I wanted to hike the 3.5 mile Anza Trail from Tumacacori to Tubac but I had spent so much time walking around the presidio that I was already quite tired. On top of that, it was warmer than usual today and I was feeling a bit parched. So instead of picking up the trail behind the post office across the street from the mission, I drove the three miles into town and parked outside the state histoic park, Arizona's first state park. The same state park that is being threatened with closure to save on monies.
The presidio compound was smaller than I thought. I paid my $3 and walked around, again reading everything on the signs and using my park reading guide. Some of the more important buildings, like the presidio itself, were no longer around, but the school house, an underground museum and the Rojas House were still standing. The park was on the edge of town, and everything outside the four-foot adobe wall was Tubac, its shops and the wandering tourists.
The presidio had more Native American displays in its museum.
It was after 2pm when I finished my tour of the presidio. I spent more time driving around Tubac to get familiar with the layout, locating lush green grass from the "Hurford Ranch" that was irrigating its grass from overhead sprinklers. That ranch had the greenest grass in town outside of the golf course.
Toursts were crowding the narrow streets, licking ice cream cones and looking at Mexican pottery, sculptures and other artsy designs. I was more interested in the smaller Mexican homes with the green shutters and ocotillo fences. There wasn't much to Tubac, as it seemed to be more of a town based on tourism and high-priced galleries. Most of the cars in town, however, displayed Arizona plates.
I had to snicker at the misspelled "Tubac Cementery" sign, home of mostly Mexican graves covered in coloful plastic flower arrangements. The cemetery was across the street from the fancy golf course.
I walked around the upscale "Esplanada" shopping mall but didn't buy anything. (What is there for me to buy these days?) I chatted for a few minutes with the Mexican woman at the tourist center, a sweet older woman who kept thanking me for stopping buy. She had seen her share of tourists today and commented on how older German women dress, as an older German woman had just stepped outside the center.
"They don't really get fat like American women do," she explained, "and they are always dressed so elegantly." Unlike me, who was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and wore oversized winter boots. Her description of Germans fit my own mother to a T. She would have been aghast to be seen with my own down-scaled attire.
I told her I was surprised at how small Tubac was. Where did the kids here go to school? I figured living here as a kid must be horribly boring, when the town's entire economy is based on wealthy older people.
"The students here go to Green Valley or Nogales" she went on. "We have a Montesouri school in town that parents pay for."
And then she changed the subject to Sierra Vista. "I heard there are gangs coming in from Los Angeles." That is true...and it's a battle with the Cripts and Bloods that won't be won anytime soon.
It was passed 3pm now, I was thirsty, and still determined to hike a part of the Anza Historical Trail. I parked by the presidio, closer to the trailhead parking, and took off. I only brought my camera as I had no extra water by now to carry.
The trail passed along private property, skirted a new housing development and then paralled a tributary to the Santa Cruz River. Upon closer look I could see ground cover coming up, giving the river banks a lush green hue with the smell of sweet mildewy humidity. This was sewage effluent at its finest.
But then somehow the trail went north instead of south like I had planned, moving toward the Tumacacori mission. I got on a 1.5-mile northbound access trail by accident. I figured I'd hike for an hour out or until the trail ended or when the trail crossed the river. I didn't mind the diversion as I prefer riparian habitats over desert habitats when it gets hot out.
I passed two felled snags that collected upriver flow of discarded plastic bottles, creating a floating debris pile swaying in the water. Downstream a quarter mile I found another such snag. The creek was evidence that a lot of illegals hike along here as well, as locals had left new gallon-sized water containers along the trail. Discarded clothes and other trash were also evident here. I didn't want to be hiking here after dusk.
The trail crossed the Bridge Road and ended at the golf course near a cattle corral. I turned around here and walked back, getting to the truck in two hours from the original departure time. The 6pm news had just started on my radio.
The presidio compound was smaller than I thought. I paid my $3 and walked around, again reading everything on the signs and using my park reading guide. Some of the more important buildings, like the presidio itself, were no longer around, but the school house, an underground museum and the Rojas House were still standing. The park was on the edge of town, and everything outside the four-foot adobe wall was Tubac, its shops and the wandering tourists.
The presidio had more Native American displays in its museum.
