Day three: Indian Gardens campground to Bright Angel trailhead

Thursday

This night has not provided us with hours of uninterrupted sleep, although there should really be no reason for it. I woke up almost every hour, partly from a stuffy nose, partly because it felt as if I had lain in one position too long. It was quite cool, too, probably not much above freezing, although this is not an issue with my super-light, wonderfully cozy down-filled sleeping bag. Still, when we decide to get up close to seven we feel reasonably rested.

Getting up and walking is quite a different matter, however. Every thigh and calf muscle screams: pain!, I can feel my right hip joint, and sore spots on my clavicles indicate where the pack pressed yesterday. Hmmm.... this might be interesting. Trusting that, just like the day before, things will limber up once we get moving we go about making breakfast for now. Dressed in everything we brought because it is so cool we watch again the descent of sunlight on the rocky wall beside us. Rosy-golden streaks of light criss-cross the light blue sky: there is a lot of air traffic here, yet since we don't hear the noise that, too, becomes a source of beauty.

And then there is no delaying the inevitable anymore: we have to get going. Apart from the aching muscles filling us with slight apprehension there is, at least for me, another feeling already, too, a familiar feeling I try to suppress because it keeps me from enjoying the present moment as fully as it deserves: it is that of regret, the regret that soon this will be over, and we will turn our backs, and this experience will lie behind us instead of ahead. Resolutely I push it aside: this is not the time to dwell on that!

We shoulder our packs and look up to the wall ahead. It looks insurmountable, forbidding. However are we going to get up there? We have a scant five miles left, but more than 900 altitude metres to overcome. Johann suddenly says, 'Three flights of stairs.' What? 'That Jack Nicholson movie, you know?' Ah, yes: Something's Gotta Give. Now I remember. Well, we'll just take it one step at a time.
 

Surprisingly, the walking is not as painful as we thought, and it becomes easier as time progresses. At first it is cold enough for us to wear our toques, but soon we can shed them, along with the warm sweatshirts. Bird song accompanies us on our way out of this lush, verdant valley. Every once in awhile we stop and look back, surprised how quickly we gain altitude.

There are rest areas about every mile-and-a-half, each consisting of a covered shelter and a bathroom. It is nice to have the total hike broken up into smaller increments: that way it doesn't seem quite as overwhelming. The first major stop, Three-Mile Resthouse, comes after 1.7 miles, at 1450 m elevation. We enjoy the great view of the valley opening below us and can easily make out Indian Gardens with the ranger station.

 

We stay a while, rest and eat some lunch, closely observed by a rock squirrel. Brazenly it comes right up to our backpacks on a big rock, ready to snatch what it can. We shoo it away: these squirrels have become much too used to human presence. Several times we pass signs at the side of the trail warning not to feed them since they may bite.

The trail becomes steeper, and we are glad to reach the 1.5-Mile Resthouse. Much of the hike today has been in the shade, which makes it easier as well. It is one of the reasons why Bright Angel Trail is suggested for the hike up: South Kaibab is much more exposed, and even though it is two miles shorter it would be much harder to hike up, not only because of the lack of shade but also because of the steeper trail and the worn-down steps.

On the last third of the trail the amount of people coming down increases considerably. It is easy to see that this is the most popular of the hiking trails in the park. It seems that many more people hike down at least a little bit on Bright Angel trail than walk the rim trail, although that, too, is a very rewarding hike, especially – at least from our perspective – where it isn't paved.

We keep our eyes open for petroglyphs: on Sunday evening we had listened to a ranger talk on this subject and heard that there were some along Bright Angel trail, although the ranger didn't tell us where exactly we had to look for them. We find two; one under a roof-like rock overhang, the other very close to the top just below one of the arches. Whatever inspired these early inhabitants of the canyon to put them there we will never know, but I can understand why they would have chosen this location to express themselves. It is a place of great beauty, and, standing where I do now and where they did then, a place to feel awe at what surrounds us. It is a sacred place, and a place to give thanks that we can call this amazing planet our home.

