2013-01-22

The weather is great, irresistible. It is mid-week, a Tuesday. We have had a cold stretch and I am tired of shivering. I just have to get some sun and hike. The days before, I have been only able to take less than an hour to walk around amongst the sixty acre area just behind my house. This is an opportunity.

I decide to drive up to where the target wash is. I need to run in 4×4 some each month for the maintenance of the truck. It will also save the time and effort of climbing the hill. With this distance covered, I can then hike that much further and deeper into the Tortolita Mountains.

I want that sense of unabashed freedom that a completely nude commitment gives. As the old border rat smugglers used to say, “I feel like throwing my balls over my shoulder.” There is less likelihood of meeting someone by taking the route up the wash. It would be risky to hike up the hill further, following the road with nothing to put on quickly. I leave all back up covering behind, taking only fivefinger shoes, one bottle of water and a camera. I would take less, but this is a desert and I have chosen this hike to feel remote and alone. It is my mood, my whim. I guess that I’ve been too cooped up for too long. If I have an encounter, then there is nothing to be done. I could put a bottle in front of my crotch and smile, greeting whoever, pleasantly. That would make me technically legal. The odds are fully in favor of having no encounters today. I will risk the outside chance of an encounter with a neighbor, or another hiker.

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2014-01-27

Patgonia Lake is near the Mexican border, south of us. One has to travel into the border town of Nogales and then out a peaceful, quite beautiful country road to the lake. It is formed by a dam. For details and a pretty video: http://azstateparks.com/Parks/PALA/index.html

We had reconnoitered this lake the previous Fall.

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2015-01-01

A couple of years ago, on New Year’s Eve it began to snow. It left us under a thick coat of white. We spent as much time as we could throughout the night and morning roaming, experiencing, photographing and at play. This post will become more of an Arizona Highways pictures with a story, rather than a story with pictures.

Dawn

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2013-09-07

Carnuding to Happy Valley on Saturday morning, we pull off of the Interstate to get gas. There will be no more clothing after pumping this gas.

Happy Valley is on the other side of the Rincon Mountains from Tucson. There are a couple of “A” difficulty rated hiking trails that lead to the top of those mountains from there.

We intend to explore the first day, looking for the best camp sites and maybe some short walk/hikes.  We’ll set up camp, a fire and then have a major hike the second day.

Rain and overcast is predicted, but somehow I know that we will have fun with some Arizona natural grace. The valley is around 1500 to 2000 feet more elevation than the Tucson area and slopes go up steeply. This is similar in elevation to the Chebo Falls trip on the other side of the Rincon Mountains. It is a few degrees cooler with the help of cool air dropping down off of the mountains, but here, air flows through a shady forest of a riparian paradise.

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August/September 2015

I take a walk in the desert.

I slip on my fivetoe KSO’s. The rain has stopped pouring in wind swept sheets. I will listen out at the edge of my property for flowing water in the desert. If none, I will take a stroll through my desert stealth/nature trail. When I open the front door, I notice that it is sprinkling. As I begin my walk, it starts to rain again. This time, it is very different, a calm pour, no winds, and warm large drops. What a treat, naked in the rain again.

I see no flow of water, and hear no sound of the creek running in the distance. I take the stealth trail. The path is soaked, the sandy soil bloated and soft. My shoes sink deeply into this, sometimes three or more inches, leaving what looks like barefoot tracks. A community of red ants have taken over a long section of my trail, a length where it had been trail before my construction. I do my best to avoid disrupting them, but accidents happened. I hear the drops of rain splashing on the nearby plants, as is my own experience in this body. Often, I hear just the crunch of my feet on the freshly disturbed washed clean sand, as my foot intricately, grinds through it. The sun comes out, the rain stops, the sun comes out in just this spot where I walk. The humidity nearly instantly changes from cool to a steaming, like any tropical jungle. But this is a desert.

