Lemmon Pool’s Fire Escapade Part I

Back packing into the Wilderness of Rocks

2024-09-10 into 11

The article “Ultralight Path, which I published here on November 8th, 2024, was first published in “N” magazine, a couple of months previous. As we sat reading and browsing through the magazine’s pages, we saw the images of ourselves as sort of the poster children for naturist backpacking. A revelation then hit hard; we realized that we hadn’t been actually out backpacking in a couple of years! We felt a bit hypocritical. We have been four wheeling into day hiking situations and luxuriating at the hot springs mostly. Taking in our own sales pitch, we realized that we were missing something, too.

When our planned trip into the Blue River region got delayed, an apparent solution presented itself to us. On our hiking bucket list, was the re-exploration of the Lemon Pools on Mt. Lemon. Our last visit ended the day before the entire mountain went up in flames, back in 2020. We have been reluctant to go back because of the chance of having our hearts broken by the sight of the destruction.

Last year, looking down from above and into that valley, it had looked mostly untouched. It has been about four years and we figured that the dense brush should have had a chance to return…

…The first ten minutes are a steeper slope up at around 8700 feet through Marshall Gulch. I’m feeling that I have a challenge in front of me. We’re in thin air and haven’t had this size of a bulk to carry in a while. I’m beginning to feel out of breath. When I inquire about DF, she mentions that she is feeling a bit “wobbly” with her pack.

Trudging on, we soon find “our stride.” We begin to meet the challenge of the Marshall Gulch climb with the packs. It feels good to move and exert like this and our confidence returns.

We stay dressed to the top of the saddle, she in her short light dress and me, my sarong and T-shirt. The number of cars that had been in the parking lot and the few hikers that we have met, matches.  By our observation, everyone is accounted for, but for those two guys that had just arrived as we left. The older lady with a cell phone wandering around the parking lot and a guy with a dog on a leash, aren’t likely coming our way. So, as we rest on a large and fat fallen log at the intersection, we strip and enjoy a healthy snack. “It’s downhill from here.”

I’ve got a bloody arm!?! I have no idea where it came from. At least it hasn’t stained my clothing. Something caught me, but I suppose that my focus ignored the gash. I’ve been on a mission so to speak, which is to acquire the saddle and then, wander with no intrusions into the “Wilderness” area in a natural state.

We begin the long descent down the trail. The traffic is always much lighter this way. This time we notice the signs stating that this is a section of the famous Arizona Trail.

After dropping a couple of hundred feet of elevation, we hear voices. It is obvious that it is the two guys from behind, now catching up to us, right after the saddle. We can wait for them to pass, but this time, we decide to not let them. So, we continue on, listening as we go. It is hard to tell how far back they are. The sound bounces on the cliff and boulder’s faces.

We can constantly hear their testosterone voices. Young guys often boast authoritive inflections in their voices.  These two self-proclaimed woodsmen just can’t seem to shut up, boasting to each other and the entire valley around them, about how experienced they are. Finally, about a half a mile down the trail, there is quiet and I begin to think that they have stopped at the first water.

We keep going. It gives us a boost to get away from them and their noise, which disturbs the wildlife and our serene experience. 

Another good reason is that they may be going to the same place that we are. We don’t want to have to compete for our favorite campsite. There has been no sign of any others. It looks good. We are likely to have the familiar ideal haven.

We walk unabashedly nude for the next three miles, rising up and down on this generally downhill trail.

The brush is as if fire has never touched it, as thick as ever.

The creek trickles clear, through topsoil, moss, vegetation and over rounded rock. In my relief, my heart soars, as we pass through the grove of huge Ponderosa Pines that I like to rest in.

At eye level, there are black signs of fire on the thick red bark, but as the natural fire process is supposed to, the tree tops are intact.

Already the litter of pine needles has thickly carpeted the floor again as mulch.

More landmarks are passed.  Even the grand mountain side to the north is green once again, returned just as it had been, a haven for berries and bears. The forest on that slope had been denuded during the previous to the last fire, a decade before, when the nearby town of Summerhaven had been leveled by the blaze.

There is one hillside with black skeletons of trees and the now exposed cliff-side granite. Otherwise, it feels like the familiar favorite trail.

