HIKE OF THE MONTH

hike of the month Following the Bill Williams River Requires Bushwhacking and Scrambling Over Rocks

With the roar of a jet, water from Alamo Lake sluiced through a release tube at the bottom of its namesake dam, freeing the Bill Williams River to resume its westerly meander to the Colorado River. As my partner and I hiked along this rakish stream through the Rawhide Mountains Wilderness of west-central Arizona, we found a challenging adventure as wild as the mountain man for whom the river was named.

At the beginning of the hike just west of the dam, the water skipped politely across the boulder-strewn riverbed between magma-topped mountains that rise in every direction. A path paralleling the river brushed through desert lavender, and the flowers' peppery aroma mingled with the sweetness of the damp ground. About a mile and a half from the dam, however, the river's attitude changed abruptly when rock walls squeezed the flow into a 5-foot-deep pool. The river became the trail here; hikers have the choice of swimming the pool, using a flotation device or turning back.

Outfitted with an inflatable boat, we headed toward the edge of the pool, a balancing act on slippery moss-covered rocks as we portaged across a silvery blast of rapids. Just past the roil, we launched into the quiet corridor of the Narrows, the doorway to the back of beyond.

act on slippery moss-covered rocks as we portaged across a silvery blast of rapids. Just past the roil, we launched into the quiet corridor of the Narrows, the doorway to the back of beyond.

On the other side of the Narrows, we were back on solid ground, and the river, surrounded by the desert and its prickly appointments, snuggled between the Rawhide Mountains to the north and the Buckskin Mountains to the south. Jaggededged ridgelines, avalanches of giant boulders and the remote atmosphere added wildness like what might have existed when Bill Williams trapped beaver in the river around 1840. From there to appointments, snuggled between the Rawhide Mountains to the north and the Buckskin Mountains to the south. Jaggededged ridgelines, avalanches of giant boulders and the remote atmosphere added wildness like what might have existed when Bill Williams trapped beaver in the river around 1840. From there to Our exit point about 7 miles downriver and just west of the Lincoln Ranch, we scrambled up and down outcroppings, waded deep pools and bushwhacked through banks choked with tamarisk, cattails and willows.

The river attracts hundreds of birds, including bald eagles, as well as bighorn sheep and other surefooted mammals. While wading across a pool, we glimpsed a beaver paddle past and then duck safely under water. Near a gallery of cottonwoods, we watched a giant blue heron glide silently above the treetops. Though we didn't see any wild burros, we followed their hoof-beaten paths through mesquite bosques along the occasional sandy beaches.

We traveled less than a mile an hour, taking our time to view the wildlife and the scenery, to wade the river, to scramble over rocks and to bushwhack. Our adventure lingered into the moonless night, when unidentifiable creatures splashed in the darkness around us, and frogs croaked vociferously from their reedy hangouts. Old Bill Williams would have needed a moonbeam or two to negotiate along this stretch of the river at night, but we had my flashlight's spindly beam and followed it safely to the car we had parked at our trek's end.

WHEN YOU GO