Another trip up the mountain.
On Sunday, Mike’s cousin and his girlfriend were in town from Seattle. They were bummed out because of the weather — it was rainy with low clouds — but we desert-dwellers were thrilled. We’ve had quite a bit of rain this winter and the desert is lush and green — or as lush as a desert can be, anyway. Every time it rains, we think about how much greener the grass between the cacti will get and how incredible the spring flowers will be in another month or so.
They wanted to do something and we wanted to do something outdoors. So we geared up with hiking boots and jackets and water bottles, packed ourselves into my Jeep with Jack the Dog, and drove out to the Vulture Peak Trailhead, which is about 7 or 8 road miles from our house.
Vulture Peak is the tallest mountain in Wickenburg and, indeed, the tallest peak in the immediate vicinity. It’s the remains of a volcano and has an odd shape that gives it a completely different look depending on what direction you’re viewing it from. From our house, it looks like a tall knob. But from the main trailhead parking lot, it looks like a wide rocky butte.
It was still raining when we drove through the main trailhead parking lot and continued on the 4WD road to the trailhead at the foot of the mountain. To get there, we had to drive down a very steep, very eroded embankment. I’m too cowardly to drive down places like that, so I climbed out and Mike climbed in behind the wheel. He threw it into 4 low and crawled down the hill, letting one wheel and then another hang in the air while the rest of the wheels did all the work. At the bottom, I climbed back in behind the wheel and we continued on the way.
My Jeep, Packed to the Gills.
The rain — a steady drizzle — let up when we reached the second trailhead. I parked and we tumbled out. My Jeep is a 4-seat Wrangler and it was packed to the gills with the four of us and a 55-lb dog. Good thing I had the doors and back windows off to give us breathing room.
Above us, the clouds were moving briskly from south to north. It was about 10 AM and the sun was trying hard to break through the low clouds. It looked promising. We started up the trail toward the saddle.
I’ve written extensively about Vulture Peak for wickenburg-az.com. That piece, originally written in 1999, is accompanied by the tiny photos the Web site supported back then. One of my goals on this trip was to take some better photos to share on the site, and possibly include in my Photo Gallery. So I had my Nikon D80 with me, as well as two lenses: my 16-85mm zoom and my 10.5mm fisheye.
My companions quickly got a lead on me up the steep trail. I’m miserably out of shape these days, but I never did do well on uphill climbs. Sure, I can do downhill on a trail all day long without lagging, but point me up a hill and be prepared to wait. I’ll get there — eventually — but I need a lot of rest stops along the way.
A view from the start of my hike.
I took the opportunity to shoot some photos as I hiked. The brightening desert was all around me and, as I walked, the sun poked out and cast its bright, warm light here and there. And then there was the novelty of wet rocks and drops of water on the cacti. And puddles. Do you know how seldom we see puddles out in the desert? That day, they were all over the place.
Soon I was alone on the trail, huffing and puffing as I hiked upwards. The trail is probably rated as intermediate difficulty from the second trailhead, where we started, to the saddle. (It’s probably rated easy from the first trailhead to the second; a nice 1-1/2 mile stroll on a narrow pathway through the desert.) It’s not a long walk, but it’s steep. After an initially easy straight climb, it zig-zags up the mountain on a series of narrow switchbacks neatly carved into the terrain.
On Vulture Peak Trail.
I was upset to see that some hikers had inconsiderately cut corners, creating “shortcuts” of crumbling rock trails. I was also bothered by the sight of uprooted penstemon — one of the few wildflowers already in bloom — tossed aside on the trail. Who would tear wildflowers out by the root? And why? Apparently there are people out there with far less appreciation for the desert than we have. Perhaps they should have stayed home in front of their TVs and video games and left the plant life alone to grow and multiply.
Within an hour, I was near the saddle where the trail opens up to a wide area offering views in two directions. On one side, to the north, is the rocky peak of the mountain. On the other side, to the south, is a series of secondary peaks that reach up to the sky with jagged, tooth-like edges. I fully expected to be alone there, too. The summit was a short but difficult steep climb away and I assumed Mike and his companions would have made the climb by then. But they were there, waiting for me. Our out-of-town visitors had been spooked by the hand-over-hand portion of the climb and had decided the saddle was far enough up the mountain. That’s unfortunate because the view from up there is 360° and, on such a clear, crisp day, would have been breathtaking.
View from near the top of the Vulture Peak trail.
I rested up, snapping photos with my camera. I soon realized that exposures would be a problem and used bracketing to ensure I’d get at least one shot out of three that was properly exposed. (What did we do before we had digital cameras? Waste film? Waste time in a darkroom? Waste photo paper on crappy shots half the time?)
