It was a cold morning. The porch thermometer registered 32F at 6am. I felt it.
Today our hike lead us through the riparian valley between the Huachucas and Mule Mountains north of Charleston Road east of Tombstone. There was no snow on the ground here, but in all directions stood white-topped peaks that all seemed whiter than usual against a bright blue sky, a blue sky I haven't seen all week. The ground felt saturated but there was no water in the wash.
Susan led this easy and level (4300'+/-) hike. She had originally wanted to lead a hike along the AZT near Tucson (which I would have enjoyed) but changed plans after reading about snow along the trail.
Along with Susan came her neighbor Jeanne. Others included both Steves, Paul, Rod, and Kevin and me. We walked single-filed along the trail, and even Sadie knew her hiking etiquette: she stayed close to either Kevin or me.
We had never hiked on this trail. I didn't even know it was there! This was the official trail, not the rail trail but the actual desert trail that meandered around catclaw-studded hilltops, dry washes and old ranch trails. The contrast between desert ground and snow-capped mountains made for some nice landscape photography.
In the summer this would be a brutally hot trail with no shade or water. The two older dogs would have suffered on this water-less hike, but Sadie frolicked around with glee.
Some of the largest barrel cactus in the area grow here.
I enjoy this trail not so much for the panoramas, but for its history. This river was the primary lifeblood of the San Carlos Apache before they were forcefully removed in the 1870s to make way for white settlers. The Apache's presence still linger in the rock art one finds along the way. Rusted tin cans and broken porcelain also litter this river valley, left behind by miners and farmers who lived here in the 19th century. And, if one wants to go back further in history, this river bed is home to two ancient mammoth kill sites dating to 12,000 years ago. I am honored to live but a mere nine miles from so much history.
Despite the barren landscape immediately around us we still came across abandoned clothes and backpacks from illegals crossing over from Mexico. How far do these people walk before they get picked up? There is no civilization around for miles except old mine shacks and mill ruins.
We had a break near a prehistoric rock art mound where Rod said his GPS read 3.35 miles. We were still another mile to the Boston Mills site. Both Kevin, having never been to the actual Boston Mills site, were interested in seeing it. "There isn't much there!" said Susan in defense of those wanting to turn around at this point. We walked down to the rail trail, which at this point was a mere 50 feet away and walked back this route, making a loop hike of just under six miles. The consensus was to turn around here as some of the guys wanted to get back and "watch the game" ("I want to see the Colts beat the Jets!" said Little Steve) We never did make it to the old Boston Mills site. That will have to wait another time.
From here on the route was familiar. This was the same trail Kevin walked in early January. I took Sadie down to the River, but the muddy banks were still very treacherous. The water was brown-colored. Sadie went into the water but didn't stay in it for long. She didn't even seem interested in the white-tailed deer that raced passed me. The river area was too slippery and steep for me to want to walk far on, and opted to return to the railbed.
We made it to the cars by 1pm. Brenda had just pulled up with her dog Chalita. The two dogs would have enjoyed this hike together as they play well together (except Sadie sometimes forgets that she's quite a bit larger than her blue heeler friend) Brenda had been caving the day before and was too tired to meet up with the rest of us at 9am and was now walking the route we had just completed. We stayed to chat as a group for a few minutes, but then my back started getting cold from the sweat left behind by my backpack which I had placed in the truck.
Kevin was getting cranky because he was suffering from a nicotine fix. Yes, sadly, Kevin is back to smoking again. My hope that he had kicked the habit lasted not even five days, and my disappointment brought a silence to our conversation. This silence lasted for most of the drive back home, when Kevin, probably aware of my feelings about his smoking, broke that silence when he then added "Looks like the snow's melting from the mountains. Indeed the western slopes of the Mule Mountains around Bisbee were back to their brownish hues; they had been white earlier in the morning.
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