BACK ROAD ADVENTURE

backroad adventure CHASING FALL COLORS Along Water Canyon Road in the WHITE MOUNTAINS

THE MORNING OPENS PERFECTLY IN EVERY way: blue, bright and October cool. So we expect a bit of company on the road as we drive around the sawmill below Eagar and turn south onto Water Canyon Road toward Big Lake. The route wanders through prime country for seeing the wildlife and fall colors that make eastern Arizona's White Mountains famous. But to our surprise, we have this gentle, colorful canyon-and its lakes and pine forests-mostly to ourselves. I think we've seen only one other vehicle on the 20-mile drive to Big Lake, and that was a fellow hauling firewood earlier.He had waved and smiled as we passed, as if the two of us were sharing a secret, and maybe we were. Water Canyon Road, also known as Forest Service Road 285, sees fairly light traffic, in spite of its attractions. Although it's a dirt road, FR 285 has stretches so wellgraded they're like pavement. Only in a few spots higher up does it turn slightly to washboard. For my youngest passenger, though, the bigger concern centers on encountering one of the creatures that populate his 4-year-old imagination. "Dad, I'm really nervous," comments my son, Patrick, a few miles into the drive. "I think there are snakes around here. They'll bite me." I tell him it's probably too cold for snakes, but we might see some deer or elk, and maybe a black bear.

"The bears will eat me, too," he says, always the optimist. But the prospect of becoming some wild creature's blue-plate special isn't enough to keep Patrick in the car. As soon as we stop, 5 miles up the canyon, he throws off hisseatbelt, bounds out of the car and heads up a hillside clearing. He comes to a skinny tree bent at a 45-degree angle and hammers at it with a stick, bringing to mind a pocket-size Paul Bunyan. "Hey, Mom," he shouts to my wife, Teresa, "when I knock this tree down, take a picture." Bears? What bears? His fear has momentarilyvanished, but given the whipsaw nature of his imagination, I expect it to return at the first unexplained sound. Near the start of the trip, pine trees run uninterrupted from roadside to distant ridges, but at the 5and 6-mile marks, the aspens assert themselves. They stand tall, slender and white amid oceans of piney green, occasionallymarshaled like sentinels shadowing the roadside, one after another, along stretches of a quarter-mile or more. Their yellow and early orange leaves blanket the road, and when the wind rattles their branches, more leaves flutter to the ground in brilliant cascade. Teresa remarks that the intensity of their colors varies depending on the play of the sun.

WARNING: Back road travel can be hazardous if you are not prepared for the unexpected. Whether traveling in the desert or high country, be aware of weather and road conditions. Make sure you and your vehicle are in top shape. Carry plenty of water. Don't travel alone, and let someone at home know where you're going and when you plan to return. Odometer readings in the story may vary by vehicle.

I hadn't noticed, but when we negotiate a switchback to an eastern exposure, I can see it. In shadow, the leaves are dull. But when we straighten out into direct sunlight, the yellow turns to saffron and the orange fairly blazes off the hillsides. The timeless story of fall holds no interest for Patrick. At just past the 7-mile mark, we stop to let him play at the edge of St. Marys Lake, a small reservoir with no boating or fishing facilities and waters that tend to come and go depending on the amount of rainfall. But that couldn't matter less to a child. He still charges toward the waterside with an eagerness that's both enviable and exhausting. As Teresa collects pine cones, Patrick heaves sticks and rocks into the water and feeds the remnants of his peanut butter sandwich to the lake monsters. He also discovers the joy of hearing his voice echo in the mountain air. Even though he's again convinced he'll be devoured at any moment, Patrick seems disappointed when I tell him the racket will keep the animals away. As we climb deeper into Water Canyon, 11 miles from our starting point, the forest gives way to meadows where cows loll at drainage ponds. The easy hills and goldenbrown grass stretch for miles toward pine-forested mountains broken only by splashes of pumpkin orange. We follow the road down to the deepest part of the meadow and rise with it again into the trees. They crowd both sides now, casting us in shadow, but the light is strong enough to see what looks like a hawk zipping through the forest air to the east.

It moves swiftly, close to the ground, somehow missing the tree trunks as it flies. Its wingspan is vast, and it's a wonder to us how the creature can move so fast on fixed wings. The hawk rides along with us at eye level, then finds a branch. I stop the car and try to point it out to Patrick, but he can't see ituntil I hit the horn and the bird takes off again. "There he is!" Patrick hollers. It flies with us some more, then perches at the uppermost point of a ponderosa pine, its powerful form a stark contour against the blue sky.

A short distance beyond, we pass the 15-mile mark and the turnoff to Nutrioso, 12 miles east, a tiny town south of Eagar on U.S. Route 191. The marker reminds me of a story from frontier days. To the east and a bit south of Crosby Crossing, the faintly visible traces of a wagon road show where pioneer Mormons used to freight oats, hay and butter to Fort Apache from the 1870s into the early 1900s. Two parties of Mormons, one coming from Nutrioso and Alpine, the other from Springerville and Eagar, would arrange to meet at this spot, known as Mormon Bend, and travel the remainder of the way together. Their combined strength kept them safe from renegade Apaches, outlaws and the elements, making a difficult trip a bit easier. To climb some of the steep mountains, they'd harness a string of horses together to pull one heavy wagon up the slope, then bring the horses down to pull up another wagon. The Mormons sold their goods to the fort, one of the few ways pioneers could earn hard cash in those days. We don't find the wagon road this trip, but those who know of it say it's little more than a ditch today. After traveling just short of 20 miles, we reach the intersection of FR 285 and Forest Service Road 249, turn right, and, after a half-mile, reach Big Lake Recreation Area. The lake appears full after a summer of good rain, its surface a quilt of perfect blue that folds and flattens in the midday breeze.

Despite the beautiful weather, we see only a few boaters and fishermen working their lines for trout. The general store on the premises rents boats-$30 per half-day-and we take full advantage, motoring from to end to end across what, at 575 acres, really is a big lake.

Motorists can return to Eagar on dirt along Forest Service Road 113 to Forest Service Road 87, which goes through Sheeps Crossing into Greer. We chose pavement instead, taking Mexican Hay Lake Road (State Route 261), a smooth end to a perfect day of fun and fall color in the mountains. AH