Saturday we went boating on Saguaro Lake, which is the lowest of four lakes on the Salt River just east of the Phoenix metropolis. The big lake at the top (highest elevation, and farthest east) is Theodore Roosevelt Lake, and amazing man-made oasis in the desert mountains. Below TD Lake to the west are Apache, Canyon and Saguaro Lakes, respectively. Saguaro is most easily accessible from Phoenix, and (I assume) gets the most weekend boat traffic. Saguaro is several miles long, although the upper (eastern) reaches are narrow and mostly no-wake zones. The lower part of the lake features a roundish area, several miles in diameter, where one could tube or water-ski if one had the inclination. On this pre-Easter Saturday afternoon, the lake was quite busy... I wonder what it's like on hot summer days. Canyon Lake (the next one up) is accessible via the backroad that runs from Mesa to TD Lake. Much of this road is unpaved (although if I recall, you can get to Canyon Lake mostly on pavement). Apache Lake looks like the real treat. It is the biggest of the "lower three", but much less visited than TD Lake (which is by far the largest -- about 17,000 acres when full). If I had a motorboat, I think Apache would be my regular choice.
On board, we had a good time. The desert hillsides were covered with a decent blanket of yellow flowers. It was strange to glide by Saguaros and other cacti on a boat, floating on a huge body of water. Here, below our feet, was millions of gallons, but up on the nearby hillsides, the plants were still struggling to live on eight or ten inches of rain a year, just like everything else in the northern Sonoran Desert.
About two-thirds up the lake, we stopped at a gravelly delta formed by a stream coming down from the northeast. Sabkha was glad to get out of the boat, and happily frolicked in the water. The delta extended about fifty feet out into the lake, making a fun play area for Sabkha with water less than a foot deep out to the edge. Beyond the end, the bottom dropped off to 25 or 30 feet. Sab did some stick fetching, as we watched fellow boaters go up and down the lake. To my surprise, we saw some quite large houseboats and cabin cruisers -- ships that would look far more at home on Lake Michigan or Lake Mead than on a tiny lake near Phoenix. But you made do with what you have, I suppose. Eventually Jim, Erin, Sab and I began walking up the gravelly, clear-flowing stream that was coming down from the southern Mazatzal Mountains (Four Peaks). On the drive in, we clearly saw that Four Peaks was frosted with snow! I was quite surprised to see this, because Four Peaks tops out at 7700 feet, and there are no other high peaks around. The front range of the Catalinas, just north of Tucson, hadn't had snow for months. (To his credit, mineral collector Mark Candee predicted there would be snow up there, but I didn't believe him.) Back to the stream. We walked up that, musing at the new gravel and sand deposits from what must have been some major stream-flow events (see my pictures and comments from the Flagstaff trip in January 2005). Suddenly, Jim spotted a huge crayfish scuttling backward down the stream. I called Sab over to take a look, and she tried to take a bite (of the crayfish). It survived, and went on its merry downstream way.
We puttered around in the boat for a while more, and tooled back to Mesa (via pickup).
The real treat came on day number two of my Phoenician Easter Getaway. Erin and I looked around on my new National Geographic digital topo maps (mediocre but better than buying all 7.5' maps of the state), and decided to hit Four Peaks. We drove out the Bush Highway (I think), past Sugar Loaf, and turned right onto what turned out to be a very good dirt road. Erin's Ford Contour did a fine job of navigating the class I and II roads. The views of Four Peaks were quite nice. The trailhead is nearly at the top (and the road continues down to the east, so it could connect TD Lake to Mesa if you want). We hiked up the east side of the mountaintop, enjoying views of the broad blue Theodore Roosevelt Lake -- something of a hidden Arizona gem (I didn't discover it until last summer!). I kept my eyes to the north, hoping to see some of the Northern Arizona terrain. Much of the snow had melted off Four Peaks on Saturday, but it wasn't long until we saw our first icy patch of grainy snow. Then, to the north, I caught a glimpse of the towering San Francisco Peaks, just north of Flagstaff! The view was clear enough that I could clearly make out the shape of the peaks, and even see treeline and what looked like the ski runs (or at least the treeless areas). Later my GPS told me the straight-line distance to the SF Peaks was around 130 miles. One can see so far in the desert. To the northeast, the Mogollon Rim was absolutely stark white in the area east of Payson. What a sight. To the east, we could see mountains I couldn’t identify, which were probably the White Mountains along the AZ-NM border. I hope to explore over there this summer.
