Cold Camping, 16 to 18 April 2009

With our dog Keesha, Fred and I left home at mile mark 114 (183 km mark) at 11 AM to drive up to our 40 acres in northern Arizona. We stopped in Clifton at the old Train Depot to look at the railroad stuff and then proceeded up hill to the Morenci copper mine. Stopped for a photo. The mine geography changes every time we visit, mounds of earth moved, relocated, new deep holes dug in this enormous open pit mine. Even the very road (US Highway 191) is moved over here or over there.

Finally we drove up into the evergreen trees of Apache National Forest (the White Mountains) and stopped at Cherry Lodge picnic site for lunch. The namesake Cherry trees were displaying their pink blooms. Little information is available to explain why there are these few domesticated fruit trees in this wilderness.

We continued driving up the very crooked Coronado Trail, scenic but one of the twistiest roads in the US. Over 400 switchbacks over the 123 mile (197 km.) route.

When we passed Rose Peak which is 8786 feet, (2678 meters), (and a peak we can see from our house), we began to note snow piles in the shady woods, remnants of winter. To our delight we stopped to watch a small herd of Mule Deer grazing near the road. After another 100+ curves in the road, we finally arrived above 9000 feet (2743 m.) at Blue Vista, a lookout point with nothing but wilderness to see. The road straightens a bit as it goes north in the high country of fir and Ponderosa Pine trees. Finally we traveled through the scenic mountain town of Alpine, then up across another mountain pass next to 10900 foot, 3322 m. Escudilla Mountain. Finally descending to grassland at Springerville and St. John’s. Near there we saw outcroppings along the road of the Chinle formation, which is the main soil type of the Painted Desert. It gives slim pickings for the cattle range that is the main use of the hundreds of square miles of this sparsely populated part of Eastern Arizona. Chinle has a remarkable variety of color, from grey, to blue, to red, and shades in between.

Elevation begins to rise as we continued north up on the Colorado Plateau. Junipers and cedar trees predominated. And at the 339 mile (545 km) mark on Highway 191 we reached the turn off to our wilderness retreat. It is a slow 5 miles (8 km.) of 4-wheel drive only to reach our acreage. But it is worth the trouble. A spectacular view to the north of ridge after ridge of treed wilderness, and nothing but wilderness in every other direction too. No houses, no roads, no man-made sounds. At night: no lights, just stars…

After driving up our “driveway” and I use that term very loosely, we set up camp where we always do, a level spot with a tremendous view. Quickly Fred got the fire going as the temperature was dropping precipitously. The forecast had warned it might dip below freezing and it sure felt like it. A hurried supper prepared on a gas stove that would not cooperate, and piling more wood on the fire as it got colder and colder, until finally I decided to go to bed to get cozy. I had no idea how cold it would get…

This was the dog’s first overnight camping experience and she tentatively crept into the tent. She started to make herself at home on Fred’s side of the sleeping bag so I had to teach her that she had to lay on the other side of me. Sadly she curled up outside the sleeping bag.

I slept right through, 8 hours and woke with the first light, before 6 AM. It felt cold, but I didn’t realize how cold until I got outside the tent. The tent fabric was iced, the car was coated in frost, the dog’s water dish was frozen solid. I checked the thermometer and it was 18° (-9°C) Whoooaaaaa cold! We quickly relit the campfire from the embers of the last night’s fire. Fred fixed the cranky camp stove and we had hot coffee and I had hot oatmeal as fast as possible. Fred put the dog’s plastic water bowl near the fire. I thought it was a bad idea, but it did start to thaw the water, and then the plastic began to melt… After that the dog had a sick looking bowl, but it still held water.

After breakfast the sky began to look threatening. Grey clouds were rolling in from the north. Then sure enough, it began to snow. Fortunately it was just a brief storm.

