It's rained every day since last Saturday (eight days ago) but meteorologists say the real monsoon won't start till Tuesday when the rains are supposed to fall for real. As far as I am concerned, based on the daily storms since Wednesday, the monsoon in this part of the state has already started. It's not been a day too soon as the fires have helped contain some of the area wildfires.
The nice thing about this precipitation is that it's bringing out the wildlife, both the good kind and the not-so-good kind.
Yesterday on my way into town I saw a Gambel's Quail cross the road of a busy country road. I slowed down for the bird, and then saw at least ten chicks behind the mother bird. I swirved to the right to avoid the little critters, then slowed down and then stopped, much to the chagrin of the pick-up driver behind me. (Screw him). The driver going the other direction also stopped and I hope I didn't hit any other chicks. They were so hard to see as they blended into the scenery.
We used to have a covey of quail in our back yard, but they have long since moved on once the quail realized we moved in with three cats. I enjoy the morning cries of the male Gambel's Quail.
This morning as I was putzing around the garden supply bench in the back yard I was spooked by a little striped lizard, the Arizona striped whiptail that was determined to catch a cricket. It caught the cricket twice but twice the cricket managed to jump out of the lizard's mouth. The third time's a charm as the determined little lizard managed to bite the cricket and swallow it as it ran off for its next meal.
I've been seeing a lot of the striped lizards in and around the yard. Now that I know what it likes to eat the lizards are welcome to any and all of the crickets!
We have been getting lots of crickets and June beetles these last few weeks and even more so since the rains. There's one in my van and there are several in the house. I see new dead beetles and crickets all over the house. Sometimes the beetles annoy me when they buzzbomb me while I am reading or writing in the house. Those slow-moving beetles are rather awkward as well, bumping into the lights above.
A few nights ago a toad, a TOAD jumped across the living room. What was it doing in the house? I captured it and set it free in the front yard.
I also saw a beautiful Oriole a few days ago, with its bright orange belly giving away its hiding spot in the photinia along the northern fence line. A few other interesting birds have also appeard near the bird feeders.
http://www.desertusa.com/mag01/apr/papr/gambel.html
http://www.reptilesofaz.com/Lizards-Subpages/h-a-arizonae.html (this site claims the lizard is only in northern Cochise County, but what I see in my back yard is definitely this little guy)
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Karen's response
I wrote her yesterday and I got a response. Sounds like she had a very close call. She lives in the Santa Cruz area, a town hard hit by the recent coastal fires in CA. She and I did a lot of great hikes in the Santa Cruz/ Big Sur area in the late 1990s.
Here is a partial from her e-mail:
____
It has not been good for me here with the fires. I'm lucky in that my place has not burned down, but last weekend was very "hairy".
The whole area was evacuated, and all the roads closed. I live in the Larkin Valley area, which is just south of Aptos, in the mountains. I wasn't able to get home from work last Friday, as there was a wildfire in the Larkin Valley area.
It was very frightening seeing that huge plume of smoke in the sky, knowing that you live there, and not knowing if your house burnt down.
I was at work when it broke out, so had nothing with me...no change of clothes,etc. My poor kitty was at home. I wound up sleeping at work that night, but was able to get home by 5 AM Sat. That wasn't the end of it, though.
On Sat. afternoon we had a freak thunder/lightening storm in the middle of the afternoon. I was on my deck,(I'm at the very top of a ridge, and see it all), when a huge clap of thunder broke like a bomb, and there was an intense flash of light.
Sure enough, 2 minutes later the sound of fire engines. I could see the plume of smoke from my deck and then the helicoptors and planes going over for hours. A property just a few acreas from me had caught fire. I was racing around like a mad woman up and down the ladder, wetting the roof, deck and all the surrounding area. In between this, I ran frantically back and forth from house to car, packing up my cat, computer, threw clothes in...etc etc etc. Whatta mess!!!
But they were able to put the fire out before it reached me. That was too close!!! I've started carrying my camera around with me everywhere, as I don't want to loose it in a fire. I don't want to loose my computer either, but can't carry it around! Other than the fires, Big Sur is all ablaze, too, I haven't done much else this summer.
Yes, with the price of gas, I've decided that it's high time for me to stay home and play with all my expensive toys!!! instead of driving all over looking for excitement. But the best beach in town is only 5 min drive away, so I'm able to go for long walks there (Seacape Beach), or sit and read on the beach.
Here is a partial from her e-mail:
____
It has not been good for me here with the fires. I'm lucky in that my place has not burned down, but last weekend was very "hairy".
The whole area was evacuated, and all the roads closed. I live in the Larkin Valley area, which is just south of Aptos, in the mountains. I wasn't able to get home from work last Friday, as there was a wildfire in the Larkin Valley area.
It was very frightening seeing that huge plume of smoke in the sky, knowing that you live there, and not knowing if your house burnt down.
I was at work when it broke out, so had nothing with me...no change of clothes,etc. My poor kitty was at home. I wound up sleeping at work that night, but was able to get home by 5 AM Sat. That wasn't the end of it, though.
On Sat. afternoon we had a freak thunder/lightening storm in the middle of the afternoon. I was on my deck,(I'm at the very top of a ridge, and see it all), when a huge clap of thunder broke like a bomb, and there was an intense flash of light.
Sure enough, 2 minutes later the sound of fire engines. I could see the plume of smoke from my deck and then the helicoptors and planes going over for hours. A property just a few acreas from me had caught fire. I was racing around like a mad woman up and down the ladder, wetting the roof, deck and all the surrounding area. In between this, I ran frantically back and forth from house to car, packing up my cat, computer, threw clothes in...etc etc etc. Whatta mess!!!
But they were able to put the fire out before it reached me. That was too close!!! I've started carrying my camera around with me everywhere, as I don't want to loose it in a fire. I don't want to loose my computer either, but can't carry it around! Other than the fires, Big Sur is all ablaze, too, I haven't done much else this summer.
Yes, with the price of gas, I've decided that it's high time for me to stay home and play with all my expensive toys!!! instead of driving all over looking for excitement. But the best beach in town is only 5 min drive away, so I'm able to go for long walks there (Seacape Beach), or sit and read on the beach.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Fire updates for California
Monterey and Big Sur were my home for four years and will always have a special place in my heart. I hope my friends Karen and John are safe.
___
The Monterey County Herald
Article Last Updated: 06/28/2008 09:22:17 AM PDT
Fire update
Big Sur
· Higher humidity slowed the spread of the Basin Complex fire burning east of Big Sur on Friday.
The week-old fire in Los Padres National Forest consumed 26,876 acres by 6 p.m. after a relatively quiet night.
The number of firefighters battling the blaze that has burned 16 homes and two outbuildings grew to 834.
Fire crews remained deployed on Highway 1, Partington Ridge Road and the North Coast Ridge Road to protect structures. Crews continued to improve lines near Big Sur, but the tenacious fire remained only 3 percent contained.
· Officials moved a strip of Highway 1 closed because of the fire further south.
That will allow a few businesses just south of the village of Big Sur to reopen, a Forest Service spokesman said. The Big Sur Chamber of Commerce said the Ventana Inn, Post Ranch, Hawthorne Gallery and Nepenthe Restaurant would reopen this weekend.
The fire, sparked June 21 by lightning strikes, has severely cut into the summer tourist trade for many businesses in the Big Sur area.
"The impact is economically pretty devastating, but hopefully short in duration," said Kirk Gafill, general manager of Nepenthe and head of the Big Sur Chamber of Commerce.
The Esalen Institute retreat center announced it would close until July 6 because of falling ash and poor air quality.
The highway is now closed between the Nepenthe turnout to the north and Nacimiento-Fergusson Road to the south.
·
Fire officials are concerned there may be another spate of dry lightning in the next two days like last weekend, when lightning strikes ignited hundreds of fires in Northern California.
"Even though the chance is slight, it still has firefighters' attention," said Big Sur fire spokesman Mark Savage.
Indians Fire
· Firefighters continued backfire operations along the Arroyo Seco River on Friday, taking advantage of favorable weather conditions.
The fire remained 71-percent contained and grew slightly in size to 59,759 acres. The number of personnel on the fire, which was touched off June 8 by an unattended campfire, dropped to 1,333 from more than 1,400.
· For the first time since the fire west of King City broke out, plans today include escorting residents of cabins in the Santa Lucia Tract near the fire's origin point to their properties.
Fire officials said none of the cabins were lost, but the area remains hazardous because a lot of heavy equipment still operating in the area.
· The Monterey Bay area, like much of Northern and Central California, experienced smoky, hazy skies Friday from the fires.
The Monterey Bay Air Pollution Control District said shifting wind carried more smoke into the Peninsula area, and elevated smoke levels probably will last through today.
Meanwhile, the county's two big fires remained on a course to merge within a few days. The Basin Complex fire is spreading south and east toward the Indians Fire.
"We have to be ready when that fire gets here to have a nice, big, black, consolidated anchor point," said Don Ferguson, a Forest Service spokesman.
Statewide
· More than 1,000 fires, mostly caused by lightning, have burned more than 400 square miles from the Central Coast to Oregon.
Areas hardest hit include Butte County, where 31 fires have burned 17 square miles and threatened 1,200 homes; Mendocino County, where 121 fires have burned 42 square miles and threatened 900 homes; and Shasta-Trinity counties, where about 160 fires have burned 55 square miles and threatened 230 homes.
· Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger asked President Bush for a federal emergency declaration to free up more resources, noting that most of the major fires were less than 20 percent contained. Some 11,000 firefighters from 41 states are battling the blazes.
· The blazes have left a smoky haze over much of the San Francisco Bay Area and Central Valley, prompting air regulators to urge people to stay indoors. Air pollution readings in Northern California and the Central Valley were two to 10 times the federal standard for clean air, said Dimitri Stanich, spokesman for the California Air Resources Control Board.
http://www.montereyherald.com/news/ci_9728325?nclick_check=1
___
The Monterey County Herald
Article Last Updated: 06/28/2008 09:22:17 AM PDT
Fire update
Big Sur
· Higher humidity slowed the spread of the Basin Complex fire burning east of Big Sur on Friday.
The week-old fire in Los Padres National Forest consumed 26,876 acres by 6 p.m. after a relatively quiet night.
The number of firefighters battling the blaze that has burned 16 homes and two outbuildings grew to 834.
Fire crews remained deployed on Highway 1, Partington Ridge Road and the North Coast Ridge Road to protect structures. Crews continued to improve lines near Big Sur, but the tenacious fire remained only 3 percent contained.
· Officials moved a strip of Highway 1 closed because of the fire further south.
That will allow a few businesses just south of the village of Big Sur to reopen, a Forest Service spokesman said. The Big Sur Chamber of Commerce said the Ventana Inn, Post Ranch, Hawthorne Gallery and Nepenthe Restaurant would reopen this weekend.
The fire, sparked June 21 by lightning strikes, has severely cut into the summer tourist trade for many businesses in the Big Sur area.
"The impact is economically pretty devastating, but hopefully short in duration," said Kirk Gafill, general manager of Nepenthe and head of the Big Sur Chamber of Commerce.
The Esalen Institute retreat center announced it would close until July 6 because of falling ash and poor air quality.
The highway is now closed between the Nepenthe turnout to the north and Nacimiento-Fergusson Road to the south.
·
Fire officials are concerned there may be another spate of dry lightning in the next two days like last weekend, when lightning strikes ignited hundreds of fires in Northern California.
"Even though the chance is slight, it still has firefighters' attention," said Big Sur fire spokesman Mark Savage.
Indians Fire
· Firefighters continued backfire operations along the Arroyo Seco River on Friday, taking advantage of favorable weather conditions.
The fire remained 71-percent contained and grew slightly in size to 59,759 acres. The number of personnel on the fire, which was touched off June 8 by an unattended campfire, dropped to 1,333 from more than 1,400.
· For the first time since the fire west of King City broke out, plans today include escorting residents of cabins in the Santa Lucia Tract near the fire's origin point to their properties.
Fire officials said none of the cabins were lost, but the area remains hazardous because a lot of heavy equipment still operating in the area.
· The Monterey Bay area, like much of Northern and Central California, experienced smoky, hazy skies Friday from the fires.
The Monterey Bay Air Pollution Control District said shifting wind carried more smoke into the Peninsula area, and elevated smoke levels probably will last through today.
Meanwhile, the county's two big fires remained on a course to merge within a few days. The Basin Complex fire is spreading south and east toward the Indians Fire.
"We have to be ready when that fire gets here to have a nice, big, black, consolidated anchor point," said Don Ferguson, a Forest Service spokesman.
Statewide
· More than 1,000 fires, mostly caused by lightning, have burned more than 400 square miles from the Central Coast to Oregon.
Areas hardest hit include Butte County, where 31 fires have burned 17 square miles and threatened 1,200 homes; Mendocino County, where 121 fires have burned 42 square miles and threatened 900 homes; and Shasta-Trinity counties, where about 160 fires have burned 55 square miles and threatened 230 homes.
· Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger asked President Bush for a federal emergency declaration to free up more resources, noting that most of the major fires were less than 20 percent contained. Some 11,000 firefighters from 41 states are battling the blazes.
· The blazes have left a smoky haze over much of the San Francisco Bay Area and Central Valley, prompting air regulators to urge people to stay indoors. Air pollution readings in Northern California and the Central Valley were two to 10 times the federal standard for clean air, said Dimitri Stanich, spokesman for the California Air Resources Control Board.
http://www.montereyherald.com/news/ci_9728325?nclick_check=1
Thursday, June 26, 2008
An afternoon at the animal shelter
Shortly after noon I drove to the shelter to drop off the cans I got from my neighbors yesterday. I ended spending over 90 minutes at the shelter, talking to volunteers from the Arizona Department of Corrections (ADC) and other residents coming in to look at kittens. Nearly all the cages were full and many of the cats were there two weeks ago when I was at the shelter last.
I spoke to two of the ADC volunteers and complimented them on their good work--the shelter is always clean when I go there--and the two men seemed touched by my compliment. I meant it. The men knew all the dogs by name, could opine on each animal's personality, and did a thorough job cleaning each kennel and cage. They also gave each animal personal time.
One kennel with a label stating the pitbull-mix was "Blaze" stood empty. "He was put down this morning" said one ADC man, "He was a little crazy."
Later on he showed me an older black lab dog, fat from age and lack of exercise but clearly a dog that had been trained. "She's an old girl, and probably won't get adopted because of that" the man went on, "but she knows all her commands." and to show me he told the old girl to "sit" and the obedient dog did. That poor critter seemed resigned to her fate.
Almost all the kennels were full, too, which is a concern for me. There were a few cages empty in the cat area, but it was in the cat area where I spent a lot of time, cuddling with some cats and watching their overall characteristics. One black kitten with a small white spot on his chest reminded me of Arthur: outgoing and fiesty. He purred non-stop while I held him. A few minutes later a young family came into the shelter to adopt him. They had spotted him a few days ago and were coming to pick him up, along with another kitten they hadn't decided on.
I continued to talk to three ADC volunteers, inmates from Douglas. They are bussed to the shelter Mondays through Thursday from 8-3pm. They are carefully screened for animal abuse cases. "Have you ever been convicted for crimes against animals" is on their questionnaire.
It wasn't that long ago that I wouldn't have bothered talking to inmates, regardless of the reason of their incarceration. But watching them treat the animals so gently melted my heart. These men can't be all that bad if they can show tenderness toward animals. The interaction today with the ADC inmates taught me a valuable lesson about the human spirit. These men are examples of good people doing stupid things, and paying the price for society.
I finally left the shelter at 2pm, with a heavy heart. My heart ached for the homeless animals as well as for the ADC men working off their time. My only consolation was knowng I did my part in helping the shelter with my aluminum cans. I dropped off three large black bags of cans, which would bring a few dollars for the animals' welfare.
I spoke to two of the ADC volunteers and complimented them on their good work--the shelter is always clean when I go there--and the two men seemed touched by my compliment. I meant it. The men knew all the dogs by name, could opine on each animal's personality, and did a thorough job cleaning each kennel and cage. They also gave each animal personal time.
One kennel with a label stating the pitbull-mix was "Blaze" stood empty. "He was put down this morning" said one ADC man, "He was a little crazy."
Later on he showed me an older black lab dog, fat from age and lack of exercise but clearly a dog that had been trained. "She's an old girl, and probably won't get adopted because of that" the man went on, "but she knows all her commands." and to show me he told the old girl to "sit" and the obedient dog did. That poor critter seemed resigned to her fate.
Almost all the kennels were full, too, which is a concern for me. There were a few cages empty in the cat area, but it was in the cat area where I spent a lot of time, cuddling with some cats and watching their overall characteristics. One black kitten with a small white spot on his chest reminded me of Arthur: outgoing and fiesty. He purred non-stop while I held him. A few minutes later a young family came into the shelter to adopt him. They had spotted him a few days ago and were coming to pick him up, along with another kitten they hadn't decided on.
I continued to talk to three ADC volunteers, inmates from Douglas. They are bussed to the shelter Mondays through Thursday from 8-3pm. They are carefully screened for animal abuse cases. "Have you ever been convicted for crimes against animals" is on their questionnaire.
It wasn't that long ago that I wouldn't have bothered talking to inmates, regardless of the reason of their incarceration. But watching them treat the animals so gently melted my heart. These men can't be all that bad if they can show tenderness toward animals. The interaction today with the ADC inmates taught me a valuable lesson about the human spirit. These men are examples of good people doing stupid things, and paying the price for society.
