If one looks at a map of Arizona, one would see a big blob of National Forest which includes the Patagonia Mountains to the West, the Huachuca Mountains to the East, bordering on Mexico to the South, and extending North into the Canelo Hills almost to the town of Sonoita. It is usually colored green on the map—except for a large white rectangle extending from the Mexican border right up the middle. The white rectangle is the San Rafael Valley named after the original San Rafael de Zanja Spanish land grant. The white color indicates deeded property owned by people, as opposed to the green color indicating government property administered by the Forest Service.

The valley floor (the white rectangle) is a vast rolling prairie of native grasses, sparsely populated by trees and people. The headwaters of the Santa Cruz River are in the San Rafael Valley. The Santa Cruz flows south into Mexico, then turns back into the valley where it continues north eventually flowing (sometimes) through Tucson and beyond.

Ranching is the local industry in the valley. It has been so since the Spanish introduced cattle 300 years ago. Signs at the intersections of roadways are typically long lists of ranch names with arrows indicating a right or left turn.

National Geographic's short film showcase highlights DamNation, a documentary about America's dams, with an excerpt featuring Katie Lee, the Desert Goddess of Glen Canyon. From Nat Geo:

When the Glen Canyon Dam was approved in April 1956, a group of archeologists and river runners set out to document more than 250 culturally significant sites and 125 side canyons that would be flooded by the project. One of those river runners was Katie Lee, a folk singer and Hollywood starlet turned activist. As she describes, "We would go around a corner, and spread out before us would be this incredible site ... Everything was in the right position; everything was perfect."

In this excerpt from the award-winning documentary DamNation, filmmakers Ben Knight and Travis Rummel interview the "desert goddess." Now in her 90s, Lee reminisces about walking naked through the enchanting landscape—"It was absolutely the most natural thing in the world"—and the significance of what was lost in the flood. "I don't think Eden could have touched Glen Canyon," she says. DamNation was produced by Patagonia, and the full-length film can be seen through Vimeo on Demand.

Leo Banks profiled Katie Lee in the Weekly way back in 1999. An excerpt:

Sure, Rosemont Copper plans to dig a huge hole in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, extract copper for 20 years, then fill up the hole* and close up shop, but that's not what the company is really about. It's about being a good citizen and giving back to the community. How do I know? Just ask Rosemont Copper.

Like a politician during campaign season touring his district with a smile on his face and a pocket full of walking-around money, Rosemont has been seeding its goodwill campaign by supporting dozens of community programs. The Partnership page on its website lists its largesse which includes, among many other organizations, El Tour de Tucson, Arizona Deaf & Blind Children’s Foundation, Big Brothers Big Sisters, Casa De Los Ninos, Tohono Chul Park, Tucson Values Teachers—and my favorite, Biosphere 2 Earth Day, because nothing says "Save the Earth" like a copper mine in the middle of a pristine desert. The web page refers to these gifts as "Lasting Partnerships Within the Community." How long they'll last, however, is up to Rosemont.

Cowgirl Rachel Dice gives a barely perceptible nod. The gate swings open.

Dice and her horse Katie shoot forward, angling to the right where a barrel waits amid dry mounds of dirt. Rider and mare slow as they approach the barrel, leaning their bodies into the curve. Dice’s white shirt billows in the lashing wind.

Dice and Katie successfully clear the second and third barrel, placed in a triangle formation. As they head back toward the gate Rachel gives Katie’s chestnut muscles a spurt of kicks, urging the horse faster during the last stretch.

Tucson has been extra beautiful the last few days, and that might have you wanting to spend sometime outside.

But, if you're the cautious type, Saguaro National Park West has you covered. This afternoon at 2:15 p.m., the park will lead a 45 minute Sonoran Secrets to Desert Survival walk, which will help "identify the most common hazards the desert, uncover survival strategies of native plants and animals, and acquire practical tips to ensure your safety while exploring the Sonoran Desert."

So grab some water, head down to the park, and when you're survival study section is all done do some exploring on your own.

Chicago writer Will Gosner pens a remembrance to the late Charles Bowden:

“Nature” is a word that Bowden actively disparages, but his books are filled with dirt, plants, woods, rivers, and oceans, and Some of the Dead Are Still Breathing teems with animals. And while he couches his move west in all the seductive mythos of going to an untamed land, the animals that make the greatest impression on him are the ones he can see from his back porch, the city creatures. He admires a pair of cardinals nesting in his yard, noting approvingly that they belong to a species flourishing and expanding its range in the human-ravaged world. He recounts how his dog came to the defense of a familiar desert tortoise when a neighbor’s pet dog attacked the poor animal. But the creature that commands Bowden’s most sustained attention is the snake. In particular he gets to know a western diamondback rattlesnake that rests on his porch during the daytime. He calls her Beulah.

