Era of the Forgotten Camera

I've had a number of adventures lately, but few pics to prove it. Today Debi, Mary and I went to Double Lake Recreation Area, up near Coldspring, TX and Lake Livingston. It rained like crazy yesterday, but the ghorba website said this place was sandy and actually improves with some rain. Double Lake is a nice little place, almost deserted on this Sunday afternoon. Sabkha stayed at home because I thought it would be hot and didn't want to leave her in the car while we rode. We took two mountain bikes and the Burly-esque trailer of Debi's. Then we bombed down singletrack with Mary in tow in the trailer! It was great fun. I only clipped a tree once. Most of the time Mary was yelling "faster, faster!". We rode maybe 7 or 8 miles of singletrack and Debi commented on how fun it was. It reminded me of Michigan. Slightly sandy singletrack with some roots but few other obstacles. There were some really muddy sections. The mud sprayed off my rear wheel and covered the front of the trailer so Mary could barely see. After 8 miles I was pretty beat. We drove past L. Livingston, which is quite large to the point of being somewhat impressive. It felt like a long drive back, but this place deserves a camping weekend sometime soon. And I only rode through two small spider webs!

Some links to more exciting blogs

It's been a long time. I moved back to Arizona in April. I finished my PhD in August. With my dad's help, I moved all my stuff to Houston. I started work in September. I finally found an acceptable house and bought it in October. My first scientific paper was published in January (link to pdf).

Hey, look at that garage!

There are others in Houston who are longing for adventure.

There are others longing for the sky. (Ok, a little poetic license there, I'm not really longing for the sky, although I'm planning to start for my private pilot's license soon).

Today I rode my bike out along the levee of the Barker Reservoir, just 2000' west of my house. I'll post some pictures of the swamp here sometime. Excited?

Tomorrow I go to a ranch near Bandera, TX for a business meeting. I'm excited to see a little topography!

Yesterday I discovered a pipe was leaking water into my attic. (No link for that).

This blog needs a new name... ok, now it's got one.

Internal friction

Is this hub not beautiful?

36-hole, 8 speed internal hub. Weighs about three pounds and inside, it's somewhat like an automatic car transmission. Isn't it? Well, this one isn't automatic. But it has tons of cool planetary gears inside. Probably. I just wanted to write "planetary gears".

I've been annoyed with my derailleur recently. I saw a bike with just one front chainring, and 8 in the back. That's a good way to go. The internal hub would rule if it had the same mechanical efficiency as a standard setup, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't. Also, the hub weighs more, but you do save with no derailleur and no cassette. It's probably almost a wash.

Unfortunately Shimano says these aren't robust enough for off-road racing, and I'll extend that to mean off-road riding. And the lower mech. efficiency makes them not so attractive. Still, I've been thinking about Nexus hubs for days, so now I want a bike with this setup.

Soon I will have a garage, and a house I actually live in (instead of a house 1000 miles away that I don't live in but still get to pay the mortgage on). Then perhaps if I figure out the bike trail system in Houston I can ride my 8 speed internal to my heart's content.

Hey, those flames aren't painted on!

Last night around 11:30 PM I heard the fire alarm go off in the neighboring apartment building. I went outside and at first didn't see anything, but then I noticed some black smoke. So I went back in, grabbed my camera and went out into the parking lot.It was a Ford F-150 on fire. This is the first shot I took, although the flames didn't seem that big at the time. Soon after, the front tires of the truck exploded. The owner of the truck was there and had pulled the fire alarm because he didn't have a cell phone on him. Someone called 911.
The owner had tried to put out the fire with a small extinguisher. It didn't work. We waited and watched the flames get larger. There were vehicles parked on either side of the F-150: an Accord to the left and a new Jeep Grand Cherokee to the right. At this point they look ok. (See the bright lit-up side of the Jeep, not burning at this point.)
Over the next two minutes the flames spread rapidly over the F-150 and more tires exploded. The flames flared up and began to spread to the Jeep on the right.
The Jeep caught fire very quickly. I had been watching the F-150 burn for about 3-4 minutes, but after the Jeep caught on fire it was burning rather well after only 30-45 seconds. I moved to the other side of the building and got this shot, where you can see the Jeep going up. At this point we heard the fire engine sirens in the distance and presently the engine went by on Eldridge toward the apartment complex entrance.
The fire truck pulled in and the firefighters walked right up to the burning vehicles.
Within two to three seconds, the main part of the fire was out as the three firefighters sprayed water on the blaze. At least, it looked like water and not foam.
They continued to spray water and smashed out the windows to spray water inside the Jeep. Then they opened the hoods and doors one by one, unleashing little pockets of flame and hosing them down.
It was all over that fast. Unfortunately it turned out that the Accord and Jeep both belonged to the same guy. The Accord suffered some burn damage on the headlights but otherwise looked driveable. The Jeep was probably totaled. The engine had burned extensively and the hood had a large hole in it. The F-150, also "totaled", looked relatively intact despite the fact that it had burned five or six times longer.

Dissertate

My first scientific paper got accepted today, "with significant revisions". I tried to work on it but got overwhelmed. I need to finish the second paper, which is in rough shape. I read it over last night and it needs lots of work. The reviewers (2) did a good job. They made some good points, especially about some work I didn't cite. Now I have mucho work to do on that... Here are some dates for you to consider. The deadline to defend my dissertation is April 20th. I should have my dissertation to my five advisors about a month before that (so they can read it and hopefully sign the form saying it's ok to defend). So that is March 20th. Slightly over three weeks. My third paper isn't really started. I have the idea, I have the data. Can I pull this together in three weeks? My internship ends on April 13th. Then (if I'm finishing this semester) I scramble back to Tucson to defend the next week. Then the actual formatted dissertation is due to the Grad College on May first. Yikes. Yikes. I think I can do it. My motivation is: a job offer will be contingent on finishing the degree. So if not done in May, I'll have to wait until August. A forced 3-month vacation, and a hiatus from a paycheck. That will be a little tight.