I stop to survey the distant vistas all around me as I stand on a knoll. I am suddenly startled by a cactus wren taking flight just a few feet away from my head. Looking in the alarm’s direction, there is a cholla cactus, and in its masses of prickly branches a new looking nest sits.

I make my way to my favorite sitting rock, a place that I call Havarock. I stand and then I sit cross legged, just listening, just watching, just imbibing the fresh air and its effect on my physical being. Do I hear the creek below? I stand, but I can’t be sure.

Another sprinkle begins as I near home from my excursion. I can’t seem to get enough of this.

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2010-03-14

It rained! Spring is on and the Tortolita Mountains beckon. When it rains in the desert the waters flow. They don’t stay around too long. Everything is changed for a day or so. After a long drought, rain is a joy.

There is no dust and the bouquet of Spring air is invigorating. The temperature seems perfect.

There is a car parked at the base of the hill. There are hikers up there someplace.  We decide to be cautious and wait to get undressed. We climb up the steep trail about a half mile to where a wash crosses the road. As we ascend we take in the vista of Mt. Lemmon to the east. The rains in Tortolita had shown up as snow on Mt. Lemmon, a mile higher.

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2009-05-24

This something that I wrote that The Naturist Society’s magazine “N” published a few months ago. It is some prose, hoping to bring the reader into an pleasant naturist’s event:

Eyes closed. The whiter quartz formations are cooler and at times refreshing on a warm day. The darker rock gives warmth after a dip in the cold pond. The grooves can fit a body’s form, cuddling and supportive. The water has sculpted a glassy smooth surface. Pores in the rock can suck moister from the pores in the skin. The wet skin sticks to the smooth stone, as if being kissed by Mother Earth as she holds her child against her. A gentle breeze channels through the chasms of body and stone, choreographed by the moment.

Eyes open. Above this cradle, a towering natural pyre of multi-color granite meets with hues of turquoise celestial depths. Formations of clouds give shape to imagination, passing by in a gentle, slow parade.

The sound of a bird of prey sailing above, a breeze, and then the calm profound silence of the canyon. All sounds are amplified. Even in silence there is vibration.

There, is a silent vibration….

2016-11-13

This is the conclusion of the previous story, Part I. I have to suggest reading that first. It explains things. Find it here:

Sunday Morning:

I sleepily wander out the open door. There, I find DF bent over the elegant white barrier gazing out. This is looking to be a beautiful day.

We watch the others on the beach below. We are covered only by the rail at crotch level and she comfortably with her arms. There is some distance. Others see, but we are not seen.  We are sort of invisibly nude in public.

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2016-11-12

It used to be that gringos could drive down to Rocky Point, stay in a bungalow, or find a campsite at Sandy Beach and be in a sufficient space to carefully skinnydip. Now, these spots are under high rise hotels and have a resort atmosphere.

I had been looking at satellite images and making inquiry for a few months, wondering if I could get back the sense of freedom that Mexico used to offer.  DF had mentioned a desire to head south and suddenly everything fell into place, including the weather. It is a long drive the through the Sonoran desert to Puerto Penasco/Rocky Point and then we had yet another hour, or more to attain our goal, which was a beach villa in a remote enclave.

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2015-02-18

DF had taken Wednesday off to celebrate Fat Tuesday later. We want another beautiful day hiking. I had been curious to see what was on upstream past our more usual Redington Pass haunts for quite a while. I had checked the trail and topo maps. I had studied the google satellite images. I had been on my way there when I fell and messed up my leg months ago. This was going to be a fine mid-70’s F day with a little breeze.

We arrived about 9:30am, so the air was warming up well. I decided to go with no back up clothing. I wanted to feel the just liberation. I enjoy the lack of something to carry. I wanted to feel like I had thrown myself into nature shedding the unnatural impositions of man’s law. This was mid-week and there was only one more car parked there. I took off the shirt that I was wearing and placed it in the 4runner. DF wore her standard short sundress to disrobe just down the trail, She was not feeling interested in my plan to lighten the cumbersome clothing requirement.

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