I finally left the shelter at 2pm, with a heavy heart. My heart ached for the homeless animals as well as for the ADC men working off their time. My only consolation was knowng I did my part in helping the shelter with my aluminum cans. I dropped off three large black bags of cans, which would bring a few dollars for the animals' welfare.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Rain
It stormed last night beautifully, with lightning coming in from Douglas. The rain wasn't substantial, but it left the ground moist and this morning it was a mild 71F at 7am.
An hour later I took the dogs out for a walk, taking them toward the highway. Sadie got tired after the first mile and plopped down in a shady spot, so I gave them all ten minutes to recoup. By the time we walked back the sky was blue and clear and the heat was back.
Sadie still tries to be accepted by the big dogs. Sara still snaps at Sadie when Sadie gets too close to her. Sammy seems to be more accepting of the pup; today he was play-chasing her around the back yard. Those two dogs also sleep close to each other.
I was busy in the back yard, planting more seeds. I even struck a conversation with the young neighbors who are moving out at the end of the month. It turns out the three renters have been throwing their trash behind their shed, against our chainlink fence that hides the piles of trash by the tall shrubs along the fence. I hope thoe people clean all that trash up; it's as if they haven't been using the dumpsters and have been stashing all their beer bottles and cans and general trash behind the shed.
I was kind enough to take their aluminum cans off their hands. The two large bags of Bud cans will go to the shelter this week.
Kevin came home at noon, stating he was too nervous to work longer with his flight to North carolina tomorrow at 5:30am. He came home to pack and rest. I hadn't even showered yet when he got back (I was getting too dirty in the garden). By 6pm he was in bed because of his midnight wake-up.
I am nervous for him, too. He hates flying now that TSA and the airlines are so flyer unfriendly. (At least he doesn't have to get man-handled by the 300-pounders working at the Philadelphia International airport!)
He will only be gone a few days, enjoying his time off with his kids at his niece's wedding. I had originally wanted to drive out there a week in advance, but nixxed that plan when the gasoline prices rose too much (The national average today is now $4.08). I'll probably stay here and garden some more, clean up the office and put things away...or perhaps drive up to Prescott to explore some trails, although Sadie is too young to go on hikes longer than three miles.
It rained again this afternoon, but nothing too hard. The rains have been "insignificant" so far, doing more damage with the lightning that any good. Another wildfire broke out this afternoon east of Phoenix, which was started by lightning. So far just 100 acres have burned and firefighters can't get to it due to its remote area and lack of personnel. The White Tanks fire started out as a small fire (don't they all start out small?!) but has now grown to 9000 acres.
http://www.azcentral.com/community/westvalley/articles/2008/06/25/20080625abrk-brushfire0625-ON.html
An hour later I took the dogs out for a walk, taking them toward the highway. Sadie got tired after the first mile and plopped down in a shady spot, so I gave them all ten minutes to recoup. By the time we walked back the sky was blue and clear and the heat was back.
Sadie still tries to be accepted by the big dogs. Sara still snaps at Sadie when Sadie gets too close to her. Sammy seems to be more accepting of the pup; today he was play-chasing her around the back yard. Those two dogs also sleep close to each other.
I was busy in the back yard, planting more seeds. I even struck a conversation with the young neighbors who are moving out at the end of the month. It turns out the three renters have been throwing their trash behind their shed, against our chainlink fence that hides the piles of trash by the tall shrubs along the fence. I hope thoe people clean all that trash up; it's as if they haven't been using the dumpsters and have been stashing all their beer bottles and cans and general trash behind the shed.
I was kind enough to take their aluminum cans off their hands. The two large bags of Bud cans will go to the shelter this week.
Kevin came home at noon, stating he was too nervous to work longer with his flight to North carolina tomorrow at 5:30am. He came home to pack and rest. I hadn't even showered yet when he got back (I was getting too dirty in the garden). By 6pm he was in bed because of his midnight wake-up.
I am nervous for him, too. He hates flying now that TSA and the airlines are so flyer unfriendly. (At least he doesn't have to get man-handled by the 300-pounders working at the Philadelphia International airport!)
He will only be gone a few days, enjoying his time off with his kids at his niece's wedding. I had originally wanted to drive out there a week in advance, but nixxed that plan when the gasoline prices rose too much (The national average today is now $4.08). I'll probably stay here and garden some more, clean up the office and put things away...or perhaps drive up to Prescott to explore some trails, although Sadie is too young to go on hikes longer than three miles.
It rained again this afternoon, but nothing too hard. The rains have been "insignificant" so far, doing more damage with the lightning that any good. Another wildfire broke out this afternoon east of Phoenix, which was started by lightning. So far just 100 acres have burned and firefighters can't get to it due to its remote area and lack of personnel. The White Tanks fire started out as a small fire (don't they all start out small?!) but has now grown to 9000 acres.
http://www.azcentral.com/community/westvalley/articles/2008/06/25/20080625abrk-brushfire0625-ON.html
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The monsoons are coming
It rained both days this weekend, however lightly it fell in the afternoon. The low-lying deep cumulus clouds roll in from the south over the horizon, the mountains get the rain first and we in the foothills follow. It hasn't hit Tucson yet but tomorrow is supposed to be the first day that area gets precipitation.
This storm isn't too soon, as our oleanders along the perimeter look drought stressed and some of our pole beans dropped their flowers in the early part of the month and haven't grown too many beans yet.
Several wildfires were started east of Tucson by lightning. One fire, the Distillery Fire, is now at 4500 acres. Another smaller one was contained today at 900 acres. Two other fires closer to Nogales were started by humans. Hopefully the rains will come soon to help extinguish the fires. We were lucky this season to be spared deadly fires, unlike northern California that has 800 fires throughout the region.
http://www.azstarnet.com/dailystar/245192
http://www.azstarnet.com/metro/245409
This storm isn't too soon, as our oleanders along the perimeter look drought stressed and some of our pole beans dropped their flowers in the early part of the month and haven't grown too many beans yet.
Several wildfires were started east of Tucson by lightning. One fire, the Distillery Fire, is now at 4500 acres. Another smaller one was contained today at 900 acres. Two other fires closer to Nogales were started by humans. Hopefully the rains will come soon to help extinguish the fires. We were lucky this season to be spared deadly fires, unlike northern California that has 800 fires throughout the region.
http://www.azstarnet.com/dailystar/245192
http://www.azstarnet.com/metro/245409
Sadie
The last two Saturdays we've gone into town to check out the Swap Meet. One can find good deals there, from used garden tools like tillers to used clothes, books and guns. The vendors vary with each week. Yesterday there was even one vendor selling used XXX adult videos, and several curious middle-aged men were standing under that tent.
We had seen a new tiller last week for $175 but didn't have the cash on hand. This week we did, but this time the vendor wasn't there. Another couple was selling their tiller for $75, but they didn't bother to wash the dirt off the machine, nor put air in the tires. "It needs a new pull string" said the man, "but I can start it up for you!" We passed.
A little disappointed at this week's selection, we stopped at our favorite feed store to stock up on dog food on our way home. We feed our dogs only the best, from Nutro to ProPlan or Eukanuba. It all depends on what's on sale each week.
I looked around the racks of dog food and noticed a three-month old sable German Shepherd Dog puppy that one of the clerks had brought in. She had her litter of pups on sale since early May but at that time was asking $500 a pup, a bit steep for me. But this time she was asking $300.
I showed Kevin the little pup and he almost fell in love right there all over again. I could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at that sable bundle. I talked to the seller some more, asking quesitons about the parentage. She had only one more pup left. She lives on five acres in the country not too far from us, with several horses and five dogs.
The little pup's name was "Chinky," a name I knew I'd immediately change. She didn't look "Chinky" nor would I ever use that name in reference to any one else.
We left the store with the puppy. I held her in my lap as we approached our street.What to name the puppy? We went over some German names.
"I like Rommel" said Kevin, but that name was better suited for a male puppy. What about Gretchen, Gertrude? Edie?
"Sadie" said Kevin as he turned into our street.
"I like that!"
So Sadie it became.The clumsy little girl jumped to the ground as we got home and I took her to the back yard where the two unsuspecting dogs were. Sadie yelped in fear at the sight of the approaching dogs, and placed her tail between her legs.Luckily, there were no fights, just curiousity.
Later there were a few attempts by all dogs to initiate play. Sammy growled at Sadie a few times in that Back-off-kid look I've never seen him use before.
Kevin was so excited about the little dog that he tried to call his best friend Tom in Bisbee with the news.
Kevin was in love, taking the little pup everywhere, even to bed later that night where Sadie whined all night long. I kept the light on until she fell asleep. Having her whine was like having a newborn back in the bedroom again.
It's been was more of the same between the dogs since then. Sammy and Sara perhaps were annoyed that the pup was still there the next day, but they seem less annoyed with her, and when we are in the living room all three dogs are a mere feet away from each other.
When we went on our nightly walk Sadie tried to keep pace with the two big dogs, sometimes getting too close to Sara.As long as I'm not working fulltime, I will devote some time to training the little pup, perhaps even check on a Schutzhund club in the county. There's one in Elfrida but that's a 90 mile drive one way and tuition for the training will be several thousand dollars, money I'd rather spend on my own education.
But Sadie is now in our lives and will hopefully enliven us for many years. She's already shown a keen intelligence, curiosity and self confidence for her tender years.
"We should have bought her sister too" added Kevin tonight. FOUR DOGS? Has Kevin gone insane?No doubt talking about having a pure bred German Shepherd Dog these last few years has gotten to Kevin. I'm glad. I think Kevin and Sadie are going to be inseparable soon.
We had seen a new tiller last week for $175 but didn't have the cash on hand. This week we did, but this time the vendor wasn't there. Another couple was selling their tiller for $75, but they didn't bother to wash the dirt off the machine, nor put air in the tires. "It needs a new pull string" said the man, "but I can start it up for you!" We passed.
A little disappointed at this week's selection, we stopped at our favorite feed store to stock up on dog food on our way home. We feed our dogs only the best, from Nutro to ProPlan or Eukanuba. It all depends on what's on sale each week.
I looked around the racks of dog food and noticed a three-month old sable German Shepherd Dog puppy that one of the clerks had brought in. She had her litter of pups on sale since early May but at that time was asking $500 a pup, a bit steep for me. But this time she was asking $300.
I showed Kevin the little pup and he almost fell in love right there all over again. I could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at that sable bundle. I talked to the seller some more, asking quesitons about the parentage. She had only one more pup left. She lives on five acres in the country not too far from us, with several horses and five dogs.
The little pup's name was "Chinky," a name I knew I'd immediately change. She didn't look "Chinky" nor would I ever use that name in reference to any one else.
We left the store with the puppy. I held her in my lap as we approached our street.What to name the puppy? We went over some German names.
"I like Rommel" said Kevin, but that name was better suited for a male puppy. What about Gretchen, Gertrude? Edie?
"Sadie" said Kevin as he turned into our street.
"I like that!"
So Sadie it became.The clumsy little girl jumped to the ground as we got home and I took her to the back yard where the two unsuspecting dogs were. Sadie yelped in fear at the sight of the approaching dogs, and placed her tail between her legs.Luckily, there were no fights, just curiousity.
Later there were a few attempts by all dogs to initiate play. Sammy growled at Sadie a few times in that Back-off-kid look I've never seen him use before.
Kevin was so excited about the little dog that he tried to call his best friend Tom in Bisbee with the news.
Kevin was in love, taking the little pup everywhere, even to bed later that night where Sadie whined all night long. I kept the light on until she fell asleep. Having her whine was like having a newborn back in the bedroom again.
It's been was more of the same between the dogs since then. Sammy and Sara perhaps were annoyed that the pup was still there the next day, but they seem less annoyed with her, and when we are in the living room all three dogs are a mere feet away from each other.
When we went on our nightly walk Sadie tried to keep pace with the two big dogs, sometimes getting too close to Sara.As long as I'm not working fulltime, I will devote some time to training the little pup, perhaps even check on a Schutzhund club in the county. There's one in Elfrida but that's a 90 mile drive one way and tuition for the training will be several thousand dollars, money I'd rather spend on my own education.
But Sadie is now in our lives and will hopefully enliven us for many years. She's already shown a keen intelligence, curiosity and self confidence for her tender years.
"We should have bought her sister too" added Kevin tonight. FOUR DOGS? Has Kevin gone insane?No doubt talking about having a pure bred German Shepherd Dog these last few years has gotten to Kevin. I'm glad. I think Kevin and Sadie are going to be inseparable soon.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Sleeping under the stars
For the past two nights I've slept outside, under the stars and among the howling coyotes. And all because I assembled a hammock that I bought for $14 three years ago. The factory-fresh hammock was still wrapped in its cardboard box. Made in China. There were spider webs around the box after three years of leaning against the patio wall these last three years.
I always thought hammocks were a great addition to a quiet garden, swaying gently in the shade of a palo verde or a honey mesquite. When I bought the hammock during an end-of-season garden sale in town, I bit.
The nighttime temperatures this last week has been over 70F, perfect outdoor sleeping weather, and certainly cooler than the hot house.
I told Kevin I was going to sleep outside, in my new hammock, under the stars. I couldn't wait.
When darkness fell and I started feeling tired, I went outside and lay in the hammock. I had a direct view of the near full moon rising in the southeast, with perhaps Juniper nearby, a flaming bright red ball.
It was heavenly, wrapped in the hammock like a coccoon. The dogs were only a few feet from me, both with their eyes on me. They were perhaps wondering why I wasn't inside with the cats.
But when the enthusiasm waned and I needed to roll over--my neck was feeling sore--I couldn't. I had to pull myself up and around to change position, and even after a few minutes that new position had gotten old. Once again I had to get up, pull myself up and around...
After almost an hour of restless motion, I was exhausted and got up and out from that hammock. I went to the garage to dig out my cot, grabbed a pillow and a camping blanket, and slept much better afterwards. The full moon and Juniper had moved across the southern sky but both were still in the sky when I got up at 4am to go inside: Sara had just licked the inside of my mouth, my hands and feet were cold, and I was ready to spend the rest of the time inside.
The next night I repeated my outside adventure, this time with my warm sleeping bag, two pillows and my laptop. I trashed the hammock and got out my cot again.
It was heavenly sleeping out in the yard. The dogs responded to neighborhood dog howls, I could hear the noise of the nearby highway, and at 11:15pm I thought I heard a distant gunshot. The mountain winds blew gently across the yard like a fan. Yes, this was better than the heat of the house.
A few times the dogs growled, raced to the front yard fence and barked, but no other noises came from the front yard. Perhaps a stray cat had sauntered nearby, or someone was out for a late-night walk under the full moon.
Again the full moon was out, again Juniper was nearby, and this time I was comfortable and snuggled in such a way that Sara couldn't lick my mouth this morning. I slept so well I didn't get up until 6:15am and Kevin had just left for work. By then the sun was out brightly, and I'm surprised I slept so soundly in the warmth.
I always thought hammocks were a great addition to a quiet garden, swaying gently in the shade of a palo verde or a honey mesquite. When I bought the hammock during an end-of-season garden sale in town, I bit.
The nighttime temperatures this last week has been over 70F, perfect outdoor sleeping weather, and certainly cooler than the hot house.
I told Kevin I was going to sleep outside, in my new hammock, under the stars. I couldn't wait.
When darkness fell and I started feeling tired, I went outside and lay in the hammock. I had a direct view of the near full moon rising in the southeast, with perhaps Juniper nearby, a flaming bright red ball.
It was heavenly, wrapped in the hammock like a coccoon. The dogs were only a few feet from me, both with their eyes on me. They were perhaps wondering why I wasn't inside with the cats.
But when the enthusiasm waned and I needed to roll over--my neck was feeling sore--I couldn't. I had to pull myself up and around to change position, and even after a few minutes that new position had gotten old. Once again I had to get up, pull myself up and around...
After almost an hour of restless motion, I was exhausted and got up and out from that hammock. I went to the garage to dig out my cot, grabbed a pillow and a camping blanket, and slept much better afterwards. The full moon and Juniper had moved across the southern sky but both were still in the sky when I got up at 4am to go inside: Sara had just licked the inside of my mouth, my hands and feet were cold, and I was ready to spend the rest of the time inside.
The next night I repeated my outside adventure, this time with my warm sleeping bag, two pillows and my laptop. I trashed the hammock and got out my cot again.
It was heavenly sleeping out in the yard. The dogs responded to neighborhood dog howls, I could hear the noise of the nearby highway, and at 11:15pm I thought I heard a distant gunshot. The mountain winds blew gently across the yard like a fan. Yes, this was better than the heat of the house.
A few times the dogs growled, raced to the front yard fence and barked, but no other noises came from the front yard. Perhaps a stray cat had sauntered nearby, or someone was out for a late-night walk under the full moon.
Again the full moon was out, again Juniper was nearby, and this time I was comfortable and snuggled in such a way that Sara couldn't lick my mouth this morning. I slept so well I didn't get up until 6:15am and Kevin had just left for work. By then the sun was out brightly, and I'm surprised I slept so soundly in the warmth.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
A walk with the dogs
Walking the dogs in the early evening has now become my summer routine. As soon as I touch the leashes the dogs go beserk. Sammy, in his ever-emotive way, jumps with excitement, something he only does when he sees me touch the leash, grab my keys and camera and put on my hat. But it's usually the leash alone that gets him excited as I don't normally wear a hat or grab my camera in the evening.
