ALONG THE WAY

along the way The LAST SAGUARO Along Interstate 17 Heading North Out of Phoenix STANDS ALONE as a Beacon to Travelers

THE SAGUARO STANDS ATOP A ROCKY knoll at an altitude of about 3,000 feet, casting its shadow in the cool sunlight of a February dawn. Nearly 30 feet tall and an estimated 150 years old, it marks the final sighting of the majestic cacti for northbound travelers on Interstate 17. to build a fence across this hard land; we wonMy son, Stuart, photographer David Smith and I have driven north from Phoenix to check out the highway's "last saguaro." We pull over and park on the shoulder. Crossing the northbound lanes on foot, we enter the rocky, brushy countryside and hike a quarter-mile to the landmark cactus.

This is an important, personal time for Stuart and me. We have often passed this saguaro, either bidding farewell to the land of magnificent cacti as we've gone north, or meeting them once more as we headed home. In two weeks, our travels together will have to wait; Stuart and his family are moving to Virginia.

Climbing upward toward the saguaro, we look westward, where the sun grazes the southern edge of the Bradshaw Mountains. Once it was Apache land. In the mid-1800s, prospectors came in search of gold and silver, followed by cattle ranchers. The Apaches fought and lost - an often bloodied ground. To the east rises Black Mesa near the newly created Agua Fria National Monument, a 71,100-acre preserve protecting prehistoric Indian sites and petroglyphs. And on each side of us, where the hillside divides the highway, 1-17 powers a new century of travelers north and south.

We make our way past jojoba and prickly pear cacti and a yucca, crossing large outcrops of basalt rocks. Bridging a barbed-wire fence with a large rock, we climb over it and marvel at how difficult it must have been to dig postholes Just below us trickles Arrastra Creek, the name borrowed from the Spanish term for a drag mill used for grinding ores. From here we look west, down across the long valley stretching northward, and see the nearly deserted town of Bumble Bee, where the Old Black Canyon Road winds north toward Antelope Hill. The morning sun is higher in the sky now, accompanied by a pleasant breeze.

We reach the saguaro and remind each other that, alone and at this altitude, it remains a miracle of nature, for the odds of a seedling saguaro surviving anywhere can be as low as one in several million. Judging by its size, we calculate this cactus was "born" around the time the United States acquired Arizona from Mexico.

Despite a winter drought, our saguaro still shows the healthy effects of the previous summer's heavy rains, taken in and soaked down to roots that reach as far as the height of the cactus roots that have solidly anchored this saguaro against a century and a half of storms. Although its northern side displays slender bands where wind has eroded it over the years, its spines, three arms and one youthful knob remain undamaged and pristine.

It will blossom a brilliant white before the end of June, if only for a few nighttime hours, and the brief annual pollination process will again occur. While saguaros grow plentifully at a distance below our hilltop, this one lives alone. The average saguaro produces an estimated 40 million seeds in a hundred years of fertility, but none has visibly taken hold on this windy, rocky knoll.

In the morning sunlight, Stuart and I stand together beside this colossus that has grown up where nearby trails belonged only to animals and Indians until rocky dirt roads carved from the land brought teamsters and stagecoaches, then automobiles, trucks and buses, followed by two lanes of pavement, and, finally, the busy interstate that rushes by us today. Our saguaro witnessed it all. It alone has endured - untouched by predators, animal or man. David takes our picture with the landmark we've used for many years of coming and going. Then we walk away, crossing the rocks where rabbit brush grows within the spreading branches of a paloverde tree. Stuart and I both know that, for a while, this will be the last of many special Arizona memories. Al