The Colossus of Salt River Valley

Camelback Mountain, famed landmark of the Salt River Valley, is situated ten miles northeast of Phoenix and is picturesque as its name implies. It rises to an elevation of about 3000 feet and resembles a kneeling camel, and is the subject of numerous legends.

Ten miles northeast of Phoenix lies the sprawling colossus of Salt River Valley-Camelback Mountain. Under his coat of cactus and low-growing desert shrub this recumbent camel cuts sharply into the blue of heaven which caps the Valley of the Sun. Apparently he is asleep; he has no mobility of his own, and has had none since the day he stretched his awkward form upon the loamy Arizona desert an aeon or two ago. He has weathered a hundred howling windstorms; a thousand showers; nights unnumbered of enervating heat; but he has not so much as twitched a tendon nor lifted his scraggly head from its pillow of sand.

Time has gone fleeting by him, yet he is still as young today as he was in the beginning, for he knows neither time nor the vagaries of climate. He is as ageless as the spiral nebulae of the Milky Way.

He is juxtaposed to some 150,000 peoples who toil daily in the Arizona bowl of sun, yet his "camelshair" has scarcely been ruffled by the feet of these American men and women. To a majority of them he is nothing more than a phenomenon of nature, of which one hears upon his arrival here, lingers momentarily to view and promptly shoves into the limbo of his mind.

Camelback is more than a lump of earth. It is a panacea for the ills which afflict us in this time of national emotionalism. A climb to the most altitudinous vertebra of the beast's spinal column has something to offer the weary war-worker, the desert-stationed doughboy, the sailor home from the sea, and those wanderers who have lost their way in the labyrinth of twentieth century civilization.

It is an anodyne to the mind and the heart, and a tonic to the muscles we are relearning to use now that the automobile is almost relegated to the garage for the duration.

Will you climb Cameback with me this moment? Will you haul out your old kit bag, dust it off, sling it over your shoulder, and come to the hump with me? To the hump-for, as the story goes, the camel was endowed with his hump when the "world was so young and all" when he refused to work. When the other animals asked him to help them, all he ever said was "hump." Sohe got his hump and he has had to carry it with him wherever he goes as a reminder to those who would shirk their duty to this world.

It is his burden-but, paradoxically, an ascension to that hump will reduce yours, be it material or incorporeal.

Come along then, to the hump. It is quite a climb if you are unaccustomed to physical labor and you have a sedentary occupation. Round up the old gang, pile into the family jalopy, drive to the base of the mountain by going eastward along Camelback Road. We are going to climb right up the left hand (south) withers of Mr. Camel, since he is fattest on that side and the inclination from his spreading abdomen to his backbone is not so steep.

There are many routes to the hump, but we will ascend the arroyo which leads to his neck, and thence eastward along his spinal column to the top. We could begin our topward trek up the arroyo, cutting sharply up another ravine angularly toward his hump, although this course is not an easy one. It would mean that you must ascend almost vertically in some spots, and there is but a tiny natural skylight through which you would be forced to hoist yourself.

You could scale the mountain by negotiating the lateral ridges which run nearly to the top. Some of the going is difficult. At all events it is not an easy climb. for what appears smooth and bare from a distance of ten miles is rough and overgrown with heavy brush.

You should allow four hours to make the round trip. and if you go slowly add an additional hour to that time. If you have heavy shoes, wear them for they will protect your ankles from jutting, half-hidden rocks, pro-truding and low-lying brush and cactus. Some climbers prefer rubber-soled shoes because sheer, smooth rock can be easily traversed with such gripping power attached to the pedal extremeties.

A light jacket will protect you from grasping limbs of spiked Arizona plants, especially the crucifixion thorn.

Then up we go! Travel slowly-for you can twist an ankle more easily than you think. Keep a sharp lookout for that inconspicuous Cholla "teddy bear" cactus, which does not actually leap at you as you pass; if you should step on one, however, the spines penetrate quickly and deeply and are obstinate when you attempt to extract them. As we travel skyward the terrain changes to loose rocks and gravel. Stones, if they are firmly im-bedded and when used properly, make an excellentstairway; but be certain they will bear you weight. After a few experiments you can tell just by looking at them. If they begin to roll, remember the others behind you; a broken ankle is no joke, especially halfway up a mountain.

Now that we are near the Camel's neck, turn and look back into the distance, where, under the shimmering haze, lies Phoenix-a pancake of trees and houses in the desert. The haze is like a woven web of filmy gauze over the city.

