Weekend Zealots Power Up at Cinder Hills Rec Area

Taking Flight before Fury

J. ROBERT THOMPSON LAUNCHED HIMSELF FROM A VOLCANO TOP AND WAS SOON FLYING OVER vast fields of black ash. A dozen craters offered landmarks as he maneuvered his hang glider higher and higher over the Cinder Hills Recreation Area 14 miles northeast of Flagstaff, until finally he was forced to breathe from an oxygen cylinder. For the Glendale, Arizona, college professor and former distance record holder for hang gliders, the volcanic fields radiate updrafts ideal for sustained powerless flight, and he has ridden the winds nonstop as far as Cortez, Colorado, 230 miles away. He once gained 8,000 feet of altitude soaring alongside two golden eagles. "They pulled out at 14,000 feet," Thompson said, but flying formation with a buddy, he continued up to 17,000 feet. "We got pictures of them off our wingtips," he said. From his vantage, Thompson takes in the whole recreation area as the land spreads to the windward of Arizona's highest summit on the San Francisco Peaks, a blown-out dormant volcano that towers 12,643 feet over Flagstaff. Sprouted from

Taking Flight before Fury

the big volcano's lava field are 600 to 800 smaller craters. The landscape is covered by black and ochre ash, and it resembles the moon so much the National Aeronautics and Space Administration in 1968 established the Cinder Hills Astronaut Training Ground there in preparation for manned landings on the Sea of Tranquillity.

The chance to glide for hours draws hang gliders from all over. Some fly north over the Grand Canyon. Most aim themselves east, buoyed by prevailing winds, out over a cratered landscape that has become a popular playground for hikers, off-road vehicle operators, horsemen, and campers. There's even a miniature runway for model airplane flying near where moon astronauts learned to drive lunar vehicles.

Thousands of years of eruptions deposited mountains of cinder ash that trees and grasses have only begun to colonize. One of the vents, Sunset Crater, a national monument, erupted in A.D. 1064. Scientists believe an early Indian culture lies buried under its ash field.

Most of the Cinder Hills are in the Coconino National Forest. Fifty-three thousand acres are preserved as quiet zones where offroad travel is barred. But the 13,500-acre Cinder Hills Recreation Area, immediately south of Sunset Crater, throbs with the throaty roar of the souped-up engines of sand rails and jeeps scaling 8,000-foot volcanoes.

Dave and Debbie Uebelhoer of Tempe were contemplating which trail to drive with their sand rail when we met. Slightly built, with clean fingernails, Dave Uebelhoer didn't look like a man who tinkers with engines. He's the senior electrical technician They come regularly to the Cinder Hills for a power trip, towing their pipe-frame rail behind a motor home. The rail is powered by a supercharged air-cooled engine that bellows exhaust through a chrome-plated manifold horn. The engine squats over the rear axle, driving huge paddle tires designed for loose sand. A roll bar forms a protective cage around the Uebelhoers.

Dave pointed out 8,004-foot Double Crater. Ponderosa pine trees around its base present obstacles that must be dodged before taking a run at the black ash slope. Up there is One Hundred Dollar Hill, he said, the toughest spot in the off-road reserve. “Most of these trails are made by people coming down,” he said. “The challenge is to drive up.” Emboldened by the powerful rail, he had chosen a trail up Double Crater that was so steep “the front tires left the ground, and the front end started coming over on me. That was enough for me,” he recounted. “We turned around and never went back on that trail.” Gary Webb of Mesa told a hair-raising story about One Hundred Dollar Hill. He over-drove the rise and flew 50 feet down into a small crater, dislocating a knee.

As soon as he healed, Webb was back in a rail and back on the Cinder Hills. “We go every chance we have,” he said.

The snarl of motorcycle engines drew me to the camp of Rob Windham, a big, rowdy dirt biker from Cornville. He and his friends are regulars on the Cinder Hills. They wore the armor of dirt bikers and talked of racing in timed trophy events driven annually on the cinder mountains. We were surrounded by expensive equipment. “There's $50,000 right there in that motor home,” Windham said. “Usually a bike runs about $5,000 and gear is another $1,000, then you have to have a truck and a trailer.”A two-stroke bike roared by, back wheel fishtailing in ash. Rid-ing street bikes for Years had taught me to be wary of riding a motorcycle at high speed in steep hills of loose gravel.

“It's a hard sport,” Windham admitted. “You've got to be in real good physical shape. When you're going 55 miles per hour over four-foot ruts, you find out why you have to be in shape in about 30 seconds.