 

Day two, from Bright Angel to Indian Gardens campground

Wednesday

First light is seeping into our tent when I wake up: I have slept for ten hours! A chorus of birds welcomes the new morning, and we hear a few human voices as well: some hikers are on their way early. Soon it becomes clear that these hikers are mostly those on the other side of the creek, coming down from Phantom Ranch. Their hike will take them all the way up to the top today while ours will only be a little less than five miles to Indian Gardens campground, with an elevation gain of a little over 400m, not quite a third of the whole.

Tentatively we flex our muscles. Oh, they hurt! Getting up takes some determination, but once we've walked around for a bit things loosen up. The temperature is very pleasant here, much warmer than it would be on top. The difference in temperature between the rim and the valley bottom is about eleven degrees Celsius, I've heard. It is like coming from the Canadian to the Mexican border. To me it feels like Spring in Germany, the trees along the little stream all decked out in tender leaves, others with thick buds almost ready to burst open.

While we have our breakfast we watch the sun light up the peaks above us, at first picking out one or the other, until, not so much longer, the whole western rock face is aglow. Slowly the light creeps lower, but it will be a long while until actual sunshine reaches us in our narrow slip of valley. We walk up to Phantom Ranch to have a look. Cabins and the main building are neatly fitted into the mountain landscape, inconspicuous yet inviting. Mules are waiting in the mule corrals, but a group has left already as well. We pass a deer browsing within a few feet from us, completely unconcerned with our presence. She just turns her head to look at us and returns to the job at hand. These are mule deer, as we find out from a ranger later, much smaller than the ones we see in north central Alberta. He explains that they have adapted to the hot, dry conditions: small size is important to shed heat more quickly. They can weigh up to a hundred pounds less than in cooler climates.

Shortly before nine we have packed our belongings and are ready to leave. One last look around: no, we have left nothing; it looks like it did when we arrived. Everything that's packed in has to be packed out; there are no trash cans, not even in the washrooms. This system seems to be working: we see very little trash along the trail, and none this far down where day hikers are rare.

Leaving the campground we turn to the right up Bright Angel trail instead of crossing the bridge over the creek. The Colorado glitters in the sunshine, and soon we cross it again on a different bridge than the day before.

The trail continues along the river bank with little change in elevation for the first while. At times the trail is sandy like an ocean beach. It's a good thing it isn't windy! 

 

Plant life is quite prolific and varied so close to the water, with some interesting shapes like this shaggy-maned specimen. I believe it is a joshua tree.

After about two miles the trail veers off to the left into a narrow canyon. Now the climb will begin. The sun hasn't found its way down here yet, and it is pleasantly cool – perfect hiking temperature. We take off our packs and rest for a bit.

Slowly the path climbs higher, not too strenuous at first. A small creek trickles down towards the Colorado. We cross it a few times – no big deal when it is this dry. We see the traces of flash floods along the vegetation on the banks, however: it would be scary to be in this narrow gorge when that happens. Later we find out from a ranger that it only occurs during thunderstorms and never lasts long, but that people indeed have got killed in these flash floods.

Now, it is a beautiful hike in a green spring landscape. Pinion jays and little red finches appear from time to time looking for food, the first carmine blossoms of Indian Paintbrush adding colour, willows have leafed out.

Slowly the trail gets steeper, and the well-known steps have started to reappear. We can feel our muscles again, though it is much less severe than we had feared. We pause when we feel the need, take our packs off and rest them on a big rock while we enjoy the stunning view.

 

At the end of a rather steep part of the trail we hear a group of mules approaching. We step to the side to make room. It is a group of riders receiving instructions about the steep descent from their leader. Like the rider at the back of the group he looks like a character from a Western. Maybe that is part of the job description. We hear him talk about 'Devil's Corkscrew' and 'Devil's Backbone' – is this what we just tackled? What an apt description! He also mentions the 'Bathtub', a pool right below us that might be a little cold to soak in right now, however.

