Fishing . . . or not
February 3, 2018

Following what seemed like an interminable spell of overcast skies and unusually high amounts of precipitation delivered with uncomfortable temperatures, the señor and I determined that a day trip to the Verde River might net us some fishing opportunities and warmer temps.

At the very least, it would be an enjoyable change of scenery and a chance to exercise my ankle in its recuperation from trauma and surgery, so loading up fishing gear and various paraphernalia, we headed eastward.

With an eeney, meeney, miney, mo decision, Salt Mine Road was chosen to take us along the river through some familiar territory and beyond, further than we had previously ventured.  The most we had been out that direction revolved around a very fun time kayaking that stretch of the Verde with friends, taking out at Beasley Flats.

Early on, the route serves as access to scattered rural residential areas that have developed as outliers from Camp Verde.  Along the way, we watched a coyote cross in front of us, with a fresh kill drooping from its mouth.  I wondered if possibly it had a denned mate or offspring to which it was delivering breakfast; otherwise, I would think the meal would have been eaten at at its point of demise.

Why did the guinea fowl cross the road?

I’m not sure about the flock we encountered along our way, but I do know that my bunch used to cross the field to the neighbor's with the sole goal of irritating the bejabbers out of him with their incessant racket until he would call me and, in no uncertain terms, tell me to keep my blankety-blank birds home, a task so hopeless that I eventually divested myself of them.

We crested over high enough to have an awesome look back at the Verde Valley.  The junipers were rich with pollen just itching (pardon the expression) to take flight like smoke from the trees.

As we ventured further, we left behind habitations except for the occasional ranch house as we continued to more or less parallel the river, stopping here and there to evaluate possible fishing spots.  The incessant precipitation of the past few weeks had brought the Verde to flood stage.  During our day there, higher water levels were evident, receding, but clearly high over normal flow, evidenced in this photo that shows current going over an earlier camper’s fire ring.

Beavers have been here, but we saw no sign of recent activity.

Muddy and flooding seemed like less than optimum fishing conditions, and because even getting to the shoreline would entail sloppy treacherous footing, we tossed the angling idea and enjoyed the scenery and hiking. 

At Beasley Flat, we trooped out through the plateau above the flood plain and were rewarded with a plethora of grass and weed seeds in our shoe laces and socks.  We did spot prehistoric artifacts in the form of worked stone chips and a small scattering of potsherds.

Those finds were pretty much expected: on the opposite river shore, the cliffs were pocked with caves and remnants of native dwellings.

Beasley Flat was the furthest point we had previously been on Salt Mine Road.  As we proceeded south, the road took a convoluted route through up and over and down and around increasingly rugged mountains and down and across numerous water courses that drain the surrounding peaks.  Awesomely beautiful countryside back there: an intriguing area to spend lots more time.

This gigantic cleft appears to be the namesake of Chasm Creek:

Public access ended at Gap Creek, where there is a permanent spring watering a healthy ground cover of Myrtle before trickling downwards toward the river.  A ranch’s line camp marks the spot; a narrow dirt track continues on a private route beyond there.

Our initial attempt to gain the river somewhere below was stymied by increased surface flow and the accompanying rubble underfoot.  Not quite ready to give up a hike to the Verde after having traveled so far, we located another route - this one drier, but equally washed out and rubbley.  Since my ankle break, dislocation and surgery, I have been cautious in the extreme as far as my footing goes, and would never have attempted that hike without the encouragement and accompaniment of the señor.  Chris held my hand every step of the way down and back.  Managing to complete the hike without mishap was just what I needed to boost my self-confidence. 

Before my accident, I had never felt generally fearful about back-country hiking; it is wonderful to be freed of that and ready to be out where I am most alive again.

See, I really did make it!

Since that day, I have hiked frequently as the weather allows and am back to reveling in the ability.  This shot of a great blue heron was taken on one of those walks along the Peavine Trail back of Watson Lake.