Hello darkness, my old friend

Anything special happen this week? Well, sir, as we leave our pink adobe cassita at the dude ranch one morning, I see a grey bunny, nose in the air, sniffing. I take this for a good sign.

Later, on my way to hike the Douglas Spring Trail, which begins less than a kilometre from the ranch, a road runner eyes me suspiciously from beneath a large mesquite. The mesquite is all elbows, and in its branches sits a scarlet tanager. More good signs. But alas, no Gila monsters anywhere to be seen. Still on the lookout for those.

I have plenty of company on my hike, what with the giant saguaro cactus everywhere — some of them three storeys tall. The last time I wrote about these gentlemen of the desert, I compared them to butlers. Straight-backed, formal, always dependable, and always a little prickly in manner. My views haven’t changed, as saguaros are always good company out on the trail.

This is my third year hiking the Douglas Spring Trail in Saguaro National Park. Today, I take a usual detour, turning right onto a dusty spur that soon ends at the evocatively named Bridal Wreath Falls. Alas (and you’ll find this post brimming with alases), it’s a waterfall in name only. Dry as a bone. Been seeing a lot of that lately, and not just in Arizona.

At the turn for Bridal Wreath Falls, I know I’ve clocked more than five kilometres. The distance isn’t that great, especially as the first two klicks are dead easy. But after that come a series of rocky climbs — four by my count — that leave me bent over, gasping for breath. I’m not an experienced hiker, so I don’t know how to pace myself and usually go too fast. Not used to the dry air or elevation, either. And what would I do, on that high cliff-side trail if, say, Gila monsters blocked my way? They hunt in packs, according to a reliable source.

Take care, sir

Everyone here respects the desert. They say it is merciless. It will sneak up on you if you’re unprepared. I take heed and down a bottle of water before setting out. I also carry a litre bottle of water in my day pack, and always wonder if it’s enough. Most of the hikers along the trail — and there aren’t many at this time of year — carry walking sticks and wear long sleeves, wide-brimmed hats, sunglasses and thick-soled boots. You see gloves, too, along with elaborate Lawrence of Arabia-style head coverings. Respect the desert.

Well, sir, today after my melancholy visit with the defunct falls, I’m heading back down, our dude ranch visible as a cluster of tiny pink buildings thousands of feet below. Truth is, going down is far more treacherous than going up. Easier on the lungs, of course. But the legs are tired from the climb and getting trembly, not to mention the sun is by this time low and in your face, so it’s harder to see where to plant your boot. Respect the desert.

I’m only a couple of minutes into my descent, when a young gal turns the corner on the path ahead of me. She’s climbed all this way up wearing a pink skirt and white t-shirt. No hat, no shades, no water. She smiles brightly, says hello. I step aside to let her pass, touch my hat and nod. I see she’s wearing flipflops, toenails painted pink.

Anything else happen this week?

We saw the great Cuban musician, Paquito D’Rivera, at the Rialto Theater in Tucson. His small band of virtuosos started off with Latin jazz renovations of Chopin and Mozart. Then came standards and straight-ahead jazz, Paquito blowing like a young man on fire.

The between-song patter is confident and funny. Paquito, now 76, is a pro and, that rare thing these days, a gentleman. He alludes, without quite spelling it out, to troubled times, to the power of music to — what, help people heal or forget? Maybe find refuge in a moment of distraction?

I don’t remember because I didn’t write it down, for what would be the point?

Gila monsters, at last

Well, sir, after a couple of days in Phoenix, we took us a drive: destination Bisbee, just past Tombstone, Arizona, site of the legendary 1881 gunfight at the OK Corral.

On the drive, giant billboards stare down. Personal injury lawyers promising big paydays. Truck stops promising home cookin’ ‘n clean bathrooms. Black-hatted fellas pointing their guns at the traffic and promising mayhem. Ah, the inescapable Tombstone, just up ahead. Now gather round, folks. Something for everyone! Saloon ladies! Gunfights daily! A Historama narrated by Vincent Price!

On cue, fighter jets zoom overhead. A rusty garbage truck with FOR SALE painted on its side squats in a dusty front yard. An old feller on a horse exits a gas station. His dog trots along on a leash. The homeless push grocery carts on broken sidewalks. Others push golf carts. For under the watchful presence of ancient saguaro, thousands of acres of desert are now upholstered in lush eternal green.

Speaking of green, it’s right there, folks. All you need to know about what else happened this week is right in your wallet: E pluribus unum, Annuit Coeptus, and Novus ordo seclorum. These phrases appear on the Great Seal of the United States, whose two faces you’ll find on the back of the dollar bill. The Seal was designed by Charles Thompson and first used in 1782. Today, it resides at the State Department, inside a locked mahogany cabinet.

As for the Latin phrases on the dollar bill, Thompson derived them from the Roman poet, Virgil. I’m not sure what the words mean, as we didn’t have Latin when I went to school. So I type them into Google Translate and in a blink, there it is: E pluribus unum, Annuit Coeptus, and Novus ordo seclorum together roughly translate as “Well, sir, don’t say we didn’t warn you.”