 

The trail becomes less steep, and I see a couple of trees – not shrubs, but real trees with fresh green leaves – a bit higher up. The water in the little creek has made it possible for them to grow here, a small oasis in this dry and rocky place. It is even muddy, with puddles covering most of the trail's width, and small, very soft green leaves cover the hillside beside it. I discover upright flower stalks clutched by lance-shaped leaves, topped by a beautiful delicate flower that, though I have never seen it before, looks very much like an orchid to me. The 'Field Guide to the Grand Canyon' tells me that these are Giant Helleborines, indeed members of the orchid family. I had bought the book a couple of days before at the Hermit's Rest bookstore, as usual eager to have a way to identify plants and birds of an area I knew little about, but secretly I had since questioned the wisdom of my decision to add this rather heavy item to my pack. Now I know why I took it with me.

It is past noon, and the pack feels heavy. We should likely take a bigger break soon, but a couple of hikers we encountered told us it was only about a mile to the campground, and that was a while ago already. The swath of green along the creek continues to our right, and the variety of plants grows. We see bigger deciduous trees a bit further up the slightly widening valley: it can't be far now. I am almost stopped in my tracks by a cloud of light purple: a tree blooming in the colour of lilacs, yet with a distinctly tree-like shape. The flowers have a sweet scent, and bees are busy gathering pollen. I couldn't have imagined anything like this up here! Later, I find out from the field guide that this is a Western Redbud, a member of the legume family.

We arrive at a giant cottonwood tree that stretches its limbs over the trail. We might be close, but I cannot continue without a rest. My shoulders have tensed up and hurt, more than any other part of my body. We slip off our packs one more time and study the tree. Its ridged trunk is so thick that we couldn't span it if we joined hands. Lightning has blackened one of the main branches and part of the trunk, yet it looks healthy, and its leafy crown reaches out towards the creek. How old could it be? Surely a hundred years or more. Trees wouldn't grow very fast under these harsh conditions so high up, even with enough water.

 

It is about a quarter past one when we arrive at Indian Gardens. We pass the day use area and walk uphill through the campground to find a spot. There are only fifteen or so of them here, and it feels quite different than the busy Bright Angel campground. Trees provide shade, which must make it a haven in the heat of the summer. We pick the last of the camping spots, bordered by the Bright Angel trail on one side and the trail leading from there to the restrooms (right across from our spot) on the other. Water is close by as well, and we have a magnificent view of the canyon wall shielding the campground, the very wall we will have to climb tomorrow.

Pitching the tent is a bit more difficult here since the sand has been replaced with much harder ground, but we soon have it set up and everything stowed in its proper place. Here, too, ammunition boxes serve as food containers. The picnic table is covered with a roof we wouldn't have needed today since it is not that hot, but which surely will be appreciated later in the season. Maples and western redbud trees are planted around the perimeter of the camp, and agaves and cacti grow close by as well. A fellow hiker urged us to hike out the mile and a half to 'Sunset Point' at sundown, and we again lie down for a nap so that we can be ready for that later. 

Sunset will be at about 6:40 pm (no daylight savings time in Arizona!), and the ranger, who comes by to check our permit and answer any questions we still might have, tells us that it is best to be out early to enjoy the full spectrum of colour changes that comes with it. We leave at a quarter to six and follow the path he pointed out to us. It leads out to a point high above the Colorado with a spectacular view of the north wall of the canyon, the Colorado far down to our feet.

With little change in elevation the trail meanders along the side of the hill before casting out across the plateau. Shrubs, agaves, and different cacti grow in profusion, and huge boulders litter the hillside and the side of the trail. The plateau is still basked in the low evening light that causes some of the pear cacti to take on a warm aubergine glow, but the camp is already in deep shade, and it was cool when we left. Now, in the sun, we warm up again.

From afar already we watch the play of light on the mountain across the river. The setting sun brings about the most incredible changes of colour, and the small group of hikers gathered at the point stands transfixed, watching in awe. Long after the sun has set that slow dance of light and shadow continues. Peaks that have cast shadows on the walls behind them soon are picked out by another's shadow, red turns to orange, gold to red.

