A PAINTED DESERT WINTER BACKPACK

THE PAINTED DESERT Snow-trekking a Different Kind of Wilderness

0 N THE LAST DAY

Out, photographer Jack Dykinga and I decided to hike from our wintertime base camp in the Painted Desert Wilderness in search of Onyx Bridge.

Before we set out from Kachina Point three days previously, we thought finding Onyx Bridge would be a cinch. According to our map, all we had to do was locate the spot where Lithodendron Wash loops into a pronounced oxbow before running south, then hike upland into what seemed like a well-defined gully. All appeared so easy on the map. But now, out on the ground, we were altogether mystified. Hiking across the flats, we fixed our attention on a particular wash, perhaps a bit wider than others, that splits a couple of tepee-shaped hills. We hiked some distance, finding a lot of petrified wood but no bridges, onyx or otherwise. We retraced our steps, dropped our packs, and hauled out the map again."

Okay," I said, "I see where we went wrong. We should have zeroed in on that benchlike formation there, walked around the side of it, and then up that other draw."

Off we went. But again our search proved futile.

Had the scant winter light and long shadows fooled us in this haunting, shapeshifting terrain? Had our map-reading skills gone south? We were not lost; we were sure of that. We could see Kachina Point clearly, perhaps three miles off, marking the route back to our jumping-off spot. But the Painted Desert, a wonderland now with a light blanket of snow had suddenly become a totally bewildering landscape. Distinguishing features, so clear from a distance, disappeared. Now all cones looked alike, as did all rain-slashed gullies and washes, all mesas and benches. Defeated, for the moment at least, we broke for lunch.

For years Jack and I had planned to backpack in midwinter in the Painted Desert Wilderness along the north bound_ary of the Petrified Forest National Park. Unfortunately most winter weather was just not “wintry” enough. This year, two days before our departure, a major storm swept across the barren steppes of northeast Arizona's high country, blanketing the terrain with snow and leaving in its wake a mass of frigid arctic air. We needed snow. There are no water sources in the Painted Desert Wilderness, so the only way to support a multiday trek is either to carry all your water, return to the trailhead each day to resupply, or rely on snowmelt. The first option would have been impossible, the second inconvenient. Melting snow over a camp stove became our only choice. We arrived at Kachina Point in the north portion of the park shortly after noon on a sunny but very cold day in early January.

An icy wind blew out of the north, and the timid side of me wondered if this was such a good idea. The Painted Desert appeared as a vast wasteland of slumping cones, crumbling ridges, and winding arroyos, relieved here and there only by ground hugging high-desert scrub. Scanning the horizon with binoculars, I focused on the Black Forest, our destination. Scattered at the bases of cliffs and in the eroded gullies lay huge segments of petrified logs recently exposed after being buried for centuries. We would set up base camp in the Black Forest for three days of hiking and exploring. We had to move fast. Park rangers had warned that although daytime temperatures were warming only into the low 30°s F., the sun shone toasty enough to thaw the top few inches of the “permafrost,” turning the surface into a vast slough of slickslime marl. The footing had become treacherously soft and greasy on the trail going down, and, balancing the weight of heavy backpacks, we gingerly descended to the desert floor on a series of switchbacks. A lastminute addition to my gear, thanks to Jack, was a telescoping hiking pole with a sharp, pointed tip, which helped keep me upright. Once we attained the flats, we found the going less arduous although plenty sloppy. By then the top layer of soil was defrosted completely, except in the shade, where it remained granite hard. Great gouts of gummy red mud clung to my boots, adding weight to each labored step. Lithodendron Wash, the major arroyo draining the Painted Desert Wilderness, follows a sinuous path across the terrain, so that we crossed it two or three times on the way to our base campsite. Where not frozen solid, Lithodendron ran full with a slurry of water, ochre-colored clays, and icy mush. Crossings were dicey. I probed with my hiking staff, testing both the water depth and the supporting strength of the ice. At the last crossing, I slipped as I descended the wash bank. I was more embarrassed than hurt, but sticky red clay now smeared the seat of my pants and a new pair of gloves. Once on the other side of the wash, we searched for a campsite in the Black Forest, deciding, finally, on a windswept but relatively dry bench. The wind would be more than an annoyance but was prefer-able to the soupy terrain on the flats.

