adventure

Past and Future Meet in THE AGELESS WATERS OF THE SAN PEDRO RIVER

Text by Roseann Beggy Hanson Photographs by Jack Dykinga Fifty miles south of Sierra Vista, below the Mexican border in the hills called the Sierra de los Ajos, the earth squeezes out a tiny trickle of water. Fed by other rivulets from the foothills of the Sierra Madre, the San Pedro River grows fatter with each passing mile on its course north. Near Cananea, a large Mexican copper mining town, the burgeoning San Pedro winds past great oily slag heaps and railroad tracks. Soon it begins to run like a Southwestern river not straight, wide, and deep, a by-product of channelization and damming, but twisting and turning in elegant oxbows, slow and shallow, offering its water to trees that stabilize its banks and shade its pools from the thirsty sun. Beneath a canopy of shimmering light and greenness, the San Pedro slides quietly beneath a rusty barbed-wire fence into the United States, accompanied only by the bubbling songs of vermilion flycatchers, the piercing calls of green kingfishers, and the swift shadows of gray hawks. There are no cattle on the banks here, no copper mines or gravel pits, only dense groves of young cottonwoods and willows. Only the hardiest of bird-watchers and hikers come to admire this last unfettered river of the Southwest as it enters its 40 miles of sanctuary, the Bureau of Land Management's San Pedro Riparian National Conservation Area.

One day last year, standing on a bluff overlooking the San Pedro River that slithers across the desert valley like a bright-green tropical snake, I conceived a plan: I would backpack four days from Hereford, following its snaking form as far as I could through the federal conservation area.

November 2. Hereford Bridge parking lot to first camp, six river miles.

Just after 1 P.M. my husband, Jonathan, drove off, waving, leaving me and photographer Jack Dykinga on the west bank of the San Pedro River at the Hereford Bridge, adjusting our backpacks and drinking a few more liters of water. We'd chosen a beautiful fall day, perfect 80-degree air ruffling the newly golden leaves in the cottonwoods.

Our plans had changed many times as I gathered information for this trek due to concerns about safety and high water caused by El Niño storms. We planned to cover the almost 30 river miles to Fairbank about 15 miles below the conservation area's northern border.

Packs adjusted, we dropped down into the riverbed under the great green canopy, sloshed our way across the foot-deep, twoyard-wide river the first of countless crossings and settled into an easy pace on a well-worn riverside trail. I saw tracks of dogs, horses, people. Some trash. Then tracks of raccoons, coyotes, white-tailed deer. The trail and people signs diminished, then disappeared. Birds called, and katydids whirred like automatic sprinklers now the only sounds.

Meandering across the shallow river, following the clearest route on one bank, then the other, then into the channel, itself, we never left the cool, cathedrallike overhang of cottonwoods and willows. Looking beyond the trees, we saw bright sun, broad floodplains, faraway mountains. This reminded Jack of canyon-walking with giant trees substituting for rock walls.

From our starting point at Hereford Road to State Route 90, about 12 river miles north at the San Pedro House visitor center, the riverine canopy remained a cottonwood-willow forest in its prime: magnificent 50-foot-tall Fremont cottonwoods and dense Goodding willows towering over a thick understory of the next generation of saplings, catclaw acacia, mesquites, hackberries, and wolfberries.

SAN PEDRO RIVER

When healthy, this is one of the most biologically productive forest types in the U.S. The willow-cottonwood family hosts more insects and more breeding birds than any other plant family (on the San Pedro, more than 400 bird species have been recorded). Unfortunately cottonwoodwillow forests are the most endangered forest type in the country. More than 95 percent of Arizona's historic riparian habitats are gone or severely degraded. The forests of the San Pedro suffered under centuries of overuse. But since Congress established the conservation area, and cattle and other commercial operations were removed, the river has regenerated at amazing speed. About six miles along, the sun slid behind the Huachuca Mountains to the west, and we set up camp. Nearby sprawled 50 or so acres of now-rare sacaton-mesquite grassland. In the mid-1800s, an explorer described these bottomlands as ". . . covered with the most luxuriant grass we had anywhere seen. . . Our mules fed upon it as they traveled for it was from three to four feet high in many places. . . ." The ground cover is believed to have been sacaton, a big bunchgrass that the Army and settlers later used as wild hay.

We've used this river and its resources for a long time, I realized as I lay on a sandbar, snug in my down bag against the near-freezing temperatures. On this trek, we would pass sites where man hunted and camped 11,000 years ago.

NOVEMBER 3. First camp to just south of Lewis Springs, seven river miles.

A predawn coyote chorus served as my alarm clock, but I lingered in my bag to make tea, eat biscotti, and watch a nearby stand of fall-kissed adolescent cottonwoods flame in the golden dawn.

Not far from camp, we came to a decaying cottonwood-willow gallery along an oxbow river curve cut off from the main channel when the river changed course; a new mesquite bosque is taking its place. A ladderbacked woodpecker called in alarm, and two white-tailed does sprinted away as we passed the grove to find the main river course again as it S's endlessly across the valley.

After lunch we began to see human tracks again — we were within a mile of State Route 90 and the San Pedro House visitors center, the most heavily used section of the conservation area. We pushed on past the noisy bridge, but it was several miles before we lost the human tracks and trash.

