It was supposed to be a gray, but warm day, not my favorite hiking conditions since sunshine and blue sky count for a lot in my world. I looked out the window around 7:30 AM and thought if I was going to indulge in blue skies, I had better get into gear. It was a gorgeous day and now I am back just after noon. Where did all the gloom of winter suddenly come from?
I was hiking the trail and I came across two birders with massive telephoto lenses, focused on something obviously unique. I had to ask, “what do you see?”
“A bridled titmouse,” she replied.
“If there are more than one, do you say, ‘titmice’?” I asked. They both laughed. Then I had to add just one more comment for good measure: “I would love to see a couple of perky tits to start my day”. They both looked a little chagrinned, so I quickly added, “They are special in this part of the canyon”, and they both gave courteous smiles appearing relieved that I was referring to the diminuative birds. I continued up the trail.
The other day, I know I heard an elegant trogan. I had to wonder whether it wintered over, or it was just a very early arrival from somewhere down in Mexico. The air is getting warmer, Spring is begging to sidle in. If only my hiking health would allow me to explore more deeply and higher up into the mountains. Now the whole sky is gray, though tomorrow is suppose to be, once again, sunny and in the low 80’s. I am thinking, one more hike before I start bracing for the ureter roto rooter hunt for the grand kidney stone. Then, how long will I be down and out?
It’s always a good feeling for me, coming across my first reptile of the year, especially a snake. When it’s warm out, even if there is snow spattered about the mountains, I can’t help but be a little more vigilant, knowing the heat of sunshine has a magic that permeates winter: things just want to wake up.
I had just come down off the backside of the mountain this afternoon, thinking to myself that it would not be long before lizards might start dosing themselves in late winter/early spring shots of sun light and pockets of warmth. They can’t help themselves: heat tugs at their slumbering souls. So, here I am driving down one of my favorite backroads, fantasizing how in the summer, critters like to lie in the dust and soak in the heat, when bam! Hey, that’s a nice size snake! My first thought was a Sonoran gopher and would I be quick enough to stop, exit my vehicle, and pounce like a cat on my first snake of the season. Wouldn’t you know it, it was a diamondback, fat and lethargic, but no matter how slow and lazy she (in this case) proved to be, I was even lazier and less inclined to try and capture it. I was slightly disappointed since I could not catch it for the obvious reason that it was more work than I was willing to put out. A gopher snake was no big thing—I could take a bite or two. But being a rattler, I needed to honor the risk.
Okay, now we’ve got it riled up after a minute of prodding to get it off the road. I have a side of me that just wants to pick it up, but I have to remember: that ain’t the way to deal with it.
I got my cell phone and climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t going to move. So I got my hiking pole to help scoot it off the road. It still wasn’t going to move—It wasn’t even going to strike as I prodded it. It finally reacted reluctantly. I got it off the road and decided it was far enough; it was too much work moving it. But atleast I now know, 69 degrees is enough to bring things to life. Close to the ground, it was even warmer. The seasons continue to turn favorably toward more warmth and longer days.
Up,up, and through the forest, into the snow country
It was a consummate day: gently warm with cornflower blue skies streaked with wisps of white cirrus clouds; a perfect day for hiking. And yet I was reluctant. I felt badly that Sierran had just left though it was kind of a relief to have Besa depart. I felt badly that I have to be such a curmudgeon. I try to comprehend what has driven us in our own separate directions, that is, Sierran and I, over the years. Simplified, I think it has a lot to do with pride, ego, ignorance, levels of energy. Neither one of us are going to compromise what we believe is right. So, he and his kids (his dogs) left for Mexico this morning, and though I have things that have to be done, I felt badly that I was not going to be taking the trip with him. There was a time when we would have figured something out.
It took me several hours to loosen up a bit, to take on a hike for the sake of forgetting about things, and just indulging in a sweat soaking, muscle aching demand-of-an-activity, one slow step-at-a-time slogging up the mountain where pain commanded my thoughts. Except for one hiker an hour up the mountain, the trail was empty. I was in one of those moods where I liked being alone.
Starting up the trail, plodding mile after mile
It was a relief to finally hit the cistern, only 1/3 the way up the Florida (Flor-ee-dah) trail. I tell myself to just stay with it, grind, endure, don’t let aches and pains dominate my behavior. I am too young, really, to succumb to somewhat normal discomfort.
