Organ Pipe Cactus State Park 1
February 24th
Very pleasant day. The rain clouds have completely dispelled and the sun feels warm when sheltered out of the wind. Wind in the desert seems ever-present.
On the map, Ajo appeared to be the only place on the way to obtain groceries and gas . . . a nicely stocked IGA did the job amply . . . and with MUCH better prices than in California (that State is expensive!). This side of town looked typically roadside whistle stop . . . clapboard houses . . . peeling paint. . . . trailers selling car insurance in Mexico . . . gas stations. We carried on through. Wait! What’s this? Did we take the wrong turnoff and end up in Mexico? A sun-filled plaza surrounded by palm trees and Spanish-style buildings . . . with a café nestled among the arches . . . dazzlingly white churches against a blue sky . . . and even a grassy area for kids to play on. We parked and strolled around. Beautifully kept houses and yards . . . many with plaques stating this was a wildlife habitat. Splashes of colour . . . massive cactus . . . intricate pots . . . orange trees . . . a strange display of ‘heads’ atop multi-coloured pottery posts . . . a Canadian flag! And coffee . . . delicious, hot, strong . . . with freshly baked fruit pastries . . . buttery and crisp. One bite had a cascade of crumbs landing in your lap, to be brushed off to the cheeky sparrows eagerly awaiting below. We went back for more, and some banana walnut squares to take away for dessert tonight. An unexpected and delightful oasis.
On to the park. Red serrated mountains on the right . . . sunlight showing every crag and fold . . . backdrop to the countless tall stately saguaros . . . their arms branching out at every angle. Some multi-limbed, others a single trunk.
And what a campsite . . . all pull-throughs – angled perfectly so one did not overlook another site . . . each with their own individual cactus, well-maintained cement pad (tinted to blend in with the desert sand) and glorious views. Literally dozens of trails avail themselves . . from short ambles around the campsite, to seriously intense hikes of many miles. All abilities catered for. The late afternoon sun glowed on every surface defining every nook, cranny and thorn. BBQ chicken, snow peas with carrots and lime/chili Basmati rice for dinner. The banana walnut squares were excellent.
Awoke to orange sunlight streaming through the blinds . . and an aria between coyote and a small dog in camp. Couldn’t see the coyote, but he/she had found the perfect, natural amphitheatre nearby – the sound reverberating and bouncing around the hills. Quite surreal. One fellow recounted a grisly tale of construction workers finding a disused culvert and a dozen or so dog collars – some with leashes still attached. A sobering thought for dog owners to keep a tight hold!
Solar panels atop the trailer are working perfectly to recharge batteries, however there is no WiFi other than at the Visitor’s Centre . . . and one has to almost hug the wall to get a connection . . . so a certain amount of loitering as people checked their phones . . . all masked and socially distanced (although some more reluctant than others!). A winding, up and down 21 mile loop around the Diablo Mountains (definitely wouldn’t want to be pulling a trailer on this rough surface!) . . . enormous clumps of Organ-Pipe cactus – named for their appearance to tall cylindrical church organ pipes (photos a must – ‘prickly pairs’ anyone?) and hundreds of thousands of Saguaros. Tiny ones just starting out . . . huge ones . . . some with just a couple of arms . . . others boasting multiples. Most followed the required code of arms angling upwards . . . but a few rebels bucked the trend and had arms akimbo or curved downwards or to the side. Didn’t see any gesturing rudely! Apparently there is no way of knowing how old a Saguaro is – they don’t have rings like trees, but can live for approximately 200 years and reach heights of 50 feet. Their first arms appear around ninety years of age and they don’t flower until they’ve been around at least 65 years.
At the first of three picnic sites we encountered a couple from Minnesota who were cycling the loop – we have met so many interesting, thoughtful and pleasant people on this trip . . . and amazingly most have visited BC and indeed, Vancouver Island. The mountainsides are a kaleidoscope of deep red, yellow, orange and brown in an everchanging pattern of layers, swirls, striations and faults. One has to be awed at the geological magnitude and force leading to such convolutions.
Standard ‘uniform’ among campers . . . hiking boots, light-weight down jackets (all colours), jeans, hat (straw/Tilley/Lee-Valley with extended brim), binoculars, water bottle, sunglasses.
Not a lot of plants flowering at this time of year . . . yellow flowered Rabbit bush . . . the tall, spindly Ocotilla . . . which is not a cactus but has spines like one. It has long, slender red blossoms just beginning to open at the very tips of otherwise dead-looking branches . . . and last night, a ‘fairy duster’ plant with it’s delicate pale pink puffs of flowers. One barrel cactus was sporting three tightly furled buds.
After our pilgrimage to the Visitor’s Centre for our daily download of emails and to watch newcomers asking questions of the Park Rangers – they’re great with kids taking their Junior Park Ranger oath and issuing stamps <grin>. We swung down to the Mexican Border out of curiosity. Nothing to see folks . . . although Trump’s wall was quite evident as it spanned a nearby hill. Deciding to be a bit more adventuresome, we took the truck to the Puerto Blanco mountains and the Red Tank trail … a modest 5 mile loop. Not particularly well marked, nevertheless we struck out at the trailhead suitably equipped with hat, water and sunscreen, and tramped the fairly rugged path . . . using GPS to Pin our location as a safety backup. After 2 miles or so, and no hint of the path even considering performing a loop, we erred on the side of caution and returned the way we had come. The sun was behind us, so the light was perfect. The entire time the only critters encountered were a cactus wren, a woodpecker (which looked distinctly like our Flickas) flying out of a Saguaro hole and a perfectly camouflaged grasshopper. So much for the deadly desert – perhaps we made too much noise. We were followed though. On the return trek, several fresh coyote scats that definitely weren’t there when we first passed through. I did keep looking around, but never saw a thing. Just as well there was a canister of bear spray in the backpack.
