Tuesday, March 26, 2019

Taking the tent to the Arizona (Ringbolt) Hotsprings


I haven't had an internet connection for several days, and we've had many great experiences in the meantime, so I better try and recall as much as I can before we are on the road again. After stops at the Arizona hotsprings and three days in Mesa with friends we are now on our way to New Mexico. We spent the night in Safford in southeast Arizona, not far from the border to NM.

When we left Cedar City late Wednesday morning it was drizzling a little, and for the first hour and a half it rained off and on, at times even hard. Any rain in this dry area must be welcome, I imagine, and although it is nicer to drive in the sunshine we didn't mind very much: the forecast for Boulder City, only a few miles from where we would hike, didn't show precipitation, and it was supposed to be 17 degrees that day, 21 degrees the day after. 


We reached the trailhead, a parking lot on the left side of Hwy. 93 right before the 4-mile sign south of the Hoover Dam, a little after four pm. Lots of cars were parked, but even while we got our packs ready several bigger and smaller groups returned while hardly anybody was headed down the wide wash at the beginning of the trail. It was pleasant to hike, not too hot but warm enough, and after a while I had gotten used to the feeling of the pack again. We realized we hadn't done any backpacking for the past couple of years, and it doesn't get any easier. It's good to do it again!

It seems as if wildflowers are late getting to bloom this year. February was colder than average not only at home but here, too, even with light frost. Still, the lemon yellow of brittlebush and the purple of the lupines contrasted nicely already, joined by desert primroses and here and there a few California poppies. Like last time we veered off to the left to climb the crest instead of hiking down to the Colorado through the canyon; that way we didn't have to heave our big packs up the ladder. From the crest the trail descends quite steeply into the valley. Every once in awhile I cast a glance at a wall of dark clouds building in the east, but it was growing slowly and might dissipate before it summoned up rain. So far it was very pleasant. Right when we were ready to enter the canyon - a different one than we'd hike if we walked the other route – a young woman called out to us. We had no idea where she came from, and it seemed neither did she. She was hiking alone and felt she had taken a wrong turn. Now she wasn't sure anymore how to get back to the parking lot. Johann tried to explain to her how to go – it was easy from where we were - but she was in panic mode, so he took her back to a place on the trail where she could not get lost anymore. That would be a scary situation, to be lost with the prospect of fading light before you'd make it back to the parking lot. I don't think she had too much water left either, which seems to happen more often than one would think. People underestimate the desert and these hikes that, although popular, require a certain level of preparedness, water and a hat being among the most important things.

With about an hour and a half of daylight left we arrived above the hotsprings and set up our tent where we had camped two years before, right against a huge rock wall. We weren't quite finished when we felt the first big raindrops. Oh no! I wasn't impressed, but soon the tent was ready and we could put everything under cover that needed to stay dry. For us it wouldn't make much difference if it rained when we were in the warm water. Soon, however, the rain quit and a rainbow appeared over the cliffs glowing white in the rays of the setting sun. What a nice bonus! 


We cooked some noodle soup on our little 'pocket rocket', packed our hiking wine glasses, bottle, candles and matches and got to the springs right when the sun was setting. As always, the first two pools were so hot that my feet felt as if they were being cooked, so traversing them as quickly as possible was important. The third pool, bigger than the first two and with almost the perfect temperature, was obviously the most popular one. We moved on the the last pool, right beside the ladder leading down into the canyon. It is shallower than the others, but quite comfortable; even after sitting in it for an extended period of time we didn't get too hot or too cold. 
 
Clouds moved overhead for quite a while, people started to leave, either to get to their campsites at the Colorado or to hike out the way we had come, until, finally, there were only four or five people left beside us. The conversations got quieter. Our candles fared better than last time, even though we had to re-light them a couple of times. Finally the clouds dissipated and the first stars appeared, and not long after the canyon wall above us was lit up by the moon. Warmed through quite thoroughly we walked back to our tent and slept well until first light seeped into our canyon.


The other advantage of sleeping right next to the hotsprings is that one can soak first thing in the morning again, at that time almost certainly without a crowd of people. It's a wonderful way to warm up for whatever the day may bring. When we arrived, still before seven, one couple was in one of the hotter pools, and this time we had the perfectly tempered pool all to ourselves. After a while a man appeared whom we had met here two years ago: Mike, self-appointed caretaker of the hotsprings in the winter. He spends his winter in the area and comes down here every morning to clean up the pools, shovel out the debris brought in by the water, re-align the sandbags damming the water to form the pools, sucking out smaller natural (and who knows what kind of human-created) debris with a big hose, even raking the gravel between the pools. In the summer the big rains wash many of the sandbags down into the canyon and clean out the hotspring area, so every fall the bags have to be filled and set up again for people to be able to enjoy the warm water. It's a labour of love, all volunteer work, shared between another man who sets it all up and Mike, who looks after the upkeep from then on. It was nice to see him again and be able to direct our appreciation to the right source.