I tell myself, the time will come when Monette can accompany me on more challenging hikes. I’ll let her lithe, young body carry the bulk of the weight (-; I doubt she will mind, having walked all her life. When you have had little the entirety of your life, a little challenge here and there is nothing; it is the norm. I admire that in her. I love her humility.
Finally reaching the covered cistern in the oak woodlands, before taking on the second third of the hike, switch back after switchback
I love the steep, oak wooded ravine before hitting the fourteen switchbacks and the next two miles or more of painstaking climb to the base of the mountain. It feels great when I am in shape though miserable anything less than that. Then it is usually a tough grind to the top, with five big apache pine logs one must climb over to reach the summit ridge. THEN, it is two more rough miles to the top of Wrightson, for a total of nine some odd miles of sketchy, overgrown trail to the peak. I’ve never done that last two miles hiking up this route—it’s more “man” than I am made out of, but I’ve come down the trail a mile or mile and a half from the other side of the mountain. Remember, the rule of thumb is: whatever distance you do up, you gotta turn around and do the same coming down, though it is a different kinda test—a meniscus test.
Coming back down the mountain, constantly maneuvering around stones and ruts, and big steps
Innocent in everyway (Gaius is a bit of an angel dog, but don’t let the mischievious, spoiled Besa fool you
Sierran is truly a man of leisure. It’s always been in his blood, which is for the most part, a Fletcher characteristic: work, but not any harder than necessary to be “commitment free”. When Sierran’s Uncle Don passed away a couple of years ago, he left Sierran with enough money and material possessions that nominal work would sustain him (for the rest of his life?). They were close, so it all seemed fitting.
This is not to say Sierran is lazy, rather than leisurely. He actually engages in a lot of energy demanding activities on a pretty steady basis. He commits to working pretty hard when the right thing catches his eye, but he does what he prefers to do: Jiu jitsu, chess, gardening, landscaping, listening to Youtube politics, investing, renovating his home so that he can rent rooms out to his friends, traveling (though nowadays his dogs prevent him from traveling abroad as he used to do in the old days), etc, etc. Girls used to be a main theme in his life, but since he has hit forty, he seems to have given up on pursuing a permanent relationship with anything/anyone but his two dogs—Besa and Gaius. He is a firsthand student of Jiu Jitsu and a dilettante of many other fields. Now his life revolves around his dogs. And they are terribly spoiled. I say, “undisciplined”, but he has his own description of his relationship with them.
So, Sierran has wanted to escape the wet, and cloudy cold of Oregon, but his plan is not clear. It looks like Mexico is in the stars for him now, maybe today. He does not look forward to the first 600 miles of the trip, down the coast to Mazitlan. But after that, Mexico becomes quaint. It looks like he is passing on all directions but south, through Nogales because winter is what he desires to escape and south is the only direction to go leaving the cold in the rearview mirror. And Mexico allows his dogs entry. Personally, taking care of two big hair shedding dogs, one that is accustomed to having her own way and is a bit unpredictable and is too energy demanding on me, is more than what I want to volunteer for. I just cringe at the thought of doggy odors, dog hair, and a dog wanting to sit in my lap when I am too unmotivated to drive her into the back seat. And she sure as hell is not going to get in the back of the truck with Gaius but upon ocassion.
Myself, I have my own plans—taking care of my health before departing for the Philippines is foremost on my list. I see today as another “hike” day. It’s the main theme for now. Gently push, push, push.
Typical mid February day in Madera Canyon: snow, but warm, blue skies
I disdain making these changes, but I don’t have a choice if I am to get these darn kidney stones taken care of in any kind of a timely manner. I went into Tucson for my “pre-op” appointment with my urologist yesterday and when I reminded him that I would be leaving the country one week after my surgery, he scoffed, and said, not if he was doing the surgery. At first, I cancelled the surgery, but then the more I thought about it, the more I realized that would be a colossol mistake, going to the Philippines and ultimately having a serious kidney stone problem over there. I remember many years back, spending four days in a Thailand hospital and going through hell to get that taken care of. I was in so much pain I literally cried. It was like what I imagined having a baby through my ureter would be like. So, I said “ok, you win”. (I thought for sure, this had all been discussed back in the first week of January, but who was I to argue with the surgeon?!).
