Round-the-Mountain Trail

Imagine being one of the first to explore a mountain range where every footstep brings a new sensation, whether an unmapped vista or an undiscovered plant; where any sign of travelers before you, whether human or animal, leads you to ponder their experience. Imagine such a trip, leaving you far richer than before you took your first few brave steps into the unknown:

A PINALENO MOUNTAIN ODYSSEY

"As we traverse the heights and depths of this range, our bodies strive to meet the challenge of unforgivingly dry desert heat, the chill ridgetop winds. Damp fecund vapors draw us to basins where we slake our thirst in refreshing snowmelt, and always our spirits are lifted by musical murmurings of wind agitating leaves; secrets whispered by water coursing over rocks, roots, and fallen timber; underfoot the crunch of cones, shush of needles, crackle of fallen branches, grind of slate and gravel; the pervasive welcome of gentle breezes and dappled warmth from sweet-scented ponderosa pines. Vantage points grant panoramas of over 100 miles; our imaginations have been captured by other islands adrift on this desert archipelago. We are torn between all we seek on this island and everything beyond our ken on the next." - Journal entry, May 3, 1994 Such was the backpacking journey that friends Peter Noebels, Mike "Huck" Huckabee, and I took in May around southeastern Arizona's Pinaleno Mountains, commonly referred to as Mount Graham: north, traversing countless ridges to the mountaintop; west, dropping 4,000 feet on a steep pack trail; south, scrambling through desert rangeland along the base of the mountain; and east, climbing to the top for one last breathtaking view before descending to our journey's end... and its beginning. Shaking off the dust of seven days and 50 miles, we unshouldered our backpacks and leaned our bodies against Peter's truck in the Round the Mountain trailhead parking lot off State Route 366. We were serenaded by thoughts of mariachis and Mexican food in Tucson, 125 miles to the west. The truck, however, heard different music, and when Peter turned the key, the vehicle remained silent. Mount Graham wasn't ready for us to leave. I wasn't either. I had fallen under its spell. I had good company. John Muir, visiting the area in 1905, reveled, "I never breathed air more distinctly, palpably good.... It fairly thrills and quivers, as if one actually felt the beatings of the infinitely small vital electric waves of life and light drenching every cell of flesh and bone." The range has

PINALENO MOUNTAIN ODY SEY

DURING THE NIGHT, I SUDDENLY AWAKENED, SENSING THERE WAS A BEAR WITHIN THREE FEET OF ME. I SENT A TELEPATHIC MESSAGE THAT I WAS ITS FRIEND, THEN CLOSED MY EYES AND PRETENDED TO SLEEP.

A profound effect on all of its people, from the Apache who seek to preserve the home of their mountain spirits and spiritual traditions to the people who look to it daily and, as nearby Bonita resident Dotty Dubois phrased it, "have seen it in all its colors and no colors at all." There are those, however, who see the Pinalenos from a different perspective: as a perch for University of Arizona observatories. Two telescopes have already been built near Emerald Peak; the university, wanting its third on the peak, had razed about 250 old-growth trees from what Tom Waddell, a former Arizona Game and Fish Department warden who spent 26 years in the Pinalenos, described to me as "a cathedral of three-foot-through spruce, with a velvet green carpet and white rocks." Peter, Huck, and I knew little of the controversy and even less about the range itself when we left Peter's truck Saturday morning and began climbing the first of many ridges along the Round the Mountain Trail.

Only after the trip did I discover that we had been wandering through a biologist's paradise. According to University of Arizona research biologist Peter Warshall, an archipelago of 27 sky islands - mountain ranges surrounded by desert rather than sea - extends from the Mogollon Rim to Mexico's Sierra Madres, and of these, Mount Graham is the biotic crown jewel. In addition to supporting both the southernmost spruce-fir forest and northernmost Sierra Madrean habitats, it boasts the most biotic communities and perennial streams as well as 18 endemic plants, mammals, and insects.

(LEFT) Roseann Hanson, left, and St. John prepare to cross rushing Marijilda Creek, using a fallen tree for balance. (BELOW) A rocky slope on the west side of the Pinalenos offers Mike Huckaby, left, and our author a downhill breather on their sometimes arduous hike. (RIGHT) After making his way to this towering vantage, Huckaby takes a few moments alone to savor the scenic rewards.

After hiking 10 miles into the range from the trailhead, we'd seen enough bear sign that we were prepared for a visit Sunday evening. We set up camp on a finger of land sandwiched between the streams in Frye Canyon and were lulled to sleep by the water's musical meanderings. During the night, I suddenly awakened, sensing there was a bear within three feet of me. I sent a telepathic message that I was its friend (it works on dogs, so why not bears?), then closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. High on adrenaline, my mind raced - had I actually seen a bear? - but second-guessing ceased the

PINALENO MOUNTAIN ODYSSEY

The moment I heard deep guttural breathing. I played possum until I became aware of silence. I opened my eyes: no bear. I've never been happier to be near-sighted, overly-imaginative, and sleeping near a guy who snores. The next morning, Huck and I played amateur archaeologists in logger middens from turn-of-the-century Chlarson Sawmill. Wherever we found evidence of a camp, we scraped away a few inches of the loosely packed earth. Our efforts uncovered a ceramic-glazed coffee pot, a copper tub, and many tin cans. We guessed the contents by the way they were opened: two small triangles meant milk, two perpendicular slashes with the points bent back from the center, beans, and small round holes, target practice. As we began climbing our last ridge to the mountaintop, we entered what Huck called the "horizontal forest" whole trees felled by windthrow from a '93 ice storm. Even if no one had been in the forest to hear, what a mighty sound the trees must have made as they lurched, crashed, and barreled down the mountainside. Leaving the horizontal forest was like wandering out of a Grimm fairy tale into Oz, a few steps out of the gloom and we were walking on a sunlit trail through grasses, cacti, and oak. When we crossed over the ridge to the north side of the mountain, we stopped, awestruck - ridges, valleys, and distant ranges lay before us, washed gold by the late afternoon sun. From our camp on a rock outcrop, blasted by howling, altitudechilled winds, we watched the twinkling lights strung along State Route 70. It was comforting to know that a few thousand people shared that river valley while just three of us shared our mountain aerie. Tuesday morning we left Round the Mountain Trail and followed Old Columbine Road to the Swift Trail, which is actually State Route 366. That's where we ran into a University of Arizona red squirrel biologist on her way back to her research camp. We followed, eager to catch a glimpse of one of the most endangered mammals in the United States. Marooned

