White Mountain Retreat: Pt1

Heading Home

2023-06-21

Have you ever gotten to that point where you can feel that you need a reset? When every day you feel just a bit off, there is pressure, a long “to do” list and the ‘ol inner peace isn’t there?

I felt that I had lost track of the essence of my center. DF would say, “Not grounded.” Sometimes, that shut off button needs to be pushed. The clutter replaced with a pause, a stop.

We spent the first couple of weeks in June getting ready for the Western Naturist Gathering and the coming glamp-out. It is to be a sojourn, a retreat. The June heat is coming and we won’t come back until the monsoon rains cool that off. It will be like Spring after a long Winter, a fifth season.

I like that word “re-treat.” Our destination is a spot that I had chosen before, but that attempted treat came crashing down as covid laid me flat in this wilderness, alone, but for the howl of the Mexican grey wolves.

It is a beautiful spot in the National Forest, a designated wilderness where cattle are forbidden, and all is left to its own nature. There will be nobody else for miles and many long deserted roads to wander through the forest. We will happen upon the many gems yet to be discovered. There will be no dress code, only the immersion into nature.

We leave at the sunrise of the solstice to climb the mountains from Tucson at 2500 feet to our 9600 foot perch in the White Mountains. The air will heat up and so will a few cars today. We don’t want the risk of being one of those. The SUV is packed absolutely full. Utilizing every square inch, a huge puzzle has been tucked into the back and some tied to the roof of the car. We’ll be set in comfort for weeks, maybe three and we have what we need.

The journey is five to six hours of winding roads. I bought gas last night, wearing the last clothing that we will need for the trip there. At a point, there is a bad grade and I have to down shift a couple of times. The air conditioner is shut off for more power. The opened windows allow a flood of air into the cab, dancing around our bare bodies.

It feels good. We decide to leave the windows down. The elevation will keep the air cool and fresh. I grab my hat and DF ties her gorgeous locks up.

We slowly climb and then lose altitude, several times.  We have decided that there is no hurry today. The vistas pass, we smell the desert and then the pines.

We approach the Salt River Canyon, descending with caution. There is a lot of additional weight and this place has taken the lives of friends. It is magnificent, but I wait until the climb out, before I allow myself to take in the incredible view. It is a massive grand canyon layered with orange and red rock cliffs dropping over two thousand feet to the river in a series of switchbacks.

After the canyon, it will be smooth sailing in mild mid-week traffic. Vistas reach out nearly to New Mexico.  Dry pinion pine gives up the terrain to a taller forest through the Apache Indian Reservation.

We have been researching online for places to supply fresh organic produce, five gallon jugs of drinking water and block ice, which will be needed at least each week. It feels like a good time for a break in Show Low (Yes named after a card game in the Wild West).

We find a local health food store. In the parking lot, we climb out feeling too stiff to slip into coverings in the confines of the truck. We find ourselves in a long body stretch.

It is a small family owned store. A young boy mans the cash register and mom greets the two rough looking strangers in kilt and Hawaii sundress. This is a good find in this part of Arizona.

A kombucha soda later, we strip and begin the last leg of our journey. We spend a half an hour traveling through the long series of businesses that support the throng of summer visitors. Soon enough, the Hon-Dah Resort Casino tells us that we’re back onto the “rez.”

From here we slowly climb another couple of thousand feet. The scrub oak that was dispersed amongst the pines is replaced with white aspen accents. At the view of the ski lodge and the fence that stops the snow from drifting, the sign again says National Forest.

We turn and switch into four-wheel high for the slippery chip seal and dirt roads. I step out to turn the front lockers on my hubs. I’m exposed in the wide open field. A blast of mountain wind chills my body, startling me. I instantly feel more alive. This is not the Sonoran Desert anymore.

We find our turn from memory. It isn’t an official road. It hasn’t improved. I drive, passing a previous camp spot at a gentle spring and its creek. There’s a dip with the splash. The water is running strong from the wet winter snows and rains.

I joke about our “gated community” where we have our “summer house.” DF gets out, unhinging and shifting the barbed wire and sticks. I drive through. It take two of us to push the wood post back and loop the wire around to re-secure the primitive cowboy contraption.

From here, we are in designated wilderness. The road immediately reflects that. Still dry, the old ruts, rocks and overgrowth welcome us back home.

A fallen spruce lies on each side of the road, a section gone, sawed to allow us to continue.

A large aspen has fallen across the intersection of two fire-roads close to home. I have concerns; it looks bad. As we approach, we see that there is a new drive around the debris managed by the quads and ATV’s, that frequent the area.

We arrive at the two small pine bushes that accent each side of our “estate driveway.” After a more rocky bounce up the hill than we remember, the driveway has us dodging several sharp rocks that could puncture a side wall.

It is as we had left it, other than yet another dead-fall tree across the entrance. DF gets out to check out the blockage.  I sit and watch as she squats and grabs the stalk, lifting with her legs. It breaks!

She looks amazing as she tosses it away like a nude movie super heroine.

She raises her arms victorious and laughs.

There is another section across the ground. I just drive over that bump. I hear a crack. This is a heavy truck today.

A little manipulation with a five point turn under DF directions and we have placed the chuckwagon kitchen in the old grooves between the trees.

We’re home. It feels very very good.

The pile of wood that I left last time, in 2020, is still there waiting. This tells us that, as we have wished, we will get seclusion and peace here…naked.

What to do?…nothin’.

We knew when we left, that we would get up here after a long drive and late packing the night before. We have brought an extra quick tent. The “summer house” arrangement is a four meter diameter canvas bell tent. The mess takes as long as three hours, or more to set up and arrange. We have the option to just spend an evening under the stars, as we have on our numerous car camping trips. The thing can wait until tomorrow. We also consider the altitude. We both feel a little out of breath.

I pull out the chairs and tent bundle from the tailgate, careful not to have a dozen other pieces spring out with it. We just sit down and breathe. We listen. It’s quiet, just some wind in the trees. There are no clouds. The air is pleasant with its light breeze. I can feel the intensity of the radiant sun at this elevation on my exposed body. What else could we need to reset.

After a while, we take a very short walk. We survey the tent site, the neighborhood and anticipate the coming evening show. Tonight, we have the solstice and full supermoon at sunset, in the great field on top of the world.

More to come. I’ll get around to completing last few of the Georgia and back series, too.

I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.

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