The gnats began to bite. A wet winter in Arizona means an above-average crop of bugs, bunnies, and snakes. We only saw the first. Finally we reached the ridge, with views of Saguaro Lake and the Superstition Mountains to the west. Phoenix lay beyond in the gathering afternoon haze. Not a puff of window moveth, so we suffered with the gnats and watched Sabkha striking majestic dog poses on a nearby rock (see photos). After snacking, we set out for a steep snow-filled gully that appeared to lead to the top of the northern of the Four Peaks. This required some minor rock scrambling -- easy for humans but not so easy for canines. Once we got on the actual snow, Sabkha did find, and I was the one slipping. We worked out way up the snow, kicking steps where needed. A steep rocky section stopped us about 150 feet from the summit. The gnats were building an ephemeral civilization on the snow surface.
Down we slid. Heading down the ridge on a different trail, we saw a variety of tree and rock creations. Four Peaks is home to a world-famous Amethyst mine, but we didn't get that far. Still, the geology is fascinating (well, ok, the geology is always fascinating to me, a geologist) with megacrysts of K-spar, and some mafic xenoliths in places. We saw some quartz crystals too, but not of the purple semi-precious variety.
View pictures of this trip.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
Among Silent Volcanos
Most of spring break I spent working around my house, organizing things, cleaning up the yard, doing laundry and the like. The weather was wonderful -- typical springtime in Tucson -- with daytime highs in the 70's and nice 50-degree nights. The time of year when you don't think about the heat, or the A/C, or what to wear when you go outside -- it doesn't matter much, it's that perfect time of year when everything is in thermal equilibrium and outside becomes inside... or vice versa. Arizona really has an outdoor climate (8 months of the year).
Sabkha and I toyed with the idea of doing a trip the last 3 or 4 days of break. New Mexico looked tempting, but I decided it was too far. Sabkha is also a liability when exploring new places: who wants to drive 3 hours and find a "no dogs allowed" sign at the trailhead? Often, dog rules are poorly posted and inconsistent. Just in time, my friends Matt and Nadin called soliciting advice on where to go camping for a few nights. I rattled off a number of options: Atacosas, Fresnal Canyon (west side of Babaquivori Mts), Superstitions, Chirichuas (Onion saddle, or elsewhere- so much in the Chirichuas!), Galiuros... Last year I was considering starting up a decorative rock quarry with Erik Flesch. I did some scouting trips, both with (ironically) fellow GVSU geology graduate Robert Graves of Safford. The second trip (in early spring 2004) was to the Little Dragoons, just north of I-10 and the Cochise Stronghold, popular multi-pitch climbing area (where I did the fairly easy 6-pitch Moby Dick about 3 years ago). I met Rob and his g-friend Lisa at The Thing (tourist trap on I-10 an hour east of Tucson). We drove up into the Little Dragoons, past some menacing looking no-trespassing signs along the edge of an operational mine. Next to the mine, lo and behold, was a decorative rock business! We explored the Little Dragoons and ended up working our way on backroads up to the Muleshoe Reserve at the southern end of the Galiuro mountains.
The Galiuros have a curious place in Arizona geology and topography. They are a sneaky range, hidden between two relative towering giants: the Santa Catalina-Rincon complex to the west, and the Pinaleno (Mt Graham) edifice to the east. SC-R's are about 9600 feet, and the P's are around 10500 feet. The Galiuros top out at nearly 8000 feet, but because of the surrounding ranges they seem smaller and nondescript. They are far from it, however.
On our last trip (spring 2004) we all piled into the Forester and drove about 8 miles up a "4WD only" road leading through Muleshoe and into the Galiuro mountains National Forest. The scenery was spectacular, and the hillsides were intermittently blanketed with yellow flowers -- mostly poppies. We turned around at an old homestead/ranch and headed out, due to lack of time.
