Prickly Pear Heaven
Monday, October 21st, 2024: Black Hills, Hikes, Nature, Plants, Southeast Arizona.
Until my knee gave out on me, I never had trouble finding big hikes that would produce interesting Dispatches! But now, I’m limited to canyon walks or traverses of level basins surrounded by spectacular peaks or rock formations – most of which are across the border in Arizona. This Sunday, I wanted to explore a beautiful area of buttes and bluffs that I’ve driven by many times. It’s all unprotected cattle country, but I’d seldom seen cattle there. Access was a big question – the map shows a few dirt roads crossing it, but I had no idea whether my low-clearance 2wd pickup would handle them.
The road I was hoping to use turned out to be long-abandoned and blocked by catastrophic washouts and rockslides, but a few miles past it I found a rocky ranch road that the truck could just barely handle.
The two-lane highway skirts the edge of the shallow basin, and the ranch road took me down to where a dead-end side track branched off. I drove that only a short distance lower into the basin – searching for the abandoned road had used up almost a half hour and I really wanted to get out and start walking.
After yesterday’s winter-like storm, today’s sky was crystal clear, the air was still, and the temperature at this elevation – around 4,000 feet – was forecast to be in the 70s all day. Much warmer than it should be for this time of year.
I set out for the nearest butte, across rolling desert terrain cut by shallow arroyos, featuring big honey mesquites alongside big catclaw acacias, with an understory of junipers, creosote bush, barrel cactus, prickly pear, ocotillo, palo verde, and various shrubs. A diverse paradise for lovers of desert vegetation. As with other areas I’ve explored nearby, the arroyos here often expose bedrock, and although the ground was already bone dry, yesterday’s storm had left hundreds of small tinajas – water pockets – in that bedrock.
The dry wash I was following turned away from the butte, so I climbed a shallow rise into the next watershed, and found a picturesque little box canyon at the foot of the butte. Crossing the head of that, I traversed the shoulders of the butte northward to get a view of the northern part of the basin. Big prickly pears surround the butte, creating an obstacle course that was sometimes almost impassable, but it was all so pretty I didn’t mind. My only regret was the lack of clouds – I’ve passed this area when cloud cover made it look more epic than it is – almost like Monument Valley in Utah.
Eventually I turned back. I needed a little more mileage, so when I reached the head of the box canyon I turned upstream. This proved to be a good choice – the arroyo led me over more spectacular bedrock formations and into the eastern part of the basin below more rugged rock bluffs. I saw a phainopepla and flushed a covey of quail and several ground squirrels.
I’d seen dry cowpies and cattle tracks that were probably a few weeks old, but thankfully no bulls! The basin was shallow enough that if there had been cattle here, I would’ve seen them from far away.
By the time I returned to the truck I’d gone less than two-and-a-half miles, and my knee seemed to be doing okay. I’d been careful to stop and stretch several times, walking slowly and mindfully on the gentle descents.
My next destination was the restaurant in the village I’d passed on my way here. It was packed with local ranch families, but thankfully they have one small table by the door, which just seemed to be waiting for me. I ordered enchiladas and turned to see if there was anyone I could talk to, but they were all immersed in Sunday gossip. These are rural Trump voters – but not the hillbilly types, unemployed and addicted to opioids, that the media seem to love. These hardworking country people were in their best Western wear for church, the men wearing different shades of cowboy hats.
Locals came and went, nodding and smiling at me as they passed. As I was finishing up, a stooped man walking with a cane, who couldn’t have been much older than me, turned on his way out and said “Have a wonderful day, young man!” I don’t hear that much anymore!
Unfortunately by the time I got home my knee was hurting more than at any time since the pain started, last May. At this point, I’ve spent nearly six months icing, elevating, compressing, resting, and doing recommended exercises and stretches. And now, with frequent travel back east, it’s impossible to maintain a rehab routine. Guess I’ll just have to be content with sightseeing instead of hiking, and look for other ways to reduce my stress.
