The summer that almost wasn't
No siree, I don't feel that I am alone when I wonder, "What happened?!" There it was: 2020 - a bright shiny new year, and one that I was especially looking forward to. I mean, who wouldn't. The name foretold some very clear seeing, just think about it - 2020 - surely it could be a prophetic sign of all the good that was to come.
Perhaps in some way that remains to be seen, that clarity of sight will come to pass in society . . . but in the meantime, I feel in the air the approach of autumn and begin to mourn the passing of my favored season, that time when all is frantically growing, blossoming, spreading seeds, producing fruit.
Yes, there were all the issues of the Covid pandemic, but still . . . we could have been engaging in our usual activities of savoring the grand natural world all around us. That is, we could have been except that the señor had a hitch in his git-along. Quite a bit more than a hitch, really. Not to put too fine a point on it, in truth, he is in unremitting pain from a spinal malfunction that progressed rapidly and requires surgery. So now summer has skittered past. A soon-to-come surgical intervention will magically repair the damage and we will once again be away on more delicious back roads, more saunters into canyons, more explorations of what is around the next bend and what is to be seen over the next rise.
Big Bug Mesa . . .
The señor is not able to walk without pain, thus limiting our on-foot wanderings; however, driving does not seem to bother him, so we were able to do some lovely drives not too far from home, and in the process, discover new-to-us back roads. Just shows to go you that there's always something undiscovered even close to home.
On one particular day when we couldn't bear being inside a single minute longer, Chris suggested a drive to a ranch site he had visited so long ago that he hadn't even met me by then. Never one to pass up an explore, I agreed . . . that is, I agreed in concept, right up until we were wending our 4-wheel-way down yet another non-road (kinda like this summer's nonsoons). Under normal circumstances, I would have been fine with our forward/downward motion, but boy howdy, there is nothing normal now, it seems. I had a vision of something/anything going awry - flat tire, high center, engine trouble, etc. - and being stuck on that non-road without the señor's assistance in fixing the awry-ness.
For a change, he concurred with my assessment that it maybe wasn't the best idea, and certainly, we couldn't advance on foot with him in his "condition", so we backed out as best we could and punted.
The punt consisted of taking a dirt road, but one that actually earned the moniker. And that is how we ended up on top of that imposing prominence known as Big Bug Mesa that I had been wanting to explore anyway. For unknown reasons, I had anticipated much less forest and much more low scrub vegetation up there.
The mesa top's surface is as rocky as they come, but for most of its length, the road has been rebuilt to create a surprisingly easy drive. It appears to go nowhere except to the end of the mesa, but it was clear that monumental amounts of work have gone into removing bouldery obstructions and importing road gravel that allow smooth passage. As the road work had not been completed for the entire span, we could not test whether it was a dead-end or not. Once the way became very rough, I called a halt, lest we injure the señor in the process of bump-bumping along.
At any rate, we quite enjoyed the surprisingly varied forest scenery, surprised a doe that stepped out in front of us, and saw a number of bow hunters' camps. In short, it was refreshing to be out and about.
We have gotten so little precipitation this summer that it made it doubly exciting to spot rain falling in the distance.
Big Bug Creek . . .
The being there on the mesa was enjoyable, although wholly uneventful, but the drive home was filled with plenty of interest. There was that partially caved in railroad tunnel that the señor managed to get to for my shot to indicate its size.
The road we were on mostly followed a spur line of the Poland branch of the Bradshaw Mountain Railway, which led to the 8,000-foot-long Poland-Walker tunnel that may be the subject of a future explore. The tunnel was used right up until its abandonment in 1932 when the rail line ceased to be used for transporting ore out of Lynx Creek.
The next photo shows where the road veers off the rail bed to go around the mountain. Our Four Runner is pointed directly ahead to where the opposite end of the tunnel comes out.
Once again, the señor exhibited patience while I scrabbled over debris to access the other end of the tunnel. The smaller opening there is large enough to get through, but after seeing how much rock has fallen from above, I was disinclined to make the attempt.
Our route down from the mountain wound along just above Big Bug Creek through peaceful shadowy forested slopes. We stopped to savor the beauty of a watery seep trickling down from above to find its way into the creek on the opposite side.
The stream bottom was tangled with blackberry vines, some of which were along the roadside. They were pretty picked over, but we tasted a few deliciously ripe ones, reminding me of all the wild berries we are not harvesting this summer. Next year, though, will be a different matter.
The Bradshaws are highly mineralized, thus there are remnants of mining activity throughout the range, so it was no surprise to happen upon a rock structure at that site, possibly the foundation of a milling operation.
A bit further on, we approached an arroyo crossing the road lined by bedrock pocked with pockets of water. It being on toward evening and there being precious water available, we were unsurprised but still delighted to spot a deer down for its evening sips. Of course we halted for photos, when we realized that the doe was accompanied at her late-day watering hole by turkeys and javelina! In fact, the place was teeming with wild game. As I tried to photograph from my side of the truck, we realized that Chris had a better vantage point, so I handed the camera over to him and he snapped away at the numerous turkeys, adults and young, that were heading up the hill away from us.
Our haste and the animals' movement were not conducive to the best photography, but I spotted a great shot that Chris couldn't see in his direction, so I pointed him that way and we collaborated on a very fun shot of deer and turkey together.
As we tried to follow along the direction most of the game was heading, we found the way obscured by thick chapparral except at one opening where there were more javelina than I have ever seen in one place. Adults, juveniles and tiny babies were milling everywhere in the brush, finally crossing the road to some destination lost to our views.
We passed what appears to be the Gostwick Ranch with a memorial marker out front.
Dugas, maybe . . .
With summer winding down, we embarked on one last jaunt before surgery and recovery. Evidently, we are suffering from too little time wandering our wondrous state; we debated about a number of destinations before we set out, and even then changed our route a couple of times. Everything sounded appealing.
Ostensibly heading north, we veered off onto a side track even before gaining the intended road. That was relatively short, ending at a deep ravine greened by tell-tale cottonwoods. The spirit was willing, but we deemed the steep climb into the gully not doable for one of us. Once again, I took off on a walk of discovery. As always, we wanted to know if there might be water flowing in the creek bottom.
It was clear that someone had camped semi-permanently in that idyllic spot, but was no longer in residence. Several trees were strung with candle bulbs, and some solar lights were placed to illuminate the camp.
The squatter left behind a small collection of historic and prehistoric artifacts he gathered from the site. In our arid land, the presence of water equates with a plethora of human and animal presence through the ages.
Nearby was plenty of evidence of the most recent settlement activity. The acreage is up for sale, but at some time appeared to be a productive and busy homestead. I would like to return at another time when my explorations will not equate with leaving Chris cooling his heels because he's unable to accompany me.
In answer to our wondering, yes, there was water there. It appeared to me that there is a small spring in the ravine bottom with good-sized deep pools, but no flow. It surely must be a permanent seep, though, judging by the minnows and pollywogs swimming around.
Backing out of that sidetrack, we amended our route from northward to an easterly direction, for no apparent reason at all. Whims are like that.
We drove out Dugas road, which Chris hoped to continue to the Verde Rim, but which I vetoed, lest we injure his back by jarring along as the road roughened. The views would have been delightful but for the bluish haze cast on the landscape by the California fires.
One rock abutment was covered with the most colorful lichen I have ever seen.
The Dugas Ranch remains operational but many of its early wooden structures have been abandoned; they are hoary with age and dignified as they remain a testament to another time.
The scene below transports me to an era of quiet, of peace, of an understanding about life.
