A New Kind of Sport

THE STARTLED WOMAN IN THE BUICK NEARLY DROVE off the road as she passed us, narrowly missing a new redwood fence before gaining the straightaway once again. I could see her staring wide-eyed at us in her rearview mirror as she continued on. Can't blame her, really. How often is it one sees a couple of women walking down the street in a suburban neighborhood wearing full wet suits, masks and snorkels around their necks, fins in hand? It wasn't Halloween, and we hadn't missed our boat.I was introducing my friend Joyce, a scuba-diving instructor, to the joys of snorkel hiking, and we were on our way to lower Bear Creek in northeast Tucson. I got the idea for snorkel hiking a few years back while walking along upper Bear Creek on the Seven Falls Trail. Hikers and runners rushed by me as I dawdled near streamside, and I wondered if they realized they were missing an incredible little world right at their feet.

SNORKLE HIKING Taking a Plunge into a Mountain Stream

A closer look revealed a mini-ecosystem locked in the eternal battle of survival: little plants waving in the current, a tiny school of half-inch-long fish hiding at their bases, water spiders stalking prey across the surface, water beetles performing loop-the-loops, tadpoles devouring anything in their paths - even each other - and fearsome-looking crawfish patrolling the bottom. I realized there was as much diversity here, in miniature, as I've seen diving at 50 feet on a reef in Mexico. Next time, I thought, I'll bring my mask and snorkel. A great pastime was born.

Getting started snorkel hiking is easy. Your mask and snorkel needn't be expensive, just comfortable. I like wearing an old wet suit top to maintain my buoyancy and for warmth and protection. For footwear, wet suit booties with hard soles for gripping slippery rocks are best, but old sneakers work fine. Cloth gloves are good for gripping rocks; fins are advisable only if the current is really strong. Then, suit up, pick a creek, and hike upstream, looking for a fetching pool or intriguing rock.

The hardest part is getting in. The rush of cold mountain water into the neck of the wet suit and out through the legholes is an eye-opener, to say the least. After you stop shouting from the cold, the magic begins. First there is the intensification of the senses.

Hearing is limited by the water's tinny gargle and your own breathing. Touch is distorted by gloves and wet suit. That leaves sight, which is limited by the sides of the mask, so there is an intense magnified focus on whatever is just inches from your face. There is an intimacy born of seeing things you'd miss just walking along streamside. Parts of crawfish lie on the bottom, leftovers of a midnight meal; closer inspection shows prints of a small raccoon in the mud of an undisturbed backwater. A trout hangs motionless in a seemingly bottomless blue sunlit pool, then flicks its tail and is gone in the blink of an eye. However, the hazards of snorkel hiking are not to be taken lightly: In the classic prone snorkeling position, a certain part of one's anatomy presents itself enticingly to every biting insect within miles. Mosquitoes do bite through lycra. And the crawfish. If they look big from above water, they're huge a couple inches from your face. Once while meandering through a quiet pool along Bear Creek, I floated innocently into the territory of a huge crawfish who did not take my intrusion like a gentleman. Out he flashed from his rock lair, claws snapping audibly just an inch or two from my nose.

Bugling loudly through my snorkel - how else to describe shrieking through a tube? I flailed my arms and hunched my back in an effort to back up, forgetting momentarily all I had to do was stand up in the 24-inch-deep water. When I did finally collect myself and stand, looking about to see if anyone had witnessed my antics, I was further embarrassed to see my attacker was only about four inches long and perfectly harmless looking from my full upright height. Feeling spiteful I tossed a rock in his direction and felt a bully's pleasure in his panicked dive under a rock. Arizona is full of great creeks in which to snorkel. Part of the sport, of course, is to find your own favorite spots, but I'll give away a few of mine. Just west of Camp Verde, 70 miles north of Phoenix, is West Clear Creek, a wonderful snorkel hiking spot - try near the lower campground and also in the West Clear Creek Wilderness, itself, which has the best pools.

Farther east on the Mogollon Rim, Strawberry Creek beckons, as does Upper Tonto Creek. Near Tucson there's Bear Creek in Sabino Canyon Recreation Area, and Lemmon Creek on Mount Lemmon. Medium-size creeks are best, as Arizona rivers like the Gila and the Verde tend to be too silty to see anything. They must flow all year to support a diverse population of critters; deep, quiet pools offer peaceful meditation and a fish-eye view of riparian life, while swift water offers an exciting look at life in nature's fast lane. Flow is best when high-country snow gives way to warm spring sunshine, though the water will be as cold as its source. Just beware of territorial crawfish.