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.

Inundated in Pima Canyon

Erin, Barbara and I went up Pima Canyon. Out the front door, and about a 10 minute drive north brings us to the trailhead. Normally hiking in Arizona means a several hour drive, but if you leave the dog at home, you can get out close to home. The entire "front range" of the Catalinas is off-limits to dogs, ostensibly to protect the Bighorn Sheep population (not sure there is one). A silly rule, but it was ok to be without Sab for the day-- no concerns about her running off, chasing deer, or pooping on the trail. We started out from the new parking lot and crossed under a large stone bridge that leads to a new housing development in the area. After crossing the face of a hill with great views to the south and west, we entered Pima Canyon. The 7000+ foot peaks of the "front range" were enshrouded in mist. (See photos). Most of the front part of the Catalinas is a foliated gneiss, often referred to as a mylonite (this is considered a misnomer by many geologists). The foliation dips roughly SW, and is composed of alternating bands of light and slightly darker rock. This characteristic rock style lends a continuity in geological ambiance all along the front range of the Cats. In the eyes of one who enjoys diverse geology and changing landscapes, this is something of a negative. But it was beautiful, and it has been a while since I've been in the front range.

The creek was running at a high level, and we crossed the stream about 15 times on the way up the trail. Along both sides of the canyon ran waterfalls, both large and small. Dark, wet stained areas belied the location of recent waterfalls, active only during the rainfall. We made a sport of crossing the stream and remaining as dry as possible, using the various stepping-stones, grass tufts, and logs available to us. Barbara, wearing normal leather walking shoes, got soaked right away. Eventually we were all just slogging through the stream. We met many groups on the way up and down, and it was fun to watch their varying stream-crossing behaviour, from very timid, slow and cautious to devil-may-care splashing.

We hiked up and up, stopping a lot to watch the stream shoot through narrow places, or go over waterfalls and make masses of bubbles. At a few places we couldn't resist stretching out on the rocks in the sun and almost napping... or napping? The line is fuzzy sometimes. Eventually the trail began to climb and the canyon narrow. We stopped near a big rock nestled among some spring-green cottonwood trees. We decided this would be the turn around point, but we lounged for a while anyway. The trip down was fairly fast. The trail wasn't steep, but usually on the way down you watch your feet more than the scenery, both because of trip danger and because of tiredness. We did spot a few interesting things on the way down, including some holes ground in the rock by natives (the name of these escapes me at the moment). They were filled with water, and at the bottom nestled bunches of horrid-looking, purplish-white see-through worms! Not sure what they were or why they got there, but they gave all three of us the shivers.

Back at the first stream crossing (or the last on the way down) we all sat on a large rock and watched dayhikers come up the trail. More than half were stopped by this, the first stream crossing, and turned back to walk the half-mile or so back to the trailhead. Too bad! Those others who ventured across were funny to watch, being mostly unsure of how to cross a running stream, and not sure of the safety of the venture. The kids typically bounded across, while moms and dads looked embarrassed as they hopped with effort from rock to rock, usually ending up with wet feet somewhere in the crossing.

Nice hike, good views of some familiar rock. Too many people for solitude. Also, like many trails, the farther up you go, the better it gets.

Photos of this trip here.