Reluctantly, we turn around to head back to camp. It is quickly getting darker, but the sandy path across the plateau is bright enough so that we don't need the headlamp. I am glad: too quickly this would have destroyed the feeling of magic. Instead, it intensifies, since now the sky slowly lights up with stars. So little outside light streams into this remote valley that there seem to be many more than at home. Familiar constellations appear: the Big Dipper, Orion, the Seven Sisters, and, finally, I remember again what I learned last winter: how to find Castor and Pollux, locked between the Big Dipper and Orion, remember, too, what I learned at the observatory in Flagstaff a year ago: that there is something called 'the winter circle', the brightest stars in the winter sky. Castor and Pollux belong to them, as well as Orion's Rigel, with Betelgeuse at the centre of the circle, Sirius, and a couple of others I don't remember. 

By the time we reach our tent spot it is fully dark, and we consume our meal of oriental noodle soup, bread and cheese, some dried fruit and a cup of tea by the shine of the headlamp hung on a peg of the shelter. It has been another wonderful day.

Grand Canyon hike, first day: descent

Kingman, Arizona

We've just finished our supper – a totally satisfying ham-and-cheese-and-avocado sandwich, accompanied by a bottle of beer we had carried with us since Apache Junction - on the balcony in front of our 'EconoLodge' room in Kingman, one of the bigger towns along historic Route 66. Sitting in the warm late afternoon sun it's as good a place as any to rest and recover from what has easily been the toughest hike we've done so far. 

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Tuesday morning

The line-up waiting for the 'Hikers Express' shuttle in front of the back-country office is shorter than the morning before: it is nine o'clock, and this is the third and last of the shuttles specifically assigned to take hikers to the South Kaibab trailhead about twenty-five minutes away. It is a mixed group: some, campers like us, carry packs with tents and sleeping gear as well as food, others are less heavily laden and bring only day packs; they are the ones booked into the Phantom Ranch. While they carry less they will do the hike back up in one day, without the half-way stop at Indian Gardens. All of us will carry lots of water, the one thing that has been emphasized most in the instructions from rangers and any written material, plus on signs all over. There is no water on South Kaibab until we reach the Bright Angel campground at the bottom of the canyon, while Indian Gardens has water on the way up.

Age-wise, too, there is a quite a variety, from teenagers to septuagenarians. Some, like us, are doing this for the first time, others are old hands and know the trail well. Happy anticipation is in the air. One more trip to the bathroom at the trail head, water bottles topped up at the water station, packs checked and adjusted ... 

By ten o'clock we are all on our way. It is still cool, and soon after we leave my hands are getting cold enough that I pull out the gloves. Unlike last year there is no ice left on this first shaded part of the trail, however, and we didn't have to pack the crampons: a little less weight where every gram counts. Johann's pack contains all the camping equipment: tent, pads and sleeping bags (and – one nod to luxury – the small down-filled pillows we've come to enjoy on our backpacking trips back home), while mine is filled with foodstuff, the 'pocket rocket' (our handy little camp stove), a small pot and clothing items, plus notebook, Grand Canyon field guide, binoculars, camera etc. As usual we will likely have packed too much food, but the official recommendation is to eat twice as much as normal, a rule I embrace much more wholeheartedly than Johann, who seems more oblivious to the comfort of it after a strenuous day. Well, I will have to carry this excess weight – not such a hardship on the way down, after all – just like that of a 330 ml plastic bottle filled with red wine, a small glass for each of us for each night to celebrate the day's accomplishments. It will get lighter as time progresses and we use up our supplies.

My pack doesn't seem to fit as well as usual, sits too low and presses on my hips: likely a result of the way we distributed the weight: too much heavy weight is sitting at the bottom. At Cedar Ridge, the first major stop at 340m down, we re-pack, putting my sleeping bag at the bottom of my pack and stacking the heavier items above – much better!