So all plans have been adjusted )-: Now I just have to tell Monette. She is understanding in 99% of all things…and besides, I have a little good news to balance the downside of having to wait. I’ve been undoing all my previous plans, changing flight plans—not fun—all previous appointment plans, cancelling my dive reservations for the month of March, accepting the cold reality of what all this means, and trying to move forward. My new departure time is five weeks later, April 6-8, just in the nick of time for the hot season in that portion of the tropics, followed by the rainy season. I can take the rain—but the heat, only if I am in the water.
I’ve had to cancel my reservations for diving. Hope that doesn’t cost me a wad of money. So, today I went up into Madera Canyon and re-tested my irascible knee on the Nature Trail. Gorgeous day under blue skies with mild temperatures. The knee’s not improving. I’ve decided to swing by physical therapy and tell them thanks, but no thanks. I give up on them. I told my orthoscopic surgeon same thing. I’m sure I’ll be limping around in discomfort and weakness the rest of my life, but the mood I am in right now, I don’t care. I’ve got a half dozen other complaints about my waning physical well-being, but again, so be it.
Agua Linda is not one of my favorite hikes, but it’s remote which means it is good for the dogs—a critical factor. Nobody goes just east of interstate 19 (the freeway running between Tucson and Nogales) except cattlemen, who run out that way on rutted, gated cattle roads to run their beef steers for little or nothing. It’s pretty country in small doses. Otherwise it is just endless, powder-dry, mesquite-cholla-ocotillo covered range rolling across hills and ravines, promising nothing but more of the same. You can hike it forever, but then you got to turn around and hike just as far to get back to your starting point. It’s awfully hard for me to get motivated, but it’s a good place for a couple of half wild dogs to run themselves ragged without seeing another human.
Plenty of space to run without seeing other people or dogs
We got back into the chapperal a couple of miles when we scared up a jackrabbit. I rarely see jack rabbits these days. Poor things, I think they are almost extinct. This jack rabbit had to be at least two hundred yards ahead of the dogs when they spotted it and when they did, they took off like a couple of loosed arrows, and chased that rabbit for almost a half mile. It was a good race. (I sided with the jack rabbit). The dogs finally returned, with tongues dragging in the sand, utterly and completely whipped, with no rabbit. Yeah!
Courtesy the internet: jackrabbit, built for short distance speed
Yesterday, it rained down lower and snowed just above Green Valley. I was not in the mood for facing the cold or the wet, so this was a hike day to make up for doing nothing yesterday, though it was still a little nippy. Sierran had a half dozen things he needed/wanted to do, among them: a hike, doing the last day of visiting the gem show in Tucson, visiting his Aunt Suzie at Northwestern Hospital also in Tucson who is suffering pain in her abdomen, and getting back here to Russ’s for the Superbowl.
Besa coming back from her jack rabbit chase, still smelling of skunk, and with a few cholla spines in her lips. She is all wild dog
I found myself compelled to go up the Florida Trail a couple of miles today all the way to the first active cistern, just to give Sierran’s dogs a run off the beaten track. It’s been tough. The latest challenge has been them drinking some mountain water (or eating something) and ending up with the runs. I never know where I am going to find a pile of pooh awaiting removal. Besa has regurgitated on my carpet a few days ago. It’s been no fun. But we can’t leave her out on the porch or she’ll howl and bark until the neighbors complain. Last night Gaius did a couple of rhino sized poohs out on the enclosed porch. It seems there is no end to how my patience might be challenged by these dogs. Dog hair does not even count—Gaius is a snowstorm of white hair. I am currently in my room recovering from a migrain (It happens when I don’t imbibe enough water when hiking) and now I can hear Sierran letting out a couple of expletives, probably meaning Besa has just done something forbidden, or with a little luck, maybe Sierran just lost an online chess match—who knows what.