We hiked around a bit in the saddle area, then went to explore the areas around the secondary peaks. I’d never hiked up that way. It wasn’t much of a hike, but there were no real trails. We each made our way separately. Occasionally, I’d hear the voices of my companions or see Jack the Dog scampering around the base of a rocky mound.
Looking southeast between secondary peaks.
I climbed up to a point between two rocks and was instantly struck by the view of the line of peaks with the sun full on their wet rocks. I snapped a picture quickly, sorry that I had my fisheye lens on the camera. I switched lenses as the sun hid behind a speeding cloud again. I remained rooted in that space until the sun returned and I could snap a few more shots. Mike joined me and we watched the ever-changing show of light and shadow on the rocks, cacti, and flat desert terrain beyond.
At our feet were geode-like rocks with crystals. I’m sure someone with a knowledge of geology would find them very interesting. Mike picked up a small piece of crystal to show our companions, who had already started back down the trail.
The Trailhead at the Foot of Vulture Peak.
The hike down was much quicker for me — as it usually is — and we were back at the Jeep within 30 minutes. I paused to take a photo of the peak from the trailhead. This wide angle shot throws things out of perspective a bit, but it gives you an idea of the terrain and destination. The “saddle” is the area in the “V” of the mountain, where that big, puffy cloud is. The main peak is the one on the left; the secondary peaks, which are shorter, are to the right.
We drove back to the main trailhead and I successfully steered the Jeep up the steep, eroded road. (Somehow, up isn’t nearly as scary as down.) The parking area was just as empty as when we’d arrived. Evidently we were the only people who would experience the incredible beauty of this desert mountain right after a winter rain.
Related Links
Here are a few other articles and blog posts I’ve written about Vulture Peak, as well as a link to a slide show of my Arizona images.
On An Eclectic Mind:
On wickenburg-az.com:
On Flying M Photos:
A cruise is the ultimate lazy person’s vacation. You get on board on day one, unpack in your own private room, and go to any number of onboard restaurants for free meals just about any time of the day. In the evening, your moving hotel departs the port and moves gently through the sea, arriving at the next port on the next morning. Once there, you can get off the ship and do all kinds of excursions, ranging in trolley tours of the local town, big production shows (the Great American Lumberjack Show comes to mind), active activities (such as biking or hiking), or “adventure” activities (such as helicopter landings on glaciers or sled dog trips or float plane flights). At the end of the day, you’re back on board in your comfy, maid-serviced room, eating free food, seeing free shows, and/or throwing money away in the casino as the ship moves on to the next port.
We spent much of our two “at sea” days in our cabin on the balcony, reading, talking, and taking photos of the things we passed. In fact, as the ship turned away from the Hubbard Glacier to continue on its way, we came back to the room to relax on the balcony with a bottle of wine and our cameras.
And speaking of gratuities, you’re expected, at the end of your cruise, to tip your lead and assistant waiters in the main dining room, the head waiter in the main dining room, and your cabin attendant. Our dining room service was very good — both waiter and assistant waiter were extremely professional without being stiffs. We joked about things, they gave us advice on wine for when we got home, and they didn’t have any trouble giving Mike and Syd (one of our two table mates) seconds and thirds of lobster tails on Tuesday night, when lobster was the popular choice on the menu. But the head waiter obviously only came around to be friendly and secure his tip, so we didn’t tip him. Many people didn’t show up for dinner on Thursday night, the last night of the cruise, to avoid tipping the dining staff. (More on cheapskates in a moment.) We tipped our cabin attendant the suggested amount, even though we didn’t like her. She did her job, but drew the line there. No special service, as we’d had with our last cabin attendant.
Ketchikan was a good example. The day we were there, three cruise ships were lined up at the dock facing the port shopping area. This was roughly 6 to 9 blocks of solid shopping — mostly for jewelry and t-shirts — with the vast majority of shops owned by cruise ship companies or their affiliates. The Great American Lumberjack Show was on the outskirts of this — this tourist attraction does four or five or more shows a day with people lined up to see them. (We saw highlights of this on television, on a show purportedly about Alaska, so we didn’t need or want to see it in person.) This area was very crowded.
Yet less than 1/2 mile away was historic Creek Street, the former red light district of the town, which had been converted into small, mostly locally owned shops. It was nearly deserted. And on the town’s walking tour was an interesting totem pole museum and fish hatchery, both of which were empty.