Mine Klein

I walk at night up to some vacant land at Eldridge and Briar Forest. Sab gets to run around there. I can see the buildings at Westlake lit up. They look like rockets ready for takeoff.

I paid 60 bucks to get my Klein adjusted and cleaned up. I don't have any of my tools or cleaning equipment in Houston. They did a decent job.
Back in the day, I used to really love my bikes. My first "good" mountain bike was a Bridgestone MB-6. How I drooled over that thing! I still have the frame, which is now powder-coated a grass green color. I like my Klein. It's a great, light bike. The shock is so supple and smooth. But I don't drool over the Klein. I should. What happened to the magic of childhood? Sometimes I do still taste it... it comes in a flash and is gone as quickly.

Houston

The news from Houston:

Work with the big oil company is good. I like my work. I have my own office. They change the trash everyday. My colleagues are competent, hardworking, and friendly.

I'm trying to finish my PhD this semester. This will mean wrapping up two papers in the next month, then defending a few days after my intership.

In my scads of free time, I went to Fry's Electronics and bought a cool Japanese toy kit. I assembled it and *presto* I have a bulldozer. It's controlled by a wired remote. It's fun to drive around. I was able to pick up this plastic burger. Yum!I've been exploring Houston. Despite my attempts to hate the town, I like it. Things I've done in the first month: sailing racing yacht on Galveston bay, Mozart Opera, Ginger Man bar, several restaurants, Millie Bush dog park, made movie with new vid cam, swamping in Barker Reservoir, reading "Battleship Earth", Orienteering near Conroe (a few hours late), 18 holes of golf near Austin (a first), lots of decent mountain biking nearby, running, flying lesson (see previous entry).

Running. After my attempt at a marathon 3.5 years ago, I haven't done much of that. Here I am about to go out into the balmy night, earlier tonight. Note the poster picture of the Galiuro Mts.
Sabkha is hanging in there. She wants a yard. Here she is, scarfing some chop-chop.

Flying

I’m living in Houston, Texas, temporarily – trying a job with a major oil company. The big question on my mind is “can I live in Houston, or will I go crazy?”. After almost six years in Tucson with its myriad outdoor activities, can I survive in the fourth largest city in the US? Traffic, pollution, humidity. And what is there to do in Houston? Plenty, I’ve found out – but you have to look around. In Tucson it’s easy to decide what to do each weekend. Just jump in the car and head to the mountains. Hike. 1-2-3. It’s almost too easy, and it becomes routine. Pine trees smell nice and scenic vistas are wonderful, but they eventually get boring and then you need to shake it up. Moving to Houston has pushed me to explore new avenues of adventure beyond hiking and biking.

As a geologist, I’ve learned to love landscapes. Every little hill or furrow or swale tells a story of times gone by, of rivers and lakes and oceans sloshing across the land (nearly all rocks are deposited by water or underwater). Geologists usually have a map in their head showing where they are. They can usually point to north without hesitation. They get lost, like everyone, but they can always spot a far-off landmark or initiate a search pattern to find a known position. Such are the ways of the geologist’s mind.

In the West, the landscape is imminent. It is there in your face in its sharp-edged and thorny harshness. It presses upon you and enters your mind. In the summer, thunderstorms crash across the sky 100 miles away and you can see the show. On clear days from a mountaintop you can see halfway across the state, or more. And Arizona is not a narrow state.

In the East, the horizon comes in close and crowds you. Your ceiling is the trees instead of the heavens. The farthest you can see is the nearest wall or hedge or group of buildings. Sometimes you can catch sight of a water tower or skyscraper five miles off. How to regain this sense of space and this vision of the horizon? In the West, topography gives distance to our view. So to gain this vision in the East, you need to gain some altitude. The obvious (though not the only) way to do this is to fly in an airplane.

All of the above propelled me to an airfield about ten miles from my apartment in west Houston. I met my friend Matt, who had come along for the ride, and we found the instructor Jake and hopped in a Piper. Jake went through preflight steps very quickly, but I recognized much of the routine from reading the Private Pilot Handbook (Christmas gift from parents – thanks ‘rents). The exterior of the plane was nice and shiny, although a little dented here and there. It looked almost brand-new. Climbing into the interior of the plane was like getting into a junky old car. I was surprised at the rattiness of the seats and the obvious wear and tear on the fixtures and instrument panel. My memory was cast back to high school and riding with friends in $250 cars. The 1976 Ford van I owned for a short while also came into mind. Jake cranked the engine and the plane shuddered as the engine roared to life. Again, reminiscent of those old junk cars. Still, I was telling myself several things, listing them mentally: 1) this is a training plane, it gets a lot of use; 2) this is the cheapest training field in Houston (at least, the cheapest one that bothers to have a website); 3) planes get a lot of careful inspection; and 4) my instructor probably doesn’t want to die, he knows way more than I about flying, and he’s flying this thing.

We taxied to the far end of the field and took off in a strong (15+ mph) crosswind. The plane shuddered into the sky. Speaking on the headsets took some getting used to but was strangely fun, since it removed the need for shouting. We headed northwest toward the “Salt Mines”. I was surprised at the amount of open land and farm fields. (From the ground, when you look around it seems like there are many buildings because you’re looking laterally. From the air you see all the hidden open spaces. These tend not to be near roads, where it’s more built up. For the same reason, when looking at urban or suburban areas with Google Earth it appears there is much more vacant land than you’d guess from daily experience). We did some turns although I completely ignored the rudders, which I think the instructor was operating. It was very difficult to keep scanning the sky (for other planes) and try to read instruments. The few hours I spend on Microsoft Flight Simulator helped because I could identify all the instruments and their functions, and I knew generally how the controls worked. Still, keeping the plane level, or climbing/descending at a constant rate, steering, and watching for other planes was taking 200% of my available concentration. I was tense. Jake did most of the work for the landing – hard right rudder and hard right wheel because of the crosswind from the north.

