Six of Arizona's Mystical Mountains

AS FAR AS YOU CAN SEE STAND ALMOST ANYWHERE IN ARIZONA, from the streets of downtown Phoenix to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon to the U.S.-Mexico border, and lift your eyes to the horizon. Wherever you are, you're likely to see much the same sight: off in the distance, a shimmering, bluish line of mountains. They stretch from horizon to horizon, chain after chain of them, forming the borders between ecological and political regions. They fill the sky with imposing outlines, from the reddish buttes of the Peloncillo Mountains in the southeast to the snaggled Castle Dome range near Yuma, from the giant rise of the San Francisco Peaks above Flagstaff to the grassy Patagonia Mountains on the border with Mexico, from snowclad Escudilla Mountain flanking Apache country to the mellifluously named Music Mountains near Kingman. Numbering in the scores, home to hundreds of plant and animal species, full of lore and history (and perhaps even treasure), those mountains define our state just as surely as do the Grand Canyon, the cactus wren and the saguaro. Here are six of those great mountains, some accessible, some remote, all scenic-and each captivating in its own way.

MOUNT BALDY

THE EXTINCT volcano called Mount Baldy is the highest peak in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona, and second only to the San Francisco Peaks in the state overall.

From its most heavily traveled approaches, Baldy seems unimposing; it rises from an 8,000-foot plateau and climbs so gradually that, from some points of view, it seems scarcely more than a hill. Attain its higher elevations, though, and Baldy reveals its might, towering above the rugged country of the White Mountain Apache Reservation and offering plenty of challenges for the adventurebent traveler.

Visitors to Mount Baldy, most of which lies in a federally designated wilderness area, enjoy two of the best-maintained and most scenic hiking trails in the state, which intersect at a saddle near the summit after climbing a series of short and steep switchbacks. For most of their distance, these trails pass through thick groves of aspen, ponderosa and blue spruce trees, and through meadows that, in summertime, are covered with wildflowers such as columbines, monkeyflowers and penstemons. Both trails follow small brooks and rivulets that form the headwaters of the Little Colorado River, perennial sources of water that attract a wide range of bird and mammal speciesgolden eagles, black bears and mountain lions among them. Coated in a deep layer of snow, those same trails draw legions of cross-country skiers and snowshoers in winter. "Baldy" may seem too informal and even too common a name for this beautiful peak. Its Apache name, Dzil Ligai, "mountain of white rock," means much the same thing, though, and both terms commemorate the factthat the mountain's summit is a bare granite head that pokes well above the treeline, offering unobstructed vistas all around. Baldy Peak, the southern sum-mit, whose elevation of 11,403 feet is the one recorded on most maps, lies on the White Mountain Apache Reservation and is closed to non-Apaches. Thoughhikers will need to turn back at the marked boundary, they'll still obtain extraordinary views that take in the distant San Francisco Peaks and portions of the Col-orado Plateau to the north and west and even the Santa Catalina Mountains just north of Tucson.

SAN FRAN CISCO PEAKS

MOUNTAINS FORM over unfathomably long periods of time. What were once ancient seafloors shed their waters, rise inch by inch, accumulate layers of sand and stone, warp and buckle with the movement of the Earth over millions of years. What were once ancient high-lands, conversely, slowly weather away, ground down by the forces of wind and water and gravity, their stones washed away to line the floors of rivers and occeans, there to begin the moun-tain-building journey anew.

But if mountains take eons to rise, they can sometimes fall in the blink of an eye, at least geologically speaking. Forming a giant stratovolcano resembling Japan's Mount Fuji or Tanzania's Mount Kilimanjaro, the San Francisco Peaks of three million years ago loomed to a height of more than 16,000 feet, higher than all but a few North American mountains today.

That huge mountain erupted in a blast that tore the cone apart, loosing rivers of lava across the surrounding countryside. The explosion formed the great semicircular crater known as the Inner Basin, smoothed and shaped by later generations of glaciers, while the mountain continued to grumble and rumble for eons and to send out seismic spasms until as recently as 700 years ago.

The remaining mountain core, marked by three jagged summits instead of one, now stood half a mile lower than its ancestor, but it was still impressive by any standards, rising a mile above a surrounding high plateau that was itself nearly a mile and a half tall. At 12,633 feet in height, Humphreys Peak remains the highest point in Arizona, followed closely by its nearby sisters Agassiz Peak, 12,356 feet, and Fremont Peak, 11,969 feet, forming a rocky crown that is clearly visible from more than a hundred miles away.

