Eureka! I just discovered that a thing I do is actually a thing and not just my own idiosyncrasy, that is to say my search for the upper reaches of water flows has a name: evidently, it is the Japanese tradition called sawanobori, or hiking to the stream's source. Because it is an inherent need of mine to find whence the water comes, I hereby proclaim myself a sawanoborist, or should it be a sawanobwana?
Climbing the stream is most often a challenge; as one nears the headwaters of a river, one typically encounters steeper and steeper canyon walls, jumbles of fallen rock and thick vegetation tangled against unscalable walls.
On the other hand, I have also followed desert washes to their origins, usually a more horizontal endeavor.
The discovery that my thirst to find water's origin is shared by others came about accidentally. I found in my possession a torn-out section of a magazine (Arizona Highways, I think) entitled "Birding in Truxton Canyon. I disremember who gave it to me - thank you, whoever you are. As I prepared to write myself a reminder about the birding destination, I noticed the next article about an overnight expedition to the upper reaches of the East Verde River and was immediately off on another tangent.
So . . . the next time I find myself heading upstream to discover a stream's source, I will know the curiosity to see exactly where the water emerges from the earth has a name and fellow seekers.
Casa Grande . . .
Sanity would dictate that the burgeoning city of Casa Grande in the arid clime of central Arizona is not the ideal destination on an August day; however, the lure of spending the day with a friend recently overcame reluctance to venture across the desert under the sun's glare. Thus Barbara and I were off to an appointment down yonder.
The drive afforded us lots of welcome time to chat and catch up. The appointment was over in a flash, and the next order of business was lunch. Despite my insistence that we must go that direction according to technology's assistance, instead of this way, and despite a couple of u-turns necessitated by another technology's assistance, we eventually ended up on our way.
And it's those "on the way" wanders that sometimes offer up surprise finds. As we made our way to what we thought might be "old town" Casa Grande (I remember from my youth little more than vast green irrigated fields of crops, mostly cotton and alfalfa), we quickly called a halt when we spied a most impressive edifice of obvious antiquity.
The object of our interest turned out to be a large intriguing fieldstone building. We learned that it was constructed in 1927 to serve as a Presbyterian church and that it is now on the National Register of Historic Places. The structure houses the Casa Grande Historical Society and a museum that in summers is open for a whopping four hours once a month - needless to say we were not present during those scant times, so were not able to view the interior.
Nevertheless, we quite admired the impressive exterior . . .
. . . and were sad to see that our very dry summer has taken its toll on a church-side palm tree as well as other vegetation . . .
. . . while Barbara paused to take a phone call in front of a sarcophagus-like concrete phone booth of old.
Irrigation . . .
Without water, those mid-Arizona flats would have remained in their original state of a particularly barren appearance; however, deep wells were sunk to reach the aquifer below and huge pumps brought the life-giving water gushing forth. The historical society has showcased one of those gargantuan 140-horsepower machines in front of their building: that one weighing in at 15,000 pounds.
Okay, so I'm not overly adept at the selfie thing, but I at least got us both in the shot with the building in the background.
Lunch with friends . . .
It must be my month for drives down south with pals: another appointment, this one in Phoenix, unfortunately elicited not photographs, but is that lunch ever worth mentioning! Joan & I ventured into the big city and were famished when her appointment was complete, so we began scanning the area for a likely place to satisfy our appetites. She had a yen for middle eastern cuisine, but as I was not nearly as interested in that fare, she acceded to my wishes, good friend that she is.
There just across the street from St. Joseph's Hospital, we saw a Mexican restaurant tucked into the end of a small nondescript strip shopping center. The place gave the appearance of a hole-in-the-wall type of eatery, but boy howdy - the reality was something so far removed from that!
I mention it here not only to recommend it, but to remind myself to revisit it the next time I am in that neighborhood because it is so worth revisiting! Wonderful gourmet food beautifully (artfully, even) presented - if that's what you're after, I suggest you try Presidio Cocina Mexicana. The prices are highish; the portions are smallish and there are no complimentary chips & salsa, but all is forgiven when your meal is set before you. Their homemade blue corn tortillas were so wonderful that I bought a dozen to bring home (if you go, I will gladly reimburse you for another dozen).