Back in my car, I was amazed how quite and smooth it ran. Driving home on the highway seemed easy and relaxing. The third dimension (vertical) was removed, and all the controls were automatic from years of driving experience. I remember the first time I drove, and it felt much like my first time flying. I know that after a few hours of lessons I’ll have the basic controls down enough so that I can concentrate on the legions of details…

Was it a good time? Yes. It wasn’t great fun in the air but once on the ground I realized I was probably hooked. I bought a logbook and Jake logged my first half-hour of flight…

I wanna go hiking

Marching orders

The grey blanket of clouds rolled in from Mexico early Sunday morning while I slept. I awoke to Michigan in late springtime. 60's and overcast, ceiling of 5000 feet. Sabkha wanted to "go for a walk with leash", and I wanted to get out too. For some reason cleaning the house felt more appealing, and I temporarily fell victim to "I-don't-want-to-go-osis". This is a strange disease, because I spend most of the work week daydreaming about smooth granite and soaring saguaros, and wind whistling through the pines, snowflakes falling, and scaling redrock. But when the weekend comes I get housebound paralysis. A million little naggy excuses bubble up in my mind: it's a pain to bring Sab, she might get hurt. It's such a long drive. I don't know where to go, there are so many options. Finally around 4 PM I scooped up the Camelback and Sab's leash and we went out the door. Destination: either Soldier Canyon, at the first curve on the Catalina Highway (aka Hairpin) or Molino Canyon, my old standby. I vetoed Solider Cyn because of the heinous bouldering. The sky was darkening and it was sprinkling rain. Time was ticking. I saw Soldier Trail on the left and I did a U-turn.

In all my years of driving up Mt Lemmon I've never tried Soldier Canyon. It always looked boring and desertish. When you live down in the desert you want to get up into the forests. So I've never stopped here, only 500 vertical feet above Tucson, where summer temps still reach the lower 100s. Sab and I bounded up the trail and I was pleasantly surprised. After getting out of view of the road the trail follows a delightful (if small) canyon with nice outcroppings of mylonites on both sides. A little over a mile brought us to some views down into the upper part of Solider Canyon, where it splits (and Rivendale climbing area is found in the left split). From the trail down into Solider Canyon was a significant drop. Here is Sabkha peeking over the cliff, trying to think of some good reason to take a flying leap. Perhaps a squirrel in the bottom of the wash, 250 feet below?

We kept on the trail which begins to follow Soldier Canyon. Cutting back left we got a close-up look at some of the smoothed-out hollows and pools dropping down into the lower canyon. It looks difficult, although I think moderate climbers/canyoneers could get up from below. It was tough to spot how one would get down from above, as it usually is. Darkness was upon us so we high-tailed it back down the trail, running most sections. Much of the trail is smooth enough for careful downhill jogging, especially in the upper sections. Who knew Soldier Trail would be such a gem? I look forward to going farther up the trail next time.

Dry Canyon: low levels of water and enjoyment

There are so many wonderful places in the world to visit. And so little time to visit them all. That's why it's nice to know there is one place you can cross off your list: Dry Canyon in the Whetstone Mountains near Benson, AZ. Sabkha and I took a little Sunday afternoon jaunt out there today. We bypassed Kartchner Caverns State Park and French Joe Canyon, both right off AZ-90. I've been to French Joe a few times with Physical Geology field trips. It's a nice canyon with mature trees and often has flowing water. It must be the highlight of the eastern Whetstones. Pass French Joe and keep going about 3 miles. You'll see the impressive Paleozoic limestone cliffs to the west, and you can think of Rich Thompson, who found his dinosaur (Sonorasaurus) right on the other side of the crest. The main prominent cliff-rimmed quasi-butte is called "The Cape". Pass all this by and take a right on the next gravelly road that heads up toward Dry Canyon. At first the view is disappointing. Prepare yourself for more of the same. The hills are low and desert-covered. Nasty pokey vegetation promulgates across the land. Sure, it looks soft and fluffy from a few miles away -- but up close it's all catclaw and shindaggers and rattlesnake fangs.

The road did offer some entertainment. Overall I'd rate it a "Class 3", with much of it drivable in a passenger car (Class 2), but some washed-out sections where most cars would turn back unless you're the type to beat up on your vehicle because you hate it, or because it's a rental. One wash in particular caused me to scrape my rear bumper coming and going ('04 Subaru Forester). Also there are some pokey rocks. High- or medium-clearance recommended. Up the road a ways, perhaps 3-4 miles up from AZ-90, a view opens up to the right of limestone cliffs, with the beds dipping 25-30 degrees to the west. Sab and I went for a short stroll in the desert, which was rather hot and unpleasant. My climbing partner Mike has mentioned a limestone climbing area called "The Dry" that I think must be farther up the canyon to the right (Dry Canyon proper). We hopped back in the car and drove through Rain Pass and up 83. All the scenery we could see when we weren't blinded by the almost-setting sun was washed out by its blasting rays. Still, it was nice to get out of town. And to cross one more place off the list. No need to return to Dry Canyon.

