“No water!” we exclaim. They said that a hurricane would come through, but what happened was just not very exciting. We’re looking at some puddles and lots more sand.
While parking, we’ve seen one car this morning and one person. Then another smiling nude body along the trail down to the lovely granite canyon base. At the bottom of the trail, a couple of tanned friendly guys are sitting in the sun. They all say the same perplexing thing, “No water!?!”
There is nothing to do but take resolve, “So, this will be just a hike today, not a dip.”
We’ve been setting up camp for our White Mountain Sojourn. I presented that in the last Post, number 3 in the series. There is more. I didn’t realize how much more, when I started to write.
Here’s how we bathe:
We must first drive down to the spring with its creek. It is beautiful. We have camped here before, but the 4th of July crowds will be there and some have arrived early. We need solitude and body freedom.
We slog to the spring in the wet grasses and slushy water that tends to seep out across a gentle floodplain slope.
A creek full of fresh water comes out of the ground here.
We have decided to camp in our ol’ favorite site at the edge of the great grassy field, amongst the Arizona aspen and pines. We are here to relax and sojourn. We decide to take our time to settle in.
This is that story.
We have sat awhile; it has been a long drive with late night packing. The big canvas bell tent may take two or three hours to put together. We have our small quick and easy tent to fall back on. We do.
Setting up the tent and blowing up the light camping mattresses for a comfortable bed takes a short time and effort. After a snack, we’ll sleep, but first we just wander and enjoy this place. We’re getting re-acquainted.
There are winds, lots of wind, but not as much as down here under the tree canopy.
The Next Day:
We have work to do after our first longer walk and some exploration. The first is to produce breakfast and then to erect the tent…after we sit a spell. There is a little guitar playing in between, just because I can and it feels good.
I lay in bed, this morning, just listening. The meditation is to do just what I am doing; Focused; Mindful; Aware; Distract the thoughts; Doing just being.
The wind is heard in the distance. Invisible clumps of it are heard out there, in some direction outside of the tent. Then, when they come toward us, the tree’s branches above seem to move like a whip. But there’s not so much ruckus down here, below it all.
I roll to my side, one elbow supports against impending collapse. This morning, there’s a new world out there past the bug net screen. Parts of the mind are still climbing out of the nightly haze, as the body, now on all fours rolls somehow into a squat.
A zip and then a place for the head to fall through, I climb out of the protective tent.
Bright sun, fresh pine scented air, my naked body gets acquainted with the elements of the morning.
There’s wind. We get a break here from the numerous trees between us and the vast grassy field, which is surrounded with more distant dark forests. The gusts travel above us.
It’s a June wind. The weather service said gust as high as 45mph SE and SW, last night.
A giant whipping arc circles around from the north. It manages to penetrate the wind block. Very chilly air creates a shiver up and down a naked body. I’ll have to accept that it will likely happen again this morning, as just an occasional anomaly.
I say a little prayer for direction. I listen, aware and sit down to put some time into this.
Have you ever gotten to that point where you can feel that you need a reset? When every day you feel just a bit off, there is pressure, a long “to do” list and the ‘ol inner peace isn’t there?
I felt that I had lost track of the essence of my center. DF would say, “Not grounded.” Sometimes, that shut off button needs to be pushed. The clutter replaced with a pause, a stop.
We spent the first couple of weeks in June getting ready for the Western Naturist Gathering and the coming glamp-out. It is to be a sojourn, a retreat. The June heat is coming and we won’t come back until the monsoon rains cool that off. It will be like Spring after a long Winter, a fifth season.
I like that word “re-treat.” Our destination is a spot that I had chosen before, but that attempted treat came crashing down as covid laid me flat in this wilderness, alone, but for the howl of the Mexican grey wolves.
It is a beautiful spot in the National Forest, a designated wilderness where cattle are forbidden, and all is left to its own nature. There will be nobody else for miles and many long deserted roads to wander through the forest. We will happen upon the many gems yet to be discovered. There will be no dress code, only the immersion into nature.