We left him to his task and walked back up to the tent. The sun, though definitely up, still hadn't found its way into our canyon, but we were nicely warmed up. My coffee was quickly prepared, and we had breakfast on the big rocks across from the tent. Swallows were now darting above, twittering, hunting for insects like the two bats we watched here in the evening.

We had a long drive ahead to Mesa after hiking out and had planned to leave no later than eleven to be ready to leave the parking lot by two. This was a generous estimation given the fact that it took us only an hour and fifteen minutes to get down. We were packed much before the deadline we had set for our departure and expected we'd be leaving earlier. As so often, things turned out differently than expected. We had hiked up the canyon for a bit when Mike caught up with us. For a while we hiked together, and he turned out to be as interested in wildflowers as I am, so we stopped often to look at something that caught our eye. I learned a lot of new things, from wonderfully descriptive names like gravel ghost (probably my favourite) and devil's lettuce, rock nettle and many more, to the fact that the Paiute used to use the puffy part of a plant called desert trumpet to make a pipe to smoke another plant, coyote tobacco, for hallucinatory purposes. “Would you like to join me on another route back to the parking lot?' Mike asked shortly before the steep part of the hike, the part that would slow us down because I'd have to stop to catch my breath often. 'The hike will be easier; there's just a bit of climbing to do in between, nothing much. You'll be able to do it. We'll also be passing the petroglyphs, and I could tell you a bit about them.' Sure we wanted! While Johann doesn't share my interest in plants Mike was a great source of all other kinds of information as well. 

We turned right into another canyon and soon reached the petroglyphs. Two years ago someone – quite likely Mike, but I don't remember – had suggested we'd do a quick detour to look at them, but then we returned to the main trail after. Now, we'd continue on under Mike's guidance. He explained that these petroglyphs had not been conclusively dated, but that it was known that the area was abandoned by the residing people around the year 1150 AD, so the petroglyphs must be at least that old, likely older. Unlike those made by peoples to mark occurrences in their lives – sheep, buffalo, gazelles, figures of people etc – these are considered to be of a totally different nature. Experts believe that they were made by shamans who lived in the canyon, while the rest of the people lived down by the river. The signs are believed to have been spirit signs to help enter other realms, aided by hallucinogenics and meditation. So far not all of them have been identified; some shapes are universal: the snake and the tortoise, for instance, revered as spirit animals in many cultures, but other signs remain a mystery. 


It's an eerie feeling to be in the presence of these reminders of people, a culture, that lived here so long ago. What might it have been like then? As the canyon narrowed we arrived at a place that appears like a portal, and it's easy enough to feel that even now. The way the petroglyphs are placed, Mike explained, they appear to be a warning, like a hand held up, for people not to come any further: this was the shaman's (and his helpers') realm.

We climbed up a few steps to cross over a slip rock – just a warm-up for the big one, Mike said – and continued up the canyon. As predicted the hike itself was easy enough, especially at our slow pace: we stopped often to look at plants like cheesebush (again named well: rubbed between the fingers the leaves emit a smell not unlike sweaty feet) and desert fir, despite its fragrant cedar scent not a fir at all but a member of the aster family. And then we arrived at the 'small climb'. If Johann and I had been alone we would have turned around: I would have never considered climbing up this rock, maybe five or six metres high. Mike, however, had no doubt that I could do this. 'We'll get your pack later,' he said. 'Just watch where I go.' Johann, not scared of heights like me, would come up last. Carefully I placed my feet and hands where I found a hold, and slowly I made my way up the rock face. To my surprise I was not scared; maybe Mike's calm confidence that I could do this was responsible for it. Actually, it was even fun to do. Still, I was happy to reach the top. Johann came up behind me, Mike got my backpack, and soon we were on our way. I'm so glad I did this! Not only did I learn a lot and spent a very interesting morning, I also overcame one of my big fears. Would I do it again? I think I would.

We parted ways about forty-five minutes before reaching the parking lot. Mike continued on a different path, and we re-joined the trail we would have otherwise taken. The one he took us on would be even more difficult to do (and not without proper rappelling gear) going down than coming up, and this trail is not marked as an official one. What a lucky encounter! We didn't leave any earlier than we had originally allowed for, but it was well worth it, even considering the surprising amount of traffic on the not very good road to Kingman, likely due to it being the start of the weekend.
Kingman itself was congested as well, unlike the other times we had passed through, and we didn't linger too long but instead headed for our next destination, our friends in Mesa. 

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