It has taken us an hour to get here, just like last year, but this time we don't venture out onto the actual ridge for an even more spectacular view: we have a long way ahead of us, after all. From now on it will be all new to us.

We try to follow the switchbacks below with our eyes to see where exactly they lead, but eventually we lose sight of the trail. Assured by fellow hikers who have done this before that it is never unmanageable or even truly difficult to negotiate we follow its course further to the bottom.

Growth is sparse here: prickly pear cacti, some spectacular thistles, here and there tiny tender plants in the few places where some moisture has been retained in a rocky niche in the shade ... Otherwise only the rocky wall, sometimes to our right, sometimes to our left, and the ever descending steps. These are of different lengths, the risers big logs anchored in the ground with metal spikes, often worn down so much from human feet and mule hooves that they are hollowed out, spikes sticking up above the surface of the wood. Between the risers are small rocks, often ground to the finest sand, and sometimes it is sheer rock we walk on.

About an hour or so after Cedar Ridge we arrive at the second major stopping point, Skeleton Point, this one, too, with a restroom. These restrooms – 'Phoenix composting toilets' – are amazing! They are so clean, so well maintained and so free of any unpleasant smell that it is hard to believe they are frequented by so many people, so far from running water. A solar electric fan is whirring much of the time; I'm not sure if it is possibly equipped with a motion sensor. 

Now comes the last and most strenuous part of the descent. The views are spectacular, like everywhere on the South Kaibab: every turn in the trail opens a new perspective. Further and further we walk back in time, the pale limestone layer giving way to deep red sandstone, the trail under our feet changing colour accordingly. Not yet have we arrived at the hardest, oldest layer at the bottom, although we have glimpsed the Colorado several times now. 

After Skeleton Point the trail descends in one smooth line, for a while at least no longer zig-zagging but describing a long sweep along the side of the mountain, visible in its entire length when we set out along that stretch. Once completed, we are back to the steps, now even steeper and harder to negotiate than before to accommodate a speedy descent to the river.

And there it is, finally! The mighty Colorado is within reach now, the sturdy suspension bridge spanning the hundred-or-so meters waiting to take us to the other side. We reach it through a short tunnel and cross on thick planks covering the metal construction, the wood worn down from the many mule hooves crossing it every day.

  

Yet we are not quite there, and the remaining mile or so seems to stretch endlessly. We are tired now, our hip joints and thighs aching from the steady negotiating of those high steps with the weight on our backs. We look forward to stretching out in the tent! 

The path winds along the river before it veers off to the right into the narrow tree-lined valley we saw from quite high above already. We turn left and cross Bright Angel Creek on a short bridge, then right under a huge cliff overhang, and enter the campground. 

There is room for about ninety people, and we find a nice spot along the cliff wall where we can put up our tent. Picnic tables are provided, the ground is sandy and wonderfully soft, and we are screened from our neighbours by shrubs just starting to leaf out. The aspen along the creek – only a few metres away so that it can sing us to sleep at night – are fully leafed out already: we have arrived in a Spring landscape. 

We put up the tent, hang our packs on the provided poles, stow our food and anything made of plastic in big metal boxes that, in an earlier life, served as ammunition boxes for the army and are now used to protect too-street-wise wildlife from the negative side effects of their human visitors. A volunteer comes by, checks our back-country permit and gives us a talk on the importance of keeping all

foodstuffs in the boxes at all times, covered with a lid. Too many animals have suffered after ingesting plastic bags, and the easy access to food makes them bold towards humans and hurts their ability to survive in the wild.

Finally we can take off our hiking boots! I enjoy the feeling of the sand under my naked feet, bury them in its coolness, thankful for this relief. Too tired to do anything else we crawl into the tent to have a nap: it is about four pm.

We wake up in time to make it to the ranger talk at Phantom Ranch, about ten minutes up the trail along the creek, but decide against it. Getting something to eat and more rest is more important. Johann returns to the tent after our meal of noodle soup, bread, cheese and ham, with some dried fruit for dessert and, of course, this evening's allotment of wine.