I'm back

When my contract with Pair ran out, I took down sabkha.com and my two blogs, Encounters with Stupidity and this one. I'm trying to finish my graduate degree something before next May, and I thought I didn't need the distraction. But when searching Google recently for some info on hikes and climbs in S. Arizona, I kept getting Sabkha.com as the top results. Also, I miss writing up my adventures. So back I am, on blogspot now. Hopefully readers can find me. Eventually Google will pick this up. Until I get some new posts up here from recent adventures -- such as Molino and Soldier Canyons, and a snowy trip to the White Mountains, AZ -- check out this awesome site: Todd's Hiking. His "trips" section covers several fun excursions to S. Utah, doing technical canyoneering. I wanna go! Also, he's done something I've long wanted to do: rent a boat and cruise around Lake Powell, hitting side canyons and doing day hikes / backpacking from the boat. I wish Sabkha was into technical climbing... I think they have dog harnesses for that... but it's nasty and unethical to bring dogs into most slot canyons. So, loyal readers (whoever you are), s'more adventures will be back up here soon. Also, I'm probably moving soon away from the lovely land of southern Arizona to either: a) Houston, to work for a Big Oil Company, or b) Nevada, to work for a Big Mining Company. A distant c) is South Africa. In any case, I guess I'll have to change this blog to Here and There in [fill in the blank]. South Africa would be the most entertaining, Houston the most lucrative, and Nevada the most in-between.

Molino Canyon

Several people have asked me recently about hiking trails near Tucson. So I wrote up a little guidelet and sent it to them. Much of the hiking here seems obvious and straightforward, but that’s because I know most of the trails. For a newcomer approaching a range for the first time, it’s hard to know what to do, or what is worth doing. When I’m traveling I often feel overwhelmed by a new area. The current Tucson hiking guides are ok. Last time I looked them over was a year or so ago at a local bookstore. I browsed through the section. Two things I definitely didn’t notice were an off trail hiking guide and a dog hiking guide. Of course, in the latter case, Arizona appears to have a statewide dog leash law, which means hiking with a dog pretty much sucks anywhere. But I think there is big potential for the first idea: an off-trail guide, or “adventure guide” to southern Arizona. Since I often hike “with dog”, I like to go to unpopular areas where no one will be bothered by my dog. I like desolate hikes anyway, which is why Samaniego Ridge and Red Ridge are some of my favorites. Recently I’ve discovered some great canyon hikes in the lower Catalinas. Check out my new online guide to “Off-trail hiking in the Santa Catalina Mountains, Arizona”. The guide will grow as I discover new favorite places and as time permits. After December 2006 or May 2007 (when I finish my PhD), the guide may grow much more and may even become a book. Ahhh, canyoneering everyday… sounds good to me.

In other news, days are getting long enough in Tucson to do evening hikes. Today I worked until 5:00 PM, drove home and picked up Sab, threw some water into a pack and drove out to Molino Basin. In light traffic the drive takes less than 30 minutes. On the way out the low-angle light of the sinking sun brought out the horizontal relief of the Catalina’s front range. Normally the south-facing range is so blasted with desert light that one can’t see any horizontal relief. Anyway, the ridge was popping out like mad as I drove up the approach to the Catalina Highway. After parking at Molino, we high-tailed it up-canyon, past the “falls”, past the side canyon to the left, past “House Rock” and into the Zone of the Large Boulders. It was great fun and we made good time rock-hopping and keeping our movements dynamic. As we reached Creepy Rock Garden (which must be bypassed to the left unless you and your dog have some bouldering skills), the few clouds above turned pink and we turned around. Down was almost slower than up. I felt the eyes of mountain lions upon my back. Driving back down the mountain was a joy. Almost zero traffic. Do you use your brakes coming down Mt Lemmon? You don’t need to. Going between 3^rd and 4^th gears (with an automatic), I easily make it down all the way without exceeding ~40 mph. I touched my brakes once. It wasn’t even a challenge. A few years ago in Rocky Mt NP, with friend Steve’s 4Runner, we went from a high parking lot about 15 miles (?) to a campsite without touching brakes OR gas. That was fun. I’m not saying drive dangerous, just control your speed in advance of corners by downshifting, and perhaps braking slightly before the corner. We made it home around 7:45, making it 2.25 hours door to door for a ~3.5 mile hike in an awesome, deserted, and fairly remote canyon. Tucson does have some perks!

