GOAT TREKKING

Chip, a black and white Alpine, and his friends do the heavy lifting while campers and a gourmet chef traverse the Dragoons in style Chip looks over his shoulder and seems to gesture with a flip of his handsome head for the laggards to pick up the pace. Eight hikers are plodding up a steep trail in southern Arizona's Dragoon Mountains. These mysterious rock formations have been landmarks for more than a thousand years. The switchbacks slow the humans, but Chip, a black and white Alpine goat, scampers along despite his heavy pack. The Dragoons seem crowded with ghosts of the past. The canyons and towering rocks have heard the soft swish of the fiber sandals of prehistoric wanderers, the clatter of Spanish conquistadores as they passed nearby, the creak of stagecoach wheels through nearby valleys and the clop-clop of cavalry troops from Fort Bowie. Today, RVs and mountain bikes rattle across the roads. Hikers looking for a new way to see Arizona enlist the DiMaggio family's Purple Mountain Pack Goats. Tommy DiMaggio will cook a gourmet meal and his five goats will do the heavy toting. Pack goats, belonging to the same genus (Capra) as mountain goats, are right at home walking these rocky trails.

The adventure begins when a truckload of goats meets cars filled with trekkers at an intersection just north of Tombstone. Middlemarch Road bumps and dips away from the intersection with State Route 80 to make a beeline for the sculpted forms of the Dragoons. Turning north by northwest onto Forest Service Road 687, the caravan traces the western slope of the giant rock pile. From car windows, hikers gaze at bulbous rocks sprawling like elephants at a watering hole and impossible-seeming assemblages forming pinnacles that could tumble at a touch. Lured by promises of secrets hidden in clefts of rock, the group heads for Council Rocks in the Coronado National Forest, the starting point for part one of their exploration. Legend says Apache leaders met here to decide their strategies. A short trail leads up from the parking lot. Chip bats his long eyelashes and his buddy, Chief, stretches his neck over the stock racks to

Goat Trekking

nuzzle a hiker, but the stop will be short, so the goats must stay in the truck. The National Forest Service carved footholds into the rock, and the hikers use them as steps to hoist themselves over the boulders that mask the meeting area.

DiMaggio, a Tucson chef-turned-goat wrangler, enlisted retired forester John Dell to help lead trips. Reaching the top of the boulders, Dell points out that the group just walked by some ancient graffiti, dating from long before the Apaches. Backtracking across the rock platform, they gaze up at streaks of red and black dancing across the overhanging rock. Large lizards, lightning bolts, rivers, rain the patterns making diaries or maps or simply artistic expression. But they are not petroglyphs, designs incised into the rock surface.

"These are pictographs painted on the surface of the rock," Dell explains. "They were probably left by Mogollon people who were in this area around 250 B.C. to A.D. 1400."

Dell points to mortar holes where women knelt to grind acorns, rubbing with rounded stones. "Mesquite trees provided wood and beans. Oaks along the stream below furnished acorns. The Mogollon had very bad teeth because they got a lot of granite in their acorn meal," Dell says.

DiMaggio is eager to show the group a large, flat rock in a natural cave. The cave - really an overhanging rock with sun flooding through an angled skylight, is naturally roofed making it a safe haven in bad weather.

"Sit right there," DiMaggio says as he bounces into the cave. "They would have meetings here and Cochise would sit there. Everyone would hang around and say, 'Now what are we doing?'" DiMaggio admits he has no evidence of such historic gatherings, but sometimes, he says, "You just have to picture it. It is logical."

Leaving the cave and striding across the rock platform, Dell reminds his listeners that the Mogollon people were long gone when the Athabascan-speaking ancestors of the modern Apaches arrived in the 16th to 17th centuries. In 1540, Coronado and the conquistadores followed the San Pedro Valley. The hikers peer off into the dusty distance at the meandering ribbon of green and wonder if Coronado missed the rocky wonders of the Dragoons. Nineteenth-century maps used the name Dragoon, coming from the U.S. Dragoons stationed near the mountains in the mid-19th century.

Back on the gully-crossing dirt road, the (ABOVE) Goats love the individual attention they get when DiMaggio bottle-feeds them. (RIGHT) Angel, the DiMaggio family's pet dachshund puppy, enjoys riding in Stripe's pannier.

vehicles head for the second part of the day's adventure. After a sharp turn at a ranch fence and crossing several meanders of a stream, the road stops at the parking area for Cochise Trail, which leads into the West Stronghold. The goats have put up with an hour-and-a-half truck ride from Tucson, and they wait while their human friends explore Council Rocks. So when the truck stops and DiMaggio lets the gate down, novices expect goats to race off in all directions.

Not so. When Pan, a small 2-year-old, ventures 20 yards away from the truck to check out low-hanging cottonwood leaves beside the stream, DiMaggio's 10year-old son, Dylan, goes to lead him back. But DiMaggio says, "He's fine. He won't go anywhere."