I, however, sit in the gathering dark, watch the bats on their hunt for insects and listen to the creek. Looking up, I see Orion's three belt stars perfectly lined up in a gap between the branches of the cottonwood tree that marks the border of our camping spot. More and more stars appear, and since it seems suddenly warmer than before sunset I regain some of my energy and decide to walk down to the bridge over the creek where the valley is a bit wider. Maybe I can even see the moon rise? I know the full moon rose around seven pm two days earlier, but realize that it must be rising more than an hour later already today, which will be too late for me. It doesn't matter. I stand on the bridge, the velvety darkness above filling with more and more stars until the sky is a sheet of silver light. There is no sound but the water under my feet, the only sign of human life the dimly lit windows of the ranger station, here and there a little moving dot of light in the campground up the creek: other campers moving around with their headlights on. I have switched mine off long ago, trusting the brightly lit sky to guide me where I want to go. The sandy path is easy enough to see, and I slowly make my way back to the camp, filled with the wonders of this day.

And - it's a go!

The sun is streaming in through our motel room window, and the big flags are flapping listlessly on their poles out front. Much to our relief yesterday's strong winds have abated, and even though it is still -8 it promises to be a beautiful day for hiking. 

When we arrived at the backcountry office yesterday morning a crowd of people was waiting outside already. A good portion of them had big backpacks and walking gear - these were the ones who waited for the shuttle bus to take them to the trailhead. The rest were, like us, hoping for a chance to get a camping spot for the next night. 

The ranger unlocked the doors exactly at eight, and right away the numbers were called up. Number one didn't show up, which left three groups ahead of us, and to our relief we saw that they each consisted of only two people. We were in! With a few instructions from the ranger regarding rules and regulations for the trail and the campgrounds and our back country permit in hand we left the office to return the next morning for our turn on the shuttle bus to the trailhead.

We spent the rest of the day enjoying the Grand Canyon scenery from the rim, listened to a ranger talk on the geology of the Grand Canyon, found a laundromat and had a nap in the afternoon.

The wind, with gusts to 50 miles per hour, made it extremely unpleasant to be anywhere exposed, even though the temperature reached the high teens, but late in the afternoon we went for a short rim walk nonetheless, from the westernmost point the shuttle buses reach, Yaki Point. We hadn't walked very far when Johann suddenly had trouble with his left leg: a calf muscle had cramped up. Should our dream of hiking down be shattered at the last minute after all? 

We broke off the walk and took the shuttle back to the visitor centre, and now, with the help of some liniment, massaging and a good rest, he feels ready to go - and so do I. 

The first part of the South Kaibab trail we will be taking on the way down will be familiar: we hiked down to Cedar Ridge last year, just to try it out. What will it be like to hike with a backpack? What will it be like when we reach the Colorado, a five hour hike we were advised to stretch out longer? And what about the way up, following Bright Angel trail, with an overnight camp at Indian Gardens campground? Soon we will know. The adventure is about to begin!

Anticipation

 

Seven Mile Lodge, 7 am

The sun has been up for about half an hour, and it looks like another beautiful day here in Arizona. We left the desert behind for now to embark on our big adventure, the Grand Canyon hike. 

We arrived here yesterday shortly after noon, checked in to the same hotel as last year in Tusayan, just a few miles south of the gate to Grand Canyon National Park, and soon headed to the Backcountry Office to see if we could get a camping permit. This is the big 'if' on which everything hinges, and we were anxious. We had little hope to get in for Monday, but what about Tuesday? 

The ranger told us that eighteen people could be accommodated on a first-come/first-serve basis for Bright Angel campground at the valley floor for Tuesday. The majority of camp spots have to be booked a year or so in advance. We were a bit too late to be granted a spot automatically, but there is a good chance that we will make it: four other groups are ahead of us, but there is no telling if these groups consist of one, two or six people each.  Let's hope they are small enough for us to slip in.

