Camping Arizona

Some personal views on where to go and why in this sunwashed land of bright vistas by James Tallon

Camping Arizona

A rattlesnake was my companion the first time I camped in Arizona. Then I carried the cowboy-boot swagger of the frontier saddle bum, even though my steed was welded steel and had two wheels. Blame Zane Grey and John Wayne for my role-playing. They so deeply ingrained Arizona into my youthful mind that not even Sigmund Freud could ever find its root.

From Kentucky, I rolled westward on U.S. 66, crossing the Painted Desert, staring in awe through bug-splattered goggles as the silhouettes of the San Francisco Peaks, rimmed with gold sundown light, swelled out of the horizon. No celluloid illusion this, but the Real Thing. I thought I could hear the theme of the Ford-Wayne movie Stagecoach reach a crescendo.

Pressing through spring air at night on a motorcycle can be a most invigorating pastime. But I could not bear to miss a single vestige of the rainbow panorama. Thus, my campsite became the next dry wash; my roof, a concrete overpass; my bedroll, an Army surplus blanket; my pillow, a World War II gas mask bag con-taining Levi's and a flannel shirt. At dawn I awakened in a prenatal position, chilled by the coolness of the high desert air. I scrounged for campfire material and started with a sagebrush skeleton adjacent to my Pure enjoyment of the outdoors is what motivates campers in the U.S., all 16 million of them. And where can the out-of-doors be better appreciated than in Arizona. (Far left) Camped out at the base of Mooney Falls, on the Havasupai Reser-vation. Dianne Dietrich Leis photo (Left) The incredible beauty of Mooney Falls has been an inspiration to campers for generations. Dianne Dietrich Leis photo (Above) Bright Angel Creek, near Phantom Ranch, at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Overnight stays at the ranch, or in the nearby campground, is an outdoor experience second to none. Ed Cooper photo

Camping Arizona

bed. The snake was under it. It glared with malevolent eyes but never rattled and never attempted to strike. Too cold, perhaps, or just respect for a fellow traveler. Relinquishing all rights, I gathered my belongings, tied them on the luggage carrier, backed out into the yellow dawn, and did my warming-up in a Flagstaff restaurant.

when I told him this story. I expected some comment to follow. None did. Maybe he was just too content for palaver. We sat crosslegged on Dacron sleeping bags on top of foam pads and under 10 million stars in Glen Canyon. The fire, more for warming the spirit than the body, crackled cheerfully. A breeze from upcanyon hummed through the sage and brittlebush as my friend held up his wine glass for a refill. Camping philosophy and style had changed a lot for me; camping in Arizona, fortunately, had changed very little. Arizona is a sun-washed campland that encompasses saguaro-studded, Sonoran Desert vistas, at 140 feet above sea level near Yuma, to the bristlecone and ArcticAlpine heights of the 12,670-foot San Francisco Peaks at Flagstaff. In between are mesas, buttes, vast plateaus, canyonsCamping today means using any means possible to get to, live in, and experience the outdoors. Some take to the hills with little or no frills other than a backpack; still others choose jeeps and RVs, or pickup campers and van conversions. Whatever the means, the ultimate goal is the same: getting out and away from it all.

Abundant rainfall makes the Mogollon Rim/White Mountain high country a camper's paradise of jewel-like lakes and meadows of wild flowers. (Above) Reservation Lake, White Mountain Apache Indian Reservation. P. K. Weis photo (Top right and right) Columbine and shooting star, wildflower treasures of the summer highlands. Willis Peterson photos (Far right) Early morning at Blue Ridge Reservoir, on the Mogollon Rim. Willard Clay photo including the grandest of them all-at least 80 lakes and reservoirs, and a minimum of 1450 miles of streams.

Camping Arizona

Add to these, two national parks, 15 national monuments, seven national forests, two national recreational areas, 10 state parks and recreational areas, and 12.5 million acres of public lands under the auspices of the Bureau of Land Management and you have what must be called an extraordinary number of outdoor opportunities packed within a given 113,909square-mile state.