After the snowfall we decided to go on a hike. It is just over a mile (1.7 km) to a very old, but still working windmill that pumps water for the cattle and wildlife in the area. We walked due west according to our little Garmin GPS. The wind and cold continued so even walking didn’t warm us up too much. After photos and finding a pile of blue feathers, the remains of an unfortunate bird, we headed back and slogging through the sand made it feel like longer than that mile or so. Our warm sweet-smelling juniper wood campfire was a welcome sight.

The wind constantly blew at a strong rate. So I spent most of the day near the fire. In the afternoon I did some target shooting with our nice Italian-made Gamo .177 caliber air rifle. I’m a fair marksman if I do say so myself.

I spent the day collecting a few pottery shards from the prehistoric pueblo people that used to live in this area. Then I read a book about Søren Kierkegaard as I sat near the fire. And also did a few yoga poses on a blanket in the lee of the fire. Too cold to get far from the fire!

For supper I made hamburgers over the open fire. I timed the meal so it was finished before darkness fell because the previous night it was difficult to maneuver in the cold and by the light of the Coleman lantern.

We sat by the fire for a long time, as the wind had calmed and the stars were out, although it was still getting chilly. The dog had learned how to sit close to the warmth, overcoming her initial fearfulness of the flames.

After another long sleep I woke the next morning to a balmy 28° (-3°) The sun was bright and the temperature shot up fast so that by the time we left at 11 AM, it was shirt-sleeve weather.
After re-tracing our 5 mile (8 km.) route on the sand road, or road suggestion (!), we turned north on Highway 191 to Sanders, a small town of 500 in the southeast corner of the great Navajo Indian Reservation. Bought a tasty Navajo Taco at a lunch stand and then preceded west on Interstate 40. After 30 miles (42 km.) I exited the highway at the Painted Desert.

A semi-circular road takes one past the gift shop and one of two official visitor centers, then past eight overlooks. We stopped at Chinde Point for lunch on this beautiful afternoon. The colors of the chinle formations are so amazing. They change with the time of day and the cloud cover. I was most impressed by the variety of reds, a result of iron oxidation.

On down the road we went, driving over Interstate 40 again, then across a great grassland where we stopped to observe a herd of 11 pronghorn antelope. Animals are protected within the boundaries of a National Park, so these were lucky antelope indeed.

We drove over the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railway line and then passed into the petrified logs section of the Petrified Forest National Park. We stopped at Newspaper Rock which gave an overview of several cliffside rocks containing 650 petroglyphs. There are eight places to stop and explore various fossils, an archeological site and many types of petrified logs. We didn’t tarry long as time was slipping away. But did stop to take each other’s picture next to a couple huge fossil logs.

When we entered the Park, a ranger bagged and tied a chunk of petrified wood that I had picked up on our land. Cars are subject to search if there is suspicion that a visitor is stealing pieces of petrified wood or other antiquities from the Park. With a million visitors to the Petrified Forest every year - if everyone just took one piece… it wouldn’t take long before there was no “Forest” left to see.

After buying a boatload of postcards and a couple books in the Petrified Forest Visitor Center, we left the Park and headed south. In St. John’s we called Fred’s son to go and feed our animals since we were still so far from home and it was 4 PM. While driving back up into the White Mountains we saw a small herd of Elk. Then we stopped in Alpine to eat supper at the Bear Wallow Café. From there I chose to drive the straighter route south through New Mexico, more miles, but easier, no hairpin bends. Just before full dark, we passed a handful of Javelina (or Collard Peccary) on the side of the road. And it was 10 PM when we finally turned into our driveway.

We had seen so many wild animals, beautiful vistas, petrified wood, mountains and grasslands, snow and sun. Once home, it was just nice to get a shower and clean off that smoky campfire smell. And find a jammed mailbox of letters and postcards for me!

Outback Adventure In My Backyard

We had the whole day on April 6 to leisurely drive the 85 miles (136 km) or so around our 10,800 foot (3300 meter) “sky island” - so called because it is such a tall peak, set amid the usual Sonoran desert landscape. The experts say that traveling up to the top of Mt Graham is like moving from Mexico to Canada in biological life zones. But this day we intended to spend in the grassland zone at the highland base.

