Another day of free-wheelin’ four-wheelin’: we point our noses northwestward on Camp Wood Road. My stated destination is Apache Creek, a spot much farther upstream (or is it upcreek?) on that drainage than we were last time out. A return is in order because the previous time we visited the area, I was the only one of our small group who hiked up the beautiful slick rock waterway, and felt an obligation to return shortly to my fellow journeyers, forfeiting the urge to answer the stream’s invitation to adventure.
Hitt Wash, Las Vegas Ranch . . .
Our first stop is in the bottom of Hitt Wash for a look around and to snap a photo. The wide flat
valley offers little in the way of obstructions, thus the water has wandered aimlessly, creating a sandy-bottomed dry wash filled abundantly with black walnut trees for miles.
Not long afterward, we see a sign that explains the isolated house or two we have noted along the way. The Las Vegas Ranch, sadly, is being subdivided. 
Hiking, owl, lightning . . .
As we drive farther up into the foothills of the Santa Maria Range, I am soon ready for a hike although we are nowhere near my stated destination. A convenient place to pull out brings us to an area evidently now closed to vehicular traffic. A sign explains that various entities have joined together to manage it as a riparian restoration. Partnering agencies are the Cross U Ranch, Santa Maria Mountains Group, U.S. Forest Service, Game & Fish Department and the Prescott Habitat Partnership Committee. I have never heard of some of these, but I silently thank them as we head off for a walk along another dry wash.
This drainage winds much more than Hitt Wash because when it carries flood water, it must cascade down around boulders, rock outcrops and the convolutions of the mountainside. As seems to be becoming common for us, we startle a great horned owl from its daytime roost and it silently glides to a place where disturbance by hikers is less likely.
I get Chris to climb into a tree so my photo will demonstrate the large size (of the tree, not Chris). I am intrigued by this place and ready to hike for miles uphill in the wash, thinking our return trip can be along its western bank, an inviting grassy meadow.
That plan is soon thwarted by a looming storm front. As the thunder begins to rumble, I commence to head back whence I came. It turns out that we walked quite a bit farther than I realized. Even at a fast clip, sometimes jogging, it takes far longer to return to the safety of the car than I would prefer.
Our return route is up on the flat, all the better for speed, and we follow a faded-by-time two-track. 
We are not struck by lightning, much to my delight and reach the car just as the first raindrops fall. I manage to cease my stampede a couple of times to take quick photos of things that catch my eye.
I remember Dad talking about the Santa Maria Range being their destination for summering their herds of Angora goats. A job for the young men, they trailed the animals on foot from the ranches around Yarnell all the way up here, a distance I can't even imagine walking, and a huge gain in elevation, to boot. This was in the 1930s, shortly after my grandparents, Zack & Pearl Kelley, had migrated here from the Hill Country of Texas, bringing their two sons, Ira & Lewis.
Cabin Springs . . .
This particular monsoon event will likely pass on, so we utilize the rainy time to drive on farther into the mountains, stopping a place identified as Cabin Springs. Sounds intriguing and it is a lovely place - I judge by the name it is an old homestead; however, we can find no sign of habitation. Wandering through and around various fences, we find a beautiful spring and tall trees festooned with streamers of grapevines.
Lots of grass and vegetation, even large mushrooms wearing caps. Not really, I place Chris’ cap on one to demonstrate its gargantuanness. 
I admire the fence work that was employed to build corrals; inexplicably, I am endlessly fascinated with various fence-construction techniques, each one as unique as its builder.
We climb up above the spring expecting to find signs of prehistoric inhabitants, but nothing is in evidence. There is a Cabin Springs Trail through here; the brush is so thick in these parts that I think we might welcome some rare trail use to facilitate further exploration and hiking. Today we venture on in Ruby, but both of these stops were much too abbreviated; a return is in the near future.
We spot a ponderosa that appears to have been struck by lightning, not particularly unusual, but this one survived the hit and bears an impressive slash scar from the encounter.Apache Creek (or not) . . .
Once more headed to Apache Creek we are when we come to a fork in the road. And as in the oft-quoted quip about taking the fork, my pard decides we will veer from our course, taking this route that should (I use the term advisedly) come out on Fair Oaks Road. We are soon warned by signage that we are on a “limited use road”, not the first time and undoubtedly not the last. I file a mental reminder that I have yet to return to the slick rock area of Apache Creek; put it on the list.
The track takes little time to convince me that its use is limited to those with limited judgment. I recall when we were contemplating our purchase of our stalwart Four Runner, named Ruby for her color, quite a number of years ago. Chris really wanted to get a vehicle with a standard transmission. That was one of the times when I firmly planted my foot and vetoed his macho desire to pretend his SUV is a sports car.
