AH, WILDERNESS . . . MY FOOT!

THREADING THE Needle's Eye

A Trek in This Lush Wilderness Seemed Like a Great Idea ... This spring held several firsts for me. I turned 50, had my gallbladder removed, and went backpacking none of which I ever want to do again.

The plan was basically a good one. Photographer Bernadette Heath and I would join Bill Gibson from the Bureau of Land Management to explore the Needle's Eye Wilderness, a lush but demanding 8,760-acre expanse about 20 miles southeast of Globe along the Gila River. I had never backpacked before, but people did it all the time, right? After I read the BLM's description of Needle's Eye "challenging hiking can be experienced in this remote unroaded area" - I recruited my 15-year-old son, Jarod, to carry the heavy stuff. Bill Gibson made all the arrangements to get us into Needle's Eye because there is no open public access to this Wilderness. You need a recreation permit from the San Carlos Apache Indian Tribe, authorization to cross State Trust lands, and permission from the owners of private land all in advance plus a four-wheel-drive vehicle. This also is a leave-no-trace camping area: What you pack in, you pack out, leaving behind only footprints.

We planned to explore Mescal Creek Canyon, a difficult-to-reach area that, the BLM promises, will deliver "a high level of solitude to hardy adventurers." We left our trucks and strapped on backpacks. With a game trail to follow along Mescal Creek, this hike would be a piece of cake. It wasn't long, though, before we lost any semblance of trail and resorted to boulder-hopping and bushwhacking. My light backpack grew heavier with each hop and whack.

Abundant winter moisture had caused the luxuriant riparian plant life to bloom extravagantly. This, in turn, caused my nose to run extravagantly. Sneezing and snorting, I teetered from rock to rock as we crossed and recrossed Mescal Creek.

The farther we hiked along the stream, the prettier it became. Part of Mescal Creek's charm involves its unexpectedness in the desert. The clear stream, bordered with large sycamores, black walnut and cot-tonwood trees, and thick with cattails, wil-lows, and catclaw, flows amidst a jungle of cactuses. Bill explained that Needle's Eye is one of the least visited of Arizona'sWilderness areas because of its ruggedness. I could tell the native gnat population hadn't seen a hiker in a while. Hungry for fresh meat, they swarmed around my head for a quick bite. After swatting futilely, I brought out the bug repellent. The gnats weren't repelled, but I smelled repulsive enough that my fellow backpackers kept their distance.

The rumble of running water reverberated from deep in the limestone cliffs, but where water dripped out of the rock, it sounded like a gentle spring rain.

I exclaimed about Mescal Creek's beauty, but Bill said, "You haven't seen anything yet," and trudged on. When Bernadette stopped to take photos of small waterfalls and wildflowers, Bill would dryly comment, "We haven't got to the good stuff yet."

By the time Bill found a good camping spot, my pack had mushroomed into a 450-pound weight, giving me a healthy respect for backpackers. Gladly abandoning my heavy load, I kept on my belt holding a two-liter water bottle. I stowed emergency items in a tiny zipper pocket: my driver's license, so someone could identify my bleached bones; a $10 bill and a charge card in case I found something to buy; a cigarette lighter to send up smoke signals. I was prepared for any emergency.

The canyon now started to change character dramatically. The western side remained desert terrain with steep slopes of red rock studded with saguaros, chollas, ocotillos, and yuccas. But the eastern side transformed to gray limestone cliffs pockmarked with small caves and cracks. Springs bubbled from under the walls, making the ground spongy and mossy.

After setting up camp, we continued hiking. When we reached the Weeping Wall, it seemed we were in a rain forest instead of the Sonoran Desert. The rumble of running water reverberated from deep in the limestone cliffs, but where water dripped out of the rock, it sounded like a gentle spring rain.

Hanging ferns and green velvety moss softened the craggy cliff. Sweet-smelling yellow columbine blossoms made bright polka-dots on the dark-green background.

A black walnut tree draped in wild grape-vines provided a cool canopy in this isolated sanctuary. Where small caves appeared near eye level, we peered into miniature grottoes with tiny stalactites and stalagmites. Water, rich with dissolved limestone, dripped over the ferns, gradually turning them into fragile white stones, with a tracery of the veins in the leaves.

Fascinated, we followed Mescal Creek farther south toward its junction with the Gila River. Springs continued to join the creek, and we rounded each bend eager to discover new treasures. Jarod kept hollering, "Hey, Mom, look at this," as one splendid sight after another came into view.

Suddenly, the desert won the fight and captured both sides of the canyon. We were forced to climb along a sheer outcropping we nicknamed "the rock," holding on by our fingernails and feeling for toeholds. Jarod thought this was great, but I didn't. By the time I conquered "the rock," I felt lightheaded and nauseous, which I attributed to my fear of heights.

When we neared a series of waterfalls that would take serious climbing to get close to, Bernadette suggested we head back to camp. She had noticed I was pale with a slight green tint around my gills and offered to go on ahead and get some Gatorade and double back to meet me on the trail. That sounded fine to me.

