The High Way was rocky. It is not an expressway.

 

“Do you want to drive up the road a way this morning and then hike?” “Sure!” For such a day we'll have with (and on) us water and snacks and extra outerwear that we’ll end up shedding and carrying -- snacks because energy expended needs to be replaced along the way, and extra outerwear because when the temperature is 30ºF and part of your way lies in the shade, you need those extra layers. Taking the car partway up the road once in a while spares us a repetitious beginning to a new adventure.

 

Because the general neighborhood is a familiar one. From this morning’s trailhead we could have re-experienced either the Dives Mine ruins we explored on February 18 or our narrow rocky canyon expedition a month later. (I've figured out now that we were not in Walnut Canyon, after all, but would have reached Walnut Springs had we gone on -- confusing!) Both were hikes we’d enjoyed on other days, but today we agreed we’d rather hike in the sun. It was a cold morning. 

 

As usual, the dogs wasted no time in finding a bone. And when they tired of it, Therese took a turn at play.

Our way down the wash lay mostly in shade, without any fast, easy way to get quickly from shade to sunshine, but exploring a new and unfamiliar section of wash is always a pleasure. This one was very deep – wide and gravelly for long stretches, and in at least one place narrowing to pass through bedrock.

The road is above on left, which explains our long detour to get here.

 

Dogs are excellent hiking companions1

The force of nature -- rushing, flooding water -- embedded rocks in this old tree.

Bedrock prevents widening of the wash here. 

Rock fall. Sunshine.

Coming into the sunshine at last, we sighed at the beauty of an alluring rocky promontory high above us. “Shall we try it?” “Yes!” Instead of going back into the landscape, as we had done in this vicinity on previous occasions, this time we would go up!

A cow path between two deep ravines on the steep slope made the climb seem almost civilized at first, but that didn’t last long. (It never does.) Stopping to investigate flowering plants and cacti along the way, though, is as important as climbing, and there is something exhilarating about being above treetops and watching birds from above rather than from below.

Looking down and back

Pincushion cacti

Desert verbena -- there will be much more soon.

Finding a government survey stake from 1938 was exciting to me, as it brought back the memory of the bearing tree I found in the U.P. one September day and how I told the Artist he could sprinkle my ashes there if I were to die first. Perhaps strangely, that northern Michigan memory made an Arizona marker more meaningful to me.

But onward and upward we go -- after another look down, remembering another day.

Footing was treacherous. This was a very steep incline, with many, many loose rocks at every step of the way. Every single step we took had to be carefully considered. Our four-footed companions were show-offs, running and leaping and gamboling like goats, while we two-leggeds went slowly and cautiously and stopped more than once to appreciate the views. Okay, I stopped most often....

All those little gullies would carry water down to the big wash during monsoon rain.

Reaching the high, exposed rocks at last was immensely satisfying! My hiking partner spotted three deer far, far below (far enough below that the dogs never realized what they had missed, which was a good thing), and the quiet and stillness of a blue sky mountain morning, blessedly free of recent winds plaguing the ghost town, added to our pleasure.

We might have continued to linger and bask in sunlight and accomplishment, except that Therese, exploring among the boulders, found large animal scat. “Bear?” I asked. “No, but maybe a big cat. We’d better go down.” And so we left that magic place. But we were there! We did it!

 

Down, on a serious slope, especially one covered with loose rock, is even more challenging than up. Regardless of my appearance in the image here below, with floppy hat askew, I am not drunk, only shading my eyes from the sun without having the hat sit too tightly on my head. I’m also taking the smallest old lady steps possible, stopping frequently to consider the ground ahead and below me before taking the next little old lady step. You don’t hustle straight up or down on terrain like this: a zig-zagging diagonal is best, though one also has to consider vegetation and often take an extra zip or zag around something spiny or prickly or thorny. The dogs descend with much more grace and agility.

Not drunk, just looking that way

Yogi!

What a hike! Almost a climb, really. We set out with no real plan, nothing more than a starting point, and  stopped several times along the way to consider our options, and it worked out great, though my legs were really feeling it by the time we reached the car again. And back at the cabin, Sunny settled in for some serious resting. 

Tired dog, spoiled dog!

To put things in perspective, I offer an image from our canyon day and another from this morning.

Today's summit from another day's canyon --

-- and the other day's canyon from our way to this morning's summit.

Thanks for coming along with Sunny and me on another Cochise County, Arizona, adventure. 

 

When I despair at the state of things, rocks always offer some comfort. I see gneisses and limestones and granites, greenstones and blueschists and red beds, and I think to myself, what a wonderful world. 

 

-      Marcia Bjornerud, Reading the Rocks: The Autobiography of the Earth

Wonderful world!