Posts Tagged With: hiking



We’ve done it at last. I have created a glamping setup for us. I’ve been calling it “the summer house.” It is for taking off on longer retreats to the cool mountains.

It is time for this. The western mountain’s rains can make a tent cold and clammy and my old tent that we called “The Big Top” had sprung some threadbare leaks.

The practice of enjoying naturism can be lost when the weather changes. Huddled up in a cold clammy tent is just frustrating. I realized that I had to have a warm dry heating source to combat this. This requires a canvas tent, ready for a heater. I already had an old military issue wood burning stove. I have been scouring the internet, looking and comparing, reading and shopping for the ideal tent for our needs.

The first fire quickly had us uncomfortable in our clothes. Just as quickly, we discovered stripping to be the perfect solution to the heat.

I chose a bell tent, from “White Duck” company. It has a built-in fireproof outlet for a stove jack. The shape gives plenty of headroom to move about and stretch. There is little to no stooping under the tent ceiling. The overall diameter is 13 feet, or four meters. The center pole is over eight and a half feet tall.The tent walls on this one are at three feet, which gives more room than most bell tents.

The summer house is supposed to be a healthy habitat. I want to exercise my body’s needs by setting up a more primitive lifestyle. My strategy is to live low to the floor, Japanese fashion. The extra inches of wall work well for sitting on a cushion, or on the rugs. We have our Thermorest sleeping pads, which now have attachments to fold them up like tatami chairs with a supportive backrest. A low table fits into the system. The thinking is that modern man doesn’t use many parts of his body, having eliminated squatting and getting up off the floor. This plan builds in essential exercise integrating with lounging comfort and more space.

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Cienega Creek


We are on our way back from a retreat in Cascabel:

We have some time on our hands and I figure that it’s a good time to cruise the old Marsh Station Road. Once again, I’ll look for one of the coolest wash canyons that I have ever seen, a secret treasure that I lost the map for, maybe 40 years ago.

After passing through a barbed wire fence and walking across a desert field of private land, there were a string of mesquite trees. After they matured, digging their roots deep for water, the wash became deeply eroded. The roots of mesquite gather bark when exposed. The result is a corridor of an upside down forest of root. It is dark and mysterious, other worldly.

I remember that it was across a field near where the historic railway bridge crosses the creek. We would park next to the old bridge at one point, but memory and change in terrain have made the place disappear.

I pull into what is now a parking lot for entry to La Ciénega Creek Preserve. I eat a sandwich and relax and stretch from my drive. I stand working on memories, wondering where I have misplaced the hidden gorge.

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Weaver Canyon


We haven’t explored the area down the road that goes to the sleepy little border town of Sasabe. We are driving out to Three points, Arizona to head south on it, State Road 286. We don’t know what we will find, but then we like that.

I have done some preliminary scouting on the internet. I have some vague directions and have looked through some maps and satellite images.

It is wide open spaces before us and very little human population. We know that there is a border patrol checkpoint and so we are keeping coverings near. We see a typical desert sight in the foreground , scrubby tortured mesquite with a sparse carpet of low plant life and grasses. The background is a view up at the telescopes of Kitt Peak and the natural landmark, the sacred mountain of Baboquivari.  We hope to find our way up to the later.

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Among the Gold Miners


We’re up here in Northern Arizona around Prescott. We had been given directions to a piece of creek that is likely to have water. The proximity seems familiar. We have a back-up plan, if the situation warrants a change.

The story begins, with:

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An Evening Stroll


The weather has been 10 and 15 degrees hotter than usual, near record breaking. More ‘new normal?” It’s a dry mid to high nineties, with a couple of afternoons over 100. This leaves us with plummeting temperatures in the seventies and eighties at night. This adds to many peoples Covid 19 stir-crazy misery, those “too hot to get outside” days.

We have been coping by exploiting earlier mornings when it is cool, a summertime strategy. Our best weapon is simply to remain naked. Our bodies have the natural ability to adjust to changing weather and the extremes of dry heat. Today, we put weeks of dirty laundry on the line, two shirts and a pair of short pants, for me. DF had her work clothing and we had soiled a few towels.

Isolation has kept us from socializing, from dancing, shopping, from all of the activities that require being dressed. Even Zoom requires no pants. I have been out for groceries, to roam the trails and camp, to sweat and look at property. Only one activity has required covering with more than a hat, which protects from a red nose. Oh yea, some form of shoes, flip flops, or toe shoes. Yesterday, I was stunned to realize that I had been dressed maybe six, or eight hours in the whole of the last month. A legal kilt wrap, was handy for a few moments here and there. Another new normal, for however long it lasts. Clothing has become abnormal, unusual, almost alien. I walk around forgetting that I am barefoot all over in the warm weather and comfortable evenings.

Being immersed in natural garb is a great release.

