Adventures from Arizona to Alberta
Headwall Lake is usually a forgotten hike. It shares the parking lot with the premier Chester Lake trail and doesn’t get star billing. In fact, it gets no billing. Push those thoughts aside—this 10-mile hike weaves through multiple terrain, on its way up to some pretty spectacular views.
Our reason behind hiking Taylor Lake was simple. There was a connection. You see, Dave’s Mom’s maiden name was Taylor. The name alone rekindled wonderful memories for him—even before our hike began.
Canada Day in Canmore is a joyous event. Every year, the town swells from 14,000 to well over 20,000. On July 1st, families crowd the streets to view marching bands, campy floats, olympic athletes on ski-skates and Calgary Stampede dignitaries. Squirt guns are almost mandatory. This year, we decided to change it up.
This year, the longest day was truly the longest day. Summer solstice sans summer. But the week of rain and high country snow eventually gave way to sunshine. And, the remaining stretch of Highway 40 in Kananaskis had opened, providing us with the opportunity to hike Ptarmigan Cirque.
It was spur of the moment. Dave and I hastily made a couple sandwiches, threw the bear spray in the Jeep and headed out. Little did we know what we would actually find.
On our way to the cirque!
After a beautiful start up the mountain, we climbed into some thick clouds still remaining from the previous day’s rain. Fog as thick as peanut butter (hahahaha)—made it necessary to turn on fog lights and slow to a snail’s pace. What began as patchy snow became a blanket, reminiscent of early fall in the Rockies.
And then the sun broke through.
Just outside the parking lot at Ptarmigan Cirque Trail.
By the time we reached the cirque, it became apparent that there was to be no hiking today. The snow was close to a foot deep, and our boots were not waterproof.
Fresh snowfall.
You know, all in all, It didn't seem to matter. I had never seen the upper portion of the Kananaskis trail and it was quite magical.
Ptarmigan Cirque can wait. :)
Opportunities are like sunrises. If you wait too long, you miss them.—William Arthur Ward
Our reason for hiking the Grassi Lakes circuit was two-fold. A family of owls was known to be nesting in the cliffs above the lake and it was a beautiful day. With that in mind, Dave loaded up his camera gear and we set off on a photo safari.
Lower Grassi Lake
If there is one hike that appeals to all ages and levels of endurance, Grassi Lakes is it. The trail is about 2.7 miles roundtrip and offers an easy path (service road) and a not so easy path (along the edge) to the top. The lakes, waterfalls and a nearby mountain was named after Italian immigrant Lawrence Grassi—a miner, hiker, climber and master trail-builder. The trail was built by Grassi back in 1918, during a miner’s strike. He went on to build the Oesa trail at Lake O’Hara along with many others. A solitary man, he lived in an ivy-covered cabin by the Grassi trailhead, until his move to Bow Valley Regional Housing, where he lived to the ripe old age of 90.
Lower Grassi Lake.
As with most hikes around here, It pays to be early. We had both lakes mostly to ourselves for at least 45 minutes.
Lower Grassi Lake.
This hike never gets old. Reflections and jewel-like hues were magnified by the early morning light. The clarity was amazing. So much color in such an attainable venue—I can see why Grassi loved it so.
Upper Grassi Lake, looking for owls.
Nothing here but rocks…..
We headed to the upper lake was where the owls nest was located—a craggy cave nestled a steep rock face. Dave swiftly set up the camera and try-pod. He zoomed in and….NOTHING. Wait, wasn’t that the owl on the side of the cave? Nope, it was a ROCK. Dang. Our neighbors had seen them the week before, but for us, it was not to be.
We shrugged it off and continued down the mountain on the cliff side. This was Grassi’s original trail, consisting of steep stairways, flowing creeks, large smooth boulders and spectacular views..
We crept out on a narrow pathway off the main trail to get a closer look of the falls. So worth it.
We may have missed the owls that day, but that only gives us another reason to return.
Homeward bound.
“We love the things we love for what they are.” ― Robert Frost
Sometimes a hike is just a long walk in the woods. Many hikers tend to pass on hikes that don’t reward them with wide open spaces, memorable vistas and physical challenges. I get that. But sometimes, the solitude and quiet of a less travelled path can be quite lovely.