The San Francisco Peaks, rising just north of Flagstaff, support more than 200 bird and mammal species, and they contain strikingly diverse assemblages of plants. Wind-gnarled groves of juniper and piñon pine give way to quavering stands of aspen and dense forests of ponderosa pine, spruce and fir trees, which in turn give way, ever higher, to the treeless tundra surrounding the summit. At the lower elevations, herds of elk graze, while far above them, great birds of prey ride the thermal winds that whip across the face of the tall peaks, providing evidence for the familiar observation that mountains make their own weather.

Challenging weather that can be, of course, but, as outdoor enthusiasts have learned through the years on the slopes of the San Franciscos, the rewards for braving it are many, whether a thrilling slalom ride down the 2-mile run of the Snowbowl ski area; a cross-country tour of the spectacular, often snowbound backcountry; or a leisurely climb or horseback ride up the 10-mile-long trail that grazes the edge of the Inner Basin before attaining the summit of Humphreys Peak.

Holy to 13 Indian tribes, the San Francisco Peaks are the westernmost of the sacred mountains bounding the traditional Navajo world, and, in Hopi belief, the home of the stormy spirits called kachinas, which usher in rain and ensure the survival of crops and people alike. The lightning that dances about the summits of those great mountains is affirmation of the kachinas' continued presence-and remarkable testimony to the power, majesty and beauty of the living Earth.

AZTEC PEAK

Dozens of Arizona's mountains stand taller than 7,694-foot Aztec Peak, the highest point in the Sierra Ancha, a little-visited range that rises south-east of Payson. Many are more remote. But few combine Aztec Peak's essential ruggedness and difficult-access qualities that make it a premier destination for outdoor enthusiasts who don't mind a little tough slogging-or a four-wheel-drive ride along-side breathtakingly sheer cliffs - in order to make the top. That difficulty of getting there and those fiercely eroded vertical walls surely must have made the Sierra Ancha attractive to the ancient Salado people. Protected from enemies in the mazelike box canyons of the range, nourished by an abundance of wildlife and flowing water, Salado clans built cliff dwellings throughout the mountains. The road to Aztec Peak is lined with examples of their thousand-year-old architecture, while the country itself is little changed from their time.

As that hairpin road rises through groves of juniper, manzanita, mountain mahogany, oak and ponderosa pine trees, it eventually opens onto a view that embraces not only some spectacularly forbidding local scenery, including the appropriately named Devils Canyon and Mystery Spring, but also the more distant peaks of the Mazatzal Mountains and, to the north, the Mogollon Rim.

This sweeping view entertained the poet laureate of the Sierra Ancha, the late novelist and essayist Edward Abbey, who worked on Aztec Peak as a Forest Service fire lookout for three summers in the late 1970s. Here, he exulted, “We watched the clouds and the weather. We watched the sun go down behind Four Peaks and the Superstition Mountains, that sundown legend retold and recurring every evening, day after day after day. We saw the planet Venus bright as radium floating close to the shoulder of the new moon. We watched the stars, and meteor showers, and the snaky ripple of cloud-to-cloud lightning coursing across the sky at night. We watched the birds.” Today a well-marked-but not always well-maintained-series of foot trails honeycombs the Sierra Ancha Wilderness and connects its principal peaks. One of those trails, happily named Abbey's Way by his fellow Forest Service workers, yields magnificent vistas that embrace planets, birds, lightning and file after file of mountains. Rugged, austere and sometimes exasperating, it's a wholly fitting tribute.

Workman Creek Falls' sixstory plunge over a basalt escarpment graces an autumn scene of bigtooth maple trees changing color in the Sierra Ancha Wilderness.

BABO QUIVARI PEAK

WAW GIWULK 'O AN K:EK WAW GIWULK 'O AN K:EK "Baboquivari stands there, Baboquivari stands there," a Tohono O'odham song proclaims, honoring the tall dome of metamorphosed granite that rises nearly perpendicularly from the desert floor southwest of Tucson. The peak stands like a beacon to guide travelers through the saguaro forests and grasslands of what Europeans once called the Pimeria Alta, and what its original peoples called "the stony ground."

Baboquivari Peak, whose name means something like "mountain that is skinny in the middle," is the center of the Tohono O'odham world. According to traditional belief, the great mountain is the home of l'itoi, Elder Brother, the shaman deity "who knows everything" and who taught the desert people how to survive in their austere homeland. The famed Man-inthe-Maze basket motif shows him inside his mountain stronghold, offering a powerful symbol for the difficult twists and turns that life's path can take.

To the willing observer, the mountain holds all sorts of possibilities of magic, especially when it speaks-and so it does, in great groans of winds that whistle through its many caves. One of them is said to open onto l'itoi's subterranean world, and it is marked by eagle feathers, animal skins, seashells, rattles and children's toys that have been left in homage to him. Other caves contain mysteries of their own, from painted rock art to bits of worked stone that suggest the antiquity of the human presence in this difficult landscape.