The many hours Bowden spends in contemplation of and in companionship with Beulah are productive ones in his philosophical quest. He wonders about humans’ fear and hatred of these reptiles and notes that the human experience of snakes is informed largely by being bitten by them: “for thousands of years, human contact with rattlesnakes in the wild has gone like this: we collide with rattlesnakes or we have no contact with them at all. It is as if we based our entire knowledge of automobiles on head-on collisions.” From this narrow range of experience, we’ve concluded that snakes are avatars of violence, some evil incarnate. Bowden recognizes the utility of this conclusion: it creates a “strange comfort zone” in which we feel justified in our hatred of snakes and therefore righteous when we slaughter them with impunity.

This view is one small rationalization of many that together form the “culture of death” that Bowden badly wants to understand and transcend. Between the peaceful hours with Beulah and a thorough investigation into the scientific literature and field studies on snakes, he finds a more honest perspective. He learns that they spend most of their time in stillness, capable of going months between meals. That they avoid confrontation at almost all costs. Like many nature writers, Bowden finds nobility and undeniable authenticity in such animals and tries to mimic the snake’s simultaneous repose and raptness. He writes about how he “would slip into snaketime for hours, doing nothing as the snake beside me did nothing. It was not simply losing track of hours or days. It was diving deep into the moment and yet at the same time finding each moment immense and full.” Bowden isn’t a sentimental writer and doesn’t pretend to understand what it means to be a snake, nor does he accept that any scientific observation can bridge the human-reptilian gap. Snakehood is, in the end, an alien culture.

And yet Bowden can’t abide such a bloodless, resigned conclusion either. Snakes might teach stillness and patience beyond comprehension, but they are not neutral observers. They kill, procreate, and survive with an intoxicating vitality. Bowden writes, “Snakes are alert to what is out there. The smell of this world, the play of light, the sound of a faint footfall, the sky, and the sun. And certainly the moon given the hours they keep. But it is impossible to think of neurosis in a snake. They live in a great amphitheater of sensations, we live in a stale closet of concerns.” Here and elsewhere in Bowden’s work, animals serve as a barometer against which humans can measure themselves. Their heightened sensory abilities, lives spent in unbounded time, and freedom from worry and guilt throw humans’ fundamental alienation from the world into higher relief.

We’re back with another edition of Tucson Mountains Trail Hound, again singling out one of the lesser known or under utilized trails in the Tucson Mountains, west of the city.

Hiking weather is officially, definitively here, so we can look forward to several months of pristine hiking weather. Today’s trail is the Brown Mountain/Cougar Trail loop, a beautiful, mid-level trail (really two trails) in plain view for everyone to see, but still seldom used.

It takes a particular type of arrogance to believe that the national parks of the Western United States would be improved by your crappy artwork, but hey, that's apparently what was going through Casey Nocket's head as she travelled through Yosemite, Crater Lake, Death Valley, Zion and elsewhere painting acrylic versions of stuff from the back of high school notebooks as she went along.

Even better, she cataloged this vandalism across Tumblr and Instagram.

Ms. Nocket got at least somewhat wise and set her photos to private, according to the website Modern Hiker, but through the power of screenshots, it would seem she'll be having an unpleasant conversation with the authorities soon.

Hello again, fellow hikers and desert lovers. Herein, the second edition of Tucson Mountains Trail Hound, the new column dedicated to detailing some of the lesser know trails in the Tucson Mountains, west of the city.

Well, it’s still hot, but hike we must. So, today we feature one of my very favorite mid-level trails, one with immediate proximity to downtown, and yet seldom used. I’ve virtually never see anybody of this trail in the 7-8 times I’ve been on it, so if you’re looking to hike in peace, this is a good one for you. Good walking or hiking shoes would be useful on this trail, as it’s rocky at times.

Featured Trail: unnamed Cat Mountain trail

Approximate drive from downtown to trailhead: 15 mins.
Approximate length of trail: 3 1/2 mile roundtrip
Time: 2 1/2 to 3 hours, depending on how many stops you make
Difficulty: moderate (but it is up and down)
Highlights: dense desert foliage and saguaros, shifting desert landscapes and views, up close and personal proximity to the desert, relatively quiet hike

Please note: all distances are approximates, based on guestimates, with help from a map or trail guide whenever possible. If something is off 1/4 mile or so, you heard it here first.

To get to this trail, travel west on Ajo Way until just past the #168 marker. Pull off to the right by a mail box, addressed 3840 Calle Paso Robles, and go straight ahead (north) a few yards to a tiny parking area that’s really only big enough for two vehicles. There’s a large metal gate and a ‘No Shooting’ sign; there’s also a break in the fence on the right, which is your trailhead. There are no other markers of any kind.

