Back Road Adventure

In the split second after I say, "There! A Scott's oriole," the midmorning calm of Palm Canyon is ripped by a squadron of lowflying F-16s, screaming in off the creosote flats so fast they're on us before I can raise my cupped hands to protect my ears from their high-decibel roar. Two peel off, careening left and right, and barrel roll crazily to evade an imaginary enemy. Another discharges three flares directly above Signal Peak and pulls up, full-throttle, in an ear-splitting climb.

Shaken, I yell to my partner, Jack Dykinga, "What are they doing? Isn't this a wildlife refuge?" The canyon becomes eerily silent. No canyon wren's descending trill echoes down the walls; no swifts skim the palisades above us even the breeze seems to have stalled. At last, the cackle of a white-winged dove breaks the stillness; the breeze freshens, and we continue our climb toward the steep side canyon where the wild palms grow.

The day before, Jack and I drove through the Southwestern part of the state 18 miles south from Quartzsite on State Route 95, turning in toward the Kofa Mountains on Palm Canyon Road. From the turnoff it's nine miles to the Palm Canyon trailhead. But our plan is to detour into Queen Canyon where we'll camp, rising early the next day to hike out to the palms. (Obtain a map of the refuge from headquarters: numerous other roads also are open to travelers.) Although pretty corrugated the day we drive it in mid-May, Palm Canyon Road is graded periodically, so any high-clearance vehicle can usually handle it. After a hard rain, however, it might be wise to check road conditions with refuge headquarters.

WILDLIFE BONANZA GREETS TRAVELERS IN KOFA REFUGE AMID SCREAMING F-16 AIR DRILLS

For the first few miles, the road crosses "desert pavement," stones of uniform size, closely packed over a wide area, spreading toward the horizon. Yellow-petaled creosote bushes, so evenly spaced they seem set down by hand, dot the landscape. Little else grows here.

Imperceptibly, the road climbs, and the plant community changes. Soon we begin to see a few saguaro cacti, varieties of cholla with amber or ruby blossoms, and foothills paloverde trees in full yellow-white flower. Larger chunks of volcanic rubble litter the roadside, and on each side cinder cones appear.

A little more than four miles in, we arrive at a fork. Straight ahead leads to Palm Canyon. The other way, marked as Road No. 19, meanders off to the north-northeast up into Queen Canyon. Road No. 19 is still in good shape for high-clearance vehicles but crosses a couple of shallow washes again, possible trouble spots after a summer monsoon downpour. The greenery is thick in these drainages paloverdes mostly but ironwood trees, too, with buds ready to burst into lavender flower.

Soon we approach a massive rock pinnacle off to the right. Charred fire rings and a patchwork of tire tracks on the desert pavement at the base of the rock show where others have pulled in to turn around or camp. We're now 9.1 miles from Route 95.

From this point, the road up Queen Canyon to Bighorn Pass, approximately 5 miles, is rough. Most of the way it follows a natural drainage in a narrow defile that splits the range. Although operating a four-wheel-drive pickup, we make it all the way to Bighorn Pass in two-wheel-drive. I once owned an old Ford sedan that would have made the trip my "woods car," I called it back then but I wouldn't try this section in anything less than a light-duty pickup or other utility vehicle.

TIPS FOR TRAVELERS

Back-road travel can be hazardous if you are not prepared for the unexpected. Whether traveling in the desert or in the high country be sure you and your vehicle are in top shape and your gear includes appropriate clothing and footwear, food and water, medication, first-aid kit, sunglasses, water purification tablets, shovel, maps, compass, tools, spare tire, and a tow chain. Last, let someone at home know where you're going and when you plan to return.

Well-watered by late spring rains, vegetation bordering the track is lush. Flowers are abundant: brittlebush, globemallow, Mexican poppies, a solitary saguaro blossom, and many others I can't identify. Large colonies of ocotillo cover south-facing slopes, flowery red banners bobbing at the end of slender stalks and backlit by the gauzy aura of sunset.

Suddenly, a solitary bighorn ram appears, surprising us. I'd been scanning the peaks and ridges, hoping to detect the movement of sheep, but the ram is justthere, beside the road, standing on a low slope. It's come down to drink at a nearby water hole, probably, and is just as astonished as we are. Rigid, it stares at us, powerful shoulder muscles twitching. Then with a few quick, athletic bounds it's up the slope and away.

Jack spots a snake sunning in the middle of the road. A speckled rattlesnake, maybe two feet long, a beauty. Its color, the pale red cast of its home terrain, is one we've never seen before in a rattler. And just around the next bend another snake. A wildlife bonanza! This time it's a rosy boa, about the same length as the rattlesnake. When I pick it up, I'm amazed at the strength in its small, lithe body. A few weeks from now, when daytime temperatures soar, we won't see these snakes. They will have become strictly nocturnal.

In the morning, we rise early, drive out to Palm Canyon Road, and turn east about 4.5 miles to the trailhead. An hour later, we've climbed through a keyhole slot up a narrow side canyon to find ourselves standing below a small grove of wild palms — maybe 40 in all.

They're California fan palms, Washingtonia filifera, relics of the late-Pleistocene epoch, when southwestern Arizona was a cooler, wetter place. Some botanists think that as the climate became hotter and drier the palms retreated into these canyon niches, unique microhabitats, sheltered from the fierce direct rays of the midday sun and watered by runoff.

Wild palms are smaller, more slender than their domesticated cousins planted along our desert-city streets. A light breeze wafts upslope, rustling their shaggy petticoats and fan-shaped green fronds. A few trunks are blackened from a wildfire that raced up this canyon 37 years ago. Chuparosa, hummingbird bushes, heavy with red flowers, grow along the rim of the cliff face. As we turn to climb down, we hear the distant thunder of Marine war games. M Additional Information: Contact Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, 356 W. First St., P.O. Box 6290, Yuma, AZ 85366-6290; (602) 783-7861.