Baboquivari offers magic of another sort to rock climbers, who travel from all over the world to attempt its sheer eastern face. That climb up the 7,734-foot-tall spire is one of the most difficult in the entire Southwest, and by far the most difficult of any to be found in Arizona.

Only the most accomplished mountaineers, skilled in ropework and unafraid of heights, are likely to last the long day that it takes to ascend the 3,000 feet from base to peak. It takes only a sturdy pair of legs and a good pair of shoes, though, to make the steady ascent through stands of oak and walnut trees to attain the 6,380-foot saddle northeast of the peak, which offers sweeping views of the Altar Valley and, in good weather, the folded mountain terrain bordering Tucson and the San Pedro River valley.

[PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 34 AND 35] Sunset clouds fan like the spokes of a wagon wheel over Baboquivari Peak and a rocky desert tableau of mesquite trees, desert broom and prickly pear cacti. GEORGE STOCKING [ABOVE] The southern shoulder of Baboquivari Peak commands a view of the Altar Valley and the distant Santa Rita Mountains. PETER NOEBELS [RIGHT] The massive granite fin of the Baboquivari Mountains rises abruptly above the surrounding desert and extends north in a great metamorphic arc to the Quinlan Mountains, home of Kitt Peak Observatory. PATRICK FISCHER

MOUNT GRHM

CALLED Dzil Nchaa Si An, or "big seated mountain," in the Apache language, 10,720-foottall Mount Graham rises atop a massive block of gneiss and granite formed nearly one and a half billion years ago, marking, in the words of the geologist Halka Chronic, "a Precambrian version of the Himalayas." The mountain, the highest point of the tall Pinaleno ("pine-clad") range, is monumental indeed, looming up from the surrounding desert floor like a gigantic iceberg-or, better, like an island. In just that spirit, scientists have come to think of the mountains of the basin-and-range provinces of the Southwest as "sky islands," for they stand in relation to the surrounding desert as an island does to the sea. In the instance of Mount Graham, it is the heavily forested, stream-laced island that is wet, the sea that is dry; the oasis that the well-watered range affords attracts scores of animal and bird species, some of which make it their permanent home, in time, developing characteristics different from those of their cousins in other habitats. Here, mountain lions and black bears speak a slightly different dialect, as it were; here, certain plants are slightly distinct from their kin, just as happens to the denizens of true islands, cut off from the rest of the world; and here live 18 plant and animal species that are found nowhere else. Follow the road up Mount Graham from the desert floor to the alpine reservoir called Riggs Lake, climbing nearly a mile and a half in elevation, and you'll quickly appreciate the immensity and variety-to say nothing of the steepnessof this great sky island. Where agaves and bristling cacti hug its lower slopes, tall forests of oak trees and evergreens rule its higher peaks; where rattlesnakes warm themselves on rocks at the mountain's base, snow-loving elk browse the steep canyons; and everywhere, in season, bloom wildflowers in many varieties, notably the columbine that lends its name to so many of the mountain's places. Military names such as Soldier Creek and Hospital Flat also figure prominently on Mount Graham's map, illustrating its importance in the American settlement of Arizona. The mountain's summit, in fact, formerly served as a station for "heliographic" communication, whereby code was transmitted by means of sunlight and mirrors; the Mount Graham station was part of a network stretching as far as Texas, which made use of other Arizona mountains that included Baldy Peak and Aztec Peak. The mountain still provides a powerful beacon: A forest of telescopes probes the heavens near its windswept summit, signaling our presence to the rest of the universe while seeking the existence of unknown galaxies, even as the mountain itself beckons travelers to escape the heat of the desert below and take shelter among its forests, streams and lakes.

MAT THEWS PEAK

THE NAVAJO TOWN of Chinle, at the mouth of Canyon de Chelly, takes its name from the Navajo words meaning “where the water comes out.” Follow that water, the long stream called Chinle Creek, through the deep, whitewalled canyon complex and over the rugged escarpment called the Defiance Uplift, and you'll eventually find one of its sources in the Tunitcha Mountains, whose name means something like “where much water comes from.” That name fits perfectly, for not only do the often-snowclad mountains shed water into abundant creeks feeding into the distant Colorado River and provide two-thirds of the surface water found within the entire Navajo Nation, but 9,512-foot Matthews Peak, the Tunitchas' highest point, is also dotted with natural springs and waterholes -all good reason for the Navajo novelist Irvin Morris to have described the area as “an archipelago of wellwatered islands.” Lush with tall grasses and clad in ponderosa pine trees, the Tunitcha range, a rampartlike extension of the north-south oriented Chuska Mountains in extreme northeastern Arizona, is one of the least-visited areas in the state.

A few Navajo families keep small farms and herds of sheep in the rocky hills above Tsaile Creek, a few four-wheel-drive enthusiasts pass by from time to time, but a visitor to the mountains is likely to see no one else for miles around at just about any time of year.