Pocaterra Trail was one of those paths. The trail is a gentle upward climb through the woods, with glimpses of creeks, small lakes and mountains.
Pocaterra Creek.
We were completely alone that morning. The forest floor was damp and soft from the recent snow. Our first detour was to Pocaterra Creek, which we accessed following a game trail. Still in search of that elusive moose…
A sea of fern appeared, captured in early morning sunlight. Another brief scramble took us down to Rockwall lake, it’s muddy bottom covered with elk tracks.
Rockwall Lake.
As we climbed up the ridge, the mountains came into view; below us, lush green meadows.
The trail was wide enough to walk side by side, and easy enough to hold a conversation. Dave and I solved many of the world’s problems that day (hahahaha).
At one point we went off trail in search of Sparrow’s Lake. After foraging uphill through a mass of deadwood and moss we came upon a small meadow. A quick look at the map indicated that we would have to cross multiple ridges to get to the lake. That was not gonna happen. There was no real access from our route.
Strange and creepy mushrooms.
Oh—lest I forget, we saw some pretty weird mushrooms along the way, popping up under pine needles. I do not believe they are edible.
We were about three and half miles in when we realized our sandwiches were still on the counter at home. It was definitely time to head back.
Our favorite trails will open soon. The quiet and solitude will soon be replaced by an onslaught of tourists. But for a brief moment in early June, a quiet walk in the woods gave us both time to just be.
I wouldn’t call Jura Creek a hike—I’d call it an adventure. Located by the Baymag plant on Highway 1A, the trailhead is far from ostentatious. In fact, it’s practically non-existent—the official site is currently under construction. That aside, Dave and I were pleasantly surprised. The real fun began about a quarter mile in at the mouth of the slot canyon.
The mouth of the canyon
This hike was more like an obstacle course through flowing water—consisting of scaling boulders, crossing deep pools on single logs and stepping cautiously from rock to rock. About a mile in, it became apparent to Dave and I that dry feet were not gonna happen.
A smooth piece of Jasper in the creek.
Jura creek was robust, thanks to recent snowmelt. We made our way through a maze of deep, narrow passageways, filled with pools and mini waterfalls. The high walls were cold and damp with sunlight just starting to find it’s way through the opening. Exquisite.
The canyon opened up into a large, rocky creek bed. As we progressed, the creek dried up and the hiking became a little tedious. It did however, give us plenty of time for our feet to dry.
Canyon’s end, nearing the creek bed.
Eventually, we came upon a huge headwall. Dave and I looked at each other, both wondering if we should try to scale it. Hmmm. On the right, super smooth stone that was pretty vertical. To the left, a wall of rock with a v-like formation. A stream of water was flowing down the center. Others have done this—right? Don’t we want to see what’s up there? What the heck. We chose the V.
To the top of the headwall.
In hindsight, it looked a lot harder to climb than it actually was. At the top were a series of pools captured in smooth white stone. We gazed down into deep crevices where the creek graced us with it’s reappearance.
Peering into the cracks.
The trail turned into a creek bed once more. For us, it was the perfect turn-around point. Our return trip was not nearly as graceful. I guess it never really is. We sloshed back through the running creek with reckless abandon, the canyon then filled with sunlight and warmth.
Jura Creek is a well-hidden gem. Selfishly, we both kinda hope it stays that way.
Well, our first couple of weeks in Canmore have been interesting. Any schedule that previously existed was promptly thrown out the window. Especially at night. Luci took a few days to adjust to her new surroundings, and Dota is still adjusting to her new sister. It might take years. Everything around here happens at warp speed—until it doesn’t. Luci reminds me of the Honeybadger, a former LSU and Arizona Cardinal cornerback. She will knock off anything that gets in her way. She actually bounces. All kidding aside, Lucia is a welcome addition.
Sunday morning - before the hike.
With that said, Dave and I left the pups and ventured out for our first hike last week. Elk Pass to Frozen Lake is an 8.4 mile out and back trail located by Lower Kananaskis Lake. The trail, an old fire road, eventually leads to Elk Lakes Cabin (maintained by the Alpine Club of Canada) and a backcountry campground.
