Spooky: Baboquivari

Have you ever tried to push two magnets together against the same charge? They repel one another with exponentially greater force as the distance is reduced.  This is the experience of approaching the Baboquivari: the closer you get, the greater the force pushing you away.

  

The view north, from just west and north of the saddle 

Baboquivari Peak

Growing up on a ranch adjacent to this iconic peak south of Tucson, the monolithic Baboquivari was the backdrop of my late childhood years. Fascinated, I had attempted once before to ascend to the peak from the east via Thomas Canyon. This was almost 10 years ago, and I vaguely remember bushwacking through cat claw, loose footing, scrambling, and a strange rustling in the bushes. I remember it being difficult, spooky, unpleasant, disorienting, exhausting. 

But that was ten thousand trail miles ago.   Now, equipped with better gear, more backcountry and route finding experience, stronger legs, and more capable lungs, I hoped it would be different. Fun, beautiful, calm, clear , peaceful, maybe even a little closer to the Creator- a normal wilderness experience.

 So, we made another attempt. We made no grandiose assertion to go to the top ( you have to be an actual badass to do that), we just wanted to get up and down to the saddle, and maybe explore a little beyond. Since the Babiquivari can be seen from just about any range and peak in southern Arizona, we hoped to now look back at Wrightston, Miller, Pusch, Picacho, Lemmon, Rincon, Cathedral and others from the vantage point of what is so clearly visible from those locations and others.

We quickly lost the trail, and spent considerable time bushwacking in catclaw. If you are unfamiliar with cat claw, imagine a bush with curved thorns similar to the claw of a cat.  Where it grows thick- you can't pass. 

The ascent opened up as we found the trail, switching back up the eastern side of Thomas Canyon. That was until we lost the trail completely. We ended up scrambling up a large slope and pushing through overgrown trees. Evidently, a large section of trail was lost due to erosion. As we very cautiously worked our way through the loose rocks and pinon pines on the steep slope, a voice called out to us “are you guys looking for the trail? It is down here.” The voice belonged to a US Border Patrol agent who had followed a group of smugglers into the canyon. “I followed then until it got to a point beyond what I am comfortable doing”. He gestured to an outrageously steep line across the canyon. “they shouldn’t bother you” he informed us.

In the distance, the rooftop of the house I used to live in reflects the sun in this isolated stretch of southern Arizona

Now we were through what I had expected to be the most difficult part. Now it would get easier, maybe even pleasant, right?

Beyond the saddle, the air rapidly and almost inexplicably turns cold on the perpetually dark north face of the ridge. A   supernatural energy instills a sense of uneasiness, dread.... like something bad is about to happen.  Impending doom.  Slick ice clings to the steep slope and fills in the gaps between loose rocks like mortar. Dead, twisted, charred, dense deciduous trees overshadow the ever steepening loose, rocky slopes. There is a spooky energy on this mountain that is difficult to describe which I have found nowhere else. The temperature drops more significantly than anywhere I have ever been; the ascent is steep and covered with loose rock.

There is nowhere to stop, and nowhere to put your feet that doesn't feel like you are about to lose it.  Eventually, the rock under both feet and both hiking poles simultaneously gave way as rocks, both large and small, shot down the steep slope to a seemingly bottomless ravine.  This complete loss of contact with anything stationary resulted in me slamming me into the ground. I rapidly tumbled down the mountain until my body wedged between a downed charred tree and the steeply angular loose ground about 15 feet below.  It was over before I knew it had even happened. Nothing broken, but we decided to call it good with that. I was covered in soot.  

The wind whipped strange gusts that rustled the leaves and barren trees. Ice caved off the cliffs above, occasionally crashing into the bushes around us. It was cold. Our GPS went haywire. It felt like we were being watched, like there were spirits, or mountain lions, or drug smugglers, or all three, observing us from the scrub oak and alligator juniper.

As we made our way back down the canyon, we remarked at the unapproachable and unnerving energy and terrain. Tohono O’odham cosmology asserts that the Baboquivari is the home of the creator. I was once told that Baboquivari was thought to be the center of the universe and the source of life. Like Mt. Sinai, it is certainly a location infused with a supernatural vibe- inspiring both wonder (from afar) and fear (as proximity reduces). I can see how the ancient people of the area came to this understanding.

I close by relating back to a couple verses from the scripture I feel reminded of in this experience:

Exodus 19: “ be ready by the third day, because on that day the Lord will come down on Mount Sinai in the sight of all the people.  Put limits for the people around the mountain and tell them, ‘Be careful that you do not approach the mountain or touch the foot of it. Whoever touches the mountain is to be put to death."

And in Job 38 : "Who is this that darkens my counsel by words without knowledge? Now gird up your loins like a man, and I will ask you, and you instruct me! Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding, who set its measurements? Since you know. Or who stretched the linen on it? On what were its bases sunk? Or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sand together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?"