Last night, with a near full moon rising, I walked the dogs down the dirt road a block away, walking in a southernly direction with Montezuma Peak ahead of us. Then, at .6 mile, I turned west toward the highway. The highway is the mile mark where we turn around. This is the route I normally take the dogs when time is of no essence, as once on the frontage road one can walk for miles along the highway.
Last night as we approached the highway, with enough light to see three adult men walking north on the highway, I got concerned. Three men walking north on the highway? Were these illegals again? They looked clean and weren't carrying backpacks, so they didn't stand out to the typical dirty, darkly-dressed and tired border crosser staggering along the road shoulder hoping a good Samaritan would stop and provide food and water. One man even wore a white t-shirt.
I stopped the dogs and they complied. I watched the men stop as a full-sized white pick-up that was driving southbound stopped in the northbound shoulder. Its headlights were dimmed. Two men jumped out of the pick-up. Was I witnessing yet another illegal pick-up?
I was wearing a white t-shirt that I was afraid would give me away. I ducked behind a desert broom (large shrub here that growns prolifically) and tried to hone in on what the men were saying. I could not hear whether they were speaking English or Spanish, or even what they were saying. I didn't see much action other than a group of men chatting on the side of the road.
But then the pick-up's whoopie lights came on from near the headlights, and a minute or so later a marked USBP SUV, that approached from the south, pulled over on the shoulder.
Relieved that the USBP were now on the scene, I quietly pulled the dogs to alert them of my intention and turned them around to walk back home. It was now dark, and when we got back home at 8:40pm Kevin was already asleep. These walks at night have potential of being dangerous; I need to stick to the paved roads of the neighborhood.
Last night, with a near full moon rising, I walked the dogs down the dirt road a block away, walking in a southernly direction with Montezuma Peak ahead of us. Then, at .6 mile, I turned west toward the highway. The highway is the mile mark where we turn around. This is the route I normally take the dogs when time is of no essence, as once on the frontage road one can walk for miles along the highway.
Last night as we approached the highway, with enough light to see three adult men walking north on the highway, I got concerned. Three men walking north on the highway? Were these illegals again? They looked clean and weren't carrying backpacks, so they didn't stand out to the typical dirty, darkly-dressed and tired border crosser staggering along the road shoulder hoping a good Samaritan would stop and provide food and water. One man even wore a white t-shirt.
I stopped the dogs and they complied. I watched the men stop as a full-sized white pick-up that was driving southbound stopped in the northbound shoulder. Its headlights were dimmed. Two men jumped out of the pick-up. Was I witnessing yet another illegal pick-up?
I was wearing a white t-shirt that I was afraid would give me away. I ducked behind a desert broom (large shrub here that growns prolifically) and tried to hone in on what the men were saying. I could not hear whether they were speaking English or Spanish, or even what they were saying. I didn't see much action other than a group of men chatting on the side of the road.
But then the pick-up's whoopie lights came on from near the headlights, and a minute or so later a marked USBP SUV, that approached from the south, pulled over on the shoulder.
Relieved that the USBP were now on the scene, I quietly pulled the dogs to alert them of my intention and turned them around to walk back home. It was now dark, and when we got back home at 8:40pm Kevin was already asleep. These walks at night have potential of being dangerous; I need to stick to the paved roads of the neighborhood.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Waiting for the Monsoon
Since arriving back home low-lying cumulus clouds have lingered south of the border. The "Mexican Monsoon" as the meteorologists call it, has already begun in the Sea of Cortez but the storm hasn't made its way north yet. What I saw the evening I got back home was the extreme northern front. We should get the monsoons a week from now. Today marks the "official monsoon count-down" but no precipitation is expected until 1 July.
As we drove home from a late morning of browsing through the Garden Shop and two hours at Hastings browsing through books (the bookstore still hasn't stocked Scott McClellan's tell-all book "What Happened?"), we saw storm clouds over the mountains. It was raining in Ramsey Canyon and the winds were blowing strongly along the way, but the ground was still dry and will remain dry for a few more days.
As I write this it's 92F with 26% humidity. The sky's overcast which makes the heat more bearable (better here than in Houston!)
As we drove home from a late morning of browsing through the Garden Shop and two hours at Hastings browsing through books (the bookstore still hasn't stocked Scott McClellan's tell-all book "What Happened?"), we saw storm clouds over the mountains. It was raining in Ramsey Canyon and the winds were blowing strongly along the way, but the ground was still dry and will remain dry for a few more days.
As I write this it's 92F with 26% humidity. The sky's overcast which makes the heat more bearable (better here than in Houston!)
Friday, June 13, 2008
Clifton, The Gila Box and the Mount Graham Mountains
With sunrise brightening the day I wanted to drive down the Chase Creek Historic District of Clifton, a four-block section of town along the hillside of 100-year-old homes barely standing upright. Nothing was open as I drove through at 6:30am, adding to the ghosttown affect.
The section reminded me of Bisbee, another mining town further south, with homes cut out of the sides of the hill and dotted on small lots of land overlooking the town. There were no businesses open so early, but miners were driving north to the Morenci mine and mechanics on Main Street were getting ready to look at cars in their lot.
I didn't stay long because I still had a bit of a drive to Safford and the Mount Graham mountains. Knowing it would take me longer but with an early start, I opted to explore the Gila Box Region, a patch of land along the Gila River that is managed by the Bureau of Land Management.
I liked the drive. The gravel road meandered up and around the Guthrie peaks, passing grazing cows, private ranches and sun-burned cabins. The soil sparkled with minerals and I picked up a few jasper specimens myself. From 40 miles away the Morenci mine was still visible, which is an example of either a very important financial asset for the miners, or a terrible eyesore for all others.
The Gila Box region is popular with rockhounds, and the Black Hills Rockhound Area is just off Hwy 191. It's a place I'd love to explore further with more time to play with.
I got back on Hwy 191 at 8:30am, with another hour to drive up the 35-mile Swift Trail to the high peaks. My goal was to hike Webb Peak and perhaps Heliograph Peak, both towering over 10,000' with views of the northern vistas. Could I do both?
The mountain range surprised me with its smallness. I could see vistas facing any direction. Hiking paths started and finished from the Swift Trail. Riggs Flat Lake, which looked more like a small pond, was at the end of the Swift Trail. The first 22 miles were paved, the rest was gravel.
I stopped briefly at the Columbine Visitor's Center, a small cabin five miles from Riggs Lake. Carol, a middle-aged thin woman dressed in a black sweater and 1980s BDU pants and suede hiking boots, manned the center and seemed to enjoy answering questions from visitors as she petted her mangy little black dog on her lap.
The center had historic paraphenalia of the mountains, describing the mining and Indian War history of the range: how men at the turn of the 20th century rode donkeys up the mountains loaded down with heavy equipment, busy developing the ridge with homes for settlers. Gold and silver was mined, and the peaks were used in the 1860s to look out for Apaches below. I would have enjoyed sitting down for a few hours chatting with Carol about her life and her job with the Forest Service, but I was now in a time restraint. I grabbed my brochures and headed out for Webb Peak, a 2.7-mile hike that started just outside the visitor's center.
It was a rocky hike uphill, going pass burned-out pines that made the hike warmer than it should have been for the elevation. The dogs seemed resistant to any fatigue and trekked on ahead, stopping only when I offered them water.
I climbed up the Webb Peak Lookout Tower, glanced in all directions, noted the Mount Graham Observatory to my east, the valleys to my north and south, saw that an "Alexander Fedeef" had been up in the tower just the day before, and climbed back down. The dogs were surrounded with bugs when I got back to them, and the bugs never left us after that.
I went back down via the Webb Peak Road, a slightly longer maintenance road down to the Swift Trail. The dogs found water to refresh themselves. We were back at the van by 1pm.
But I wasn't ready to leave the mountain range, knowing that in the valley it was approaching triple-digit heat. The next hike was Heliograph Peak, an historic peak that was used to spot Apaches over 130 years ago. This was a slightly longer hike up another maintenance road, partly shaded by the pines along the road.
The view from this peak wasn't much different from Webb Peak, but from this peak the recent wildfire from last month was more visible. The lookout tower here is manned 24 hours by a USFS personnel and hikers can not hike up to the top. We didn't mind. We drank our water, enjoyed the view, and hiked back down to our van.
It was now 4pm and time to start the long hot trip back home. It was 66F at the peak, and 93F when I got down to the Safford level of 2920'. It got even hotter as I neared Willcox, where I stopped to gas at Doc's where the price of unleaded gasoline rose from $3.56 to $3.77. (The Texaco station prices rose from $3.89 to $4.09)
Despite the fun I had with the dogs, hiking peaks and discovering new regions, I was tired of the road and glad to be back home. I could finally take a real shower, unload the van of all my dirty clothes, and get back to life as normal again.
The section reminded me of Bisbee, another mining town further south, with homes cut out of the sides of the hill and dotted on small lots of land overlooking the town. There were no businesses open so early, but miners were driving north to the Morenci mine and mechanics on Main Street were getting ready to look at cars in their lot.
I didn't stay long because I still had a bit of a drive to Safford and the Mount Graham mountains. Knowing it would take me longer but with an early start, I opted to explore the Gila Box Region, a patch of land along the Gila River that is managed by the Bureau of Land Management.
I liked the drive. The gravel road meandered up and around the Guthrie peaks, passing grazing cows, private ranches and sun-burned cabins. The soil sparkled with minerals and I picked up a few jasper specimens myself. From 40 miles away the Morenci mine was still visible, which is an example of either a very important financial asset for the miners, or a terrible eyesore for all others.
The Gila Box region is popular with rockhounds, and the Black Hills Rockhound Area is just off Hwy 191. It's a place I'd love to explore further with more time to play with.
I got back on Hwy 191 at 8:30am, with another hour to drive up the 35-mile Swift Trail to the high peaks. My goal was to hike Webb Peak and perhaps Heliograph Peak, both towering over 10,000' with views of the northern vistas. Could I do both?
The mountain range surprised me with its smallness. I could see vistas facing any direction. Hiking paths started and finished from the Swift Trail. Riggs Flat Lake, which looked more like a small pond, was at the end of the Swift Trail. The first 22 miles were paved, the rest was gravel.
I stopped briefly at the Columbine Visitor's Center, a small cabin five miles from Riggs Lake. Carol, a middle-aged thin woman dressed in a black sweater and 1980s BDU pants and suede hiking boots, manned the center and seemed to enjoy answering questions from visitors as she petted her mangy little black dog on her lap.
The center had historic paraphenalia of the mountains, describing the mining and Indian War history of the range: how men at the turn of the 20th century rode donkeys up the mountains loaded down with heavy equipment, busy developing the ridge with homes for settlers. Gold and silver was mined, and the peaks were used in the 1860s to look out for Apaches below. I would have enjoyed sitting down for a few hours chatting with Carol about her life and her job with the Forest Service, but I was now in a time restraint. I grabbed my brochures and headed out for Webb Peak, a 2.7-mile hike that started just outside the visitor's center.
It was a rocky hike uphill, going pass burned-out pines that made the hike warmer than it should have been for the elevation. The dogs seemed resistant to any fatigue and trekked on ahead, stopping only when I offered them water.
I climbed up the Webb Peak Lookout Tower, glanced in all directions, noted the Mount Graham Observatory to my east, the valleys to my north and south, saw that an "Alexander Fedeef" had been up in the tower just the day before, and climbed back down. The dogs were surrounded with bugs when I got back to them, and the bugs never left us after that.
I went back down via the Webb Peak Road, a slightly longer maintenance road down to the Swift Trail. The dogs found water to refresh themselves. We were back at the van by 1pm.
But I wasn't ready to leave the mountain range, knowing that in the valley it was approaching triple-digit heat. The next hike was Heliograph Peak, an historic peak that was used to spot Apaches over 130 years ago. This was a slightly longer hike up another maintenance road, partly shaded by the pines along the road.
The view from this peak wasn't much different from Webb Peak, but from this peak the recent wildfire from last month was more visible. The lookout tower here is manned 24 hours by a USFS personnel and hikers can not hike up to the top. We didn't mind. We drank our water, enjoyed the view, and hiked back down to our van.
It was now 4pm and time to start the long hot trip back home. It was 66F at the peak, and 93F when I got down to the Safford level of 2920'. It got even hotter as I neared Willcox, where I stopped to gas at Doc's where the price of unleaded gasoline rose from $3.56 to $3.77. (The Texaco station prices rose from $3.89 to $4.09)
Despite the fun I had with the dogs, hiking peaks and discovering new regions, I was tired of the road and glad to be back home. I could finally take a real shower, unload the van of all my dirty clothes, and get back to life as normal again.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
FR 25
After a quick stop at the Dairy Queen in Eager, I drove south on Hwy 261 back to Big Lake where I turned on FR 24. This is a wide gravel road that connects to Hwy 191.
I didn't see any exotic wildlife as it was too early in the day, but I drove passed beautiful wide meadows that I know at dawn would be full of grazing antelope, sheep or elk. This is what Kevin would enjoy.
Further south the forest road intersects with FR25 and FR276 where the Black River meanders in a wide lush meadow. This was Buffalo Crossing. Several campers were at one campsite that provided a view of the meadow. Here I turned west on FR25 and for the next 30 miles, driving no faster than 15mph, I looked to my left and right hoping to catch a glimpse of elk, sheep, bobcats or birds.
This stretch of road should be designated a scenic forest road. I could have stopped anywhre along the road and pitched my tent for the night, but the van was too cramped and the dogs looked quite comfortable snoozing.
Five miles west of Buffalo Crossing was another wide meadow and an old cabin called Brentwood. The wooden cabin and the old corral could have been from a picture postcard, with the meadow turning gold in the setting sun. It was ony 5:30pm, too early to stop and wait for animals, but I have marked this spot as "the place" for future camp-outs. Several primitive campsites were close to the meadow.
I spotted an osprey flying overhead, and further down the road a flock of turkey.
This stretch of the FR, from the meadow to Hwy 191 two hours later was full of alpine cienegas. Wildcat crossing, which was a creek in a gorge of the Black River, came 12 miles later, and then the FR followed a high ridgeline that provided a breathtaking view of the canyon. By now the sun was too low for dramativ pictures, but FR25 is definitely where views and animals can be seen. The next time I go to the Whites I want to camp out along FR25, as there are plenty of offroad trails I know Kevin would want to pull over and explore.
I made it back to Hwy191 by 8pm. A fox ran across the road. Cows gathered in the middle of the road closer to Clifton, unwilling to get out of the way. A speeding driver could have hit them, and there were at least five cows and calves standing there, startled. The calf mooed in distress, clearly scared.
I made it as far as Clifton and pulled over at the Rode Inn Motel. The parking lot was full of semis and moving trucks and a few RVs. I slept in my front seat as the dogs claimed the back; they looked too comfortable to be disturbed.
The temperature in Clifton was 80F at 10pm, over 20 degrees warmer than it was when I got on Hwy 191. I slept with just my fleece jacket covering my bare arms.
I didn't see any exotic wildlife as it was too early in the day, but I drove passed beautiful wide meadows that I know at dawn would be full of grazing antelope, sheep or elk. This is what Kevin would enjoy.
Further south the forest road intersects with FR25 and FR276 where the Black River meanders in a wide lush meadow. This was Buffalo Crossing. Several campers were at one campsite that provided a view of the meadow. Here I turned west on FR25 and for the next 30 miles, driving no faster than 15mph, I looked to my left and right hoping to catch a glimpse of elk, sheep, bobcats or birds.
This stretch of road should be designated a scenic forest road. I could have stopped anywhre along the road and pitched my tent for the night, but the van was too cramped and the dogs looked quite comfortable snoozing.
Five miles west of Buffalo Crossing was another wide meadow and an old cabin called Brentwood. The wooden cabin and the old corral could have been from a picture postcard, with the meadow turning gold in the setting sun. It was ony 5:30pm, too early to stop and wait for animals, but I have marked this spot as "the place" for future camp-outs. Several primitive campsites were close to the meadow.
I spotted an osprey flying overhead, and further down the road a flock of turkey.
This stretch of the FR, from the meadow to Hwy 191 two hours later was full of alpine cienegas. Wildcat crossing, which was a creek in a gorge of the Black River, came 12 miles later, and then the FR followed a high ridgeline that provided a breathtaking view of the canyon. By now the sun was too low for dramativ pictures, but FR25 is definitely where views and animals can be seen. The next time I go to the Whites I want to camp out along FR25, as there are plenty of offroad trails I know Kevin would want to pull over and explore.
I made it back to Hwy191 by 8pm. A fox ran across the road. Cows gathered in the middle of the road closer to Clifton, unwilling to get out of the way. A speeding driver could have hit them, and there were at least five cows and calves standing there, startled. The calf mooed in distress, clearly scared.
I made it as far as Clifton and pulled over at the Rode Inn Motel. The parking lot was full of semis and moving trucks and a few RVs. I slept in my front seat as the dogs claimed the back; they looked too comfortable to be disturbed.
The temperature in Clifton was 80F at 10pm, over 20 degrees warmer than it was when I got on Hwy 191. I slept with just my fleece jacket covering my bare arms.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
South Fork Trail
The drive to the South Fork Trail was more scenic than the drive to Greer: rock outcroppings danging over cliffs, distant ponds sparkling in the sun, horses grazing in the valley below and dry prairie grass swaying in the wind, distant mesas protuding from the high plains. I could have been in Wyoming if I hadn't known any better.
I made it to the South Fork Trail by 11:50am. The red flag was waving again, representing another day of winds and gusts. At the trailhead the Forest Service had posted a warning about pesticides in the creek that were targeted at non-native trout in the creek. Trees along the creek were banned with red tape.