It was about an hours drive from our place to the trailhead. The weather was cloudy and a chilly 45°. Our trek started off blissfully snow-free and dry. However, as we gained elevation, the dry trail turned to ice and snow—slowing our pace considerably.
What happened to the trail?
Fox Creek. No sign of moose.
We crossed multiple bridges, following some giant moose tracks in hopes of a sighting.
The Kananaskis range is daunting and massive. There were some impressive views to be had along the way.
Icy meadow. No sign of moose.
As the day progressed, the snow turned into slush. By the time we reached the meadow, it was a real mud-fest. We were about 3.5 miles in when we decided to have a bite to eat and head back.
Wildflowers blooming out of the bog.
Tired and cold, we were still content. For the first hike of the season, it was a splendid way to get our feet (soaking) wet.
It’s time for change. Familiar places, new beginnings. Our May departure crept up quickly. No matter what happens, this summer is going to be different.
On the road with Dota.
It was time. Dota loved being our one and only, but with that came the anxiety of being alone. A new italian greyhound pup was in the works for October, but fate managed to get in the way. We received a email in April from Stephanie and Avery Mcleod of Alfheim Hounds to let us know that a little blue and white pup was available. Oh, and that she was just what we were hoping for.
Wait…should we take a 14-week-old puppy to Canada for the summer?
Lucia
Note to self, if you are not sure, DO NOT LOOK AT THE PHOTO. Nearly impossible to do, I know. Everyone loves a puppy, especially if she is the perfect match. Who could refuse? Not us. So, we took a 1,000 mile detour to Clearview, WA to pick up Lucia (a.k.a. Luci), the newest addition to our canine family.
Somewhere in western Idaho.
Sprague, Washington
Three 12-hour days of driving. Along the way we saw elk, antelope, a coyote, and a couple of black bears. Luci joined Dota for the final day of our journey. They were real troopers. That in itself was amazing. We arrived in Canmore by mid-afternoon, exhausted, but no worse for wear.
Almost there! East Kootenay, B.C.
It is still cold and rainy/snowy here, with the prospect of better weather in early June. When the sun did come out, Dave and I took advantage of it with a hike into town. There is still snow on the ground in some areas and ice in the river.
Bow River, with Cascade Mountain in the background.
Neighborhood elk.
We also managed to take a small hike near Barrier Lake, and drive down Spray Lake Road to check things out. A lot of the trails here do not open until mid to late June.
Barrier Lake.
Barrier Lake, Kananaskis.
Spray Lake.
But signs of spring’s emergence are everywhere and rainfall really is a good thing.
One week in and no complaints. Dota has tolerated Luci quite well. In fact, she has become a bit of a pup herself, much to our chagrin. But, as in the weather, the promise of better days to come is always with us.
Let the adventure begin!
After a year of planning, imagining and anticipation, the big day was finally upon us. Family from across the U.S., Peru and as far as Spain, gathered in Tallahassee to celebrate the wedding of Hillary and Bruno.
Dorothy B. Oven Park was the idyllic setting, and miraculously, the weather was perfect—lush, green and tropical.
Hillary with her beautiful bridesmaids. Photo courtesy of Lizzie Robilliard
Bruno’s mom Ada and I spent the morning with the bride and bridesmaids, along with some very talented hair and makeup artists. I can attest that for me, they were miracle workers. But it wasn’t until I crept downstairs to sneak a peek at the progress, that the enormity of the event finally hit me. My only daughter was getting married. Wow.
Shortly after starting graduate school at FSU, Hillary met the love of her life—Bruno Chiurliza. And it seemed that Dave and I were about to become part of a much bigger picture, full of love and adventure.
So this is really about family, love and celebration. A snippet that we hope captures the wedding’s true essence. A most splendid garden party.
Hats off, and many thanks to Emily Chandler of Poppie Studios, for the gorgeous wedding photography and to Amy Forman of Papaya Wedding Planning, our talented, meticulous and epic wedding planner. And especially, to all of our family and friends who helped make the celebration so memorable.