Bill and Jarod led the way slowly back to camp. Soon I was in the middle of a full-blown case of heat exhaustion straight out Of a first aid handbook. Wisely, Bill decided I wouldn't make it to camp, so he left Jarod in charge while he ran to help Bernadette bring the camp to me.

I recovered enough to realize if I couldn't walk out of this canyon, it would take either a helicopter or a UFO to evacuate me. Either way, I'd end up as the lead story on the 10 o'clock news and never hear the end of it. Besides, nighttime loomed and "the rock" stood menacingly between me and the camp. I didn't want Bill and Bernadette trying to negotiate supplies around that terrible precipice, so I promised Jarod I'd pay half for a new bike if he'd help me around it.

That's all it took to motivate him, and, with some pushing and pulling, he soon had me inching along the rock edge. Halfway around, my head started swirling again. Luckily, I found a tree growing out of a crack with enough space behind it and the rock for me to squeeze into.

Jarod wasn't so sure a new bike was worth all this trouble. He was getting worried, too, and, frankly, I wasn't so sure of myself, either. He asked, "What should I do, Mom?"

Still dizzy, disoriented, and delirious, I replied in a tiny singsong voice, "Remember your Scout training. If-the-faceis-pale, raise-the-tail. If-the-face-is-red, raise-the-head."

No matter how goofy my medical advice, Jarod took it as gospel. He said, "Well, you're sure pale, Mom." Then he grabbed my legs and slapped them up against the rock wall. I was now wedged L-shaped into a crack in the cliff with blood rushing to my head.

The thought of someone finding my dead body in this position made me promise Jarod a new pair of jeans if he'd just get me off "the rock."

Jarod coached while I clung like a bug to a wall, and we managed to get off that obstacle and across the river before my knees turned to rubber. This time there was no going on. Not even the fear of public humiliation could make me stand up.

As dark approached, Jarod hurriedly gathered wood for a fire. I mustered all my energy and crawled to the small flame where I collapsed, my nose only a couple of inches from a big dry cow pie. I weighed the indignity of my nose next to manure against the energy it would take to move, and both the cow pie and I stayed put. The fire was so comforting, I gratefully pledged my new four-wheel-drive vehicle to Jarod if I died, and he perked right up.

Realizing Bill and Bernadette might not find us in the dark, Jarod went ahead to look for them, leaving me and the cow pie waiting for the Angel of Death.

Suddenly, a clattering noise erupted in the bushes about 15 feet away, getting louder and louder. I didn't think the Angel of Death sounded like a woodpecker hammering on a metal pole, but something was definitely out there.

"Get away," I hollered. "Leave me alone." But the noise just increased, and then I saw them. A tribe of coatimundis had discovered me dying in the middle of their territory. Looking like a combination raccoon, anteater, and monkey, this strange creature roams southern Arizona canyons in bands of up to 20, exploring and chattering over everything.

Coatimundis are omnivorous, eating both plant and animal, but before they could decide which I was, Jarod returned with Bill and some Gatorade. I got enough of my strength back to get my nose out of the cow pie, and that further irritated the coatimundis. Their jabbering increased until we could hardly hear each other talk.

With the loud urging of the coatimundis, and by the light of a full moon and Bill's Gratefully, I crawled into my tent for the night but was soon awakened by a rustling sound, a foul smell, and grunting noises.

small flashlight, we stumbled 200 yards through a cactus patch to Bernadette's camp under a hackberry tree. No luxury hotel ever looked better.

Bernadette had paid dearly in her rush to rescue me. Some sharp-thorned assailant shrub she'd tangled with had ripped her favorite hiking pants right across the rear end. She had fixed the tear with a threeinch safety pin, but every time she bent over, it popped open, giving her a good jab. Between the rushing and jabbing, she mismeasured the water for our dehydrated Chicken and Pasta Dinner, so we ate Chicken and Pasta Soup instead.

Gratefully, I crawled into my tent for the night but was soon awakened by a rustling sound, a foul smell, and grunting noises. Javelinas had bumped into Jarod's tent, and they weren't any happier with him than the coatimundis had been with me. The wildlife in this Wilderness wanted us out of there, and I was ready to leave it to them.

The next morning, after I put a wet washcloth on my head and grabbed my bottle of Gatorade, we headed out. As far as I was concerned, the coatimundis, javelinas, and all the other wildlife could have the rugged Needle's Eye Wilderness, even if it was one of the prettiest places I've ever visited.

WHEN YOU GO

The Needle's Eye Wilderness is about 20 miles southeast of Globe, and public access is restricted. Before you plan a trip there, you must obtain all of the required permits from the BLM's Tucson Field Office, 12661 E. Broadway, Tucson, AZ 85748, (520) 722-4289; or BLM's Public Land Information Center, 222 N. Central Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85004, (602) 417-9300.

The Wilderness offers a rugged outdoor experience, so it's not recommended for inexperienced hikers. You'll need a four-wheel-drive vehicle. Avoid the area during the high temperatures of summer. The BLM's staff can offer additional safety and recreation tips.