Since last year, I've wanted to get back to the Galiuros and explore their deserted grandeur. After I suggested that Matt and Nadin go camping there, they invited me along and I agree to join them. On Friday noontime, we piled into their early-00's Nissan Pathfinder with all our gear, the three of us, and Sabkha and Guiness (aka Guin-Guin). We drove east on I-10 to Willcox, exited and proceeded west toward Muleshoe. We then turned NW onto Muleshoe road. At Muleshoe ranch itself (apparently a visitor ranch with cabins for rent, etc.) the "4WD" portion of the road begins. From Tucson to this point was about a two hour drive. The next 14.2 miles to the end of the road took us another ~2.5 hours. The first section (5-7 miles) of the road is not truly 4WD, but you'd be hard-pressed to make it in a passenger car (unless you really don't care about your car). The road deteriorates from this point on, eventually reaching so true high-clearance sections, although 4WD is probably not truly necessary if your vehicle has the appropriate ground clearance and you have some experience driving such roads.
The road penetrates an amazing variety of landscapes, and the view is always changing. Always ahead and to the right, however, is a substantial bluff of what appears to be volcanic and volcaniclastic rocks. As one progresses down the road, even higher cliffs, fringed in forest at the tops, become visible. These are more sub-horizontal layers of what appear to be basaltic-andesitic lava flows and pyroclastic deposits. Criss-crossing the face of one large slope is a number of dike sets, making a true visual feast for any type of geologist. Or the non-geologist. The early part of the road crosses a series of interesting alluvial (gravel) deposits, probably less than a few million years old, and only partially consolidated. In places, these gravels appear to be overlain on pink to white intrusive rocks ("granites"), and possibly intruded by dark, fine-grained, gabbroic dikes. The gravels are clearly tilted, at various angles, perhaps part of a growth structure (or fill structure?) related to progressive basin normal faulting. However, the tilt sequence seemed to be opposite, with younger (top) units tilted more than underlying units. This seems indicative of thrust-related sediment deposition. Regardless of the geologic mysteries on the first part of the 4WD road, we soon entered hard rock territory, and the road worsened considerably. Eventually, after much more scenic beauty you'll have to see for yourself, we came over a pass and beheld a valley below us. In the valley was a white-roofed cabin, Jackson's Cabin, which marks the end of the road. The road used to extend to Jackson's mine, but is now overgrown (and closed off, since the area beyond JC is now designated wilderness). Two older travelers from Colorado saw us coming and packed up camp right quickly, leaving us alone in our solitude. We found a tidy little cabin with fireplace, supplies, cots, and a map of the area. Out back was an outhouse, and in the stream valley alongside were some deserted corrals. We opted to sleep in tents due to the mice and spider population of the cabin, but it served well enough as a cooking area.
After a typical evening of cocoa, a campfire in the fire ring, and unidentified animals walking around my tent at night, we arose. The clouds rolled in from the west, dropping a few sprinkles now and again, but the sun peeped out too. We were still alone in this little valley. Sabkha and Guinness spent their time exploring the surround hillsides, and occasion "hunting yips" from Sab let us know the presence of deer, or rabbits, or black bear-- but we never saw any (one downside of having dogs along). After doing the obligatory "milling about", we five started up the trail, following the pipes that lead into camp from some spring in the surrounding mountains. We eventually found the spring and wandered around for a while, admiring flowers and examining the rocks (um... we didn't collect any of either). Back at camp we milled about some more, then Matt and I headed off down Jackson Canyon, headed for Redfield Canyon. The latter is a fairly major N-S drainage in the western Galiuros. It is supposed to hold a perennial stream coming down from headwaters in the heart of the Galiuros. Jackson Canyon was gorgeous. A smallish stream trickled and tinkled and gurgled its way along, and the dogs splashed and played and drank their fill of cool, limpid water. A number of deep, clear pools looked like they would be very inviting on a hot summer day. The volcanic walls of the valley began to rise up, and we went around a corner and found ourselves in the lovely Redfield Canyon. A rather sizeable stream slowly poured through, and the dogs played fetch in a pool while Matt and I admired a huge hoodoo (column of rock detached from the cliff) near the junction of the two canyons. Cottonwood and sycamore trees grew around, although I couldn't tell them apart. Some had rough, craggy grey skin, while others where white and had leaves reminiscent of aspen. Although we didn't know their names, we enjoyed the trees just the same (a rose by any other name...). Sab chased some animals and Guin-Guin the good little hiker tailed our heels.
Geologists either love volcanic rocks, or they hate them. I tend toward the latter opinion. Volcanic rocks tend to be dark brown or black, and boring. However, the streambeds in volcanic areas often have the most amazing array of colorful rocks! We hiked up Redfield Canyon admiring the multicolored streambed. The walls around us were buff to red-brown, monotonous. But the streambed was chock-full of green, blue, purple, red, and even yellow. Flowing water and the abrasive action of stream flow brings out the true nature and color of a rock: it rubs away the outer coatings of oxide and clays and reveals the actual rock beneath.