Giant Junipers and Blue Agave

On Sunday we hiked down Red Ridge to the "Gold Mine" and back up Oracle Ridge. I've done it before, and it shouldn't have been too tough, but it kicked our butts. Sabkha came back with many a thorn in body and paw. She also got a large gash in her hind leg, and some weird pokes that turned into pustules on her belly. Yuck. After hanging out in the shack and trying my tongue at some fragmented espanol, we took off on the once-a-two-track for Oracle Ridge. The descent down Red Ridge had been about 3,000 feet in 3.5 miles. Steep! At the bottom we found a beautiful babbling brook, doing it's babbling in a bed of brilliant white granodiorite. Nice! Reef of Rock was visible to the west the entire way down Red Ridge. We contemplated taking a few hundred feet of rope and exploring RoR for a week or so... who needs to fly to Tibet to have an adventure? I blabbed about my failed proposal for summer-weekend-mapping in the Catalinas. My perception is that mucho has not been well-mapped. Catalina geology is fascinating, it has received some attention too-- so you (as a geologist) have a place to start. Good or bad? Contaminated ideas? Anyway, I dreamed of mapping the boundaries of the Catalina Granitic Pluton (which makes up most of the Cats NW of Mt Lemmon, i.e., Samaniengo Ridge and Reef of Rock). Edges, and jointing/veining in the middle. 'Tis the season (or the year), since two consecutive forest fires have largely cleared the nothern slopes of the Catalinas of undergrowth. And trees. Once we huffed up to Oracle Ridge, we finally left the intrusives behind. This was weird, because all the way up the two-track we were seeing coarse-grained weird looking intrusives, altered, feldspar rich (of course). Then on Oracle Ride suddenly we're on an east-dipping sequence of Paleozoic rocks- what the heck? The Dickinson map on the 5th floor of the U of A Geo department seems to indicate it's just a contact. Or rather, it doesn't make it clear what type of contact it is. Is the intrusive a mega-sill? I don't think so, but I'd love to find out. Along the ridge (which I've hiked at least twice before), we eventually passed Marble Peak (several caves there, never been) and came upon the Giant Trees. For a mile or so along the ridge, there are (or were) huge trees, spaced fairly evenly every quarter-mile. They don't grow along the slopes (which are not that steep or rocky). Why? It fascinates me. They're all burned up now, but most are still standing. Their fragrance is lovely. ex-Junipers? Also alongside the path are numerous, perfect blue agave. Wonderful, symmetrical plants! The huff back to the car is harder and longer than expected. As an added bonus, we got to hike about 1.5 miles back up the road toward Ski Valley. I knew it, but it was unpleasant nonetheless. Exhaustion. How can an 8.5-mile hike knock me down like that? [Photos of this trip]

Fantastic Superstitions

It was a pleasant drive up to Phoenix (if northwest is "up"), and then a pleasant hike up a gentle alluvial fan to the mouth of the canyon. Everything was green from the recent rains. In the distance, Four Peaks were shrouded in snow. Sabkha frolicked about, sniffing the horse droppings we say here and there. They make me nervous, and my eyes scan the horizon whenever I see the green, hay-ey blobs. The inspiration for adobe, I think. Starting up the canyon we saw some big-house-sized fallen rocks. It is always fun (for a geologist) to look up at the cliffs and try to pick out the point of origin... however, the higher the rock, the faster it tends to weather, and the longer it has been weathering (generally true, not geologic Law). We encountered a group of geriatric hikers who gave us complicated directions about how to get up to Flatiron. "Yeah, I did that back in my day..." sighed one of the old men. We bashed our way upstream through undergrowth and over wet, slick slopes covered with gravel. Eventually we reached a bare-rock chute with a stream sprinkling in from overhead in the form of a waterfall. A young lady overtook us and kept on truckin'. Sabkha decided she preferred to keep moving, and left Erin and I behind as we took a Clif break. Sab kept looking back anxiously, but she was compelled to continue with the Unknown Girl. Finally we go up and traversed a neat rock amphitheater with slanted rocks layers broken off in little 1/2" wide steplets. It wasn't easy to go up, and turned out to be much harder to go down! We stayed right when we saw the "three canyons", and eventually picked up the white spray paint marks. The trail got very steep. Toward the top was a 10-foot "step" that freaked Sabkha out. I had to do a collar grab to get her up. We made our way out onto Flatiron without incident, despite the layer of hard dark ice on the trail, and the 300-foot cliff near at hand. I put Sabkha on leash, not that it would help much if she went after a suicidal chipmunk or Gila monster. The view was nice. We picked out the Santa Catalinas and Rincons, Four Peaks, all of Phoenix (not hard), the Galiuros, and a mystery range that turned out to be none other than the Pinalenos (aka Mt. Graham). We could NOT see Weaver's Needle (although we could clearly see if from Oracle Ridge a few weeks later!!!). The day was already waning, if it can do that, but we pressed on to explore some hoodoo-ed terrain and attempt to find an alternate way down. After discovering a Grand-Canyon-sized, um, canyon in the west side of the Supes, we bailed and rushed down the evil steep canyon. Sabkha had forgotten about The Step, and it was a hassle to get her down. Argh. I had to grad her midsection and try to set her down as she flailed all four legs rapidly, trying to get some claw purchase anywhere, like on my face. Darkness appeared. We donned headlights, but mine didn't do much photon-production-wise. (The Apartment, anyone?) We survived the hike back. It was quite a hump, although I must recommend it for drama, scenery, water, and cool rocks. Oh- it was all volcanic. On a Geologic Excitement Scale of 1 (lowest) to 10 (most exciting), most mafic/intermediate volcanic rocks get about a 2 from me. Booo. [see pics here]