Below the camel's southern flank lie neatly arranged citrus groves monstrous green diamonds, uncut. Dirt roads dissect cleanly these quadrangles of fruit, leaves and limbs. Swinging gracefully around the rump of the Camel is the Arizona Canal, a shining ribbon of water, and the only manifestation that man has made this land.

There in the haze to the southeast are the cardboard mountains of Papago, jutting up from the flat floor of the Salt River Valley. They are an eruption on the skin of the earth-nothing more.

Far across the carpet of the valley to the south rise the South Mountains, sharply outlined against the blue, but providing a buffer for southerly winds. In the dis-tance these rocky-ridged mountains seem dipped in the mystery which cloaks the vast reaches of Arizona.

Now you are laboring up the camel's spinal column with only an occasional glance over your left shoulder to gain a quick view of the valley north of the camel. You do not wish to spoil the surprising, awesome spec-tacle which you know must await your eager eyes at the summit. Your knees are beginning to weaken as you bend them thrusting yourself upward with each forward step. Your breath is not coming as easily as is its wont. There is a heaviness to your legs which you have not experienced for some time.

The last hundred yards or so are the toughest of all. You can see the top at last so you think. You arrive to discover that it was nothing but a bump-perhaps a vertebrae joint-but not the hump. There! Finally you have seen the top. Keep going! Your knees may not possess their power of old, and you may be gasping for breath, but don't give up now. Then in a few minutes you are there you have humped old Camelback!

From that vantage point you can swing your gaze 360 degrees of the compass. You are one with the clouds. An airplane may fly by you below you. for your height above sea-level is more than 3,000 feet, which isapproximately 2,000 feet above the surrounding valley. That was one reason why you had so much difficulty getting sufficient air into your lungs for your labors.

There's no describing the sensation you experience when you first peer far out over the valleys which encompass the sleeping camel.

Where the Coast and Geodetic Survey has its marker you can look downward on the north side to the floor far below. Here is a sharp precipice of 1,000 feet or more. It is a sheer facade of rocks and crumbly earth. which not even the most practiced and experienced mountain climber would attempt to scale unless he had all the necessary equipment and had studied the problems carefully.

Here at this point is isolation from everything. This is the antithesis of all that hemmed you in when you were a mere mortal trudging homeward down Central Avenue after a day at the "grind." Here, you are as free and unfettered as the gentle winds that cool you after the perspiring ascent.

Going down—and you start the descent reluctantly— you will discover to your complete amazement that your knees will buckle under the impact of each step. The shock is not cushioned, and you feel as though you are bodily disintegrating. Pick your trail as you descend, avoiding sharp bluffs and heavily vegetated areas. Use rocks, rather than gravelled ground, for they hold you more firmly. Occasionally you may sit down rather abruptly.

When you are at the bottom, on level ground, just the thought that you can walk easily, balanced by nature rather than by your tired thigh muscles, heightens immensely your appreciation of a good sidewalk or a paved street.

Phoenix, capital city of Arizona, is a desert metropolis in the approximate center of the Salt River Valley-a fabulously rich agricultural area.

You wonder, as you amble leisurely along the dusty road back to your car, how you ever contemplated that long walk home from work with so much distaste. What a cinch after what you have just accomplished, you think.

You know it is an accomplishment, too especially when you look back up to the top. "Was I way up there an hour ago?" you ask.

"I climbed it," you think to yourself. You know it probably wasn't so much, and that most anyone could do the same thing, too; but you still have a little speck of ego in you that says: "Well, maybe they could do it; I don't know; but it was pretty tough. A soft guy couldn't do it."

But you forget that you were a "soft guy" too and you did it. Tomorrow you will find out just how soft you were, when you move too hastily. Without studying In anatomy you will be able to tell exactly where every muscle in your body is. The soreness lasts about a day -you'll forget all of your so-called troubles, and wonder if anyone but a tough guy like you could "take it." The next day a flood of unholy joy will engulf you as you contemplate your physical perfection.

That is what Camelback mountain is. A tonic to your ego, a case of sore muscles, a worry-reducer, and an outlet for your inactivity.

So hump yourself, brother, the colossus of Salt River Valley has waited a thousand years just for you.

From "How the Camel Got his Hump", one of Rudyard Kipling's "Just So" stories, published in 1902.