After about two miles we turned back. One could continue up Redfield and pass by a string of cabins, built by homesteaders, ranchers and miners beginning in the latest 1800's. Their time here ended in the late 1950's, when the area became wilderness and off-limits. Up Redfield is Hooker and Powers cabin, the last of which is also accessible by foot from the west and east sides of the Galiuros.
The next day all five of us repeated the Redfield hike. Then we packed up camp and rolled back to civilization. The dogs were tired, and we were too, a little bit. But I felt rejuvenated by a few nights under the stars... or under the clouds, as the case was. We drank a lot of cocoa, burned a lot of sticks, and walked a few miles. Best of all, as usual, we got to know a place we hadn't known before.
View pictures of this trip.
Sabkha and I toyed with the idea of doing a trip the last 3 or 4 days of break. New Mexico looked tempting, but I decided it was too far. Sabkha is also a liability when exploring new places: who wants to drive 3 hours and find a "no dogs allowed" sign at the trailhead? Often, dog rules are poorly posted and inconsistent. Just in time, my friends Matt and Nadin called soliciting advice on where to go camping for a few nights. I rattled off a number of options: Atacosas, Fresnal Canyon (west side of Babaquivori Mts), Superstitions, Chirichuas (Onion saddle, or elsewhere- so much in the Chirichuas!), Galiuros... Last year I was considering starting up a decorative rock quarry with Erik Flesch. I did some scouting trips, both with (ironically) fellow GVSU geology graduate Robert Graves of Safford. The second trip (in early spring 2004) was to the Little Dragoons, just north of I-10 and the Cochise Stronghold, popular multi-pitch climbing area (where I did the fairly easy 6-pitch Moby Dick about 3 years ago). I met Rob and his g-friend Lisa at The Thing (tourist trap on I-10 an hour east of Tucson). We drove up into the Little Dragoons, past some menacing looking no-trespassing signs along the edge of an operational mine. Next to the mine, lo and behold, was a decorative rock business! We explored the Little Dragoons and ended up working our way on backroads up to the Muleshoe Reserve at the southern end of the Galiuro mountains.
The Galiuros have a curious place in Arizona geology and topography. They are a sneaky range, hidden between two relative towering giants: the Santa Catalina-Rincon complex to the west, and the Pinaleno (Mt Graham) edifice to the east. SC-R's are about 9600 feet, and the P's are around 10500 feet. The Galiuros top out at nearly 8000 feet, but because of the surrounding ranges they seem smaller and nondescript. They are far from it, however.
On our last trip (spring 2004) we all piled into the Forester and drove about 8 miles up a "4WD only" road leading through Muleshoe and into the Galiuro mountains National Forest. The scenery was spectacular, and the hillsides were intermittently blanketed with yellow flowers -- mostly poppies. We turned around at an old homestead/ranch and headed out, due to lack of time.
Since last year, I've wanted to get back to the Galiuros and explore their deserted grandeur. After I suggested that Matt and Nadin go camping there, they invited me along and I agree to join them. On Friday noontime, we piled into their early-00's Nissan Pathfinder with all our gear, the three of us, and Sabkha and Guiness (aka Guin-Guin). We drove east on I-10 to Willcox, exited and proceeded west toward Muleshoe. We then turned NW onto Muleshoe road. At Muleshoe ranch itself (apparently a visitor ranch with cabins for rent, etc.) the "4WD" portion of the road begins. From Tucson to this point was about a two hour drive. The next 14.2 miles to the end of the road took us another ~2.5 hours. The first section (5-7 miles) of the road is not truly 4WD, but you'd be hard-pressed to make it in a passenger car (unless you really don't care about your car). The road deteriorates from this point on, eventually reaching so true high-clearance sections, although 4WD is probably not truly necessary if your vehicle has the appropriate ground clearance and you have some experience driving such roads.