So we took off up the Florida trail today—a trail more often than not, hiker free and greatly overgrown with 6 foot gnarly weeds. However, I was most impressed by how the trail has been completely re-done by a Forest Trail Crew. According to Russ a few days ago, the entire trail up to the pass—6 or 7 miles has been widened, boulders and apache pine trunks removed over the months! I was pleasantly shocked by the latest quality of the trail: broad, weed free, log and boulder cleared. I was stunned by the quality of improvement for such a backwoods, seldom used trail. I have forgotten how steep that trail is. Man, I ground my way across a few rushing streams, swathes of mud, and shallow layerings of snow. But the hike in general was really quite beautiful, sunny, and not terribly cold. But my march was slow, with Sierran always quite a bit ahead of me with his dogs running to and fro, up and down the trail.
It was a slow and painful slog up the ravine for me from the parking lot, but I am glad I did it. It’s been at least a year since I have tackled this semi offensive track but now I got to see for myself how pleasantly upgraded the trail is AND how repugnantly out of shape I really am. I can’t be talking about considering taking on the Camino again, or even moreso, the 750 mile Shikoku Pilgrimage in Japan when a four and a half mile hike puts me to the test. I’ve got my work cut out for me if I think I am worthy of either of these hikes. )-:
Donning foul weather gear as we proceed up the mountain with the wind blowing and snow about to let loose
We decided to go for it today despite the winter weather, adding another 2.4 miles round trip on to Bog Springs for a total of 6.2 miles and 1700 ft. elevation gain. It’s mostly about pushing the knee, testing, building up stamina. Russ kept saying we had to get an early start to beat the rain, snow, and wind scheduled for around 1 PM. In my mind, I was poo-poohing the prediction—who would think the weather prediction was going to be so accurate. Well, it was. By the time we reached Kent Springs, there was at least an inch of snowfall on the ground and it wasn’t letting up. We “touched” the cistern, then turned around and headed back down the mountain, always scarcely dodging a squall or slightly ahead of veritably stormy weather.
Snow is beginning to accumulate
Okay, I think we are set to proceed into the eye of this snowy squall.
Normally I would not take on a hike quite so marginal, but between the three of us, Sierran, Russ, and myself, all semi seasoned hikers and very knowledgible of these particular trails excepting Sierran who was basically new to winter in Madera Canyon, though a habituated outdoorsman.
Beautiful, winter weather
We forged our way up the trail, though Russ ironically suggested we might consider going back at one point due to the inclement, winter weather. I say “ironically” because I would perish long before either Sierran or Russ went, being that I was older, injured, and more out of shape than either of them. If there were going to be any problems, it would manifest in me long before them, but in my mind, it would have to take a mighty turn into the extreme to be a real threat.
Getting down out of the snow
It was an interesting, isolated, an attractive hike. All the trails and parking lots were empty. I like those conditions. Now that I am back, showered, changed out, dry and warm, the rain is riddling a steady downpour down lower, and the mountains are getting their snow. I thank my lucky stars that we did the hike and made it back before the heavens split.
Things weren’t so bad once we were below the snowline—atleast here, we have a glimpse of blue sky
Looking back on Elephant Head, as we near Quantrell Mine
Yes, nice hike! I’m up to 5.5 miles a hike, and maybe a thousand feet elevation gain each hike. Quantrell Mine is the primary hike to Little Elephant Head and Elephant Head, the latter hike being a bit of a bear, up and down two canyons, with feeble trails to within a quarter mile of the top, at which point the trail dissipates and the hiker does what he/she can do to claw his/her way to the summit. Russ and I have done that hike twice, the last time a near killer in the heat of the summer with a limited amount of drinking water. That was a scathing hike. Today we trekked the easy, old man’s version, to Quantrell, fantasizing what it might be to once again be in the kind of shape it would take for me to do the Elephant Head hike. (Now that I give it a little more thought, I don’t think Sierran’s dogs would stand much of a chance doing the Elephant Head trek—I forgot dogs can’t climb sheer rock).
The trail around the first range of hills is barely visible with Elephant Head’s peak in the background
But the Quantrell hike was good and my knee seems to be holding up. It was a beautiful day, blue skies and upper 60’s. Quantrell Mine was established in the early 1900’s primarlly for lead and zinc with traces of gold, silver, and copper. I am under the impression there were Chinese immigrants working the mine, who in my mind, probably made little more than slave wages and were treated not much better than slaves. But, who knows.