The reason this comes to mind just now is because of the way he loves to shift into four-wheel-drive and low gear to navigate the crazed places we sometimes traverse. And this one is getting more crazed by the minute. I hang on, but opine aloud that if the road gets any worse, we might want to turn back.
Despite the jarring, we enjoy the countryside; all is thickly forested and the gigantic quartz outcrops that jut out above the granite and volcanic bedrock are awesome.Other interesting formations we see include BT Butte, a close cousin of Prescott’s Thumb Butte, and Smith Mesa up ahead.
We startle one deer that had been peacefully drinking at a small spring. Something to the side catches my eye, so
I get Chris to back up for a better look. It is another deer, this one standing at full alert. Huge ears turned full toward us, a large section of one is missing. I quickly snap a couple of pictures, assuming it will turn and leap into the brush. As the animal continues to stare directly at us with nary a blink or a move, I begin to wonder if this is an actual deer or some sort of installed target. No matter, I disembark on the off chance that it will allow me to get a better picture. After about a half-dozen more shots, the thing has still not so much as twitched, so I begin to wave my arms vigorously as if I am bringing a helicopter in to land on a wave-tossed aircraft carrier: still nothing. This things has nerves of steel, I think. Eventually, the sport wanes and I climb back into the car, slamming the door behind me. That was what it took; that deer turned and leaped simultaneously and was gone in a flash. I have a feeling, though, that one will not last past hunting season.
About this time, I wonder out loud about my previous suggestion that we turn back if the road gets any rougher because rougher it is definitely getting. My traveling companion chooses not to hear this comment as we continue on our way.We had thought our route was taking us west around Smith Mesa, but as time goes on, we wonder why we can no longer spot that huge prominence through the trees. Finally, it becomes clear; our road is actually winding its way, and us with it, to the top of the flat-topped mountain instead of skirting around it. The road steepens as we climb and becomes much rockier; clearly the steepness has caused it to be severely eroded, exposing large rocks and creating deep cuts in the roadway, such as it is.
I am creating quite a squawk now as I am bounced from pillar to post nonstop until we make a hairpin turn that reveals not the end of life as we know it, but the end of travel on this road. It has eroded away to nothing but flood-carved gullies strewn with boulders.
Chris is dismayed and I am, well, perturbed, to put it mildly. After all, we are probably no more than a half-mile from Fair Oaks Road, but have 11 miles of rough road behind us. I make quite a few relatively loud observations about the situation, all of which C accepts pretty well, considering that they are all malignings of his listening skills or lack thereof.
Oh well, the hour is growing late and we do not want to drive that 11 miles in the dark, so we gird our loins and reverse direction. Truthfully, it was an interesting drive going that-a-way and it is also interesting going this-a-way. With snouts pointed otherwise, we see all new things and enjoy ourselves (in between times when I again mention Chris’ shortcomings). In spite of it all or because of it, I am now determined to top out at Smith Mesa; perhaps we can try it from Fair Oaks Road on another day.
Meadow, lion . . .
One spot demands a stop; through a break in the trees, I have seen something I must explore and besides, we need another good hike to stretch our legs. As we venture down into a gully and back up, we find a large sun-drenched meadow, Indian artifacts, pretty rock outcrops and a wonderful spring, far bigger than the many we have noted along this route.
This place has an enchanting energy to it. I am drawn to be here for more time, but oh! that road. We walk around the meadow, climb the outcrops and work our way down the arroyo that houses the spring. I arrive at the bottom first and warn Chris about the quicksandy surface. He quickly demonstrates his selective hearing by walking into it.
I ask for a photo as I play the "My tree is bigger than your tree" game. Suffice it to say there are some very impressive specimens in the area.
There is lots of fresh water flowing, abundant lush tall grass and a muddy place that clearly shows fresh lion tracks. This is an exciting find, one that causes me to peer closely at the thick foliage above us. Although I would be excited to see a lion, my preference is that it not be lurking on one of those branches over my head. Several other preferences come to mind about now, such as that it not be stalking me, but we do not see the cat that stopped for a drink before our arrival (or perhaps it was here lapping even as we walked in to the area).
Vistas, spider, rainbow . . .
Reluctantly, we depart and make our way back to Camp Wood Road. This approximates a super highway compared to where we’ve been, and we enjoy the distant open vistas.
Suddenly, Chris realizes we have just passed a tarantula in the road so I insist I must get a picture of it. He backs up using the “things are larger than they appear” mirror, but even so, clearly sees the T-rex-rantula from a distance. I get out and explain that I want a picture. With a bit of urging, the spider poses for its portrait. The creature is obviously crossing the road to get to the other side.As monsoon activity continues around the area, we are driving directly toward a gorgeous rainbow in a rain squall. We stop several times for pictures, each one more vivid than the last until at last I am satisfied, a day fully lived.
