The sun leaks across Mount Lemmon, pinking the snow fingers. Hector reclines in his lounger but pops up when he sees me emerge and cooks up eggs, toast and coffee to set me on my way.
I could stay here all week and work on my next talk starting with a refreshed cup of coffee and whiling away the morning yukking it up with Hector.
But the sun is heating things up and it’s time to start this hike. We head to one of the closest lockers to leave three liters for me. Hector will drop me where I left off at American Flag. It’s all the way out of town at the bottom of the mountain, just at the edge of the state park.
I give Hec a big hug and his whiskers tickle my cheek. I really like him and will bring all his aphorisms with me as I walk like ‘you better enjoy the journey because that’s all there is.’
As I head into barrel cactus and juniper, a verdin sings loudly like a welcome call. The sun is hot and I panic for a moment until the wind picks up like air conditioning.
It’s easy walking to the road then through one of the noisy gates and into the park where bright yellow flowers line the trail bobbing their heads in the light breeze.
A black throated sparrow sings then flies on waves to another tree. A cactus wren murmurs as I near a bench with views back to the snow-covered mountains.
I reach a beautiful windmill – though no water – and take a break at the picnic table. Birds sing and the wind sets the blades spinning with a jalopy cloppity-clop.
I can see the road and reach my water right at lunch, so I cook up a ramen, almond butter, dehydrated soy sauce meal. The secret ingredient are the dehydrated green onions that just pop.
I top it off with a chocolate/peanut butter shake. It’s so nice in the shade under an oak tree, so I linger a while. Just then a man approaches with his dog looking for a hiker.
“He walked all the way from Mexico! Did you?”
Well, not today.
He studies the hiker log and doesn’t see his friend’s name.
“I’m so impressed with the people who walk from Mexico!”
Great.
Taking the hint I could care less about how far people go, he walks up trail to see if maybe he’ll spot his friend. And that’s my cue to move on.
There’s always a few people like him around discussing speed and distance. I’m more interested in the birds I hear and the flowers I see.
It’s a road walk for a while up a hill. A huge black snake basks in the sun, sticking out his forked tongue as I approach. One step closer and he shoots up the embankment, slithering in S’’s.
There’s a small lot at the top, then the trail heads down on zigzags into the black hills. Vultures circle and come close for a look at me. Do they think I might conk out from a lack of water?
I see two black cows peering at me through the ocotillo, then everything changes. It’s up and down, hitting one dry wash after another.
In one, I hear the squeaky toy repeat of a gila woodpecker. I’m amazed how green it is here, even the ocotillo are covered with leaves.
Flowers line the trail, bright purple lupine and deep orange Mexican poppies. I stop over and over to capture a picture, especially looking back to views of white-sides Mount Lemmon.
Apparently this section of the AZT, called “Passage 14,” is less visited. There’s very little water and it’s remote. I see only one day hiker, joining a thru-hiker for a portion.
Otherwise, it’s only me and the childlike whiny screams of the gambels quail. Or the musical ostinato of the rufus winged sparrow and his flutey cousin, the black throated sparrow.
Up and down I go, back to the land of saguaro like cartoon characters conducting with oversized arms or growing a multitude of boobs.
Coyotes yip in some dry arroyo and i realize all the hair-filled poop on trail must be theirs. A squirrel darts out on trail and runs in front of me, his cute rump working hard. A jack rabbit with ears longer than his body hops by giving me a sidelong glance.
The day is waning when I reach a high point and walk through a glistening cholla forest, the sun creating a iridescent halo. A gilded flicker screeches and a phainopepla whistles as the sun turns the prickly pear deep red.
One last hill, I think, and climb up a four-wheel drive road with a flat turn around at the top for my cowgirl camp.
Just in the nick of time as the sky turns pink and a crescent moon begins to set. I am exhausted and cuddle in for the star display as the coyotes yip and bark, quite close though I doubt they have much interest in me.
To the south, the lights of Oracle sparkle and I wonder which one is Hector’s?
