Hike of the Month

Like of the Month MOONWALK MAKES STARGAZERS OUT OF HIKERS IN WONDERLAND OF ROCKS

We set out at dusk from Massai Point with our minds on the moon.

The plan is simple and enticing: hike a loop trail winding among the towering, sculptured rock formations of the Chiricahua National Monument and savor the grandeur in dazzling lunar light. Something threatens to spoil this excellent adventure, however, and it can be summed up in a single word: clouds. The weather has been iffy all afternoon on this chill day in late October. Now, half an hour before the expected rise of the full moon, gray clouds scud over the stone obelisks that rise like Nature's skyscrapers west of 6,870-foot Massai Point.

Photographer Frank Zullo and I walk the first few hundred yards of the three-and-a-half-mile Echo Canyon Loop Trail and then pause to peer heavenward in search of lucky stars. We spot a few and take this as a sign of clearing skies, of moonbeams to come. The next half hour is a test of faith. The only evidence of the would-be glorious moonrise is a dull yellow glow seeping through the blanket of clouds. As we approach the first of the many clusters of massive, weather-carved rock towers along the trail, we must content ourselves with merely imagining the splendor of the scene in full moonlight.

We mask our disappointment with topical humor: "Whose lunatic idea was this, anyway?" and "I'm really going to need some moonshine if these clouds don't clear out pretty soon."

At a point where the trail begins a gentle descent into Echo Canyon, Frank finds a broad ledge with a panoramic view of the shadowy gorge. We pull off our rucksacks, don sweaters against the autumn coolness, and nibble dried fruit and chocolate as we wait for the moon to make its move.

Minutes later, it does. With an effect as dramatic as someone switching on a floodlight, Earth's sole natural satellite emerges from a fast-moving bank of clouds and melts the darkness with its brilliant rays.

The canyon is transformed. Pillars of volcanic rhyolite, vague silhouettes just moments ago, now stand out like spotlighted monuments. Walls of flecked gray stone shimmer like jewels above the oak, juniper, and pine forest in the canyon bottom. Even the leaves of shrubs and the needles of pines seem to glisten in the moonglow.

Frank and I, who have been babbling about eclipses we have seen and tides we don't understand, are so moved by the sight that we exhibit one of the most genuine forms of human reverence: we shut up.

And then we get moving. There is much to see and photograph while the moon is high and the clouds are at bay.

The northwestern leg of the roughly triangular loop trail is perhaps the most spectacular segment of the route. Here, the moonlit scenery varies from gardens of vertical stone to the nooks and hollows of Echo Park, which would make a perfect habitat for wood nymphs or characters on leave from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Something hoots from a tall tree on the far side of the canyon. Something else rustles in the shadows as we pass by on the trail. Mysterious, wonderful sounds. And all the more so by moonlight.

The celestial orb is playing peekaboo in the clouds when we begin our ascent from the 6,330-foot low point of the trail. It shows itself intermittently as we trek the southern leg of the route, and then it makes a brilliant cloud-free encore as we plod the final uphill mile back to Massai Point.

Hours later, nestled in my sleeping bag in a Chiricahua campground, I ponder the sheer, alluring beauty of the moon as it works its way toward a distant ridge.

By the time I fall asleep, I have reached two conclusions. One is that I probably will never truly understand how the moon causes tides. The other is that, on a night like this, it doesn't matter.