The Skirted Saguaro

 10-15 

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I woke up this morning at 6AM – yes, all by myself! This was an extremely confusing and enraging way to start my day.

I later remembered that Arizona does not do Daylight Savings Time, so sometimes you go backwards by two time zones when crossing the border, instead of one. So my 8AM is – currently – Arizona 6AM! Well.

Nonetheless, being completely diametrically opposed to doing anything before 7AM, I lazed around in bed before finally dragging myself to breakfast at a respectable 7:30. Hotel McCoy has what they call “the world’s longest oatmeal bar”, and I do believe they might be right! I wandered in, was served a large scoop of oatmeal, and was subsequently cast adrift amongst dozens of bowls and carafes and shakers, all containing various oatmeal toppings. Huh. Never realized there were so many.

I put an arbitrary combination of toppings on my oatmeal and shuffled back outside for breakfast on the patio while I planned out my day. I had checked on Jane the night before, worrying about the odd cooling system behavior, and found that there was no coolant visible in the top of the radiator. Nor was the cap holding any pressure, apparently. So, I assume that it has been running at 1 PSI for who knows how long, and that any extra expanded coolant had departed the vehicle in some shape or form. Not really a problem for a car that runs as cool as Jane, but still aggravating. So, I planned to stop for a new radiator cap – and then I would make my way out to Saguaro’s west-side district for some serious hiking.

After I had wrangled all of my gear into its hiking configuration (as opposed to its “throw everything in the car and make it fit” configuration), we scooted over to a local Autozone, where I spent $8 on a new radiator cap and clipped it on. Normally you wouldn’t pull a radiator cap off of a hot car due to the chance of rapid coolant expansion upon the release of pressure, but, you know, the old one wasn’t holding any pressure anyways, so I just went ahead and yanked that sucker off and put the new one on. Cool beans.

We stopped by the west side visitor center – paranoid of missing out on better postcards and Christmas ornaments, I suppose – then headed out to the scenic drive. Asphalt gave way to gravel rapidly, but frankly the gravel was better-maintained than the asphalt in the area was, so it was a bit of a welcome changeover.

I parked at the Hugh Norris trailhead a ways up the loop. I had my sights set on Wasson Peak for the day – there’s a few ways to get up to the peak, but running the ridgeline along the Hugh Norris trail sounded like a pretty spectacular way to get there.

True to the words of yesterday’s rangers, this side of the park is much more densely packed with saguaros, making for a very impressive sight even if there are fewer truly ancient giants in the mix.

As I began my hike up the incline, I saw a few straggling cacti blossoms here and there, including an extremely rare saguaro blossom!

At the time I didn’t know much about how saguaros flower. But I did take a photo, as the flowers look different than I had expected - I’m used to the kind of glossy, shimmery, delicate semitransparent flowers of prickly pears and other cacti like the first photo above, and this flower seemed more like a traditional type of flower, like the type that you would draw if someone said, "Hey, draw a flower". It seemed unusual to me to see a single flower on top of one – and there weren’t any anywhere else that I could see! I did some casual Googling later to find out more, and found that my flower sighting was even more rare than I initially suspected. First of all, saguaros apparently flower from May to June. So, this flower was four months late!! Second of all, and more impressively: apparently, each flower only blooms for a 24 hour period. So I had happened to see this flower on the one day it was blooming, four months after it would normally be seen. That seems especially auspicious, somehow. I took it as a good-luck charm for the trip.

As I hiked, I became familiar with all of the growth stages of the mighty saguaros. The very youngest ones are kind of funny, because they are strangely hard to notice. Most saguaros grow in the protective shelter of a nurse tree, so you tend to only see them once they’ve reached a couple of feet in height – at which point they are also a foot or more in diameter, and they look very much like normal (but stubby) saguaros. But in younger stages, they are shorter and narrower, and very easy to mistake for other types of cacti. Because saguaros don’t grow arms until they’re half a century old, the landscape here was full of funny stubs of various heights, looking much like spiny oversized baseball bats stood upright by some strange magnetic force.

There were saguaros that had reached the end of their lives as well. Some had died and toppled over, revealing a fascinating inner structure (but smelling terribly of rotting vegetables).

Others had remained upright, the softer flesh decaying away, leaving behind a dessicated skeleton made of broomlike support struts.

But my favorites, of course, were the ones in the prime of their lives, old enough to put out arms in abundance. Most people think of saguaros as tall towers with one or two arms, crooked out to the side and raised high towards the sky like conductors of a subtle Sonoran orchestra.

But it turns out that saguaros really don’t grow that way that often. They put out arms wherever they want, in whatever orientation they want. Some put out tons of shorter arms. Others go for one long arm. Some point straight out, some point down, some get a bit snakey. Others go completely avant garde. My favorite of these was one that happened to have grown its arms into a lovely swirling skirt.

Its silhouette reminded me a bit of the feather duster in Beauty and the Beast, actually. It really tickled me and I'll admit that I took quite a few photos of the skirted saguaro, both going and coming.

I carried on in my upwards climb for a long, long time. Eventually the saguaros lost enough of their novelty that I started to consider how long this climb actually was. I stopped and pulled out my map, and found that I had chosen… well, the longest route to this peak, by far. The “standard” way to go to Wasson Peak involves a nice loop on the King Canyon and Hugh Norris Trail, coming in at 7.8 miles round trip with 1,800 ft of elevation gain. And I had, for some reason, picked instead… the one that comes in at 10 miles round trip with 2,400 ft of elevation gain. Oops.

I was already a few miles down the trail, so I just decided I would suck it up and hike the long route. And it certainly was beautiful. But it was 97*F and the trail was uphill most of the way. Although I was soaked in sweat at the start of the trail, by the time I had gotten a few miles along, I was dry as a bone and carefully conserving water. I had brought 3 liters but was a little concerned that wouldn’t be enough. Hmm.

But, you know, I’m a geologist in Texas and long hard hot hikes are kind of my bread and butter. So I kept on plodding upwards, careful of my knees and of the possibility of heat exhaustion. As I walked, the inhabitants of the desert reacted to my presence, seemingly surprised that anyone would hike this trail. Small birds scattered through the brush, peeping to each other cheerfully and eventually alighting on the upturned limbs of saguaros a safe distance away. Lizards, soaking up the hot sun on even hotter rocks, skittered off to the side, only to come to rest again to stretch out on another equally warm rock. Roadrunners moved swiftly and silently through the landscape, hoping to snap up insects disturbed by my passing. The land became steadily drier, with fewer plants and broader expanses of parched rocky ground.

When I had a concerningly small liter of water left, the end of the trail crept into sight. Just one more hill, and I would be at the top of Wasson Peak, the highest peak in the Tucson Mountains!

I crested the hill, and was rewarded with the sight of Tucson and its satellite towns spread out before me in all directions. Remarkable, really, that you can’t see the city until you get right to the top. But there it was, nestled in the valley between the mountains, flowing almost organically around the low hills and rocky outcrops, pooling in the lows like a newly-formed lake.

This topography, incidentally, is one of the reasons that Tucson is one of the hottest cities in America. Although, frankly it wasn’t much cooler on the top of Wasson Peak, standing 2300’ higher than the valley floor.

I took in the views for a while, had some applesauce (the best trail snack when it’s hot – both delicious AND hydrating!), and started back down the trail. I had originally considered that maybe I would return via part of the loop trail, where there were some petroglyphs to see, but I discarded that idea after remembering that I would have to drop 1500’ off the mountain – and then reclimb it – to do that. My legs were screaming by this point and I had no interest in doing anything but level or downhill walking. Bit of a brutal first hike to pick for a trip, really. Fortunately, the return trip was an easy walk, and the sun was lowering in the sky, casting the panorama in a warm golden glow that made for a much more pleasant hike.

I made it back to the trailhead in good time, so I continued around the scenic loop to Signal Hill. There, a short trail leads out to a hill capped by an odd distinctive pile of rocks well-darkened by desert varnish. These rocks are pecked with a spectacular array of petroglyphs left by the Hohokam, a people who lived in the region from around 450-1450 AD. Even in the shadowed waning afternoon sunlight, depictions of spirals, suns, people, lizards, and deer stood out vividly, remnants of the thoughts and lives of an ancient people.

It must take quite a long time to create these petroglyphs. Archaeologists commonly assign great meaning to these images, speculating that they may tell stories of important events or provide instructions on trails or places to hunt. But I always wonder – what if they were just made by someone who wanted to create art and leave it for others to find in the world? Surely even 700 years ago there were people who dreamed of being artists. And when I see the way that the deer glyphs are carefully arranged at the top of a large obelisk-like rock that catches the brightest evening rays, or the evenness of a spiral couched in an odd cup in a strangely shaped rock… well, it’s easy to believe.

Jane and I finished out the scenic loop as the sun continued its slow slide towards the horizon. From there, we hopped back onto the tarmac and headed back south towards our temporary home base.

I found myself craving a large steak after the day’s long hike, so I stopped in at a Texas Roadhouse to pack some calories back into myself before we continued on to the hotel. Bone-tired, I fell into bed almost immediately upon my arrival. Maybe I’ll take it a little easier tomorrow.

Until then, Kelly signing out.