The road penetrates an amazing variety of landscapes, and the view is always changing. Always ahead and to the right, however, is a substantial bluff of what appears to be volcanic and volcaniclastic rocks. As one progresses down the road, even higher cliffs, fringed in forest at the tops, become visible. These are more sub-horizontal layers of what appear to be basaltic-andesitic lava flows and pyroclastic deposits. Criss-crossing the face of one large slope is a number of dike sets, making a true visual feast for any type of geologist. Or the non-geologist. The early part of the road crosses a series of interesting alluvial (gravel) deposits, probably less than a few million years old, and only partially consolidated. In places, these gravels appear to be overlain on pink to white intrusive rocks ("granites"), and possibly intruded by dark, fine-grained, gabbroic dikes. The gravels are clearly tilted, at various angles, perhaps part of a growth structure (or fill structure?) related to progressive basin normal faulting. However, the tilt sequence seemed to be opposite, with younger (top) units tilted more than underlying units. This seems indicative of thrust-related sediment deposition. Regardless of the geologic mysteries on the first part of the 4WD road, we soon entered hard rock territory, and the road worsened considerably. Eventually, after much more scenic beauty you'll have to see for yourself, we came over a pass and beheld a valley below us. In the valley was a white-roofed cabin, Jackson's Cabin, which marks the end of the road. The road used to extend to Jackson's mine, but is now overgrown (and closed off, since the area beyond JC is now designated wilderness). Two older travelers from Colorado saw us coming and packed up camp right quickly, leaving us alone in our solitude. We found a tidy little cabin with fireplace, supplies, cots, and a map of the area. Out back was an outhouse, and in the stream valley alongside were some deserted corrals. We opted to sleep in tents due to the mice and spider population of the cabin, but it served well enough as a cooking area.
After a typical evening of cocoa, a campfire in the fire ring, and unidentified animals walking around my tent at night, we arose. The clouds rolled in from the west, dropping a few sprinkles now and again, but the sun peeped out too. We were still alone in this little valley. Sabkha and Guinness spent their time exploring the surround hillsides, and occasion "hunting yips" from Sab let us know the presence of deer, or rabbits, or black bear-- but we never saw any (one downside of having dogs along). After doing the obligatory "milling about", we five started up the trail, following the pipes that lead into camp from some spring in the surrounding mountains. We eventually found the spring and wandered around for a while, admiring flowers and examining the rocks (um... we didn't collect any of either). Back at camp we milled about some more, then Matt and I headed off down Jackson Canyon, headed for Redfield Canyon. The latter is a fairly major N-S drainage in the western Galiuros. It is supposed to hold a perennial stream coming down from headwaters in the heart of the Galiuros. Jackson Canyon was gorgeous. A smallish stream trickled and tinkled and gurgled its way along, and the dogs splashed and played and drank their fill of cool, limpid water. A number of deep, clear pools looked like they would be very inviting on a hot summer day. The volcanic walls of the valley began to rise up, and we went around a corner and found ourselves in the lovely Redfield Canyon. A rather sizeable stream slowly poured through, and the dogs played fetch in a pool while Matt and I admired a huge hoodoo (column of rock detached from the cliff) near the junction of the two canyons. Cottonwood and sycamore trees grew around, although I couldn't tell them apart. Some had rough, craggy grey skin, while others where white and had leaves reminiscent of aspen. Although we didn't know their names, we enjoyed the trees just the same (a rose by any other name...). Sab chased some animals and Guin-Guin the good little hiker tailed our heels.
Geologists either love volcanic rocks, or they hate them. I tend toward the latter opinion. Volcanic rocks tend to be dark brown or black, and boring. However, the streambeds in volcanic areas often have the most amazing array of colorful rocks! We hiked up Redfield Canyon admiring the multicolored streambed. The walls around us were buff to red-brown, monotonous. But the streambed was chock-full of green, blue, purple, red, and even yellow. Flowing water and the abrasive action of stream flow brings out the true nature and color of a rock: it rubs away the outer coatings of oxide and clays and reveals the actual rock beneath.
After about two miles we turned back. One could continue up Redfield and pass by a string of cabins, built by homesteaders, ranchers and miners beginning in the latest 1800's. Their time here ended in the late 1950's, when the area became wilderness and off-limits. Up Redfield is Hooker and Powers cabin, the last of which is also accessible by foot from the west and east sides of the Galiuros.
The next day all five of us repeated the Redfield hike. Then we packed up camp and rolled back to civilization. The dogs were tired, and we were too, a little bit. But I felt rejuvenated by a few nights under the stars... or under the clouds, as the case was. We drank a lot of cocoa, burned a lot of sticks, and walked a few miles. Best of all, as usual, we got to know a place we hadn't known before.
View pictures of this trip.
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