There are a few climbs, before they peter out into hillsides and tributaries.
The climbing is fun, sometimes an accomplishment.
Generally, the climbing is not very seriously threatening.
In one canyon I remember an event there. The local mountain lion was just above me. I knew this, as coming down on the wind was the strong scent of fresh kill and lion luncheon.
In my mind at another spot along the trail, I draw a vivid picture of the memory of the two brothers, the javalina neighborhood trashcan thieves. They were just as startled as I was. They scrambled up this hill when they recognized me, “the naked one” walking down the trail. We had had several encounters in the past, when they raided my garbage can and were met with a pellet pistol, my dog’s bark and grandpa’s old World War I bugle. My lack of dress was a unique distinction, I suspect.
We find a cave, or two.
No wild cats, but two cat claws grab us. Cat claw acacia have overgrown the passage.
We may come back and clip our way further into these hills someday.
Typical slippery sand, the ground granite that sometimes suddenly acts like a bed of marbles is on the trail.
The bike tires tend to grind it up and distribute it loosely and across bedrock.
Occasional flowers pop up, but by themselves, today.
It is winter.
We spend the entire day seeing no critters, just javalina tracks and a little scat.
There is a passage through a mass of various prickers. We carefully slide past them. On the way back, I decide to do my good deed, or maybe just get back at the aggressive barbs for once. I have no gloves, but I have remembered my clippers in the backpack. I take to the branches with the clippers.
Eventually, a wider passage appears once again. My nude body hasn’t been snagged, but DF had to unsnag our backpack. I’m feeling safer without clothing, except shoes. Even so, you might notice the blood on the left wrist. Without the gloves and naked, I’m reluctant to move the sharp tangled debris off of the trail. This experience gives me a better idea why there has been the pointy debris in the trail. The biker who did the clipping probably didn’t have a rake in his backpack either.
The trail clear, we can pass through easily.
Saguaros are fun to take pictures of, but when one of the stately older ones falls, it is a sad fact of life to witness the result.
In these mountains there is a genetic group that has arms which twist and fall down around them. Often their weight combines with the wind and they break off, some weighing several hundred pounds. When this happens and after some healing, they often will grow new appendages and then more during a lifetime.
We come across one large individual who has had a multitude of difficulties to struggle with over the last 150 years, give or take.
I notice a large and possibly shaped like a hand, crescent saguaro, high up on a ridge. DF zooms in. We’ll blow up the image when we get back to the computer. Perhaps there will be another day to climb up to it for a visit.
It is disturbing to see overgrown invasive grasses taking over the trail in many places. These can hide the presence of rattlesnakes in the warmer months.
The cholla cactus often change to beautiful colors in the winter months.
The most exciting discovery today is a new crescent which is just beginning. I’ll have to get my GPS out and do a claim. DF saw this one first. It’s her baby.
Time to Head Back.
The timing is perfect heading back down the trail. Eventually, we find the familiar slap of bedrock to rest and snack. The sun is preparing to set and chill is coming. We put on shirts.
It has been a nice four hour walk. We haven’t see another soul out here all day. We have spent a lot of time up in this area. There is still more to do, which is saved for another day.
I have looked, but haven’t found the remnants of a huge barrel cactus about the height of DF that I used to use as a landmark.
There is that rough trail to drive back through.
At one point I have to stop to scout and gauge the slope, as we descend into that dry cattle pond, to be sure and not drive blindly off of a cliff, or roll over on the truck’s nose. Still, during the steep descent, a rear tire climbs way off of the ground, a sure sign of border line risk of a nose dive. As I remember, this was the second sharp bend and one more to go.
The Catalina Mountains are turning pink as the sun goes down.
Back at the corral, there are several cows and calves hanging out. One of the calves gets skittish and confused, running off. A big tan bull stands, shaking its head at us. I ask DF in concern, “What do you think he’s saying?”
She replies, obviously not as concerned, “I don’t know cow language, but I think he said, ‘Nice truck.’”
Tonight, the crescent moon shines with a couple of bright planets, aligned in a special unusual configuration.
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