Our pace makes for good time and we soon find the objective of the campsite all to ourselves. We don’t know if there will be others. It is the middle of the week and school is back in session, we lay out our shelter and belongings, thereby laying claim to our favored territory.

As I gather firewood and find a place for a latrine, it becomes evident that someone has been here. The trees have many marks on them. These are not from bear’s scratching. Some jerk has been hacking away at bark, just to play with an axe, with no regard for the needs of the life that populates this Eden.  

Brush and small trees have been cleared to create a fence without purpose. Some people have no idea, or maybe just no regard, for others who will follow. They just don’t understand that others would wish things to not be all used up.” Leave NO Trace.”

There is a pile of what I’m pretty sure are edible mushrooms. The idiot has sliced them off of a tree for nothing more than mindless sport.  What a jerk, leave it better than you found it, leave it as intact as possible. ”Leave no trace” means no trace of oneself, not no trace of the formally useful more pristine campsite.

At this time, DF tells me of a Facebook post about a couple and a kid who were destroying Indian ruins. She tells me that they took movies of themselves and got caught. Already with some anger rumbling in me, I smile deviously and tell her, “Love to know where they sleep.”

She replies that they are sleeping in jail.

I grin, “Oh well”.

This campsite is easy to miss from the trail, which decreases its use, enhancing its appeal. It isn’t dirty to walk on from the spread of black ashes, like so many overly used spots. There is enough natural debris around to allow us to roam barefoot. Wandering in the pleasant awareness of total natural nudity, I soon see that the misguided have cleared a nice neat path through the ferns from the trail leading to the site. Instead of gathering firewood, I go to work, doing what I can to re-vegetate and cover the new pathway, which would otherwise be natural.

I finish, glad that we weren’t here when those people were. Seeing this place intact, having survived the flames that took away most of the mountain range, this all feels more precious.

I suppose that I’m affected more, when seeing thoughtless ignorance further eroding the precarious hold that life has here and diminishing its dignity. My values get an inventory, “If I had to choose….”

It is a beautiful place to fume and by the time I do what I can to correct the offense problem, I’m back thoroughly in peace and gratitude. We are relaxed after a busy day. The stars haven’t been out for very long before we’re under a warm down quilt and our eyes are closed.

Day 2

Early to bed, early to rise. Well, I am awake early. It is just a little chilly out and bed feels cozy, warm and peaceful. I watch the light’s changes, as the sun comes over the mountains, down into the valley and through the openings in the canopy of the trees. I lay in comfort.

Hawks soar in quiet stealth. The ravens, or crows, about the same size, are not so secret. I was awakened by a pair’s loud beating wings. The shadowy birds are obnoxious and they don’t care. Quiet is not their repertoire. They start with that relatively clumsy swishing ruckus. These tall trees have no branches close to the ground to prevent catching fire, so soon the chaos erupts high up. They caw and hack, harassing each other. I begin to think that these two have followed us down from Utah. There, too, I was harassed awake each and every morning by a pair of these clowns.

We do get up and stretch out our limbs, exploring this nearly idyllic scenery. The clown act finally goes someplace else. Now, DF spots two hawks that have replaced them in the towering perches above us.

Clothed only in the warmth of the sun and the calm air, we go about a morning in the shade with spots of warm baking radiance contacting our skin in contrast,. The pine needles cushion our steps, a quiet crunch. There are smooth river rocks in stepping stone arrays, one still cool from night air and the next warmed, baked by the sun.

This will be a morning of leisure. We have had a few days of busy activity, packing for a trip north, disappointment and then unpacking to repack for this different scenario. The climb and descent was a good challenge, but now, it feels just right to relax.

We both spend much of our morning on a slab of bedrock in the creek. The creek water has carved a shallow trough through this, where the creek soon flows over into a small waterfall.

It is quiet, the only sound is the trickling waterfall. Spending our morning melding into this rock in the creek is like an addicting drug.  As the sun bakes, a small movement places a bodily limb into the cool waters of the creek. Our perch on the slab is an island. We rest naked and exposed where no critter will swim out and harass us. There is safety.

This is leisure. There is no hurry to do anything, no agenda, no pressing “To Do” list. We read books, we eat. There is concern about DF’s mattress. It lost air three times during the night, becoming flat enough to give discomfort. Three times that got us awake during the night. I’ll have to investigate, but later.

To be continued in a few days:

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