In the early morning rain

July 12, 2018

A day of boondocking - that was the plan.  To get an early start, we opted out of my morning walk and my yoga class; just load up our trusty steed and enjoy breakfast out on the back porch as usual.  The only unusual part of that was rain: a lovely soft early morning rain while we ate, which of course created an ear worm for me as I spent the remainder of the day with the beginning lyrics to Peter, Paul & Mary’s “Early Morning Rain” playing away in the background of my brain.

This particular excursion had an actual destination in mind, although our experience is that destinations are nothing more than suggestions.  If other things present themselves along the way, that is just fine, too.

So . . . somewhere or other, I got wind of a large fish being caught at Blue Tank.  Neither of us had ever heard of the place but it certainly piqued our interest.  A bit of research revealed that the waterhole could be found out west somewhere between Camp Wood and Bagdad - basically in the proverbial middle of nowhere.  I love middle of nowheres: there are so very many them, and every one of them is my favorite place to be whilst I am there.

As we gained elevation heading up into the Santa Maria mountains, we were enthralled with the views whence we came.

At some point during our ascent to the higher country, we recalled reading news about a forest fire somewhere out in that region, but we were unclear about its exact location.  It was a small lightning-caused fire that was not being fought, but just monitored.  What little we knew about the blaze indicated that it was not threatening any structures and was being allowed to burn, which is actually good for forest health.

It wasn't too long before we were alerted by signage that we were coming into the Stubb fire's proximity.  The only other vehicles up there were firefighter trucks, mostly from the State land department and fewer from Prescott National Forest, agencies that are responsible for various lands up there.

Despite warning signs, it was quite a while before we saw any associated activity. 

Rockhouse spring, Shivers trap . . .

In the meantime, we spotted an interesting spring house that needed exploring.  The spring's source was protected by a small tin-roofed dugout rock building.  A pool of water inside is piped into a trough downhill from the structure.  A fallen-down sign informed us of the place's apt moniker: Rockhouse Spring.

As we walked to the spring, we passed by the gentlest range cattle I've ever seen.  Instead of spooking and running at our approach, they simply continued grazing without any alarm.

Next stop was at the so-called Shivers trap, where a forest trail is named after the corral contraption.  Various range livestock traps are typically built around waterholes for the purpose of corralling the animals during roundup.  They have large open approaches which narrow down in such a way that the stock cannot easily turn around to get out and the gate can be closed behind them.  The Shivers trap is not at a waterhole or tank.

I was interested in this particular corral for several reasons.  It is obviously in current use judging by the good condition.  I always admire the many ways that corrals and fences are built; I think of it as something of an artform.  Each one is different from the next, with designs formulated by the stockman who created it.

The name of the place - Shivers - is unusual enough that I feel sure it is named for one of that family who were early Yavapai County pioneers.  David Shivers and his family settled at Del Rio Ranch at the north end of Chino Valley in 1867.  Their daughter, Hannah, married another early settler, Robert Postle.  After Postle's death, Hannah wed Samuel Rees.  She is credited with being the first woman to complete a homestead in her own name in Yavapai County.  Hannah (Shivers) Postle Rees is one of my most admired women.  Again, as I am wont to do, I digress.

Back to the Shivers trap: I assume that one of that early clan ran stock out west of Del Rio in the Santa Marias, thus the name of the place.

One more digression: when I met the señor, he was living at Del Rio Ranch and I was attending a barn dance wedding reception there.

Now where was I?  Oh yes, we were exploring the Shivers trap and admiring the fence's workmanship, not to mention the incredibly beautiful forest setting.

The remains of long-disused wire grown into a long dead tree once used as a corner post attest to many decades of use there . . .

Fire . . .

Much further along the road, we encountered fire crews working in very smoky conditions.  I felt choked up even though I was there for only a relatively short time while the firefighters labor intensely for days on end.  I can't imagine how they do it - bless them for what they do.

It seemed that the very wet weather was allowing the crews to set spot fires in various places to clear out forest floor duff that could carry a major conflagration in drier times.  Smoke hung heavy and dense in a number of areas as we wandered back roads.  There were no closures so we were able to get up close to where firefighters were working.  The one young man I spoke with was cordial, but very tired and looking forward to his end of shift.