SAN PEDRO RIVER

We spread our sleeping bags at the end of a long, straight section of river lined by uniformly sized young cottonwoods. The effect reminded me of the long reflecting (ABOVE, LEFT) The trunks of Fremont cottonwoods play a tangled symphony of sunlight and shadow. A sign of water in arid lands, cottonwoods provide homes for countless bird, insect, and animal species, and they are a favorite food for beavers.

(ABOVE) Native sacaton grass runs to the edge of the San Pedro River, where a line of Fremont cottonwoods defines the watercourse.

SAN PEDRO RIVER WHEN YOU GO

Contact the Bureau of Land Management about current river conditions and necessary permits before you plan any overnight trips in the San Pedro Riparian National Conservation Area; there are a number of study areas that are closed to overnight camping. You can reach the BLM, San Pedro Office, at 1763 Paseo San Luis, Sierra Vista, AZ 85635; (520) 458-3559.

For a taste of the river sans backpack, Friends of San Pedro leads guided day hikes along the river; call the nonprofit organization at (520) 459-2555. Friends of San Pedro also operates a bookstore and interpretive center at the historic San Pedro House on State Route 90 and the river.

For overnight river treks during the fall, there are two schools of thought on footwear. Because he was carrying a heavily loaded pack, photographer Jack Dykinga wore his sturdy leather (treated with waterproofing) boots and water-resistant gaiters. His feet stayed comfortable and dry until we hit the squishier and deeper sections below Charleston (where the water was over the tops of the gaiters). Because I have strong ankles and feet, I wore low-cut but sturdy trail running shoes with a snug spandex collar to keep sand out, and dense (not ragg) wool socks. Though wet most of the time, my feet stayed warm and comfortable because of the wool. Before attempting a long river hike, make sure your footwear combo works, or you'll suffer terrible blisters from the friction. We filtered our water (always necessary), and did not need tents. Mini binoculars were a plus for birdand butterfly-watching.

pool fronting the Taj Mahal. After stuffing ourselves with a cranberry-walnut chicken dinner, we settled into our sleeping bags. Just as a crescent moon presented itself over the "pool," a great blue heron flew just yards over our heads, steely wings glinting in the starlight, straight up the river toward the moon.

NOVEMBER 4. Just south of Lewis Spring to third camp, 10 river miles.

I woke up with a sore throat and more body aches than usual for a 105-pound person carrying a 35-pound pack and trying to keep pace with a 6-foot-plus companion. My shoes were frozen bricks, and I had to thaw them over the stove before I could cram into them. This is not fun, I thought. Three cups of tea, two Ibuprofen, and a mile and a half later, I felt better as we passed the side drainage leading to Murray Spring, one of the more interesting of many archaeological sites on the San Pedro.

Along this verdant corridor, humans have hunted and farmed and raised families for at least 11,000 years, from the people of the prehistoric Clovis Culture, who hunted mammoths and bison, to Hohokam and Sobaipuris, who planted fields of corn and beans irrigated with river water, to military Spaniards, and now industrial Americans. Artifacts, including Clovis points used to hunt mammoths and bison, were found at Murray Spring. (See Arizona Highways, Nov. '92.) Being careful to stay along the river course to avoid trespassing, we passed near a two-mile section of private property where the presence of modern man is announced with Keep Out signs and enough unleashed, snarling dogs that we moved at a fast pace until we reached the ranch of our friends Sandy and Al Anderson. We relaxed in their yard wolfing snacks and chatting. Then we retrieved the extra clothes, food, and film we stashed at the ranch two days before.

The rest of the day was long. From the Andersons' place, we still had seven miles to go, past the site of Charleston, where 500 souls lived a century ago processing silver ore from the Tombstone mines, through the high rock Narrows, past more rusting machinery and pilings. We were quiet and moved at a swift, almost hypnot-ic pace along the river course, endlessly crossing, drying out, and crossing. We hit the sack at dark and slept soundly despite the freezing air, lulled by the burbling river. NOVEMBER 5. Camp 3 to Fairbank, seven river miles.

Our final leg. We were tired but happy that we had such perfect weather and the chance to see this rare wild river so intimately. The cottonwood-willow gallery along this stretch is young, and there is deeper, softer sand, a natural downriver deposition along an undammed river. In one place, a patch of quicksand surprised Jack when he jumped from a cutbank across the river, sinking up to his thighs.

An hour past noon, we hauled ourselves into the parking lot at Fairbank, a well-preserved 1880s ghost town. Bob McNab, the friendly site host, invited us to visit for a while as we popped a couple of cold drinks, but our stomachs were an-ticipating the food at an Italian restaurant we know in Sierra Vista.

There we ordered big plates of lasagna and tall glasses of water, fresh from the aquifer. I thought about a new university study that shows Sierra Vista's wells are already drawing from the San Pedro. It may be only a matter of time before we drink it all up, pour it all onto lawns and into swimming pools. I changed my order to a soft drink instead, and we offered a toast to the wild San Pedro.

Once it flows beyond the borders of the conservation area, the San Pedro retreats below the hot sand for most of the year on its way north to its confluence with the Gila River near Winkleman 100 miles away. The Gila journeys past Phoenix and Gila Bend to join the Colorado River near Yuma. In a good year, when flow is high and all the water isn't siphoned off, the waters of the Colorado will cross into Mexico and run to the Sea of Cortes, where they give life to the sea, to the fish, and the fishermen. And ultimately it will provide much of the rain that feeds the Sierra Madre, and that little trickle that is the beginning of the San Pedro River.