The Two Faces of Aravaipa Canyon

From the Pampering of a Bed-and-Breakfast to the Thrills of Knee-deep Rapids explore Aravaipa Canyon

"Look for the sign that says 'Abe White Bridge,'" I read from the directions I'd jotted down. "Watch for the white trailer. the next driveway is Carol's."

My husband and I come to the bridge, then the . . . whoops!... trailer.

We skitter past a little track that evaporates over the side of the hill, crunching gravel as we slide to a stop, then back up.

"That must be it. There's the creek down there, and Carol says we have to cross it twice."

We're on our way to Aravaipa Farms to meet photographer Peter Ensenberger at this out-of-the-way bed-andbreakfast southeast of Winkelman. It lies about 6 miles from Aravaipa Canyon West Trailhead, the entrance to a lush riparian greenbelt that skirts Aravaipa Creek. The last 3.5 miles on Aravaipa Road have been dirt, but easy driving. Carol Steele, we soon learn, makes finding her guest farm well worth our trip. Owner of this wilderness retreat, Steele is a well-known businesswoman and gourmet chef from Scottsdale who chucked city life about six years ago to create this Eden on the creek bank. Larry backs up the Blazer, and we idle for a moment ogling the tidy rows of neatly trimmed peach, pear and apricot trees that lie below us, their undulating white and pale pink blooms creating a surreal, impressionistic cloud.

Our weekend plans include a hike in the canyon, but, in addition, a compromise. My husband adores backpacks and beef jerky snacks while toting a hunting rifle 10 miles into rugged mountains looking for wild pigs. I love to hike the wilds but prefer hot water that pours from a faucet to a campfire-blackened kettle. Staying here at the farm instead of in a tent means we'll both be happy.

If my husband were telling this, he'd wax eloquent about the more than 200 species of birds ("Maybe we'll see a buff-collared nightjar or a peregrine falcon!") that live in this secretive canyon along with javelinas, mule deer and bighorn sheep. Or he might describe how Aravaipa is one of the few creeks in Arizona that flows year-round and thus supports giant cot-tonwood, ash and sycamore trees along its banks. He's also likely to mumble something about several species of rat-tlesnakes to watch out for, but you'd have to listen closely.

The little stucco house snuggles against a stone wall at the base of Steele's very own mountain a Matisse. come alive 'primitive chic.'

explore Aravaipa Canyon

Two figures gesture from the gate ahead as we drive through the acres of blossoms - one waves her hand, the other a long, fluffy tail. Einstein, Steele's black and white shepherd, gives me a two-paws-on-the-chest welcome the moment I open the vehicle door.

"He's so friendly because he thinks you came just to see him," Steele says, laughing. "Pull your car up there next to the first casita."

The little stucco house snuggles against a stone wall at the base of Steele's very own mountain. An old-fashioned front porch, gussied up with tongue-in-cheek creativity with a Southwestern flavor, sports a profusion of color, kitsch, rustic and rusting oddities that, in a less artistic setting, might be considered trash. Here, they're an integral part of a carefully choreographed still life a Matisse, come alive "primitive chic." We unload our suitcases, following, like Dorothy in Oz, an imaginative path, not a yellow brick road but a concrete sidewalk embedded with interesting pieces of broken dishes, native rock, saltillo tile and odds and ends of Mexican ceramics.

Paintings and flower pots grace the patio, and the wide use of fieldstone and saltillo tile inside blurs distinctions between indoors and outdoors. In our room, the king-size bed with its plump green-plaid duvet cover and throw pillows almost purrs an invitation to put up my feet and rejuvenate the golden hammock at the end of the rainbow. But it's the quiet I notice most. I can hear a bumblebee doing its work somewhere outside and around the corner.

Funky, giant chairs made from peach tree trimmings dot the yard and patios. "We waste nothing here at the farm!" the workmen tell us the next morning as we watch them cutting lengths of tree branches for art and furniture projects that Steele designs and sells from her gift shop.

Steele calls Aravaipa Farms a "reverse B&B." She fills the cupboard and baskets in the rooms with a self-serve breakfast of cheeses, fresh fruit, granola, breads, juices and coffee, then joins her guests for a gourmet communal dinner in her home on the property.

After a meal of Moroccan chicken, fresh green beans and homemade jalapeño focaccia bread, followed by apple-berry crumble dessert, Ensenberger groans, "I think this will be the first hiking trip I've photographed when I've gained weight."

"I'll have lunches ready to take with you on the hike tomorrow morning," Steele reminds us.

Aravaipa Canyon offers a kind of "buf-fet" of hiking. I rate myself as just a few heel blisters past novice, so I intend to simply follow the main trail. For the more experienced and ardent hiker, however, there's plenty of rock-climbing, as well as nine side canyons to explore. But we're here for a semi-leisurely day-hike and great pictures, so we sign our names and deposit our $5 each at the trailhead the next morning.

The 1.1-mile, downhill lead-in trail on a pea-gravel path drops steeply in spots, and anyone in shoes without good grip could easily carry home a bruised posterior or worse. Once we reach streambed level, however, the path flattens and generally stays that way.