And, sure enough, when DiMaggio and his wife, Teri, and Dylan start attaching ropes to collars in preparation for packing the goats, Pan comes back to see what is going on. It takes half an hour to load the goats, allowing trekkers time to get accustomed to their new companions and to admire the silvery Arizona sycamore and rare Arizona cypress trees in the lush riparian area.Chief, a red-brown Oberhasli goat, approaches a hiker, then gently bumps him. When someone scratches Chief under the chin, other goats cluster around like jealous puppies wanting to be petted.DiMaggio slings saddle blankets on the goats' bony backs to protect against rubbing. Handmade cross-bow pack saddles made specifically for goats have flat wooden sides to support the loads. Tommy and Teri careFully balance the canvas bags with 17-quart ice chests on Chief, the largest goat.Two-year-old Stripe gets a basket seat in a woven pannier. Teri scoops up herdachshund puppy and tucks him into the open basket. Stripe cranes his neck backward to see his passenger, and for a moment, dachshund and goat are nose to nose. Finally, everything is ready for the 2-mile hike.The national forest trail into West Stronghold starts across an intermittent stream where hikers thread single file through a zigzag gate. But a fully loaded pack goat is somewhat wider than a backpacking human, and Pan stops, calculating that the space is too narrow. Goats and hikers collide in a gentle pileup.Would-be helpers try to push from behind before DiMaggio squeezes past Pan and leads him by his collar. Once Pan has twisted through, the other goats follow, and the goats and humans find their positions in the line.

On the trail, the group spreads out, faster

The goats always draw a curious crowd. And the curiosity is mutual goats stop munching and crane their necks to see the newcomers.

hikers leading the goats, slower ones following the solicitous Chip at the rear of the group. Pan trots to the head of the line. The lead goat, Chief, too disciplined to fuss about being edged out, settles into second place. The path starts out broad and gentle through shady oaks but soon narrows and climbs steeply.

Two goats squeeze past a slow-moving hiker. "Just shove back," says DiMaggio. But humans have to learn their place in the line, too.

As he climbs, Dell points to telltale animal droppings. Coyotes have marked a rock midtrail with their berry-colored leavings. "They claim territory that way," says Dell, "and inevitably mark the middle of a trail." More annoying to the hikers are the "horse apples" to be dodged.

Dell warns about another hazard to feet and ankles the shindagger plant, also known as amole. It looks like a bunch of grass, but the stiff, sharp prongs played havoc with the conquistadores' horses, and will slice a careless hiker's ankles. Everyone stays in the middle of the path, safely away from armed plants, until they spot a spiny cholla cactus that is claiming territory in midtrail. Plants mark their territory, too.

About a mile from the start, Dell pauses to point out Knob Hill near the mouth of the canyon below. The landmark, a distinctive round cone, also is known as Treaty Hill.

A legend links the evenly contoured hill to a peace "treaty." "When Cochise and General Howard met for peace talks, they needed to let passersby know there was a truce. The last thing they needed was to have a bunch of cavalry or Apaches come in with their guns blazing and sabers flashing. So the Indian agent Tom Jeffords and one of Cochise's sons put up a sheet-size white flag on top of Knob Hill.

mGoat Trekking

(LEFT) Assuming another role, chef DiMaggio prepares lunch for backcountry gourmands.

"The goats make the meal possible," he says. "No way would I pack in a two-burner stove."

Some hikers climbing up from East Stronghold had been told goats were coming up the trail and wait to see this novel sight. According to DiMaggio, the goats always draw a curious crowd. And the curiosity is mutual goats stop munching and crane their necks to see the newcomers.

Our group lolls on rocks and logs or on a Mexican blanket, its once-vibrant stripes faded and the corners torn. A soft breeze dries damp shirts and stirs a woodsy aroma from the junipers. Some other day, they will return and try out the East Stronghold Trail. For now, they lazily take in the view across the canyon where chartreuse lichens color the pink face of the cliffs in a gaudy 1960s color scheme.

Relaxed and full of food and facts, the hikers amble back down the mountain, storing up visions of red monoliths. Shadows fall across the trail as the late afternoon wind kicks up. They pull jackets from goat packs and walk a little faster. In the past, the sounds of sandals, boots, clanking armor and horses' hooves echoed off the canyon walls. Now goat bells sing quietly, joining the whispers of history.

"It was an unusual sight on the hill, noticed by the military traffic going around the mountain from Tucson to Forts Bowie, Huachuca and Buchanan."

Near the top of the rise, the trail narrows and the hillside tilts sharply down, loose dirt ready to carry an incautious hiker plummeting into the thick red manzanita below. The goats seem to levitate along the slippery slopes.

DiMaggio points out the pawprint of a mountain lion on the trail. Hikers glance nervously into the junipers above the path, but if the cat were near, the goats would sense it. Wranglers learn to recognize a curl of the upper lip that helps the goats test the air when they suspect danger.

A fence marks the saddle where the 2-mile Cochise Trail from West Stronghold meets the slightly longer East Stronghold Trail. The goats explore the piñon trees and grasses, looking for the best nibbling. It takes more than leaves to satisfy the hungry humans. Like a magician, DiMaggio pulls a trailside restaurant from the goat packs. A folding table becomes the kitchen, providing space for a propane stove.

Pasta simmers in a garlic sauce. Tired trekkers revive around a platter of antipasto, spearing strips of sardines and Greek olives, spreading goat cheese on crackers. DiMaggio stirs chicken chunks into the pasta. The diners praise the chef, but he laughs.

WHEN YOU GO

Location: Purple Mountain Pack Goats has a special-use permit from the Forest Service to lead groups of hikers on goat treks in the Coronado National Forest in southeastern Arizona.

Fees: Twoto four-day camping trips range from $45 to $95 per person per day; also available are elementary school educational visits and hands-on tutorials for mentally challenged adults.

Additional Information: Purple Mountain Pack Goats, (520) 886-7721; online, [email protected].