Up the Creek in Aravaipa Canyon

HIKING, WADING, CLIMBING, CAMPING, GALUMPHING THROUGH ARAVAIPA CANYON

High noon. The three of us - two middle-aged men and a woman - stood at the trailhead at the west end of Aravaipa Canyon, backpacks lashed to our shoulders, and contemplated the dusty, cactus-strewn terrain leading to the creek.

September's heat bore down on us like a physical weight. Yesterday the temperature had reached 105° F., and today promised to top that. The air crisped the skin. It felt very much as if we were about to step into an oven. "We probably could've picked a better time to do this than midday," said Virgil Hancock, who had chosen to carry 50 pounds of photographic equipment.

"The last time I went in there, it was so hot I had to lie in the creek half the night to get any sleep," said our other companion, Tom Kuhn.

We looked at each other. We looked again at the thorny landscape. Macho to a person, we pressed on without another word.

We had just come from the old Westerfield place near the Bureau of Land Management Wilderness we were about to enter. Tom and Debbi Collazo live there. Tom is Aravaipa Canyon Preserve director for the Arizona Nature Conservancy, the state chapter of an international environmental group that owns about a dozen properties in the canyon watershed. During the 1970s, Defenders of Wildlife, a national animal-protection group, purchased the ranch and a patchwork of other properties around Aravaipa Canyon, using a bequest from conservationist George Whittell. Then, in 1988, the property was transferred to The Nature Conservancy. TNC, as the group is called, works with BLM to monitor and manage the native fish habitat and to improve the watershed.

A forest of willow, cottonwood, and mesquite follows Aravaipa Creek, one of giardia (a dysentery-causing microorganism). Bring purifying tablets or a filter; to be fully safe, carry your own water. In hot weather, each person needs a gallon a day. Getting there: Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, in eastern Pinal County, has two entrances: at the west end near Mammoth and Winkelman, and the east end near Klondyke, a small settlement west of Safford. To reach the west end from Phoenix (120 miles), take U.S. Route 60 to Superior; turn south on State Route 177 to Winkelman; then take State Route 77 south about 11 miles to Aravaipa Road and Central Arizona College. Turn east and follow the paved and graded road about 12 miles to the parking lot. From Tucson (70 miles), follow U.S. Route 89 to Oracle Junction; then take State Route 77 north about 8 miles to Aravaipa Road.

the few streams flowing year-round in southern Arizona, through an 11-mile-long gorge that slices through the rugged Galiuro Mountains. Along the way, the Collazos told us, the creek shelters more than 300 wildlife species, of which 20 have received state or federal protection. Mountain lions roam these hills, and bighorn sheep, white-tailed deer, javelinas, bobcats, coatimundis. And over them flies the vanishing black hawk. Seven kinds of native fish, including the threatened spikedace and loach minnow, dwell in the waters, possibly the largest such concentration of these fish in the Southwest. An instream-flow permit allows BLM to ensure the creek's perennial flow and protect the fishes' aquatic home.

Arizonans have long loved the region's beauty. Rancher Fred Wood recalled how his mother, Frankie Belle Wood, charged him and his brother with preserving the land after she and her husband were gone.

And former U.S. Sen. Barry Goldwater, who introduced the legislation establishing

WHEN YOU GO

Making reservations: You must obtain a permit before visiting the Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, even for day hikes. Apply (up to three months in advance; weekends book up early) to the Bureau of Land Management, Safford District Office, 425 E. 4th St., Safford, AZ 85546; (602) 428-4040. Camping is limited to two nights. You can ride in on horseback, but you may not keep your horse in the Wilderness overnight; pets are prohibited. Use fee is $1.50 per person per day. Water: Do not drink water from the creek; it may be contaminated with (190 miles), take U.S. 60 to Globe; then U.S. 70 to Klondyke/Aravaipa Road, about 8 miles beyond Fort Thomas. Turn southeast and follow this graded dirt road about 45 miles to the entrance; although in dry weather the road is suitable for passenger cars, it crosses the creek five times in the last 10 miles. From Tucson (150 miles), take Interstate 10 east from Tucson to Willcox; turn north at Fort Grant Road and go about 30 miles to Bonita; there turn left and go 30 miles to Klondyke. Ranger stations are located near each entrance to the canyon.

The Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, called this place “a sparkling gem of the Southwestern desert.” The BLM restricts access to 50 persons a day; in practice, far fewer apply. About 4,000 hikers enter the canyon each year after obtaining permits and paying a modest entry fee.

Tom, Virgil, and I signed in at the fee station and walked down the steep path to the creek.

“This summer's floods have washed out most of the trail,” Collazo had warned us. He wasn't kidding. Of anything that resembled “trail,” about 200 linear feet survived, all told. Most of the way into Horse Camp Canyon (the first ground smooth enough to throw a bedroll down on), the trail is the creek. You wade through water that runs from ankleto waist-high. When you're not in water, you're bushwhacking. The terrain here has four types of surface: loose, polished river rocks in dry floodplain; loose, polished, slimy river rocks underwater; ankle-deep mud with the lubricating power of axle grease; and ankle-deep sand. Friends advised me to wear tennis shoes because we were to cross the creek innumerable times. My suggestion: don't.

When the wimpy tread on a pair of tennies gets wet, sand sticks to it. That sand turns into a film of ball bearings the instant you rest your foot on a rock. To be outfitted properly, you need a pair of light but sturdy hiking boots, high enough to support your ankles, which will twist as stones shift beneath your weight. The soles should have good tread.

Tom, in athletic condition, charged ahead of me and Virgil.

As we continued our trek upstream, we saw that the summer's floods did more than erase the few paths along the creek.

The torrents knocked down thousands of willow saplings. Still bent in the direction of the current, they formed a phalanx of lances through which we had to fight as we struggled for footing on the uncertain ground. Attack horseflies the size of F-16s, with like speed and maneuverability, lay in wait for the warm-blooded, as did swarms of gnats and mosquitoes. We kept an eye out for rattlesnakes and tried not to do anything stupid like putting a hand under a cool rock where one might be resting. Virgil led the way, occasionally waiting for me to catch up with him, hauling me up a grade, or lending me a hand over slippery rocks.

Around every bend waited untold wonders, Virgil kept promising. “When you get up here,” he would gesture in the direction of Shangri-La and Utopia, “that's where the place has the 'feel' of Aravaipa.” First published in 1966, the Arizona Highways wall calendar celebrates the “Best of 25 Years” of scenic photography with its 1992 edition. From a Monument Valley panorama by Ray Manley to a Grand Canyon vista by David Muench, each month is a fullcolor treasure. Perfect for home and office, the 18" by 12" wire-bound calendar features ample space for notes and important reminders, and the back cover is an easyreference map of Arizona. Mailing envelopes are included for orders of two or more.

1992 SCENIC WALL CALENDAR

The 1992 wall calendar is $5.95, plus shipping and handling, and available after September 15, 1991. Order through the attached order card, or write or visit Arizona Highways, 2039 W. Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009. You can place telephone orders by calling toll-free nationwide 1 (800) 543-5432. In the Phoenix area, call 258-1000. Round every bend, the creek reveals another aspect of its nature. At one spot, an exuberant young boy (RIGHT) finds a water chute and exhilarating relief from the broiling summer sun. JACK DYKINGA Farther on, between Painted Cave and Javelina, the stream forms a quiet pool (OPPOSITE PAGE) that promises long hours of peace and solitude in the jewel-like canyon. JOHN MACMURRAY And it was true that as we hiked deeper into the gorge, towering lion-colored cliffs rose a thousand feet above us, mottled lichen-green and studded with agave spires. On the steep slopes between the high buff palisades of welded volcanic ash and the wine-red streamside rhyolite grew forests of saguaro, cholla, prickly pear, and barrel cacti.

Clouds of butterflies blew in the air like autumn leaves, and red and blue dragonflies cruised the still pools. Tentworms festooned young cottonwoods with silken filaments like angel hair; hiding in the rocks, invisible unless they moved, were thumbsize toads speckled with ruby spots.