Most of the above have bona fide campgrounds. And in the national forests and on BLM lands-with the exception of areas with high fire risk, restoration of natural vegetation, or seasonal use restrictions-you can camp free, anywhere you like as long as you abide by a few respect-for-the environment rules. Counting in "luxury" privately owned campgrounds and recreational vehicle parks with hot showers, snack bars, game rooms, color TVs, and all hook-ups, Arizona can claim a total of 299 campgrounds.

"Camping" today means about any way possible of getting to, living in, and enjoying the outdoors. On one end of the spectrum, we find the purist backpacker who insists on using his own two feet and who unflinchingly launches himself on 10to 14-day trips, carrying 60 or more pounds of room and board on his back. On the other end, we find hedonist-like folk who form "camping" clubs and travel in caravans of RVs, now wearing a price tag of no less than $150,000 and some going over $250,000. In between are tent campers, tent trailers, pickup campers, van conversions, and dozens of sizes of motorhomes. Kampgrounds of America, Inc. (KOA) tells us that more than 16 million Americans consider camping an integral part of their life-styles, and as many as another 44 million maybe dabble in it. A healthy chunk of this outdoor fraternity camp as means to other endshunting, fishing, rockhounding, birdwatching, wildlife observation, photography, painting, and as a base for sports such as waterskiing, boating, dune buggy racing, hang-gliding, and other various and sundry pursuits. None of us can absolutely say we camp for camping's sake alone, even though we might think we do. Carl Sagan, the reflective astronomer, may have a handle on the underlying motivation when he says the primitive part of the brain still influences-often takes command of what we do. Based on that theory, you can assume we camp because of an innate drive to experience the hunt, to search for what we no longer use clubs and spears to get; but instead, exchange lots of money for fancy cuts of, dressed and attractively wrapped in plastic at local supermarkets. Thus, it may be hunters and fishermen who follow closest to the true reason for camping, still shopping as nature once decreed, staying out for days, even weeks, to restock the larder.

Carl Sagan, the reflective astronomer, may have a handle on the underlying motivation when he says the primitive part of the brain still influences-often takes command of what we do. Based on that theory, you can assume we camp because of an innate drive to experience the hunt, to search for what we no longer use clubs and spears to get; but instead, exchange lots of money for fancy cuts of, dressed and attractively wrapped in plastic at local supermarkets. Thus, it may be hunters and fishermen who follow closest to the true reason for camping, still shopping as nature once decreed, staying out for days, even weeks, to restock the larder.

Considering the flexibility and comfort of modern camping, why camp just anywhere? Why not "go for it?" You live in New York City and you want to camp in Canyon de Chelly, or in the Sitgreaves Forest ponderosa pineland, or on top of Mount Graham, or at Lake Havasu? Up front there's the price of gasoline, right? Brace yourself for what may be a revelation. According to the Recreational Vehicle Industry Association (RVIA), it more often costs less to camp than to stay home.

The RVIA took averages of mortgage payments and house and apartment rental, household insurance, house and yard maintenance, gas and electricity, telephone, gasoline for commuting and running errands, etc., and weighed the total against the prorated life and cost of an average RV, insurance, gasoline expended, and campground fees. (Very likely the RVIA did not include the $150,000 to $250,000 RVs in their survey, but if owners' homes are relative to their camping rigs then the findings still hold true.) Check out Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in midwinter and you'll find the campground 95 percent full of campers who apparently agree economically with the RVIA. Since these campers are where they want to be, little extra gasoline is burned. But where they save the most is in renting living space-$2 per day at this writing. No extra charge for the high-quality views from all windows.

Check out Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in midwinter and you'll find the campground 95 percent full of campers who apparently agree economically with the RVIA. Since these campers are where they want to be, little extra gasoline is burned. But where they save the most is in renting living space-$2 per day at this writing. No extra charge for the high-quality views from all windows.

By now, you have assumed that weather has something to do with Arizona's popularity among campers. We can use stronger terminology than that: The undeniably superior weather has convinced tens of thousands of campers that Arizona rates numero uno. You can almost always find temperatures that suit you best-any time of the year and without having to travelbeyond the state's borders.

