The Desert Southwest

Water was hard to come by along the Coconino Plateau (and mostly everywhere else in Arizona too), mostly limited to dirt stock ponds that were often silty and surrounded by cow patties. I think my facial expression says it all.

Like a few other places I have hiked (including the prairies of eastern Montana and the Great Divide Basin of Wyoming) the most amazing aspect of the Coconino Plateau is not what is there but that nothing is there.

During my three days on the Coconino Plateau I ran into one other person, a cowboy (yes, a real cowboy) who was getting ready for the cattle to arrive by fixing fences and protecting water sources.

Some crazy clouds outside of Seligman, AZ.

Atop Juniper Mesa, in the Juniper Mesa Wilderness, part of Prescott National Forest.

A quintessential desert sunset from the lookout tower atop Hyde Mountain.

The open pit copper mine in Bagdad, AZ, an unincorporated town owned completely by mining giant Phelps Dodge. It was probably the single most environmentally degraded place I have ever seen -- they have removed entire mountains, built new ones from the tailings, polluted every local watershed, etc. That was, of course, until I walked through Morenci, AZ, six months later.

After skirting the sprawling Bagdad mine I dropped down into Burro Creek, which I planned to follow downstream to the Big Sandy River, which I would follow to the Bill Williams River, which would take me to near Lake Havasu and Parker, AZ. I chose to follow these riparian corridors mostly because I knew there would be water and shade; it also would be a different experience than the rest of the hike, since there was no trail and since I would be walking in water almost all the time for 75 miles.

The aptly named Big Sandy River, which has a meandering flow usually no deeper than 12 inches and often many feet across. Expect to get your feet wet if you follow the Big Sandy: the fastest way down it is usually in the creek bed.

Walking through the Big Sandy

A sandstone bluff above the Bill Williams River below Alamo Dam.

I ran into four migrant workers from Mexico who operate the old Lincoln Ranch, where they drain the underground aquifer to irrigate cotton fields with copious amounts of water. They were some of the most generous guys I have ever met, insisting that they lend me blankets and give me food despite them needing those things much more than I did.

The Central Arizona Aqueduct, a heavily subsidized irrigation project that allows farmers to farm and people to live in such inhospitable places as Phoenix, Tucson, and places in between. Water became a subject of great interest to me during this trip -- there is simply too little of it to support the populations (and expected population growth) in the West, particularly in the Southwest, which must pump in water from hundreds of miles away to sustain their existence. The ultimate irony of water in the West is that so few Westerners actually know where there water comes from and how precious a commodity it is, hence why green lawns, golf courses, and water-sucking deciduous trees are commonplace in Phoenix and Los Angeles.

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