Woodchute wilderness
May 24, 2012

Eastward we point ourselves this morning, but our primary destination is not far distant.  Chris has a yen to explore the Woodchute Mountain section of the Mingus range.  With typical ambivalence about where I’m going, I’m just thrilled to be on a wander, so agree to his so-called plan.

He informs me that there is a Woodchute Wilderness Area up there: there being the mountains that separate our Chino Valley from the Verde Valley.  I have been adventuring up there since childhood, but there remain plenty of untrammeled-by-me areas.

The road is windy (that’s a long “i”) and the weather is not windy (short “i”), giving us optimism for a perfect hiking day.  We stop at a Forest Service mailbox that announces via a sign that trail maps are inside, and sure enough, they are.  Unfortunately, as maps, they are seriously deficient but no matter, we wander on.

As we near a nearly dry tank, I spot fluttery bird activity and we disembark for a look-see.  Perhaps the little remaining water contains intoxicants; the two strikingly-colored acorn woodpeckers are acting in most strange ways, seeming to emulate flycatchers.  We get good looks at them because for this trip, I have loaded up our super-duper spotting scope (thanks, Jay’s Bird Barn!).

The tank is at the lower end of a sloping meadow surrounded by piney forest.  As we saunter through the meadow, we see check dams built to stop erosion and enhance riparian habitat.  I remember writing an article for the newspaper about this type of project by the Forest Service, impressive and successful.

As we work our way upward into the trees, we realize that our saunter has turned into a hike on a trail, something that we don’t too often embark on.  Much of our boondocking is more in the nature of bushwhacking in the back country somewhere with no idea where we are going nor why.  Sometimes, the why never does become apparent, but we always end up somewhere anyway.

Great Western Trail . . .
We are informed by yet another sign that we are hiking on the Arizona section of the Great Western Trail, whatever that might be; we have never heard of it, but we are glad to have use of it to get us through this steep, rugged, rocky and brushy terrain. The trail skirts around the crown of the mountain top, no very steep inclines, just gentle climbing.

Flowers are in abundance everywhere: the wild iris blooms are just drying on their stems, others are in full-bloom profusion.  I have never seen so many penstemons; there are veritable thickets of them.

 

Valley views, lizards & such . . .

As our path turns northward, we are surprised to discover that we are on a ridge top allowing us great simultaneous views of Verde and Chino valleys.  I don’t think I’ve been in such a position before.  As we take in the vistas, we find both views to be exceptionally hazy with drifting smoke from the Gladiator fire.

My first glimpse of wildlife consists of a large lizard with shimmering fat sides covered with golden scales.  As he poses for my photo shoot and shows off his push-ups, I topple onto my keester.  Chris does not come to my rescue; indeed, though just steps away, he is oblivious to my plight and I regain my footing unaided and with awkward abandon.

Further along our path, we encounter another large lizard, this one in capital letters LARGE.  This guy does not appear to note our presence due to the fact that he is manufactured of metal and bolted onto the tree.  What a great specimen he is!  His creator obviously formed him to meld perfectly into this exact spot.  He blends so well into his niche that it’s difficult to photograph him well.  At any rate, he is a real beauty - how fun that someone went to so much trouble to give fellow hikers this visual treat.







Our hike takes us into an area that has burned.  It is not a large burn but the contrast from our middle perspective of one hillside denuded of foliage and the other of thriving pine forest is extreme.

It is interesting that we are hiking far above Highway 89A threading its way around the mountain on its way to the former ghost city of Jerome.  I have ridden that route a zillion times at least and never had an inkling about this great hike above me.

Eventually, it becomes clear that we have cleverly left our water, food and most other provisions in the car, so as the day heats up and so do we, we opt for turning back.  We do have our binoculars and scope with us, so all else pales in necessity.  We are astounded at the amount of bird activity up here on the mountain.  We are engulfed in birdsong, but the only ones we identify are: mourning dove, white-breasted nuthatch, western wood peewee, American raven, dark-eyed junco, lesser goldfinch, and northern flicker.
 



A Jerome skeleton . . .

Our hike of several miles works us up to an appetite, but instead of eating the lunches we (Chris, actually) packed, he suggests we go down the mountain and eat a restaurant meal in Jerome.  I agree so we are off to the Haunted Hamburger for a sandwich served up on the deck that teeters over the steep slope onto which Jerome clings.


Seems that whenever I am in this bustling “ghost” town, I am with other folks who like to do normal people things: check out the teeming arts & crafts shops, galleries and historic sites, so I seldom get to the lesser-known haunts (pardon the expression).  This time is not that much different except that I spot the gaping empty gable window of an abandoned Victorian house somewhere above us (everything in Jerome is above or below; no wonder parts of the town have slid down the mountain), and want to find how to get to it.

We trespass only a little in the attempt, never managing to get to that specific building, but I shoot photos of another vine-covered house skeleton.  I can see just enough of it through the foliage to see that it was once a magnificent dwelling, but am a bit nervous about my trespass and venture no further.  It is intriguing and beautiful, looks more like something that would be found in the viney jungle of the American South than a forlorn house in an Arizona mining town.

 



Side tracks/two-tracks . . . 

This boondock detoured into civilization; now we set ourselves homeward bound via the former narrow-gauge rail bed.  This railroad was used to transport copper ore from Jerome to the standard-gauge railroad that traversed the east side of Chino Valley.  We are scarcely out of Jerome before we stop to photograph empty buildings that I know I have seen before but do not remember.  It is a large complex on a road that is blocked to entry, something that always add intrigue for me.

Only a bit farther along, a two-track off to the side calls to us.  Chris suggests that we just walk it out to a point to see what we can see.  That point comes and goes, but onward I am called, always to see what is around the next bend in the road or surely there is something to be checked out over the next rise.  Chris confiscates the camera long enough to shoot a photo of me that he calls "Rita takes the road less traveled."

We walk until we tire, see from this high vantage point that old roads crisscross these hills inexplicably going here and there, finally disappearing in the valley bottom.  Bear grass clumps are sending up their contorted blossom stalks, which I have to photograph before we climb back up to Ruby and continue on our way.

Narrow gauge . . .
This section of the railroad bed is maintained with some regularity; we even remark on how nice the dirt road surface is.  Famous last words as it turns out when we depart the primary road that would take us to Perkinsville and on into Chino.  The choice is to continue on that route or veer off onto a mostly unused section of the railbed.  It shortly becomes obvious the top soil has completely eroded away and we are driving on a one-lane rocky surface that perches precariously on the sides of cliffs.

The sign that cautions us to go no faster than 15 mph for the next seven miles turns out to be unnecessary to the point of laughability.  I am convinced that driving faster than five miles per hour on this stretch would cause us to be bounced enough to pitch us right over the side. 

I spend quite a bit of time and energy admonishing Chris to drive more carefully, totally unnecessary haranguing, but occasionally one cannot help oneself.  We stop now and then to cease the jolting and to see the sights.  In this case, it is perfectly fine to park in the middle of the narrow one-lane road because no one else is demented enough to drive this route.

We discover that our “road” is a continuation of the Great Western Trail, much more suited to bicycling than vehicle travel.

We manage to add a few birds to the day’s list: Chipping sparrow, Scott’s oriole, turkey vulture and western scrub jay.  And I enjoy snapping a shot of a few bovines lounging by the only tank that has any water at all and it not much.  I call this picture “Life on the shady side”.

Necessary slow travel causes us to arrive home feeling a bit battered (something like Betty Botter’s batter which is a bit better after . . . well, never mind that) but blessed to be able to spend our day boondocking.