Every seven years, or so, the spring temperatures, the amount rainfall and its timing, work together, to create a spectacular desert blooming. This year is being called a “super bloom.”
We had been a few days at the hot springs, when a friend, who had been out taking pictures, stopped in for the afternoon for a soak She told us of the occurrence. Leaving Monday, we decided to take the long way home and see what it was about.
Leaving about 1:30, we are off for a four hour drive. Having been nude three or four days, we leave, staying the same. Clothing doesn’t make much sense anymore, not after that long without.
The road up to Globe passes through the San Carlos Indian Reservation. That’s where the show begins in earnest. There are patches of yellow flowers in the desert fields along the road.
Suddenly, a field of yellow Arizona poppies shows, glowing in their florescence.
La Nina and climate change have brought us a much longer winter. Springtime hasn’t happened. Business obligations were followed by a hernia operation to further stretch my frustrations. I haven’t been out hiking all year and it is mid-march!
Then, one day, I feel recovered enough to walk away from my stir crazied life, my clothing and coverings. One last piece of barbed wire is stretched to allow my nude body to carefully climb through the last obstacle and I am free.
It is a familiar spot in the Arizona desert. We haven’t seen it in years, however. I climb the hill and at the top, my bodily inventory tells me that I’m doing just fine.There is no returning burning pain and no exhaustion from inactivity.
I love waking up in the forest. This is like coming home.
Everyone is up early. A-blue jay is on the ground near the tent. There are lots of bulges in the packed leaves. Birds have been digging. I had heard someone poking around in the leaves next to the tent just before dusk.
I had spent a few minutes awake as the world came alive. There were more of those voracious bats just before sunup.
I sight a butterfly high above through the mesh tent cover, “Good morning.”
Stepping outside, the weather is inviting.
A Hike:
We march a quick short nude walk, .2 miles on the graded road and trailhead.
Four grey squirrels sit and romp around at a familiar looking rock. It is peaceful and pleasant. Walking nude up the middle of the road, we know that we are alone. Anyone approaching can be heard a mile away. It feels so free.
We both jump, startled by the crash of a larger animal, which suddenly shoots out of the brush a few feet from us. It is running away into the scrub forest at a fast rate. It jumps like a deer over obstacles. We’re surprised to see that a javalina can jump like that on their short legs.
The story of this trip was the trees. The highlight was a magnificent alligator juniper where the water springs out of the creek bed and then ponds.
Alligator Juniper have a distinctive bark. It generally looks much like an alligator bag. Fires and other challenges damage “Gators.” Often there is a dead grey section which is not covered by the bark. The tree lives on. Branches grow out, die and new arrive.
There are plenty of Gators in the forest when we arrive at camp. It is interspersed with scrub oak and other vegetation that grow happy at 4 to six thousand feet elevation. These trunks are somewhat the same, but upstream, where moister is more abundant more often during the year, or a perennial stream and other species naturally intermix, they all take off with growth. There, we find trees with the character of time, abundance and scars of disruption and survival.
They say that one needs to use imagination to manifest something.
There has been drought. Now, a month, or more of excessive heat. Did I mention drought?
Last year, we arrived back in Tucson into the results of an historically wet monsoon. I remember those days. Our vacation seemed extended, by playing in the flow of the water in Redington Pass.
It’s time for monsoon again. It isn’t a consistent event, anymore. So maybe, it’s time to manifest this year’s fun by revisiting last year’s. Rain dance anyone?
2021-07-29
Casually, we make the twenty miles, or so, to drive across town and the width of the Tucson Valley. The more urban Tucson fades into larger home lots and fewer strip malls. Tanque Verde Road begins its two lane up and down dips through the lush mesquite desert.
Fresh flowers from rains are abundant. Frequently, natural gardens appear where different species cluster.
The trail down into the canyon is surrounded by a verdant garden. The path has become overgrown. The gardens of flowers reach out to brush against our nude bodies. The color and variety is compelling. I have to stop along the way to admire it all.
The roar of the waters below us, echo up to our ears. Our sense of excitement grows.
The Free Range Naturist 