May 2010 - Arizona
It was an exciting time for Miss Steph and me. We had just finished college and our graduation caps barely had time to rest on the ground before we were off campus and ready to begin our care-free adult lives, filled with lousy post-grad jobs and a liberating summer that ended all too soon. Countless late nights canoeing on Lake Winthrop with our Holliston friends and rain-soaked mountain climbs were ahead of us. Before all that began, Steph and I would make way for Arizona.
In the months leading up to our trip, I had been pouring over a map of Arizona I'd received from the K's for Christmas. Putting together a list of fascinating places that I would likely never see (they were most always on reservation land and no pale face would drive me there), I had doubtlessly been irritating Steph with all the places we would go.
"Why can't we go to Antelope Canyon?"
"Why can't we go to Organ Pipe?"
"Why can't we climb the San Fransisco Mountains?"
Too far. Too hot. Too hard.
But fret not! I was told. Arizona is yet a land of mystery and adventure, and you shall enjoy it yet. Steph's folks informed us that they had secured a cabin for a few days up in Forest Lakes near the Mogollon Rim, part of the Tonto National Forest. Our job was to fill up the rest of our trip.
May finally came and our release from the bonds of higher education was granted. Within a few days of commencement, Steph and I boarded a late flight from Boston to Phoenix (by way of Memphis. Did you know you can smoke in that airport?). I had just seen the K's a week before, so there was no anxiety about meeting them this time. They took us back to the house, where we enjoyed tostadas and some tequila before slinking off to sleep.
With her parents at work and her brother at school, Steph decided our first day back in town would be action-packed, filled with fun, easy activities that we might not have time for upon our return from Forest Lakes. Our first stop was to the Phoenix Zoo, where we would watch exotic animals succumb to the heat while we enjoyed snow cones (aren't zoos just the cruelest?). We then ventured to the conveniently-located Desert Botanical Gardens -- we didn't even need to change parking lots. The open air was hot, and we hustled through the winding trails, lined with cacti and other prickly plants. Steph was ready to go home, but I insisted we explore a strange formation of large, red rocks that stood out against the tan and green surroundings of the valley: Papago Park.
The bulbous red mound stood in front of us, pock-marked and hazy in the afternoon sun. Sweaty, we made our way up the winding path, past jagged boulders that contrasted next to the smooth monolith ahead. Something darted across the path: a large lizard. With its charcoal head and cayenne body, I instantly recognized this critter as one of my favorite reptiles, a chuckwalla -- an animal I never thought I'd see in the wild. Without much thought, I darted off the trail and started chasing the lizard from rock to rock. It took a sudden turn and I lost it, but not before I spotted another unsuspecting chuckwalla basking on a nearby rock. I took off after it. After a few moments chase and some protests from Miss Steph, I found the lizard stopped at the entrance to a hole, staring at me defiantly. I took one more step and it disappeared into the hole. I peered in and could make out the glint of its eye in the dark. I reached in to give it a poke (all I wanted to do was touch it real quick) and noticed that it was cemented to the rock. The chuckwalla's main defense is to tuck itself into rock crags and fill its body cavity with air, making it nearly impossible to remove from its position. The Hopi had a countermeasure for this: poke them with a pointed stick to pop them. This seemed like a cruel idea, and I was without a pointed stick, so I hopped back to Steph and we continued up the path.
At the terminus of the trail, there was a large hole in the rock. Entering it, we were met with a refreshing breeze from the valley below and a view of the city beyond. We sat their for a while, cooling down and taking in the vista, before heading back to Scottsdale. Later that night, Steph's friend Dane called us up and requested that we join him for a few PBRs at a friend's place in Tempe. I was excited to meet Dane and we obliged him. We were surprised to find that this was not a small gathering, but rather an ASU party (not that this persuaded us to leave). What we witnessed there was a slew of cliche college party hijinx that don't necessarily fit in with the spirit of this blog, so just use your imagination. The police were called and we moved from house to house until Steph and I decided to call it a night. We drove home under the dark sky and I watched silhouetted palm trees blur past our car.
