Oracle Ridge to Red Ridge

I have no idea why, but the north side of the Catalinas aren't nearly as well traveled as the south side. Go figure. Because some of my favorite hikes are on the north side. Like this one. I started out on the south end of Oracle Ridge trail. The north end terminates in, drumroll please, the town of Oracle. Oracle is where I'll start my proposed four day camping trip. This day, I walked about three miles of the trail until I came to a saddle and turned west toward Red Ridge. What is Oracle Ridge like? Like this.

Again, this part of the Catalinas suffered in the wildfires of a few years ago. Still, I saw a lot of deer tracks. And deer! A few scattered cougar and bear prints. And a lot trees that looked like this. If that's not a frozen scream of pain, I don't know what it is.


Once on the saddle, it switchbacks down to the floor between Oracle Ridge and Red Ridge which parallel each other toward the summit of Mt. Lemmon. There's a pretty stream here, it runs north, toward Oracle and Pusch Ridge.



There's a secret spot before you get here. A great spot. I'd show you a photo, but some of you idiots might actually go there and do something stupid. So, unless you have the personal initiative to go see for yourself, you'll simply never know. Ha! From the valley floor, the trail turns onto Red Ridge, which runs between Oracle Ridge and Reef of Rock, pictured to the right. The trail runs pretty much straight as an arrow to the top of the summit. You gain about three thousand feet in three miles. Even that wouldn't be so bad, but the trail isn't maintained anymore. It's littered with dead trees and detrius from the fires. Stuff has started to grow, but like the survivors of any holocaust, they're tough and untrusting little buggers, covered with thorns that tug at your sleeves and ankles. The trail is almost impossible to discern at points. I got a little lost a couple of times. And once, when lost, I saw the trail and decided to take a shortcut to it down a fairly steep slope. I took a shortcut all right. On my ass for about sixty feet. It was sort of fun. Until I got home and my buddy said that it wouldn't have been fun to "get cornholed by a stump." Wise words. These are my friends. In any case, here's the high point of the trip, literally, if not figuratively. Right near here, a huge muledeer, a big ass buck just stepped out of the trees to take a look at me. He didn't seem very concerned. I can't even scare a deer. Sigh.

Next week...

Is going to be really busy. I suppose that's a good thing. I have a lot of hearings to get to, and preparation for the next week to do.

I have a pro bono case that's about to explode. The way they always do. I have another one, that I thought I settled, that looks like it's going to get unsettled.

Am I only what I do? To a lot of people yes. "That's Rob, my lawyer." I love the possessive before lawyer. That's MY lawyer. Like MY dog. Or MY handgun. Makes me feel like an instrument. A tool.

Lately, I've felt better about doing the things I like to do. And extending myself enough not let my fear or trepidation keep me from doing things I want to do. Whether that's going to a club, or making small talk with the people at the bar. I'm losing my crippling lack of self-confidence.

Yet I still don't feel like I belong with any particular group. I run out of things to say. Out of interest. I find myself pulling out my cell phone. I'm pretending it rang, but really I'm just checking the time. I want to be in the mountains. I want to be alone.

But really, at base, I'm lonely.

So there's the conundrum. I want to be alone. But I want people with me. Maybe I just want the parade of individuals that wander through my life to be less random. To be more about my choice of who I want around. And less about those who think, or do, need something from me. I have no tribe. In a sense I have a pack.

I'm not trying to be too dramatic. But I think about the lone wolves that roamed this valley before they were hunted down and killed. Three Toes. Old Aguila. Ally. They lost their packs as they were hunted down, one by one. Surrounded by a cloud of coyotes and stray dogs they continued the hunt. But there was no love in the pack. There were no litters. No young to protect. Just an endless forward movement, from one bloody night to another. No wonder there were such spasms of killing. Nights when ten, twenty, a hundred sheep and cows were killed.

All that was left was their JOB. Their LIVES were over. I don't want to be like that. I know myself. I can see myself withdrawing further. Withdrawing with the family I must protect, and a cloud of folks who, for all their good points, are only there to share the kills.

There must be more. There is more. But I don't know where to find it. I don't know how to keep it. But I know, to be happy, I've got to be more than a title on a door. I know all about lawyrrob. It's personrob who baffles me. And at the end of the day, it's personrob I need to get to know. To develop. Unless I allow myself to get pushed further and further into those mountains. To the barest edges of the world. To a place where I am truly all alone. To a place where all that's left is to stand upon a hill and stare at the lights with fear. Knowing you can never, ever, go back.

I've decided to really try. Because I don't really want that to happen.

Whatever...

Scouting!

I'm planning on taking a four or five day camping trip in the Catalinas, a range of mountains due north of Tucson. I figured I should take some exploratory hikes to get used to the mountains again, and to familiarize myself with some segments of trail I'll probably end up using. And of course, the cold keeps most of the semi-ambulant bags of water we call humans at home. So, in other words, little chance of seeing anyone else.

Perfect.

The Catalinas are well traveled. Probably the jewel is Mt. Lemmon, named after one of those hoop-skirted botanists who muled her way to the top in the 19th Century. There's a ski slope that's intermittently open and a lot of cabin owners who moaned incessantly when their expensive, saucer-shaped cabins went up in smoke a couple of years ago.

It was an amazing fire. You could see it charring the mountains from the city. And you could smell it downtown. I drove along the back side of the range one day and individual trees exploded like sparklers on Pusch Ridge.

Just think. If the wind had been right, the entire gated community of Saddlebrook would have been wiped out. Just the thought makes me half-hard.

But, alas, there is no God, and the seeping taupe stain of the subdivisions still lives. Can't always get what you want.

So anyway. I went for a hike in the Wilderness of Rocks. Very. Very. Cool.



Like I said, there was a big fire a few years ago. A lot of the forest looks like this. It's deeply cut through by arroyos however. What happened on one side of the ridge ain't necessarily what happened on the other.








Yeah, I know. Dead trees. Big surprise. But check these things out. I'm not sure if these died in the fire, or more recent lightning strikes.








I got lost more than once. But that's the beauty of canyon hiking. You can't really get lost in a tube. I lost the trail up here twice and went straight up a tough steep hill that seemed to be on the trial, walking all the way around looking for it. I couldn't find it and just wandered into the forest. Eventually, I came out on the face of the Catalinas. I spent some time sitting on a rock, staring into space and talking out loud to myself. After half an hour or so I came to some conclusions. This next one is the view when I stood and turned around. Magnificent mountains. Say it out loud. Magnificent mountains... Sigh...




There was a lot of ice on the trail. A ton of snow. I'll spare you all the bear tracks. Who cares right? Ice is a near magical thing. Check out this shred of water, slowly twisting in the breeze.

A good walk. A very good walk.