As far as I can tell, this is an unnamed trail, and one that runs the length of Cat Mountain, the biggest landmark at the southern end of the Tucson Mountains. It’s possible that it might include a little bit of the Explorer Trail that runs east/west, and is also in the same area, although further east, for the most part. This trail will lead you to a natural end point at the intersection of the Starr Pass Trail; at that point you can either turn around and make the trek in reverse, or take off either direction on the Starr Pass Trail.

Passing through the fence will put you on a wide path heading north. Ignore the barking dogs by the gate on the left and proceed next to a fence and down and across a wash, which is where the trail really starts to get interesting. You’ll immediately find yourself in a very dense and picturesque section of trail with incredibly tightly packed foliage, saguaros and some great, low lying rock formations. The trail will veer to the left (west) and stay that way (more or less) for the length of the hike. At first, you’ll see houses off to the left, but they will quickly be left behind. Another trail (Explorer?) intersects at some point early on, but stay to the left and you’ll be fine.

This first piece of trail - no more than a couple of hundred yards in length after the wash - is one of my favorite spots in all of the Tucson Mountains. Between the rocks, the saguaros and the usual Sonoran mix (palo verde, ocotillo, creosote, mesquite, prickly pear, cholla, manzanita, etc.) of foliage large and small, this is a unique piece of trail, one where you can experience the desert unusually first hand, while still staying on a trail; the Sonoran Desert up close and personal, with everything Right Here, not just Over There.

Crossing another wash will bring you to a very well defined trail intersection; keep going straight (left), up the little canyon ahead. The right fork is also pretty, but soon leads to some houses and a little neighborhood, and pretty much dead-ends there. From there it’s a 20 minute walk up hill, with Cat Mountain on your left and more beautiful, Saguaro heavy ridge-lines on your right. Eventually you crest the hill and see the beginnings of the Starr Pass bowl area on your right; a 2 minute walk will bring you to a large set of sitting rocks on your left, and one of the prettiest views in the Tucson Mountains before you. Starr Pass Resort can be partially seen in the distance, as well as the back side of Tumamoc Hill and A Mountain to the east. This is a great spot to rest and take some photos.

From there a half hour walk - largely downhill - follows the rest of Cat Mountain over to where a cleft in the rocks leads to the Starr Pass Trail (not marked). You’ll pass a huge shade rock a little bit down this trail that’s a great place to beat the heat. The rocks at the end (at Starr Pass Trail) are spectacular, and totally unlike anything previously seen on the trail; they’re more smooth and stacked, and almost look like huge droppings of melted candle wax. I strongly suggest you go left (in a southerly direction) for at least a few minutes down this narrow passage way to check out the rocks in all their jumbled glory. There’s also an unusually appealing section of teddy bear cholla and beautiful, saguaro ringed ridges on both sides.



From there: reverse course, and you’ll be back at the car in a little over and hour. On the last leg, after you’ve passed the main intersection, be sure and stay to the left (and cross the wash), and not drift off where the trail goes straight ahead. That will eventually lead to some houses (and their dogs), I believe.

REMEMBER: take a knife! This is for prying those ubiquitous cholla droppings off of your shoes, boots, ankles, pants, and the occasional arm brushing up against the notorious jumping cholla. You don’t want to grapple with a cholla or chain fruit hanging off you with your bare hands; take a knife. And of course keep an eye on every single bit of brush and rock along side of the trail for curled up rattlesnakes.

More, soon. 

Welcome, fellow hikers and desert lovers, to the first edition of Tucson Mountains Trail Hound, a new endeavor dedicated to detailing some of the lesser known trails in the Tucson Mountains, west of the city.

Cooler weather should soon (hopefully!) be here, which for many of us means: it’s hiking season. The abundant late summer monsoons we had in the last several weeks dumped large amounts of water onto the surrounding desert, and the beautiful Sonoran landscape around Tucson is thick and lush with abundant greenery, a chest-high jungle of healthy looking desert foliage.

Here in Tucson we’re blessed to be surrounded by mountain ranges on the west, north and east sides of the city, with others further away to the south, and still other ranges rolling out in waves behind our immediate, localized peaks and valleys; a sea of sky islands, all unique, all beautiful and all with their own opportunities for hiking and exploration.

While the Santa Catalina’s to the north and (to a lesser degree) the Rincons to the east offer up verdant canyons, steep trails, creeks, falls and endless miles of trails, the lower lying Tucson Mountains are the most accessible in the area, and probably the easiest to take for granted. But these mountains - in and out of Tucson Mountain Park and Saguaro National Park West - are a labyrinth of trails long, short and medium in length, with endless opportunities for anyone that has an hour or three or four, and wants to see and be in the remarkable Sonoran Desert landscape up close and personal.