April in Tallahassee is pretty, pretty nice. The mornings are cool and damp and the real heat hasn’t quite settled in yet. A great month for a wedding—Hillary’s and Bruno’s that is. Dave and I arrived early in the week, to spend some time with our only daughter and future son-in-law. Time to chill a bit before the big day—and help put the couple at ease (or at least try to!).
Lizzie, Oscar and Dave ham it up before class.
Our first couple of days were well spent. We explored FSU, attended one of Hillary’s Abnormal Psych lectures (eye-opening), drank Lucky Goat Coffee (so GOOD) and visited Proof Brewing Co.
St Marks Lighthouse
However, by third day, Dave and I decided it might be helpful if we disappeared for a bit. So we made the short 16-mile drive to St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge for a visit.
This refuge was established in 1931 and is one of the oldest in the National Refuge system. It’s initial purpose was to provide a winter home for migratory birds. It encompasses over 70,000 acres, and 43 miles of gulf shoreline. Our plan was to visit the lighthouse, followed by a five mile walk along some of the salt marshes and bayous in search of wildlife.
I’m not gonna stop him…
On the way to St. Marks Lighthouse, Dave saw a rather large gator lounging in the middle of a sandy road. We parked and crept towards him (not too close) to take a photo. He wasn't interested in us, it was the warmth of the early morning sun he was after. It still freaked me out. Later, Hillary told us the way to get away from an alligator is to run in a zig-zagging motion. It seems that an alligator can only move forward, not diagonally. Good to know.
Southern Bald Eagle
Within minutes we spotted a bald eagle sitting stoically in the pines. Would have been a good time to have a zoom lens—which we did not have.
Dave on the shore.
The lighthouse and path along the shoreline was rugged and full of life. Hundreds of tiny crabs scattered in all directions with every footstep. The beach was narrow and overlooked a large bay. To the south, nothing but ocean, its immensity giving us both an overwhelming feeling of insignificance.
We headed back to the Stoney Bayou pools in search of alligators and a lone pink flamingo, which had relocated in the marsh, following Hurricane Michael. The pathway ran along dikes built between man-made pools, once used for sea salt production during the Civil War. Eagles, osprey, and waterfowl were abundant.
Dave, where did you put the zoom lens????
We did end up seeing the lone pink flamingo (definitely a Where’s Waldo moment), along with at least seven alligators. Not bad for a day in the swamp.
Good news! The bug spray we purchased at the visitor’s center was very effective. Unfortunately, it‘s oiliness combined with abundant sunshine turned us both a lovely shade of red. Undaunted, we capped the day with another visit to Proof for some EightFive-O and talked about the crazy, joyous days to come.
It was the perfect way to unwind prior to the big wind-up.
Dave’s father and grandfather worked in the mines. Iron mines, to be specific. So his interest in mines and mining comes naturally. Over the years we have explored the iron mines of Hibbing, MN, as well as the coal mines of Canmore, AB.
Arizona happens to be one of the largest suppliers of copper. One of the three Cs. And that’s how a trip to Bisbee came into play. How about an underground mine tour in a historical little town not too far from here? Done and done. We invited Steve and Julie to join us. The stage was set for another adventure.
Bisbee, Arizona
Bisbee was once known as the Queen of Copper Camps. Over almost a century of mining, this hotspot produced 8 billion pounds of copper, 102 million ounces of silver and 2.8 million ounces of gold. It was the place to be. The town prospered until 1974 when reserves were depleted and the mines shut down. Real estate plummeted, and the Queen became tarnished.
Bisbee’s only option was to reinvent itself. Gradually, artists, developers and small businesses moved in. Today, it is a thriving, funky, artist’s haven—full of shops, bars and hotels lining its narrow winding streets. With it’s lively nightlife and historic charm, it has become a bit of a tourist mecca.
Mine entrance.
Very serious.
We arrived in town just in time to grab a bite to eat at the Stock Exchange Bar and Grill before the Queen mine tour. It was cold, cloudy and windy day—perfect for going underground. Despite the weather, all of the tours were booked solid.
