I thoroughly enjoyed Mr. Crattie’s brush-up on American border history. And in the process, it brought back a few memories of my own.
During my three decades of boundary surveying work in Southern Arizona, I have had the opportunity to work on four separate projects which abut the International Border between Nogales and points east.
In three of the four cases, I was fortunate that only two of the intimidating border monuments would be required to define the portion of the lines needed. That last case (actually the first case), which goes back to 1993 involved only one border monument which was used as a reference monument to a Mineral (patent) Survey (now a thing of the past). Also, in three of the four cases there existed an ancient and dilapidated but stout five-strand barbed wire fence that was situated exactly three feet north of the true border.
In 1999 I was hired by a ranch client to define various aliquot parts of fractional sections 18 and 19, Township 24 South, Range 18 East, G & SRM, Santa Cruz County in an area known as Parker Canyon. Two things continue to stand out from that 1999 experience and have been a source of humorous conversation ever since.
Unlike Mr. Crattie’s experience with the Border Patrol personnel, ours differed considerably. Maybe it was that the agents were just being worked too hard. Maybe it was the beat-up Dodge Ram 4x4s that they were forced to drive. Or maybe it was the fact that they were yet to be provided with ATV’s and camo. Whatever the reason or combinations thereof, “deer in the headlights” comes to mind.
When approached on the nearby County Road less than a thousand feet from the border in nearly the same vicinity each time, we (a two-men crew complete with a 4×4 signed truck—I will not state which year, make, and model here) were stopped by a two-man Border Patrol unit and questioned about our purpose for being in the area. I completely understood what with the amount of smuggling that went on and still goes on there. I politely explained that we were surveying the boundaries of a nearby ranch and that we would be in the area off and on over the next two weeks or so. The driver replied “Uh—OK. Be careful out there” I went on to explain that we would be working on foot along a portion of the border. “Uh—OK.” The agents were courteous but appeared to be completely dazed and worn out.
A couple of days later there was an exact repeat performance, this time with different Border Patrol players. “Uh—OK.” Maybe a week later, again an encore performance. This time I added, “You might want to let other units know of our activity here.” No reply.
What I gleaned from our brief conversations was that they were either not interested or incapable of communicating with their fellow officers. From the conditions of their trucks, we assumed that the radios were simply inoperable. I think the Border Patrol has come a long way since then (you can read between the lines).
Our total station control survey progressed well, without incident in the beautiful, dry early-spring desert air, rolling dense grassland interspersed with stands of white oaks. No, you Easterners—no sand and very little cactus.
It now came time to locate the two border monuments. A simple shot with an extended rod at the apex of each obelisk should do it. We took time to examine each monument noting the proximity of the barbed wire fence and the fact that in each case the shot would be coming from basically north. As we kept an eye peeled for our BP friends, we decided that the only approach would be for my chainman Juan to scale the fence and stand alongside the monument with one foot in each country.
No problem. The ties went well as did, in fact, the entire survey. After the last shot, we stopped and scouted in all directions from our relatively high vantage point not only for white and green Rams but also to the south for the dreaded Federales. No one for miles.
And that was indeed a disappointment. We continued to hang out for several minutes, hoping.
For little did they know that Juan carried proof of dual citizenship—right there in his wallet.
James A. LaPuzza is a registered land surveyor in the States of Arizona and California and holds a Federal appointment as U S Mineral Surveyor. Jim continues to practice today in semi-retirement after over 55 years in the business.