We are walking in the desert. The mountains look quickly sketched, as if the person paid no mind to what mountains should look like; instead drawing little scribbles and dips wherever they please. One could use the color violet to paint them, perhaps adding a bit of white as they descend into Mexico.

We are in a dry river bed, or maybe a wash, hiking behind our campsite at Gilbert Ray Campground about four miles from the Saguaro National Park. The coyotes yap steadily off in the distance. As we walk we feel somehow that we’re in their territory, as if we’re being watched. The desert around here is such that we can walk just about anywhere, everything is made of gravel it seems, intermixed with scratchy brush and every kind of cactus you can imagine. We have Emmy on a leash, pulling her around cacti as she wags dopily along.

The very next moment we look down and she has a jumping cactus protruding from her mouth. It is about the size of a tennis ball, with long white needles pointing in every direction. She rears, snorting, violently shaking her head. There was no way I can pull it out with my hand, so I grab two large rocks and sandwich the branch in between and yank. It takes a few tries. Once removed, she is left with seven needles protruding from her face (and one in her tongue), like some indigenous Amazonian. Imagine holding down a forty pound fish, thrashing, as you attempt to pull seven hooks from its face.

Oh, the things a mother must do.

Once we were done, the little monster forgot everything, tail wagging, living completely in the moment.

We arrived in Tucson the previous afternoon, and, from spending a week boondocking in the freezing Kaibab National Forest (and a few days in Vegas…will write about that another time), we felt we needed proper showers and a warm bed. We splurged on a crappy Quality Inn room near the airport. It was glorious. We did our dishes in the sink, and I attempted to swim in the “heated” pool, but found that it was all but deserted and ice cold. We watched a Tom Hanks movie on the boxy TV and ate peanut butter sandwiches. Life was good.

The next morning, on a whim, I decided we should see the Saguaro National park and stay at an actual campground for a few nights. We had intended to head south to the Coronado Forest and boondock, but something pulled at me.

The campground was gorgeous. At night we could see the twinkly lights of the city below, silhouetted by saguaros. We were close to Old Tucson Studios, the set where dozens of westerns were shot in the old days, and just a few miles from the National Park.

Once settled we went straight to the park, hoping to get a hike in before sunset. There was something mysterious about this area, something that pulled at me from the inside; it’s almost like the exact picture I had seen in my head when I pictured this trip: a forest of saguaro cacti, endless trails, balmy days and cool, quiet nights.

The sunset here are unreal.

We had camped two nights before I found out this had been the exact campground where we stayed with my grandparents when I was seven. We hiked these same trails, toured Old Tucson and biked these same roads where Mikey and I walk Bubba. It’s bizarre, I’ll give you that, but if I were a religious person I would probably feel that it was fate.  I didn’t even remember what state we were in when I thought back to our trip to the desert.

When my grandma found out where we were staying, she promptly sent forty dollars for us to stay a few more nights, non-negotiable. She doubled our stay at the campground, allowing us to explore more into the park and meet some really neat people. Love you gram.

The next day we hiked King Canyon Trail up 4,687-foot Wassen Peak. I did my best to bird watch. I found that pausing to listen and watch these delicate birds is such a sweet meditation; I can see why my grandma spent a lifetime doing this.

 

At the top there were a cluster of boulders—we sat and watched the sunset.

Again, the love and luck we felt surged through our veins. Every night we went to bed happy. I can’t say the same for the previous week, but such is the nature of travel.