Waking early the next day, we packed the K's Suburban, loaded ATVs onto the trailer, and made our way north on the 87 towards Payson, and Forest Lakes beyond. The sandy mountains brimmed with towering Saguaro cacti and creosote plants. The occasional dirt road along the side of the highway lead to small, secluded homes. Vultures soared on the summer thermals above as Steph and I listened to Neko Case's Fox Confessor Brings the Flood on shared earphones (great tunes for desert driving, I must add). Coming out of the Mazatzal Mountains, the highway snaked down into the valley before us. Legions of ATV- and dirt bike-toting SUVs crept ahead of us, all leaving the summer heat of Phoenix for the cooler air of Central Arizona.
Less than an hour after passing through the dismal town of Payson, we pulled up to the cabin. It was a neat, two-story house with a wrap-around porch, surrounded by tall pinyon pines; there was even a tire swing out back. After unloading the car, we hopped on the ATVs and kicked up dust on the dry dirt road on our way to meet up with Mr. K's friends Fritz and Dave, who were also in Forest Lakes a the time. When we arrived at Fritz's A-frame cabin, he, Dave and others were sitting on lawn chairs around a tame campfire. Fritz and Dave were a jolly pair, the latter sporting a goatee and both showing evidence of a lifelong love of beer. Dressed in golf shirts, jean shorts and baseball caps, Fritz and Dave revisited stories with Mr. K: exes, hunting trips, college parties and excursions to Kansas smuggle Coors beer back to college kids in their homestate of Iowa. Listening in to these stories of times past, I took off my shoes and socks and felt the blanket of dried pine needles crunch under my bare feet. The cool air smelt of rich pinyon and smoke, and I watched blue-black pinyon jays dart between tree branches. Off in the woods, crows belted out their local calls and the hum of off-road vehicles reverberated through the trees. After a couple Bud Lights, Steph and I hopped onto the ATVs to explore the forest settlement. Before leaving, Mr. K hustled over to us and loaded up the ATV pouches with a few cold ones, in case we were gone awhile and got thirsty (Bud Light is essentially water anyway).
Zipping down dirt roads past cabins both quaint and grand, we rolled down a steep hill and came to a wide opening with several pools in the center. We drove to the farthest and largest of the ponds and sat on its banks, enjoying a thirst-quenching beverage. The calm, translucent water looked inviting, so we stuck out feet in. Off-road vehicles buzzed past and we watched raptors glide in the cloudless blue above. The afternoon was passing, so we hopped back on the quads and made way for the A-frame, where we were met with the mouth-watering smell of smoked meat, baked beans and potato salad. As the sun set and our bellies filled with smokey food, Steph, her brother Matt and I made plans to head back to the cabin for card games and a night cap.
Back in the cabin, we were exploring closets and drawers for a full deck when I happened across a breach-loading .22 rifle. I was examining this derelict piece when a curious Matt snatched the rifle out of my hands, accidentally pointing the barrel in my face. With a stern shout and a quick hand, I retrieved the gun and checked the breach. It was -- thankfully -- unloaded and we decided it would be wise to return it to the closet and commence a game of cards. Mr. and Mrs. K returned some time later and joined in our merriment before we all headed off to bed.
The next day, we made way for the Rim. A short walk from the parking lot, we came to a viewing area, where like-minded tourists sat perched on large sandstone slabs, taking in the astounding view before us. The ledge of the Mogollon Rim dropped some 2,000 feet to the evergreen forests of Tonto below, and beyond that, the glint of buildings in Payson could be seen surrounded by Arizona's tortured landscape. A warm breeze brought the smell of pine and dust up from the valley below, and I stood on the edge, basking in the radiant heat.
From the Rim, we traveled down the road to Willow Spring Lake. When we arrived, the park was bustling. Small motor boats and canoes made their way around the lake, casting fishing lines into the blue-green water, while hikers explored the shoreline. We made our way around a lake on a small trail, spotting lizards and a harmless snake or two along the path. When we came to a part of the trail that stood over the lake surface some thirty feet up, we found a park ranger standing next to a telescope. She beckoned us over and told us to look into the scope. Peering through, we were greeted with the magnified view of a bald eagle's nest. The bold, white head and golden beak of the mother were visible above the brim of the nest and one could almost make out the gray fuzz of the eaglets. After a few minutes admiring the grand bird and her offspring, we left the site so others could enjoy the view. Closing in on the end of the trail, we found a detour sign; the location of the highly protected bald eagle must be kept secret, therefore trails must be diverted to keep prying eyes from finding their nests. ("The State is keeping secrets from the public!" Some Arizonan taxpayer might protest.) The trail took us up a steep hill and into a hot, grassy opening. Before the heat could get the best of us, we arrived back at the parking lot. We asked a few fishermen if they'd had any luck (they hadn't) and we left for Forest Lakes.
