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| Hiking | 22.00 Miles |
1,400 AEG |
| | Hiking | 22.00 Miles | | | |
| 1,400 ft AEG | | 15 LBS Pack | | |
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| no partners | | Bacon Powered Red Creek Ramble
Day One
Riparian areas in the desert are always a treat. I’d been to Red Creek three times before, but only day trips. The 120 mile round trip, most of it rocky or washboard dirt makes a day trip less desirable. So this time I packed the Jeep with some camp gear and headed out midweek hoping for some solitude. I had big plans for lots of hiking, enjoying a solo camp, and polishing some bush crafting skills.
Drove the washed-out last few hundred yards of FR18 to discover a group of young people scattered along the Creek. Made my introduction and discovered they were part of the Anasazi Foundation, a group that uses nature and primitive living skills to help young people. I’d seen a group from the Anasazi Foundation on a previous trip to Red Creek. It was fitting that many of the skills they were using were ones I planned to practice in my camp. They were on the last night of their seven week “walk”. Later on my hikes I found faint traces of their camps. Most people would have walked right over them and not known anyone had been there. I was impressed.
Spent some time scouting for a good camp spot and resources, but mostly enjoyed the sounds and beauty of the creek. Settled on an easy spot to make camp, gathered some wood, set up my sleeping arrangements. Busied myself by making a bow saw and charred some braided cottonwood bark, punk wood, and yucca for my tinder kit.
I like to eat well, so tonight was going to be steak, corn on the cob wrapped in bacon (an experiment), and home baked bread. The cook fire was split sycamore started with cottonwood bark as the tinder and brought to life with a spark from my fire steel. The steak was fantastic and I heartily recommend bacon wrapped roasted corn on the cob.
After securing camp for the night, I settled in to read “Woodcraft and Camping” by Nessmuk (pen name of George W. Sears, a writer for “Forest and Stream” magazine) first printed in 1884. While familiar with Nessmuk’s teachings, I’m sorry to say I’d never read “Woodcraft”. Usually I do not imbibe on solo outings, but the thought of reading the Old Master’s work by a fire along a remote stream definitely called for a beverage well aged and very cold. A few pages in and I realized to have read this book in any other setting would have been a sacrilege of the direst proportion. The fire, the drink, and the words were most pleasant, the words the more so.
“Ten o’clock comes. The time has not passed tediously. You are warm, dry, and well fed. Your old friends, the owls, come near the fire-light and salute you with their strange, wild notes: a distant fox sets up for himself with his odd barking cry and you turn in.”
Day Two
Morning broke cold, but not uncomfortably so. Always first, a quick fire and a kettle for coffee before I attend to my person. Bacon laid across the grill as bannock baked in a makeshift Dutch oven using the lids of two cook pots, the larger inverted on top and filled with coals. I experimented with cooking an egg in the empty rind of an orange. While not a failure, I give the process low marks. The rind held but one egg and was cumbersome to put in the coals without either burning yourself or spilling the egg. If you ever find yourself stranded in an orange grove with a laying hen and nothing else, then by all means try it. Otherwise, perhaps not. The bannock, orange juice, and coffee were good; the bacon spectacular.
Secured the camp and packed my day bag. Meandered downstream taking in sights remembered from my last hike here. Bumped into some of the Anasazi group. We shared politenesses and I moved on so as not to intrude. Creek crossings are too numerous to count along the Red, but it is seldom more than a several inches deep and there are many well placed rocks. My feet were never wet. The cottonwood leaves shimmered a light bright green against the dark bark of the tree. In contrast, the sycamore limbs were sun-bleached bone white and the tree nude of leaves. Mesquites were ever present with their black tangle of confusing growth. Periodically sedge and cattails lined the Creek. Saguaro and Palo Verde looked on from above.
The Creek goes underground but springs back to the surface before reaching the Verde River. While traversing this dry section I diverted south to visit the Red Creek International Airport. The Terminal was abandoned; must not be a big travel day on the Red, so there was no one to pitch horse shoes against or to join me at the picnic table. I strolled down the center of the runway (listening for an engine whine just in case) to visit the wind sock which looks even more out of place here than I do in a Scottsdale night spot. Looking down the very short length of the runway, I thought this landing here is different from landing the 737 in Burbank only in that the Red’s surrounding neighborhood is more civilized.
