Peralta Canyon
The mountains of the unfortunately named Tonto National Forest are still mantled in unexpected. shades of olive, sage, lime and emerald from the recent rains. Beneath this lush surface you can see the rocks are the faded reds and umbers that spring to mind with the word ‘canyon’. The trail itself is a winding affair strewn with ankle twisting boulders, pits and rises, but it is well marked and maintained. There are signs at the trailhead that warn you against going off the path. Considering that many of the plants are equipped with spines, thorns and other uncomfortable protuberances, I can’t help but feel the warning is slightly unnecessary. Peralta Canyon trail wends upward from the base of the valley at an unsteady incline through saguaro forests, brushy country steep hillside and sun-baked open land. A currently swift running stream runs through the valley. The trail crosses it several times during the ascent. In this usually arid place, coming across water is always an event. Trickles down the rock face are called waterfalls and are somehow as impressive as the larger versions. The stream is now more than five steps wide at it’s largest, yet it’s presence defines the space around it. Plants grow thicker on the bank, even a few low slung trees drape themselves over the creek. The music of the water fills the air in the lowlands. Massive stone formations can be found at every turn. Hoodoos populate the higher ground; large, bare, vaguely anthropoid standing rocks like an enormous army of trolls caught in the sun as they marched over the peaks. The very hills are whittled by erosion into improbable shapes , hollows and monoliths. These ruined temples to strange and forgotten gods appear to change shape like clouds as your angle of approach varies or when the light strikes them differently . These are the kind of geological formations that are given names: the saddle, the baboon’s head (this was one we came up with) the weaver’s needle and so forth. They are wonderful to walk among ,because of their seeming transformations, but slightly treacherous as landmarks if you don’t remain attentive. The stones are colored in a variety of muted hues reds and sandy browns are the most common but streaked white yellow ochre and gray are by no means rare. Under a section of large wind hollowed caves there were large bare surfaces of exposed rock where plants couldn’t take hold. These seemed to be the most improbable shades of yellow and green. Upon closer inspection I discovered the illusion was created by lichens that were so vivid you would have assumed their color was due to radioactive exposure.
Animal life remained well concealed. Birds like thrashers and scrub jays preferred to curse us from the brush , leaving the skies empty except for the occasional muttering raven or distant Harris hawk. Finger sized lizards would lay motionless on the surface of stones until they were certain you saw them and darted for a crevice before you could blink. If you stood still long enough near a stand of rocks, ground squirrels dark as chocolate and tiny enough to curl up in the toe of a shoe would scurry about chirping as they tended to urgent business and feuded with their neighbors.
Weaver’s needle is a great stand of stones that features a large hole that as the name implies looks just like the eye of a needle might if you were a dust mote. Perched upon these rocks, you can see the land stretch out beneath you endlessly in a vista as large as imagination towards the snow clad mountains on the distant horizon, rolling into unusual peaks and deep mysterious valleys. I could easily spend a lifetime wandering through this vast and enchanting wilderness.
Usery Mountain Park
I’m told that there is an interesting cave in the mountain, but with one glance at the trail map I decide to stick to the low country . My time here is regrettably brief, so I want to make the most of it. I know well my tendency to get distracted and lose track of time, so I don’t want to get too far astray.
I pay a short visit to the small nature center. The friendly attendants assure that I have seen the snakes, scorpions and other inhabitants of the terrariums. I express a wish to see their wild brethren and trot down the road knowing that without exceptional luck, this isn’t likely.
Even in this gentlest and most abundant seasons, the desert hides it’s residents like a miser. I continually entertain hopes of seeing a jackrabbit, roadrunner or burrowing owl, nonetheless. If you keep a keen eye on the undergrowth you might spot a desert cottontail crouching motionless and blending flawlessly with the sands before he bolts at the horror of being discovered, or a small flock of
Gambel’s quail scuttling on clockwork legs, ornamented with absurd drum majorette plumes on their heads. The bare sand is punctuated with the arrow head impressions of deer hooves and the smaller squarer tracks of javelina or peccary as the wild pigs of the desert are sometimes known. I’m certain that any of the gaps in the bank house any number of interesting creatures, but I refrain from disturbing them, knowing that dormant rattlesnakes would probably prefer to stay that way. Gila woodpecker and cactus wren bounce between perches making brief editorial comments as they fly.
Landscapers spend a lifetime of skill and effort trying to achieve the effects that naturally occur in the desert. This is sometimes referred to as a forest but it is unlike any woodland I have ever seen. Saguaros dominate the landscape towering out of the land like odd inflatable creations. Lobes of prickly pears outstretch their arms along the soil. Cuddly looking dwarf trees sprout up in clusters. The desire to touch them quickly dissipates when you realize that these are in fact chollo cactus and what appears to be a downy coat of fur is in reality a thick and nasty array of spines. Mesquite trees, green of stalk and turned like bonsai ornament the coarse pebbly sand. The general effect is not unlike walking along the bed of a suddenly drained coral reef.