The following day -- Sunday -- we headed back to Scottsdale, where we would spend the rest of the day relaxing by the poolside under the noticeably hotter sun. Steph and I planned out the following day, where we would make a second attempt at hiking in Sedona.
Our plan was similar to the previous year's misadventure, but this time we'd pull it off! We intended to hit several short hikes, making the most of our time in Sedona. We'd charted out a few mile to two-mile-long hikes, along with directions to the trail heads. Traveling past the town, down 89A, we drove through oak and cottonwood groves along trickling riverbeds and past open fields of mesquite, prickly pear, ocotillo, agave and palo verde. Soon, sheer red rock faces towered over us on each side, and we spotted the parking lot for the West Fork Oak Creek Canyon trail. We reread the description: it was a three-mile round trip, mostly flat with a steep scramble at the end. Although Steph was not looking forward to the scramble, the short distance of the hike seemed to even things out. We made our way up the dusty trail with nothing but a multi-tool and a backpack holding 2 water bottles, some pb&j sandwiches and an Audubon reptile guide book (never leave home without it).
The day was passing slowly and we seemed to be making no progress. Stopping to escape the heat under the occasional juniper tree, we'd ask returning hikers if we were far from the end. They would announce encouragingly that we were "almost there!" It was not until after we finished the hike that I realized what had happened. These hikers had seen the two of us with minimal gear, asking if we were almost done yet. They had figured that we were tired and in need of confidence -- not that we were confused and thought that the trail was only 3 miles -- so they told us we were nearly done, as I have told many tired hikers who appeared unable to complete a trail. So it goes.
As the cliff walls closed in on us, the underbrush disappeared and was replaced with pine trees and oak. We'd escaped the heat of the sun, but were running low on water (we had been drinking water quickly, thinking the hike was short). I picked up a small pebble from a dried stream bed and put it in my mouth, giving my share of water to Steph. Before long, we noticed a large, bald rock dome peering through the treetops. The trail suddenly took a sharp right and ascended up a steep rock scramble. Steph was spent and did not want to venture up the quarter mile of rocky trail, but I insisted that the whole hike would be for naught if she didn't see the view at the end. Not only would it have been a waste of her time, but I would not leave her alone at the bottom of the trail and would also miss the vista at the end, thereby becoming grumpy and unpleasant to be around. My sound reasoning swayed her, and she started up the trail.
It took a fair twenty minutes to cover that last quarter-mile. Wet with sweat and red in the face, we finally came to the bald rock face, were several hikers had stopped to enjoy lunch. The canyon zigged south from where we stood and then took a sharp zag to the west, giving the appearance that we were at the end of the canyon. We stared down the long length of the canyon. The green of the forest at the base of the canyon contrasted from the rusty rock faces of the walls. We spotted caves and ancient Indian dwellings along the sheer canyon face and wondered how anything could get up into them. We finished our lunch and made our way back to the trail. Before we left, I collected a few prickly pear cactus pads with my multi-tool, cut off the spines, and split them open to drink the sour juices inside; we were almost out of water and had a long way back.
We walked out of the canyon in a daze, not taking time to notice lizards or cactus flowers. It was well into the 90s. When we arrived back in the parking lot, we were long out of water and most of the afternoon had passed us by. We asked someone behind us how long the trail was really. Seven miles, round trip. Only slightly longer than the 3 miles the website claimed, I joked to Steph. It was not funny.
We raced into town, bought a gallon of water for each of us, and started chugging. I changed out of my sweaty shirt and we spent the rest of the day walking around downtown Sedona, window shopping and drinking sarsaparilla. The sky turned crimson and we decided to get our glut on at the Red Planet Diner (where else?). Laughing at the cheesy extra-terrestrial knickknacks, we enjoyed a pair of Rubens and milk shakes before heading back to Scottsdale for our final few, uneventful days in Arizona.
Call me a fool, but maybe next time we're in Sedona we'll have better luck. What's that saying about fool me twice?
Photos: Mogollon Rim panorama composite; View of Phoenix from Papago Park; Pond at Forest Lakes; West Fork Oak Creek Canyon wall; Poster at Red Planet Diner
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