Valley to Summit: A Mount Lemmon Odyssey

Yesterday I finally completed one of my "epic" dream hikes: from the valley (Oro Valley, in this case) to the summit of Mount Lemmon, the highest peak near Tucson (~9200 feet [2850 m]). My alarm clock went off at 6 a.m., way too early. I picked up friend Hinako and her friends Javier and Paulina (from Japan, Spain and Mexico, respectively). We drove up to Catalina State Park and paid our $10 for an "overnight" parking pass. From the trailhead (2700' [823 m]) we could see our destination: the pine-shrouded top of Mt. Lemmon, 6500 feet [2000 m] overhead. The morning was chilly and overcast; we all donned our jackets and gloves, if we had them. A quick map stop oriented us all to the lay of the land and the route of the hike ahead. We then marched toward the mountain across the coarse alluvial gravels along the north side of Pusch Ridge. Saguaro stands defined our first biozone: Sonoran desert. Along the trail we also spotted a white-tailed rabbit (aka hop-hop) and a few insects. After a mile on the gravel we abruptly came to pink granitic rock outcrops, and the trail began to climb. Here the trail is often directly on rock, rough and steep in places. Suddenly everyone felt very warm and we stopped to remove our excess clothing. The trail reaches a crude saddle point then descends into Romero Canyon proper. Depending on which map/sign you believe, Romero Pools are 2.2 or 2.8 miles from the parking lot. The pools used to be very deep in places, but were filled in by debris flows caused by a torrential rainfall event in the area about 3 years ago, shortly after the Bullock (summer 2002) or Aspen (summer 2003) fire. (My friend Dave Maher tells me of jumping off high rocks into some of the pools - thus they were 20+ feet deep.) Despite the very dry current conditions in southern Arizona, Romero Creek was running very slightly and nourishing a nice green slime colony. A few larger pools sit downstream from where the trail crosses the canyon. Here we paused for a brief rest and snack, admiring the polished shapes of the canyon rocks. Moving on we had a brief respite from climbing as we crossed a flat "meadow" area traversed by Romero Creek. A few small waterfalls (with trickles of water!) provided some variation in the scenery. Soon the trail turned up again as we climbed into the upper reaches of Romero Canyon, toward Romero Pass. The trail left the canyon bottom and hugged the left (North) wall. To the south the looming canyon wall is made up of a few huge planar surfaces, giving the canyon a "hewn" appearance, as if it had been made by the hands of men. Looking down on Romero Creek we could see that the canyon narrows and winds upstream almost to the point of being a slot canyon. A good destination for another day. Also, high on the canyon walls were a few benches large enough to support an acre or so of forest. I imagined climbing up there and making a little shelter and living there, a hermit on a perch with a nice vista of Oro Valley. The trail became steeper and less well marked, in places covered with brush and fallen branches, apparently due to the fire(s) in this area (how do fires produce so much unburned brush? I suppose during the fire, it was living material. The tree was killed by the fire, then the branches dried out and became tinder. Javier (biologist) expects another fire soon.) The saddle was visible above us as we climbed the last calf-burning half mile. As we crested the saddle we were greeted with a blasting wind from the east and a panoramic view: the west fork of Sabino Canyon, the north side of the "front range" of the Catalinas, much of the Catalina high terrain, and the Rincon Mountains beyond. A lunch stop was in order. As we dined, Javier and I lay on our backs and watched the sky. Dotted with cumulus clouds which raced overhead, the sky eventually cleared to a nearly unblemished azure blue. Hinako pulled out the trail map which flapped like a flag in a gale. Eventually she got it under control and found our elevation to be 6000' [1850 m], 2300' above the trailhead but still 3200' below Mt. Lemmon. To our north we could see a boulder-strewn escarpment capped with progressively larger pine trees. On the other side of this escarpment was the Wilderness of Rocks. After lunch we started up this, the steepest sustained section of the entire hike. I huffed and puffed in the rarified air. Our pace slowed. Tunnel vision began to overtake me as I stared down at my boots, oblivious to the natural beauty around me. Then I caught a whiff of fresh pine scent and was rejuvinated and reawakened. We had entered the forest, 3500 feet above the valley floor below. We crested the plateau and then began a short descent into Wilderness of Rocks. An isolated pile of oso droppings added a bit of excitement to our descent. Wilderness of Rocks is a fairly flat area surround by rounded granite boulders and spires. It is not as spectacular as places like Chirachua NM or Bryce NP, but then it's different rock, too. The area was quite dry and not as scenic as I remember it (from 4 years ago) because of damage done by the fire(s). At the base of the Lemmon Rock Lookout trail we had to make a decision: short and steep (LRT) or longer and more scenic (Marshall Gulch)? I voted for LRT, since I wanted to actually summit the mountain. Marshall Gulch isn't the tippy-top. Just as we were deciding which route to take, two hikers sporting charcoal-stained faces stumbled down from the LRT. They warned us that the route was unmarked, confusing and perhaps blocked by fire debris. We directed them toward Marshall Gulch or the Aspen trail, and off they went. Against their recommendation, we headed up the LRT. Towering overhead we could see the summit rocks, brilliant white in the sinking late-afternoon sun. On one of the easternmost rocks I could make out the Lemmon Rock lookout, a small fire post building. As we continued to climb, the trail gradually got steeper and less travelled. Finally it made a sharp turn and disappeared into faint footmarks among the pine needles. All four of us scrambled around the hillside like Orienteers looking for a misplaced control point, sans compasses or decent maps. Finally we decided to head uphill cross-country, since we could see the lookout building perhaps 1/3 of a mile away and we knew the trail went to the west of it. After crashing through some brush and shimmying past some rocks, we came upon the trail. The sun's rays were tinted orange and the mood turned sharply from afternoon to evening as we stumbled up to the two-track leading to Lemmon Rock Lookout. At the lookout Javier snapped a few cliffside shots of the whole group, with the Rincons, Santa Ritas, Whetstones and Huachucas in the background. Although the atmosphere was hazy, we could see Babquivori and Kitt Peak, the Atacosas and 'Ritas to the south, and the Pinaleños (and beyond) to the east. A cold wind began to blow and we again donned our cool-weather gear, having come full circle, temperature-wise. The last mile to the top is along an old dirt road. At the top, having reached the scenic parking lot and power station, we chowed down the remainder of our comida and gave Victor a call so he'd come pick us up. Darkness fell among the pines and we huddled in the cold. I thought of the pie and warm coffee only four miles away in Summerhaven. We walked down the road toward the ski area and finally Victor, our hero, pulled up with a 12-pack of cold cervasas.

