Climb Every Mountain

I prefer not to climb mountains. But when I have a van that can climb the hill for me I’m as ready as the next man to seek the summit. 

I had a day to myself as Layne and Kathy were off to Sedona for the day. I had Rusty and GANNET2 and an open agenda; and around here there are more destinations than I can count. Mount Mingus beckoned. 

The mountain rises out of the desert floor and separates the cities of Cottonwood and Clarkdale from the larger agglomeration of Prescott. The road is unnaturally smooth as there is very little heavy truck traffic but it winds up in a series of tight bends and guardrails that put fear and dread into some drivers. 

Fortunately there are lots of pull outs and scenic overlooks which gives the driver of a tank lots of opportunities to let faster traffic (ie: everyone else) get ahead. I played hopscotch with three Audi drivers, one with German tag, as they pulled over to be car nerds no doubt and then I pulled over to let them by. They waved their thanks as opposed to the common-or-garden white knuckled weekend warriors playing tourist but I was glad to crawl at my own speed and enjoy the views. And Rusty didn’t get car sick, I think. 

Jerome was bulging with parked cars and sidewalks were overflowing with people doing the Duval walk, slow stepping, peering at everything in an effort to miss no detail of their Saturday off. 

We’re going to spend a day in Jerome later so I felt no need to stop and I stuck to my place in the slow moving line of cars. Clarkdale is 15 minutes below the town and Mingus Mountain recreation area is 20 minutes above Jerome so this area is tourist heaven. I liked it. 

The mountain is part of Prescott National Forest so fees are low, a five dollar day use charge on the honor system and facilities are limited. A few toilets, a trash dumpster and that’s it. 

In return you get camping fishing hiking and… hang gliding? 

There is a special permit area at the end of the gravel road which tops out at 7800 feet. Hang gliders get their own camp ground and a chance to commit spectacular suicide off the mountain face. 

I noticed the sign said this is an “intermediate” hang gliding spot. Speaking as someone who never got bigger than twenty feet off the ground in a hang glider I don’t think this is the sport for me. 

Or for Rusty. He had too much sense to go anywhere near the edge. 

The absence of hang gliders meant traffic was light at the turn around as cars came, disgorged a few people who mooched around and took in the view and then left. I mooched par excellence with my home at my disposal. Tea, snacks, Cliq chair and Kindle.

And trails to wander.

I could have gone a good deal further when Rusty decided to turn around and had Layne been with us he would have doubtless continued but when he’s with me alone his interest in long walks fades rapidly. I have no idea why. 

I am nothing if not adaptable so I settled in with his Laziness to enjoy some tea and quiet.

I was continuing to demolish Camus’ The Plague in the silence and the cool high altitude 73 degrees when it suddenly occurred to me it was time to take a nap. 

I was awoken to a low murmur of voices and the sound of Rusty snoring. A perfect summer afternoon. Until it rained. Rusty didn’t like being woken up by the sound of rattling rain which I rather enjoyed. He’s like most people inasmuch as the evidence that we were not going to be destroyed by the banging sound of raindrops was in front of his eyes but the noise of the rain still made him apprehensive despite my best reassurance. Fear predominates over actual experience.  

Then I went to open the toilet to dispose of my used tea and the slider handle came away at my tug. Oh dear, I said mildly. I used pliers to get it open and then my initative to replace the broken handle. I call this a cruising bodge: 

The high altitude pressure caused a vacuum to form inside the toilet and I guess it was time for the handle to register its displeasure that I forget to vent it.  A new toilet is on its way to Kathy’s delaying our departure for the Grand Canyon by a couple of days. Had this happened in Chiapas we’d have had to live with the bodge for a couple of months! 

I knew it was getting to be time to go home. So I stopped half way out at the lake. Also not Rusty’s favorite spot, weird dog, but I liked the look of it. 

I met an elderly and severely deaf fisherman who grumbled about the fishing -don’t they all?-and then admitted he had caught “a few.” We were standing there shouting at each other and it was a strangely companionable moment by the water. 

I think it was dinner time for a gang of vultures  having a committee meeting on the shore. Rusty was having none of this and backed away. 

I snagged my goal who sat patiently in the tree while I organized myself my dog and my camera to get the picture.  

Apparently they had found some rather toothsome Chinese food in Sedona and my presence at the dinner table was urgently requested and required. 

Fly away home little retiree. Fly away home. 

I love retirement.