After my rattlesnake experience on old U.S. 66, I decided there had to be a better way. I invested in a "hot roll," a cowboy bedroll, homemade of single bed mattress, pillow, and a dozen or so blankets, which made it 10 times as heavy as today's sleeping bags. Since it was almost as big as my motorcycle, I talked the bank into co-owning a pickup truck with me so I could haul the hot roll around. Then I sold the motorcycle. With space to spare, I added a gasoline pump-up stove and lantern (I still have them; you can't wear them out), built a grub-box, and bought a backpack for short hikes away from my pickup base. All this gave me an indepen-dence that allowed me to live the good life. But I needed someone to share it with. So I added a wife. She went along with sleeping in the back of a pickup truck for awhile then suggested-as only women can suggest-we get a tent. An acquaintance sold us an umbrella version with a hole in the roof that moved around so rainwater could always drip on my face.

Thousands of miles on back roads and tens of thousands of miles on highways soon made my new pickup an old pickup. So the girl and I traded into a fresh one and this time put a cab-high aluminum cover on the back. With hand tools, I built in a folding bed for two, a compartment for stove and icebox, and some cub-byholes for other camping essentials. It was dry and cozy. And we banged our heads on the four-foot-high ceiling only 50 or so times per trip. After five years of this, we had to have five minutes notice to stop smiling. Finally, taking a tip from Plato, we "looked out of the cave," bought a camper that allowed us to stand, and slid another fresh pickup under it. That camper telescoped to cab-high for travel, decreasing drag and increasing gas mileage. We loved it. For years. Then we purchased a van conversion. Now the passenger can step from captain's seat to stove, while the van is underway, and make a careful driver a cup of coffee. In a length of just 16 feet, it has all the conveniences of a small apartment, and it sleeps four people. The dinette converts to a bed for two, and a shelf in the top rear pulls out for another two, provided they are not claustrophobic. That upper bunk came about the same time we added a daughter. Someone to pass our camping legacy on to; and who has exceeded our great expectations.

With the exception of an occasional trip to Mexico, to neighboring Western states, and to Hawaii, Maui, and Molokai, with a rental RV, we played camping hop-scotch across Arizona. In 20 years, wehave rolled up more than 425,000 miles on our various camping vehicles. Add to that another couple of thousand miles houseboat camping on lakes Powell, Mead, and Mohave; two and one-half trips rafting through Grand Canyon, camping on the sandbars of the Colorado River; horse pack trips into wilderness areas like the inner basin of the Santa Catalina Mountains north of Tucson; and overnight backpack hikes, including over a dozen to the bottom of Grand Canyon.

Camping Arizona

You need no master plan to enjoy camp-ing in Arizona. We had none and have none. As you can see by our experiences, there are a lot of approaches. My wife admits she prefers the comforts of the van conversion and is hoping we'll trade up to a larger one soon. But she wistfully recalls all those nights in tents or when we had just the sky for a roof. Today we seem to have less time to pound stakes-even though we own two tents or pump up the gasoline stove. Hopefully, having qualified myself, you will allow me to present some guidelines for getting the most out of camping in Arizona. For a starter, I have selected what I believe to be the top one-dozen ren-dezvous: Grand Canyon, and Petrified For-est national parks; Glen Canyon and Lake Mead national recreation areas (which take in Lake Powell and Lake Mohave, respec-tively); Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park; Oak Creek Canyon; and the follow-ing national monuments: Organ Pipe Cactus, Saguaro, Canyon de Chelly, Nav-ajo, Chiricahua, Sunset Crater and Wu-patki. Because of proximity, count these last two as one.

My criteria for the above is a variety of outstanding Kodachrome scenery and camping-related camping-related activities and conveniences. Unfortunately, sometimes these same ingre-dients have led to camping congestion. But there are ways of getting around it. For example, between May and Septem-ber only early birds can find camping space at Grand Canyon; by 10 a.m. all sites inside the park are filled and very likely so is the KOA outside the south boundary, at Tusayan. The Ten-X Campground on U.S. 180, eight miles south of Grand Can-yon Village, offers brighter prospects, but if you arrive too late to find a site, you can set up in what the Kaibab National Forest Service calls "throw-down areas," for a $5 camp fee, sans facilities. DeMotte Campground, on State 67, catches the overflow from the North Rim. It, too, can be chockful of tents and RVs, but 29 miles north you can invariably find space at Jacob Lake Campground. If you spend several days on the North Rim, you'll burn plenty of gasoline commuting unless you know you can camp anywhere in the Kaibab Forest that isn't posted to the contrary.

