Escape to the Cool
Friday, August 7th, 2026: 2026 Trips, Baldy, Hikes, Mogollon Rim, Regions, Road Trips, Southeast Arizona, Squirrel, Whites.
Volcanic Puzzle
In July, the monsoon teased us with a week of good rain, then abandoned us. My house became so hot and humid I was sweating in my office well before noon. Fan noise made it impossible to work on music.
I found a cheap room in the high mountains of Arizona. I’d booked four nights, so I had three full days. The nights were cool, the days were blissfully mild, and it rained every day.
On my first full day I went for a hike nearby, through mature mixed-conifer forest up the rolling volcanic plateau. Within a couple hundred yards of the trailhead I encountered an older couple returning 20-30 feet off the trail on opposite sides, collecting trash. I’ve often remarked at how much trash Arizona hikers leave, and their bags were nearly full. In a sour mood, they barely responded to my greetings.
I met one other hiker, a friendly woman much older than me. Walking through patches of sun and shade, I began seeing aspens among the tall pines and firs, then noticed a red plastic bag half-hidden behind a trailside boulder. It was a bag of dog shit. Who would bag their dog’s feces, then hide it behind a boulder instead of carrying it out? Probably the same “animal lover” who shares cute pet photos on Facebook and is validated by hundreds of “friends”.
Reaching the limit I considered safe for my chronically inflamed foot, I turned off onto what promised to be a loop trail returning by a different route. Little used, the trail deteriorated, was blocked by deadfall, disappeared for stretches. I saw a broad gap in the trees ahead and emerged on the rim of a canyon, facing an apocalyptic cascade of fractured lava rock, like a stormy sea turned to stone. I’d never seen anything like it and could barely even imagine how it had been formed. According to the myths of colonial science, the canyon itself had taken eons to erode out of the plateau, which itself had been formed earlier by eons of volcanic deposits. And then, some time later, another lava flow poured over the rim of the canyon, cooling and fracturing as it neared the canyon bottom – then stopped?
Processes taking millions of years, during which continents drifted, terrestrial habitats changed dramatically, countless species evolved and migrated across the land. The first mammals appeared. Eventually, humans arrived. Apaches, Spaniards, Anglos. Me.
The abandoned trail led away, back down the gently sloping plateau, eventually rejoining my original trail near its head. The rocky trail had re-triggered my foot pain, so I resumed daily contrast bathing in my motel room – a complicated, time-consuming therapy where you alternate hot and cold soaks while performing toe exercises.
Restored by Natives
A few years ago, I’d read about a celebrity Apache chef who’d made his name in some city, then returned to open a native foods cafe on the remote reservation, as part of a drugs-and-alcohol recovery program. I checked and found it was less than an hour away, so I drove down there the next day. Through the beautiful alpine forests, past the colorful rimrock cliffs of the river canyon. Nearly all the patrons were local, everything was affordable, many of the healthy ingredients came from native farms and ranches, staff were uniformly friendly and hospitable. I can’t get food this healthy and delicious at home, and before leaving, I told them I wished I could return every day.
On the way back, I reached the alpine plateau just in time to meet a cloudburst that nearly reduced visibility on the highway to zero. The meadows were so lush with new forage that normally sedate cattle were literally jumping for joy, kicking their heels and breaking into gallops for the sheer fun of it.
Restored by Nature
I had one day left, and the natural thing to do was a return to the plateau’s most spectacular trail, a half hour’s drive away at the base of the 11,400 foot summit.
Two trails follow the east and west forks of the little river to connect just below the summit. Both are popular, but for some reason most hikers crowd the less scenic west fork trailhead. There was just enough space for me at the more scenic east fork, where my little 30-year-old pickup joined seven other much newer vehicles, including an expensive electric SUV.
It was a perfect monsoon morning, with clouds promising rain for later. The trail starts at nearly 9,400 feet and crosses a series of meadows following the edge of the spruce-fir forest. Most hikers start early, and I began passing returning parties by the time I reached the climb through the forest to the sandstone formations.
A couple in their 80s, a couple in their 40s, a couple in their 50s, a couple in their 30s, a party of four college students. Climbing through the beautiful old-growth forest that had barely missed the huge wildfire fifteen years ago, I reached the massive, iconic sandstone towers and started up the dark switchbacks. At the top of the ridge I met the equestrians whose tracks and poop I’d passed below – two middle-aged women. And finally a solo hiker in his late 70s or early 80s.
Then I was at the overlook – a rolling sandstone formation with a view southeast over the heart of the plateau, across the vast meadows and lakes to the other high peak 24 miles east and the watershed of the Black River 20 miles south. Another place that anyone with eyes and a heart is loath to leave.
On the way down I recalled how friendly everyone had been that I’d passed on the trail that morning – with the kids being the most reticent, of course. Back home in the city, they’d probably never even look a stranger in the eye, but here, they were smiling, returning my greetings, wishing me well. The city beats us down and pit us against each other, while a place like this restores and brings us together.
