Day 6: Strenuous Work for Fine Food

A Break from Routine

Relief regarding camp craziness came the next day. Ian, apparently, only wanted one night's relief from the cold; not to cancel the camping portion of our trip.

It had rained overnight, but once again stopped before we rose for the day. Although most of the site was dry, our table was pretty wet. We no longer had neighbors in the other site, so we transferred our breakfast supplies and equipment to the covered table in that site. We brewed our tea and coffee, and prepared to cook breakfast.

Shortly the stove sputtered out, and we realized that we were out of fuel. We were not terribly disappointed, since neither of us would mind the variety a restaurant breakfast would provide. On the way to breakfast we visited the camping store once more.

Ian picked out a head lamp for himself, since he had liked mine better than his temporary duct-tape-and-flash-light rig. Even though we would both have headlamps now, we replenished our mantel supply so we could continue to use our lantern, which cast a gentler glow around the campsite.

When the diner recommended by the camp store clerk did not pan out because of a long line, we found a little French cafe on our own. Our gourmet breakfast was a nice break from our usual dose of hearty whole-grain hot cereal.

High Mountain Lion Danger

On our first trip to Arizona we had hiked in the Sabino Canyon Recreation Area, a National Forest Service park. We wanted to revisit the park, but were not sure which trail we had taken. We examined the trail map carefully, but still had no idea. The "Telephone Line" trail rang a bell, so we decided to try it.

Signs in the park warned about the danger of mountain lions. At the park entrance, we were handed a sheet of paper full of details. There were many defensive maneuvers one could take upon accidentally confronting a mountain lion. Aside from the common-sense suggestions, such as not running away in order not to trigger the chase instinct, suggestions such as carrying a walking stick in case the animal lunged sounded implausible to me.

I guessed that if a mountain lion made up its mind to lunge, there was little someone my size could do to stop it. The best I could hope for was to intimidate it into retreating. The only item on the handout which soothed my mind a bit was that nine out of ten people attacked were children. However, I declared that if I had children, there was no way I would take them into an area where mountain lions were a danger.

However, in the parking lot, we saw nonchalant families with children heading into the park. Maybe I was being paranoid. To make matters worse, just as we entered the access trail for several other trails, including ours, a bright orange sign declared "High Mountain Lion Danger!"

One of the other suggestions on the handout was to throw rocks at a threatening mountain lion. I reasoned that, since one must also remain erect at all times, one would need to be pre-armed in order to throw rocks. I stuffed my pockets with fist-sized rocks, and carried a rock in each hand.

I wondered whether using a gun on a threatening mountain lion would be "playing fair". Not that I had a gun; just for the sake of argument. I thought about the mountain lion's native weapons: sharp claws and teeth; powerful jaws; lightning speed; superior strength and weight. Compared to a few rocks, I decided that a gun would be a fair weapon in a life or death match.

A Tip from the Locals

Just ahead of us on the trail were two women who looked like locals. They carried very little, just a water bottle each, and one small pack. They had no walking sticks, carried no rocks, and seemed oblivious to any impending danger.

To ease my mind I asked them what they thought about the potential for danger. One of them admitted that last summer had been problematic. It had seemed that the mountain lions had no fear of people. But she noted that there had not been many sightings yet this year. She was not worried.

I felt both relieved and silly. Nevertheless, I held onto my rocks for awhile longer.

Phone Line Trail

The trail we had chosen wound along a steep canyon wall. Far below was a road which reached all the way into the canyon. People who did not want to hike or walk could use frequently-passing trams. I later learned that there were tram stops along the road so that people could walk as little or much as they liked. Phone Line trail ended in a switchback from the trail down to the road.

I was disappointed that the road would be in view for the entire hike. Despite the intrusion of civilization, the trail was satisfying in both its ruggedness and rocky aesthetics.

Our initial climb up the canyon wall was my first test of aerobic health on the trip. I had been sick several weeks ago and was now suffering from a lingering cough. To climb the trail I needed to suck on cough drops constantly, especially if I wanted to talk. Even with cough drops, I sometimes went into spasms of coughing. Without the cough drops, though, the hike would have been impossible.

Rock Climbing

We stopped at a giant outcropping of rock. At first I could not see how to get from the boulder down to one below without injury. Then I discovered that rocks to the side were small enough to climb down. When I reached next boulder, I saw a third boulder, below.

The proximity of the second and third boulders formed a triangular cave. I crept beneath the low-hanging rock ceiling at a semi-crouch and scrambled down some more rocks. The third and fourth boulders formed an even smaller cave. As I crept across this cave, I became irrationally afraid that the ceiling would give way and squash me.

The real threat turned out to be large rocks which looked stable but were not. As I neared the other side of the cave, I inadvertently sent a small landslide of alarmingly large rocks hurtling down the mountain side. I myself came to a rest a few feet below. This caught me off guard and got my heart thumping.

