93: Unfragmented Wildness

 

W I N K L E M A N,  A Z

Awareness of Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness emerged years ago.  Amazing imagery of a fertile desert oasis burrowed deep into my imagination.  And that to hike the canyon requires a permit, and a willingness to tramp right through its ankle-deep perennial stream, dug even deeper into my imagination. 

In 2016 on sabbatical in Arizona, I visited 7B Ranch – a Nature Conservancy (TNC) property acquired in conservation credit swap with a copper mining company.  Property Manager Celeste Andresen led me on a private tour of 7B, but also questioned my judgment.  7B is a mere 45 minutes from Aravaipa.  If coming to this part of Arizona, why not include Aravaipa?  (Apparently, she and her husband were super-hikers, aware of all the best places, so their recommendations should have been heeded.)

At the time, I didn’t realize how smart that question was.  Yes, I had considered Aravaipa, but as a solo hiker, I was hesitant to enter an unfamiliar canyon subject to flashfloods.   When I left Arizona in 2016, I presumed Aravaipa Canyon would never be tramped in. 

Tragically, in 2020, I learned of Celeste’s passing – killed by a drunk driver while jogging.  I guess in ode to Celeste, thoughts of her Aravaipa recommendation came trickling back in.

Also in 2020, planning began for the celebration of my brother’s 60^th birthday.  We have a history of epic adventures - like Sugarloaf Maine as college kids, Iceland in 2007, Olympic Peninsula in 2013, Guadalupe Mountains in 2017.  And now in 2023 – delayed two years by a pandemic – we’re following Celeste’s recommendation into Aravaipa Canyon.

Aravaipa Creek flows out of the sky.  The high peaks of southeast Arizona are known as sky islands whose elevations above the desert create cool refuges.  Water born in those sky islands flows through Aravaipa Canyon.  Here too is an ecosystem crossroads where the Sonoran and Chihuahuan deserts meet.  The Rockies and Sierra Madre meet.  Saguaro and Yucca meet.  Amid this diversity, birds, mammals, reptiles, and plants overlap like nowhere else in the world, meaning it’s a party in the canyon.

The Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness is one of the largest unfragmented landscapes in Arizona.  TNC’s efforts aimed at ensuring protection of this wilderness and Aravaipa Creek have been extensive and include fish monitoring, prescribed fire, and securing the land buffer around the canyon.  This buffer acts as a sponge, storing water in the ground and adding it slowly into the creek, ensuring perennial flow which fosters a lushness of flora and fauna.          

Getting to the trailhead isn’t easy.  Step one is to fly across the country and fight for a rental car during Phoenix’s busiest time.  Golfers, spring trainers, and perfect-weather seekers flock here in March.  For two nights, we stayed two hours from Phoenix at a farm orchard inn where stargazing, fresh fruit picking, wildlife mapping, and a great stillness were incredibly peaceful – a total juxtaposition to the busyness of Phoenix. 

 

 The five-mile drive from the inn to the trailhead is a slow, half-hour trip along a winding primitive road with creek fordings, one-lane bridging, and a few thumpings of the car’s undercarriage.  We park, grab a hiking stick left behind by yesterday’s hikers, and switch-back down to the creek.  This canyon is a federal wilderness, defined as a place “where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man.  Where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.”  To keep it untrammeled, the feds require a permit.  Our schedule lined up best for hiking on Monday, which is the world’s least popular weekday to hike, but also the best day for solitude.  During our half-hour drive, and as we enter the canyon, we’re all alone.    

Throughout a lifetime of hiking, my instincts are to keep feet dry - look for fallen trees at stream crossings, rock hop across, or perhaps, turn back.  But in Aravaipa, you know you’re going to get wet.  There are no blazes; just a following of the creek either along it’s dry edge or right through its ankle-deep flow.

It’s not long before we arrive at the first spot to step in.  Turns out, we prepared well; we both chose the right footwear.  Stepping out of the stream, the water drains quickly from our mesh hiking shoes.  Unburdened by waterlogged footwear, we eagerly march deeper into the canyon, confidently splashing back in when necessary.  

Last week, a flood scoured whatever semblance of a trail existed along this river’s edge.  So, as we move through the canyon it becomes an elemental pursuit – trailblazing a path of least resistance.  Humans are good at avoiding resistance.  What path takes minimum effort or requires the fewest time stream tramping?  It’s a joy finding the right path as we proceed. 

After just a half mile, and with wet feet, life’s most anticipated hike has not disappointed.  In fact, when we reach Hell’s Half Acre, this hike has ascended not just to the best of the 93 TNC properties visited so far, but it’s carved a spot on my Rushmore of best places ever visited.

 

 It’s a vibrant ecosystem. Cottonwood seeds fall continuously in snow-like fashion; even piling up like drifts in spots.   A herd of Coues deer (known as “gray ghosts” for their ability to vanish) dart off into a side canyon.  Plentiful but skittish birds unnecessarily flit away as we splash through the canyon.  Do they not know we come in peace?  And when on dry land, tree lizards scatter ahead of our steps, but a few pose motionless on rocks as we pass.  The deer, birds, and lizards exist in an extraordinary umwelt here in this canyon. 

 

 Humans have much larger brains than the fauna found here; yet they seem to know better who they are.  They eat, seek shelter, reproduce, and seemingly just exist in harmony with their beautiful surroundings.  I eat, seek shelter, and reproduce too, but must jet off to places like Aravaipa (and 92 other TNC sites) to find harmony?

I dip my Go-Pro below the surface.  Rocks from the canyon’s 1,000-foot cliffs have fallen into this creek and are ground into pebbles and sand, then pushed swiftly toward the confluence with the San Pedro River.  The video reveals just how powerful the eroding quality of this stream is. 

Three and a half miles in, we find large boulders in the middle of the creek creating little surging chutes.  It’s the perfect lunch spot.  I try to relax but it’s too beautiful.  I keep chasing imagery with cameras.  For a few minutes though, I sit and eat, and accidentally drop a handful of trail mix.  To leave no trace I pick it out of the pebbles and sand and eat it – five second rule be damned.  The trail mix has fallen onto some of the cleanest ground around. 

The hike back out is as awe-inspiring as the hike in.  We see the backside of our morning sights, and even spot new ones.  Through an opening in the Cottonwoods, for instance, we spot a waterfall in a narrow side canyon.  Cascading water in an otherwise arid region is another imagery gem from this amazing adventure. 

As we exit the canyon and begin switch-backing up to the parking lot, we’re both blissfully tired.  Seems we picked the exact right hiking distance for this 60^th birthday adventure. 

When measuring the memory garnered from these TNC property visits, they’re often influenced by happenstance.  The before and after parts; the weather; or the unexpected sightings.  Though what drew me here was the canyon walk - and it was one of life’s best - judging Aravaipa holistically makes it all the better: 

 

The inn’s pick-your-own grapefruit and dazzling stargazing.

The gift of shared hiking sticks at the trailhead.

The falling Cottonwood snow throughout our canyon trek.

Mapping of new species found in the vibrant crossroad of ecosystems.

Ignoring the five-second rule.

And that it’s been another fantastic epic shared with my brother.

 

All of this makes #93 an extraordinary memory. 

Learn more about TNC's work at Aravaiapa HERE.