A better alternative focuses on camping at the Grand Canyon between October and April. The off-season sun adds dimensions that are absent during the summer. You'll be able to get a permit to hike overnight in the Canyon. There may be unreserved mules, and if you are in good health, 12 years of age or older, and not over 200 pounds, you can take this famous long-eared taxi into the Canyon's depths. You'll have most of the viewpoints to yourself, and if you are lucky enough to catch a snowstorm, you'll have more than the 7000-foot altitude to blame for your shortness of breath. And I'll bet I don't have to tell you there will be a wide choice of campsites and no hassles.

Say "camping" and invariably the mind's eye conjures visions of forest settings. So much so that it is stereotypically thought of by many as the only way to camp. Some of our best campsites had no pond-erosas, no blue spruce, no Douglas firs, no aspens and, occasionally, no trees at all.

Thus, for a second example, let us move about 400 miles south of Grand Canyon where vast contrasts exist but are certainly of no lesser value as camplands - the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. Grand Canyon's off-season is the on-season at Organ Pipe and "Campground Full" signs may greet you. If so, jot your name on the waiting list, and until a site opens-usually the next day-head down the road five miles to the privately-owned campground at the border town of Lukeville (commonly called Gringo Pass.) Or you can try going north 22 miles to its counter-part at Why.

In midsummer, coming from fishing at Puerto Peñasco, Sonora, Mexico, 65 miles south, I have camped overnight several times at Organ Pipe, and of the 208 campsites, I am reasonably sure that only mine was occupied. Blasting heat keeps the monument empty in summer; temperatures hit at least 100 every day and occasionally crack the 120-degree mark.

With Organ Pipe ranking high among our camping favorites, we have learned to work the fringes between fricassee heat and a full house. Taking in the Ajo Mountain and Puerto Blanco drives at those times, you'll see some of the reasons why Organ Pipe, other than a refuge for thin-bloods, has become so popular: 31 species of cactus, some wearing showy blossoms; perhaps a band of javelina looking up from feeding on prickly pear; a coyote Crossing the road in his hunt for breakfast; 50 or more butterflies on one creosote bush; cactus wrens chattering from the saguaro tops (the monument boasts 225 species of birds); the unique pupfish swimming in Quitobaquito Springs. Of the top-drawer one-dozen, the only place that could represent what might be called inconvenience year-round is the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest National Park.

About sundown, folks are herded out of the park and the gates locked until morning.

However, a couple of campgrounds lie adjacent to Interstate 40. A few miles west and on the east side of Holbrook, a KOA provides everything a camper may need.

Now, here are another dozen (I can give you enough dozens to keep you busy for 20 years) fine places to camp in Arizona: the Paria Plateau, Bloody Basin, the Cata-ract Plains, Lockett Lake, Garland Prairie, Parissawampitts Springs, the Santa Rita Mountains, Shinumo Altar, Toroweap Point, Bear Canyon, Horseshoe Cienega, and Grand Falls (during spring runoff). All are shown on state and federal (National Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management) maps. You'll see no crowds, but during the summer, you may encounter a few fellow campers at the last four. As for company at the others, if you need it, you'd better take your own. You should be self-sufficient physically, and mentally, too, if unfamiliar with the midnight call of coyotes.

In July or August, you might also look into the Paiute Indians' "Mad Rabbit Campground" on the Arizona Strip, a hop, skip, and a jump from Pipe Spring National Monument. There you may see three people lying flat on their backs on bedrolls on top of picnic tables. My daughter and wife and I occasionally study this little corner of the universe from this vantage, picking out planets and constellations, watching zooming satellites, listening to the warm winds hum a sagebrush tune, wondering about mad rabbits and if the pioneers and the Paiutes ever got tired of the tranquility and terrific terrain. And the smallest of us, after sitting up and taking a swig of hot chocolate, saying, "Daddy, let's don't ever go home again."