2024-09-11 into 12
Part I took us backpacking up Marshall Gulch and down into the Wilderness of Rocks on The Arizona Trail.
We made camp and are in the middle of a casual leisurely morning in paradise. Here is Part 1, if you need to catch up:
…There is a disappointing discovery. DF confesses a tragic mistake. She has forgotten the chocolate! Alarm, disbelief, the signs of grief engulfs our mood, “No! Not the chocolate!”
Our traditional savory dessert, snack, treat, will be missed. Everything is better nude and the same may be true of dark chocolate, but since the damage is done, we will just accept that. There are plenty of other blessings. The moment is simply and completely, lovely. I’m tempted to shout out, “tar-rad-ged-dee,” but my tongue is stuck hard in my cheek.
We have a chore before breakfast, to filter water. I didn’t check the water filter before we left, and discover that it is clogged. This is a very serious threatening issue! We can only boil water and there is but one small fuel canister. Clean pure water is quite a hassle when boiled with a campfire, when our only pot is a small titanium vessel. For us to have assuredly safe water for our return hike, this old school method just will have to be utilized…but, not now, later.
We have breakfast, some vitamin orange juice packets.
We notice a smoky haze in the sky and don’t know the cause. I begin to look for clues. It might be a fire somewhere. There were no reports from New Mexico, or anywhere upwind. It doesn’t have that dusty desert air pollution likeness. It would be thicker, if our mountain were on fire. There is no smell of smoke.
To get high enough to see where it is coming from, we decide to have a nice nude walk. A stroll up the trail dressed in only moccasin light shoes and a camera feels very liberating and natural. We have neither fear of law, nor other hikers, this far out in a National Forest. Those two macho boys from yesterday didn’t show up and were probably day hikers. We have heard no one. It is the middle of the week and this feels exactly as life ideally might.
Yesterday afternoon, I discovered a bedroll and sleeping pad under a large boulder near the way to the pools. I thought perhaps that someone might be down there. This morning, we see the bundle is still there untouched. They must have left it and plan to comeback from town and maybe their work, later. That may mean Friday. We’ll see. If they find us nude, there would be no consequence.
We detect no danger from any fire. The vast sky looking out south clear to Mexico looks very typical. Whatever had our attention seems to be lifting off. There is no rain in the forecast, just warm perfect weather. We decide that the time has come to visit the Lemon pools.
Scrambling:
After a meal, we start back up the trail with cameras and this time what is left of our water. A white tailed doe walks quietly across our trail, sees us and quickly moves on. Then two gamboling galloping youths rush past having carefree fun. They see us and run, bouncing over a hill. Mom has gone in a different direction. We desperately try to capture these animals with our cameras.
Watching through the brush, we see the doe back to look for them, smelling for them, bravely a target for us, had we malevolent intentions.
Our presence could jeopardize the youths. They might get completely separated and lost. Not wanting to risk that by our interference, we leave her to the business of mothering, by carefully maneuvering through bushes into the opposite direction.
I remember the general direction to the pools. There is no trail marked over the solidly granite bedrock floor. What grows here is tenacious. Then, landmarks from my memories begin to appear. I find our last campsite and then the shoot between two large slabs of bedrock.
Soon enough, this leads to the unassuming, nearly hidden, break over a near cliff, which leads down into a rocky gully where the pools lie. It is the same ol’ dangerous step after steep step on all fours.
It’s a dropping eroding slope, that is falling apart. There are loose rocks and slippery sandy surfaces, all uneven. Our feet can slip out from under us downhill without any warning, in an instant. We have to hold on, grabbing treetops and climbing through their limbs and down next to their trunks.
When we do arrive, it is just us in the idyllic destination.
The water is nice to wade in, but we have to work around the chill of water with our sissy Arizona ways. Is it cool, cold, just right, a shock? Shall we just dive in, or sink in slowly while walking on the sandbar, as our ankles feel the grasp of the soft saturated grit? The universal experimental choice: to jump, or to wade into unknown waters?
The boulders are everywhere, unavoidable. They feel warm and are large enough to lounge on, as if a circle of patios. They have worn surfaces, rounded gentle contours, some slippery to climb, yet a reward to stretch out upon.
A great deal of time coupled with many elements has created a space for nature to entertain.
I behold my family of fellow divine beings. A red headed hummingbird, dips to the pond and splashes its tail.
DF is sneaking out in shade beneath a low hanging tree limb. Bent down carefully, she is shuffling her feet into the water, as she fumbles with the preparation of the technology of her camera. She’s after something.
Standing where I am, above, on yet another smooth boulder, I can’t see her goal. She is just a careful hunter doing her best to not spook her prey.
A wily squirrel climbs rock on the opposite side of the pond. DF’s camera is heard clicking, as she hurries to capture an image, zooming, focused and as it moves, searching.
Eventually, she turns and smiles back at me.
I’ve snuck down the boulder, squatted on the small sandy beach to look under the canopy and across, curious of what she is up to.
As I scan, the spot becomes more idyllic. The grey granite rises sharply out of the tranquil pond. It is smooth, craved in gentle waves from slow erosion. It is too steep to climb, but for one slippery ridge. Above, one can see that there must be another smaller pond feeding the trickling waterfall into a grotto-like stone curtain.
This is a fine place to lull about, smell air and feel the light baking process of the sun.
Eventually, we must be determined to get up the hill. We face the return ascent. Shoes on, belongings rigged to stay out of the way, to not hang, fall down, or trip up our limbs. Arms and legs must be free to pull our body weight during the climb.
It is perhaps easier, having explored the route on the way down and having gained confidence.
It is certainly easier to reach, bend and stretch without the restrictions of clothing. Gathering a secure grounding grip with handholds first, certainly feels more secure than when trusting wandering untested ruble with our feet during the descent.
