FANTASYLAND OF ROCKS

THE SURREAL SPIRES OF THE CHIRICAHUAS ARE NATURE'S 27-MILLION-YEAR WORK-IN-PROGRESS ROCKS

ROCKS OF AGES

I scanned the sullen, thunderheaded sky while standing alongside my jeep at Massai Point in the Chiricahua Mountains. A voodoo conjuring of 120-foot-tallvolcanic rock spires covered the steep slopes belowme, impassive sentinels guarding the long, twisting approach to one of the most remarkable places in the stateChiricahua National Monument's Heart of Rocks.

The 10,000-foot Chiricahua Mountains rise from thesurrounding sea of grass. Their steep volcanic slopes catchspectacular monsoon rainstorms in July, August andSeptember, when most of the annual 20 inches of rainfalls. I had forgotten both my rain slicker and my hikingboots, and now rain-swollen doubts about my plan tohike a 9-mile loop of trails down to the Heart of Rocks andback to Massai Point scudded over my mental horizon.The ranger at the entrance station had assured me thatthe thunderheads would bluster through by afternoon,but these clouds looked committed to their position.

Ah well. Nothing ventured. So, shouldering my camera, extra film and a water bottle, I set off down thewell-maintained trail leading into the depths of a bizarrevolcanic landscape that provides a thrilling lesson inthe patience of water and the persistence of rock.

Walking through the phantasmagoric stone sculptures of the Chiricahuas offers a chance to think like arock or at least to imagine the cataclysmic eventsthat shaped the surface of the Earth.

Some 27 million years ago, southeastern Arizona thundered, split and exploded, thanks to the jostling of twovast crustal plates. Miles below the surface, molten rockcollected in gigantic magma chambers. Mounting pressure in the deeply buried chambers eventually crackedthe overlying rock, unleashing devastating volcanic explosions. The explosions, a thousand times greater thanMount St. Helens', covered 1,200 square miles with lavaand ash, and created the 12-mile-wide, 5,000-foot-deepTurkey Creek Caldera just south of the monument.Roughly 120 cubic miles of rock spewed out of thecaldera, welding pumice, magma and ash into a 1,600-foot-thick rock layer known as rhyolite tuff. As the rockcooled and contracted it cracked, laying the groundwork for the eerie landscape that awaits hikers today.The eruptions stopped about 25 million years ago, whenerosion went to work, forming the fantastic scene.

Water carried away much of the older, softer rockand eroded much of the Turkey Creek Caldera. However,the hard volcanic rocks remaining in and around thecrater formed the current Chiricahua Mountains. Waterseeped into the vertical and horizontal fractures andwidened the cracks as it expanded and contracted witheach winter's freeze. Clay dust also filtered into the fractures, expanding a hundredfold when it got wet, thushelping widen the fractures. Brilliantly colored splotches of lichens sprouted on the surfaces, dissolving therock with a weak acid seeping from their roots. Theprocess created tall hoodoos, stunningly balanced rocksand unlikely shapes that look like ducks, witches, totempoles and countless figures so whimsical they wouldtax the imagination of Walt Disney.

Armed with a guidebook scooped up at the visitorcenter, I was soon stumbling along, craning my neck,oohing and ahhing at the rock wonders surroundingme. Light-colored smears within the pillars showed where (PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 16 AND 17) Late afternoon light spreadsdreamlike colors across Cochise Head and rhyolite columns in theChiricahua National Monument's Heart of Rocks(OPPOSITE PAGE) While "Punch and Judy" continue their quarrel, time movesslowly through the place Apaches called "the land of standing up rocks."(ABOVE) These tiered rock sentries, formed by lava and ash, guard theareas along the Chiricahua Mountains.

layers of pumice had been covered over and fused bythe lava and ash that formed the columns. Cone-shapedpatterns in the rocks showed where jets of gas had created vents in the cooling mass. Layers of what lookedlike stone hailstones showed where nodules had precipitated from the molten rock around a crystal core.