Tour time. We were given a hardhat, a nifty flashlight, and a vest to wear before entering, then squeezed onto a tram that looked like something the Seven Dwarfs would ride on. High Ho. It wasn’t as if you sat on this contraption, you folded yourself onto it. This was not Disneyland.
Into the tunnel we go.
Left: A copper vein surrounded by lead, illuminated by Dave’s flashlight.
This is not a tour for those who do not like to be confined. Although Dave tends to be claustrophobic, I was the one who seemed to have more of a problem. Once we entered the mine everyone was using their handy flashlights to explore their surroundings. The barrage of flashing light made me a little nauseous.
Making our way up to one of many chambers.
Our tour guide was excellent in relaying what it was like to work down there. Maybe he was too good. When he mentioned how air was pumped in the many caverns - all I could think of was how still and damp everything was. Then he mentioned water, and I became fixated on how thirsty I was. We climbed up a narrow stairway to a large chamber used for mining. Meanwhile, Dave continued to shine his light incessantly - looking for veins of copper in the rock. Steve and Julie listened intently to our guide. I broke into a light sweat.
We all learned a lot that day. Our last stop contained an unusual boxlike structure on tracks, that could be moved from room to room. People seemed to be fascinated with it. They lifted the lids and peered inside. Strange. To me, it looked kind of like a shoe shine stand. Suddenly, our guide broached a rather sensitive subject. “When miners had to—you know—go, did they have to hold it all day?” Eewwww. That was no shoe shine stand. It was a portable toilet.
After the tour, we decided to take a hike up the mountain to see Bisbee from above.
Bisbee trail guide.
Our climb up the hill led us to Jesus. Sorry, not really. Although the figurine had an affinity for chickens and was slightly disturbing, it did point the way to some pretty nice views.
Bisbee from above.
Looking towards Mexico.
Bisbee essentially died when the mines shut down, as did Canmore. I guess change is inevitable. It is heartening to know however, that over time, these little towns not only survived, but recreated themselves without destroying their heritage.
Margaret is one of my favorite people. After all, we did work together for over 20 years. We have shared more up and downs than most do in a lifetime. And, it was Margaret who told Dave and I that the wildflowers were in bloom. So last Saturday, we packed some fruit and sandwiches and headed off to the White Tanks for a group wildflower hike.
White Tank Mountain Regional Park, Mesquite Canyon trail.
At 30,000 acres, The White Tank Mountain Regional Park is enormous. It features several canyons and rises from the base to over 4,000 ft. The name White Tank comes from the depressions (or tanks) that hold water in the white granite rock—created from erosion and flash flooding.
A winding golden pathway
The breezes that day were cool and plentiful.
As we rounded a corner, we were greeted by green hillsides covered with purple, orange and gold. Narrow pathways were lined with poppies, giving the trail a wedding-like feel.
With the trail being six miles long, our plan was to have lunch at the midway point. Boy, were we mistaken. As we approached a trail junction, the signage indicated that we had hiked 4.5 miles and had 4.1 miles to go. Argh. Needless to say, it wasn't long thereafter that we stopped to eat. Thank goodness for chicken salad and clementines.
Margaret on the trail to who knows where.
The land of lizards.
As we worked our way back down, it got kind of quiet. All business. Suddenly, a rather LARGE lizard scrambled across the rocks close to the trail. Our energy levels were immediately heightened, albeit for only a moment. The ample sun became glaringly obvious. We were all becoming a little toasty.
Our once leisurely pace kicked up a notch. All eyes on the prize (jeep). Before too long, the parking area came into view and was met with smiles all around.
Poppies. That will make them sleep…..
Overall, it was splendid outing, full of color, adventure and surprises. Worthy of the extra mile—wait—make that three of them.
Lawn umbrella nose dive.
Then the rains came. And the hail. Not to mention a phenomenal amount of snowfall in the high country. Many were stranded in Flagstaff and Payson for days. Road closures, flooded washes—the whole nine yards. Enough precipitation to move the drought needle a bit.
In the midst of the storm we were greeted with a thud on the roof and an lawn umbrella impaled in the front yard. At first, we thought it was ours, but then discovered it had flown from our neighbor’s backyard. After about three days, the cold front passed.
