Man, our winter weather here in the desert is fantastic! Picture this – sunny blue-sky days with temperatures in the sixties or seventies. You can plan as far ahead as you want, and chances are almost nil that bad weather will ruin your day. With that in mind, I thought I’d check out an area about 75 air miles northwest of Tucson, a group of mountains with which I was unfamiliar. I also thought I’d see how many I could knock off in a single day.
By about 4:15 a.m. I was motoring north on the freeway. Not much traffic at that time of day, and by around 6:00 I had arrived at my first objective, a little bump called Double Benchmark. Problem was, it was still pitch black and I was unfamiliar with the area. There was a lot of development around the peak, so locked gates and homes blocked my getting close to it. Finally, I tried approaching it from the west – bingo! I drove to the end of a well-traveled dirt road with houses along it, then found a faint track heading off into the desert. Perfect. I couldn’t have asked for better access. It was still dark, I couldn’t see much, so I sat in the truck and had a bite to eat and changed into my climbing clothes and boots. By 6:45, the faintest bit of dawn was breaking, just enough light to see my way, so I started out. As I climbed up the rocky slope, I could hear the stirrings of the new day below – a dog barking, a school bus making its appointed rounds. I tagged the summit and headed back down to the truck. By the time I drove back to the main dirt road, it was broad daylight, and the first thing I noticed was this sign.
Oops, I had no idea that someone felt that strongly about the property I was just on! Good thing I had done the climb in the dark. I drove farther west for about ten miles until I came to a gate, fortunately not locked, that I was counting on to gain access to miles of dirt roads.Those roads were needed to approach several other peaks I was planning to climb that day. My thinking was that I would drive to the farthest, most challenging peak first, then work my way back towards pavement as the day progressed.
As I drove on, I discovered several roads that were not shown on the map. Hard to say why they were there – ranchers, sportsmen, Border Patrol? There wasn’t much vegetation in that area, so simply driving over the same track a number of times could create a new road. On the other hand, some roads shown on my map had vanished – the desert had reclaimed them through lack of use. By the time I got to where I wanted to park, it was already 8:45 a.m. It was still chilly in the shade, about 50 degrees, with a stiff breeze blowing.
I made my way up a series of canyons and before too long, I had climbed the thousand vertical feet to the summit of Ham Benchmark. Plenty of others had signed in to the register before me. I chose a longer, more scenic way down off the mountain, one where I could walk along sandy washes and enjoy the solitude. By the time I got back to my truck, almost an hour and a half had passed.
It didn’t take long to drive back out and get to Peak 2248, my next one for the day. Talk about lucky – I was able to drive right to the base of the mountain on its north side. It was still chilly in the shade as I climbed it, signed in to the register, and headed back down. The whole thing had taken less than 25 minutes. Access is so good in this area.
One mile farther east, I parked to start my climb of Peak 2522. The rock here, like much of the area, was granitic, decomposing in the extreme desert conditions. On the summit, I found a cairn and register. Five prior parties had been there, all serious peakbaggers, among them: Bob Moore and Nick Scouras from Phoenix; Barbara Lilley and Gordon MacLeod from California; Bob Martin from Tucson. I signed in and was soon back at the truck.
By the time I drove away, it was 12:30 and I had only done four peaks.
A short drive got me ideally situated for the next one, Peak 2374. Access was good, and it didn’t take long to climb this one either. The same climbers had signed in to this one, too, so my entry made six.
Once back at the truck, it was short work to drive to my next summit. All day long, I had noticed that there was no trash anywhere. Usually, I would expect to find plenty of it, left by illegal border-crossers as they traveled north. That was about to change. I was now on the north side of Peak 2220. As I climbed its easy slope, I started to see bits of garbage, and by the time I stood on the top, it was everywhere. This small mountain was in an interesting location, less than half a mile from a rest area on Interstate 8, a major east-west corridor between Arizona and San Diego. From my vantage point, I could easily look down on to the busy freeway below.
Then it occurred to me that so could anybody else who would stand there. This was a lookout for illegal activity! Unlikely it was for drug smugglers, but probably for those running undocumented entrants into the U.S. The location was perfect. If they were lucky enough to have made it this far on foot, they could sit on the mountain-top and wait for their ride to civilization. Not only would you have a perfect view of the freeway and its rest area, but you could also see the area where I was parked. In this next photo, my truck is a small whitish dot in an open area near the top of the picture.
A vehicle could drive the two miles of easy dirt roads and park within plain view of the top – those waiting could casually walk down to their ride and be on the freeway ten minutes later, motoring their way to a major metropolitan area where they could vanish. Now it made perfect sense why I hadn’t seen any trash north of here. There’d be no point in going farther north on foot from this spot – your pickup point would have to be near here, or not at all. Here is a picture of something that is used by those up to no good in the desert. My glove is shown for scale.
It is a piece of carpet which you would tie to your shoes, the idea being that, wearing these, la migra cannot see your footprints. It’s a great theory, but BORSTAR (Border Patrol Search, Trauma and Rescue Unit), the crack unit of the U.S. Border Patrol, are expert trackers and can still follow you, even though you think you aren’t leaving any footprints that can be seen. As I stood on this mountaintop, I couldn’t help but wonder about those who had stood here before me, waiting for their ride to the big city and the promise of a better future.
By the time I got back down to the truck, it was 2:00 p.m. The days are pretty short at this time of year, so I wanted to see what else I could climb before nightfall. A few minutes driving took me back out to the freeway. Looking both ways, I carefully chose my moment before driving across the no-man’s-land that is the median (this is frowned upon) and steered into the eastbound lanes. A mile and a half later, I left the freeway and turned on to Arizona Highway 84. A dirt road near an old gravel pit took me north into the desert a short way, where I parked between two more small mountains.
I started up Peak 2308, a steep, gritty boulder-pile of decomposing granite.
Just when I thought I’d reached the top, I discovered I had only reached the summit ridge, so had to travel a few hundred yards farther to finish up. What a pile of stuff I found up there! This was a more important lookout spot than the last peak. Check out some of the things that were littering the summit: a full-sized car battery, a rifle scope, sleeping bag, toothbrush and paste, and a pair of those carpet things you wear over your shoes.
All of this less than a mile from the freeway. This was a spot where watchers were prepared to spend some serious time waiting for whatever.
Piles of clothing and footwear had been left covered by brush. On peaks like this, summit registers never last – they are removed or destroyed by these interlopers. I didn’t stick around and soon headed back down to my truck.
Only stopping long enough to refill my water bottles, I headed up Peak 2272 right next door.
On the top, I found a large makeshift wooden cross, and a smaller one nearby. Also, there was a register, and I signed in. No trash up here, so obviously the peak next door was the designated lookout spot, probably because it offered a lot more protection from prying eyes down below.
It was after 4:00 p.m. when I arrived back at my truck. Hmmm, what to do next? I felt I could climb some more, but by the time I drove to those peaks, some distance away, I’d be all out of daylight. Eight for the day was good enough, no point pushing my luck, so I drove out to the highway and made it home after dark. Another great day in the Sonoran desert.
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