Of course, the beauty of Alaska still lies beyond all this. Sure, we did excursions, but we did the ones that took us away from the cruise ships and shopping cities they’d built. One excursion took us by helicopter to land and hike on two different glaciers. Another was supposed to take us by helicopter to a mountaintop, where we’d do a 4-mile hike with a guide and return to the ship by train. (That one was cancelled when low ceilings prevented us from getting to the mountain top; we later rented a car to see what we’d missed: on that day, fog.) Another excursion took us by float plane up the Misty Fjords, passing mountain lakes, waterfalls, and glacial snow before landing in a mountain-enclosed bay. (You can see now how we managed to spend $1,800 in extras.) And at the end of each excursion, we walked the town, going beyond the shiny gift shops to walk among the historic buildings and, in more than one instance, panhandlers and locals who weren’t fortunate enough to get jobs selling jewelry to tourists at the docks.
An exception to all this: Icy Straits Point and the indian village of Hoonah. This port had no dock, so our ship anchored offshore and used three tenders (specially configured lifeboats) to ferry passengers back and forth.
Mike and I did the 1-1/2 mile walk (each way) into town where bald eagles waited in treetops for the local fishermen to clean their fish. We stopped at a local bar, where a man had covered the pool table with old photos of the town and more recent photos of a 25-foot snowfall. Then we went to the Landing Zone restaurant at the bottom of the zip line and had a great lunch of chowder and fried halibut and salmon, prepared fresh and served by locals.
Mike and I soon realized that the best place on the train — weather permitting — was the open area between the train cars. There was generally enough space for two people on each side (right and left) of each car at each end. This place was perfect for shooting photos of the train as it wound around the track or for some of the scenic views we passed.
Mike and I had very high expectations about the train ride, primarily because everyone kept telling us how great it was. As a result, we were disappointed. Don’t get me wrong — it’s a really great trip and one you should not pass up if given the opportunity. But it is about seven hours long (each way). Although there are plenty of incredible views, there are also a lot of boring stretches when there’s nothing but trees on both sides of the train. A one-way trip is enough. I wished we’d either flown or driven a rental car one way and taken the train the other way. Fourteen hours on a train (in the span of 3 days) was a bit much for me.
We did luck out as far as seeing Mount McKinley goes. At one point in the track, the train guide pointed it out in the distance. I managed to snap a few photos. The mountain wasn’t completely visible — there were plenty of white clouds masking various parts of it — but its summit rose up through it all. Magnificent.
We signed up (and paid up) for a shuttle to Fish Creek. My understanding of the shuttle was that you could ride it as far as Fish Creek, but get off at any point, hike around for a while, and board another shuttle going in either direction. The reality was that the “shuttle” was a basic tour bus with a driver who stopped for wildlife spottings and took well over 4 hours to go 60 miles. The round trip was supposed to take 8 hours. For us, that’s a lot of time to be stuck on a tour bus.
We took the 7:30 AM shuttle all the way to Fish Creek, where the driver turned the bus around. Along the way, we spotted some Dall sheep, a grizzly bear, and three caribou (all at one place), along with some other sheep, bears, and caribou. The highlight was spotting a mama grizzly with two cubs. I got some excellent photos of them.
We got off at a McKinley viewpoint on the way back. Mike and I spent about 30 minutes just sitting on the ground, looking toward McKinley. Clouds completely obscured its top. We waited for them to clear, but they never did. I did get a few shots of a squirrel that was obviously far more friendly that it should have been. This is common in National Parks. People feed the wildlife and the wildlife becomes almost tame. The only problems with this is (1) tourists aren’t around all the time, so animals used to being fed don’t eat much off-season and (2) people food (like Cheetos and ham sandwiches) aren’t very good for them. The National Park Service at the Grand Canyon actually has to kill mule deer who scavenge in garbage pails during the winter, eat plastic bags, and get very sick.
We hiked along the road for about a mile, then flagged down a bus and rode to the next stop. We passed by the mama bear and babies again. We rode along to a rest stop, then got off and hiked a while more. The problem with Denali is that there aren’t any many hiking trails. If you want to hike, you either have to bushwack through the tundra and run the risk of running into a bear or walk along the road, where you can flag down a bus. The road is not paved, so every time a vehicle goes past, the dust gets kicked up. It isn’t terribly pleasant. But the views are great and it’s wonderful to stumble upon some sheep high on a hill or some caribou drinking in a glacial runoff stream without a bus driver having to point it out to you.
We learned too late that there’s lodging deep inside the park. If we go back, that’s where we’ll stay. Then we can do short hikes from our room or longer hikes with outfitters based there. That’s probably the best option for us, since we really prefer to avoid the tour bus crowd.