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Patagonia I: The Chihuahuillas

Patagonia is a small town about an hour southeast of Tucson, named for the mountains south of town, themselves named after . . . perhaps the mountainous area at the tip of south America.  And that Patagonia's name probably comes from the large footprints made by the native people there.  It means "Bigfoot", perhaps from the llama skins they used for shoes.

Welsh miners were brought up from working in South America to work in what is now Arizona, so perhaps they introduced the name.  Or the name may have come from the large prints of the now-extinct Mexican grizzly bear:  bigfoot again!

 The present town of Patagonia was situated precisely where the now-also-extinct railroad crossed the Sonoita and Harshaw creeks.

Another theory of the origin of the name, first found right here, is that a Caucasian angel from heaven came down to the creek because of its reputation for harboring migrating birds, and discovered that the Native name for the mountains was the Chihuahuillas and, like most Caucasian angels, said the word was too hard to pronounce, so the angel called the mountains--and thus the town--Patagonia.  That theory has not yet been verified, but it probably will be, soon, as part of the FBI investigation into the Russian thing.


As we arrived, we heard a helicopter chop-chopping into town, across the street, to pick up what a police officer said was a difficult patient having a difficult time.

We went right to the Wild Horse Restaurant to nurse our travel wounds with lunch and beer.  The Wild Horse is part of a restoration of the Stage Stop Inn--a lovely restoration--although the bar itself, not yet named, is not yet finished.  They do work-arounds.  And there are gift shops at the other end of the block:  what is not to like?

 They are still mining around Patagonia, and the residents are not altogether pleased about that.  And not too far north of town, another Canadian mining company is confident they will be allowed to excavate a big open-pit mine.

We just wanted to get out or Tucson for a couple of days with our little guard dog, Cooper, and our little Casita, and park it under a tree where migrating birds might sit and speak of the Chihuahuillas, while I spoke of the Wild Horse and the Wagon Wheel Saloon.

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