2023-09-28
We’re in the foothills of the Huachuca Mountains camping and exploring.

We took a hike and sat in a meditative session in a canyon in the Huachuca Mountains, this day. That story can be found here and in Part2:
Oversite Canyon Day I
After the day’s wandering, we ponder about the mysteriously weird behavior of those two intrusive guys. They had parked down the road at the base of the turnoff to our camp, but we aren’t sure what drew them to park there. Perhaps they left clues.
The day still feels young, even though it is winding down. We can see that the sun is nearer to setting, as we look through the tree’s canopy. We decide to take a stroll in this idyllic weather. It will be a short walk before eating. We won’t need anything, just shoes to glide over the loose sticks and stones…and a camera.
The two track road rambles through the taller trees. It gently waves up and down to the dictates of the contours of the little ravines that head toward the creek bottom at the center of the canyon.
It is not long before we are at the intersection, and then soon there is a turn off heading downhill, or downstream toward a wood stack rail fence. It looks rustic and authentic. Long pieces of mesquite have been stacked in between two posts of similar material. It has been a corral. It is still together. The tire tracks of the two guy’s SUV lie in a patch of dust.

We begin to explore, to see if the ranching still functions. It is capable, but not being used today. We mosey across the tall grass fields to see what is there. From here, we can see in the distance from the base of this pair of canyons confluence. For miles, the easy slope of the bajada fans out before us.
We are up a favorite canyon in the Huachuca Mountains. We just explored an old homestead in ruins, speculating about life here a long time ago. Now, we’ll learn a little more about those days.
Just a bit further, there is a water source in the creek bed.

It is now thick in reeds, a lovely riparian spot.

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.

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.
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.

We both slept well. We’re waking to birds, treetop branch shadows, turkey gobbles. It’s a wonderful temperature, when we stand in the sun.
We drop off our bedclothes here and there. The cold of the night is disappearing steadily. I free my pants, then the down jacket. DF has a similar wardrobe distribution and breakfast comes.

As we sit quietly eating breakfast, still in shirts, cuddled by our folding chairs, yet another white p/u truck pulls up and stops where the road gets particularly nasty. This time, a family gets out and parades past, following the road. The father marches ahead like a tall commander in front of his troops. All are in matching camouflage outfits. A less statured mother is next, carrying rifle on her shoulder. A teenaged son brings up the back. He is nothing of the confidence of his father. He has a very shy gangly insecure walk to him. They disappear up the road.
We’re not going that way today. We’re exploring Ida Canyon. We have decided to delay our trip to Miller Canyon on the other side of these mountains. We didn’t expect this to be so wonderful. We had a long hike yesterday and figure that it is best to just relax and enjoy this place. It is best to take only one hike today and scrap the plan of one hike hurried here and then one into Miller Canyon. There is no hurry. We are free to enjoy this vast playground in leisure, nearly all to ourselves. Miller Canyon is more likely to be busy with Saturday walkers.