WHEN WE CROSSED OVER THE RIDGE TO THE NORTH SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN, WE STOPPED, AWESTRUCK - RIDGES, VALLEYS, AND DISTANT RANGES LAY BEFORE US, WASHED GOLD BY THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN.

on its sky island for 9,000 to 11,000 years, the Mount Graham red squirrel is a victim of dwindling habitat. Before telescopes were a twinkle in the university's eyes, the squirrel had already lost more than half of its old-growth spruce-fir forest to logging and clearing; the observatories lie within the remaining 600 acres. Peter Warshall worries that there is already too little habitat, and only a complete absence of setbacks tree disease, fires, windthrow, and drought will allow the population to keep its tenuous hold until the forest is reestablished 125 years (OPPOSITE PAGE) Just off Grant Creek on the west side of the Pinalenos, our hikers come upon a tumble of giant boulders nestled in a grove of oak trees. (LEFT) The Inception area is where our hikers find the old Chlarson sawmill, and discover artifacts which were left in place-from logging days. (BELOW) The endangered red squirrels that live on Mount Graham need time and uncommonly good luck to ensure their future in the range. JOHN CANCALOSI from now. Such concern prompted the university to pay for a red squirrel study for as long as the telescopes are in operation, a coup for biologist Paul Young and his crew as studies are typically funded for only a few years. Young seemed true to his specific science - why look at stars when you could observe squirrels? even though he answers to the same vice president of research as the astronomers. Happy to oblige our curiosity, he gave us a tour of the study area and even tried to summon a squirrel by entering its midden, scratching a nearby tree and clucking - fightin' words

PINALENO MOUNTAIN ODYSSEY

In squirrel-speakbut the savvy critter didn't take the bait.

We left the mountaintop Wednesday morning and began zigzagging down the western slope on a seven-mile-long pack trail connecting Soldier Creek Campground to Fort Grant State Prison 4,000 feet below. It's hard to imagine that escaping prisoners have actually chosen to flee up this steep, easy-to-lose trail, rather than cut across the valley. When a disembodied voice drifted up the canyon from the prison's PA system, I wondered if, 100 years ago, when Fort Grant housed soldiers, we could have heard revelry. Or "Taps" 50 years ago in its incarnation as the Arizona State Industrial School for juvenile offenders. Bone-weary from our trip's first daylong exposure to the sun, we set our alarms for 3 A.M. We had a long, even hotter day in front of us, bushwhacking 10 miles around the base of the mountain, and we wanted to get a cool head start.

By sunrise we had crossed several barbed-wire fences, hopped a quarry's AT THE TOP, WE FOLLOWED THE SWIFT TRAIL TO LADYBUG PEAK, WHERE WE ALLOWED OURSELVES THE PLEASURE OF A PANORAMIC VIEW BEFORE BEGINNING WHAT I CALLED THE DEATH MARCH: SEVEN KNEE-GRINDING, BLISTER-POPPING MILES BACK TO THE TRUCK.

worth of boulder-size rocks, maneuvered around blooming hedgehog cacti and cow pies, and tried not to appear to be on the lam: the prison has the best search and rescue team in Arizona. After Peter stopped midmorning to immortalize some photogenic blooms, we rested under the shade of a lonely mesquite, munching, quenching our thirst, absorbing the unobstructed view of the valley spread out before us. Later we took advantage of some siesta-size alligator junipers until it was time to locate one of the springs on our map. Saddened that this was our last night, our conversation left the mountains and returned to Tucson. We consoled ourselves by planning a celebratory dinner of Mexican food.

With 2,700 steep feet ahead of us in the morning alone, we loaded up with water and began our four-mile climb up the Shake Trail. At the top, we followed the Swift Trail to Ladybug Peak, where we allowed ourselves the pleasure of a panoramic view before beginning what I called the Death March: seven knee-grinding, blister-popping miles past Veach Ridge to Angle Orchard and the truck. Along the way I tried to enjoy the views, but I was growing tired and obsessed with the tiny white dot in the parking lot, waiting almost 3,000 feet below.

We reached the truck just after sunset, but it wasn't until dark that the mountain relinquished its hold on us, coughing up two teenage boys with a truck who pulled us out of the parking lot. We coasted down the moonless mountain road - sans headlights - and rolled into the parking lot of a business at the junction of State Route 366 (LEFT) Huckaby and St. John, nearly hidden behind him, head into Grant Canyon along an easy stretch of trail.

(BELOW) Looking to the west, Huckaby, using his binoculars, and St. John get a good view of Fort Grant below.

(RIGHT) A blooming prickly pear seems to lure our party up another rough hillside leading to the western horizon. and U.S. 191. Two hours later, we were on the road to Tucson - and our much anticipated feast of Mexican food - thanks to the Arizona Automobile Association.

Editor's Note: Snowfall in the Pinalenos may extend to April or May. Before planning a trip, ask the Safford Ranger District Office of the Coronado National Forest, (520) 428-4150, about weather conditions, appropriate maps, and supplies.