Colorado's San Juans, August 2004

I left Tucson around noon on Friday and drove to Colorado. I took US 60 north of Tucson through Globe and Show Low. This is a terrible stretch of road, especially north of Globe. It winds through a lovely canyon area, which is beautiful, but winds is the key word. Hills are short and steep and corners seem unnecessarily sharp. It is quite a workout for your vehicle, at least for the underpowered Forester with the AC running. This may be a fun drive for scenic value, but I was trying to get to Colorado, and all the online map services said this was the shortest route. I took my time, stopped in Holbrook (along I-40) and had chicken strips from a run-down side-street Dairy Queen. The most horrible fast food meal I’ve ever had. Sabkha ate most of it as we sat at a local park. After awhile heading east on the interstate, we went north up New Mexico 666 (renamed 451 or something). We passed Ship Rock, and two other cool monoliths close to the road, as the sun was setting. Some mountains were vaguely visible to the north. Passed through Cortez, CO in the dark and it certainly didn’t feel like the cool Colorado mountains (yet). It felt like the hot AZ/NM desert and the Indian reservation. Checked out one campsite (as indicated on the CO Gazzetteer) but turned out to be a no camping area. Two other marked campsites were full, and charging $18 a night! (Nat Forest campgrounds, but run but private company). Angry and tired, thinking how typical this is of my trips (didn’t plan ahead of course), I drove several miles up a gravel road before giving up. Finally I pulled into a state hunting area (camping prohibited!) and just slept in the car (for a quick getaway in case a ranger showed up). The back of the Forester is just big enough for me to sleep ok, with the seats down. Woke up early, snapped a few photos and got outta there. Headed up the highway toward Telluride, stopping at Lizard Head pass and taking photos of the 14-er nest to the west, including Lizard Head peak (not a 14er). Good future hike, but of course there was a horse trailer there (Sab has problem attacking horses). Drove into Telluride and hung out. Yuppy place but it started to grow on me. Got some decent coffee, postcards, drove around town. Finally left to find a camp spot. The sun set around 7 pm, so I needed to be at a decent site by 5 to cook some food and set up the tent before dark. And after dark, it’s a bit scary to do anything, especially if it involves food, because you can’t see anything, and Sab barks at anything. I’m afraid of bears. We drove up a road south of Telluride. About 7 miles up the road, well over 11,000 feet elevation, we camped in a cirque with a nice lake, and lots of other rough-it car-camper types in 4WD’s (the road was only a class 2 in my book). Beautiful place! Back down to Telluride the next day. Got some coffee, took the gondola up the mountain (and down to Mountainview) (or was that on day one?). Hiked up to Bridal Veil falls on gravel roads with Sab. Lots of drivers and motorcycles and bikers. Wonderful area, fun Jeep stuff like a one-way over B Bear pass into Telluride. Back down, got some rain. Hit the road west out of then NE out to Ridgway on 550. Nice view of the other side of Sneffels (14er north of Telluride). Got a slice of pizza in Ridgway (didn’t eat much at all on this trip) and south through Ouray. Checked out a few $12 campgrounds. Found several free areas on the road west of Silverton. Camped near a nice river. Next day hiked up to Ice Lake (3.5 mi one way). Sab had such a great time! She is inexhaustible. I was tired and winded. Made it to the lakes around 12000 feet. I was puffing. A storm blew up and we hiked down mostly in the rain. The hardest 7 mile hike I’ve ever done? The only real hike of this entire trip!! Checked out Silverton, ate at Brown Bear Café (this is afternoon after the hike). Sab was only moderately tired. Back north to Ridgway, were my “service engine” light came on! So I called Subaru number and went north to Montrose, 20k-ish community on the plains north of the San Juans. Subaru dealer said 8am Tuesday (the next day) they could check it out. I found a wonderful coffee place on main ave (Coffee Trader) with a great side yard with trees. Overall Montrose had a nice midwesternly feel – sort of. Stayed at a nice clean hotel for $45 (not cheap, but it’s tourist season!) on Main also. Pets no prob. Nice to be inside and take shower, sleep without (neurotic) fear of bears. Watched Olympics. Next day went to dealer – rodents chewed hoses on vapor capture system – not a big deal. Then drove east in the plains to Gunnison, a nice little town. Ate a mediocre Mexican place. Drove south back into San Juans. Rain. Stayed at pay campground $8 – but no bears “this summer”, so I felt more at ease and slept ok. Next day sab ran off after deer but came back quickly. We began to mosey home to Tucson via New Mexico. Near Los Alamos, I called Kim Tait but didn’t answer, finally she did so I went there. Went hashing with local group (her first time). Stayed there. Next day (yesterday) got coffee and burrito and hung out a bit, then had lunch with Kim, Romanian guy and two other silent engineers at LANL at Hill Diner. Mediocre chow. He told stories of driving his Porshe fast and getting pulled over. I left, went west (the loooong way through the mountains) and made a dash for home through some spotty but cool-to-watch steppe thunderstorms. Got home at “11 pm” but then discovered it was only 10 (AZ time).

Upcoming Blog Events...

I need to write and post several blogs. They are coming. Most urgent are Cyprus and Washington State blogs, from May and July '05, respectively. That is definitely here and there (aqui and alli - my apologies for lack of accent marks). For now, however, my highest priorities are the lab course I am teaching, and my olivine research, which needs to get done so I can complete my PhD in a timely fashion. This means curtailing some activities. Blogging is one of them. Check out my other blog, Encounters with Stupidity, if you exhuast all the reading to be done on this page. The link is over there to the right in the "links" section. Or click on the title of this blog entry.

Adios para ahora.

Chiricahua Powah

The Chiricahua Mountains, in the extreme southeastern corner of Arizona, are one of the biggest "sky islands" in the region. Despite rising to over 9700 feet, the Chiricahuas are not as imposing as the Pinaleños (Mount Graham) or the Santa Ritas just south of Tucson. Most southern Arizona peaks -- of any elevation -- offer clear, unobstructed views of the surrounding deserts. The Chiricahuas, however, rise gradually to their heavily wooded heights. Marching in a north-south line along the New Mexico border, the range gathers more rain and snow from passing clouds than other ranges to the west. Snow often lingers late in the springtime along the high ridge at the center of the range, and everything seems just slightly less arid than the other sky islands.

