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.

I'm not sure where...

I belong. But I'm pretty sure it isn't right here. I don't seem to really jibe with the people around here anymore. And I find this city I once loved to be cloying and much, much too big. There are places I get along. And people I get along with.

They're just not here.

Maybe someplace north of here. Maybe sooner than later.

Stay tuned.

Return to Sky Island!!

I went back to Madera Canyon last weekend. Another great hike. Got there early enough, the whole place was deserted. At one point, I had all the names of these mountains committed to memory. That was some time ago. Ahem. In any case, what does it matter? I had a great time!

Again, there was a lot of snow on the ground. Right around here, I ran into three old guys. Had to be around seventy at least, maybe older. Just out enjoying the woods together. They asked where I was headed, I told them, and we spent a few pleasant moments chatting. I admire guys that age who aren't afraid of the woods. Hope I'm like that when I'm that age.









This is Josephine Saddle, where all the major trails in Madera eventually converge. Near here, in a freak snowstorm, three Boy Scouts lost their lives. I'd like to say I paused and reflected. In reality, I was way too freaking cold to think of anything but the jacket I'd left in the car. (Spot the irony, win a dollar!)




A little farther along the trail. Note the change in elevation from the first pic to this one. These are basically the same mountains. Left me a little breathless. The snow in this portion of the trail was thick and trackless. Not a soul around. Nice. The wind eventually was blocked by the mountains in front of me. Even nicer.





Those far off mountains are in Mexico.








A view back along the trail. You can probably spot it. Again, there was a lot of snow. At this point however, I was no longer cold.







This was another trip where I saw tracks and heard noise, but didn't see much in the way of wildlife. You could feel it out there though. I saw more cougar tracks too. Some bobcat. Raccoon. Etc.






Observatories on Mt. Hopkins. At least I remembered that name!







This is a grove of quaking aspen about three miles from the end of the hike. Beautiful trees. A nice thing to see on the way out. A beautiful day. Will I be back? You betcha. With a jacket!

The walk that made me sick....

I didn't feel so hot when I woke up last Saturday. But damn it, I'd been planning this hike for two weeks and I wasn't going to let a case of the sniffles stop me!

In retrospect, I am an ass. But it was still a great walk. I went to the Pajarita Wilderness. It's a spot near Nogales. I decided to walk Sycamore Canyon, about a five mile hike that leads right to the Mexican Border.

There are signs all over the place warning you about smugglers and illegal immigration. I think National Parks should also have signs that say "Warning! You may encounter morons on your walk! Proceed with caution!" Anyway, let's get to the hike!

This is about the start of the hike. As you can see, there's a lot of water in the canyon. Sycamore Creek is one of the only perennial streams in Baja Arizona. By the way, there are probably a hundred canyons in Arizona named Sycamore Canyon. Probably because in such a dry land such huge trees are startling. And also because the blessed people at the Park Service aren't real long on imagination. That's why you get such great names as Big Rock and Sandy Wash. Oh well. You usually get what's advertised. In an case, note that the level of the water is just about where the "path" is.

The path is really more of a suggestion. It's hard to get lost in a slot canyon. At least, that's how the thinking goes. Here's a picture of the "path" a little later on. Yeah, my feet got wet. More than once.





In parts, the canyon spreads out, and you get these great rock formations like one would see in the Chiricahuas. Very pretty. While I was taking this, a mule deer exploded from the brash to my right. For a moment, all my brain could register was a long tawny blur headed for me. I almost wet myself. Almost. I'm pretty tough after all.

There's a lot of great camping sites around here. And side canyons that beg to be explored. I'm definitely coming back.







This is another portion of the stream. There is great beauty here. Humbling beauty.






This is a pretty tough hike. Besides the water, there's a bunch of spots where the trail just sort of ends, and you have to do a bit of climbing. Right near here, there's a spot where you have to grab a rope that some Ranger helpfully attached to an eyebolt drilled into the cliff face. Very helpful. On the way in, I used it and forgot to move it into a spot where I could grab it from the other side. This led to what I'm sure was a very comical view of me, face pressed into the cliff, wildly flailing with my right arm to grab a rope I could not see. Did I fall? Nope. Did I think about falling? You bet!