Quite a bit further along the way, we saw a trailered tower that was evidently placed to facilitate radio communication for the crews.

Man's passing . . . 

There are a few scattered abandoned or maybe seasonally used old ranch houses in that region.  I wish I knew their history and would love to get more up-close looks at them.

Yolo . . .

The fires are burning near, or possibly on Yolo Ranch property, but there seems to be no danger to those lands.  What a bucolic setting the headquarters are situated in!  Ranch buildings are at a spring and creek centered in a long wide sub-irrigated valley cut at one edge by a deep handsomely rocky canyon - Connell Canyon.  The whole is surrounded by ponderosa forest and near to an elevation drop to lower regions of piñon/juniper/oak vegetation.

 Deer graze in their pastures alongside horses and cattle.

The one unexpected tableau consisted of a great blue heron posing statuesquely on a small rock dam that ponds up a stream.

Lightning was cracking overhead as I was capturing on "film" some of these shots, but somehow, it seemed necessary to risk life and limb to share the beauty.  While the conditions contributed to the spectacular scenery, it also made it somewhat foolhardy to be out there.

This was looking back into the valley after we climbed up from the Yolo to the rim of the canyon.  The rain became even more intense; combined with the already drenched landscape, I thought it was amazing that the blazes continued to flare despite it.

Uncharacteristically, we were sensible for once: when the lower road became slimy enough that sliding off of it became a possibility, we turned back without reaching Blue Tank.  We had thought we would enjoy some fishing and exploring around there and possibly emerge for a circular route home through Bagdad.

I wondered why this scene seemed so fuzzy until the señor reminded me that I was shooting through heavy rain.

As I relished the beauty of those surroundings, I thought of my friend Tony who wrote after my last blog about enjoying the photos but missing the actual experiences.

He wrote in part: "In the early '60s the movie industry experimented with food aromas emanating from the air-system consistent with any food products shown: show popcorn - viewers want popcorn, etc.  It never caught on. However, I wish that the technique could work on electronic photo transmissions.  I would so love to inhale the aromas produced by the trees and plants you show."

Always, when I am experiencing the natural world, whether in my back yard or out in one of those middle-of-nowheres, I try to fully employ my senses and be enveloped in the atmosphere.  On this recent day, I kept Tony's thoughts in mind to even more appreciate the opportunities I am given which I realize are not available to everyone.

By stopping to inhale the smells, really listen to the trees and plants, animal rustlings and bird calls that could be overlooked, and to sense the very air through which I walk - whether there is a breeze or droplets off the leaves or the stillness, even the dry or humidity, blazing sunlight or soft cloud-filtered illumination, by increasing my awareness, I revel in the joy of life.  Thank you, Tony, for reminding me.  I hope never to lose that sense.

Fair Oaks . . .

Day is done, gone the sun . . . well no, not really.  When we were turned back by crackling lightning (okay, tell the truth - did Neil Diamond's Crackling Rosie come to mind just then?), slimy roads and torrential downpours, the day, while not young, still held promise, so we detoured into lower elevations out Fair Oaks Roads.

Just off some little turnout that did not qualify even as a two-track, maybe more like one-and-a-half track, we stopped for a snack and a look-around.  First spot was a Prescott National Forest-designated "wildlife tree".

I was unsure what caused any particular tree to be so appointed, so I looked it up later.  According to their website: "Dead standing piñon and juniper are available to cut regardless of size unless obvious wildlife cavities are present or the tree is signed as a wildlife tree".  I would not have made a notice of that tree over any other without the signage . . .

 . . . but there he is.

We noticed a proliferation of grapevines in the area, all looking vigorous and healthy despite the drought.

And speaking of drought, the long dry spell has not affected quite a few perennial springs we encountered, although I was surprised to find a lush grassy bottomland with surface water near our halting place - Old Camp Spring.

Alas, it is monsoon season in Yavapai County and that day was another in a series of tantalizing days that lure a person out into the moderate temperatures under fluffy clouded skies that can quickly become violent storms of thunderclaps, lightning strikes and driving rain pelting the earth.  Such was our drive home with visibility dropping to near zero at times, another satisfying journey.