The dogs and I didn't care too much, as we started off our hike for an hour out. I did not intend to hike further than the river crossing three miles away.
Gordon was right: this is a scenic, easy hike along the Little Colorado River, which starts at the Mexian Hay Lake and flows southwesterly. I was hiking upstream. Here the creek is no wider than a creek, and shallow enough to ford over rocks strategically placed along the water. The dogs could take water breaks to their own liking.
The creek was heavily overgrown with new growth of aspen and firs. Swallowtail butterflies fluttered about. Rocky Mountain Iris bloomed along the trail. The only other hiker I met was an elderly man with a distinctive German accent and a gap between his upper front teeth.
I took a few breaks for the dogs, and when I came to a cattle gate and noticed the trail ascend I turned around. If this was the three-mile river crossing then it didn't seem three miles; we had reached this point in under an hour. I WAS hiking at a steady pace but with the breaks I took for the dogs don't think the trail was truly three miles to the river crossing.
My hike for the day done and the dogs surely grateful for that, I decided to drive back toward Greer to find the forest road I noticed earlier that led to Big Lake. How nice, I thought, to drive back toward the lake via a shady forest road, perhaps ctching some wildlife along the way. But much to my disappointment the road was closed due to road construction. I had no choice to backtrack, something I normally hate doing as life is a one-way street ("that ends in a dead-end" as my dad would always say).
I made it to the South Fork Trail by 11:50am. The red flag was waving again, representing another day of winds and gusts. At the trailhead the Forest Service had posted a warning about pesticides in the creek that were targeted at non-native trout in the creek. Trees along the creek were banned with red tape.
The dogs and I didn't care too much, as we started off our hike for an hour out. I did not intend to hike further than the river crossing three miles away.
Gordon was right: this is a scenic, easy hike along the Little Colorado River, which starts at the Mexian Hay Lake and flows southwesterly. I was hiking upstream. Here the creek is no wider than a creek, and shallow enough to ford over rocks strategically placed along the water. The dogs could take water breaks to their own liking.
The creek was heavily overgrown with new growth of aspen and firs. Swallowtail butterflies fluttered about. Rocky Mountain Iris bloomed along the trail. The only other hiker I met was an elderly man with a distinctive German accent and a gap between his upper front teeth.
I took a few breaks for the dogs, and when I came to a cattle gate and noticed the trail ascend I turned around. If this was the three-mile river crossing then it didn't seem three miles; we had reached this point in under an hour. I WAS hiking at a steady pace but with the breaks I took for the dogs don't think the trail was truly three miles to the river crossing.
My hike for the day done and the dogs surely grateful for that, I decided to drive back toward Greer to find the forest road I noticed earlier that led to Big Lake. How nice, I thought, to drive back toward the lake via a shady forest road, perhaps ctching some wildlife along the way. But much to my disappointment the road was closed due to road construction. I had no choice to backtrack, something I normally hate doing as life is a one-way street ("that ends in a dead-end" as my dad would always say).
Disclaimer
I will add more details in the last six posts when I get back home Friday. Due to time restraints I only wrote superficially on the events this past weekend, ignoring my typical spelling mistakes and broken trains of thought. For now what I posted will have to do. Photos will follow this weekend, and I hope they better describe the beauty I saw around me this past weekend in the Whites.
I only wish Kevin could have enjoyed more of it. Everything would have been more enjoyable had he been by my side to enjoy it all. The White Mountains are truly "Kevin." I haven't seen him so comfortabe under the stars as I have this past Saturday. He is my mountain man and that's why I fell in love with him.
Well, enough kitch. Gotta run!
I only wish Kevin could have enjoyed more of it. Everything would have been more enjoyable had he been by my side to enjoy it all. The White Mountains are truly "Kevin." I haven't seen him so comfortabe under the stars as I have this past Saturday. He is my mountain man and that's why I fell in love with him.
Well, enough kitch. Gotta run!
Greer
I was up again at 5:30am to two very tired dogs. They had slept through the night with no barking or whining to go outside and pee. This was very odd. But at 6am, when both got up to stretch and lick me with their tongues (Sara is a deep-tonguer) I had to get up.
It wasn't that cold out. The van temperature read 54F. The winds were calm. The camper with the genrator two sites down had left the day before, and Susan and Pe:e's site was empty, too. All around me was silence. No kids screaming, no grills going off, no conversations over camp coffee. Even the guys next to me were quiet.
I let the dogs stay in the van while I tore down my site. This way they wouldn't bother anyone by running around off-leash. They seemed quite content to rest in my van, drinking only from the left-over water in the coolers. They didn't look too eager to get up for a walk. By now they seem to know that a "Walk" is a 6-8 mile walk in the woods.
Bill was up early, too and after cranking down his pop-up roof he pulled away at 7:15am while I was washing my hair. And 45 minutes later I was off, too, stopping briefly at Brenda and Gordon's site to wish them a good trip back. Most people were driving back via Hwy 180 East into New Mexico, but I plan on taking Hwy191 back, driving south the way I came up here Friday. The slower road does not bother me, as it's 90 miles closer, more scenic and there's plenty along the road I want to explore along the way. If I don't explore now, I may not come back here so soon.
I was dressed in shorts and a short t-shirt, as some of my remaining clothes got wet last night when Sammy knocked over a cooler that was half-full with warm water. The water soaked the rugs, the sheep skin met for Sara's bed, and a bag of clean clothes I had left for quick access. I am now officially on my last clean set of clothes. After today, I will no longer smell fluffy.
My first destination was Greer, a small meadow town nine miles south on Hwy 373, a two-lane curvy road crossing several creeks and campgrounds along the way. "The road to Greer is beautiful!" said Brenda, and she was right, but once I was in Greer was a little let down by it.
Greer is first and foremost a tourist town for cabiners. Those who want to escape the desert heat of the big cities come to Greer to rent the rustic log cabins along the creek. All I saw were log homes advertising all kinds of "Antiques" and gifts that most people likely don't need in the first place. Every building was a log home, interspersed with large green lawns and more picket fences, horses and vacationers out for a morning stroll. I was expecting at least one small stretch of Main Street to be canopied in Pine trees offereing cappuccino and the day's newspaper. I didn't see that.
I stopped briefly at the trailhead to the East Fork Trail, a route along the creek that ascended steeply from the start and meadered toward Hwy 373 for 7.5 mies one way. I opted against that hike because of the people traffic at the trailhead and the steep hill.
I drove back into town and stopped at the Greer Grounds Ice Cream and Espresso, where, after looking at the local ads for cabins for rent, horse rides and other recreational activities, I ordered a double cappuccino. The owner of the shop, a blonde Kristi Spillman who also does public relations for the realtor next door, spilled the drink on the counter. The foamy contents ran toward me, getting my last clean t-shirt stained. I wasn't upset, just a little uncomfortable, and then Kristi did the one thing I don't see too often: she didn't charge me for the drink. "It's on you and it's on me!" she said. I took her on her offer and any bad feelings I may have had evaporated with the good brew. Perhaps this town wasn't so bad afterall, and now I had a reason to stay a bit.
Kristi had to run next door but let an assistant, a young man, watch the counter. "There's no place like Greer!" he said, and told me about the trails that shoot off the East Fork Trail at the edge of town.
Outside under the shade of an umbrella sat Vernon, an older man dressed in a red flannel shirt, demin overalls and a white Panama hat who works at the Greer Lodge and Resort. He teaches fly-fishing there to lodgers, and in the winter he leads horseback rides in the Superstitions, another wonderful area of ours. He has a trailer there at the "Historic" Goldfield Ghost Town.
That of course led us to talk about Apache Junction where he works out of, and the Whites here. "You can see so much more wildlife on a horse" he explained. He even mentioned the Wildcat loop near Sheeps Crossing where recently he spotted antelope, sheep, bear and turkey. That will be one loop I must see.
Vernon's break was over and we departed at 11pm. It was now time to take a hike under the blue sky and 66F weather.
My next destination: the South Fork Trail off Hwy 260. The trail follows the Little Colorado River for 3.5 miles before ascending steep baren hills to end at Mexican Hay Lake. And if I can, I want to sleep in the wilderness tonight in the hopes of spotting some wildlife, the life I didn't get to see while camped at the Rainbow Campground where the only wildlife was screaming kids, drunken boaters, barking dogs and whining generators. I'm too old for that kind of camping anymore, and family camping is as far removed from wildlife as one can get.
It wasn't that cold out. The van temperature read 54F. The winds were calm. The camper with the genrator two sites down had left the day before, and Susan and Pe:e's site was empty, too. All around me was silence. No kids screaming, no grills going off, no conversations over camp coffee. Even the guys next to me were quiet.
I let the dogs stay in the van while I tore down my site. This way they wouldn't bother anyone by running around off-leash. They seemed quite content to rest in my van, drinking only from the left-over water in the coolers. They didn't look too eager to get up for a walk. By now they seem to know that a "Walk" is a 6-8 mile walk in the woods.
Bill was up early, too and after cranking down his pop-up roof he pulled away at 7:15am while I was washing my hair. And 45 minutes later I was off, too, stopping briefly at Brenda and Gordon's site to wish them a good trip back. Most people were driving back via Hwy 180 East into New Mexico, but I plan on taking Hwy191 back, driving south the way I came up here Friday. The slower road does not bother me, as it's 90 miles closer, more scenic and there's plenty along the road I want to explore along the way. If I don't explore now, I may not come back here so soon.
I was dressed in shorts and a short t-shirt, as some of my remaining clothes got wet last night when Sammy knocked over a cooler that was half-full with warm water. The water soaked the rugs, the sheep skin met for Sara's bed, and a bag of clean clothes I had left for quick access. I am now officially on my last clean set of clothes. After today, I will no longer smell fluffy.
My first destination was Greer, a small meadow town nine miles south on Hwy 373, a two-lane curvy road crossing several creeks and campgrounds along the way. "The road to Greer is beautiful!" said Brenda, and she was right, but once I was in Greer was a little let down by it.
Greer is first and foremost a tourist town for cabiners. Those who want to escape the desert heat of the big cities come to Greer to rent the rustic log cabins along the creek. All I saw were log homes advertising all kinds of "Antiques" and gifts that most people likely don't need in the first place. Every building was a log home, interspersed with large green lawns and more picket fences, horses and vacationers out for a morning stroll. I was expecting at least one small stretch of Main Street to be canopied in Pine trees offereing cappuccino and the day's newspaper. I didn't see that.
I stopped briefly at the trailhead to the East Fork Trail, a route along the creek that ascended steeply from the start and meadered toward Hwy 373 for 7.5 mies one way. I opted against that hike because of the people traffic at the trailhead and the steep hill.
I drove back into town and stopped at the Greer Grounds Ice Cream and Espresso, where, after looking at the local ads for cabins for rent, horse rides and other recreational activities, I ordered a double cappuccino. The owner of the shop, a blonde Kristi Spillman who also does public relations for the realtor next door, spilled the drink on the counter. The foamy contents ran toward me, getting my last clean t-shirt stained. I wasn't upset, just a little uncomfortable, and then Kristi did the one thing I don't see too often: she didn't charge me for the drink. "It's on you and it's on me!" she said. I took her on her offer and any bad feelings I may have had evaporated with the good brew. Perhaps this town wasn't so bad afterall, and now I had a reason to stay a bit.
Kristi had to run next door but let an assistant, a young man, watch the counter. "There's no place like Greer!" he said, and told me about the trails that shoot off the East Fork Trail at the edge of town.
Outside under the shade of an umbrella sat Vernon, an older man dressed in a red flannel shirt, demin overalls and a white Panama hat who works at the Greer Lodge and Resort. He teaches fly-fishing there to lodgers, and in the winter he leads horseback rides in the Superstitions, another wonderful area of ours. He has a trailer there at the "Historic" Goldfield Ghost Town.
That of course led us to talk about Apache Junction where he works out of, and the Whites here. "You can see so much more wildlife on a horse" he explained. He even mentioned the Wildcat loop near Sheeps Crossing where recently he spotted antelope, sheep, bear and turkey. That will be one loop I must see.
Vernon's break was over and we departed at 11pm. It was now time to take a hike under the blue sky and 66F weather.
My next destination: the South Fork Trail off Hwy 260. The trail follows the Little Colorado River for 3.5 miles before ascending steep baren hills to end at Mexican Hay Lake. And if I can, I want to sleep in the wilderness tonight in the hopes of spotting some wildlife, the life I didn't get to see while camped at the Rainbow Campground where the only wildlife was screaming kids, drunken boaters, barking dogs and whining generators. I'm too old for that kind of camping anymore, and family camping is as far removed from wildlife as one can get.
Springerville
After yesterday's hike I drove north on US Hwy 191 to Springerville, a small town on the highway large enough for several hotel chains, fast-food restaurants, a coffee shop and the Springerville Ranger Station. The small town impressed me, as it was the first town on Hwy 191 that was large enough for resuplly of any kind. I would have enjoyed staying in town and having a nice Mexican meal with a margarita, but with the drive still back to the camp ground, I
refrained.
I stopped briefly at a corner-lot historic park with replica log cabins from the 1910s, and even drove up to the hilltop cemetery where an ominous cross on the side of the road announced that "Sean P Hughes was murdered in 1988." Was the doomed 19-year-old man murdered right there, with a view of the western valley below? Broken beer bottles lined the shoulder, indicating a popular spot for young people.
The ranger station was south of town. I pulled in and asked for hiking maps, and was kindly pointed to the shelves of pamphlets against the wall. They had everything that I needed for better exploration of the national forests, to include driving loops for wildlife viewing. One loop, the Wildcat Loop, where antelope and mountain lions may be spotted, seemed especially appleaing to me. That is one loop I know even Kevin would enjoy, camped near a meadow to wait for the big cats to stroll through.
The rangers behind the desk all were very friendly, as they usually are. I asked for good restaurants in town, and the ranger mentioned all the independent eateries I passed, to include the Java Cup where WiFi is available. That is where I parked for 30 minutes, letting the dogs out and making sure they had water.
Determined to come back to this small mountain town, I went back to the campsite via the White Mountain Scenic Byway, a north-south road from Springerville to Big Lake. From town it ascended, providing panoramic views of the high plains to the north. One can see the extinct volcanoes from scenic vistas. Cows grazed along the road, and several small ponds on either side (ponds made from recycled sewage water) dotted the mesa landscape.
I got back to the campsite just before dark, and the Red Flag warnings still in effect. Gordon had a get-together at his site, around a small briquette grill where the rest of us campers: Gordon, Brenda, Loriane, Jim, Tom, Bill and I huddled. We talked about the same old things again: the high price of gasoline (gas stations in Spain are at 50% capacity now, with truckers there already striking), the fast increase in our salmonella found in corporate-grown tomatoes, and new China.
But once again we all departed at 9pm to our respective sites. I walked with the dogs to our little tent, looking so forlorn with the spartan decorations. The site to my south, site #130, now had three men pulled in with a small RV and boat who were huddling around their campfire that I thought was banned tonight. No big deal, as by now I was more interested in getting some rest and preparing the tear-down in the morning. Our group car-camp was now officially over.
The ranger station was south of town. I pulled in and asked for hiking maps, and was kindly pointed to the shelves of pamphlets against the wall. They had everything that I needed for better exploration of the national forests, to include driving loops for wildlife viewing. One loop, the Wildcat Loop, where antelope and mountain lions may be spotted, seemed especially appleaing to me. That is one loop I know even Kevin would enjoy, camped near a meadow to wait for the big cats to stroll through.
The rangers behind the desk all were very friendly, as they usually are. I asked for good restaurants in town, and the ranger mentioned all the independent eateries I passed, to include the Java Cup where WiFi is available. That is where I parked for 30 minutes, letting the dogs out and making sure they had water.
Determined to come back to this small mountain town, I went back to the campsite via the White Mountain Scenic Byway, a north-south road from Springerville to Big Lake. From town it ascended, providing panoramic views of the high plains to the north. One can see the extinct volcanoes from scenic vistas. Cows grazed along the road, and several small ponds on either side (ponds made from recycled sewage water) dotted the mesa landscape.
I got back to the campsite just before dark, and the Red Flag warnings still in effect. Gordon had a get-together at his site, around a small briquette grill where the rest of us campers: Gordon, Brenda, Loriane, Jim, Tom, Bill and I huddled. We talked about the same old things again: the high price of gasoline (gas stations in Spain are at 50% capacity now, with truckers there already striking), the fast increase in our salmonella found in corporate-grown tomatoes, and new China.
But once again we all departed at 9pm to our respective sites. I walked with the dogs to our little tent, looking so forlorn with the spartan decorations. The site to my south, site #130, now had three men pulled in with a small RV and boat who were huddling around their campfire that I thought was banned tonight. No big deal, as by now I was more interested in getting some rest and preparing the tear-down in the morning. Our group car-camp was now officially over.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Escudilla Trail
.Tuesday morning was eerily quiet. The dogs didn’t wake me up at 4:30am to go outside, I didn’t wake up to pee before daylight, no birds sang and no chipmunks chattered high in the trees. It was 6:30am before I awoke, with the dogs still sleeping heavily next to me. They were clearly tired from the hiking.
I was now getting tired of the woods, too. Tired of the dirt around me—clothes here don’t stay clean for long and I’m running out of fresh clothes—and the dogs, especially Sara, are taking on the odor of sewage. Sara’s fur is matted and clumps of mud have dried in her fur. The tent is full of sticks, mud, dirt and fur and will need a thorough cleaning when I get back home. And I also worry about the kittens and Kevin, hoping all is OK.
