White Rock Spring

It was a 3 day weekend, and you know what that means! Tahoe and I went backpacking in the Sups. The desert in spring is lush and green with wildflowers everywhere.

We hiked the Dutchman's Trail to a canyon between White Rock and Charlebois Spring where there was small pool of water and a hidden campsite.

Tahoe, stomping through the water, biting at it.

Spring brings birth. Caterpillars are everywhere: on the trail, crawling up plants, falling into my hair. Thousands of tadpoles park themselves along the shore of every small pond. It's a good thing I like frogs because you should have heard the cacaphony outside my tent all night

Black Top Mesa

It rained from 7 am to noon, and neither Tahoe nor I like hiking in the rain, so wehung out in the tent a bit resltlessly. When the sun finally broke, Tahoe practically ran down the trail; he was so happy. We hiked to a canyon near Black Top Mesa (not to be confused with Upper Black Top Mesa which is right next to it! )

As soon as I decided upon the perfect campsite for the evening with stunning views of the red rocks and lots of wildlife, it started to rain. How long does it take me to set up my soggy tent, in the rain, with a wet dog trying to jump in it? The answer, I disccovered, is 8 minutes. And that includes staking it down.

It rained off and on all afternoon, and the animals came alive after each burst of rain. I saw throngs of cactus wrens, javelina, several hawks circling, an owl, and 2 cardinals.

Tahoe got stuck with 2 big cholla on his leg, so I pried them off with my handy comb. There were so many needles clinging to this skin that it must have really stung, but he was strangely calm about the whole thing.

Happy Easter

Suanday was perfect - sunny and warm. I love all the different views of Weaver's Needles along this trail.

He must be the king of the hill.

One of my favorite activities is watching the hawks circle, looking for prey.

The Small Sweet Boons

I read this poem in an old Arizona Highways magazine from 1980, and I melted a little.

Dim are his eyes who cannot see

First bud birth on a desert tree,

Nor notice in the morning sun

A spider's gossamer new-spun.

Dull are his ears who cannot hear

The softness of a walking deer,

Nor sense in the subtly changing tune

Of crickets in late afternoon.

Deprived of his primevil right

Is he who misses brief delight

In small boons of nature's giving

That serves to temper human living.

-S. Omar Barker

Grandma Cleary

Cowboy loves his grandma!