Where Cows Go

2024-01-30

We’re running late, its 1pm. Well, that’s three hours late. It looks like this will be a shorter walk than we thought, but that’s okay. DF has been getting some therapy on a sore leg the last couple of weeks. This should be a test run. She should be careful, as to not overdo it and too soon.

The plan is to visit the Tortolita Mountains, but this time taking the back way from my old home. We’ll need to find the pass heading south this time, It’s one that we used to come out of our hills through, but heading north.

In the pass is a trail that the mountain bikers have been using more and more during the last decade. Their treads should have kept it evident, but we’ll still have to find the unofficial path in a pretty large piece of grassland desert.

The trail that we’re looking for is one that I used to use often. I wrote a story “Naked to the County Line,” here:

Naked to the County Line

From satellite photos, I saw some landmarks. There are two washes, which the trail crosses. It is close to where the road bends. If we walk up one of those washes, I may find the trail intersection. I didn’t take the time to review the photos this morning. Hopefully, my memory serves us well.

Driving into the desert, I’m surprised to see asphalt and chip seal out here; it’s been awhile.  I’m thinking that the mine up on the side of the distant hill must be prosperous these days. Soon enough, we find the real reason for the upgrade. Acres of the scraggly cattle tortured desert has been paved over with a grand array of commercial solar collectors.

The dust is down, the washboards fewer and we’re making good time, but into an unfamiliar territory.

I’m doing a lot of guessing at this point. I decide to take a turn off in what seems to be the generally correct area. I climb the SUV up a short berm of a hillside. The nose is pointed at the sky and so much, that I can’t see where I’m going for a long moment, only turquoise. The number and type of tracks tell me that it is probably okay to do this blind climb.

That done, I quickly pull around some exposed rocks. The conveyance veers to the west and travels somewhat along a cattle fence. I am busy zig-zagging around sharp bushes. Busy, barely escaping a thousand Arizona pin stripes, there is no place to turn around and go back. I soon discover that this is only some trail carved by quads and motocross, which leads us to parts unknown. It’s like being hooked on a crooked railroad track. I drive a very concentration filled distance, before it deposits us back on the original Edwin Rd. I’m not sure how far we have traveled. My bearings are gone. Just larger references remain.

A short distance finds us at what looks to be a more popular turnoff, but I’m not sure if it takes us to the correct part of the mountains.

We quickly arrive at a cattle pen after passing a parked pair of older couples, who are getting out their hiking sticks. This could be “it.” After parking, I slip on pants and walk back to ask them about what they know. A helpful guy has a mapping app, which tells me that there could be more people. It could be also be leading us up into the wrong area. Maybe one of the two routes will head to those washes I’m looking for, or maybe not.

We stand at the truck nibbling on a sandwich lunch and waiting for the textiles to pass on, so we can get undressed and allow some distance between us. A couple of bikers ride past on a trail to parts unknown. I feel like I’m gambling blindly, lost, but with hope, waiting for the next cards to be dealt.

We smile, mouths full and wave as the friendly two pairs pass into the distance. They unwittingly stretch the boundaries of our freedoms as they walk away with their sticks and garb.

Having parked at the cow pen, we walk out, in sarong and sundress, unsure. Not far down the trail, we find another road leading deeper off of the official road. Our goal is to get out of this destructed desert and into the lush Tortolita Mountains, as quickly as we can.  This road may help with that, if we drive it to its end.

DF decides to wait while I go get the SUV. We’ll drive and 4×4 closer to the mountains and then hike in “the good stuff.” While DF waits, a pickup truck comes by. They gesture to her, their hands raised, palms up, shrugging shoulders, as they approach. “What is she waiting for out here? She’s in a sundress looking like she’s waiting for a bus?”

I return. We quickly discover, once again, that this isn’t the place, just more cow pens, but there is a nice shady tree to park under.

After listening to the sounds of a chubby grandpa on a quad and young grandson hanging on in delight, as they circle us, we wander south. Clothing is finally now in hand.  There is no plan, but to find a trail into the mountains. I suggest, “Let’s just follow the cow’s trails. They must know something. They go out there, they make paths that lead to passes, and these look well used.”

The hoof path trails are headed in the general direction, when I discover a dry wash. Oh well, in further investigation, this disappears upstream quickly. It’s not the wash that I’m looking for.

Where the cows go, there are fewer desert prickers in the grass, less zig zag around bushes. They are usually coming, or going, somewhere where there is grass, or water. Out of this wash I see another set of tracks. These go out further still. Time is in short supply and I figure that bad luck eventually turns good. I take a gamble, which feels more like a surrender. Perhaps there’s a path, or perhaps we’ll climb high enough to see and to gather some bearings. Perhaps, all that we’ll do will be to enjoy the desert. How bad could that be?

Cows are damaging, they have wrought destruction to our natural heritage all over the southwest. Established back country trails end up with misleading forks wherever cattle frequent. I have ended up lost because of them several times and then ended up having to double back to a main trail. Today, I’m already lost, but I see the mountains in the distance. There is nothing to lose and the dumb beasts have done me a favor.

Things look up and out:

We realize that this solution is also wrong. We can’t access here into the Tortolita trail this way. This ridge may get us over a saddle and down into the correct valley, but that would probably take a while. Time is short today, so we decide to follow the cow paths and then, a distant ridge. The tops of ridges are more barren and an easier walk and we can see distance, keeping our bearings. This could have been a good day for GPS.