I think hiking after a big rain is the BEST. The scent of creosote and mesquite fill the air, the trails are tamped down and dust free and the views—glorious. With that in mind, Dave, Dota and I ventured out to the Dreamy Draw, to hike our favorite 4-mile loop.
Trail 100 was full of color.
Snow!
After reaching the top of the first hill, we were surprised to see the mountains to the east, north and west were dusted with snow. Pretty, pretty good.
Dreamy Draw was glistening and abundantly green.
A gift from the desert to its inhabitants. And most likely a sign of wildflowers to come.
Dota is skeptical…
This winter has been unseasonably chilly. For a while there, we were at least 20° below normal. Whine. Seriously, in comparison to the rest of the country, we’re doing just fine. So on one of those clear, cold Sundays in mid-February, Dave, Dota and I bundled up and took a drive past Carefree to the Seven Springs recreation area in Tonto National Forest. This site and nearby campground was constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1934. The higher elevation (3,500ft.), shade and flowing water make it a popular respite during summer months. The area is also known for some of the most abundant winter birding in Maricopa County. Unfortunately, it is also known for flash floods and wash outs during the rainy season.
Passing through the Bartlett wash area, before the pavement ends.
Around the bend.
Getting there was almost as fun as the hike itself. Forest Road 24 turned to gravel about 9 miles in and became quite narrow, featuring plenty of blind curves and steep cliffs. The perfect location for a car commercial. We were in nowhere land—one could get lost around here and never be found. Along the way, sportsmen could be seen taking aim at some makeshift targets. The Wild West.
Off the road to nowhere.
We piled out of the Jeep into a fairly empty parking area. There were numerous trails to take from this location, but our plan was to take a leisurely hike down by the creek (CaveCreek #4).
A beautiful creekside path
Lush and green. Cave creek is home to sycamores, cottonwoods and willows. Prickly pear and Juniper covered the hillside. We also saw little cactus“condos” growing out of the rock trailside.
Cactus condos.
Cave Creek.
We followed the well-maintained trail until it kind of ended. A lengthy discussion of how to cross the creek ensued. We entertained thoughts of moving logs, repositioning rocks, as well as adding to existing rock piles—with no intention of even trying it out. Semantics. Getting wet that day was not part of the plan.
The amazing view from the PRIVATE road.
Raccoon tracks.
With that in mind, we turned and took a detour to the road above. There, we spotted numerous javelina and raccoon tracks. It wasn’t until we got to a locked gate that we realized we were on private property. Whoops.
By the time we headed home, it was pretty darn cold outside. Dave said it felt like it was going to snow. Little did we know…
I know, I know. it’s a corny title, but I couldn't help myself. For locals and tourists alike, Tom’s Thumb trail is not to be missed. Managed and impeccably maintained by Scottsdale’s McDowell Sonoran Conservancy, the area offers trails for all levels of experience, including rock-climbing. The Visitor’s Center is a work of art in itself.
Trailhead Visitor’s Center
A beautiful hike, from beginning to end.
Dave and I hiked to Tom’s Thumb the Sunday before New Years. Bright, sunny skies and pristine air. The trail was full of tourists in for the Fiesta Bowl. Being the loyal LSU fans that we are (another time, another place), we scanned the masses, looking for purple and gold. No such luck—mostly UCF colors. Not a problem, merely an observation.
The sun was just starting to break the ridge.
BTW, Tom’s Thumb trail is quite steep (1,200+ft in elevation), but relatively short (4 miles roundtrip). Although it’s rated as difficult, we’ve seen all hikers of all ages make the trek. Dave and I took our time—stopping along switchbacks to admire the view and catch our breath. When we reached the ridge just before the thumb, we were greeted by trail volunteers who were answering questions and congratulating hikers on their way up. A nice touch.
Rocky. Gorgeous. Desert. Views.
The trail to the east takes you to a view of Fountain Hills.
North Scottsdale is behind me.
Spectacular panoramas at every turn. Tonto National Forest, Bartlett Reservoir, Four Peaks, Fountain Hills, and Scottsdale Airpark were all visible from the top. In addition to being an awesome photo-op, Tom’s Thumb is also a well-known nesting area for Peregrine Falcons.