I found it hard to keep my attention on the rocks. Theexceptional geologic activity that had created such strangerock shapes also created an ecological wonderland. Rising abruptly from grasslands to a 10,000-foot peak, theChiricahuas harbor one of the most diverse collections ofplants and animals in North America. The mountainsrepresent both the northernmost range of many tropicalspecies and the southernmost limit of some Rocky Mountain species. The grasslands shade into an oak, juniperand sycamore woodland, which yields to a ponderosa,oak and Apache pine woodland, which gives way to aforest of spruce and fir trees. Rare species like jaguars,ocelots and the catlike jaguarundi have been seen herealong with 169 species of birds, 70 different mammals,32 kinds of snakes, 16 types of lizards and nine speciesof amphibians, as well as 700 species of flowering plants.

ROCKS OF AGES

Gawking from one rock formation to another, I nearly forgot about the gathering storm until I heard the first peals of thunder. I looked south apprehensively to see the black heart of the storm bearing down on me on a rising wind. I had just reached the turnoff to a 1-mile loop trail through the Heart of Rocks, which contains some of the oddest rock shapes in the entire monument. The Apaches called the place "the land of standing up rocks," and the sculpted chunks of rock joined to massive pillars by a narrow neck of stone call to mind a welter of shapes — Indians, conquistadores and even nannies. Some bear descriptive names like "Punch and Judy" or "Duck on a Rock" or "Big Balanced Rock." The trail crossed a stream, which rushed merrily through a cleft in two massive pillars. A riot of different trees rose on every side, many covered with their own layering of lichens. Biologists have identified 30 different species of lichens that grow on emory oaks alone. It seemed like I was under water, drifting past a reef encrusted with coral. And very soon, I was, more or less, under water. The storm overtook me with a blast of wind, a slash of rain and a rumble of thunder. I stopped at a gnarled oak, trying to decide whether to wait out the storm or push on for Massai Point. I was at least 4 miles from the trailhead where I'd left my jeep and would have to climb into and out of one or two deep canyons along the way. Soon I was so soaked there seemed little point in huddling under the inadequate shelter of the oak tree, so I pushed on down the trail, resolved to avoid lingering on any exposed ridges where I might be a target for a lightning bolt.

As I hiked through the pelting rain, the hillsides began to gush with a hundred rivulets. A demented exhilaration bubbled through me, brimming over the dam of my restraint. I splashed up the trail, laughing foolishly, caught in a moment 27 million years in the making.

The storm thundered past in about half an hour. Pausing at a viewpoint along the trail, I marveled at the way in which the steep, wooded slopes had suddenly sprung to life with waterfalls. In another half-hour, the black clouds had magically transformed into brilliant white boils of vapor.

I stopped where a cascade of water frothed down a creviced rock face and across the trail before hurling itself down 200 feet to the swollen Rhyolite Creek. Water echoed, burbled and chortled on every hand. It seeped and rushed and trickled. Droplets jeweled every leaf and glittered on a thousand cobwebs. The leaves blazed green, the sky ached blue and the lichens glowed lurid yellow.

I looked back toward the Heart of Rocks, across the jumbled landscape. The strange shapes seemed in memory like an odd dream in which rocks cavort with one another when you look away — living things with long thoughts and geologic yearnings. So I stood awhile, marveling that storms offer such gifts to those who walk through them. Phoenix-based Peter Aleshire has written previously about the history of the Apache wars in the Chiricahua Mountains, but this time promised to stick to ecology and geology. His new book, The Fox and the Whirlwind: General George Crook and Geronimo, A Paired Biography, was published by John Wiley & Sons.

George Stoching also photographed the Pinaleno Mountains and Baboquivari Mountains for the preceding story.

WHEN YOU GO

Location: 230 miles southeast of Phoenix; 120 miles southeast of Tucson.

Getting There: From Phoenix or Tucson take Interstate 10 east to Willcox (Exit 336). Follow the signs on State Route 186 to its juncture with State Route 181. Turn left and follow 4 miles to the monument entrance.

Lodging: Twenty-four camping spaces with water and rest rooms. No hookups.

Attractions: Visitor Center, 20 miles of hiking trails and a stunning, paved scenic drive to the 6,870-foot overlook at Massai Point.

Travel Advisory: Chiricahua National Monument has no gasoline, food, restaurants or hotels. Hiking trails are well-maintained, but they're often steep and can be hot in the summer, when not subjected to monsoon thunderstorms.

Mountain bikes are restricted to paved roads. Pets must be leashed at all times and are allowed only on designated trails. All animals, plants and natural features, including downed wood, are protected by law.

Additional Information: Chiricahua National Monument, HCR 2, Box 6500, Willcox, AZ 85643; (520) 824-3560.