Saguaro National Park, AZ
Giant cacti and a magical orange
Alamogordo is between the Sacramento Mountains and the San Andres Mountains. Tucson is nestled between the Catalina Mountains and the Coronado National Forest. There seems to be something about my brain that sees analogies everywhere — I’m starting to get irritated by it.
One thing that broke the monotony of the drive on I-10 on yet another windy day was passing through an immigration checkpoint on US soil. All the highway lanes converged into one and I was all prepared to whip out our passports to the officers, but they just nonchalantly waved us through. Darn it, we must not seem the dangerous type — just a couple of old people on a motorhome.
We navigated directly to a coin laundromat. After getting our clean, staticky clothes from the dryer, we drove through downtown Tucson — with road signs also indicating “Centro” or “Camino” or “Calle” — and made our way to the outer suburbs. We had to rub our eyes to make sure we were not teleported to our old neighborhood. We saw the usual suspects: Marshalls, Jiffy Lube, Trader Joe’s, Target, REI.
Seeing all these familiar names was both a blessing and a curse. We needed a few supplies, so were grateful for the stores since they made checking off our shopping list easier. On the other hand, the fact that we were more than 2,000 miles away from home and it still felt very much like home was disturbing — how would we even begin to experience a different city on the other side of the country when everything was the same?
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Saguaro National Park is divided into two parts — the East Rincon Mountain District and the West Red Hills District, with Tucson in the middle. For some bizarre reason, it reminded me of Partition, when the British divided the subcontinent — India at the center and Pakistan to the west and East Pakistan (later Bangladesh). We went to “Bangladesh” today. That analogy disease again.
I had been looking forward to visiting Saguaro NP because supposedly one could bike the Cactus Forest Drive. When we arrived, we spoke with a park ranger who mentioned phrases like “steep grade” and “blind corners”, so we decided to drive it first to get a feel for the terrain.
We discovered that, yes, one could certainly bike the loop: we saw several bikers. But they were mostly divided into two distinct groups: (1) young bikers with professional spandex outfits who looked as if they were training for the Tour de France and (2) retirees on electric bikes. As we often feel in our travels, we straddled those categories: we didn’t feel young or invincible enough to take undue risks, nor did we feel old enough for electric bikes yet. So, we rode our trusty van.
Park rangers do not lie: the Cactus Forest Drive Loop did indeed have steep grading sections that required low gear around blind corners. But it was a lovely drive, with several lookout points from which we could see mountainsides covered in saguaro (pronounced sa-WHA-ro), giant cacti, many over thirty- to forty-feet tall, with several “arms”. To my eyes, they looked cartoonish, with a silhouette that even I could draw. I’m not sure what it says about us that we felt some of them looked as if they were flipping us off.
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At the western Red Hills Visitors Center, we watched a movie narrated “by the people who have lived in the area for hundreds of years.” Members of the Tohono O’odham tribe related the story of their people’s connection to the earth — their mythology includes gods who gave shape to creatures on earth in the form of the saguaro. And through the cycle of life and death, the O’odham consider saguaro sacred, as reminders and connections to their ancestors. Upon hearing this story, we felt a bit bad about the whole “they look like they were flipping us off” thing, but not so completely that we changed our minds.
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We were camping at Catalina State Park and using it as a base to explore Saguaro National Park and Tucson itself. Well, the national park put some barriers to our hiking by not paving the roads from which to access many of the trailheads, so we decided to hike the state park instead. (Catalina State Park — like its counterparts in New Mexico — does an admirable job of running its campgrounds: large sites, clean facilities, and a variety of trailheads from the campground itself. A sign of how popular the campground was: we were here for six nights and we had to move sites every night because continuous nights were not available; the park was, for good reasons, very popular.)
On the hiking menu today was a loop comprised of sections of the Sutherland Trail, the Link Trail, the Fifty Year Trail, and the Bridle Trail (that’s a lot of trails, 10 miles). I packed lunch and water — more later — and we headed to the trailhead. Temps were in the mid-60’s, with a sheer whisper of clouds in the sky and a light breeze. It was a perfect day for a hike.
It didn’t begin well.
By Mile 0.3, we were already re-tracing our steps and looking at the Alltrails map. I felt better that a couple of hikers who had been coming behind us and whom we had passed on the way back also did a U-turn: like us, they were re-tracing their steps and looking at the Alltrails map. A quick introduction led to the welcome discovery that one of them was actually from our hometown.
By combining our brainpower and looking at the landscape around us, we realized that the app was directing us to cut through a field to reach the next point on the trail. We did so reluctantly, but eventually found ourselves on the right track. The first section of the hike was through a saguaro forest, so N.’s picture-taking slowed us down a bit, but I didn’t mind since we were going uphill. The trails were mostly packed dirt or gravelly sand — nothing too difficult or dangerous… yet.
That whisper of clouds and light breeze? They did nothing to cool us on the hike: even a hint of hazy sun made us feel hot and sweaty in this desert climate and we were drinking water at a much faster pace than I had brought water for — about 40 ounces for the two of us. I know, I know… (PSA: recommended amount of water during hikes is at least one gallon per person per day, more on sunny days.)
Around Mile 3, a miracle!
We found ourselves by a cold creek that worked marvelously as a picnic spot. N. and I then spotted it: a large perfect orange, bobbing in the water. I told N. it might be a magical orange that might quench the thirst of giants but make them sleep for eternity until the sacred saguaro releases them from the spell. Should we eat it or not? N. ignored my nonsense and started peeling the fruit. It was juicy and cold and refreshing. I quietly thanked the saguaro gods for the gift.
We got back on the trail and grumbled about this now rocky section. As soon as we finished complaining about it, the trail changed and turned into a sandy pit, wherein each step sunk into the gravel and more effort was required to pick up our feet. We complained about this new terrain. N. also complained about his right sock rubbing on his heel, so we switched our socks because I didn’t want to have to carry him the rest of the hike. By this time, we were rationing our water. I secretly apologized to the saguaro gods for our unflattering description of their form.
But we no longer saw saguaros.
We saw barbed wire fences with swinging gates between the Catalina Mountains and the Coronado National Forest with warnings about making sure to close the gates — something to do with dogs vs. desert bighorn sheep.
We saw evidence of horses on the trail — hard to miss those big piles — and then people passed us on their steeds. They also looked as if they were carrying very large bottles of water.
We saw evidence of bikes on the trail — easily identifiable by tire tracks — and then bikers passed us on what looked to my eyes like city bikes with thin tires. We stood by the side of the path and waited for them to pass, but as they bumped along the rocky trail looking pained from all the rattling in their seats, we had to suppress our laughter.
Most amazingly, we saw a hiker with a tiny terrier who was daintily but deftly avoiding the rocks on the trail while following his owner. That little dog looked more comfortable than the bikers.
Aroung Mile 7, we again got side-tracked in a descent into a rocky path among the power lines. We were trying to ignore the rocks while hiking as quickly as possible when I check my app and realized we were off-course again. Back up the hill we went. Here might be an appropriate place to mention that, notwithstanding its great campgrounds and facilities, the trail signage at Catalina State Park left quite a lot to be desired.
People make mistakes when they are tired; N. and I were exhausted by now. I stumbled on some loose rocks and cracked my phone’s screen protector. Soon after, not to be outdone, N. mis-stepped and rolled his ankle. For the sake of the other, each of us was avoiding drinking the last sip of water left. In the last two miles, both N. and I were hiking for the sake of getting the hike over with — forget the scenery.
Next time, we’ll bring more water. But I’ll secretly hope for another magical orange too.