We are going to spend four days in the Huachuca Mountains, a sky island which has its southern tip at the Mexican border. It is Friday to Monday, so I have planned to avoid the weekend crowd by being in more remote areas during the usual high points.
The weather has been changing and this is our backup plan to another part of the state. Often, I just have to mitigate circumstance. Two options, or more, will often save the day, if the weather needs to suit a lack of clothes. The first two days will be in the more remote area on a west facing side of the mountain range. This is also where the warm sun will be on the cooler days. This morning, the quickest way to bring us to this new spot the earliest, is by taking the highway through Sierra Vista. The planning works out well and our story begins.
South of Serra Vista, the trees and grass around new stucco homes, reminds me of California.
There is a turn off of the highway that leads to Montezuma Pass. The two lanes head toward the mountains as we look down the hill at the great black line that is the border wall. Things have changed since the days when a Mexican could just walk across the expanse each week, work and then return home to family.
Anxious to get out to nature, we are slowed to a near stop by construction going up the winding Montezuma Pass road. It looks like there will be asphalt added on top of the dusty trail. Tourists bring money to the economy.
Once we have cleared the pass with its vista, tourists and history, I pull over to slip the lockers into 4×4 to hug the road a bit better. The dirt road is steep and sometimes slippery.
Both of our cell phones go off in ring tones. They are messaging us, “Welcome to Mexico.” It feels unsettling to know that we are being tracked. The recorded voice goes on to explain that our charges will be no different. Perhaps Verizon and T- mobile are not aware of the Gadsden Purchase.
There is a parking area at the base of this hill and it is time for a break. When we pull off of the road, I notice a truck hidden behind a tree. I get out and wrap a kilt around just to take care. It is Border Patrol. It is creepy being spied upon.
We pull out and cross the main road where there is the dirt track to the two valleys. We intend to explore both during our retreat.
The road gets pretty rough. At one point I question that we might have made a wrong turn, as it wanders through the scrub oak trees. Soon, a sign is posted mentioning one of the trails up one of the canyons that we intend to explore.
I feel gratified, when we see that we are chasing a turkey. It flees down the middle of the road in front of us. Fright and flight, it doesn’t seem to know that we won’t follow it into the trees. This is the wilds and soon we will come to a designated wilderness.
We come to an open camping spot with a large fire-pit. There will be no fire, this week. It’s dry and there are restrictions.
Back in the day, there was a national pastime called the Sunday Drive. The big three would have billboards advertising a well-dressed family, just out of church, cruising in one of their tail-finned shinny chromed sedans. Gas was cheap, life was looking up.
It’s Sunday and we’re going on a picnic cruise down through Baja Arizona along the west side of the Huachuca Mountains. Our ride is a tight little Honda Civic, not a historic floating boat from yesteryear.
We’re just down the road and it’s about 11am. I’ve been sick and felt pretty bad the night before. There is no telling what this will bring to me today, but…I’m stir crazy and determined.
We grab some eats from Trader Joe’s. With DF at the wheel, I get undressed, as we head out of town. I tell DF of my notion of the obvious, “Everything, even sick, can feel just a bit better when the clothing comes off.” Naked and making myself at home distracts from my insides and brings my attention to my outsides.
We take the winding scenic drive down through to Sonoita. On the map it is just a small black spot at a crossroads of lines. It is charming all along here. Its rolling hills are hosting vineyards and white board fences more and more, as the years go by. It feels kind of like a drive through gentrified California countryside.
The grasses are green and the trees small. Every so often, a stream crosses the road and there is usually a taller shade tree at its side.
Down further, California turns to Kansas. Straight dirt roads go to the horizon.
Today, the sunflowers are as high as the speed limit signs. If we were in Kansas, they would say that the snow this winter will be as high as the sunflowers, but this is Arizona. It doesn’t work like that here.
One inviting hacienda on its acreage gives over to the next. Continue reading
We’re reminiscing back to 2012. It was a maiden cruise in the 4×4 that I had just purchased. One thing that I didn’t have for this was my camera. DF’s camera bit the dust soon after we left. It had been acting up. The result had been a picture-less report. I recently pieced together some illustrations and…better late than never:
DF and I are waking up at her place on an open calendar Saturday. Lying in bed looking out the window at blue skies and sunshine, I just feels right, “What the heck, Let’s just spontaneously go down to your old a stomping grounds in the Huachuca Mountains. Down there are some spots I haven’t visited in twenty or thirty years and some areas where we have never been.”
We now have this 4×4 truck, so there is no stopping us. We pack up some food, tank up and everything else happens to be all ready to go. I don’t have any clothes, but the “needing to take special care for” light colored ones, that I wore when going out and dancing last night. BUT then, if we play it right, we aren’t going to need clothes anyway. I do have my leather huaraches. That’s good, Arizona can be rough on bare feet.
We are in the Huachuca Mountains. We have spent a couple of days here and accomplished our climb to Miller Peak. We have a casual day planned, heading back down the mountain.
Here is the rest of the story, which is in three other parts:
https://thefreerangenaturist.org/2019/04/12/miller-peak-bathtub-spring/
https://thefreerangenaturist.org/2019/04/18/miller-peak-camping-and-a-surprise/
https://thefreerangenaturist.org/2019/04/23/miller-peak-ascent-to-a-parting-day-2/
DF has heard an owl in the night. She tells me that she is grateful that it came. She says that it felt big. It had a big sound, “I’m here. Anybody else here? Who, who?”
After my climb out of the tent, I stand stiffly and take in the wilderness. These trees all tell a story; it is their history they speak of. It is like a mother’s stretchmarks or an old soldier’s wounds. These are tangled, bent, burled and shaped by their lives. The rings have a tale, too. There is an old hulk with a twisted trunk near the watercourse. The twist says that it had had a ley energy shape it. When the fires came, they burnt it to be like a barber pole.