V Bar V . . .
Hmmm. . . this seems to be all about friends and food - great combination and one I'm happy to repeat many times over.
A visit to the V Bar V ranch, a site that was occupied for millenia, was next up. Although I have been there previously, I was happy to return with a group of friends on a recent jaunt that was an excuse to be together.
Three of us from this side of the mountain (Mingus, that is) drove to the other side of the mountain where one of us lives in Camp Verde, and then we were off to the place that is now a heritage site owned and operated by the University of Arizona College of Agriculture.
The ranch, as ranches do, evolved from several smaller holdings, and was once known as the 100 Place, referring to its livestock brand. Originally run as a cattle ranch around 1900 by Benjamin Franklin Taylor and his wife Florence Newman Taylor, it became the V Bar B in 1927 when the Minottos and partners purchased the 100's holdings plus other surrounding properties.
It is now a U of A agricultural experiment station as a "working cattle ranch and serves as an educational and demonstration facility focusing on environmental, wildlife and domestic livestock issues in Arizona and the Southwest" on its 71,000 acres.
The freestanding fireplace remnant below incorporates the ranch's brand into its handsome stonework.
As always, evidence of man's endeavors fades; signs of early Anglo activity is seen as one walks along the trail that leads to even earlier signs of human's passing.
The history of the ranching activity is interesting to me, but probably the bigger attraction for most folks at the V Bar V is the spectacular petroglyph site. It is very well preserved, having been protected by various property owners and is the largest known rock art site in the Verde Valley.
It is open to the public and easily accessible via a short walk. Volunteers offer talks to visitors; Barbara & Pam listened intently . . .
. . . while Nancy relaxed after having heard it all before. . .
. . . and I wandered around taking photographs. The inscriptions actually interested me less than their location, a delightful alcove shaded by the sheer rock cliff face and the surrounding trees that have reached high to the sunlight elusive in that canyon bottom.
I give a lot of credit to volunteers who man sites such as this to offer interpretations many times over; however, there was one bit there that I have to call out. The explanation involved a jagged vertical rock that has jammed into a crack overhead. It was said that its outer edge was carved to exactly match a distant mountain range's horizontal silhouette - sorry, I am just not buying it.
Beaver Creek's course takes it through the V Bar V spread and naturally,
is lined by huge majestic cottonwoods and sycamores understoried by a
welcome greenbelt winding through the more arid landscape. I greatly
admire those trees and the lushness provided by the stream. Chris
& I have sauntered through there some on past day trips, and I
would love to do much more of that.
After a day of exploring, visiting, eating (of course!) and a dip in the pool, I gathered us for our obligatory group shot.
Meanwhile, back at the homestead (ours, that is), this preying mantis found her free lunch spot on one of my hummingbird feeders and there she remained for an entire week until I scared her off with my working out there. I had to laugh at one of the hummingbirds that was very curious about her and spent a good bit of time hovering to effect a close inspection of the intruder.
Closer to home . . .
On a recent storm-promised late afternoon, I wandered over to what has become a favorite retreat - Watson Woods - a mere couple of minutes drive from home. Its proximity and many moods make it an easy jaunt when time is taken up with other things.
That particular meander off-trail was exceptionally beautiful as the storm rumbled nearby with its dark menacing sky and the nearly-set sun lighted the foreground. I hadn't taken my camera, but because I'm trying to be in the habit of at least having my cell phone when I'm wandering, I couldn't resist taking a few shots with it.
An owl looked down at me as I looked up at him. If I hadn't gazed upward at the moment I did, I would have missed him; he was just not visible from other directions. I also neglected to take my binoculars and am not sure of his identification, but I'm guessing western screech owl.
Because Granite Creek is not flowing, it is easier to get into areas that at other times require crossing the stream to access. There are pools of water still here and there; one I saw was filled with crawdads, but none of the others had any.
Despite the lateness of the season and the relatively rainless summer, some flowers remain and the creek bed's underground moisture nurtures a plethora of tangled and varied vegetation.