After picking up a couple Subway sandwiches and filling up with gas, the husband, the dog and I left town in our Toyota RAV4 for a day in very remote parts of Graham county. We turned south on unpaved Klondyke Road at Eden, Arizona and about 10 miles (16 km) out came to the site of the 1889 Wham paymaster robbery that netted thieves a half million in gold and silver coin. It was intended to be paid out at nearby Fort Thomas and at Fort Apache on the White River in the White Mountains. Three good Army mules died in the attack, but fortunately for the 12 Buffalo soldiers guarding the wagon train only 8 men sustained non-fatal wounds. Sadly Major Wham’s Army career suffered badly from this incident although it was hardly his fault. The road passed through a defile, or narrow rocky passage that was perfect for an ambush. The bandits had the advantage of higher ground, defensive works, repeating rifles, secrecy and surprise. However 7 “cowboys” were arrested and tried for the crime but all were found innocent by the jury. It was a great sensational trial and the embarrassment of the authorities at being unable to have safe passage in Graham County led to less than favorable opinions when it came to admitting Arizona to the Union as a state. Statehood was delayed for years as a direct result of this lawless incident, the ambush at Bloody Run.

We proceeded down Klondyke Road and explored up Cedar Springs Road. Ate lunch up in a jumble of giant Granite boulders that look as if a giant child was playing with rocks and got tired or bored and left everything a hodgepodge. Small caves and narrow passages create a marvelous place to play hide and seek.

Next we drove down into Aravaipa Canyon, causing a deer to stop and give us a look, which we repaid. But mostly we saw cattle. Brown cattle, red cattle, and lots of black cattle. Calves, cows, and several bulls - a couple who reluctantly moved off the road for us.

We explored up Forest Road 672 which would have been the route of the Army wagons took after leaving Fort Grant that May 11th 1889, nearly 120 years ago. Discovered a nicely built animal water tank with a constant flow of clean, clear mountain water. Snow is melting off Mt Graham so despite the drought in the lower elevations, plenty of refreshment can be channeled into catchments for cattle and wildlife. I went to wash my hands from eating an orange when my dog decided to honor her herding heritage and she went after a couple mama cows and calves. It is beyond me why a 500 pound (226 kg) cow runs for her life when pursued by a 50 pound (22 kg) dog.

We drove through the tiny old ranching settlement of Bonita, Arizona and then headed up on a paved road through Stockton Pass on the south side of Mt Graham. At a level area the Forest Service maintains a pleasant picnic and campsite at the 5700 foot (1740 meter) level where we stopped for a snack of strawberries and bananas. It’s grassy with mature Juniper and Oak trees and so scenic because it’s up close to the steep mountain flank that rises to 9,000 feet (2740 meters) right above you.

From there it is a downhill road back to our little rancho on the east side of Mt Graham. Back to civilization.

Quicksand

The following account is a short fiction:

Quicksand

His words came back to me now, "Watch out for quicksand." I felt the tightening grip on my feet, my legs. So far from the trail I trotted off, to answer the call of nature. How ironic. Was this now nature's last word?

Vaguely I recalled I was supposed to swim, but with only my legs, well, now my knees?

I hoped this wasn't very deep as I struggled. I tried to recall which side of a creek was the deepest. Can't recall. Outside of the bend? Inside? I'm probably in the deepest part. It's my luck, or destiny.

Now at my waist, I can see the world rising higher above me. At a child's height this wilderness looks more ominous. The leaves whisper as I struggle. Can anything be more foreboding than the level reaching my chest?

Nobody around to witness me. I went hiking alone in this lovely lush Utah riparian area. And it is a deep creek bed, crowded with vegetation. All factors that absorb sound. Absorb breath. I yell anyway. It sounds...useless.

I live 50 years and this is it? No fanfare except the fanning of my arms as it reaches my neck.

