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The Drive...Heading Back

Grasshopper State Park, Sedona, Arizona

   Our days were winding down, our hikes shifting from the exposed trails to that of the shaded canyons.  We ventured into a state park and listened to the ranger's tales of growing up in the area, getting lost as a teenager on the trail we were considering; "no problem," he said, "I had my sleeping bag with me."  Uh, perhaps that trail was a bit longer than we had thought, even with the hiking books.*  He mentioned an easier trail for us, then held up a rather used picture and with a wink said that if we turned right instead of left we'd run into a swimming hole (as it turned out it was quite a well-known place, or so it seemed, as there were families and young people more than happy to jump off the rock ledges into the chilly water).  Which might be causing you readers to ask, what's a swimming hole doing in the middle of the desert?

    Water in a desert city is nothing new, especially for those of you living in places such as Los Angeles, Salt Lake City, or Las Vegas.  Water is plentiful, generally pumped in through an expansive and expensive network of tunnels and reservoirs; sometimes this is quite beneficial, if not to human populations as to cattle and some wealthy land owners (the Owens Valley scandal was popularized in the film by Robert Townsend, Chinatown...my own state might be facing a repeat of the scandal as a member of our legislature is both head of the Rules Committee and Director of the Water Board in his district and is advocating for the state to pay for a pipeline to tap into the dwindling waters of Lake Powell; he's allegedly already secured water rights should the pipeline be built).  Sedona was a bit different, however, the mountains from nearby Flagstaff and the Colorado Plateau feeding an underground spring that shoves 11,000 gallons of water per minute into the creeks and springs that dot this seemingly barren area.  Hiking along, it became the old trick of watch for where the trees are (okay, we really just peeked at our hiking book)...which led us to the fish hatchery.

    It was totally unexpected, us dining at a cute little hole in the wall that sat near a creek, appropriately titled Up the Creek.  Its outside was adorned with over 25 bird feeders of all sorts, from black sunflower and niger seeds for the tanagers and finches, to the sugared water containers for the hummingbirds.  Coupled with the large windows and the creek flowing outside, it was almost impossible not to enjoy the delicious menu (and amazingly affordable prices).  But it was really the conversation with the waitresses that proved even more engaging, them telling us that exploring the hatchery across the street was worthwhile, and to go beyond that into the Audubon walk.  We were tired, but also quite full after our meals (and my two local mud stouts) so what the heck, let's walk it off and go see the heron and the ponds we thought.  So we crossed the street, the wind now quite strong and helping us to blow off some of the red dust that covered our boots and socks.  We looked and looked for fish in the ponds but didn't see any (in such hatcheries, the eggs are generally incubated indoors until they become fingerlings, and only later are put into the ponds to grow larger before being pumped out and taken to stock the lakes and waters of the state; these ponds were being run by the state fish & game department in an effort to reintroduce native fish since 95% of the wetlands and riparian areas are now gone in the state).  But then we came to the walk, a wood-chipped "paved" path which we though might be a short walk but proved to be rather extensive.  Here before us was a wetland that often flooded and brought everything from turtles to otters and porcupines.  The trees towered above us, sixty or seventy feet, their thick branches intermingling like stray ropes and using the branches of other trees for additional support.  Looking at our boots, it seemed foreign to imagine that we had just walked along dry and dusty paths when we were now surrounded by such greenery (this was considered Arizona's wine country, for heaven's sake).  This Black Hawk (one of the many native birds) and Willow Loop trails were something we likely would have driven by without a second thought and yet here we were, a world removed from a place just over the hill where we were, a place which we thought was eroding and slipping into a new landscape of dryness.  It again reminded us that in the geological spectrum (invisible to most of us), this had once been an ocean (as an aside, I am still stuck with the ranger talk of what was buried beneath the lands of Arches National Park...a mile and a half of petrified salt, captured over the eons from that ancient ocean); but it also reminded us of what discoveries are there waiting but hidden...unless you listen.

Life and death along the trails of Sedona

   Earlier we had passed (along the dry trails) century plants (maguey) and other cacti, some dead, some bearing fruit, others springing new life into side shoots.  The century plant takes years and years to bloom, then as with so much of nature, does so and then dies.  But to think of the name alone, a century plant.  What a thought in our human timeframe, to label something as a century's lifespan...a redwood or sequoia, a turtle or whale (about 70 years for the latter).  We humans now use "expectancies" instead of "spans," perhaps indicating he dominance of our dopamine-filled prefrontal cortex and its urge for gambling with being rewarded.  In a quick read, the Swedish term is appropriately called döstädning and author Margareta Magnusson describes it in her book, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, as: ...a word that is used when you or someone else does a good, thorough cleaning and gets rid of things to make life easier and less crowded.  As we packed up and began our return drive home, we could almost feel the ancient lands around us echoing that thought, that finally these additional sets of boots and walking sticks were departing, giving way to others and making room.  We had received quite the education --again-- and were leaving grateful.  And fulfilled.  And full of hygge...


*Those of you who might be headed to this area, you'll discover a plethora of helpful guides and links, from online "ten bests hikes" (even from hotels) to pictorial books from The Hike House, a bit dated but a good place to start.  But if you have plans for more than just a quick visit, abandon all those and just order the book Sedona Hikes.  Directions are smooth and accurate, as are the descriptions, and there are over 200 hikes indexed into sectionalized areas with listings such as "short and steep" or "long and hilly" or "very short and level."  Why more hiking books don't do this is a puzzle, especially if your knees are a bit dicey or if you have children with you.  Instead of going through all of the hikes only to discover that the mile-long hike is a rock scramble (even online), this method is practical and well-researched, giving you an idea of where to begin your day...don't worry, for the most part the trails in Sedona are well-marked and most have detailed maps posted on boards at the start of each hike (we always take a picture of those maps before we begin as even with a trail app, reception can be a bit sketchy when buried in those deep canyon walls).

Typical signage along the trails of Sedona

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