Return to Tortolita II


We have been visiting/hiking the ‘ol walking trails in the Tortolita Mountains, northwest of Tucson, where I used to live. Now, we are going to investigate the strawbale home that I built and the destruction of habitat where my stealth trail and Havarock sat. Both near the spot that Javalina kept as a safe home. I know that a road and building pads have been introduced. I don’t know how extensive.

The series in this website“My Private Place for Naturism” is about my experiences in this place.

We walk up my old driveway. There has been no disturbance here in a long time, no tracks and debris. I check the remnants of my former life sitting here and there. We pass on to the porch. The brand new stainless steel fridge is still sitting there, as it has been for a full year. When are those folks moving out here and retiring?

Packrats are digging. We have some concern for the privacy walls.

The saguaro that I rescued from my parent’s house is doing very well. It has grown. It sat stunted in a bad planting for 40 years. It will continue to flourish.

We walk back to the sweat. The doors are rotting, as things will decay with neglect. A carpet of low dry grass is everywhere. Packrats have completely clogged the sauna heater. The feel is a sort of ghost town in effect.

I can see the rocks piled and the flattened ridge above to the north. I climb through the brush and cactus carefully. There is now a building pad there a few hundred feet from my strawbale creation.  It has a flat area with a long view out in three directions across the valley.

We follow the new drive along the formerly imaginary property line.  Going through a wrought iron gate, around a new well, and my heart sinks. “On no!” I say to no one in particular. I brace myself inside, just in case. There is another building pad and it could be on Havarock!

I make each individual step across the flat eyesore, with trepidation. Like the other, they have leveled the ridge top and placed the site for a vista, dismissing the lush valley below on their property. I see Havarock and the no longer hidden cove below. It all looks intact, safe for now.

I pull the Velcro on my kilt away and fold the cloth. I survey enough clear desert to climb down unobstructed and make my way. Zig-zagging, watching each step for burrs and unsecured rocks, I can climb through the back way to my rock.

It is still just as perfect to sit upon. Warmed, I toss my belongings away to just enjoy it, naked and bare to everything. DF arrives and similarly rekindles the spirit here. We sit silent. I lay back, she joins me at my side. We watch the sky, listen to the silence, and feel embraced.

I look over to the low hackberry that was home to the javalina and see it disturbed under the grouping of plants. The javalina have been here. Now that a road and pads are built, there isn’t enough racket and disturbance to keep them from coming back.

It is still a place to nest, but it is on the edge of what will become someone’s backyard. A big house will be looming above, close. It will be where a large buck once watched me, as I sunbathed.

I feel tears welling up. I know that this may be the last time for me at Havarock. I have been sitting here, and been nurtured here for 25 years. This is a jewel in this world. It has been such a cure, a solace, a teacher, a joy.


The sun is going to go down and the chill will arrive. I decide to try to use the stealth path back to the sweat and then the waiting SUV. I pick up a couple more of the burgundy quartz and granite rocks that I have carried from here, like the dozens of times before.

The stealth trail is probably more pronounced than it was when I lived here. It is the most practical route and the animals have taken up its suggestion. I find it easily with the few landmarks that I always used. I’m at home.

Things have changed. The grand saguaro that I watched slowly die, rot, shed its green and bare its skeleton has now finally fallen from its roots. It is a meaningful finality. It’s what I feel. It is time to divorce myself from this place. I was led away in the nick of time, a time that was perfect and blessed. I have a new and different life.   Roaming through memories and lessons learned, this day has been another step away.

We sit our things down at the sweat. A shiny penny that I left there years before still sits where I placed it. It’s now tarnished and dusty.

I walk over to the energy vortex circle in reverence and stand. It is potent. It is earth energies that I can get in few places. I am amazed at how special and precious a gem that this is.

DF and I stand to just feel, to silence the minds, finding the presence, the grounding and it happens. I know the spiritual growth that occurred here. It still sustains me. It heals me and I am prepared to let go, to leave. This is something not portable, I know it nowhere else. Perhaps, when I need it, something like it will appear again.

I think about all of the sadness of the day. I was helped to realize that my new life has begun and it is a blessing. Give time, time. Trust and believe.

In the archives, there is a whole series about the stealth trail and Havarock/Javarock called “My Private Place for Naturism. “ They are found listed in “The Table of Contents” at the top of this page.

Incidentally, for those who don’t know, Javalina the desert wild pig-like critter, is pronounced “have-a lina.” This is how I came to the double entandre, “Have-a-rock.”

I frequent You are invited to join us to discuss anything naturist.

© The owners of as of the year 2015 declare. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Post navigation

2 thoughts on “Return to Tortolita II

  1. Pingback: Return to Tortolita II | EcoNudes

  2. Joe Borcynski

    One of the most moving entries I have read. Maybe it’s because I’m 76, and have many of the same thoughts and reactions to the “old places.” Thanks. Loved the photos with the beautifully shaped shadows holding the camera.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at

%d bloggers like this: