desertlavender.com

While the monsoon plays coy, we’re stuck with heat AND humidity. When the temperature hit 112° outside (and 81 inside), we threw our stuff in the TacoMa and we RAN, north to cool air and cold water.

Or so we thought. We crept down a 4WD road in the dark to a camping spot near a stream in northern Arizona (which shall remain nameless for its own protection). But at midnight — and 4400 feet in elevation — it was still 87 degrees. So we set up the truck tent with the sides unzipped, like a big screened porch, hauled the bed out of the truck, and enjoyed a short night and a glorious sunrise.

We had the deep blue pool under the bridge all to ourselves that morning, and since the water was deliciously cool, we decided to take a hike upstream.

My last hike on this trail was in 2005, just after the power plant was decommissioned. Little did I imagine at that time that “returning the river to its natural state” could actually have an adverse impact on the environment. I remember a dirt footpath under a dense canopy of cottonwoods, but today both sides of the stream are so overrun that many trees have been undercut and taken out. We met two forest service rangers recently transferred from the Grand Canyon who spend their days collecting trash along the stream, but it’s like pushing a boulder uphill.

On the way out, we met at least 100 sunbathers with their swim toys and their dogs and their coolers full of beer in tow. They didn’t come to enjoy a wild stream, they came to party at the beach. Countless footpaths leading down from the road told the tale of how they circumvented the “no parking” signs that line the road all the way to the bridge. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: this stream needs a permit system like Aravaipa Canyon. I know that will make a lot of people unhappy, but that’s what happens when you can’t learn to play nice outdoors.

It was an even 100° when we got back to the truck, but the temperature plunged 40 degrees as we caught up with the monsoon above the Rim on Route 87. We were heading for the annual Hamfest in Williams, where we met our buddy Al and ended up sharing his campsite at Kaibab Lake.

The cool, damp pine-scented air was a feast for the senses, and Williams is always a fun place to hang out. We were delighted to see that the great little coffee shop on Route 66 has reopened.

A great weekend of high-elevation camping and hiking with Jim and Jacki! We even had a few showers Friday night, so the monsoon can’t be far away!

Panorama of Chiricahua Crest

Each year at Summer Solstice, ancestral spirits, or “kachinas” come down from their cloud homes in the San Francisco Peaks to live among the people and restore rain and fertility to the desert.

It has become an annual tradition for us to travel north to Hopi Land to witness the Summer Solstice dances, and restore our spirits with the beauty of northern Arizona and the companionship of good friends old and new.

We gathered once again at La Posada in Winslow, an eclectic refurb of a historic Fred Harvey hotel that has apparently become the place to stay for European visitors to the Southwest. After a few blissful hours wandering around the hotel and photographing the freight trains that thunder through town more than 100 times a day, we met up with Jackie and Lionel for an exquisite dinner in the Turquoise Room.

After a week of +100° temperatures in Tucson, the cool northern air was intoxicating, and by 5:30 am I was up and wandering the sleepy streets of Winslow, hoping the coffee shop would open on time (it never does). Kit and Ann rolled into town in time for breakfast Saturday morning, after a delay of several hours to repair a fuel pump destroyed by a packrat with a taste for automotive wiring.

Each time I witness the Hopi dances, I am awed that such ancient traditions are still honored, and that these ceremonies are open to the public. We witnessed the Comanche dances at Shungopavi on First Mesa, Tasaf at Hotevilla on Saturday, and Chakwaina dances at Moenkopi. The dazzling colors of the kachina costumes and the fresh fruits and vegetables overflowing the plaza are a feast for the senses, but no filming is allowed on the Hopi Reservation. The clowns at Shungopavi coaxed Kit to join them for lunch, but he escaped with his beard intact while the clowns amused themselves with some unsuspecting German tourists.

We camped at Coal Mine Mesa, one of the most eerily beautiful canyons in all of Arizona. In addition to the colorful layer-cake canyon, the mesa top is also remarkable for its mix of fossilized shells and blades of transparent gypsum. We circled the wagons for protection from the wind, and enjoyed a late-night potluck serenaded by Kit.

Panorama of Coal Mine Mesa

Read the rest of this entry »