and crossings. We don’t know what’s going to happen next. Humane Borders has to be a steady and consistent source of live-giving water so people don’t die.”
You can help adopt the Luis Urrea Water Station by making a tax-deductible donation from their website. In the “statement of support” field, indicate that it is for the Urrea station. Thank you.
——————-
1 I have chosen not to cite the source because the definition is widely available and was obtained from a clearinghouse for gun sales.
2 On a subsequent water route, I have since learned that Humane Borders is planning to use a funnel to more effectively direct this water to nearby plants.