An argument . . .

. . . between new knee and old knee ensued when we set off recently for a bit of a boondock.  As we drove over the mountain in search of warmth in the Verde Valley, all was well; after all, nothing at all was being asked of either knee at that point.

It was not very long afterward, though, that things began to become contentious.  Once we had paid our admission fee to Dead Horse park, old knee must have sensed that something was afoot (pardon the expression).  New knee was rarin’ to go; however, old knee was whimpering something about wanting to go home.

Not to be deterred by its pleading entreaties, we set off at a pretty steady clip around the little lakes and down to the river, savoring the soft balmy breeze, a fine relief from Prescott’s continuing chilled air.  Although the weatherman promised a handful of slightly warmer days, they have been far too few for my liking during this season.

The Verde’s level was lower than we expected after what seemed like a lot of precipitation in the form of rain, snow, hail, grauple & sleet (I said it has been nasty now, didn’t I), and was not muddy from runoff, either.  

Just an observation that was, didn’t matter in the slightest to our mission, which was to saunter one way or another way while enjoying whatever we encountered.

Prescott’s winds had followed us, remaining mostly at an elevated altitude, and creating high up in the sky feathery vaporous clouds.  I spent a good deal of time getting a kink in my neck while exclaiming over the plethora of fantasy shapes.

Dead Horse never disappoints: the picture-perfect scenes are a balm to the spirit, and that time was no exception.  I never tire of the Verde River and its environs; that developed spot along its course is far more manicured than much of its winding way south - serene and beautiful in its unique way.

We were not alone in savoring the scenery; many were fishing in the ponds.  While that was undoubtedly a fine way to while away some hours, there did not appear to be any actual catching going on, including for this seemingly very patient fellow out in his boat.

During their wintering season, bald eagles frequent the area.  Although I am presuming a nest was in the vicinity, we did not search it out nor did we inquire whether any young had hatched & fledged.  We did enjoy watching a female bald circling the area.  A male eagle had a bit more of a laissez-faire attitude as he remained perched on a snag (the avian equivalent of staying home watching the game while his mate shops, the señor opined).

 

We compiled a bird list for the outing - mostly composed of the expected sightings; however, we did spot one individual that was way out of its usual territory.  We were surprised to see a lone cattle egret; it was far enough out of its range that we went to particular pains to be sure of our identification, and we have no doubt.  Unfortunately, I couldn't get a photo of it.

Stretching out the new knee without hurting the old knee was the goal of the day (his anyway, my carefully kept secret was that I desperately needed to be outside one way or another), so we kept moving, enjoying chatting with those we encountered, including a lovely couple visiting from Montana, enroute to Prescott shortly.

Beyond Dead Horse is the intriguing-to-me Tavasci Marsh; as the day waned, we wandered that direction, but soon found ourselves overextending both new knee, old knee and the señor’s post-surgical stamina, so reserved further explorations for a later date and relished high-up views of the river . . .

 

. . . and the Tuzigoot hilltop ruin.

As day's end approached, we took advantage of our location near old-town Cottonwood to top an idyllic outing with dinner at Nic’s, always a treat.

 

A quest . . .

A partially open day (why are they so infrequent?) allowed us the opportunity to head over to the Santa Maria River in search of desert wildflowers, also in search of my sanity that lies in that vast and alluring land out of doors.

While there, I glimpsed my sanity and felt the soul-soothing scenes bathing my senses as we wandered the riverbank.  Unlike the dazzling displays further south, the flowers in the Santa Maria area were shy & retiring, showing their colors only to those patient enough to search them out.

Not at flood stage, the Santa Maria was nevertheless exhibiting an impressive flow, more notable because it is typically no more than a wide rocky sand wash.

That country grabs me: its rugged ranges, canyons and peaks ask to be explored.  As we commenced our drive toward home, I spotted a particular route that I want to take cross country.  Spirits willing, but knees not; we will be sure to return for that trek.

And yet another . . .

Prairie: a railroad siding and a settlement of sorts that has caught our fancy after an historic inquiry from a now-elderly fellow who resided there as a youngster.  We’ve been to the site several times, with Ruben, and on our own.

 

A recent visit was as much for that sanity/outdoors purpose as anything, a perfect excuse to keep the knees operating, and we found ourselves (and the knees) well able to put on some miles while exploring the countryside.

We were a bit taken aback by rows of highway-side flaggings marked “Avoidance area”.  Not understanding to what or to whom they referred, suffice it to say we did not avoid the area.  

At one point, new knee finally made its presence known with its reluctance to bend backwards quite enough to allow our usual ingress method of crawling through a barbed-wire fence, so we simply found another way.  Clearly, additional PT must ensue; crawling through barbed-wire fences is pretty much a way of life for us.

I was all about a westward walk I had long anticipated from the townsite , but stymied as we eventually came up against a short but imposing wall of volcanic rock liberally emblazoned with “No trespassing” signs at close intervals.  That was the end of that particular venture, but no worries, there's plenty more open country in my wonderful Arizona.

On that day, our wanders took us over plenty of countryside, much of it really rough footing through rough jumbled volcanic stones hidden beneath dry grass dotted with lots of Texas blueweed - its dried hard yellow berries seeming to hang in midair on bare leafless stems.  Our feet were relieved when we found ourselves on a veritable highway of dirt where the footing was more secure.

It is said there exists a Prairie cemetery, but the only graveyards we spotted consisted of  the detritus of long-ago occupants gone to other locales.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I have to share this absurd photo of bunny antics in our front yard, and no, it is not photo-shopped.