EDITOR'S LETTER

Mount Baldy is sacred to the Apaches. Especially the summit. At 11,403 feet, it’s a holy place that connects Mother Earth to Father Sky. In Eastern Arizona, that’s about as close as you’re going to get to the heavens. But only if you’re an Apache. If you’re not, you’re not allowed to the top without a permit. Because of the spiritual nature of the mountain, the peak is off-limits to all non-natives.

For the average hiker, that’s not a big deal. For “peak-baggers,” a term you’ll see more than once in this month’s cover story, it presents a conflict — respect versus laying claim to one of the highest mountains in the state. The solution, of course, is to get a permit. If you don’t, you could be fined or have your CamelBak confiscated. By the way, if you are a peak-bagger, the highest point of the ridge isn’t Baldy’s summit, but an unnamed area (11,420 feet) on Forest Service land to the north.

Sounds complicated, but it’s not. Besides, Baldy is just one of several hikes in our annual Summer Hiking Guide. In all, we’ll tell you about 12 of our favorites. Some are simple, some are strenuous, and the rest are somewhere in between. The Sycamore Rim Trail falls into that category. Located in the Kaibab National Forest, the trail was first proposed in the ’70s to protect a unique environment of ponds, cliffs and canyons. Since then, it’s become one of those trails you hit when you’re trying to impress friends from Michigan, Germany or anywhere else. It’s pretty long — 11 miles round-trip — but it’s pretty easy. For something a little more challenging, there’s the Mount Lemmon Trail.

Not only is it difficult, it’s unique. Unlike most mountain trails, where you start at the bottom and work your way toward the top, the Mount Lemmon Trail starts near the summit and goes downhill from there. So, if you’re a peak-bagger, you’ll essentially get credit for this one as soon as you step out of the car. That’s what writer Larry Cheek first did back in 1974. His car was a Fiat roadster, and like so many people in Southern Arizona, he was continually drawn to the big mountain that once served as Tucson’s northern flank. But things have changed.

As Larry writes in Ain’t This Mountain High Enough?: “The road is wider. The mountain no longer serves as Tucson’s northern boundary; the city has lapped around it in the shape of a lopsided horseshoe. [And] in 2003, the month-long Aspen Fire scorched 132 square miles of the mountain’s forests.” He goes on to write that all of these changes — with more on the way — are profoundly altering the mountain’s character. Biology, ecology, flora, fauna … they’ve all been affected. Whether or not you agree with Larry’s conclusions, this story is meant to get you thinking, because every challenge, environmental or otherwise, begins with understanding. Just ask Bruce Burnham.

Unless you’ve been to the Navajo Nation, you probably don’t know Bruce. He’s an Indian trader — a white man — who’s spent the last four decades on the reservation trying to bridge a cultural gap as wide as Monument Valley itself. “You can’t become Navajo,” Burnham says, “but I’m an in-law to the whole tribe.”

In The Man Who Sits on the Treasure by Lisa Schnebly Heidinger, you’ll learn about a guy who “worked his way up from a white teenager fascinated with Navajo culture to a position of esteem and influence.” And he achieved that stature through assimilation. He learned the language, he learned the history and he adopted the culture. But more than anything, he respected the people. Respect and understanding ... it’s a pretty simple concept, whether you’re opening a trading post on the Navajo Nation, or climbing a mountain that’s sacred to the Apaches.
 

UPDATE: PHOTO CONTEST
If you’re a frequent reader of Arizona Highways, you know that we launched our first-ever online photo contest last fall. Well, after sorting through thousands of entries, we’ve narrowed the pool to a group of 40 finalists, including this shot by Kenneth Sharrocks. The winners will be announced in our September issue. Stay tuned.