It was after 2pm when I finished my tour of the presidio. I spent more time driving around Tubac to get familiar with the layout, locating lush green grass from the "Hurford Ranch" that was irrigating its grass from overhead sprinklers. That ranch had the greenest grass in town outside of the golf course.
Toursts were crowding the narrow streets, licking ice cream cones and looking at Mexican pottery, sculptures and other artsy designs. I was more interested in the smaller Mexican homes with the green shutters and ocotillo fences. There wasn't much to Tubac, as it seemed to be more of a town based on tourism and high-priced galleries. Most of the cars in town, however, displayed Arizona plates.
I had to snicker at the misspelled "Tubac Cementery" sign, home of mostly Mexican graves covered in coloful plastic flower arrangements. The cemetery was across the street from the fancy golf course.
I walked around the upscale "Esplanada" shopping mall but didn't buy anything. (What is there for me to buy these days?) I chatted for a few minutes with the Mexican woman at the tourist center, a sweet older woman who kept thanking me for stopping buy. She had seen her share of tourists today and commented on how older German women dress, as an older German woman had just stepped outside the center.
"They don't really get fat like American women do," she explained, "and they are always dressed so elegantly." Unlike me, who was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and wore oversized winter boots. Her description of Germans fit my own mother to a T. She would have been aghast to be seen with my own down-scaled attire.
I told her I was surprised at how small Tubac was. Where did the kids here go to school? I figured living here as a kid must be horribly boring, when the town's entire economy is based on wealthy older people.
"The students here go to Green Valley or Nogales" she went on. "We have a Montesouri school in town that parents pay for."
And then she changed the subject to Sierra Vista. "I heard there are gangs coming in from Los Angeles." That is true...and it's a battle with the Cripts and Bloods that won't be won anytime soon.
It was passed 3pm now, I was thirsty, and still determined to hike a part of the Anza Historical Trail. I parked by the presidio, closer to the trailhead parking, and took off. I only brought my camera as I had no extra water by now to carry.
The trail passed along private property, skirted a new housing development and then paralled a tributary to the Santa Cruz River. Upon closer look I could see ground cover coming up, giving the river banks a lush green hue with the smell of sweet mildewy humidity. This was sewage effluent at its finest.
But then somehow the trail went north instead of south like I had planned, moving toward the Tumacacori mission. I got on a 1.5-mile northbound access trail by accident. I figured I'd hike for an hour out or until the trail ended or when the trail crossed the river. I didn't mind the diversion as I prefer riparian habitats over desert habitats when it gets hot out.
I passed two felled snags that collected upriver flow of discarded plastic bottles, creating a floating debris pile swaying in the water. Downstream a quarter mile I found another such snag. The creek was evidence that a lot of illegals hike along here as well, as locals had left new gallon-sized water containers along the trail. Discarded clothes and other trash were also evident here. I didn't want to be hiking here after dusk.
The trail crossed the Bridge Road and ended at the golf course near a cattle corral. I turned around here and walked back, getting to the truck in two hours from the original departure time. The 6pm news had just started on my radio.
By now the town of Tubac was void of tourists and open stores. The town was now dead until tomorrow. Hungry but refusing to pay high tourist dollars, I bought a bag of corn chips and salsa from the corner market and ate chips with a tall can of Arizona Iced Tea before driving home via I-19 to Nogales.
The interstate here was booming with southbound traffic. Lights from distant hilltop homes lighted up against the darkening sky, resembling small forest fires. The Nogales area was larger in the dark than during the day, and more lights spread across the horizon in Sonora. The view was actually quite beautiful.
But there was also a sense of danger now as cars sped passed me at a high rate of speed. This route is prime smuggling route and never a day goes by when local newspapers print articles about drug busts or dead illegals along the shoulders. I just wanted to get home as soon as possible.
The Oscars were on the radio. Penelope Cruz and Heath Ledger won supporting actor roles. It wasn't until I got home at 8:30pm that I learned of the other awardees. A Japanese movie, Departures, won Best Foreign Movie. I had never heard of that movie.
Tonight was the first night I did not get chilled after sunset. Even after arriving at the house, a 1000 feet higher in elevation than Nogales, I was warm. A bank marquee in town read 66F.
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