By Nancy Kirkpatrick Wright

Have you been to Chloride, Arizona recently? If you are one of those folks who are drawn to unusual back road adventures, you will find the road to Chloride by taking Highway 93 north from Kingman about fifteen miles. From there, the side road winds its way up the mountain three or four miles to a cluster of nineteenth century mining communities.

Chloride, one of the first mining towns in Arizona, was named for the heavy silver chloride ore exposed in the rocky ledges in the area. Prospectors found gold and silver in abundance there from 1860's into the early 1900's. Today, over a hundred years later, silver and gold are pretty much mined out, but the town still survives on the side of the Cerbet Mountains. Scores of buildings, mostly homes of retired people who appreciate the desert vegetation and the isolation, dot the arid landscape. 

On the way to Chloride, you will see a colorful serpent-like Coprus (not "Corpus"), longer than a football field, stretched out not far from the road. "What is a Coprus?" you ask. You will not find that word in any of your unabridged dictionaries for it seems to have been coined in Chloride in the 1990's. A nearby sign labeled "Turquoise Beast" informs us that a Coprus is a "mythical beast which eats the earth around large copper deposits just like an earthworm and it's digestive processes form the turquoise which is left behind in the ground." So, that famous Kingman turquoise, long prized by Navajo and Zuni silversmiths, comes from the droppings of a serpent? According to the sign, even the scientific community could not understand why the serpent is there, but a little girl made "psychic contact" with a Coprus, who told her that a great comet had collided with the planet Jupiter in July of 1994, which caused the Copruses to come to the surface to anxiously look for Jupiter, their mother planet. This was really not long ago. The legend on the sign tells us that the Copruses "must remain on the surface until all effects of the collision are healed, which will take an unknown number of earth years. One day soon it may be gone." So it behooves you to get over there and see that huge serpent-Coprus before it returns to Jupiter or wherever. 

Completely mystified, you travel on. Take time, now, to look around and develop an appreciation for "found" art as you drive up and down the paved and unpaved streets of Chloride. Local people have put together parts of old cars combined with mining tools and household discards to form animals, funny people, and figures from outer space. Over the years, Mother Nature has added color by applying a thick coating of rust, and time and wind have given many of these sculptures a jaunty list. There is a funky kind of charm, if you appreciate that sort of thing. 

After trying out one of the mom and pop cafes, check out the "Mineshaft Market & Arizona Visitors Center" on Tennessee Avenue. Leanne and Skip, who have collected the beginnings of a Chloride museum, will welcome you and show you their collections. They have a good start, but there must be more historical information and artifacts somewhere waiting to be added to the collection. After I returned to Prescott, I checked the archives at Sharlot Hall Museum and found, not a rich lode, but several references to Chloride and other mines near there. 

In early editions of the "Prescott Journal-Miner," I found correspondence from one "Chloride Jack," As a Cerbat area newspaper correspondent, "Chloride Jack," sent weekly columns to the "The Miner" during the 1870's. He mentioned the great increase in prospectors and mining claims and the rich quality of the ore, along with sidelights on local miners. He told of working for the McCracken mine which had recently hired 30-40 men. More were expected despite the dreadful fate of the four prospectors who discovered the Silver Hill mine there in 1863. It seems a group of Hualapai crept into camp, found the miner's guns and used them to shoot two miners who were hauling out ore. Out of ammunition, but still resourceful, the Hualapai then threw heavy rocks down on the other two miners who were digging in the shaft, killing them as well. Bloody business, mining in the early days. 

A touching obituary in a 1909 issue of "The Miner," noted that "Chloride Jack" was really Hiram Alfred Owens, (no wonder he called himself "Jack"), a pioneer prospector and a Confederate veteran. His death was honored by veterans from both sides of the Civil War: Another Confederate veteran spoke "beautiful and tender sentiments," and a couple of Union officers paid all the expenses of the funeral and burial. "The past," the obituary concluded, "is a memory, the laurel leaf triumphs in the end." 

Sharlot Hall met another early prospector, John Riggs, on her return from her memorable Arizona Strip journey in September 1911. As Arizona's territorial historian, Sharlot had been collecting historical information and artifacts all along the way and hoped to discover more in this pioneer mining camp. Riggs showed Sharlot around the mines, pointed out the graves of those unfortunate miners who were killed by Hualapais, and plied her with stories of the early days of booming activity and mining heroes. Before she left, he promised to put some markers on the graves and to send her more stories. 

True to his promise, Riggs sent Sharlot a chatty letter telling how impressed he was with her "spunk and energy" and assured her that he had personally put markers on the prospectors' graves. In the letters which followed, mining adventures and hero tales were his specialty. Reading between the lines, we realize that often the hero of his stories was John Riggs, himself. He ended his August 1912 letter to Sharlot with a flourish and signed it: "Ta-ta, Yours truly, Jno. L. Riggs." 

First called "Chloride City," the post office was finally established as Chloride in 1873, and by 1875, Chloride had two hundred and fifty inhabitants. Inflation had set in and house lots were selling for as high as $50 per lot. By 1900, Chloride boasted a population of two thousand. 

Chloride had its fifteen minutes of notoriety in 1917 when, egged on by the Wobblies (International Workers of the World), some miners called for a strike, demanding higher wages. However, when a vote was held, they voted eight to one against a walkout. The Mohave County sheriff issued warrants and four of the strike leaders were jailed and subsequently ordered out of town. Most of the Wobblies left and the miners who stayed behind were granted a raise anyway. How about that! 

Those first prospectors were seeking gold and they found it. Found it in abundance; also silver, and lead-zinc, cinnabar, mercury, and turquoise. In the 1930's, Tiffany of New York was digging high quality turquoise from the largest mine in the area. 

Although Chloride had shrunk to a population of 750 by 1938, the town refused to die and the Duval Corp. began copper production in 1964. This is where the Coprus stretches out its colorful serpentine body in the sun, waiting for its mother, Jupiter, to settle down. 

By now, you know so much about Chloride that you might want to go there on New Year's Day, instead of watching football on TV. Besides, if you want to see that Coprus before it goes away, or if you have a little time some day on your way back from Laughlin or Vegas, you might take a short detour to Chloride, only four miles east of highway 93. Check it out. Ta-ta. 

(Nancy Kirkpatrick Wright, retired librarian from Yavapai College, is active in Prescott Art Docents and Sharlot Hall Museum. She enjoys investigating the historic confluences of the arts and sciences.) 


Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(author supplied, Chloride) Reuse only by permission.
The Coprus (not Corpus) weaves along the mountainside near Chloride, Arizona. Scientists cannot explain it, but a young psychic found it was the result of a comet hitting Jupiter. Come take a mini road trip this week and check out the Coprus and see the town of Chloride at the same time.A