Sitting in my van and listening to NPR (more disaster areas declared in the Midwest and another "spuer surge" of oil prices are still expected) I wasgetting restless. Steve didn't want to leave for the hike until 9:30am, but by 8:30am I was ready to leave ahead of everyone to explore the trails around Escudilla peak.
My book "50 Hikes in Arizona" byMartin Tessmer (2004) did not have the correct forest road listed in the direction. The book said "Turn off FR56 near milemarker 420." The correct FR is 8052, with directional signs to Hurvey Lake and Terry Flats. I took the risk and found the trailhead, and only beat Brenda and Gordon by 15 minutes. In another 15minutesSusan and Pete, and then Steve arrived. Only Paul looks to have gotten lost and never showed up.
This was a lovely but rough hike for me. It started in an aspen grove as the rocky trail meandered upward, then through a meadow where some burned aspen were. Then we crossed a second meadow and the connector trail to the Government Trail, a faint trail through the meadow. When we saw the look-out tower we were all relieved.
The steep grade and elevation got to me and I had to take many short breaks, which allowed me to surge ahead until the next huffinpuff. At 10,000' there was snow still in small mounds under the canopy ofdense pines, which the dogs enjoyed for their snow cones and roughing around in.
Pete had a very hard time but he did make it in the end, allowing me to get everyone to pose for a group picture. This was the dog's highest peak so far and they didn't look too exhausted.
"We aer under a red flag warning!" told us the young ranger in the tower,who was busy entertaining a group of scouts. We walked up the steps but just below the platform felt blown away by the 35mph cold winds a. My hair was a mess and that's how it looked in the group photo.
I could seeBig Lake, Mount Baldy but other peaks were still foreign to me. Gordon, the one true native-born Arizonan, recognized many others.
Steve, Susan and Pete went back down while Brenda, Gordon and I continued on,looking for the peak. The actual peak is still five miles away.
"We'll have tocome back and do this whole trail!" said Gordon.
"But we need to start early, around 8am."
We all made it back to the cars at 3pm. Much to my displeasure I realized I had lost my coolmax Tucson Marathon 2004 cap. We stayed arounda few minutes, I talked to the threesome that was parked next tome, a family from Tucson who come to the Whites every June for three weeks and rent a cabin. The man was also a native Arizonan.
I was now getting tired of the woods, too. Tired of the dirt around me—clothes here don’t stay clean for long and I’m running out of fresh clothes—and the dogs, especially Sara, are taking on the odor of sewage. Sara’s fur is matted and clumps of mud have dried in her fur. The tent is full of sticks, mud, dirt and fur and will need a thorough cleaning when I get back home. And I also worry about the kittens and Kevin, hoping all is OK.
Sitting in my van and listening to NPR (more disaster areas declared in the Midwest and another "spuer surge" of oil prices are still expected) I wasgetting restless. Steve didn't want to leave for the hike until 9:30am, but by 8:30am I was ready to leave ahead of everyone to explore the trails around Escudilla peak.
My book "50 Hikes in Arizona" byMartin Tessmer (2004) did not have the correct forest road listed in the direction. The book said "Turn off FR56 near milemarker 420." The correct FR is 8052, with directional signs to Hurvey Lake and Terry Flats. I took the risk and found the trailhead, and only beat Brenda and Gordon by 15 minutes. In another 15minutesSusan and Pete, and then Steve arrived. Only Paul looks to have gotten lost and never showed up.
This was a lovely but rough hike for me. It started in an aspen grove as the rocky trail meandered upward, then through a meadow where some burned aspen were. Then we crossed a second meadow and the connector trail to the Government Trail, a faint trail through the meadow. When we saw the look-out tower we were all relieved.
The steep grade and elevation got to me and I had to take many short breaks, which allowed me to surge ahead until the next huffinpuff. At 10,000' there was snow still in small mounds under the canopy ofdense pines, which the dogs enjoyed for their snow cones and roughing around in.
Pete had a very hard time but he did make it in the end, allowing me to get everyone to pose for a group picture. This was the dog's highest peak so far and they didn't look too exhausted.
"We aer under a red flag warning!" told us the young ranger in the tower,who was busy entertaining a group of scouts. We walked up the steps but just below the platform felt blown away by the 35mph cold winds a. My hair was a mess and that's how it looked in the group photo.
I could seeBig Lake, Mount Baldy but other peaks were still foreign to me. Gordon, the one true native-born Arizonan, recognized many others.
Steve, Susan and Pete went back down while Brenda, Gordon and I continued on,looking for the peak. The actual peak is still five miles away.
"We'll have tocome back and do this whole trail!" said Gordon.
"But we need to start early, around 8am."
We all made it back to the cars at 3pm. Much to my displeasure I realized I had lost my coolmax Tucson Marathon 2004 cap. We stayed arounda few minutes, I talked to the threesome that was parked next tome, a family from Tucson who come to the Whites every June for three weeks and rent a cabin. The man was also a native Arizonan.
West Fork of the Black River Trail
On Monday, birds awoke at 4:17am and an hour later Chipmunks began their chatter. A resident family of chipmunks lived in the trees around my site and were busy chasing each other around in the early morning.
I was up by 7am, driving down to the Bait and Tackle shop to photograph the fishermen, only to realize that I left my camera in the tent. While there I bought a cup of coffee for $1. It did not taste fresh. There were a lot of fishermen already on the lake getting ready for a day’s angling. A 4-man motorboat rents for $95 a day. The fishing, I am told by my hike mates, isn’t even that good.
Monday’s hike was supposed to be the East Baldy trail, but the FR to the trailhead is still closed due to snow on the road. Steve chose instead a shorter hike, the West Fork trail, that was a lovely short hike down to the Black River that ends where the Thompson Trail starts. The views reminded me of hikes along the Mogollon Rim. It was mostly downhill on the 3-mile course, and when the rushing water was within ear sight the dogs picked up the pace.
What a gorgeous little area it was to take a break. I took my boots off and put on my Keens and forded the creek. I was surprised at how easy I made it across: It was not very deep, not too cold and the rocks weren’t too slick. If the dogs followed me I agreed to hike the other side of the creek with Brenda and Gordon along the Thompson Trail, the same hike everyone else did Saturday when I was still looking for Kevin. It, too was a lovely hike along the creek and the dogs had a blast. I never put my boots back on and hiked in my sandals, taking a break from the wet socks and heavy boots. Brenda did that trail on her mountain bike, having carried her bike over many felled trees getting down to the river. She followed us along the higher ridge where mountain bikers were allowed.
I saw two garter snakes drop into the swift river but there was no other wildlife closeby. That was fine with us. The Thompson Trail is marked as “Hikers and Mountain bikers only” but there clearly was horseshit on the trail. It was a lovely hike along the creek, with lush green grass, aspens and pines all around us. Too bad Kevin couldn’t enjoy it, he would also love the cool forests.
Susan and Pete picked us three up with our vehicles, and I was thankful that I got to hike the trail and not have to do it alone on Wednesday when everyone else is packing up and leaving.
The afternoon today was much like yesterday: the dogs napped in the van—Sara even snored—and I finished my Arizona Journey book, now enticed to visit Greer to see what all the fuss is about that mountain village in the Whites. Brenda and Gordon told me there were more great trails there and that I should try the South Fork trail, which starts at the Little Colorado Trail.
Again there was a campfire at Site #141, again it was a lively discussion about gas hikes, vegetables, homes for sale in the area, potential hikes to do. This time more people joined the conversation, as Bill sat back enjoying his Scotch buzz. The consensus now among us eleven is that we are all worried about the rising costs of energy, and that that could directly impact where we plan future get-togethers. Staying closer to home is one of the options, but we have all hiked the closer trails.
He was the first to leave for the night at 8:40pm and soon the rest of us followed. Tomorrow’s hike is Escudilla Peak, Arizona’s third-highest peak at over 11400’.
All day NPR news talked about the severe rains and floods in theMidwest.29 counties in Indiana have been declared an emergency zone, 29 more counties in Wisconsin AND a tornado struck down south of Chicago. And I have no means of calling the family to make sure everything is OK.
I was up by 7am, driving down to the Bait and Tackle shop to photograph the fishermen, only to realize that I left my camera in the tent. While there I bought a cup of coffee for $1. It did not taste fresh. There were a lot of fishermen already on the lake getting ready for a day’s angling. A 4-man motorboat rents for $95 a day. The fishing, I am told by my hike mates, isn’t even that good.
Monday’s hike was supposed to be the East Baldy trail, but the FR to the trailhead is still closed due to snow on the road. Steve chose instead a shorter hike, the West Fork trail, that was a lovely short hike down to the Black River that ends where the Thompson Trail starts. The views reminded me of hikes along the Mogollon Rim. It was mostly downhill on the 3-mile course, and when the rushing water was within ear sight the dogs picked up the pace.
What a gorgeous little area it was to take a break. I took my boots off and put on my Keens and forded the creek. I was surprised at how easy I made it across: It was not very deep, not too cold and the rocks weren’t too slick. If the dogs followed me I agreed to hike the other side of the creek with Brenda and Gordon along the Thompson Trail, the same hike everyone else did Saturday when I was still looking for Kevin. It, too was a lovely hike along the creek and the dogs had a blast. I never put my boots back on and hiked in my sandals, taking a break from the wet socks and heavy boots. Brenda did that trail on her mountain bike, having carried her bike over many felled trees getting down to the river. She followed us along the higher ridge where mountain bikers were allowed.
I saw two garter snakes drop into the swift river but there was no other wildlife closeby. That was fine with us. The Thompson Trail is marked as “Hikers and Mountain bikers only” but there clearly was horseshit on the trail. It was a lovely hike along the creek, with lush green grass, aspens and pines all around us. Too bad Kevin couldn’t enjoy it, he would also love the cool forests.
Susan and Pete picked us three up with our vehicles, and I was thankful that I got to hike the trail and not have to do it alone on Wednesday when everyone else is packing up and leaving.
The afternoon today was much like yesterday: the dogs napped in the van—Sara even snored—and I finished my Arizona Journey book, now enticed to visit Greer to see what all the fuss is about that mountain village in the Whites. Brenda and Gordon told me there were more great trails there and that I should try the South Fork trail, which starts at the Little Colorado Trail.
Again there was a campfire at Site #141, again it was a lively discussion about gas hikes, vegetables, homes for sale in the area, potential hikes to do. This time more people joined the conversation, as Bill sat back enjoying his Scotch buzz. The consensus now among us eleven is that we are all worried about the rising costs of energy, and that that could directly impact where we plan future get-togethers. Staying closer to home is one of the options, but we have all hiked the closer trails.
He was the first to leave for the night at 8:40pm and soon the rest of us followed. Tomorrow’s hike is Escudilla Peak, Arizona’s third-highest peak at over 11400’.
All day NPR news talked about the severe rains and floods in theMidwest.29 counties in Indiana have been declared an emergency zone, 29 more counties in Wisconsin AND a tornado struck down south of Chicago. And I have no means of calling the family to make sure everything is OK.
Indian Springs Trail
“Did you hear the wolves last night?” asked me Kevin at 5:30am. The birds had wakened me by 4:30am, and again I recognized the same fluty song from last week. This time I also heard other birds as well. The sun was up in full flame shortly after 5am and Kevin got up to make coffee. The dogs went outside with him, and Sammy, as usual, stood next to him hoping for hand-outs.
He made toasted bagels with Swiss cheese and two more pots of coffee. The dogs by then were busy chasing squirrels up Ponderosa pines, oblivious to our calls to come back until they realized they were out of sight.
And shortly after 8am, he departed, with a quick wave of the hand he turned right (north) on FR582 and disappeared. I now had two anxious dogs to entertain for another hour before I met up with the group at the campsite.
I opted to explore more of FR582, as it meandered past the wide meadow we had explored the day before, passed the shady campsite he also liked, past an old corral and then another even more wider meadow. This truly was wilderness at its best, with campers hidden under trees quite content with the solitude around them. I’d have preferred that setting over a family campground, but I was also moving from wilderness to group setting: from alone with Kevin to together with old friends. It wasn’t going to be all that bad.
The road continued on longer than what the map I had showed. Itwas8:20am and turned around, past the sites again and this time heading for the Rainbow campsite. I parked the van at the overhead parking lot by the pay showers ($5) and hiked to where the group was: sites 131,133, 134, 135.
It was another mile to the Indian Springs trailhead as we took a connector trail there. A group of diligent volunteers from area mountainbike clubs out of Eagar to the White Mountains Conservation Society was out sawing and cutting down the many trees that had blown down in recent storms.
“I counted over 124 fallen trees yesterday when I rode this trail on my bike” said Brenda.
That amounted to a lot of trees for us to climb over, crawl under and by-pass around during the near eight-mile hike. As soon as we were out of the official campground area, we let the dogs off leash and it was none too soon; the dogs had been pulling on the leashes when they realized they were with Chilita and Angel
It was a lovely hike that looped around the slope of the hill. It was mostly downhill to the Indian Springs site, but the return was uphill again, along an abandoned railroad gauge. The cienega flowing into the springs, which was more of a pond surrounded by aspens, firs, spruce and Ponderosas, was a vortex for the dogs that all seemed to regain energy in the cool waters. Chillita chased both dogs, Angel barked from the rear, and around and around the dogs chased each other as some of us stopped and looked on.
“A playground for dogs!” commented Steve before hiking on.
Without the water nearby I would have run out of refreshments for the dogs. Sara ran into the creek at every opportunity, rolling around in mud and fresh elk scat and dried grass as we walked on.
The abandoned railroad grade was not as much fun, as by now the water had dried up and the full force of the sun was above us. The tree-cutting crew eventually overpassed us in the end, a good day’s work done that we greatly appreciated.
The hike did me in and I was glad to be back at my tent at 3:10pm.The dogs were tired and napped in the van, claiming my sleeping bag and pillow. I sat in the front seat and read my Churchwell book, which didn’t live up to its hype. The writer spent more time talking about the history of the places she visited than writing about the people she met along the way. The people one meets on a journey are part of the experience, and she left most of it out of her book.
A campfire was planned for 6:30pm. I ate two cod hot dogs, gave the dogs their Alpo, washed my hair from the solar bag (the water was pleasantly warm) and at 6:35 walked with the dogs to Site #141 where a nice fire was already glowing. Eleven if us were there: Brenda, Gordon, Susan, Pee, Tom, Lorianne and her husband Jim, Bill, Steve, Paul and I. After a short talk about cameras, Pete took over the conversation, enthralling us all with his volunteer efforts with the Tax Revolt organization that is fighting hard against more hikes in property taxes. He was very passionate about his stance, and listening to him was a good profile on his personality.
I sat away from the fire so that thedogs wouldn’t be startled by sudden movements in the dark. They were well-behaved. I was cold, though, and was glad when at 9pm the group started breaking up. We walked back to the tent in the dark and once again I crawled into my sack with all my clothes on. The dogs claimed my ThermoMat and I gave that to them and picked the old camo blanket as my pad./
He made toasted bagels with Swiss cheese and two more pots of coffee. The dogs by then were busy chasing squirrels up Ponderosa pines, oblivious to our calls to come back until they realized they were out of sight.
And shortly after 8am, he departed, with a quick wave of the hand he turned right (north) on FR582 and disappeared. I now had two anxious dogs to entertain for another hour before I met up with the group at the campsite.
I opted to explore more of FR582, as it meandered past the wide meadow we had explored the day before, passed the shady campsite he also liked, past an old corral and then another even more wider meadow. This truly was wilderness at its best, with campers hidden under trees quite content with the solitude around them. I’d have preferred that setting over a family campground, but I was also moving from wilderness to group setting: from alone with Kevin to together with old friends. It wasn’t going to be all that bad.
The road continued on longer than what the map I had showed. Itwas8:20am and turned around, past the sites again and this time heading for the Rainbow campsite. I parked the van at the overhead parking lot by the pay showers ($5) and hiked to where the group was: sites 131,133, 134, 135.
It was another mile to the Indian Springs trailhead as we took a connector trail there. A group of diligent volunteers from area mountainbike clubs out of Eagar to the White Mountains Conservation Society was out sawing and cutting down the many trees that had blown down in recent storms.
“I counted over 124 fallen trees yesterday when I rode this trail on my bike” said Brenda.
That amounted to a lot of trees for us to climb over, crawl under and by-pass around during the near eight-mile hike. As soon as we were out of the official campground area, we let the dogs off leash and it was none too soon; the dogs had been pulling on the leashes when they realized they were with Chilita and Angel
It was a lovely hike that looped around the slope of the hill. It was mostly downhill to the Indian Springs site, but the return was uphill again, along an abandoned railroad gauge. The cienega flowing into the springs, which was more of a pond surrounded by aspens, firs, spruce and Ponderosas, was a vortex for the dogs that all seemed to regain energy in the cool waters. Chillita chased both dogs, Angel barked from the rear, and around and around the dogs chased each other as some of us stopped and looked on.
“A playground for dogs!” commented Steve before hiking on.
Without the water nearby I would have run out of refreshments for the dogs. Sara ran into the creek at every opportunity, rolling around in mud and fresh elk scat and dried grass as we walked on.
The abandoned railroad grade was not as much fun, as by now the water had dried up and the full force of the sun was above us. The tree-cutting crew eventually overpassed us in the end, a good day’s work done that we greatly appreciated.