The mountains of the unfortunately named Tonto National Forest are still mantled in unexpected. shades of olive, sage, lime and emerald from the recent rains. Beneath this lush surface you can see the rocks are the faded reds and umbers that spring to mind with the word ‘canyon’. The trail itself is a winding affair strewn with ankle twisting boulders, pits and rises, but it is well marked and maintained. There are signs at the trailhead that warn you against going off the path. Considering that many of the plants are equipped with spines, thorns and other uncomfortable protuberances, I can’t help but feel the warning is slightly unnecessary. Peralta Canyon trail wends upward from the base of the valley at an unsteady incline through saguaro forests, brushy country steep hillside and sun-baked open land. A currently swift running stream runs through the valley. The trail crosses it several times during the ascent. In this usually arid place, coming across water is always an event. Trickles down the rock face are called waterfalls and are somehow as impressive as the larger versions. The stream is now more than five steps wide at it’s largest, yet it’s presence defines the space around it. Plants grow thicker on the bank, even a few low slung trees drape themselves over the creek. The music of the water fills the air in the lowlands. Massive stone formations can be found at every turn. Hoodoos populate the higher ground; large, bare, vaguely anthropoid standing rocks like an enormous army of trolls caught in the sun as they marched over the peaks. The very hills are whittled by erosion into improbable shapes , hollows and monoliths. These ruined temples to strange and forgotten gods appear to change shape like clouds as your angle of approach varies or when the light strikes them differently . These are the kind of geological formations that are given names: the saddle, the baboon’s head (this was one we came up with) the weaver’s needle and so forth. They are wonderful to walk among ,because of their seeming transformations, but slightly treacherous as landmarks if you don’t remain attentive. The stones are colored in a variety of muted hues reds and sandy browns are the most common but streaked white yellow ochre and gray are by no means rare. Under a section of large wind hollowed caves there were large bare surfaces of exposed rock where plants couldn’t take hold. These seemed to be the most improbable shades of yellow and green. Upon closer inspection I discovered the illusion was created by lichens that were so vivid you would have assumed their color was due to radioactive exposure.
Animal life remained well concealed. Birds like thrashers and scrub jays preferred to curse us from the brush , leaving the skies empty except for the occasional muttering raven or distant Harris hawk. Finger sized lizards would lay motionless on the surface of stones until they were certain you saw them and darted for a crevice before you could blink. If you stood still long enough near a stand of rocks, ground squirrels dark as chocolate and tiny enough to curl up in the toe of a shoe would scurry about chirping as they tended to urgent business and feuded with their neighbors.
Weaver’s needle is a great stand of stones that features a large hole that as the name implies looks just like the eye of a needle might if you were a dust mote. Perched upon these rocks, you can see the land stretch out beneath you endlessly in a vista as large as imagination towards the snow clad mountains on the distant horizon, rolling into unusual peaks and deep mysterious valleys. I could easily spend a lifetime wandering through this vast and enchanting wilderness.
Usery Mountain Park
I’m told that there is an interesting cave in the mountain, but with one glance at the trail map I decide to stick to the low country . My time here is regrettably brief, so I want to make the most of it. I know well my tendency to get distracted and lose track of time, so I don’t want to get too far astray.
I pay a short visit to the small nature center. The friendly attendants assure that I have seen the snakes, scorpions and other inhabitants of the terrariums. I express a wish to see their wild brethren and trot down the road knowing that without exceptional luck, this isn’t likely.
Even in this gentlest and most abundant seasons, the desert hides it’s residents like a miser. I continually entertain hopes of seeing a jackrabbit, roadrunner or burrowing owl, nonetheless. If you keep a keen eye on the undergrowth you might spot a desert cottontail crouching motionless and blending flawlessly with the sands before he bolts at the horror of being discovered, or a small flock of
Gambel’s quail scuttling on clockwork legs, ornamented with absurd drum majorette plumes on their heads. The bare sand is punctuated with the arrow head impressions of deer hooves and the smaller squarer tracks of javelina or peccary as the wild pigs of the desert are sometimes known. I’m certain that any of the gaps in the bank house any number of interesting creatures, but I refrain from disturbing them, knowing that dormant rattlesnakes would probably prefer to stay that way. Gila woodpecker and cactus wren bounce between perches making brief editorial comments as they fly.
Landscapers spend a lifetime of skill and effort trying to achieve the effects that naturally occur in the desert. This is sometimes referred to as a forest but it is unlike any woodland I have ever seen. Saguaros dominate the landscape towering out of the land like odd inflatable creations. Lobes of prickly pears outstretch their arms along the soil. Cuddly looking dwarf trees sprout up in clusters. The desire to touch them quickly dissipates when you realize that these are in fact chollo cactus and what appears to be a downy coat of fur is in reality a thick and nasty array of spines. Mesquite trees, green of stalk and turned like bonsai ornament the coarse pebbly sand. The general effect is not unlike walking along the bed of a suddenly drained coral reef.
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