But the going was exhausting. Just as I was beginning to wonder how I was going to haul myself five miles over tippy cobblestones, Virgil announced we were taking a short excursion up a side canyon. Fine, I thought a few extra steps!

It was, indeed, only a few steps to a place where the creek cascaded over a pile of smooth boulders. “The stream runs over a rock here that you can sit on,” he explained. “Watch.” He shed his pack and shirt and climbed aboard a saddle-shaped stone hidden beneath the riffling white water. Then he leaned back and let the water deliver its heavenly massage.

The afternoon wore on, and the heat wore us down. The sun glared off the water and an endless expanse of loose rock. I didn't envy the rancher who had to round up cattle in this place with steep slopes on either side of the stream and treacherous footing in the creek bed, even for a horse.

Settlers' names ran through my mind: Vail, Buzan, Brandenburg, Kilberg, Zapata, Martinez, Wood, White, Hartman.

“For two years we worked and played,” wrote pioneer Louise Ruddick Hartman. “We lived outdoors under a big cedar tree and moved into the tent only when it rained. Around every corner adventure was waiting for us, and opportunity keptbanging at the door. We tried not to miss anything, nor did we.” Then, I thought, after I slipped in the mud and twisted my knee, imagine being an Indian woman and having to climb over these rocks every day, toting your olla to haul water back to your lodge for cooking and cleaning. Imagine daily life here without a horse! For 13,000 years people managed just that, people of the early Clovis, Cochise, and Hohokam cultures, and much later, the Tohono O'odam, Sobaipuri, Apache. What must those latterday cultures have thought when they first saw Marcos de Niza's men lounging atop four-legged, hard-footed beasts?

We came to a swimming hole Virgil knew, and here we paused to unload the camera for a shooting session.

So it was that, along about 6:00 P.M., we plodded into Horse Camp Canyon, having logged something less than a mile an hour. Tom was getting worried. Undecided whether we could have slipped past him during the day and gone farther up the canyon or whether we had run into trouble downcanyon, he was about to heft his daypack and come looking for us.

A half-dozen vultures watched our arrival, hope clearly rising in their avian breasts. We were sweaty, muddy, gritty, and miserable. Tom, on the other hand, looked annoyingly relaxed. He had arrived in camp hours earlier, set up a kitchen, slung his hammock under a mesquite tree, and now he was rested, bathed, and ready for dinner.

He offered his hospitality: coffee brewed on an aging stove that worked without a whimper.

It was ridiculous. Virgil and I had packed the latest in Yuppie camping technology: nifty stoves, sleeping bags, air mattresses, space-age ground cloths, featherweight tents, flashlights, water filters, freeze-dried lasagna. Tom had a hammock, a tarp, a rope, and a fistful of Halazone water-purifying tablets. With similar gear,

He had just climbed Mauna Loa in Hawaii and Mount Rainier in Washington. Today he pranced up this rock-strewn alley as though it led to a neighborhood park and, while Virgil and I were stumbling through the creek, slogging through the mud, heaving through the sand, he was lounging in the shade. Virgil decided to forego his lasagna for a share of my dehydrated noodles Alfredo into which we stirred a can of tuna. Surprise! That moonless evening in Horse Camp Canyon was spectacular. Cepheus, a rectangle of stars with a couple of arms sticking out and the Milky Way flowing through it, was framed between the cliffs and the lacelike canopy of mesquite leaves overhead. Occasionally pale starlit clouds would lick the canyon rim, but they subsided and brought no threat of rain. Far into the night, a brilliant half-moon rose and sat straight overhead near the constellation of Cassiopeia. It filled the space boxed in by the stark pinnacled walls with silver light. Virgil wanted to spend the next morning taking pictures, and I wanted to explore the mouths of Horse Camp and Virgus canyons. Tom, impatient to get out before the heat struck, left early, promising to wait for us either in a canyon narrow or near the parking lot. And so once again it was about noon when Virgil and I set out. The hike was marginally easier going downstream, but this time I slipped on some rocks and, a doctor would tell me later, fractured my wrist. The heat was surely stronger than the previous day's. When we did not find Tom at the last narrow before the creek widened to a broad swampy trickle, Virgil became concerned. Could he have taken a side trip up a canyon? Could we have passed him? We made the last mile or so in the pounding sun, Virgil doggedly leading. I was almost out of purified water when we sought the shelter of the streamside rushes.

