Love on the Rocks?

THE 100 MOST BEAUTI

A honeymoon trek through the Chiricahua Mountains in southeastern Arizona tests the promise of “for better or for worse.” BY ROGER NAYLOR

MAKING LISTS IS ONE OF THE THINGS THAT SEPARATES HUMANS FROM OTHER ANIMALS, ALONG WITH WORRYING about our abs. The temptation to rate and prioritize overpowers us. I am no exception. When compiling 10 hikes into what I deem the 100 most beautiful miles in Arizona (see "Hikes to Write Home About," page 22), I kept the criteria simple. Beyond the visual banquet served up, each trail bristles with personal memories. Beauty, after all, is in the eye of the beholder.

Choosing an all-time favorite trail proved a snap. I just flashed back to my honeymoon.

After tying the knot in Ohio, my new bride and I flew to Arizona so I could drag her around the state showing off my cherished locales with button-popping pride, as if I somehow had a hand in their creation or discovery. And I call this little baby, Grand Canyon!

The first night we bunked at an elegant resort, the kind where they keep a quantum physicist on staff just to calculate the staggering thread count of the sheets. Swanky, yes, but that didn't stop me from elbowing the missus awake long before dawn telling her to layer up, break out the boots and not to worry about breakfast because we'd grab something at a gas station. Call me "Mr. Romance."

I pointed the rental car toward Chiricahua National Monument. I wanted her to see this magical place first-this stunning, startling and profoundly strange place, and if it didn't absolutely delight her, well, better to know that right away. That would smack of the most irreconcilable of differences, and we could divvy up the wedding gifts and go our separate ways.

We would hike to Heart of Rocks. That was to be her first Arizona trail experience.

Wanting my bride's hazel eyes dazzled by as much scenery as possible, I suggested taking the longer route and she readily agreed. She bubbled with trust in those innocent days. But I soon fixed that. After a few blister-birthing forced marches, she began poring over maps before we set out, no longer believing my catchall description of every trail as a "mere saunter."

An interconnected network of trails provides Chiricahua visitors with several hiking options, but taking the Big Loop swoops you through a meaty sampling of the immense diversity tucked away in these mountains. It traverses 8.5 miles in and out of canyons, along ridges, through forests and deep into those craggy stone formations, looming like wilted castles.

About 27 million years ago, a savage volcanic event lashed this corner of the world. The eruption, a thousand times more powerful than Mount St. Helens, spewed ash and pumice over 1,200 square miles. The mixture slowly cooled and fused into a tuff of rhyolite. More eruptions followed before sputtering quiet, then the usual suspects-ice, water and wind carrying particles-chipped away for a few eons of garden-variety erosion, carving the welded rhyolite into the array of columns, spires, pinnacles and impossibly balanced boulders that intrigue us today.

Sprinkled throughout southern Arizona, mountains rise from the desert floor to form isolated ecosystems. All these "sky islands" are rife with beauty and surprise, yet none match the Chiricahuas for drama and for soaring majestic quirkiness. Called the Land of Standing-up Rocks by the Apache warriors who took refuge there and the Wonderland of Rocks by the pioneers who came later, the Chiricahuas gnaw the clouds with broken teeth.

My bride and I descended into Echo Canyon and right away felt the earth change. Just beyond the wind-scraped chaparral guarding the trailhead, the first formations greeted us. In a section called Wall Street, columns create narrow passageways and curving grottoes that beg for a little giddy exploration. My wife shot me a look that said, We're not in Ohio anymore. It would be the first of many that day.

We drifted down rock corridors, past hoodoos and goblins for nearly a mile before switchbacking into the deep timber and cradling stillness of Echo Park. Ponderosa pines, Arizona sycamores, even a few Douglas firs spread a layer of sumptuous velvetlike shade. Only a lilting soundtrack of birdsong interrupted the silence. The streambed cupped a few pools of water, and sycamore leaves-each as big as an ogre's hand-wafted to the forest floor.

The Upper Rhyolite Canyon Trail continued as a gentle riparian meander crossing and re-crossing the creek. Once on the Sarah Deming Trail, we began chugging uphill. We climbednearly 900 feet, a steady pull through long sun-drenched stretches, and although my wife must have thought it a dozen times, she never once uttered, "Are we almost there?"

Wear and Tear Dino Rock (right) may look tempting, but rock climbing is prohibited in the monument due to the fragile nature of the volcanic formations. MOREY K. MILBRADT Standing Tall Massive striated rock formations caused by water, wind and ice weathering (below, right) highlight the monument's landscape. JEFF SNYDER

During a rest break, I complimented her restraint. "You can't be serious," she said. "Didn't you notice I wasn't talking at all? I was too busy gasping for air."

Oops.

A short spur trail leads to Heart of Rocks. We swung left, taking the loop clockwise, which affords better views, then plunged into a stone garden of sheer howling weirdness. Volcanic intensity still crackles within this twisty little maze, undercut by a sneaky sense of whimsy. We were surrounded by tumbled, crumpled, otherworldly rock formations, like somebody had busted up Stonehenge and the Easter Island heads for kindling.

From the chaos loomed the familiar. Unexpected shapes suddenly burst into sight-Thor's Hammer, Duck on a Rock. Visions of Punch and Judy, Camel's Head and the Totem Pole pulled us along. Kissing Rocks triggered a bout of serious smooching because, you know-honeymoon.

Reeling from the sights or maybe the smooch, we staggered back onto the main trail, an exposed ridgeline with views of sprawling valleys and mountains beyond, including Cochise Head, a haunting profile rising from the ground, named for the Apache leader who fought so ferociously to keep this land as his home. While we stood admiring the vistas, two hummingbirds repeatedly strafed our position.

We topped 7,000 feet at the junction with a trail to Inspiration Point. This very worthwhile side trip, adds just a mile to the total, but in deference to my wife's aching dogs, we passed. We still had a couple of miles before reaching the car. Fortunately, much of it was downhill. Any hiker will tell you, late in the day, nothing beats a little gravity.On the last leg, my wife seemed unusually quiet. I hesitated to turn around, afraid to see the exhaustion etched in her face, maybe even resentment. She could have been lounging in comfort today and dining on room service. What was I thinking, hauling her out here to look at a bunch of rocks?

Before I could apologize, she piped up. When we hit town, we needed to buy a book on the Apache Wars and another to identify some of these birds, and next time we should camp because she wanted to catch a sunset from Massai Point and to see a coatimundi and do they really look like a cross between a raccoon and a monkey and this had been one of the best days ever and she loved me and I better plan on giving her a foot massage tonight and we should move to Arizona and . . .

Then she was quiet, because we started again with the smooching. Al