If the time between winter camp-outs is long, you forget about problems created by cold. Although the sun had thawed the soil's top inch or so, the layers beneath re-mained frozen as solid as concrete, too hard to pound stakes in, so we collected large rocks to tether our tent guy lines. As eve-ning gathered, the temperature plummeted, and I added layers of synthetic fleece topped with a heavy-duty windbreaker. By the time the sun slipped beneath the hori-zon, the temperature had dropped below 20°. We heated a freeze-dried dinner of spaghetti and mushrooms, gobbled it down, and almost immediately bedded down in the tentfor the night. Deepening cold and more than 12 hours of darkness lay ahead.

I awakened during the night, loosened the draw-cord fastener on the hood of my heavy expedition sleeping bag, and poked my head through the open tent door into the night air. My warm breath instantly vaporized into small clouds. Ice crystals covered the tent, inside and out. Rime coat-ed the top of my sleeping bag, my sleeping cap, and assorted gear bags scattered outside the tent. Frosty stars speckled the clear sky.

My watch read 12:30 A.M. After nearly six hours in the sack, my bones felt stiff and achy, and dawn was still a long way off. Not for maybe seven hours would the wan winter sun squint over one of the Painted Desert's slate-blue mesas on the southeast horizon. I checked a thermome-ter lying atop my backpack outside the tent. Not quite 10° above zero.

In the morning, we hiked along Litho-dendron Wash, occasionally venturing overland into one of the corrugated gullies where tons of petrified logs, recently ex-posed by erosion, lay scattered atop the landscape. When Lt. Amiel Weeks Whipple surveyed this territory in 1853, he was as-tonished at all this wood turned to stone and named the wide arroyo Lithodendron literally, "stonetree."

The world's largest concentration of pet-rified wood litters the Painted Desert. Recently exposed chips, nuggets, blocks, andgiant logs tumble daily from multilayered cones and eroding cliffs. A grapefruit-size chunk of the stuff has the heft of a cannon-ball, so it is no surprise to learn that a cubic foot weighs about 170 pounds. The real surprise of petrified wood, once you wipe it clean of red clay, is its jewellike brilliance. Turned in the sun, the many facets of its surface flare into a kaleidoscope of colors.

In Navajo mythology, these petrifications, which lie exposed across the Paint-ed Desert, are the bones and other body parts-toes, scales, bits of feather, claws - of ogres killed long ago by twin heroes Monster Slayer and Child Born For Water. And the blood of these creatures stains the ground red.

The geologic interpretation is no less fantastic. The petrified logs we see today are the remnants of huge tropical trees buried here more than 200 million years ago. Over time the wood cells of these trees were replaced by multicolored min-eral crystals, transforming them into poly-chromatic stone. During ensuing eons, erosion gradually exposed the now petri-fied forest.

Relaxing on an outcropping after lunch, our search for Onyx Bridge momentarily forgotten, we talked about how in three days of hiking we had observed close up the processes that continue to shape the Painted Desert-freezing, thawing, wind, and snow among them. The white dusting of snow was a bonus, adding another hue to the terrain's colorful geometry. And, although it would soon vanish, we had found enough snow to melt for water.

"You know," Jack said from his perch on a sun-warmed petrified log, "I don't think I've seen this place look more spectacular."

I thought about the times I'd been here, spring, summer, and now winter. The sun reflected brilliantly off the nearby snowfield. I felt relaxed, renewed. "You're right," I responded. "Why don't we do Onyx Bridge next time?"

Author's Note: No water is available in the Painted Desert Wilderness. Hikers should carry a minimum of two quarts per day for each person. The weather can be extreme, and quick to change. Check with the Petrified Forest National Park, (520) 524-6228, about current conditions and entrance fees.