Into the Night:

Today, we have been rearranging DF’s back porch and patio area for hours.

We are sitting outside in the back yard having a nice dinner. A friend, a handyman who had been working on the roof next door to take advantage of the late afternoon cool, pops his head over the fence. Surprised by two nudes, (he knows us only as clothed) he voices his surprise, “Oh, I see that I should have knocked first.”

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Up Hot Springs Canyon


We’re east of Tucson in the San Pedro Valley. We’re exploring and looking for good hikes away from the crowds created by bored Covid 19 refuges, the captives in their own homes out on the trails to blow off steam. We have stumbled onto a fine walk in the dry riverbed and an ancient and fun geological structure:

There is still some afternoon left, as we climb into the 4runner in pursuit of a place to simply pitch a tent.

I know that the trail that we intend to hike tomorrow is up the airport road. Narrow “Hot Springs Canyon” empties out into the broad flood plain and generally dries up before it reaches the San Pedro River. It crosses the road that goes to Cascabel.

We once approached the same canyon from the upstream side. There, the Nature Conservancy has bought up Muleshoe Ranch to protect against destructive incursions into the lush canyon’s riparian strip. Here is that trip:

I had studied the satellite images and learned that the road ends in a parking lot. Further investigation has garnered another blessing and a kindness. Continue reading

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San Pedro: Journey to a Sacred Space


Weather has been changing by the day, and so has gone our vacation schedule. We have had our time dwindled to three days and one of those is still iffy. Our location changed from four days at the Eden Hot Springs, which was killed by Covid19. Our “Plan B” was look at some mountain watershed, mid to lower elevations. This has changed several times. Now we are heading for a tour with several hikes associated with  the San Pedro River Valley. Such as it sometimes goes, for spoiled warm weather naked people.

The first day is to explore the riparian riverbed of the San Pedro near Cascabel, Arizona. I have been scouring satellite photos of the area and anything on the internet about access into the river. There is supposedly a four and a half mile stretch that has flowing water, but I’m not yet sure just where that is.

We begin with a drive out on the sleepy two lane road to Cascabel.

Spring flowers are popping up everywhere.

Some places are covered in color.

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Unnamed Valley


Bug Springs Trail in the Catalina Mountains of Arizona looked to have some good potential for nude hiking. It has a corridor of lush mountain vegetation and my investigation using google maps showed it to be a pretty significant stretch. It is less well traveled, perhaps because it is either uphill all the way, or at the other end, a trailhead rises steep, before slowly dropping over a couple of miles.

It looks best to use two cars, one at each end. Looking further on the HikeArizona website, I got the elevation and grade. I also saw that it has a great deal of popularity as a bike trail on internet, which could be a downside.

The elevation will make it a good cooler temperature today. We’ll find out.

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2020 Ziploite #11: Last HAhrrah!

Feb. 2020


The airline cancelled our flight. The choice was on the beach in Zipolite, or cooped up in a hotel in Mexico City.

We’ve got an extra day in Zipolite! We weren’t ready yet, so says the cosmos. The lesson to learn is about surrender to what is and trusting in the divine hand of grace doing whatever it will. Well, through rearranging a slew of reservations on a phone/internet system that wouldn’t cooperate in my Spanish and dashing the class that DF was to take that Sunday, it was figured out that accepting was the best tactic. I’ve been stranded in much worse places than this paradise.

The extra time, well spent, is sure to work out correctly.

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2020 Zipolite: Natures Dance

Feb. 2020


Nature’s Dance:

Great angular blocks, layers and deposits form jagged cliff sides. Beyond, a tunnel has taken several millennia of carving with the pressures of a funnel to create. Waves of white foam wash through at high tide, torrential and potent, but they are slow, very slow to make a mark.

Among the dark wet rocks are chutes and whirlpools. Great waves are constantly changing their intensity, their track and their tack.

Submerged rocks can be clearly seen, exposed by a tidal current and then again, under masses of foam and crystal assure blue.

We wander down the beach in among the daily ritual of sunset, the rolling crests of foam form their pipe-like tunnels. Soon, they will be streaking across the deep shadows, making their own glow in the din with the moonlight and stars. Tonight, the lights of the Hotel Nude will provide a yellow hue, creating golden waves in black waters reflecting diamonds in dark skies.

Still endlessly hitting those cliffs and outcroppings, those chutes of water pound and thunder. Sometimes, they fan out, spraying higher than the spouts of great whales. A salty cloud of mist forms and we see it float to the sandy beach.

Where a rock sits exposed, launched by the power of a wave, grand fountains shoot high in remarkable swirls and twists.

They scatter and then return to the soft more quiet brine, now in their time, they are stretched out below.

We stand in the back splash from a resting power that has been spent on an assault at the sandy shore. Again and again, we hear thunder and power as nature plays and dances.

Drumming His Prayer

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