HIKE OF THE MONTH

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A trek to Palm Canyon in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge northeast of Yuma reveals rare native trees that defy the rugged landscape.

Featured in the March 2005 Issue of Arizona Highways

BY: Robin N. Clayton

{hike of the month} Palm Canyon Stands Out as Welcome Haven in Arid Desert Mountains

Beyond a teddy bear cholla cactus glowing in sunset light, a cleft in the western side of the Kofa Mountains leads to Palm Canyon. [OPPOSITE PAGE] California fan palm trees surprisingly thrive on the briefly sunlit walls of the canyon. THE CACTI-COVERED, arid rockiness of the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge doesn't seem a likely place to find an oasis, but tucked high in a narrow canyon palm trees native to Arizona flourish.

A 1-mile round-trip trail leads to a view of the 20-foot-tall palms rising defiantly from the side canyon carved in the rocky desert 70 miles northeast of Yuma. About 45 California fan palms (Washingtonia filifera) thrive in Palm Canyon, the biggest grove known in the Kofa Mountains, but additional palms grow scattered in other area canyons.

Botanists have competing theories to explain the existence of these out-of-place giants in the midst of a saguaro, ironwood and paloverde landscape. Some scientists believe the palms are descendants of palms growing in this area during the last Ice Age some 10,000 years ago. They theorize the palms retreated to the higher, more protected areas by clinging to the slopes of the canyon walls as the climate warmed to desert temperatures. Others believe that the palms resulted from birds, coyotes and other animals carrying the seeds from groves in Nevada, Mexico and California in their digestive tracts and depositing them in the canyons.

Regardless of how they got there, the palms survive because of their unique placement on canyon walls from 200 to 400 feet above the canyon floor. The walls create a microclimate, capturing moisture and limiting direct sunlight, making the canyon heights cooler than the surrounding, unforgiving desert.

The trail begins at the upper end of a parking lot and winds through the bright-green paloverde trees and blooming creosotes. With occasional stair-step rocks, it twists through the underbrush between the high, volcanic rhyolite walls of the Kofa Mountains. The footpath ends at a sign pointing up to the just-visible fronds of the palms, which seem impossibly adhered to the boulders that fill the narrows of Palm Canyon. Although the official trail ends at the viewpoint, more adventurous hikers can clamber up the boulders for a closer look.

The narrow canyon splits at the base by a jagged ridge. From the sign, the right side of the canyon looks impassable. Hikers should ignore this illusion and go to the right anyway. The path on the left demands a tricky climb. The skinny, almost stair-step passage on the right proves easier. Hikers with claustrophobia may prefer the more taxing route, but either ascent is worth the effort.

At the top under the landscape's only shade, the soothing swish of the rustling fronds rides a cool canyon breeze. White-throated swifts flit against the volcanic rock backdrop, and the harsh desert floor seems a distant land.

For photographers, the best time to capture light on the palms is during midday when the canyon isn't shaded.

Early morning hikers should watch the ridge tops for bighorn sheep. An estimated 600 bighorns roam the refuge, created in 1939 to ensure their survival. Known to sometimes wander Palm Canyon in the early morning hours, the agile, graceful bighorns can go several days without water, provided the forage is moist, but drink up to 4 gallons at a time. They also eat the succulent prickly pear and cholla cacti for moisture.

Since palm trees do not produce growth rings like other trees, it is nearly impossible to tell the ages of the desert misfits in this remote canyon. Many have blackened trunks from a raging fire in 1954, another testament to the palms' ability to survive in such a severe, unlikely environment. The first unsuspecting hikers to record having seen the palms back in 1910 may have found themselves trying to rub the tropical mirage from their heatstricken eyes. Al