“The payback is having fun. It's an adrenaline rush just like parachuting and bungee jumping. You get your friends out here and have a go at them.” I switched to four-wheel drive and had a go at the ash. A two-rut trail leading from a camping park for off-roaders took me through trees up a loose, gritty volcanic hill. The ground turned mushy and began swallowing the tires. Enough for me. I backed off and headed for quieter parts.

I found solitude across the paved road past Sunset Crater that leads, in 20 miles, to Wupatki National Monument, ancient Indian ruins with a ball court. The road provides a demarcation line between the high-octane crowd and backcountry recreationists. Back into four-wheel drive, I turned onto a power line road and drove six miles through ash fields to the Strawberry Crater Wilderness Area, where I walked in, pitched a tent, and hung a hammock.

To the south, Black Mountain rose like a buffalo hump, its heights all deceptively fresh-looking black ash, which actually was spewed from Sunset Crater hundreds of years ago. On the flats, starved-looking ponderosas and junipers clung tentatively to the cinders.

East and north, lava fields and the geologic detritus of eons stretched to the horizon. The San Francisco Peaks filled my western view.

For people who crave quiet recreation, this is the place. All life in the Strawberry Crater Wilderness Area seems in retreat, as though the land still regards the volcanoes as a threat. The porous ash absorbs rain like a sponge, and, except for deep wells, there is no water other than what you carry.

There almost are no people. In three days, just one car passed my campsite.

A trace led me up and around Strawberry Crater, a rouge-colored cone with one side blown away by the escape of a threemile-long field of lava that stretches like a jagged scab across juniper flats. Mourning doves arrived to roost, and coyotes yelped So close I jumped. But a flock of scrub jays flew hurriedly by, not even delaying long enough to scavenge my camp.

Colonies of giant sage have sunk toe-holds in the cinders, and wild grasses have found places to hold onto in the lee of junipers that appear to be young but aren't. A sawed stump revealed one was 200 years old when felled.

This is country that horse people like: wide open, few fences, no gopher holes. Each May Arizona horse clubs run a 50-mile endurance race monitored by veterinarians over a course from Sunset Crater, through the off-road vehicle reserve, and on to Merriam Crater, a favorite launch pad for hang gliders and paragliders 25 miles east of Flagstaff.

"The race is challenging because the cinders are softer than a hard-packed road," Flagstaff horsewoman Susie McCallum had explained. "Riders have to pay attention and not go too fast for the terrain."

Winter often lingers in the Cinder Hills. On some race days, she said, "We've had 80-mile-per-hour winds, 18 inches of snow." Nevertheless, she said, "This area is fairly forgiving, as far as Arizona country goes, on horses' feet. We don't have a lot of rock out there. Boots and leg protection, in general, aren't necessary."

Arabs and Arab crosses do best on the ash. "They seem to be bred for it," McCallum said. "Very seldom does a quarter horse do well."

Forest Service Road 510 east, then FR 505 northeast carried me to a cluster of extinct craters: North and South Sheba and Merriam, and farther inland by dirt road, half-mile-wide Moon Crater, from which flows a broad six-mile-long lava field, one of the largest in the cinder fields.

A blaze of color drew my attention. A group of hang glider drivers were comparing experiences with paraglider pilot Steve Konves, a Flagstaff salesman whose favorite pastime is soaring under a parachute he can guide with pull cords. He hoped for thermals that would let him surf the crest of heat waves breaking over a crater.

The cinder country heats up like a griddle under the Arizona sun, giving off thermals that are a paraglider's delight, Konves said. "I've had a couple hour-long flights." He has ridden to 2,000 feet above the ground, dangling under his chute. For him, that's the ultimate thrill.

From picnicking to backpacking to racing and flying, the Cinder Hills Recreation Area invites many uses. "It's very scenic," Forest Service spokesperson Connie Birkland had told me. She has traveled many of its backcountry roads and blasted up an ash mountain in a sand rail.

WHEN YOU GO

To reach the Cinder Hills Recreation Area from Phoenix, go north on Interstate 17 to Flagstaff, then U.S. 89 about 14 miles farther north to the Sunset Crater National Monument turnoff. Carry water for every sort of recreation you plan in the Cinder Hills.

For maps and more information about the area, call the Coconino National Forest, Peaks Ranger District, (520) 526-0866.

People who come to visit the national monuments at Sunset Crater and Wupatki, she said, often discover the Cinder Hills when they venture onto dirt roads to escape the campground crowds. Others learn by word of mouth.

I can vouch for the unspoiled moon-scape preserved in the cinder backcountry. Those coyotes came back night after night to my camp, and together we sang as the sun quietly moved aside for the stars.