Ascending Agassiz Peak

Looking for the Real Arizona at 11,500 Feet

THIS ISSUE OF Arizona Highways began as a labor of hope and discovery. We hoped to discover the real Arizona by sending a legion of photographers and writers across our state to capture not just a slice of Arizona, but the whole enchilada-all on Saturday, October 1, 2005.

While coordinating our photography coverage for this day of days, I had plucked a plum assignment for myself. With the stillsummery desert in my rearview mirror, I make the three-hour drive north to the cool, thin air of the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff. Arizona's highest of the high country. Employing Arizona Snowbowl's Scenic Skyride as my conveyance, I sit back and let the chairlift transport me up Agassiz Peak.

The effortless ride up allows plenty of time to savor hundredmile views from this Alpine landscape. With feet dangling in the open air just above the treetops of a golden aspen forest, it's impossible not to notice the temperature drop. At timberline it bottoms out at a crisp 45 degrees.

I hop off the chairlift at its upper terminus surrounded by tundra. Turning toward the western horizon, my bird'seye view of the mountain suddenly changes to a panorama of northern Arizona from the heavens. In the calm at the mountaintop, a crystal-clear melody wafts up from the guitarist performing on the deck of the ski lodge nestled in the glade 2,000 feet below.

Hiking up a short cinder trail delivers me to John Westerlund, a National Park Service interpreter explaining how this great mountain was once a boiling volcanic cauldron. From our lofty perch, he identifies distant landmarks. Kendrick Peak, Bill Williams Mountain and the Grand Canyon seem to float on a sea of gauzy haze.

At 11,500 feet above sea level, the sun's warmth is a welcome presence. But a cold north wind reminds me that the seasons are changing. I probe the pockets of my jacket hoping to find a pair of gloves inside. No such luck. I settle for blowing into cupped hands to warm my cold fingers.

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS OCTOBER 2006 VOL. 82, NO. 10

Just then, my cell phone rings. It's Richard Webb, one of the 29 photographers working assignments this day. He's calling from 1,000 feet above sea level to tell me he's sweltering in 105-degree temperatures on his assignment, hiking with writer Bill Broyles into a desert canyon in Arizona's borderlands (see story, page 38). In dire need of shade and a cold drink, they're calling it a day.

The timing of Richard's call emphatically brings home the point we hope to make with this issue's ambitious undertaking: On any given day, Arizona is capable of a thousand different stories in a thousand different places. At this moment, Richard and I are worlds apart, separated by 300 miles of land, 10,000 feet in elevation and 60 degrees in temperature.

Our individual experiences could not be more different, but our collective experience points to one conclusion. The real Arizona runs both hot and cold. Hot

SCENIC SKYRIDE

To order a print of this photograph, see inside front cover.

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