Tom’s Thumb
Our descent was a slip-sliding extravaganza, full of people-dodging and skiing down loose rock. Fortunately for us, all good things came to an end. It wasn't too long before the Visitor’s Center and our Jeep came back into view.
Homeward bound.
Quick question: Why is it that hiking down can be so much more difficult that hiking up? For me, I think it it must be that I’m kind of tired and not as focused. Hmm, maybe I’m looking forward to happy hour rather than the task at hand. A reward for effort? Why not? Not long ago, I heard two hikers asking each other, “Do you eat to hike or hike to eat?” They eventually decided that they hike to eat. I’ve come to realize that Dave and I are quite fond of doing both.
Puccini and Dota, exploring, last summer in Canmore, AB
When Puccini passed away last December at the ripe old age of 16, Dota became our one and only pet. She’s a spunky gal, known for hunting squirrels up in Canmore, as well as chasing lizards down here in Phoenix. And, she LOVES to ride in the Jeep—wait, make that any motor vehicle. Happily, Dota’s sense of adventure and love of trails are back to full strength, thanks to numerous hikes of late.
Last weekend, we took her to one of our favorite spots off of Tatum Boulevard. The lot has only a few spaces and is usually full, but one can usually find parking on one of the side streets nearby. The trail is popular with mountain bikers as well as hikers, and is a great starting point to link to other trails within Phoenix Mountain Preserve.
Not far from the trailhead
It was one of those rare cloudy overcast days. Nice. Not too hot, no glaring sun. The beginning of the trail resembled a desert botanical garden, full of Paloverde and all kinds of cactus. It felt like we were walking though a neighbor’s backyard desert landscape - which, by the way, we kind of were. A short section of the trail passes through a wash between residences.
Headed towards the ridge.
Once we got to the top of the initial ridge - Dave and Dota and I took a detour, on a lightly travelled trail that went up a small mountain off to the south. We wove our way to the top, stopping to look at emerging wildflowers, trails and the city below.
Purple wildflowers covering the mountainside.
Just the beginning…..
View of Phoenix Mountain Preserve.
Little Dota, mountain dog.
By the time we reached the Jeep, we could tell Dota was satisfied. Not a peep out of her on the short ride home. A long nap ensued. For a little dog of nine years, it’s nice for her to know that not every ride in the car means VETERINARIAN.
It’s primetime in the desert. The Phoenix metro area swells with Canadians, Midwesterners, and all those who seek solace from the frigid cold of winter. And it’s only February. So, when Dave and I decided to hike the popular Wave Cave trail, getting there early was essential.
The trail is located in the Superstition Wilderness area, in Gold Canyon, Arizona. Just about an hour’s drive from our home. Despite our early start, the trailhead parking area was almost completely full. Thankfully, we were able to squeeze in between a couple of trucks. It was breezy and cool, and breathtakingly beautiful.
Dave heading up the trail.
Overall, most of the hike was pretty mellow. The elevation gain was gradual—filled with sunlit cholla and large stands of saguaro. We could only imagine what hiking this would be like in a month or so, when the cactus are in bloom.
Oh yeah, but then it got steep. REALLY, REALLY STEEP. The closer we got to the cave, the steeper it became. Narrow, with lots of loose rock. The sense of accomplishment felt as we scrambled to the top made it all worthwhile.
View from the back of the cave.
The cave was deep, sheltered and protected. A massive wave-like formation formed from thousands of years of erosion rose from the floor of the cave’s mouth. A perfect place to view the desert below or take the quintessential pipeline shot.
Sitting on top of the world.
The wind created small dust devils just outside the cave, creating a beach-like atmosphere.
I’d have to admit, for the first quarter mile, the trip back down was a little scary. I couldn’t decide whether to stand or crawl—so I did both. The Palo Verde limbs along the trail were smooth and shiny—most likely from the grasp of every hiker that passed by. As we headed down, we crossed paths with multiple groups of hikers headed upward. I couldn’t help but think, we sure timed that hike well.