On the way back, as always, I started to run into other hikers. Because they are often so very loud, I usually know that they are there before they know I'm around. Good thing. That way, I can hop off the trail and work around them without having to have that stupid hiking conversation:

Them: Hey!

Me: Hey.

Them: How far did you go!

Me: Unintelligible mumble.

Them: Nice day!

Me: Uh. Yup.

Then the money question.

Them: You, uh, out here by yourself?

This always creeps me out. I know they're probably harmless and just groping for something to say. But geez. I usually say, no, there are twenty-five friends of mine up the trail. And they're armed to the teeth. I'm not that into guns. But people like these make me want to carry one out here. Anyway, enough of the rant.

Anyway, on the way back, I ran into a guy here who just bawling from the depths of his soul. Real, racking sobs. I have no idea what was going on. Nor, I must admit, did I care all that much. Hey, life is tough. I told a friend about it that night. He rather sardonically suggested, "Maybe he lost his true love." Hey, maybe. But as everyone knows, the way you mourn that is in a dark room. With a bottle. An expensive bottle. Don't ruin my hike with your tears! It's a National Forest. It belongs to everyone you selfish bastard!!





More from the walk. This is another part of the "path". The nice thing though, is that the further you get in, the fewer people you see. It's pretty quiet out here.










I saw a lot of animals. Heard more. Fish, frogs, the aforementioned deer, hawks, kestrels, etc. There were also a ton of jays that loudly complained of my presence each time I approached a canyon wall. I found this quite rude. It's a National Forest guys. It belongs to all of us! Jackasses.



The closer you get to the US-Mexico border, the more trash you start seeing. Cans of food. Clothing. Etc. Sort of ruins the "I am in the wilderness" mood. I have sympathy though. This can't be a good place to cross the border. While there's water here, you have quite a hike to get back to a real road. And it's really up and down terrain. And ungodly hot during the spring and summer. I feel for these people.


Anyway, that was the hike. A great one. I'll definitely be back. On the way out, I pushed it a little hard. I was feeling good. Had a good sweat going. Leaping from rock to rock. I got home and basically collapsed. Two days later, I'm still sniffling. Sniff!

Stupid. But worth it.

I wonder...

How in the world the administration and military expect us to believe that Iran has been running weaponry to Iraq after it is now indisputable that they lied about WMD in Iraq?

Do they really think we're that stupid?

Better question: Are we that stupid?

What quantifiable good has our presence in the region done? And I mean ever? We've managed to radicalize most of the region. What the fuck do we do now?

I'm starting to think that there's little left to do, and perhaps very few options other than a long-term, full-blown, military occupation of the region. I don't know what the alternative is now. And that makes me profoundly embarrassed.

I don't want to be a Roman.

Plug!

I've been doing yoga for about a year and a half. For those of us who ruined our joints during high school contact sports, it's a great way to strengthen core muscles and maintain flexibility. Also, it's something those of us with constraints on our time can do at home. In the morning or evening.

With that in mind, I would like to endorse the work of Rodney Yee. His DVDs have clear, concise instructions. Also, while he doesn't ignore the spiritual, quasi-religious side of yoga, he doesn't cram it down your throat. Instead, he urges you to concentrate, and relax.

All of his videos are pretty good. Some few are for people more flexible than I, and a few contain very intensive arm balances that might be out of reach for the casual practicioner.

I can however, without reservation endorse both Yoga Burn and Total Body Workout from the Power Yoga series.

Namaste.

Hmmmm....

Two court dates in a row.

I have pulled a rabbit from a hat.

I know too much to think I did it.

Even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes.

My little brother...

Turns thirty today!!!

Why does that make me feel old? Sheesh.

He's better looking too.

That sucks.