The hike did me in and I was glad to be back at my tent at 3:10pm.The dogs were tired and napped in the van, claiming my sleeping bag and pillow. I sat in the front seat and read my Churchwell book, which didn’t live up to its hype. The writer spent more time talking about the history of the places she visited than writing about the people she met along the way. The people one meets on a journey are part of the experience, and she left most of it out of her book.
A campfire was planned for 6:30pm. I ate two cod hot dogs, gave the dogs their Alpo, washed my hair from the solar bag (the water was pleasantly warm) and at 6:35 walked with the dogs to Site #141 where a nice fire was already glowing. Eleven if us were there: Brenda, Gordon, Susan, Pee, Tom, Lorianne and her husband Jim, Bill, Steve, Paul and I. After a short talk about cameras, Pete took over the conversation, enthralling us all with his volunteer efforts with the Tax Revolt organization that is fighting hard against more hikes in property taxes. He was very passionate about his stance, and listening to him was a good profile on his personality.
I sat away from the fire so that thedogs wouldn’t be startled by sudden movements in the dark. They were well-behaved. I was cold, though, and was glad when at 9pm the group started breaking up. We walked back to the tent in the dark and once again I crawled into my sack with all my clothes on. The dogs claimed my ThermoMat and I gave that to them and picked the old camo blanket as my pad./
Driving up to the Whites and the first day
I didn’t even leave for the White Mountains until 10:20pm,afterfinding excuses to delay my departure: checking on the kittens, watching the news, watering the garden, and then sitting back and watching the nightly news and then a Friday night Dateline NBC about the senseless murder of a young mother in North Port, FL.
I made it to Willcox at 11:40pm,worried that the price of regular unleaded would be much higher after the Merchantile Exchange closed a barrel of crude at $138.25 with more increases due next week. “Sticker price shock Monday morning” said the news announcers.
But at Doc’s Foodstore in Willcox the price was still $3.56, which makes me wonder how the owner can continue selling gas at that “low price” when Texaco across the street sells for $3.89.
I made it to Safford at 12:40, stopped at the Taco Bell which was already closed (which makes me wonder how the nightlife in town must be if even the fast-food places close so early). I ordered a cheeseburger at the Sonic next door instead.
The mountains around me were invisible in the waning new moon. I made it to Clifton at 1:30am, stopped in a motel parking lot and slept on my back seat for the night, expecting to sleep just a few hours and instead sleeping until6am when I promptly got up and continued my drive. Alpine from Morenci was still 90 miles away;’ I figured I would be there by 8am. No problem. I gassed in town for $3.77 and headed north.
The red mountains just north of Morenci were still shadowed by the rising sun. Cows were grazing right off the road, looking surprised that I was coming through so early and interrupting their grazing. ”What are you doing here?” they seem to say to me as I drove by.
The first fifteen miles of Hwy 191 north of Morenci are the most curvy of the entire road. I was barely driving 30mph.But once on the crest I could drive fast, and at times I drove 50pmh as I enjoyed the eastern valley views. What I thought was valley fog at first turned out to be valley haze from what smelled like a lingering wildfire.
I made it to Alpine by 7:30am and gassed at the Mustang gas station where I also bought coffee, yesterday’s local newspaper, a bag of ice and a box of doughnuts. I confidently continued onto Big Lake, 17 miles west of Alpine on FR249.
Finding everyone else in the camping group was not as easy as I thought, though. The hike leader Steve had no idea where exactly they were going to camp and could only suggest Grayling with Rainbow as the alternative. Neither camp was posted though and I ended up driving around the recreation area and making an entire loop before I figured it out the second time. Stopping at the tackle shop, where boaters and fishermen were already eagerly launching their boats for a day’s worth of fishing The clerk behindthe front counter showed me where to go, and once I had a pin point, found Brenda, Gordon, Susan and Steve rather quickly. Fifteen minutes later everyone drove off to the day’s trailhead for the Thompson Trail, an old railroad path now used for hikers and bikers. It’s almost 20 miles west of the campsite, and Ionly drove there to get an idea of where it was. My priority now was finding Kevin and his campsite. He had called me to let me know he stayed elsewhere, away from the screaming kids, blaring generators and barking dogs.
I was a little confused as to where he was because I had misunderstood his voice mail he had left behind Friday morning. He was not 12.3 north of Alpine like I had thought, but instead 12.3infromFR249,making him only five miles from where everyone else wascamped. I had to drive all the way to Hwy 191 to get cellphone reception, replay the voicemessage, then realizing my gaffe before I turned around, retraced my drive and found himat11:30on a shady hilltop with two happy dogs excited to see me. He was sitting in his camp chair drinking his third Bud Lite.
“I was expecting you last night” he said, “and when you didn’t show up I decided to stay until 10amthis morning, hoping you had stayed at Hannagan Meadow last night.
I was hungry and tired from lack of sleep, and even more tired from the driving around earlier. I was just glad we managed to find each other after all, and we spent a quiet afternoon together. The spot Kevin found was indeed nice, with a view of Three Forks Valley below, behind charred stumps of burned Ponderosa. I gladly took a cup of coffee he had made, and we shared the doughnuts.
I was in no mood to drive back to the Thompson Trail, adding another 40 miles on my van. I was happy to simply hike an old Forest Trail near the campsite, with the dogs off-leash and unhampered by other dogs, kids or blaring cars.
The trail passed a wide green meadow that had fresh traces of elk scat. Water meandered down from a small cienega. Recent storms had toppled many sick and dying trees that were now lying on the forest floor. Ravens flew overhead, squirrels darted around us (prompting the dogs to take chase).
The forest road came to a dead end on the hilltop, providing us breathtaking views of the Three Forks creek below. This was beautiful, remote wilderness yet we were in sight of the main road leading to the recreation area. No one was near us and the dogs enjoyed their walk unimpeded.
We arrived back at the campsite at 3:10pm. We were both tired and rested in our chairs reading our books we had the foresight to pack for those quiet times. Kevin got comfortable with his short stories by James, who writes about fishing, hunting and ranching with a humourous twist.
I read “Arizona, No Ordinary Journey” by Mary JoChurchwell,a63-year-old solo traveler who had planned a trip around Arizona for two years and then took seven months in 2004 to drive it in her Saturn sedan. She wrote chapters on many places I already am familiar with: Patagonia, the San Pedro River, Tombstone (which she didn’t care much for), Bisbee, Douglas, the Chiricahuas, Safford and even two weeks in Alpine and Hannagan Meadow. But sadly she wrote more about the place histories than her own experiences travelling across this beautiful state, and very few encounters with other people get mentioned.
At 6pmweleft to join the rest of the gang at the campsite, to let everyone know I had found Kevin. We stayed at the group site until 9pm, for that is how long a visitor’s pass is valid for. We talked to Bill who was relaxing to Scotch, and to others as well.
A camper across from Susan and Pete had his generator running until 9pm,and then everyone around us clapped when he turned it off. The entire site was covered now in a peaceful silence, and that’s when I realized how loud the generator was the entire time.
When we got to our own site at 9:30pm, I appreciated the silence around me. I was exhausted, crawled into my sleeping bag with all my clothes on (and expecting to take some of the layers off once I had warmed up).
I made it to Willcox at 11:40pm,worried that the price of regular unleaded would be much higher after the Merchantile Exchange closed a barrel of crude at $138.25 with more increases due next week. “Sticker price shock Monday morning” said the news announcers.
But at Doc’s Foodstore in Willcox the price was still $3.56, which makes me wonder how the owner can continue selling gas at that “low price” when Texaco across the street sells for $3.89.
I made it to Safford at 12:40, stopped at the Taco Bell which was already closed (which makes me wonder how the nightlife in town must be if even the fast-food places close so early). I ordered a cheeseburger at the Sonic next door instead.
The mountains around me were invisible in the waning new moon. I made it to Clifton at 1:30am, stopped in a motel parking lot and slept on my back seat for the night, expecting to sleep just a few hours and instead sleeping until6am when I promptly got up and continued my drive. Alpine from Morenci was still 90 miles away;’ I figured I would be there by 8am. No problem. I gassed in town for $3.77 and headed north.
The red mountains just north of Morenci were still shadowed by the rising sun. Cows were grazing right off the road, looking surprised that I was coming through so early and interrupting their grazing. ”What are you doing here?” they seem to say to me as I drove by.
The first fifteen miles of Hwy 191 north of Morenci are the most curvy of the entire road. I was barely driving 30mph.But once on the crest I could drive fast, and at times I drove 50pmh as I enjoyed the eastern valley views. What I thought was valley fog at first turned out to be valley haze from what smelled like a lingering wildfire.
I made it to Alpine by 7:30am and gassed at the Mustang gas station where I also bought coffee, yesterday’s local newspaper, a bag of ice and a box of doughnuts. I confidently continued onto Big Lake, 17 miles west of Alpine on FR249.
Finding everyone else in the camping group was not as easy as I thought, though. The hike leader Steve had no idea where exactly they were going to camp and could only suggest Grayling with Rainbow as the alternative. Neither camp was posted though and I ended up driving around the recreation area and making an entire loop before I figured it out the second time. Stopping at the tackle shop, where boaters and fishermen were already eagerly launching their boats for a day’s worth of fishing The clerk behindthe front counter showed me where to go, and once I had a pin point, found Brenda, Gordon, Susan and Steve rather quickly. Fifteen minutes later everyone drove off to the day’s trailhead for the Thompson Trail, an old railroad path now used for hikers and bikers. It’s almost 20 miles west of the campsite, and Ionly drove there to get an idea of where it was. My priority now was finding Kevin and his campsite. He had called me to let me know he stayed elsewhere, away from the screaming kids, blaring generators and barking dogs.
I was a little confused as to where he was because I had misunderstood his voice mail he had left behind Friday morning. He was not 12.3 north of Alpine like I had thought, but instead 12.3infromFR249,making him only five miles from where everyone else wascamped. I had to drive all the way to Hwy 191 to get cellphone reception, replay the voicemessage, then realizing my gaffe before I turned around, retraced my drive and found himat11:30on a shady hilltop with two happy dogs excited to see me. He was sitting in his camp chair drinking his third Bud Lite.
“I was expecting you last night” he said, “and when you didn’t show up I decided to stay until 10amthis morning, hoping you had stayed at Hannagan Meadow last night.
I was hungry and tired from lack of sleep, and even more tired from the driving around earlier. I was just glad we managed to find each other after all, and we spent a quiet afternoon together. The spot Kevin found was indeed nice, with a view of Three Forks Valley below, behind charred stumps of burned Ponderosa. I gladly took a cup of coffee he had made, and we shared the doughnuts.
I was in no mood to drive back to the Thompson Trail, adding another 40 miles on my van. I was happy to simply hike an old Forest Trail near the campsite, with the dogs off-leash and unhampered by other dogs, kids or blaring cars.
The trail passed a wide green meadow that had fresh traces of elk scat. Water meandered down from a small cienega. Recent storms had toppled many sick and dying trees that were now lying on the forest floor. Ravens flew overhead, squirrels darted around us (prompting the dogs to take chase).
The forest road came to a dead end on the hilltop, providing us breathtaking views of the Three Forks creek below. This was beautiful, remote wilderness yet we were in sight of the main road leading to the recreation area. No one was near us and the dogs enjoyed their walk unimpeded.
We arrived back at the campsite at 3:10pm. We were both tired and rested in our chairs reading our books we had the foresight to pack for those quiet times. Kevin got comfortable with his short stories by James, who writes about fishing, hunting and ranching with a humourous twist.
I read “Arizona, No Ordinary Journey” by Mary JoChurchwell,a63-year-old solo traveler who had planned a trip around Arizona for two years and then took seven months in 2004 to drive it in her Saturn sedan. She wrote chapters on many places I already am familiar with: Patagonia, the San Pedro River, Tombstone (which she didn’t care much for), Bisbee, Douglas, the Chiricahuas, Safford and even two weeks in Alpine and Hannagan Meadow. But sadly she wrote more about the place histories than her own experiences travelling across this beautiful state, and very few encounters with other people get mentioned.
At 6pmweleft to join the rest of the gang at the campsite, to let everyone know I had found Kevin. We stayed at the group site until 9pm, for that is how long a visitor’s pass is valid for. We talked to Bill who was relaxing to Scotch, and to others as well.
A camper across from Susan and Pete had his generator running until 9pm,and then everyone around us clapped when he turned it off. The entire site was covered now in a peaceful silence, and that’s when I realized how loud the generator was the entire time.
When we got to our own site at 9:30pm, I appreciated the silence around me. I was exhausted, crawled into my sleeping bag with all my clothes on (and expecting to take some of the layers off once I had warmed up).
Friday, June 6, 2008
On my way to the mountains
Now that my training is done I have a six-hour drive ahead of me, back to the Whites where Kevin and nine others from our hiking club are camped out. I missed today's hike but I may make that up Wednesday when everyone breaks camp, but the hikes I am looking forward to are the hikes up East Mount Baldy and Escudilla Peak, both towering over 11,000' high.
The lows last night in the area were in the upper 30s. "Pack a warm jacket!" reminded me Kevin before he took off with the dogs yesterday morning. (He wanted solo time to scout out the lake where we are camping at and to do some exploratory hiking.) He sent me a voice mail this morning bragging that "I've already seen 11 elk walk through the camp ground!"
Reina and Eenie, Meeny and Miny should do just fine without me for a few days. The hardest part will be telling Sara and Sammy that they now have three more brothers and sisters, albeit mini-siblings in the form of mini cats with sharp killer claws that I'm sure, if they take after their mom, won't be afraid to use them . Both dogs have always made wide berths around Reina.
The lows last night in the area were in the upper 30s. "Pack a warm jacket!" reminded me Kevin before he took off with the dogs yesterday morning. (He wanted solo time to scout out the lake where we are camping at and to do some exploratory hiking.) He sent me a voice mail this morning bragging that "I've already seen 11 elk walk through the camp ground!"
Reina and Eenie, Meeny and Miny should do just fine without me for a few days. The hardest part will be telling Sara and Sammy that they now have three more brothers and sisters, albeit mini-siblings in the form of mini cats with sharp killer claws that I'm sure, if they take after their mom, won't be afraid to use them . Both dogs have always made wide berths around Reina.
And then there were three...
Like a good grandmother, I stood overwatch for Reina and slept on Kevin's La-Z-Girl, to be close to Reina who was on the couch, in case she had any problems and needed me. Now my neck's sore.
When I went to check on Reina and her kittens early this morning, I discovered THREE kittens sucking contentedly on the couch with her. Apparently the third one was born quietly after 11pm last night, as that is how long I was awake, watching over Reina. I dozed off shortly after Jay Leno's monologue on the Tonight Show.
The third kitten looks just like Little Guy and now I don't know who is who. For now I'll name the black little worms Eenie, Meany, Miny...since we already have a MO! and the trio's name has a whimsical ring to it.
When I went to check on Reina and her kittens early this morning, I discovered THREE kittens sucking contentedly on the couch with her. Apparently the third one was born quietly after 11pm last night, as that is how long I was awake, watching over Reina. I dozed off shortly after Jay Leno's monologue on the Tonight Show.
The third kitten looks just like Little Guy and now I don't know who is who. For now I'll name the black little worms Eenie, Meany, Miny...since we already have a MO! and the trio's name has a whimsical ring to it.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Reina gave birth to two kittens
I knew today was her due date based on a 62-day gestation period, and was thus prepared. Her water broke while I was still in bed this morning, and warned Kevin about the news. (He showed no emotion).
By mid-morning Reina was acting aggitated. Her breathing was heavy and she pawed the couch cover a few times, as if she was trying to crawl underneath the cover to give birth. She lay on the cover, and by 10:30am I noticed two small dime-sized stains of blood. This was it, I thought.
Reina had shown a preference for the couch during her pregnancy, pawing at the cover and trying to get underneath it where it was dark. I preferred her give birth in the closet, so when I felt she was ready to give birth, I dragged her to the bedroom closet. She wanted none of that and ran back to the couch. All I could do now was drag a towel for extra padding, to keep stains off my $800 couch. I almost didn’t make it.
I took a quick shower and when I rushed out to check on Reina at 10:55am, a black tail came out. At first I thought it was pre-natal fecal manner, but then the tail swirled, and a few minutes later two clawed paws poked out, then a tiny waist...and I helped pull the first kitten to this world at 11:08am. Reina barely made a noise.
How small and cool the little cat felt in my hand, still wet with afterbirth and trying to meow. It had been ten years since I felt a kitten this small.
I was nervous, worried and shaking with fear. I didn't have time to get completely dressed, and was relieved that Kevin and the dogs had already taken off for the camping trip; Reina could give birth in peace. But what if something were to go wrong? Reina was panting heavy, and I could tell she was contracting. But she barely meowed during the birth, and immediately started licking herself and the kitten dry: a black-brown male tabby.
I rubbed Reina's belly, petted her head and craddled her all morning, gently talking with her to soothe her. She seemed to appreciate my help. Like two moms experiencing childbirth, only a woman can understand the pain of such event. I relived the birth of my own children through Reina this morning, as well as her previous four births.
But by witnessing the birth of the first kitten, memories of the past also came back to me: of family members I know who abused cats and got rid of them in inhumane matters, to my own guilt of not spaying her when last year alone in Pima County over 12000 unwanted animals were put to death simply because they were unwanted.
