Red Mountain

See the inside of a volcano?  Well, not one that is erupting certainly, but Chris had heard about Red Mountain, an extinct volcano that has eroded out, and there was nothing for it but that we go see it.  

Truthfully, it didn't sound the slightest interesting to me.  I'm thinking along the lines of . . . boring . . . cinder slopes of yet another cinder cone, but at least we would be outside, so I agreed.

 It was a longish drive up there northwest of San Francisco Peaks; Tostitos helped me to pass the time.

As we approached the site, Chris' anticipation increased.  I'm still thinking a bit of . . . ho hum . . . at least there will be a good walk over there.

 The "good walk" turned out to be through interesting piñon/juniper cinder-surfaced landscape and the weather was perfectly perfect.

 

Our route began to ascend some as we walked briskly up a wash bottom and approached the weather-worn red cliffs glimpsed through the trees ahead.

 

As our anticipation increased, so, too, did the noise level.  Seems that a hundred or maybe many more ravens roost and nest in the myriad crevices and caves high up in the cliffs, and they appear to spend most of their time circling and calling ceaselessly overhead.

As soon as we passed into the Paul Bunyan-sized amphitheater-like opening in the mountain, we were totally surprised by the convolutions of rock and cinder.  We never imagined such a badlands kind of place!  On the outer perimeter is black cinder, inside is rough red rock, and much of it is swirled together: sometimes in craggy spires, others in wind-worn waves.

Each step brought a different sight as we made our way through narrow slots and scrambled up over dune-like slopes.  House-size boulders obscured the next scene until we found routes between or around.

It was a photographer's dream, but one that made me wish for more expertise.  Unfortunately, the sun was low over the cliffs, making many angles difficult or impossible.  Glare and sun spots ruined some shots; it was my impetus to acquire a lens hood to help alleviate that issue at next opportunity.

At any rate, I snapped away with great abandon.  Following are a few of the results; the tiny figure at the base of the dead ponderosa gives some idea of the scale of the place.

I have no idea what is the purpose of this little dam is, but grateful for whoever built the steps that got us up and over.

And yes, the señor did a small amount of scrambling and climbing.  We used good judgement and saved some of the bigger climbs for a later visit.  It appeared to me that there is even more exploring to do in there if one could manage to get past some of the larger impediments.

Pumpkin Center . . .

As we returned from out little jaunt, it seemed much too mundane to take a direct route, so we detoured off our dirt road onto another dirt road just for the halibut.  Somewhere in there, I got the bug to go by Pumpkin Center for no particular reason other than our used-to-be log cabin came from there.

It was like this: in the era of B.C. (before Chris), my ex and I purchased a disassembled log cabin from Roger Leyendecker, an antique dealer who had come across an old cabin at Pumpkin Center that was up for sale.  Roger had the logs marked, supposedly to aid in reassembling the structure, and brought it down to Chino Valley.  After we acquired it, we discovered the markings had washed off in the rain, making the rebuilding quite a bit more complicated.  We figured it out and stacked those heavy heavy logs one atop the other in the proper order close by our house.  We set it on rock pilings and gave it a new roof and were supremely happy with that beautifully rustic cabin.

Fast forward to the Chris era: we all loved that cabin for nearly four decades, so somehow, there's a sentimental attachment to seeing whence it came.  If there ever was an opportunity to discover its original builder and history, it is long gone, unfortunately.

Our best guess is that the cabin was built in the 1880s; that would be after settlers had moved into that area and before a sawmill was in operation nearby.  Today, there is nothing at Pumpkin Center except a ranch, so I'm going to venture another surmise that our cabin may have been the original residence at that ranch.

 

 

Just because there was still daylight, we opted to follow signage to the Pumpkin Center trailhead.  Although it was late in the day, we could at least get a feel for where the trail goes.  The road was washed out partway in, so we walked it and discovered that it traverses the Kendrick Mountain Wilderness Area.  

That sounds as if it would be a scenic and beautiful hike; however, much of Kendrick Mountain has been denuded of its forest.  A lightning-caused fire in 2000 burned about 15,000 acres during its three months of devouring trees.  We hiked a ways in on the trail, but it is neither pretty nor even safe to wander through that kind of devastation.

Always we find the getting there to be as interesting as the being there.  The photo below was taken on our way to Pumpkin Center.  Always there is beauty.