Bug Spring South

2023-08-23

DF is driving us up the scenic Mt. Lemon Highway. This is a rare occurrence. It’s been many decades since I have not been the driver on Mt Lemon. The views are fantastic of course, but today, I am seeing details, as if for a first time. The mountain air is flowing through the windows; I’m barefoot all over.

Approaching the parking lot, there is a biker in very low gear aside the road. I figure that he will arrive as I’m getting out of the car to put on my wrap-around cover. I also see another biker, who is just standing in the parking lot when we arrive, but he is on the driver side of the car and I’m a passenger. So, I wait a moment and focus on putting on my hiking shoes.

The biker arrives and then pedals up the steep hill to the kiosk and trail map, while I change out of my fully nude outfit. I simply place a kilt across my lap. He looks at the map with his head sideways, squinting.  He then pulls out a quick vape and leaves.

From the parking lot, I see him through a break in the trees on the slope above. He is taking our planned trail. In front of us, I see that he is walking his bike up the steep long hill climb. I wonder if he will decide to come back in defeat. It is quite an initial climb. I keep the kilt on.

This is the long haul that I remember from our last visit. When DF realizes that we are only half way up the hillside, her eyes widen and then a look of disappointment crosses her face, before resolve.

I trudge on step by step, determined to at least get to the top before I have my impending heart attack. I begin to feel it in my calves and my hard breathing in the center of my chest. I’m not used to this. I haven’t been getting enough of these challenges.

We pass the Guadalupe rock formation, so I know that we are nearing the top and the end of the arduous climb. I tell DF that one day, I’d like to climb up there and place a solar light in that slit. It would glow for miles. It’d probably be in the newspapers as a miracle before anyone got up in there to investigate.

I look for the place where a uniformed forest volunteer got off of the beaten path during our previous trip. Perhaps our shorter hike will be there, investigating his mysterious route. But, after looking, I seem to have missed it.

We will have a shorter trip, no doubt. There is a chance of rain from the north side of the mountain range after 2pm. In the meantime, it gives us a nice cloud cover. The air is cooler because of the elevation here. It’s probably high 70F’s give or take, with a breeze and wind gusts. It feels good in just the wrap kilt, but of course I want more freedom. 

We have reached the top of the hill. The highway has become very tiny way down below us and as it winds up the mountains across the valley. My breath and the vista, bring me away from the goal and into the grander sense of the moment. I unwrap the kilt, slip off the pack and enjoy the breeze.

The biker has disappeared, down the hill before us and we have survived the climb. We have not encountered him coming back down.

I pack everything in my daypack, but a sarong to protect my shoulders from the sun. DF also stuffs her flower print dress, but holds back, keeping a tie dyed white shirt that she carries, but never wears, the rest of the day.

The downhill trend is a relief. The gravel from decaying granite and mica can be like walking on marbles, but there has been enough moister to clog its mobility. There are railroad tie logs laid periodically along this trail, making a staircase at times. It prevents erosion, but everyone has a great step down, or up. because it can’t stop the effect of hundreds of footsteps.

The exposed rock keeps our limbs very busy. It is uneven and makes a variety of stair steps itself. The gritty slippery gavel has been washed away for the most part, leaving the bare rock and bedrock. It is a good mindful workout, even challenging.

We pass through a forest of manzanita.

All along the trail, there are the lovely bending branches with their distinctive smooth deep red bark. Today there are numerous berries on them. DF has been busy sampling all day, when I try my first.

For the most part the fruit are generally dry. There is a coating around the seed inside. There is precious little pulp in them, but my saliva soon extracts a wonderful orang-ish taste of flavor. It is a natural treat.

DF shows me how their maturity and color varies the taste.

There is an interesting development to the manzanita around here. They have the curvy grey bark that is generally dried and dead, but there is that delightful smooth glossy red weaving around it.

It looks as though a thick reddish chocolate syrup had been poured down each stalk. Smooth and creamy, it looks like something that I’d like to eat.

One piece could be the leather trim on an expensive sports car. It glows when the sun is peeking out.

We can see Duck Rock across the valley. But from this angle, it looks more like a smiling human face in armor. Hoodoos are abundant.

I find the approach into our quiet valley of solitude. It is several miles to the southern trailhead, the rain clouds and weather forecast has been negative. People don’t usually come this this far from that other entrance. After surveying the distance, I know that it is all ours, unhindered.

A hoodoo appears to be melting, poking up amongst a diversity of life.

A long lizard is dressed up in his courting best colors, out to catch a lady’s attention.

There must be maybe less than two hundred feet of flat surface walking, when this day is done. The trail leads us down and down, further. DF stops to protest as the climb back up lengthens our “shorter walk.”

“Just a little more,” I implore her.

We continue on the never ending trail of wooden steps, until we meet a hoodoo and a comfortable rock to sit upon.

We’re tired and I know that my calves are going to hurt soon, but down below, I spot an amazing wonderment, as seen by dry Arizonan eyes. It is water. It is just a puddle, but we go ahead and make our way further down the hillside to the bottom to see how much. Still in mind, each step down must be taken as a step back up, on the way home.

There are several puddles along the streambed. They must be left from the rain, because the water is clear.

Eventually, we meet the forest, my goal. There is a scrub oak canopy and a soft quiet covering of orange leaves carpeting the ground.

Looking up on the hillside, way above, I am searching for a rock formation. My intention is to scout it out for an adventure on another day. It is a wall of hoodoos in a “U” shape. There are trees and probably ponded water up there. It looks out across these mountains and across the Tucson Valley toward Mexico. I’d like to someday explore it. It looks magical. Maybe we’ll backpack in and sleep there. It appears to be one of those places that would be sacred back in the native days. It could be a fortress.

We pass a campsite. It is set up with logs to sit upon around a stone campfire pit. I set my sarong folded upon a granite tuffet and sit down for lunch while DF explores.

I hear a noise, a strange groan like a bear, but it is her. She has found a wonder and holds its description from me. It will be a surprise gift to share.

She sits down next to me and asks me for a bite of my sandwich. After I finish, she takes my hand. She is thrilled by an ancient being, an exceptionally large alligator juniper nestled in the convergence of the creek bed and a tributary. She hugs it, smells it and we shoot photos to compare her size to it.

The sky is getting a darker grey and we have more than an hour of walking and climbing ahead of us, at a good pace. We don’t want to get caught in a lightning storm. We imagine, or maybe not, a couple of small raindrops.

As we climb, we stop to admire the manzanita and notice a species with alligator bark, but also that distinctive smooth red.

I climb on ahead and suddenly bolt. I have nearly stepped upon a grand snake.

I quickly recognize it as not a rattler. It’s a safe fellow, a bullsnake. I nearly stepped on one lounging in middle of the trail once before in these mountains.

Up here, they grow quite long. This one is five or six feet, I have to search in the brush to see its end. I have trouble getting a shot of the entire snake as it poses. It is so calm, we wonder if it is sick.

Reaching the top, it will be a precarious downhill slope all the way.  As the road’s passing car sounds get louder, we begin to risk being seen by other people. However, it is unlikely at this time of day and with the threat of grey clouds.

We are tired.

I hear voices down below. There are walkers near the trailhead and at the picnic grounds near it. Still, we refuse to dress until the last minute. Nude just feels too right. When our car by the road is in sight, we stand nude, watching two walkers down below, as we gather a sarong and sundress around us.

There will be more hikes and solitude up here, on certain days. Some like this one are more difficult to get to, but that is what makes them more private. On these hot days, it is cool and inviting, up here in the mountains.