Oh God, it's a vulture overhead! The sun is right in my eyes now as I look downstream. Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be hikers. Crazy thoughts like this race through my head. When was the last time someone died by quicksand in the US?

It feels like I've been stuck in this gooey, sticky mud for hours. I'm cold, cold and really, really stuck. Darkness is coming; I'm exhausted. They'll find me tomorrow. Just follow the vultures. I'll probably make the National news.

Is that the sky starting to lighten? Am I dead or alive? Strong hands have a hold of body parts I am not even sure are mine anymore. It was a trial of endurance. So thankful they found me.

Later I died of pneumonia, but much, much later. It had that same suffocating feeling. But without the vultures.

Blacksmith Competition

Less than an hour away, in Willcox, Arizona, I went for 2 days to see the World Championship Blacksmith’s in action. They had about 40 iron hammering men from all over the USA competing at horseshoe making, and horse-shoeing. They had 10 semi-portable coal (or coke) burning forges running hot and the guys got the iron cherry red and hammered and hammered. Powerful biceps muscles were the norm. Are you listening single ladies?

I might add, my husband is a Blacksmith hobbyist. I bought him 2 bags of coke ( a processed coal product, not cocaine) - how romantic, huh?

One thing about handmade iron products. They don’t break, rip, tear, spoil, or rot. If kept in damp conditions they might rust away in couple or ten generations. Who cares by then?

The champion blacksmiths were judged by a panel of 4 or 5 men, one from Europe. I watched the British blacksmith demonstrating some forging techniques. But it was a man born in Alaska and now living in California who impressed me. He had iron bent into horse heads, birds, and flowers, as well as fine utility hammers and many other ornamental and useful items. What a master craftsman!

In the end, I think it was another California guy won the competition.

Strike while the iron is hot, has a solid foundational meaning.

Rain, Yoga, Oranges, and Fiction

A light rain is falling this morning. It's so welcome because it has been achingly dry for weeks. In fact I was in Tucson yesterday and the high temperature was 80° (26°C) and even after the sun went down it stayed very nice. This was a record breaking heat. (It is January after all, mid-winter!)

This is my trip to Tucson--

At a craft store I bought paper items for the homemade Valentine's cards I am making for friends. At a discount store I got a second pair of yoga pants for my new avocation. On sale $13. I paid twice that for my first pair. But when I went to pay for it, the cashier rang it up for $15. I told her it was on sale and there was a big delay, much fumbling around, button pushing, cancelling, refunding, on and on. I apologized to the person behind me in line. Finally I was charged $13. Finally. It took them a while to get on "Target".

I discovered a new-to-me grocery (Sunflower) that carries organic food, bulk items, and wonderful fresh produce. The apples and oranges are things of beauty. Oranges are in season in Arizona but possibly these come from the Imperial Valley of California, which is only 5 hours away. The Imperial Valley is probably the most intensely farmed region in the US, especially in winter.

Since I have become interested in a lap top and an iPod (or an MP3/4 player), I window-shopped for them, checked out what is on sale. It is tough to decide what I will like, never having had these items. So I am soliciting opinions from friends.

My reckless, spur of the moment purchase is a book written by a Norwegian, Per Petterson. Out Stealing Horses was on my "wish list" for a year and when I saw it at a special price, I could not resist. I need another book like another hole in my head. But for a European author of this generation, who has horses in his novel, well, I have a soft spot.

So this is the humdrum day in my life. Rain, yoga, oranges and fiction.

Yoga

I started my spring semester class in Hatha Yoga. Now I wonder why I waited so long to do it. First class was mainly about breathing and what yoga is/isn't. I have my own yoga mat and I bought a pair of stretchy pants so I was prepared. My class is a mix of ages, experience and even has one man in it. He rides mules so I will have to engage him in equine conversation sometime.

My goal is to learn to listen better to my body and become more flexible and fluid. I am not really interested in being able to twist myself into a pretzel. But it would be very cool if I could one day do a full lotus.