We left Tucson on Friday evening, in the 100 degree heat. Driving east on I-10 we passed a familiar series of linear mountain chains and their associated linear valleys. We're still in the Basin and Range, albeit near the very southern end. First we climb up out of the Tucson valley, up onto Cienega Gap, the pass on the spine of highlands connecting the Rincon Mountains to the north with the lofty Santa Rita Mountains to the south. The temperature drops by 10 degrees as we leave the heat-island of Tucson and gain six or seven hundred feet of elevation. Next we see the Little Rincons to the north, with the rugged Galiuro and Winchester Mountains behind, looking like foothills to the distant and massive blue-tinged edifice of the Pinaleños Mountains. Even as we drive along the freeway, I can clearly pick out the hillside above Jackson's Cabin, where I spent several days over spring break. The hillside is cris-crossed with dikes and sills - planes of intrusive rock that lend the hill a distinctive cross-hatched look. After descending into the valley of the San Pedro River, we rise again to cross the Dragoon Mountains at Texas Canyon. The pink, rounded granite blocks and domes are reminiscent of Joshua Tree National Park. Truly beautiful stuff to the geologist or any other passerby. The tough and knobby granite also provides excellent climbing. Just a few miles south of the highway, as the crow flies, are dozens of multi-pitch climbing routes on 600-foot-high loaf-shaped domes of very similar granite. Over the pass, and we are treated to a vista of the rest of Arizona, and a fair bit of southern New Mexico. To the left, we get another view of the towering Pinaleños, with their telescopes and endangered red squirrels. The Pinaleños are close to Tucson, but difficult to access. The road to the top is paved but twists and turns to the extreme. A trip from Tucson to the top of Mt Graham, only 50 air miles away, takes four hours by car. I've been up there twice, but foolishly never brought camping gear, so I was always faced with a four-hour drive home again. This tends to diminish the fun one can have on a casual day trip. The vista continued ahead, with some unidentified ranges marching off into New Mexico. To the right was the giant Apache coal-burning power plant, looking like a towering, complex spaceship crashed out in the desert. Ahead and to the right was the vast Wilcox Playa -- southern Arizona's equivalent of Death Valley. The playa is essentially a vast, flat-bottomed lake with no outlet. Rain fills the last to a depth of several inches up to a few feet at most. Because it is so shallow, the lake has a high surface area to volume ratio, and quickly evaporates in the Arizona heat, leaving behind a variety of minerals called evaporites. These include gypsum and salt. During rainfall, the rivers and streams flowing into the playa also carry clay and silt from the surrounding hills and mountains. After the lake dries up, the fine particles of gypsum, salt, and silt are picked up and blown around in huge dust clouds. Today, however, the winds were quiet, or perhaps the playa was damp from recent light spring rains. Behind the playa to the east we could see the Chiricahuas trailing off to the south. Straight ahead was the relatively charming desert town of Willcox, which has a great view of a number of surrounding ranges, but must also endure dust clouds blowing off the playa. Behind Willcox stands the moderate Dos Cabesas Mountains, which we would visit later in our trip. The mountains were pink and orange with light from the setting sun, behind us, as we idled down Main Street, Willcox at 25 mph, which felt like a walking pace after driving on I-10. Darkness arrived fast as the sun dropped behind the Dragoons, and we traced along the west side of the Chiricahuas. We have planned to drive up Rucker’s Canyon, where the map showed several campgrounds and a lake tucked away about 30 miles from the main road. It was late, I was tired, so we decided to try Turkey Creek Road. The map showed a couple of National Forest campgrounds about ten miles up the road. We started up in full darkness, and I started to get my usual case of the creeps. Arizona is not a deserted state like much of Nevada or even Utah. Even three hours from Tucson, in a remote corner of Arizona, we weren't "out in the boonies". We passed a ranch sign and a beat-up galvanized mailbox every two miles or so. But we didn't see any lights in those distant ranch houses. In fact, they looked abandoned. We also did not meet any other cars. I expected the campgrounds to be deserted and silent. After the ten-mile drive down the fairly good gravel road, we came around a bend in the road and suddenly came upon the campground, which was occupied by two large groups. We pulled in between them, staking out our little patch of ground, and pitched our tents in the darkness. The cool mountain air felt good as it flowed down the valley, infusing itself with the scent of pine trees. Five paces from our tents, a small stream gurgled down the mountainside on its way to the dry plains below. At 6000 feet, far from the city, it was almost cold, even on this mid-June night. I pulled on a long-sleeve jacket and looked up at the stars. The sky was almost overwhelming. Ten times the regular number of stars were visible. City dwellers forget about the night sky, and it was good to be reminded. Our campground neighbors were the typical sort you find when seeking peace and solitude. That is, they were noisy and obnoxious. One group was clearly made up of high schoolers, grouped around a large campfire and practicing making a variety of loud noises - screams, yells, whistles and hollers. The other group turned out to be a massive family-reunion style gathering, with about 20 tents scattered across a half-acre of campground. These people, clearly unaccustomed to "camping out", were doing their best to convert the quiet outdoors into the indoor world they were more familiar with. Everyone of the group wielding amazingly bright, search-light-like flashlights, which they pointed at random around the campground, sending blinding beams of white light into the darkness. A simple trip to the restroom involved much yelling and flashing of lights. Two or three infants were screaming at all times in a morphing cacophony one couldn't quite tune out. Car doors slamming, mothers yelling, men laughing uproariously at the latest campsite shenanigans. We sat in the darkness and rolled our eyes, although we both felt a strange comfort in the presence of these rambunctious city folk. They had hardly noticed our arrival at the campground, and it seemed pretty clear they would leave us alone to our dark and quiet existence. I say dark because I'd forgotten my flashlight at home.