Reached by way of a graded dirt road that threads its way through sandstone towers and red-rock cliffs reminiscent of Sedona, Matthews Peak commands a magnificent view of the eastern Colorado Plateau, taking in the San Francisco Peaks on the far horizon, Black Mesa and Canyon de Chelly to the west and Monument Valley to the northwest. The view makes its own name appropriate, for Matthews Peak honors the 19th-century anthropologist Washington Matthews, who translated the famed “Navajo Night Chant” into English. “May it be beautiful before me,” that song concludes, “may I walk in beauty.” That hopeful vision is fulfilled here-abundantly. A

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS: Coconino National Forest, Peaks Ranger District, (928) 526-0866; www.fs.fed.us/r3/coconino.

MOUNT BALDY: Apache-Sitgreaves National Forests, Springerville Ranger District, (928) 333-4372; www.fs.fed.us/r3/asnf/welcome.htm.

AZTEC PEAK: Tonto National Forest, Tonto Basin Ranger District, (928) 467-3200; www.fs.fed.us/r3/tonto.

MATTHEWS PEAK: Navajo Nation Parks and Recreation, (928) 8716647; www.navajonationparks.org.

BABOQUIVARI PEAK: Bureau of Land Management, Tucson Field Office; (520) 722-4289.

MOUNT GRAHAM: Safford Ranger District, (928) 428-4150; www.fs.fed.us/r3/coronado/srd.

Arizona's mountains and all they survey-forests, plateaus, canyons, rivers, deserts and valleys - are lavishly depicted in a new Arizona Highways book called The Mountains Know Arizona. The renowned team of writer Rose Houk and photographer Michael Collier spent two years and traveled 30,000 miles exploring the outback to bring the project to fruition. To order the hardcover book ($39.95 plus shipping and handling) call toll-free (800) 543-5432. Or use arizonahighways.com.

humas WILLOUGHBY'S WEST

“I asked this horse expert what I could do to get more speed out of my horse, and he said, 'Lose 40 pounds.'” * A few minutes from home when I realized my wife was exceeding the speed limit.

“Better ease up on the gas pedal,” I said. “We don't want a ticket to spoil our trip.” “I'm not slowing down until we have gone 10 miles,” my wife said. “I heard on the evening news last night that 90 percent of all accidents happen within 10 miles of home.”

NO FORWARDING ADDRESS

We were driving down Stockton Hill Road in Kingman when I noticed a postal delivery truck coming out of Mountain View Cemetery. I said, “I didn't know they delivered mail in there.” My husband replied, “Dead Letter Office.”

GOD'S COUNTRY

My 5-year-old granddaughter Melissa had been studying Genesis in vacation Bible school, and we were driving across western Arizona, where the flat land seems to go on forever. Melissa was quiet for a long time, studying the view. Finally she turned to me. “Grandpa,” she said, “is this where God sat while He rested?”

TO SUBMIT HUMOR

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Reader's Corner

Rodeos are unique. It's the only profession where you get in trouble and they send in a clown.

Rodeos are this month's joke topic. Send us your rodeo jokes, and we will pay you $50 for each one we publish.

TOMBSTONES

Here are some jokes our readers sent us about tombstones: Tombstones are very popular these days. Everyone's dying to get one.

He's so snooty his tombstone isn't just engraved, it's monogrammed.

I know a guy who had such a bad attitude his tombstone read: “What are you looking at?” My cousin the mime died and, per his instructions, his tombstone didn't say anything.

FARMER'S LAMENT

An old man who barely eked out a living on a little Arizona farm died during an unusually hot, dry summer. Midway through cremating him, the funeral director opened thecrematory door to check on the progress, whereupon the farmer sat up and announced, “A couple more days like this and we won't get any crop at all.”

GOOD FOOD

Years ago, my family was new to Arizona, but we quickly became familiar with the region's Mexican cooking, thanks to a Hispanic couple who worked with my mother. Not all newcomers were so fortunate.

One day during the tourist season, my mother met friends for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. They saw a customer eating chips and salsa. He told the waitress, “Miss, this soup you've got here is good, but it sure is hot!”

EASY DOES IT

One day last year we left home for a two-day trip to Las Vegas with my wife doing the driving. We were only a

Unusual Perspective

tarantula usually won't bite unless seriously provoked. But to scare off predators a tarantula will rub its legs across its abdomen and fling irritating barbed hairs into the air. Great! Just what I want to run across - a big scary spider that throws a hissy fit.

EARLY DAY ARIZONA

“You are charged with larceny. Are you guilty or not guilty?” “Not guilty, judge,” the defendant said. “I thought I was guilty, but I've been talkin' to my lawyer and he's convinced me I ain't.”

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