French Joe Canyon

Kevin was up before sunrise to get ready for a hunting trip in the Dragoons. He was gone all day hunting rabbits.

A Cooper's Hawk sat in our front yard pecan tree this morning, waiting for a bird to come by. The birds that normally eat from the feeder were quietly hiding in our shrubs. With no birdseed in the feeder for a few days, there had been no birds chirping after sunrise in the front yard.

I was in a bad need of a hiking fix. I didn't walk through my mountains last week because of school, but today I took a few hours off in the afternoon to explore French Joe's Canyon. I hadn't been there in 4-5 years. Back then both Sammy and Sadie were 25 pounds lighter and more spry. (Today they were more docile except for a few cows they hazed on the way back.) I wanted something short, easy and nearby but something I don't go to every day. This was today's choice, 20 miles north of us.

This canyon is a somewhat obscure canyon in the Whetstones. The only way in is via Highway 90. The entrance isn't marked but a sign for French Joe Canyon is inset a bit.

I like this canyon because it's more like a local hide-out. There are no designated hiking trails in this small mountain range. Parts of the peaks belong to state trust land, private property, and the Coronado National Forest. To get to the National Forest one must drive on badly-rutted dirt and gravel roads for a few miles. And if you're lucky, you may have to yield to slow-poking horses.

The creek here is a seasonal creek and when there's water in the creek, some of the water holes become small, deep soakers. Cattle, deer and illegals use the water. When I got to the trail head at 2:36pm, no one else was around. One older man with his foo-foo dog had just left. Another couple sat by the first waterfall on my return hike.

There is no true trail here. One follows the creek bed uphill toward the prominent peaks to the north. The peaks here are small, barely above 5000', but the small range is chockfull of old mining trails that people now use for their ATVs. The many geologic uplifts are reminders that this land was once beset with earthquakes (like the 8.8 temblor earlier today in Chile).

It was a beautiful sight to behold! Water was trickling down the small waterfalls of the creek. Larger waterholes were full of clear water. I was surprised that the largest waterfall at the end of the box canyon wasn't flowing, though. That is normally a destination hike during the wet season.

I had no water with me. I wore no backpack. The dogs drank from the creek. They had a blast. What turned out to be a quick exploratory hike turned into a nice two-hour hike of about 5-miles round trip through a quiet aromatic canyon. It was my third time here and it was the first time I've seen water in the creek.

The light grey sky wasn't very pretty at first, but a storm coming from California began to darken the clouds late in the afternoon, and before the sun set over the mountains the red soil turned an even more impressive red. What beautiful colors! The distant Huachucas with their snow-capped peaks looked cold in the grey background.

I swear I smelled the first scents of spring today as I walked under oaks, pass mesquites and around sycamores. While the eastern states are freezing, we here in southern Arizona can't complain about this wet and cool winter. It's the wettest one since we moved here in late 2004.

I passed what looked like a full-sized pick-up full of illegals in the back bed. They were driving north to evade the nearby USBP checkpoint.

On my return drive I stayed in the National Forest, driving south on FR369 as it meandered along the foothills. The highway was visible a few miles east and downhill. This is pretty country, as from this vantage point one can see all the mountain ranges nearby: the Huachucas, San Jose Peak in Sonora, the Dragoons, Chiricahuas, Peloncillos. The valley empties further east into a vast lowland of thorny brush, mesquites, agaves, yuccas, ocotillos and prickly pears. If you stop and just take in the views, one feels the "Old West." Gunfights and shoot-outs happened here 150 years ago, and the legend says the Clanton Brothers buried their gold loot somewhere in the Whetstones. Adventurers have been trying for decades to find that loot.

I had the dogs jog an additional three miles as I took on the rutted road. He followed me as I meandered slowly on the dirt road along the foothills, taking in the scenery. The dogs totalled over eight miles today, and when they finally got back inside the SUV, they panted hard all the way home. There was a LOT of heavy breathing in that truck!

When I got back home at 6pm Kevin was already in bed reading. We compared hiking notes. "It was absolutely beautiful!" said Kevin about Slavin Gulch and the Dragoons. "You would have liked some of the sights" he added. I have no doubts about that.

He didn't bag any rabbits, but he seemed to enjoy the solitary hike regardless. If rain weren't predicted for tomorrow, I'd say let's go back there. Those mountains have an attraction for me, like a vortex waiting to suck me in.