For years I have tried to learn yoga from books and magazines. Today people think the Internet has all the answers. But there is something to be said for a pair of real eyes to guide one in a new direction. Similar to horseback riding, where one can learn to ride by themselves, but an observer can correct sloppy form by telling you that your stirrups are too short or your reins are too tight or you are leaning. Bad riding form does not always lead to falling off but it can give the horse a pain in the back! As for yoga, bad form is still yoga, but one will get more satisfaction and results if a knowledgeable observer can sharpen your movement.

I think I will go practice savasana.

For Baby-Boomers

When the moon is in the seventh house
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And Love will steer the stars

How simple life was when we were living in the age of Aquarius. But what the Water-Bearer brought was more of the same. From peasant blouses and flowers in our hair, to a ponzi scheme that financially wiped out millions of people. The full moon shines down tonight. We are all equally guilty as we were all so equally naive. The moon is not the source of light, it merely reflects the sun. We have landed several probes on Mars. After the flower, child, comes the cold hard winter. It is best that we come together; for surely we will die apart.

3 Months, Briefly

It has been awhile since I posted. Nothing much has happened. Except:

My husband had to be hospitalized for his heart.

Went on a 9 day vacation to southern Colorado, camped in 3 National Parks, took 200 photos, bought pumpkins from a Navajo guy.

My best horse died suddenly. **cry**

Changed medicines.

Rode motorcycles.

My back "went out" on me for over a week.

My neck was a pain, in the neck (oddly enough), for 4 days.

Started the Christmas madness, including walking on the house roof. Certainly is helpful that I am not afraid of heights or get vertigo.

Other than that, not much in my life.

Personal

I'm going to get personal now. Previously I have been very careful to not reveal the real Occam. After all, the Internet is full of weirdos, right? I have come to realize that I flatter myself that any weirdo would chose to harass me. So, here is the truth: I'm really a 5 year old beauty queen from Wasilla, Alaska. No? Okay, I'm really a retired sports hero in drag. No? If you really must know, I am a high school drop-out who won a lottery and my blog is ghost written.

I confess. Still not ready for those hordes of perverts I am sure will descend on my remote ranch, should my real identity be known. Actually it is for their own protection. My sweet, darling German Shepherd dog becomes curled lips, shiny teeth and low growls if anyone even thinks of coming down our driveway.

This will be a slight problem if I should have to be out of town for an emergency. Anyone engaged to come and feed the animals would have to stand 2 meters away from said darling, sweet fanged terror and throw food at her. I got her as an adult so I don't know what her previous owners did or didn't do to socialize her. But she's a pretty good guard dog, that's for sure.

Personally, I really love animals. I should have tried harder to go to Vet school. I like everything about them: when they are charming, when I have to clean up after them, when I have to groom them, administer shots, etc.

Possibly the only thing I dislike is when they die. I really hate that. That is something I am going to gripe to God about when I meet the Big Guy in the Sky. Why do pets have to die so young? Kids -and adults - have such a hard time with their passing, especially if violent. Maybe I should get one of those large birds; they have a long life span.

I will not accept the explanation that dealing with the death of animals prepares one for the death of people. I am really selfish. I want all my friends and family to live forever so I won't have to mourn them. I decided when I was age 11 that I was going to die young, so I wouldn't have to lose my parents. Well, that didn't work out. I had to bury them in 1993 and 2002. It's hard. No, no list of dead pet animals can prepare one for losing your dear parents. I am not even going to discuss losing a child. That is so contrary to the normal.

I guess I did get a little personal. Life and death is rather heavy though. No cute one liner to end this time.

Columbine

Columbine, or Aquilegia, is a native wildflower in the rarefied air in the high elevations of the Mountain. This showy, spurred yellow-flowered variety is a treat to find along streams or in damp places. It grows up to 4 feet tall, with it's lacy leaves looking fragile but somehow this tough, hardy perennial has survived fire, drought, logging, etc. and continues to delight explorers of the Arizona high country.