“Good, gentle, killer dog, good girl”
Quantrell Mine with Elephant Head in the background
At one time, there was a “road” that was used to get up the mountain and back up into the mine. Now it is just a foot trail remaining, surrounded by weeds and carved into stone. I looked up “Quantrell Mine” on the internet and found an article written in the same spirit I might have written a few years back. In fact, coincidentally, the guy used the name “Rubberboa”. I was thinking, what were the odds. Good photos. I liked the guy’s spirit and his writing style. Then I came across a photo, and I thought, wow, that guy looks a lot like Russ; in fact that particular photo was right where I took a picture of Russ a couple years back. Then, I looked a little closer. Hey, I wrote this article! Who posted it? I guess somebody liked it and put it on the internet. I thought, “now I am a published writer (-: “
Russ and Sierran taking a snack break atop Mustang Peak with Babaquivari on the horizon
I have had son Sierran and his two wolf-dogs come through to visit. I should say, one wolf-dog, since the other one is a well-behaved white shepherd who appreciates a good hike. The other one, Besa, is an Anatolian, bred as a sheep dog in Turkey, semi domesticated, 80% of the time a first gear, lazy dog, 20% of the time, high gear, off to kill another dog or a deer, or doing something forbidden and troublesome. She gives me anxiety knowing something bad is going to happen sooner than later. So everyday, we’ve been going for legitimate, isolated hikes to avoid a certain amount of problems, exercising my knee and letting the dogs run wild. Something, inevitably will happen to Besa: she’ll get cholla spines in her lips, legs, and other body parts, she’ll go after an animal and disappear for 5 or 10 minutes, she’ll slip her collar and almost get hit by a vehicle, or god forbid, should we run into another hiker with dogs on the trail, some other kind of trouble could happen—that’s why we go on hikes as far away from human interaction as possible. In my mind, Sierran has never really trained her, but I would not make that bitch too vociferously to him.
Scanning east
The three of us, Russ, Sierran, and myself, headed off to Arivaca yesterday, an out of the way small town divided between hippy spirits and militia types ocassionally gathering to patrol for illegal aliens wandering south across the border, headed Tucson way. It’s an interesting town. We go through Arivaca enroute to Buena Vista wildlife refuse to do the semi remote Mustang Trail up to Mustang Peak and back, a five mile round trip through some picturesque hill country. It’s very rare I run into anybody back in these hills just north of the border, though I have seen lots of alien signs.
A bit of a test to my knee—much steeper than this photo projects
Up on the “ridge”, about half way up the mountain, Sierran lost a roll of $100 bills on the trail AND DID NOT KNOW IT! So we are sitting up on the peak visiting and some gal with an accent from somewhere in the great continent of Africa, daughter of a diplomat, protrudes over the crest, at least a mile above and beyond the ridge where we pause to take our first view, and holds up about $1000 worth of bills and says, “did somebody lose this?”. Sierran had walked down thirty feet to meet her when she first appeared. He taps his vest pocket and realizes his money is gone! Unbelievably, she has hiked this extra ragged mile to find the owner of the roll just to return it. She returns the money, exchanges a few amiable words, then abruptly is on her way back down the mountain. I am thinking, I wish I had taken a picture of her, but the thought did not occur to me for several minutes and by then, she was long gone. She was either creating a lot of good karma or Sierran has a lot, or maybe both.
What are the odds of getting this returned to you?
Since my “electric needle” injections they started giving me 10 days ago to jump start improvement on my knee, I’ve finally started doing some more interesting hikes, getting back into the swing of things, coincidentally since Sierran has arrived. We’ve done Rio Rito, Boggs Springs, and now Mustang, all five mile hikes and my knee is holding up. Today, the three of us are headed into Tucson for the world’s largest and most famous gem and mineral show, then tomorrow, I hope to do 5.5 mile Quantrell Mine Trail, the route to Elephant Head.
Russ viewing the hills to the southeast…or maybe taking a pee…who knows
When we returned from Mustang Pk., a healthy, stout hike of sunshine and mild temperatures, we drove back through Arivaca. I like the blue grass spirit of the local bar, Gitano, Hindu named. We had a drink and listened to some good music until maybe 3 PM in the afternoon, at which time we headed back to Green Valley. A very pleasant day.
Wow! For sale! Nice place.
Guias, a good dog, waiting patiently in the back of the truck while we have a beer
rubberboa 