She's such a tiny cat but handles birth like a champ, although she'd get feverish after everyone. I was worried when 40 minutes later the little guy was still attached to the umbilical cord and Reina was still eating afterbirth. Was this normal? It took two hours before I could hear the little guy meow. And she still felt pregnant. Where were the other kittens? Were they dead inside her? Or were they going to come at a later date?
After two hours Little Guy—for lack of a real name-- was dry and clamoring to Reina. But Reina still felt pregnant. When were the others coming out? I was getting nervous.
By 3pm, with little time left before the CCMG graduation, I decided to move Reina to the bedroom closet, so that Little Guy wouldn't fall off the couch. She went into the shower to cool off, and 30 minutes later I saw her carry Little Guy back to the couch. She wanted the couch, thankyouverymuch. But wait, that kitten in her mouth wasn't Little Guy...it was Little Gal! She somehow gave birth somewhere out of my sight to her second kitten, a black Calico girl with a loud mouth to boot. So now Little Guy had a sister, Big Mouth.
Now Reina felt more normal in size, but she was still struggling with the heat and panting. I left at 4pm, stopped at the feed store to get some kitten formula because it didn't look like Reina was lactating yet. And then I went to the CCMG graduation and for three hours enjoyed the company of my fellow students; I will miss that camaraderie but it looks like a few of them are also getting trained in the office. Irushed home after the graduation party as quickly as I could.
I was back home at 7pm, with a full belly from the pot-luck people brought in. I was back to mothering Reina, by now settled into her new motherhood. She seemed to be lactating now. Little Guy's the quiet boy, and Big Mouth is the rambunctious little girl who pushes her brother out of the way for a warm nipple. It's the perfect size cat family. I can handle two more cats in the family, but can Kevin and the dogs?
There is something calming about watching new mothers and their newborns. Reina has always been a great mom, licking her kittens and watching over them like a cat only does, and responding frantically to any "MEW!" from her brood. I spent most of the eveing watching over her and her new family than I did in getting my camping gear packed.
By mid-morning Reina was acting aggitated. Her breathing was heavy and she pawed the couch cover a few times, as if she was trying to crawl underneath the cover to give birth. She lay on the cover, and by 10:30am I noticed two small dime-sized stains of blood. This was it, I thought.
Reina had shown a preference for the couch during her pregnancy, pawing at the cover and trying to get underneath it where it was dark. I preferred her give birth in the closet, so when I felt she was ready to give birth, I dragged her to the bedroom closet. She wanted none of that and ran back to the couch. All I could do now was drag a towel for extra padding, to keep stains off my $800 couch. I almost didn’t make it.
I took a quick shower and when I rushed out to check on Reina at 10:55am, a black tail came out. At first I thought it was pre-natal fecal manner, but then the tail swirled, and a few minutes later two clawed paws poked out, then a tiny waist...and I helped pull the first kitten to this world at 11:08am. Reina barely made a noise.
How small and cool the little cat felt in my hand, still wet with afterbirth and trying to meow. It had been ten years since I felt a kitten this small.
I was nervous, worried and shaking with fear. I didn't have time to get completely dressed, and was relieved that Kevin and the dogs had already taken off for the camping trip; Reina could give birth in peace. But what if something were to go wrong? Reina was panting heavy, and I could tell she was contracting. But she barely meowed during the birth, and immediately started licking herself and the kitten dry: a black-brown male tabby.
I rubbed Reina's belly, petted her head and craddled her all morning, gently talking with her to soothe her. She seemed to appreciate my help. Like two moms experiencing childbirth, only a woman can understand the pain of such event. I relived the birth of my own children through Reina this morning, as well as her previous four births.
But by witnessing the birth of the first kitten, memories of the past also came back to me: of family members I know who abused cats and got rid of them in inhumane matters, to my own guilt of not spaying her when last year alone in Pima County over 12000 unwanted animals were put to death simply because they were unwanted.
She's such a tiny cat but handles birth like a champ, although she'd get feverish after everyone. I was worried when 40 minutes later the little guy was still attached to the umbilical cord and Reina was still eating afterbirth. Was this normal? It took two hours before I could hear the little guy meow. And she still felt pregnant. Where were the other kittens? Were they dead inside her? Or were they going to come at a later date?
After two hours Little Guy—for lack of a real name-- was dry and clamoring to Reina. But Reina still felt pregnant. When were the others coming out? I was getting nervous.
By 3pm, with little time left before the CCMG graduation, I decided to move Reina to the bedroom closet, so that Little Guy wouldn't fall off the couch. She went into the shower to cool off, and 30 minutes later I saw her carry Little Guy back to the couch. She wanted the couch, thankyouverymuch. But wait, that kitten in her mouth wasn't Little Guy...it was Little Gal! She somehow gave birth somewhere out of my sight to her second kitten, a black Calico girl with a loud mouth to boot. So now Little Guy had a sister, Big Mouth.
Now Reina felt more normal in size, but she was still struggling with the heat and panting. I left at 4pm, stopped at the feed store to get some kitten formula because it didn't look like Reina was lactating yet. And then I went to the CCMG graduation and for three hours enjoyed the company of my fellow students; I will miss that camaraderie but it looks like a few of them are also getting trained in the office. Irushed home after the graduation party as quickly as I could.
I was back home at 7pm, with a full belly from the pot-luck people brought in. I was back to mothering Reina, by now settled into her new motherhood. She seemed to be lactating now. Little Guy's the quiet boy, and Big Mouth is the rambunctious little girl who pushes her brother out of the way for a warm nipple. It's the perfect size cat family. I can handle two more cats in the family, but can Kevin and the dogs?
There is something calming about watching new mothers and their newborns. Reina has always been a great mom, licking her kittens and watching over them like a cat only does, and responding frantically to any "MEW!" from her brood. I spent most of the eveing watching over her and her new family than I did in getting my camping gear packed.
An old Army buddy of mine
I was leaving Fry's yesterday afternoon after a day in town running errands when I met Carrie, a former soldier of mine when I was in California. We recognized each other right away and stopped to chat. She had her two-year-old daughter with her, a splitting image of herself.
Carrie was close to graduating from the Russian course when my First Sergeant, a very lesbian First Sergeant (who always claimed to be living with her "sister" but we all knew otherwise) wanted her discharged for being overweight and failing the physical fitness test. At the time Carrie tried her best, but the weight she lost and the improvements she made on her fitness were not enough to keep her in, and I couldn't convince the commander to allow her three more months to lose the weight and get fit. Three weeks before she would have graduated from the Russian course she was discharged from the Army for being unable to adapt, which is an honorable discharge and allows discharged veterans two years to improve and re-enlist.
But good for her, she went back to school, majored in Russian (which came easy for her with the course she had with the Army) and lost the weight when she divorced her controlling husband who I always thought was partially to blame for Carrie's low self-esteem. She lost so much weight after the divorce, she even qualified to be a physical fitness instructor and made a living that way. Her email to me were filled with new-found joys in life. I was so happy for her.
Then she met her new husband Tim and decided to join the army again. This time Uncle Sam wanted her back, taught her Spanish, and sent her to Afghanistan where, I'm sure, her Spanish came in handy.
I always liked Carrie because despite the pressure she went through with our First Sergeant, she kept her optimism. Her improvements were obvious, but weren't big enough for Army standards. The Army gave up a good soldier when they let her go, and were obviously in need of good linguists after 9-11 when they took her back.
But now, with a new husband and little daughter, her priorities have changed. She's a full-time mom and army wife with her husband Tim heading to warrant officer school next week and surely back to either war in another year.
Carrie and Tim had bought a new home here on four acres in the country about four years ago. I figured they would hold on to that property but instead she said she couldn't wait to sell it.
"We were initially asking $260,000 for it but had to settle for $206,000 just to get it off our hands" she explained. That loss must have been painful for her, because I remember how much she loved her spacious home in the country; it was a dream-come-true.
Carrie and her family are in Arizona for two more days and are moving to Texas and then California where Tim will start another language class. Carrie's life is so much happier now than it was nine years ago when she was strugging to lose weight and get fit. But all these years later I still use her as an example of someone who, determined to reach her goal despite all odds, reaches it and becomes a success. Had she not been discharged the first time for being unfit/overweight she would have made the Army a carreer, perhaps even gone to warrant officer school.
Carrie was close to graduating from the Russian course when my First Sergeant, a very lesbian First Sergeant (who always claimed to be living with her "sister" but we all knew otherwise) wanted her discharged for being overweight and failing the physical fitness test. At the time Carrie tried her best, but the weight she lost and the improvements she made on her fitness were not enough to keep her in, and I couldn't convince the commander to allow her three more months to lose the weight and get fit. Three weeks before she would have graduated from the Russian course she was discharged from the Army for being unable to adapt, which is an honorable discharge and allows discharged veterans two years to improve and re-enlist.
But good for her, she went back to school, majored in Russian (which came easy for her with the course she had with the Army) and lost the weight when she divorced her controlling husband who I always thought was partially to blame for Carrie's low self-esteem. She lost so much weight after the divorce, she even qualified to be a physical fitness instructor and made a living that way. Her email to me were filled with new-found joys in life. I was so happy for her.
Then she met her new husband Tim and decided to join the army again. This time Uncle Sam wanted her back, taught her Spanish, and sent her to Afghanistan where, I'm sure, her Spanish came in handy.
I always liked Carrie because despite the pressure she went through with our First Sergeant, she kept her optimism. Her improvements were obvious, but weren't big enough for Army standards. The Army gave up a good soldier when they let her go, and were obviously in need of good linguists after 9-11 when they took her back.
But now, with a new husband and little daughter, her priorities have changed. She's a full-time mom and army wife with her husband Tim heading to warrant officer school next week and surely back to either war in another year.
Carrie and Tim had bought a new home here on four acres in the country about four years ago. I figured they would hold on to that property but instead she said she couldn't wait to sell it.
"We were initially asking $260,000 for it but had to settle for $206,000 just to get it off our hands" she explained. That loss must have been painful for her, because I remember how much she loved her spacious home in the country; it was a dream-come-true.
Carrie and her family are in Arizona for two more days and are moving to Texas and then California where Tim will start another language class. Carrie's life is so much happier now than it was nine years ago when she was strugging to lose weight and get fit. But all these years later I still use her as an example of someone who, determined to reach her goal despite all odds, reaches it and becomes a success. Had she not been discharged the first time for being unfit/overweight she would have made the Army a carreer, perhaps even gone to warrant officer school.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
More homes are for sale
With the ever-increasing hot temperatures now, I have to walk the dogs either early in the morning (and face morning traffic on the roads) or after sunset. This way the dogs' paws don't get burned by the hot asphalt. They love their walks, even if it's no longer in the canyon off-leash and instead around the neighborhood on-leash.
It's good for me, too, to stop and on occassion talk to neighbors I wouldn't normally talk to without the dogs around. I can admire or admonish (to myself, of course!) people's yards and their choice of landscape. And I get some exercise in, too.
This morning I talked to a young couple on a corner lot a block away from us. Last night during our walk I noticed they were moving out; a large Penske Moving truck was parked in their drive-way. This morning, seeing them both up and ready, I stopped to ask them where they were moving to.
"Upstate New York!" said the blond man.
Oh, New York I thought, what a beautiful state. Visions of the Finger Lakes region came to mind, a region Kevin and I spent a very wet Memorial Day weekend in 2001. The gently-rolling hills reminded me of central Germany.
"It's beautiful up there!" I replied. "What's bringing you to New York?"
"The Border Patrol."
Oh, again more admiration. "Well, you guys do great work"
"It's going to be a lot different there" the man went on, "and not quite so dangerous!"
They had traveled there before so I didn't bore them with my positive observations of New York. No doubt living in New York will be quite different than living in southern Arizona. Instead of speaking Spanish agents have to be familiar with French. And the weather there can be quite brutal at times, when the snow piles up and the temperature stays below freezing for weeks on end. The rusty full-sized pick-ups driving down the pot-holed streets of Watkins Glen also came to mind. The street salt thrown on the roads there during snowy/icy weather eats through the chassis of most American-made vehicles. Still, that part of America is so wildly rural that I can't see anyone having a bad time there.
Another house is now also for sale in my little neighborhood, a small manufatured home on .5 acres selling for a mere $84,000. The yard needs major work but the views of the mountains are spectacular. Where are all these people moving to?
The house across from us and one down, the same house that went on sale in mid-May, is now under contract. An older couple seem to be the new owners soon. That house is no bigger than ours, but the stucco wall around the property and the mature trees in the back yard certainly are plusses. I only hope they have nice pets, as another neighbor of ours has a black German Shephered Dog they allow to roam free in the neighborhood, and that puppy's been in our front yard digging around the flowers. That's enough to get me growling in anger.
It's good for me, too, to stop and on occassion talk to neighbors I wouldn't normally talk to without the dogs around. I can admire or admonish (to myself, of course!) people's yards and their choice of landscape. And I get some exercise in, too.
This morning I talked to a young couple on a corner lot a block away from us. Last night during our walk I noticed they were moving out; a large Penske Moving truck was parked in their drive-way. This morning, seeing them both up and ready, I stopped to ask them where they were moving to.
"Upstate New York!" said the blond man.
Oh, New York I thought, what a beautiful state. Visions of the Finger Lakes region came to mind, a region Kevin and I spent a very wet Memorial Day weekend in 2001. The gently-rolling hills reminded me of central Germany.
"It's beautiful up there!" I replied. "What's bringing you to New York?"
"The Border Patrol."
Oh, again more admiration. "Well, you guys do great work"
"It's going to be a lot different there" the man went on, "and not quite so dangerous!"
They had traveled there before so I didn't bore them with my positive observations of New York. No doubt living in New York will be quite different than living in southern Arizona. Instead of speaking Spanish agents have to be familiar with French. And the weather there can be quite brutal at times, when the snow piles up and the temperature stays below freezing for weeks on end. The rusty full-sized pick-ups driving down the pot-holed streets of Watkins Glen also came to mind. The street salt thrown on the roads there during snowy/icy weather eats through the chassis of most American-made vehicles. Still, that part of America is so wildly rural that I can't see anyone having a bad time there.
Another house is now also for sale in my little neighborhood, a small manufatured home on .5 acres selling for a mere $84,000. The yard needs major work but the views of the mountains are spectacular. Where are all these people moving to?
The house across from us and one down, the same house that went on sale in mid-May, is now under contract. An older couple seem to be the new owners soon. That house is no bigger than ours, but the stucco wall around the property and the mature trees in the back yard certainly are plusses. I only hope they have nice pets, as another neighbor of ours has a black German Shephered Dog they allow to roam free in the neighborhood, and that puppy's been in our front yard digging around the flowers. That's enough to get me growling in anger.
Monday, June 2, 2008
The drive home
By 8:10am we took off for our return drive, heading north to Alpine on Hwy191. By now the elevation was in a descent again as we curved around more pines and aspens.
Kevin saw his first elk along the road, a dead female that had been there a few days at least. We stopped to take a closer look (the dogs wanted to sniff it, too). A faint blood trail from the impact zone was still visible; the doomed critter had been dragged a good 20 feet. The doe's rear was already eaten open and two holes in her chest had expanded from the maggots.
We didn't stop in Alpine, but took notice of the facilities there: a gas station ($3.99), a cafe, a small diner, and many quaint cottages along the road. Cattle grazed in the large meadow that defines Alpine, and fishermen were busy in Luna Lake.
We didn't stop in Alpine, but took notice of the facilities there: a gas station ($3.99), a cafe, a small diner, and many quaint cottages along the road. Cattle grazed in the large meadow that defines Alpine, and fishermen were busy in Luna Lake.
From Alpine we continued on USHwy 180 east into New Mexico. In 20 minutes after leaving Alpine we went from close to 9000' to 6000' and desert flora. Gone were the aspen and in were the cottonwoods. Gone, too was the coolness of the high mountains. We were now back in the desert and driving through the Gila Wilderness, one of New Mexico's most beautiful areas.
We drove through Glenwood, then Silver City where we stopped for lunch at the Pizza Hut. I was hungry for some pasta and was a little disappointed that the only pasta was spaghetti with runny marinara. (That sauce later gave me gas along the trip...) Gasoline sold for $3.99 and higher. We tanked up in Lordsburg for $3.74 at the Pilot off I-10.
The pick-ups windows were down and I could feel the heat. The Chiricahuas were the sign that we were 90 miles away from home. Nipple Mountain (real name: North College Peak) 20 miles from Douglas brought us even closer.
We drove through Glenwood, then Silver City where we stopped for lunch at the Pizza Hut. I was hungry for some pasta and was a little disappointed that the only pasta was spaghetti with runny marinara. (That sauce later gave me gas along the trip...) Gasoline sold for $3.99 and higher. We tanked up in Lordsburg for $3.74 at the Pilot off I-10.
The pick-ups windows were down and I could feel the heat. The Chiricahuas were the sign that we were 90 miles away from home. Nipple Mountain (real name: North College Peak) 20 miles from Douglas brought us even closer.
Still fighting the gastro problem, I tried to hold as much as I could in me, but a few silent-but-deadly farts did escape.
As soon we we neared the Chiricahuas I got my first whiff of creosote. "I smell creosote!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, is that what creosote smells like?" retorted Kevin with a smile. "We must be near the ocean, it smells like low tide!"
"What kind of world events do you think happened while we were gone?" asked Kevin later, after the air literally had cleared. We didn't hear any radio or read any newspapers in the 2.5 days we were in the woods.
"Oh, the usual earthquakes or wildfires" I replied, hoping that no one important died while we were disconnected from the outside world.