Next day we pulled out some hiking maps and realized we were positioned well for an assault on Chiricahua Peak, the zenith of both the range and the county. After casting about in the forest for a half-hour, trying to find the trail, we discovered it and headed up. The hike was beautiful but uneventful. We took several breaks. Sabkha chased unseen lizards and ground squirrels, and I let her drink from my backpack drinking tube. The peak was comfortably grassy and wooded. Between the trees we could see a suggestion of the distant brown desert.

Back down in Turkey Creek Valley, we pulled camp and moved up-canyon to a solitary camping spot near Mormon Springs trailhead. Down at our original campsite, some hillbillies with ATV's had moved in, bringing their circular saws with them. We approached the camp and heard the distinctive sound of steel teeth tearing through plywood. I'm not sure what they were building, but the presence of several pickups, a half-dozen ATV's and a circular saw does not bode well for the peaceful serenity of any campground. A half-mile up canyon, we found peace. Tucked into my sleeping bag that night, I could hear every little sound outside my tent. As usual, my sleepy brain attributed each little sound to an advancing black bear. I missed the screaming children and partying teenagers who, the night before, had muffled any such sounds and let my anxious mind rest...

On Sunday we cooked up some breakfast and studied the map. Although Rucker's Canyon was our original planned destination, I didn't feel up to driving 50 miles of gravel roads for a few hours near a tiny lake. Instead, we went north, back toward Willcox and away from the high 9000-foot ridge of the Chiricahuas, which we had climbed the day before. Just where the Chiricahuas begin to dip down from their lofty highs is Chiricahua National Monument. Here, the true nature of the geology of the Chiricahuas is laid bare for visitors to observe and ponder. We drove slowly up to the high point and gazed out at the wonderland of rock pinnacles, carved from welded volcanic tuff by the water and the wind. The day was mild, and Sabkha had to stay in the car. As Erin and I took a short walk around the top of the hill, we heard the approaching jingle and jangle of dog tags. Sabkha had managed to work her way into the front seat and then jumped out the car window, sniffed around, and followed us down the path.

Cherished National Monument deserves more of our time, but with a dog in tow, we couldn't legally get out among the rocks. We slowly left the park and headed north again, alongside the Dos Cabesas Mountains, with two rock outcroppings at the summit giving the range its name. Here at a low pass lies the site of former Fort Bowies (there were two), dating from the latest 19th century, when settlers and travelers clashed with the local Apache Indians. A series of sad battles drove the natives from the area. The walk to the Fort covers 1.5 miles, passing a variety of historic sites. Sabkha enjoyed frolicking in the desert, but everyone was hot. We came to "Apache Spring" and Sabkha wallowed a bit in the mud. The ruins of the fort were unimpressive. Nothing but foundations remain. In several places, new "adobe" partial walls have been erected atop the old foundations. More impressive to me were the nearby hills, made up of white and light gray carbonates and covered with ocotillo, which love limey soil. Apache Spring, just below these hills, must emerge from a cave system within the limestone. Next to the ruins is a modern Park Service building, with a small museum and some things for sale. We sat for a while in the shade on the varnished wraparound porch, enjoying the brisk, almost-cool breeze. A rare thing for Arizona in June. Our imaginations refused to bring us back to the 1890's with only the sparse ruins before us for inspiration. But it was good enough to be there in the present day.

[I didn't take any pictures on this trip! Sorry.]

Snowballs, Amethyst, and a 17,000 acre Lake

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.

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.

Finding the Way at Kentucky Camp

It's been a year, but I finally made it back to an orienteering meet. After a rainy week, we (E,S,A) ventured out to Kentucky Camp, near Gardener Canyon on the east side of the Santa Ritas. This area is a regular destination for me -- the area offers mountain bike trails, excellent caving (Cave of the Bells, Onyx Cave, Hidden Cave, and numerous others), and trailheads to get into the Ritas. For some reason, however, I've developed a distate for the "east side". This Sunday morning was wonderful. The drive out from Tucson takes about 45 minutes -- I-10 to 83 south and then right on Gardener Canyon Road. I tried out my new dashboard GPS. The most interesting piece of information provided was elevation. I didn't realize how high AZ 83 gets at the "pass" north of Sonoita -- over 5,000 feet. Gardener Canyon road was moist and firm, but the farther we got back towards Kentucky Camp, the muddier the road. We had a great time splashing through puddles in the Forester. Eventually we came upon a slow-moving Pontiac, who let us pass so we could continue to play irresponsibly in the mud. The Subaru slid around a few corners, but otherwise held its line very well, which actually made the driving less fun (but more safe and predictable...). The meet start was atop a alluvial hill with nice views of the rolling alluvium all around, and rocky hills and mountains to the north and west (the Santa Ritas). Erin and I decided to do the Green course (second most challenging) as a team. After a brief intro course, we three set out. We quickly found the first control, and the second... it seemed too easy. I usually run the course, but we took it easy and walked most of it. Sabkha had a good time sniffing around and watching the cows milling around in the distance. She longed to chase them and get "just one bite", but I didn't allow her the chance. We burned through the course in about 1:30 hours. We made a few minor mistakes both in route finding and control finding, but overall we were amazingly accurate.

The morning started cold but after huffing around a few hillsides we warmed up nicely. After finishing, back at the starting point we ate some cookies and sat in the cool breeze surveying the landscape. Sabkha sampled an orange, which she gobbled down rapidly -- to my amazement. She ate most of the orange. The day was beautiful, with good visibility. The Mule Mountains were right across the valley, and the Huachucas looked close to the SE. We could clearly see Miller Peak, where we had stood a month or so before. Alas, I had to get home to prepare for a picnic and the arrival of my friends from Safford. So off we went, splashing as much mud as possible on the way home. Less than a half-mile down the dirt track, we came across a caravan of classic cars, including three or four Model T's. They slowed us down a bit, but we still had plenty of opportunity for splashing through the mud.