Near the creek, undergrowth thins, but the rock sides close in and the ground trail disappears frequently. We wade in the clear, gentle stream a half dozen times before coming to a fence and a small, faded sign that confirms we're in a designated Wilderness. These are the only directions we see. The creek or its nearby burble serves as our sole guide. Bird songs accompany the profusion of tiny cotton-wood tufts over our heads that lift and fall with every whiff of breeze dancing diamonds that catch the sun blinking with each twist and tumble. Ensenberger spots the white tips on the wings of a phainopepla diving for insects; Larry recognizes an adolescent bald eagle. We'd heard reports of black bear and mountain lion sightings, but they're, obviously,

explore Aravaipa Canyon

avoiding us. We see plenty of javelina tracks and deer scat near the water.

Despite its enticing appearance, this wild passageway demands respect. Though open to thousands of sightseers, Aravaipa Canyon remains a land of extremes and contrast. Sultry summers with 110-plus-degree highs evolve into freezing temperatures during November through March. Even August nights can fall below 60 degrees.

Terrain and vegetation also display a split personality. Luxuriant, water-loving cottonwoods quiver against a backdrop of desert plants. Saguaro and staghorn cacti protrude from red-and-white-striated, thousand-foot cliffs with no visible signs of dirt in which to anchor. Huge boulders that seem to come from nowhere block the water's flow on a smooth, marble-size gravel creekbed - a creek that can turn from tranquil to torrent in minutes. Flash floods in rainy season are an annual event.

Be that as it may, human beings have been drawn to this verdant canyon since prehistoric times. According to the Bureau of Land Management, Aravaipa Canyon may have been inhabited by the Cochise culture as long ago as 10,000 years, disappearing about 2,000 years ago. A thousand years after that, the Mogollon, Salado and Hohokam tribes moved in to take advantage of the consistent water supply for farming and for the abundant hunting and fishing. For centuries, the 11-mile canyon represented a shortcut through rugged mountains that a strong scout could cover in just a few hours. More recently, 19th-century Aravaipa Apaches used the canyon for their homes and corrals and as a part of their raiding route into Sonora, Mexico. After the government relegated the tribe to the San Carlos Indian Reservation, gorges that connect to Aravaipa Canyon provided escapees like Geronimo and the Apache Kid ample places to hide from the U.S. Cavalry among hundreds of concealed caves and labyrinthine rock formations.

By noon, I'm sure we've ambled at least 3 miles (Ensenberger, one of those avid-type hikers, smiles when I mention this), and my shins are crying uncle from their unaccustomed rubbing against my boot tops. But the day seems idyllic, a gift of exercise for the spirit and body, aided, of course, by Steele's delectable lunch that includes turkey, avocado and sprouts sandwiches slathered with her secret sauce. Later that afternoon, we greet three retirement-age Australian couples (we crossed paths with less than a dozen people) returning to the trailhead, where I'd first seen them that morning. They're laughing and teasing one man, razzing him about being afraid of a little water.

He passes on a warning: "Just a bit upstream, you go through water up to your knees. It gets very rapid, and the walls are too close for my liking!"

Although his group pooh-poohs his fright, we find the spot around the next LOCATION: 120 miles southeast of Phoenix.

GETTING THERE: From Phoenix, take U.S. Route 60 to Superior. At Superior, take State Route 177 to Winkelman. At Winkelman, take State Route 77 south for 11 miles to Aravaipa Road. Follow Aravaipa Road 12 miles east to the trailhead.

HOURS AND DATES: Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness is open year-round. Preregistration with the Bureau of Land Managment, (520) 348-4400, is mandatory.

LODGING: Aravaipa Farms, HCR Box 4252, Winkelman, (520) 357-6901; www.aravaipafarms.com. Reservations are required. Room rates are $225 per day, double occupancy, including all meals. Brandenburg Campsite, with no facilities, lies along Aravaipa Road near the west entrance to Aravaipa Canyon. Register with BLM, (520) 348-4400.

TRAVEL ADVISORY: The BLM limits canyon visitors to 50 per day (30 from the west end, 20 from the east entrance), and hikers as well as campers must call to preregister, then pay a $5 per person, per day fee at the trailhead. There are numerous sandy areas for primitive camping throughout the canyon. Groups are limited to 10; horses to five per party, but may not stay overnight.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: Bureau of Land Management, Safford Field Office, (520) 348-4400; The Nature Conservancy, Aravaipa Canyon Preserve, (520) 828-3443.

bend, and decide he was wise to be cautious. A small rapids keeps us on our toes, and water goes above my knees. The ground path has disappeared again, but the walls are at least 30 to 40 feet apart. When the creek flows normally, this is about as high as it gets, though there are spots with deep holes.

Since it's past midday, we choose to turn around at this point. And, besides, Ensenberger wants to backtrack to photograph, in perfect afternoon light, a lone cottonwood tree that grows in a narrow side canyon amid boulders the size of my bedroom. Larry takes advantage of the rest stop to pull out a map and calculate our progress. He points to a short, thin line.

"I think we went about this far, just beyond Hell's Half Acre," he says. "If that's right, that means we've hiked about one and a half miles into the Wilderness." Now I'm convinced it's time to get into better shape.

Along the way in, we'd literally stopped to smell flowers, examine animal signs, and discuss the birds and our good for-tune for being in this place on this day.

My return trek, on the other hand, becomes more of a heads-down, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other march. I just tell myself that, tonight, I will stand in a hot shower and sleep in a king-size bed under a plump green-plaid duvet. Ahhhh . . . sweet compromise! AH