We will be on our way to the office in a few minutes to be there at eight when it opens. The groups will be called up by rote, and whoever isn't there will lose their spot - that, at least, is something over which we have control.

With luck, we will be packing our bags this afternoon!

Arboretum

 

 

It has been a day filled with light, the kind of light that can unexpectedly greet you when you turn a corner walking through a forest, suddenly slanting through the trees, or maybe the kind that breaks from a wall of clouds shortly before sunset to pour out on a still lake – or, maybe, the very kind of light that seems to turn new leaves into a source of light in themselves, just like they do in this photo. 

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When our hosts told us they would take us to the Boyce-Thompson Arboretum I had no clear idea what to expect. All I needed, however, was to hear 'arbor', the Latin popping into my head from long-ago highschool years: arbor, arboris – the tree. This was going to be a wonderful day, as any day spent among trees is for me.

With all my imagination I could not have dreamed up a place quite like this tucked in the sere desert landscape, however. Founded by William Boyce-Thompson in 1924 it is the oldest botanical garden in Arizona and ever since has been used as a desert plant research facility. Over 2600 plant species from all over the world are growing on its nearly 400 acres, and it has been declared an Important Bird Area by the Audubon Society as well. 

My favourites: Golden Globes

We headed out into the gardens along well maintained paths lined by an amazing array of cacti with such descriptive names as Fishhook, Toothpick, Monstrose Totem, Golden and Red Globe, Prickly Pear, and many, many more, smooth and bumpy, spiked or covered with a woolly blanket of white, harmless-looking fur (I'm sure it's better not to give in to the temptation to test its softness by brushing it), rotund or tall and gangly, twisted or straight, juicy or wrinkled and even skeletal. What an array of texture and colour!

A bouquet of saw blades?

Saguaro with nest

Monstrose Totem cacti with 'president's face'

As if this weren't enough there were the blossoms, hot pink, lemon yellow, crimson stars unfolding among the spikes of the cacti, a creamy white mass of flowers bursting from the heart of a yucca plant, delicate golden or red stalks rising from other succulents. 

The path turned uphill for a short while and soon afforded a beautiful view of a narrow canyon. A pretty crested bird was pecking seeds from the path, not overly disturbed by our arrival: a female cardinal, soon joined by its brilliant red partner. It was the first time I ever saw a cardinal, and that alone would have made my day. 

 

 

We followed the gently declining path right to the bottom of the canyon. The small creek trickling through the greening valley had been a torrent only a short while ago: traces of its force were still visible along the banks and in freshly repaired portions of the trail system. Now, the peaceful valley transported me back to spring days in my childhood, spent exploring creek banks and new growth.

A sudden movement on a rock outcropping far above us caught my eye: a stocky animal with sizeable horns clearly visible against the bright sky. This must have been a desert bighorn sheep, a subspecies of the Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep that is well adapted to this extremely dry part of the North American continent. Our friends, who come to the arboretum regularly, had never seen one here before – a rare treat for all of us. 

The last part of our hike along Queen Creek led us through palm and eucalyptus groves to a shady picnic area, a perfect place to end this wonderful excursion. Hummingbirds darted among the flowers, and two more cardinal couples squabbled not far from our bench. 

The desert will be waiting for us again tomorrow, and I look forward to discovering more of its wonders. It has been warm through much of February and March, and while this is great news for the flora it also means that rattlesnakes are out and about already. Several sightings have been reported in the area, and we have been warned to be careful.

Spring or summer?

It's an eclectic mix of whizzing car engines and bird song here in the front yard of the Camelbackpackers Hostel on McDowell Street in Phoenix where I'm sipping the last of my morning coffee. The group at the breakfast table – young backpackers from different parts of the world mostly – is growing slowly, and I've moved out here where there is less distraction.

