HIKE OF THE MONTH

White on Black An Apache Indian reservation trek seeks the merger of the Black and White rivers

EVERY TIME I GO to the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation, I feel like a trespasser. Though I do not carry gunpowder or disease like intruders of yesteryear, and I enter with just a pad and paper, I still tread lightly. Knowing just a little of the historical relationship between the Indeh, “the people,” and the white invaders impels me to respect this land. This tract in east-central Arizona remains a small piece of a homeland that once stretched from Texas westward to Arizona and south into Mexico. Driving through the reservation to my destination on the Black River, I hear the ghostly whisperings of Cochise and Geronimo echoing through the trees, reminding me of the hardships faced by a persecuted people.

The lifeblood of the Apache Indians in Arizona, the Black River has always maintained a reputation for excellent fishing. As an envious teenager, I remember my brothers and their friends venturing forth on the annual trip to the river and coming home with reports of bears and landing fish with every cast. Stuck in school during their late-April and early-May weeklong trips, I was always bidding for my chance. It came and went and though I saw no bears and the fishing had slowed, I was introduced to a magical realm called “the forks.” The spot holds a special place in the heart of every person lucky enough to have witnessed the tranquil connection of the Black and White rivers. Standing belly deep in the water of the juncture that forms the Salt River, I got a sense of the power of nature and the wanton appetite of man. The chilling mountain water brushing between my legs built the city I have always called home. Each water droplet has a certain end: One will green someone's lawn in Mesa, another carries a cottonwood seed that may produce a beautiful tree somewhere, possibly on the banks of Theodore Roosevelt Lake.

As a returning 26-year-old doing my best to grow a grizzled beard and with hair stretching well down my back, I aim to reclaim that euphoric relationship with pure Arizona water. Getting a later start than I wanted, a longtime friend, Jim Weiss, and I begin the 4-mile hike downriver from the campgrounds at Black River Crossing. The first of what will be 10 river crossings (five down, five up) shocks the senses, and the river's frigid water leaves me gasping for those warm Phoenix swimming pools.

After crossing, we walk along the river under the eaves of yellowing Arizona sycamore trees, and through brambles of what we call the “wait a minute” bush. This

FISHERMEN FUN The Black River,

near Black River Crossing (left) runs through the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation on its way to forming the Salt River. The stream's riffles, pools and runs make it an excellent spot for fishing.

nasty little shrub's name comes from the constant need to mutter “wait a minute” to your companions as you tear yourself from its thorny grasp. I write this looking like I lost a fight with a rabid alley cat.

The second crossing becomes swift and narrow, so we dub the spot “Jack Park Wash,” after a friend who lost his footing here and was swept downriver a bit.

The third crossing goes easily as we wave goodbye to the last of the fishermen and are left alone in this river wonderland. It becomes apparent that no one has been this far along the trail for some time. We startle an osprey from a feed, a whitetailed deer from its bed, and rile a rare daytime skunk.

All the while, Jim tests the pools with his fishing rod, coming up with smallmouth bass on nearly every cast, giving me flashbacks of my brothers' earlier trips. Reluctantly, the fisherman deep within him relents and we continue.

The fourth crossing poses the greatest challenge. Though the river widens and appears shallow, the exposed bedrock under the water feels slippery. Leg-breaking cracks appear, twisting deep, from ankle to knee, step to step.

The fifth and last crossing requires a passage through a tangle of riverside bushes more suitable for the likes of The Hobbit's Gollum than for full-sized humans. We stumble through, both of our minds conjuring up things to run into a sleeping bear, a badger or an angry knee-high leprechaun.

The fork's within reach, and we trudge on, intending to spend some time fishing far from the incursion of people. As the two rivers meet and form the Salt, the water picks up steam. It becomes a narrow bed of white wavy water heading down to the Salt's namesake canyon.

For every one I catch, Jim brings in 10.

The good fishing causes us to linger a bit too long, and the sun begins its descent behind the red canyon walls. Realizing our predicament, we head back. Along the way, we reach a speed and stride that would make an Olympic race-walker envious. In spite of the awkward motion, we make good time. The sun, with its head start, forces us to pick up the pace, neither of us wanting to cross the river in the dark.

With our increased speed, we tire. I feel like an Apache warrior on the run from approaching cavalry. We stare at the last crossing, knowing our camp lies beyond.

Warmth and a hot meal await. With nothing else to do, we step from the dark shore into the darker water.

WHITE ON WHITE

The Black River will forever be a place that stirs my emotions, a mixture of love and regret. Love for the beauty of the land and a sense of regret that I will never have been here with my eldest brother Tim, who recently lost his battle with cancer at the age of 34. Our schedules never lined up-I was always in school or he was at work. Tim loved this river and his story of catching a monster small-mouth bass became a legend-the fish grew larger with every telling. With a heavy heart I think of this river, a place that will always cultivate memories of Tim. Al

▷ trail guide

Length: 8 to 9 miles round-trip.

Elevation Gain: None.

Difficulty: Strenuous. The hike includes five river crossings on the way downriver and five on the way back. There are no markers to indicate the crossing points.

Payoffs: Excellent small-mouth bass fishing.

Location: San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation.

Getting There: From Phoenix, drive east on U.S. Route 60 to Globe. From Globe travel northeast on U.S. 60 to Milepost 284 and turn right (east) on Indian Route 1300. Stay on Indian 1300 for 12 miles until reaching Indian Route 1100. Drive northeast on Indian 1100 for 14 to 16 miles until reaching a crossing over the Black River; do not cross the river. Follow the winding road west into the campground on the south side of the river. The road here can be rough, so cross the camping area by foot if necessary. Start hiking below the last camping spot where the first fording of the river can be made. Travel Advisory: To reach the trail or river, a high-clearance vehicle is necessary, and a four-wheel-drive vehicle is needed in wet weather. There is no trailhead, and the hike is not marked. The current can be strong, so scout the river and cross carefully. This hike is best in early summer before monsoon rains or in the early fall before snow or winter rain. Don't hike alone.

Additional Information: Recreation and special-use permits are required to camp, picnic, hike, fish, hunt or drive on back roads. For permit information, contact the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation, (928) 475-2343; www.sancarlosrecreationandwildlife.com.