"I'm sure the Obama-Clinton saga continues" continued Kevin, referring to the ever-scandalous campaigns of both Democratic Senators.
"I'm sure there's been another minister from either one who said something outlandish and the opposition is trying to make that a major controversy" I answered.
We made it home shortly after 5pm to a front yard in full bloom: the Sunset Coneflowers are now in bloom, the peppers are bearing fruit and the Century Plant is growing a flower stalk. Five tall tomato plants, however, look very wilted.
As for the weekend news, we heard about a major fire at Universal Studios in Hollywood that burned down the set of Back to the Future. Yves Saint Laurent, a French designer, died today at age 71; he had had a brain tumor. Sen Clinton won the Puerto Rico primary which I find controversial since Puerto Rico does not vote in the general election, so why can it vote in primaries?
The Polygamists of El Dorado's YFZ Ranch got their children back. The poor kids had been placed in foster care across Texas, separating them from their nut parents while the state Supreme Court ruled on this issue. This news had sickened me since it broke six weeks ago, as I've driven through that town on my way to Arizona and never had a clue a bunch of sex-crazed loonies lived there in a gated hide-out.
Massive floods are also ravaging western Europe.
And for local news, a 25-year-old man in Tucson went on a shooting rampage through town and shot three police officers. One officer, a 43-yar-old retired Air Force sergeant, was shot in the head and according to the TPD chief, is not expected to live. He is on life support.
It's good to be back home. Reina welcomed us back with her very pregnant belly; she is due to drop her kittens this week. I can already feel them move around inside while Reina sprawls out on my lap. I rub her big belly to relax her and she purrs back in kind. I'm guessing she will have four kittens. That's four more for this household...at any rate the little cats will have a good home.
It was a fun weekend and we can't wait to get back to the Whites. Our hiking club is planning another trip there this next weekend, with hikes planned to Escudilla Peak and East Mount Baldy, two hikes near the 11000' elevation mark. I had told Kevin that I want to do those peaks soon anyway. I hope the dogs can make it!
"What kind of world events do you think happened while we were gone?" asked Kevin later, after the air literally had cleared. We didn't hear any radio or read any newspapers in the 2.5 days we were in the woods.
"Oh, the usual earthquakes or wildfires" I replied, hoping that no one important died while we were disconnected from the outside world.
"I'm sure the Obama-Clinton saga continues" continued Kevin, referring to the ever-scandalous campaigns of both Democratic Senators.
"I'm sure there's been another minister from either one who said something outlandish and the opposition is trying to make that a major controversy" I answered.
We made it home shortly after 5pm to a front yard in full bloom: the Sunset Coneflowers are now in bloom, the peppers are bearing fruit and the Century Plant is growing a flower stalk. Five tall tomato plants, however, look very wilted.
As for the weekend news, we heard about a major fire at Universal Studios in Hollywood that burned down the set of Back to the Future. Yves Saint Laurent, a French designer, died today at age 71; he had had a brain tumor. Sen Clinton won the Puerto Rico primary which I find controversial since Puerto Rico does not vote in the general election, so why can it vote in primaries?
The Polygamists of El Dorado's YFZ Ranch got their children back. The poor kids had been placed in foster care across Texas, separating them from their nut parents while the state Supreme Court ruled on this issue. This news had sickened me since it broke six weeks ago, as I've driven through that town on my way to Arizona and never had a clue a bunch of sex-crazed loonies lived there in a gated hide-out.
Massive floods are also ravaging western Europe.
And for local news, a 25-year-old man in Tucson went on a shooting rampage through town and shot three police officers. One officer, a 43-yar-old retired Air Force sergeant, was shot in the head and according to the TPD chief, is not expected to live. He is on life support.
It's good to be back home. Reina welcomed us back with her very pregnant belly; she is due to drop her kittens this week. I can already feel them move around inside while Reina sprawls out on my lap. I rub her big belly to relax her and she purrs back in kind. I'm guessing she will have four kittens. That's four more for this household...at any rate the little cats will have a good home.
It was a fun weekend and we can't wait to get back to the Whites. Our hiking club is planning another trip there this next weekend, with hikes planned to Escudilla Peak and East Mount Baldy, two hikes near the 11000' elevation mark. I had told Kevin that I want to do those peaks soon anyway. I hope the dogs can make it!
Sunday, June 1, 2008
"I saw four elk!"
I proudly told Kevin as I returned with the dogs to the campsite at 6:20am. We had left for our "hunt"at 5:40am. The dogs had caught the elk scent and pulled hard on the leash throughout the short hike.
We didn't even have to go far to find the elk. I spotted what I thought were several dark tree stumps in the meadow, stumps I don't remember seeing the night before when I walked over to the meadow with the dogs. The dark stumps stared as us and the dogs stared right back, frozen.
The elks didn't move right away. The leader in the front, the tallest, slowly moved the pack across the open, shaded meadow, never losing sight of us. The other elk followed quietly. The black heads and dark bodies were hard to discern. Once the elk hit the forest line they disappeared from view.
I stayed on the trail a little longer, wanting at least a 30-minute hike with the dogs before we packed up and drove back in the hot desert. I walked part of a ski trail that meandered through aspen groves, around bubbling creeks and fallen trees. Horse hooves had grounded part of the trail where water had saturated the mud. It was a pretty hike but the dogs pulled on the leash the entire time, and I felt watched the entire time. I was expecting either a mountain lion or a bear to come charging from the treeline.
I told Kevin about my elk spotting, he told me of the Stellar Jay that came down to pay him a visit. The Jay came by two more times while we ate toasted bagels and sipped our camp coffee. His bright blue feathers glistened in the sun.
We didn't even have to go far to find the elk. I spotted what I thought were several dark tree stumps in the meadow, stumps I don't remember seeing the night before when I walked over to the meadow with the dogs. The dark stumps stared as us and the dogs stared right back, frozen.
The elks didn't move right away. The leader in the front, the tallest, slowly moved the pack across the open, shaded meadow, never losing sight of us. The other elk followed quietly. The black heads and dark bodies were hard to discern. Once the elk hit the forest line they disappeared from view.
I stayed on the trail a little longer, wanting at least a 30-minute hike with the dogs before we packed up and drove back in the hot desert. I walked part of a ski trail that meandered through aspen groves, around bubbling creeks and fallen trees. Horse hooves had grounded part of the trail where water had saturated the mud. It was a pretty hike but the dogs pulled on the leash the entire time, and I felt watched the entire time. I was expecting either a mountain lion or a bear to come charging from the treeline.
I told Kevin about my elk spotting, he told me of the Stellar Jay that came down to pay him a visit. The Jay came by two more times while we ate toasted bagels and sipped our camp coffee. His bright blue feathers glistened in the sun.
The Ackre Lake Trail and the second night in the woods
We made it to the Ackre Lake trail at 11:35, an hour after getting to the campstore. Weather was calm and the skies were clear; a perfect day for a hike. The trail is a popular cross-country ski trail in the winter, and a bike trail in the summer with its deep single-track path winding across the forest.
Karen was right about the lack of maintenance along this trail, as we had to dodge many downed trees. The blue-blazed trail was well-marked, though, and the easy grade made for wonderful hiking. Many young aspen saplings were taking over parts of the forest where once spruce and Ponderosa grew.
The dogs came across a small snowmound that had seen better days. Both of them attacked the mound like hungry children attack a snowcone. First the dogs licked the frozen delight, then they bit into it, and finally rolled around in the slush as we watched on.
We were a mile away from the lake when Kevin convinced me to take a side trail I was convinced would take us to Ackre Lake. It didn't. Instead we walked on an abandoned logging trail that was heavily damaged. We had to climb, crawl and bypass many downed trees the lower in elevation we got.
In twohours we came to the intersection of FR24 and the trail andwe knew then we were off course. A quick break showed us a mile off course, an easy fix if wewalkedsouth on FR24 abit, but Kevin was in no mood to lengthen the hike. Instead we turned around and retraced our steps.
We never came across another hiker. Our only guides were the birds and tuft-eared squirrels. The only sign of elk we came across was elk scat. The only sign of human presence were a few discarded beer cans.
We got back to our pick-up at 3:15pm. I took off my hikers and socks and grabbed a beer. That first beer tasted delicious after the hike. We were sitting by the truck talking about the lovely hike when two distraught-looking bikers drove by and stopped in front of us.
"Where is the nearest ranger station?"asked the older man.
"Just a quarter-mile up the road is a lodge, they could call the rangers for you!"
"Thanks!" said the biker and both of them sped off.
That didn't look too good. "I hope there was no biking accident on the road!" I told Kevin.
Not even fifteen minutes later a red Fire and Rescue truck sped south from Alpine. This was not good at all. A few minutes later, at the campstore buying ice, three more emergency vehicles sped south and a group of at least 20 bikers were parked outside the store.
Some of the bikers looked upset. They had seen the injured biker on the road next to his bike. "He was conscious and could feel his legs" I overheard one biker say. "He was in a fetal position and in a lot of pain!" commented another.
The injured biker was not part of the group; he was driving southbound and the others all northbound. The bikers we talked to were part of a touring club that likes to ride their bikes across the country. One man from South Carolina struck up a conversation with us.
Karen was right about the lack of maintenance along this trail, as we had to dodge many downed trees. The blue-blazed trail was well-marked, though, and the easy grade made for wonderful hiking. Many young aspen saplings were taking over parts of the forest where once spruce and Ponderosa grew.
The dogs came across a small snowmound that had seen better days. Both of them attacked the mound like hungry children attack a snowcone. First the dogs licked the frozen delight, then they bit into it, and finally rolled around in the slush as we watched on.
We were a mile away from the lake when Kevin convinced me to take a side trail I was convinced would take us to Ackre Lake. It didn't. Instead we walked on an abandoned logging trail that was heavily damaged. We had to climb, crawl and bypass many downed trees the lower in elevation we got.
In twohours we came to the intersection of FR24 and the trail andwe knew then we were off course. A quick break showed us a mile off course, an easy fix if wewalkedsouth on FR24 abit, but Kevin was in no mood to lengthen the hike. Instead we turned around and retraced our steps.
We never came across another hiker. Our only guides were the birds and tuft-eared squirrels. The only sign of elk we came across was elk scat. The only sign of human presence were a few discarded beer cans.
We got back to our pick-up at 3:15pm. I took off my hikers and socks and grabbed a beer. That first beer tasted delicious after the hike. We were sitting by the truck talking about the lovely hike when two distraught-looking bikers drove by and stopped in front of us.
"Where is the nearest ranger station?"asked the older man.
"Just a quarter-mile up the road is a lodge, they could call the rangers for you!"
"Thanks!" said the biker and both of them sped off.
That didn't look too good. "I hope there was no biking accident on the road!" I told Kevin.
Not even fifteen minutes later a red Fire and Rescue truck sped south from Alpine. This was not good at all. A few minutes later, at the campstore buying ice, three more emergency vehicles sped south and a group of at least 20 bikers were parked outside the store.
Some of the bikers looked upset. They had seen the injured biker on the road next to his bike. "He was conscious and could feel his legs" I overheard one biker say. "He was in a fetal position and in a lot of pain!" commented another.
The injured biker was not part of the group; he was driving southbound and the others all northbound. The bikers we talked to were part of a touring club that likes to ride their bikes across the country. One man from South Carolina struck up a conversation with us.
"I've ridden my bike all over this country and this truly is a beautiful country" he said. "The only state I didn't really like is Texas. Sure, the people are nice but the land isn't ver scenic!" I silently agreed. There is so little public land in Texas that what little public land there is is overused: like Big Bend in the western part, or the crowded state parks in Hill Country. Texans are overly proud of the little public land they have.
But nothing in Texas is as beautiful as Arizona...
But nothing in Texas is as beautiful as Arizona...
After we bought our ice we drove down to the Hannagan Meadow campground, claimed Site#3 and spent the rest of the day there, alone with two tired dogs who were still willing to hike down to the meadow with me after eating chicken legs and noodles.
"I'm going to get up at the crack of dawn to look for elk at the meadow tomorrow morning, wanna go with me?"
"Ask me tomorrow."
Again I heard the fluty song of the anonymous bird in the evening. I slept better tonight, perhaps because the ground was softer or the night temperatures were warmer. The setting sun poked through a few pines to our west. Another couple came by and claimed Site#8 but it was still a tranquil night. The dogs were tired and stayed close to our side all night.
Hannagan Meadow and Wild Bill McClain
We made it to Hannagan Meadow an hour later, at 10:15am. The lodge and the Campstore were next to eachother, with the green meadow across the street. A few people were outside the buildings but the place did not look busy. I was expecting to see more Valley People up here getting away from the triple-digit heat.
We walked inside the campstore to look around and immediately were welcomed by Karen, the store clerk. An older, slender woman in denim jeans, she's only been working at the campstore a month, and from northern New Mexico she's grown up hunting and fishing. She could only speak accolades for the campstore, the lodge and the people working there. She and her co-hort, "Wild" Bill McClain, clearly have a great working relationship.
"We spent six hours a few days ago cutting down trees" said Karen. "You should have been here last weekend, when we got 16 inches of snow! The lodge had to cancel all its reservations because the roads weren't cleared yet...the owners lost a lot of business because they were booked." That explained the small mounds of snow we saw in shaded areas along the road.
Bill was dressed in his cowboy regalia, with wide-brim hat, turquoise belt buckle around his jeans, and high cowboy boots. Bill's main job is to ride the horses and lead guide for tourists around the ski trails. Originially from Tucson, Bill's even had small parts in westerns, including one with Kevin Costner. "I normally play the town drunk, but I'm often in the background on a horse" he beamed.
As charming as Bill is, he also has a serious side. He told us about his part in the Citizens for Multiple Use Trails, a political committee with national chapters fighting the continued public access to Forest Service Trails.
"If the Forest service had it its way, it would close all the trails here to the public" said Karen earlier, and even camping would be in regulated campsites only"
Bill gave us more details, and talked about the Citizens for Multiple Land Use and Access (CMLUA). "The Forest Service doesn't even maitain the trails around here anymore. We have to go out and saw the downed trees ourselves!" said Bill. "Please read up about this organization and help us keep these beautiful trails open for all of us!"
We chatted more about the Forest Service, and some of the wildfires the personnel have started in the last few weeks in Arizona and New Mexico alone, like the one near Mount Graham just before Memorial Day (which burnd around 3000 acres), and a smaller one near Animas NM a few days later. Although the USFS will announce their "prescribed burn" ahead of time in local newspapers, the USFS doesn't seem to understand that starting a prescribed burn DESPITE HIGH WINDS (Red Flag Warnings) is a negligent and often dangerous thing to do.
"If you or I were to start a fire, we'd be charged and imprisoned, but they don't get charged with arson when they start a wildfire" added Bill.
I understand that the USFS lately has been facing a budget crunch--it's even on its website with a reasonabe explanation--but starting prescribed burns that get out of control so often needs to be investigated better. Where is the risk management there? If the military were to do something so negligent the press would be all over that.
We stayed at the store for quite a while chatting with both Karen and Bill. The campstore was small, but large enough to provide hikers the essentials. Besides coffee and hamburgers ($7.99 with a bag of chips), there are t-shirts and camping supplies for sale.
On one wall are colored photographs of hunters and their trophies: elk, mountain lion and bear cubs shot dead. I can see shooting an elk for food, but a mountain lion or bear? But I kept my mouth shut.
We took Karen's advice and headed out to the Ackre Lake trailhead she recommended, a 7.5-mile trail with a slight descend to the small lake. This would be a long enough hike to give us some exercise, but short enough not to be too challenging for either Kevin or the dogs.
The dogs were clearly ready for a "Dubya."
Kevin and I were both a little aghast at hearing about the Forest Service closing the trails in the White Mountains. If the trails are closed, why keep any FS personnel then? I can't imagine these beautiful trails being closed for hikers and bikers and left to the delight of the timber and rancher agencies.
"Well, the Forest Service was first created to manage the timber for the lumber companies. The recreational part came later..." I said. "And you remember the comment Bush said a few years ago about forest fires?"
"That the reason we have so many forest fires is because we have too many trees?"
"Yeah..."
"The current Bush administration has been all about business and not at all about the good for the American people" I went on. "Boy am I looking forward to a change!"
And the conversation only got sadder as we moved on.
http://www.kold.com/Global/story.asp?http://www.fireengineering.com/news/newsArticleDisplay.html?id=162014
USDA Forest Service Fiscal Year 2009 Budget
The fiscal year (FY) 2009 Forest Service budget request totals $4.109 billion in discretionaryappropriations, an 8 percent decrease from FY 2008 enacted level and a 5 percent decrease from FY 2007levels. The President’s Budget reflects our Nation’s highest priorities, including supporting our troops,strengthening our homeland security, and promoting sustained economic growth. The President’s progrowth economic policies, coupled with spending restraint, are key to keeping us on track to continue to reduce the deficit in the coming years. Spending restraint is essential to ensure the long-term financial health of our Nation in the face of escalating entitlement program outlays.
The fiscal year (FY) 2009 Forest Service budget request totals $4.109 billion in discretionaryappropriations, an 8 percent decrease from FY 2008 enacted level and a 5 percent decrease from FY 2007levels. The President’s Budget reflects our Nation’s highest priorities, including supporting our troops,strengthening our homeland security, and promoting sustained economic growth. The President’s progrowth economic policies, coupled with spending restraint, are key to keeping us on track to continue to reduce the deficit in the coming years. Spending restraint is essential to ensure the long-term financial health of our Nation in the face of escalating entitlement program outlays.
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