Oversite Canyon Day I

2023-09-27

We’re heading down to the Huachuca Mountains again. This time not up high on the spine, but nestled down below in the foothills of scrub oak forests. We’re looking for a short retreat away from it all in a remote canyon.

Near the turnoff, the Border Patrol has a couple of fellows in custody as we drive by. This has always been a smuggling corridor. Lots of propaganda has been created in recent years about bands of thieving murdering alien people along the border. Contrary to the media ingrained fear, smugglers are busy with their own business, wishing to be in stealth and those whom they guide are focused on a better life and getting out of the border region as soon as possible. They avoid everybody. I’d suppose that our desire for minding our own naked business with stealth corresponds in some ways. A better life is many things to many people.

The old two track road into the hills is looking very ragged.

It has been a while and I don’t feel familiar with it. I decide to turn around and try a quiet spot that I know. It will be a longer walk, but seems just right today.

We park and set up a camp.

I lay out a pad and just make the most of my moment in relaxation. This is enough.

The sun sets and we just lay down in the open net tent. There is some reading under a light. Then, in the darkness there is peace.

Under this smugglers moon, there are a series of bird calls in the night. They come from across this canyon’s valley. This area is a rich territory for birders, but these bird calls sound like none that I’ve heard before. We hear no other birds, just these two. They seem to be wandering up the canyon away from the border, as they communicate. Two coyotes are guiding a group most likely. That lead bird, I suspect, had the flock waiting for our light to go out, not knowing if we were a problem. They’ll stay well away from our camp and are hoping that we’re not aware of them. They’ll hurry up the side of the mountain toward Sierra Vista, which lies on the other side.

Later, I’m awoken by footsteps near the tent. The bright moon shows a glowing passerby coming our way. I’m alarmed. This is truly dangerous, so I lie quietly, like a possum. The steps in the dry leaves belong to a skunk!

As I peek out of the covers, the rolly fellow wanders through, just feet from my face. Like the smugglers, he doesn’t want any trouble either.

The next morning we are awoken by voices coming up the path to our camp. Anyone would be blind to us because of the hill before the cul-de-sac that we are camped on. Yesterday, we took a walk to confirm that we were indeed on a dead end. So who are these guys?  I have a pistol with me, but these are loud unconcerned voices.

Two men, one younger, one old enough to be his dad, just walk through the middle of our camp. It is rude. They wake us up, tromp right through the middle amongst our stuff unnecessarily and keep walking and talking like we aren’t there.

I know they will be back shortly; this is a dead end, but now I’m awake and need to climb out naked and attend to business. Nude in the morning air, I hear the one showing something to the other, explaining it. I’m able to climb back into the tent under cozy warm covers with DF.

The bizarre intruders are not too long, eventually walking out of our hair, saying “good morning” as they pass, as if this is a sidewalk on an urban street. Weird!

Back to the norms that we came here for, breakfast is followed by embarking on the day’s hike.

At the beginning of our turn off from the main trail, there is a sort of fork in the road, an SUV is parked there, but nobody is seen. Perhaps they have business in those cattle pens across the road. We take the main route, which heads up into the hills.

Just a few hundred feet down the road, we hear the voices of those two intruders. Here we are wandering in lovely stark nudity, ready for a nice unencumbered day and we have to decide what to do. I’m reluctant and there is little time to decide and gather garb out of the pack. DF doesn’t care and just voices her decision to walk through the situation. I follow her lead, this time. I am figuring that if these two don’t have the sense of boundary to just walk unannounced into anyone’s camp, they may not have justification for expectations.

The two have enlarged eyes when they notice us. The conversation stops. They apparently didn’t expect to see two nude folks strolling nonchalantly down the trail and greeting them with a smile and, “High again,” but they return the greeting. They look slightly confused. I am figuring that one good turn deserves another. If we don’t conform to their expectations, neither did they earlier conform to ours. Perhaps they will give some thought and learn about our rights, perhaps not.

We soon enough find the other fork and I recognize it, but not at first. DF doesn’t remember this at all. I show her some remembered landmarks and the trees that we camped under a few years before. We bare right. I’ve got it correct.

Eventually, the Forest Service sign greets us.

This is a different season and it has been a while. We might as well have never been here. There are a few memories, but it is as if a new hike for us today. Good.

After a while, there is an opportunity to get off of the beaten track to a path less followed. We walk up a rise in the shade of a nice mature tree. A few old rusty artifacts are sitting neglected, left behind decades ago.

Some duct work and sheets of corrugated roofing are rotting in the fallen leaves that have collected around them.

A suspicious pile of stones is discovered to be a retaining wall.

The trail soon exposes a ruined building.

As we circle around the dilapidated structure, it shows a roof on the ground. A twist has collapsed the supporting walls. It is little more than a pile of debris, now.

There are no artifacts save a dark rusty old can dating to when people used can openers.

This had housed an old homestead, or maybe a miner’s house.

We look for clues and curiosities. What I think is a broken blade sticking out, uncovered, is an old metal pipe. Was it for irrigation? Was this a garden? Was it for easier drinking water? Irrigation?

There is a curious reasonably level area where native plants don’t grow, just grass. I looks suspiciously like humanity. This could be an old corral for animals.

We walk through getting a feel for it and the size when a rusty piece of barbed wire crosses our path, then three are seen.

These have been here for quite a while, they had once been a three teared fence. Back in the day, the now remnants used to wrap around a small tree, which was used as a fence post. No other posts are apparent, but these are preserved because the bark of the significantly matured tree has engulfed the wire with bark. The tree has eaten the metal and so preserving it.

This was either a pen to keep animals in, or a garden to keep animals out. We don’t know. I suspect the lack of vegetation could be from pounding hooves, years ago.

We have a better feel for a lifestyle that once used this wonderful place as its home.

I’ve got to stop here. Part two in a couple of days.

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