Across the desert to water
November 23, 2018

A journey - what fun to anticipate whatever adventures will be found along the way!  We are on the way to Havasu City to spend a few days at a timeshare trade and see the world from a different perspective.

As we traversed the twists and turns of Iron Springs Road leaving Prescott, we had to pull over for a quick shot of the heavy mist blanketing the valley below.

Planning to keep a bird list this trip, we began with several ravens perched artistically among the bare branches of a large leafless tree.  Next up on the list was a red-tailed hawk followed by a great blue heron flying overhead, not exactly what would be expected, but then that’s the fun of seeing what is to be seen.

Although our return drive will necessarily be via the interstate because of commitments, we anticipate a leisurely drive over to our destination.  No trailer tagging along behind, but we are using the Tundra instead of Ruby the Four Runner because we have the kayaks riding atop.  We are, after all, heading to water with fishing gear on board.

The gentle winter sun is bathing the landscape with soft golden hues; in Skull Valley Wash, the cottonwoods reach high, shimmering with stunning gilded leaves.  Ferguson, Peeples and Skull valleys comprise perhaps my favorite area of Arizona, although I tend to feel fond of whatever region in which I find myself.  It fills my heart to look out over the landscape and wonder what secrets it holds.

Yarnell Hill, Hotshot memorial . . .

Going through the tiny burg of Yarnell, we notice there’s a place set aside for the shuttle to the Granite Mountain Hotshot memorial trail head, but halfway down Yarnell Hill, it is obvious that many folks prefer using their own vehicles; the trail head parking lot is full and cars are pulled off to the side of the road for a ways.

It gets me to wondering how many generations will pass before we collectively forget about the Granite Mountain Hotshot tragedy.  It’s still raw and fresh in our consciousness, but what started me on that conjecture was a memorial we saw last summer in Wyoming’s Bighorn Mountains.

That structure commemorated the deadly consequences of Wyoming’s 1937 Blackwater Fire which killed 15 very young men and badly burned 38 more, many of them CCC volunteers from Texas.  A horrifying occurrence, like others, but mostly unremarked now beyond the few who were somehow associated with it.  Society’s memory seems to be fickle and selective indeed.

Now I’ve turned a somber note, especially noticing the layer of smoke spread across the desert below Yarnell Hill, surely reaching across from the devastating California fires.  Wondering if it will be smoky at Havasu. . .

Bouse, the Colorado . . .

As we began to wonder about the next restroom location, we were trundling through the wide-spot-in-the-road called Bouse and did a quick turnaround to lunch at the Coachman’s Restaurant.  Fortuitous - the owner was an ebullient Sicilian who kept us entertained through our meal.  At the next table, we met a very nice couple snowbirding from Craig, Colorado.  That location’s far-below-zero winter clime keeps them returning to the Arizona desert.  We had fun recalling with them what we remembered about their wonderful home region which we visited two years ago and which we vowed to return to.  Turns out they also were near Casper, Wyoming, at the same time as us to experience the total solar eclipse of 2017, and they were as awed by the experience as we were.  We all got goose bumps as we talked about the experience while sharing our stories.

No matter how many stops we make along the way, we eventually reach our destination.  As we drove through Parker and crossed the Colorado River on the bridge, it felt nicely familiar after having RVed there several times.

We turned northward after the crossing, keeping to the California shore because it is less developed and sometimes has marshy backwaters that have ample bird life.  This time, we found ponds that were not as full as in the past, but that had sufficient water and cover to encourage birds to congregate.

One channel that we walked along is so choked with reeds that there is very little opportunity to get to the water.  When we did, we saw American coot, double-crested cormorant, white pelican, black phoebe, ruby-crowned kinglet and mallard.

One of the great egrets there attempted to secrete himself from our view, not hard to accomplish with the thick brush cover.

A larger pool was not as crowded as we've seen it in previous years, but we enjoyed watching a large flock of white-faced ibises and snowy egrets milling around in the far-side vegetation at water's edge, too distant to hope for a photo.

Burros, Parker Dam . . .
The narrow highway follows the river's meanders, leaving little opportunity to get a photograph of wild burros that wander wherever suits them.  I do enjoy seeing them, though.

Before we crossed back to the Arizona side on Parker Dam, we stopped once again to see what waterfowl were gathered there.  Using the spotting scope, we identified ruddy duck, ring-necked duck, redhead, lesser scaup, bufflehead, common merganser and a flock of pigeons circling overhead.

While getting a shot of the dam, I took a selfie of sorts.

Lake Havasu . . .

Late afternoon brought us to our lodging on Lake Havasu's island.  Incredible in my mind is looking across the water to Lake Havasu City, a metropolis of 56,000 people that didn't even exist when I was young.  Developed in the 60s, it has grown rapidly into a thriving city.  It puts me in mind of a place closer to home - Prescott Valley - which also didn't exist during my youth.

What a nice view we have right at the shore across to the city!