Back at camp, we necessitate that potable water and spend several hours of the evening boiling water next to coals in our very small titanium pot.
Three bottles, six pots full, we use five rekindled fires and some of our remaining gas. These are left in the creek overnight to be found cool in the morning for our hike back out of the wilderness.
Next Morning:
We are encouraged to see that the exertion of backpacking hasn’t killed us. I took anti-inflammatory pills before bed. These help in the morning, after muscles have relaxed through the night, it prevents some stiffness. In time, as I feel this wearing off, I know that I will be best, if I keep moving. We listen to occasional grunts and groans at junctures of movement that produce some discomfort, but mostly the stiffness is disappearing. Our trip up and out of here will not be arduous. We have all day to get four miles and we intend to use it.
The morning is spent casually breaking camp and a breakfast. There is plenty of restful time taken to enjoy once more the gentle creek on the island of bedrock slab.
While reclining, a tilt of the head gives notice of the inverted reflection of the grassy shoreline in the flat passive creek. It is a colorful Rorschach image, perfect, with a hint of Monet.
A bird dives off of a small branch and catches a water loving bug on the third try. I remember the same during a previous trip with Bailey. It seems that it could be the same bird, the same pathway in the air, the same perch on the same tiny branch next to the creek. Perhaps it is someone who knows a good feeding strategy.
Lying flat on my back like melting butter, listening and tapping a complimentary rhythm on my chest, I gaze into the canopy above.
A butterfly is up high in the pines. My mind ponders, “What does it eat up there? Why so high? Then, I return back into the consciousness of simple awareness in paradise.
Ascent and Civilization:
It is a somewhat unhurried hike. One steeper uphill stretch feels like half of the trip.
We conclude that we’re doing better than backpacking here in 2020 and our abilities are still okay, despite our ultralight backpack hiatus.
While my mind is planning out a future backpacking trip into the Rincon Mountains, a young couple comes up from behind. They are bounding through the loop trail and pass us. These are the first signs of other humans in the last three days. At first, he doesn’t seem to know what to do about naked us and looks disgruntled, but we give pleasant friendly greetings to each other. We all report that none of us have seen anyone else on the trails.
We later pass them, as they are getting water. His shirt is off in the deep shade, she hasn’t taken the same pleasure. Sadly, they won’t know what they are missing.
As we sit eating a naked lunch, they again pass us on the trail, 60 feet away. We just take an intention to ignore them this time. They don’t even notice us. With their eyes on the trail and our colored packs to the side, we are invisible, blending in without movement, hidden in plain sight.
It feels like the canyon is filling up with people, when a lone older guy, with walking sticks, smiles. We comfortably greet him as ourselves.
In the familiar spot once again, Horny Toads are seen basking in the sun on the side of the trail. How these reptiles survive up in the winter’s cold in this place amazes me. Hat’s off to the spiny critters.
One more couple are coming down, as we near the top of the trail, closer to the saddle. The state law states that we would be illegal, if “a reasonable person” would be offended or upset by the sight of an uncovered member of their own species. These people appear very reasonable and friendly. Obviously an unreasonable person would be rude to us, object, or quizzically, be feeling justified and offended.
DF passes me, determined to master this climb. At the crest, she looks exhausted. There has been a workout. It feels good.
There are always new things that come to mind to try while walking backpacking. The weight on the back gets heavier in time. With ultralight, there is a goal to have it, as much as possible, just go away. I have tried a new configuration of my water bottles and their four pounds of weight. I have them placed near my chest and out of the backpack pockets. There is a better balance and about 35% less weight in the pack. The new configuration of water bottles is working. My pack is closer to my back and shoulders and it is now very much lighter and easier without the water. I may get a bottle strap for the chest.
Despite the traffic that we met on the edge of the Wilderness, the usually day hiker infested Marshall Gulch is in quiet. Only a couple with a dog that licks too much are crossed on the trail down from the saddle.
It is all very green with a fairyland-like look. Then near the end of the trail, a dumb acting guy with a female pit-bull are encountered. The dog goes way around us, at least a 15 foot distance, like it is afraid of people. I don’t trust the skittish dog, or its master’s judgement. I feel a good riddance.
Our goal isn’t the car, but past that. What we’re after is the cookie place in the tourist’s town of Summerhaven. We dine on cheap, but bountiful ice-cream with syrup. I buy a Doctor Pepper at the store down the road and mix them, making a nice cold float treat/reward. I laugh, thinking, “Three days of super healthy living need some balance.”
I wear a kilt and sweatshirt, DF a sundress and open shirt. With our toe shoes off, we’re looking a bit rugged around the edges from our naturist adventure. We watch people pass by in the wonderfully perfect pine air as we scoop out creamy delight slurps.
Driving down the winding curved mountain highway, a Sheriff passes and flashes his lights at me. In all the years, I never thought about a speed limit on the Mt. Lemon Highway. I query DF, “You see a speed sign?”
She answers half in thought, waiting for a memory image to appear on the screen inside her forehead, “No.”
I imagine a discussion with him, “I don’t know, the car just keeps going faster downhill and I don’t want to burn the brakes and put us in danger.”
I check my rear-view mirror anyway, but he isn’t turning around and there is no need to cover up.
From this positive journey, we are inspired to more backpacking. As I drive, I’m making plans. I get back to that renewed dream to conquer the exploration of the Rincon Mountain range next summer. I’m figuring that I’ll need to keep a workout regimen and health for that goal. It will be good for us all around.
Ultralight backpacking won’t be as easily set aside from today on. It is more than a means to get to a remote destination. It is a goal in itself, a different naturist experience with the natural world.
AND even better with some dark chocolate.
I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.
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