The trip to the Arizona Hot Springs and back left me tired and ready to lay down a homestead for the evening. As I drove south on Hwy 93 through tiny towns like Kingman and Wickiup, I started to get more and more worried that I would not find a cool and comfortable place to unwind in the afternoon. As I drove over this huge bridge that spanned the Burro Creek "gorge", I looked down and saw lush river bank and cool blue water. And then, in the same glance, I saw the BLM campsite located there. Sometimes dumb luck gets you exactly where you want to be. The campsites here are pretty standard but the river is the real attraction. In the middle of the desert is this oasis of life. Plaques in the campground describe the flora and fauna that is supported by this ecosystem and the riverbank riparian and I learned about the numerous animals in Arizona that can really mess you up. Gila monsters, rattlesnakes, tarantulas, scorpions, etc.. I guess ignorance is bliss because after reading about all the killer animals, I couldn't help scanning the ground as I hiked and jumping at every little sound. I walked along the bank and found a shady spot to swim and hang out. I took some pictures but nothing really good came out. Sorry.
From Burro Creek I had originally intended to head straight toward Phoenix. The lure of the Prescott National Forest was too strong, however, and I decided to take a long detour to the east through the forest and the city. The road started steadily sloping up as I drove east and within one hour, the landscape goes from an arid desert to a mountainous forest 6,000-7,000 feet in elevation. Arizona is just one natural wonder after another. I entered Prescott and stopped at the National Forest headquarters to find out some good camping opportunities. It turns out that PNF has unrestricted camping and that all forest roads (aka old logging roads) are unrestricted for biking. I also discovered that Prescott is actually pronounced Pres-kitt by the yokels. Later on as I drove through Mayer, a city on the east side of the park to get to a good camping spot, I stopped to ask directions. I wanted to know how to get from Mayer (I pronounced it as in Oscar Mayer) to Goodwin, a tiny town nestled in the forest. She scolded me and said, "You mean from Mayer?" (pronounced like the town leader) I was like, do these people have a different
pronunciation for everything? The directions turned out to be good, though, and I vowed to have a plate of biscotts and gravy next time through Mayor.
The road to Goodwin is all dirt and a bit bumpy but it passes through spectacular terrain. At several points, a steep cliff that drops off to the side got my heart pounding as I bumped and skidded on through. I found a quaint little campsite about 7 miles in and, once again, laid out the gear. It was pretty early in the day but I didn't want to settle in just yet so I did some reading. I've been reading the book Leave No Trace: A Guide to the New Wilderness Etiquette by Annette McGivney. It basically gives a brief history of wilderness and parks in the U.S. and then expounds on the agreed upon standards for minimum impact camping appropriately called Leave No Trace. I have been so appalled by the conditions of the campsites that I've seen along the way that I've dedicated myself to learning these principles. I want to make sure that during my trip I am not responsible for further damaging our open space and parks by irresponsible and negligent practices. Please visit the Commentary section to learn about LNT as I do. As it turns out, this was a good place for an LNT initiation as I spent about an hour cleaning up trash at the site and on the stream bank and removing a couple of secondary fire rings.
During the night in Prescott, I was nearly scared to death. I was just settling in to bed when I heard some heavy tromping by several animals in my local tent vicinity. I bolted out of the tent and started shining my light around in the dark like a madman. Things were moving and rustling but I couldn't see anything. Suddenly this dog-sized beast bolted out of the bushes and blew by me snorting and panting. I just about dropped the kids off at the pool well before the scheduled swim practice when I realized that it was just a calf and some cows grazing on their way upstream. Good thing that solitude generates maniacal laughter. Needless to say, I had to stoke up the fire and huddle around it for some time before I had the courage to go back to sleep. It was my first brush with the deadly wild cow.
Sweet dreams.
From Burro Creek I had originally intended to head straight toward Phoenix. The lure of the Prescott National Forest was too strong, however, and I decided to take a long detour to the east through the forest and the city. The road started steadily sloping up as I drove east and within one hour, the landscape goes from an arid desert to a mountainous forest 6,000-7,000 feet in elevation. Arizona is just one natural wonder after another. I entered Prescott and stopped at the National Forest headquarters to find out some good camping opportunities. It turns out that PNF has unrestricted camping and that all forest roads (aka old logging roads) are unrestricted for biking. I also discovered that Prescott is actually pronounced Pres-kitt by the yokels. Later on as I drove through Mayer, a city on the east side of the park to get to a good camping spot, I stopped to ask directions. I wanted to know how to get from Mayer (I pronounced it as in Oscar Mayer) to Goodwin, a tiny town nestled in the forest. She scolded me and said, "You mean from Mayer?" (pronounced like the town leader) I was like, do these people have a different
pronunciation for everything? The directions turned out to be good, though, and I vowed to have a plate of biscotts and gravy next time through Mayor.The road to Goodwin is all dirt and a bit bumpy but it passes through spectacular terrain. At several points, a steep cliff that drops off to the side got my heart pounding as I bumped and skidded on through. I found a quaint little campsite about 7 miles in and, once again, laid out the gear. It was pretty early in the day but I didn't want to settle in just yet so I did some reading. I've been reading the book Leave No Trace: A Guide to the New Wilderness Etiquette by Annette McGivney. It basically gives a brief history of wilderness and parks in the U.S. and then expounds on the agreed upon standards for minimum impact camping appropriately called Leave No Trace. I have been so appalled by the conditions of the campsites that I've seen along the way that I've dedicated myself to learning these principles. I want to make sure that during my trip I am not responsible for further damaging our open space and parks by irresponsible and negligent practices. Please visit the Commentary section to learn about LNT as I do. As it turns out, this was a good place for an LNT initiation as I spent about an hour cleaning up trash at the site and on the stream bank and removing a couple of secondary fire rings.
During the night in Prescott, I was nearly scared to death. I was just settling in to bed when I heard some heavy tromping by several animals in my local tent vicinity. I bolted out of the tent and started shining my light around in the dark like a madman. Things were moving and rustling but I couldn't see anything. Suddenly this dog-sized beast bolted out of the bushes and blew by me snorting and panting. I just about dropped the kids off at the pool well before the scheduled swim practice when I realized that it was just a calf and some cows grazing on their way upstream. Good thing that solitude generates maniacal laughter. Needless to say, I had to stoke up the fire and huddle around it for some time before I had the courage to go back to sleep. It was my first brush with the deadly wild cow.
Sweet dreams.
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