The confluence of the Red and the Verde is marked by rapids and fast water. Fording did not look advisable. The Verde is a truly wild river in this stretch. Someone has left a picnic table here, so that was lunch. Took a short side stroll up Verde Trail 11 and then back tracked to camp.
Celebrated the hike back at camp with a Kilt Lifter and some salted almonds. Hadn’t noticed the slogan on the Kilt’s can, “Pack it in. Pack it out.” I like this stuff.
Spent the afternoon puttering around camp. My inflatable mat had uninflated the night before, so I built a simple shelter over a debris bed of leaves. Would have liked to top it off with “fine Hemlock browse” as Nessmuk described, but we don’t have Hemlock in Arizona, so my mattress topper was salt cedar. Constructed a fire reflector and knew I’d sleep warm with my wool blanket. Tested some of the charred material from the night before by creating an ember in it and then blowing a flame in cedar bark. Some people like making trouble. I like making fire. Played with the bow saw I’d made and then crafted a bucksaw and tried it on wood for the night’s fire.
Dinner was brats, sauerkraut and hoe cakes, or corn pone if you so desire, all cooked over a cottonwood fire started with fat wood shavings and a scrape of Old Sparky, my trusty fire steel. I’d brought along spicy mustard for the brats and honey and butter for the cakes. Finished the last of the beer with dinner.
Cleaned and secured the camp and myself before setting in to finish both the whiskey and “Woodcraft”, not that there was much left of either. I had planned to roast an apple with its core filled with brown sugar and cinnamon, all of it wrapped in tin foil and set in the coals. But I had misplaced the foil and thought I’d left it home until later I found it cowardly hiding behind the seat of the Jeep. But I’d brought along a large bag of peanut M&Ms. As a kid I was not a particular fan of the candy. But while attending SERE (survive, evade, resist, escape) school as a fledgling fighter pilot, our instructor brought a large unopened bag of the stuff to our camp each morning and took it with him each evening, still unopened. We were out for a week or so and had no rations and all the game for miles had been frightened away. When we loaded up to leave the area, he tossed the bag back to us dozen or so starved and dirty young men. Since then I’ve been rather partial to them. And the apple would keep, so it was no loss.
With fading eyes I finished “Woodcraft” and on his final page Nessmuk bid me good night with
“Wherefore, let us be thankful that there are still thousands of cool, green nooks beside crystal springs, where the weary soul may hide for a time, away from debts, duns, and deviltries, and a while commune with nature in her undress.”
And I turned in to my forest bed and slept well only rising to stoke the fire now and again.
Day Three
Awoke and tended to the normal routine of fire, coffee, cleansing and breakfast. This morning was a simple fare of oatmeal, a toasted bagel with cream cheese, and a banana. Breaking down camp is a chore but necessary of course. Packed up everything and cleaned the area of my presence.
Hiked upstream this time, as opposed to yesterday’s downstream. Frost came to mind. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could.” But the beauty of Red Creek is that the trails each way are short enough that no choice is required. Simply take them both.
The upstream hike is easy enough and there is no jeep trail along this part of the Red. A faint footpath can be seen along portions of the creek. A mile or so up is an impressively noisy fall and then beyond that is a very large cave along the northern bank, maybe 75 to 100 feet high and more across. It has a colony of bats and bee hive high above the west entrance. It has obviously been a camp but the room sized boulders that have calved from the ceiling might make a restful night difficult for a cautious man. I saw no sign of glyphs. Farther along on the south bank are numerous smaller caves, large enough for a camp and one had recently been used.
Glorious rain began about this time. While just a gentle sprinkle, this area is renowned for impressive flash floods and I was in an area of steep side walls. Seeing debris high above me was enough to remind me that both life and wonderful adventures must end. I chose to end the adventure and return to the Jeep and the now slightly less dusty roads leading home. A few hours later I was greeted by a hand written sign on the door leading in from the garage commanding that I leave my filthy clothes and toys outside. I’m sure Mrs. Nessmuk had a similar sign. |
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All you have is your fire...
And the place you need to reach |
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Route Editor
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