The Traveler's Arizona Trail Part 2

 

The Traveler's Arizona Trail: Section 2 – The Unexpected Detour to Bisbee and the Cowboy's Compass (Tucson to Oracle via Bisbee)

By The Traveler

My first steps on what I hoped would be the Arizona Trail began in Tucson, driven by a profound need to trade the invisible walls of homelessness for the boundless freedom of the wilderness. My intention was clear: find the trail, head south to Parker Canyon – the official southern terminus near the Mexico border – and then begin my true northbound thru-hike. But as I'd soon learn, the desert has its own plans, and sometimes, getting "lost" leads to the most unforgettable adventures.

The Dry Riverbed and the Southern Pull

My initial navigation led me to what I thought was the right path, following the course of the Santa Cruz River. For those unfamiliar with Southern Arizona, picturing a "river" might conjure images of flowing water. But the Santa Cruz, for most of the year, is a deceptive beast – primarily a dry, sandy riverbed. The image I carried in my mind, and the reality I walked, was of a wide, dusty wash, often barren save for sparse, resilient vegetation. Any water I encountered was mostly treated sewage, a stark reminder of humanity's thirst in this arid land.

The Santa Cruz River itself is a fascinating, almost paradoxical, waterway. It originates in the San Rafael Valley, flows south into Mexico, makes a remarkable U-turn, and then heads north back into Arizona, eventually joining the Gila River near Casa Grande. Parker Canyon, my intended starting point, is actually a tributary to this very river, with Parker Canyon Lake nestled within its area. This river, despite its often dry appearance, is a vital water source for wildlife and communities, a critical artery in the region's ecosystem, facing ongoing challenges with water management and climate change.

Hiking along that dry bed, the sand often soft underfoot, was a monotonous rhythm of crunch and silence. The desolation was profound, yet it held its own raw beauty. But as I continued, a growing unease settled in. I was following the river, yes, but it was leading me in the wrong direction. My intended destination was Parker Canyon, to begin my northbound journey on the AZT's southern passages. Instead, I was heading deeper south, unknowingly tracing the river's unusual path towards the border.

Monsoon's Fury: A River Reborn

Then came the monsoons. Arizona's monsoon season, roughly from the Fourth of July to Labor Day, is a force of nature unlike any other. One moment, the sky is clear, the riverbed dry and dusty. The next, massive afternoon thunderheads unleash two inches of rain in twenty minutes. The Santa Cruz, which had been nothing but a parched scar on the landscape, would roar to life. A mighty, churning torrent of reddish-brown water would surge through the wash, a terrifying display of the desert's power. This bravado, however, was always short-lived. Within a day or two, the water would disappear as quickly as it came, sinking back underground, out of sight. It was a powerful, humbling lesson in the desert's unpredictability and the very real danger of flash floods. I had to be constantly vigilant, always aware that a distant cloud could turn my dry path into a raging river.

The Unexpected Haven of Bisbee

The exact moment I veered off the Santa Cruz's northward path, or how I decided on the direction that would eventually lead me to Bisbee, remains a blur. The days may have blended into a haze of sun-drenched miles and a growing sense of disorientation, perhaps even leading to some mild hallucinations. I do have a knack for getting lost, and this was certainly one of those times when the landscape truly turned me around. What I do recall is the mounting realization that the river wasn't taking me where I needed to go, and the eventual, almost dreamlike, appearance of the historic mining town of Bisbee on the horizon. Nestled unexpectedly in the Mule Mountains, a considerable distance southeast of Tucson, it was a beacon of unexpected salvation after days of uncertainty in the vast Arizona landscape.

Arriving in Bisbee was a profound relief. After days of uncertainty and the relentless desert, the sight of its colorful hillside homes and the promise of civilization was a welcome sight. My first priority was the local shelter. That shower, the hot food, and the simple luxury of one night's rest in a bed were invaluable. It was a moment of respite, a chance to recalibrate not just my body, but my mind.

The Cowboy's Compass: A New Direction

It was in Bisbee that fate, or perhaps just good fortune, intervened in the form of an old cowboy working for the Bisbee Ranch. He was the kind of man who knew the land like the back of his hand, and after hearing my story, he offered a lifeline. He gave me a lift as far as he could, the quiet ride accompanied by the faint strains of country music from his radio. He dropped me off on one of the Forest Service roads that crisscross the Arizona landscape. His instructions were simple, delivered with a quiet confidence: "Just follow the sign posts." As he drove off, I was left with a renewed sense of direction.

Navigating with just my map, compass, and my own wits, I quickly learned that the Forest Service roads in Arizona are remarkably well-maintained. Unlike the unpredictable riverbed or the sometimes subtly marked AZT, these roads were clear, and the official Forest Service signs were incredibly helpful, often featuring maps showing my location and onward routes. It was a different kind of navigation, more structured, and after the disorientation of the Santa Cruz, it felt like a clear path forward. This new guidance led me from Bisbee, through the rugged but navigable terrain, all the way to Oracle, finally putting me back on a northward trajectory towards the official Arizona Trail passages I had originally sought.

This unexpected detour, from aiming for Parker Canyon and getting turned around to end up in Bisbee, then finding my way to Oracle with the help of a kind stranger and well-marked roads, became a defining chapter of my Arizona Trail journey. It taught me that sometimes, the most direct path isn't the one you planned, and that resilience often lies in adapting to the unexpected turns.