I thought about going back the way I came, but feared another land slide. I continued on very gingerly, creeping back up the hill on the firmer footing of well-anchored rocks as soon as I could. I reached the top with relief, thrilled by the danger and filled with a sense of adventure.

Declining to be Macho

Although ripples in the mountain made it impossible to see how close we were to the trail's end, we sensed that we were getting close. The trail was 3.9 miles long (although when reading a sign I had noticed the "3" and the "point", and had reduced the amount in my mind to "about 3"). We had come at least two thirds of the way.

It was mid afternoon and we had been hiking for several hours. We realized that we had a decision to make. I had assumed that we would hike the round trip, which by my faulty reckoning was only a little more than six miles. However, I had not factored in the ruggedness of the trail or the lack of exercise I had gotten from being sick.

I could think of only one reason to make a round trip: to prove (to ourselves) how hardy we were. All other factors suggested that we take the tram back to the parking lot, wimpy as that might seem. Doing so would afford us the opportunity to take a side trail we would not have, otherwise. It would also leave us more time to relax in camp, and would leave us with some energy for the next hike.

As it turned out, soreness I acquired on this hike was still with me on our next hike two days later.

The Burning Man

On the way down the switchback to the road, we noticed a Saguaro which looked as if it had burned or was rotting. As Saguaros often are, this one was easy to anthropomorphize, with its truck and two arms. It looked oddly like a traffic cop, with one arm stretched out pointing the way.

We thought with amusement about the character Dan Suggs in Larry McMurtry's "Lonesome Dove". Dan hated "sod-busters" -- Easterners who moved to the Plains hoping to tame the soil. The sight of sod-busters tended to put Dan into a "bloody mood". Dan and his brothers execute a hapless sod-buster by first shooting him, then hanging him, and finally by burning him.

Our brown Saguaro was now affectionately known to us as a sod-buster.

A Good Decision

As we descended the switchback, the sky became more threatening and the air grew cooler. We had now added at least a mile to our trip from the point where we decided to turn back. I was feeling pleasantly sore rather than utterly spent. As the tram carried us back to the parking lot, rain began to fall.

On the tram we got a few recommendations for restaurants and tourist destinations from a local family. We also learned that the next day were supposed to be wet. Today's hike had earned us a day off, which left open the opportunity to be tourists for a day. The town of Tombstone was a strong candidate.

Any Good Mexican Around Here?

Hoping to satisfy Ian's craving for Mexican food tonight, we went off in search of a restaurant recommended by an Indian man. We had been driving for awhile when I asked him what the restaurant was called. Ian turned to me and disintegrated into laughter. Neither of us, it turned out, had understood the Indian's thick accent.

We gave up trying to find the unnamed restaurant, even though we knew approximately where it should be. Instead we went to the University district, remembering that it had featured some very good restaurants. I pulled up to a Mexican cafe and asked two locals whether it was any good. They did not like it. They had moved here from New York or Chicago, had only been here for a year, and had yet to find any good ethnic restaurants.

They gave me one recommendation, but knew no location. We got some directions from a cafe waiter, which led us on a wild goose-chase. We searched high and low for this hypothetical restaurant. No on we asked in that neighborhood had any idea where it was.

After half an hour or so we wandered into a cyber-cafe thinking that we could find the address in a phone book. We left armed with something even better: the location of an authentic Mexican restaurant, as recommended by a part-Mexican woman. The one we were looking for "wasn't real Mexican food".

Rosa's Mexican restaurant was indeed the real thing. It was packed with patrons with a chaotic atmosphere. But we were seated almost immediately, and our food was delicious. On impulse I decided to treat tonight.

Magic Carpet of Lights

By now it was dark. We had never driven up the mountain road this late. The view of uncountable square miles of pinpoints of light was a breathtaking sight. We stopped at a turnout to gaze over the valley. As I reached back for my camera, I discovered that the rear passenger foot-well had become flooded. A gallon jug we had filled at the park had spilled its contents into the car.

Ignoring this minor disaster for the moment, I let the shutter-bug in me go wild. I had not actively been taking photographs for years, after having taken special pleasure in photography. It had been so long since my camera had been an extension of my eye that I had grown rusty at many simple mechanics of using the camera (see the story of our trip up North, which was littered with a series of photographic disasters).

Now, with a magnificent vista before me, I experimented with the shutter speed in order to capture the image. I had no tripod, but a stone wall surrounded the lookout point. I set the shutter speed to 1 second, to 1/2 second, and several times to an arbitrary period of time. Back home, I learned that the photos had turned out quite well. Only one slightly blurry one suggested that I'd wiggled the camera while holding the shutter open manually.
^ Arizona, March 2005 < From Mountaintop to Lowlands Related to Outlaws >