Lost in space. That best describes how one feels in Monument Valley. It took us less than two hours to travel from Canyon de Chelley’s deep canyons to Monument Valley’s buttes and spires. John Wayne country, indeed. From memories of Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote, to The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, we felt as though we were entering a giant movie set. Amazing.
Artist’s Point
Monument Valley is really not a valley. It is a flat, that’s interrupted by towering formations formed though the endless erosion by water, wind and ice. Did I just mention wind? The day we visited, was really windy, with gusts clocking in at 30-40 mph.
The best way to see the area is to drive the 17-mile dirt road that loops around Rain God Mesa. A four-wheel drive is recommended, but Steve took the challenge (and won) with his SUV. There were no crowds or lines. Just wind. My understanding is that this road gets quite backed-up in the spring (a sea of cars) and that flash floods can occur from June-August. We really got lucky with our weather, as the offseason is often unpredictable.
A glimpse of Valley Road.
While pelted by sand, we captured the Three Sisters monument
The color and light was in Monument Valley is something to behold. Strong winds kicked up a lot of sand, creating a painterly effect on many of the photos we took. No enhancements needed. We stopped along the many pull-outs to take photos and marveled at the vast beauty of the Navajo nation.
John Ford’s Point
Stagecoach, 1939
John Ford’s Point is a well-known and aptly named. He used this particular location in many of his films. Post adventure, Dave and I watched Stagecoach, where Ford used the iconic vista at the beginning and the end of the film. To us, there was a bit of an issue with that decision. The stagecoach was making the journey from Tanto, Arizona to Lordsburg, New Mexico. Seems like they didn’t make much progress. Just saying…
Late afternoon view from Lee Cly Trail
Click, click, click. The sunrise view from everyone’s balcony.
The drive took up most of the afternoon. Our evening was spent dining on more frybread at The View motel. We awoke to a spectacular sunrise, courtesy of our room’s balcony. What a view! The steady click of cameras made it abundantly clear that we were not alone in this endeavor.
Early morning view from Wild Cat Trail.
Before departing, Julie suggested a quick hike along the Wild Cat Trail that ambles towards Mitten Butte. It was chilly, but also crisp, clear and blessedly still. The sand along the trail was pristine, and untouched, like the beach of an ocean, just washed by the tide.
The sands of time.
By 3pm, we were back in Phoenix. All of us felt strangely disoriented, as if we had been gone for much longer than two days. In hindsight, I’m thinking that our adventure was a great form of time travel, simplified.
A time machine. That’s what it was. Imagine driving for four hours and finding yourself in world of canyons and mesas. Looking down one day and up the next. And, by the end of the two-day adventure feeling like you have been gone a very, very long time.
Peering down into the one of several canyons
We left early on a Friday with our good friends Steve and Julie, and arrived in Flagstaff shortly after sunrise. It was a crisp and clear November day, the kind tourists dream about. After driving for what seemed forever through desolate reservation land, we reached our first destination. Just past the town of Chinle, is Canyon de Chelley, an Arizona National monument and part of the Navajo Nation. The land’s rich history spans close to 5,000 years, from the early Anasazi dwellers to the Navajo families that still live there today.
Steve, Julie and Judy taking in the sights.
Navajo farm deep in the canyon.
Ahhh, the benefits of visiting off-season. No crowds. Plus, we got lucky with the weather. That afternoon was spent peering into giant crevasses at ancient ruins, tidy farms, and geological wonders. Deep canyons cut by streams from the headwaters of the Chuska River.
Antelope House Ruins
Hiking White House Ruin trail provided us with a chance to look up and experience how it must have felt to live within the steep canyon walls.
White House trail, Canyon de Chelley.
White House Ruins, Canyon de Chelley
Pictograph, White House Ruins.
That evening, we stayed at Thunderbird Lodge—the only accommodation located within the park’s boundaries. It’s cafeteria is located in the trading post’s original building. We dined on posole, chile verde, and Navajo burgers. That’s where Julie and I discovered how much we really, really liked fry bread. Satiated, we turned in, looking forward to the next day’s adventure in John Wayne (or Buster Scruggs) country.