Leaves turned golden against crimson cliffs (OPPOSITE PAGE) herald the advent of autumn in Horse Camp Canyon. Although rocky hillsides covered with desert vegetation lie nearby, lush Aravaipa Canyon brandishes a palette of fall colors. MARK S. THALER (LEFT) A fallen sycamore leaf clinging precariously to the bark of its tree is subtle testimony to the changing of the seasons. JACK DYKINGA "This was a nice break from work," said Virgil as he leaned against his backpack and tried to get as much of his body in the shade as possible. I looked at him, speechless. Must be some job, I thought. With my hat, I dipped warm water out of the creek and poured it over my head. We moved on. At the sign marking the path up to the parking lot, there was no Tom. "This is not good," muttered Virgil. Silently I sketched a plan: Virgil would drive to the Collazo house and report Tom missing, and I would wait by the creek, preferably in the water. But when we drew closer Tom ap-peared from the brush. He had been napping the heat away in his hammock. He took one look at me with my last, almostdrained water bottle in hand, produced a canteen full of lemonade, and said, "Drink this." Then he took my pack and carried it on the steep climb out of the streambed. "That was a difficult hike," Tom said from the driver's seat of my truck - the maimed condition of my right hand precluded operating a gearshift lever. "With all the rock hopping, you go the equivalent of about 10 miles in that five-mile stretch." Next time, I'll wear hiking boots.

Travel Guide: For detailed information about Arizona's many travel locations, we recommend the guidebooks Travel Arizona and Outdoors in Arizona: A Guide to Camping. Both will direct you to exciting destinations and out-of-the-way attractions in the state. Our Arizona Road Atlas, featuring maps of 27 cities, mileage charts, and points of interest, also is very useful for travelers. For information on these and other travel publications, or to place an order, telephone 1 (800) 543-5432. In the Phoenix area, call 258-1000.

TRAVEL WITH THE FRIENDS OF ARIZONA HIGHWAYS

Discover the wonders of Arizona and learn photography from the best. Whether you are a casual point-and-shoot photographer, a serious amateur, or just someone who wants to experience Arizona in a unique way, the Friends of Arizona Highways auxiliary has a trip for you. Their excursions vary from one-day Shutterbug Safaris and twoto six-day Photo Tours led by our photographers and technical representatives from Kodak, Fuji, Tamron, and AGFA to Scenic Tours of the state's most spectacular locales, guided by best-selling authors and other experts on the heart and history of Arizona. Here is a partial schedule of entertaining and informative trips you can enjoy this fall.

Photo Tours

October 1-3: Tom Till leads a trip to Monument Valley, a wonderland where light and shadow add drama to the fantastically sculpted sandstone formations.

October 24-27: P. K. Weis and Peter Kresan focus on the myriad wonders in the Chiricahua Mountains, a land of curious geology and unusual flora and fauna.

Scenic Tours

Twoand three-day tours, held in association with the Arizona Automobile Association, are scheduled regularly to the Grand Canyon and Lake Powell.

Longer Scenic Tours visit the state's most historic cities and towns, significant prehistoric sites, museums, gardens, and nature preserves.

For complete information on Photo Tours (limited to 20 persons) and longer Scenic Tours, telephone the Friends of Arizona Highways Travel Desk (602) 2715904. For details and to make reservations for the AAA scenic tours, telephone (602) 274-5805 in Phoenix or 1 (800) 352-5382 statewide.

Watch for 1992 Trip Schedule

Next month look for an announcement of the Friends' 1992 Photo Tours. Exciting new trips will focus on the splendors of Arizona from the majesty of the Grand Canyon and the mysteries of ancient Indian ruins at Wupatki to houseboating on Lake Powell and bull riding at Prescott's big rodeo.

TRAVEL WITH THE FRIENDS OF ARIZONA HIGHWAYS