Our elevation rises quickly as we walk up the bajada and then the hills feet. There is naturally no sound here, so any noise travels and amplifies. The distant mine is making racket, at work constantly and there is no escaping that as we wander through the grassland.

Otherwise, we’re finding natural peace. Prairie grass dominates. Today, it is yellow and brown like straw. I turn around and look out to the distance; this is a safe place to be nude.

Although in the open, at most, we will be seen as two tiny flesh figures, minding their own business, insignificant. The temperature is nearly perfect, there is little wind and those light gusts give us that sensual refreshment all over a body.

That constant noise from the mine abruptly ends at 3pm. Ahh, the silence! It now feels so much more natural and untouched here. All of that which are the signs of humanity are far away in the distance.

We stand, enjoying the vista. I don’t see the two washes. I look down to see where we are in relation to the creaking old windmill that we left at the cow pen, our landmark. This should tell us where we have been. I’m fooled at first. Then I feel the wind with my body and realize how it is blowing my way. The rudder and propeller is pointing with the wind. I can’t see the circle of wind blades over the trees, because the wind is creating alignment to my sight. My eyes search and note that it should be easy to find our way back to the SUV, without it.

The path begins to lead up a water channel between two ridges where the vegetation is thicker. This is something that the cattle might appreciate, but not us. We decide to climb up and out, to use a ridge at this point. I can see that there, we will be led to a saddle and able to see what is on the other side. I suspect that the pass into the Tortolitas is over there. In the meantime, this is a pleasant place to be. We can put our goals off for another day and just enjoy this.

Burnt yucca /agave lay dead and decaying along the way. There must have been a brush fire here a few years back.

A large jackrabbit flies with long leaps across the difficult terrain to escape our intrusion. As we climb, we inadvertently chase the critter again. It keeps a shy excessive distance with its long legs. I ponder why. What predator would teach a species to behave like this? Perhaps coyotes spread out, encircling prey, driving it into others in their pack. The strategy begins to make sense. With those tall Bugs Bunny ears atop long legs, they can’t hide under shrubbery like the diminutive cottontail rabbits.

As I climb, the ridgeline reveals a majestic view of the now snowcapped Catalina Mountains. It is as if the mountains are rising, as I walk up the slope.

We take a break and sit on two small boulders. Across the valley, the Biosphere glows white in the sunlight. The town of Catalina spreads out at the foot of the mountains.

We’re seeing the familiarity of our Tucson valley home in miniature. Far down below, the two washes that I was searching for can finally be identified, looking almost like the satellite photos themselves. There is another cattle pen down there. I find landmarks. Next time we’ll go straight to the correct trail.

It’s time to head back. DF has an appointment. Despite the change of plans, the cow paths have allowed for a satisfying little hike. Things are working out perfectly.

As it goes, it is easier to walk downhill than up. Our timing will be good.

We stop at a rock slab. The afternoon sun is out and we would like a break, a little time to just relax. We lay down on our backs. The naked rock is initially cool today next to bare skin. I stretch, my spine bends backward. Juxtaposition feels very therapeutic. After so much time leaning into the slope, my head looking down, watching my footing, climbing for so long, bent forward, I sigh relief.

We both meld into the contours as the sun bakes our bodies. In the still air, we are getting grounded, just naked and lying on the Earth.

This feels so good. Melding into the smooth contours, the rock sucks at our skin, clinging as we arise from the surfaces.

As I strut downhill along the foot of this mountain, I feel revived. I feel like I’m gliding, after climbing in short steps. My body, grazed by the air, is free to twist and move, as I just watch myself walking.

I note a large bushy staghorn cholla. “DF, take my picture to show how big this is.”

She looks incredulous, “I did on the way up. Don’t you remember that big plant?”

I hadn’t noticed. Climbing, I was looking down. I do remember a shotgun cartridge on the ground that I had passed that is probably ten feet away from the tree of needles. Beginning with that cartridge, DF decides to start collecting any trash. She has brought a plastic bag for it.

I find a bare spot where an anthill has been. These are associated with energy vortexes. I place my hands out to sense anything and find that Earth’s chi is noticeable.

DF gives it a try and falls backward in surprise. “It’s bowling me over!”

We have set a couple of cairns along the way in washes to find our way back in the tangle of the vegetation, sand and maze of cattle paths.

They work effectively and we are back at the SUV in good time.

We have been a few hours wandering freely in nature.

Our walk felt good as nude is a natural norm. Our clothing is uncomfortable and feels confining. There is a strong stubborn reluctance to dress. We resent the wrap on and off, on and off, the people around and so, the encounters.  At this point, our attitude is defiant. If someone comes by, we’re not getting dressed. There has to be an end point of too much trite conventional silliness.

Down the main road, I find the correct turnoff to the cattle pen and wash, which were our original intent. I get out of the truck, walking to find a passage through the barbed wire cattle fence, for the next time. A biker passes, I’m defiantly nude, but he doesn’t notice me. Then, another zips by with the same result.

As I walk bare across the empty water catchment there is a strong sense of freedom. Bare all over, no pack, no water, no camera, nothing. It feels light and liberating, just myself, naked.

I have found what is essentially a trailhead. We can do the originally planned hike on another day and then another. For now, we must head back to traffic, noise and appointments in the city.

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