Our plane touched down around 5:30 in Phoenix last night, and we boarded the Sky Train to connect us to the light rail system just when the sun was setting, the silhouettes of downtown buildings etched into the golden-red sky. Following the instructions from the hostel's website we took the light rail to McDowell and Central Ave from where we could either walk or take another bus to the hostel. They didn't say how far we had to walk on McDowell, but it couldn't be more than thirteen blocks from Central, and it was hard to resist a walk in what felt like a summer night to us. We peeled off the canvas bags that had protected our backpacks during the flight, shouldered the packs and headed west.

People greeted us from front gardens and outdoor restaurant terraces. 'Universe or bust!' a guy called out, passing us on a bike: a middle-aged couple loaded with backpacks hiking along a busy thoroughfare in a big city obviously deserved a friendly greeting – or maybe Phoenicians (is that what they are called?) are simply very friendly by nature.

Blooming trees spread their deep scent in the still evening air, oranges dotted front lawns ... this felt unreal: hadn't we just come from a barren landscape where the thermometer had finally managed to climb above the freezing line just a few days ago, where snow was getting softer and had just started to recede?

We hadn't gone very far yet when the strains of Johnny Cash's 'Folsom Prison Blues' drifted across the street from an outdoor cafe where a guy with a guitar was entertaining a handful of people. 'If it wasn't so far we could come back here for something to eat', we remarked. The city blocks seemed shorter than usual, likely because the streets were offset going north and south, and the numbers just changed every time, and it didn't take us very long until we spotted the low wall with its design of camels, saguaros and mountains we remembered from last year's visit. We had arrived, a bit hot and glad we could set our backpacks down.

The girl at the front desk glanced up expectantly. 'We have a reservation for tonight', we told her. But when she heard our name she looked at us strangely and said, 'you had a reservation last night.' What?? How could that have happened? Johann was certain that he had booked for the twelfth, and it was hardly possible that someone could mistake that for the eleventh. 'Unfortunately we are completely booked out, too', she said. 'But wait, let me talk to the manager.' Minutes later she came back with the news that she did have two beds for us after all: her brother and his girlfriend were among the guests, and they would simply sleep in the garage. We protested: they didn't have to leave because of us; we could just as well sleep there. She insisted, however: we were to move into the eight-bed dorm we had originally booked. They obviously didn't think it was the right thing to do to expose us to the rigors of garage sleeping at our advanced age.

Well, then, no use objecting. We dragged our packs into the dorm and registered properly. By now it was about 7:30, and we were hungry. Remembering the guitar player at the front of what had looked like a nice place to eat we soon were on our way again, this time unimpeded by backpacks filled with camping gear and clothes for a couple of weeks. Even under the dim light of the street lamps the fuchsia and magenta clusters of the bougainvilleas were spectacular, and again that same heady scent accompanied us for parts of the way. Could it be the orange trees?

'Johnny Cash' had changed to 'Jimmy Buffet' when we arrived at the 'Hob Nob', and we were treated to an array of music from the Eagles to Fats Domino by the lone guitar player who played his instrument unlike any guitar player I had ever watched: he had laid it flat on his knees and played it almost like a keyboard. Later, he told us that he had seen someone do it when he was seven or eight, and, fascinated, he had tried to emulate it until he mastered the technique. It was easier for his small hands to press down on the strings instead of reaching around. Now, recovering from a stroke, he was grateful he had learned to play like this at a young age, because again it was easier for his weakened hand to do it this way.

Sated in body and soul we left shortly after he packed up at nine. When we returned to the hostel our beds were ready for us, and some time later we were ready for them as well.

This is how far I got this morning before my battery ran empty and we had to leave to pick up our rental car. 

By now we have changed location: for a couple of days we will be residents of a 'snowbird' trailer park at Apache Junction. We are visiting friends who spend their winters here, and they want to show us what the area has to offer. 

Driving out from Phoenix, which is about thirty miles to the west of here, we watched the silhouette of 'Flat Iron' emerge from the haze and fondly remembered last year's hikes in the Superstition Mountains. I would really like to hike there again, especially since it rained not long ago and the desert is starting to bloom.