Respite
By John Prohira
Respite (noun) - a period of temporary delay, an interval of rest
or relief.
Impatient for spring and in need of escape from
Western New York's winter I traveled to the high desert of
southern Arizona hoping to find warmth and respite. In the predawn
on March 1st I joined 70 other men and woman who would traverse 50
miles of forest service road and trail in the eastern portions of
the Santa Rita Mountains on foot and be given 15 hours in which to
do so. We would run on the Arizona Trail. I had assumed that trail
had a long history perhaps relating to "how the West was won"
but was surprised to discover the trail to be the result of the
recent dream of Flagstaff hiker and schoolteacher, Dale
Shewalter. While hiking in the Santa Ritas in the early 1970's,
Shewalter conceived of an idea of a trail stretching across
Arizona from Mexico to Utah. Since that time, hundreds of trail
enthusiasts have been inspired by that vision and have joined
together to make the Arizona Trail a reality. Today it stretches
from the Coronado National Memorial in the south to Coyote Valley in
the northern most part of the state. We ran on land that had a
feel of the old West about it. The Old Pueblo 50 Mile Endurance
Run is staged about 35 miles north of Mexico. Gold had
been discovered here in 1874, one of the largest and richest
placer deposits in the state. Placer deposits consist of gold
blended with sand and gravel and the way to separate the riches
from dirt was by washing the mix with water. But water was scarcer
than that precious metal. Miners would place sacks of this dirt on
the backs of burros and haul it to the region's few running streams
burros. Hard isolated work to say the least and once the richest
deposits had been worked most moved on. In 1902 James Stetson, an
engineer from California conceived of a plan to channel and collect
runoff from the mountains into man-made reservoirs, collecting
enough water to keep a mine going for ten months a year. He
obtained funding for his project and in the years from 1902 to
1906 attempted to coax and collect the precious ore from the
countryside. A mining camp was built in Kentucky Gulch but
was abandoned when the endeavor became unprofitable. The Coronado
National Forest acquired this land and the remnants of the
Kentucky Camp, rebuilding a couple of decaying mining camp
structures. One of these restored buildings served as race
headquarters was for Old Pueblo. Duane and Julie Arter and
friends stage this intimate gathering and trail run. Their efforts
appeared transparent, a reflection of fantastic planning and
attention placed on every detail of directing a race like this.
Every aspect of this event was top-notch, from the pre race coffee
and aid throughout the day to the cookout afterwards. Shirts
without advertising commemorating the day were given to each
entrant, as was a cloth (not paper) BIB or race number. A handsome
belt buckle was awarded every finisher. All involved made certain
that the Old Pueblo was successful and they should be thanked and
applauded for their hard work. This land north of the border
is called "the high desert" and receives a mere 15
inches of rain a year. Resilient trees like oak, pine, juniper
and cypress survive here with only that small amount of water. I
saw the cactus I expected I might find in a desert; the banana
yucca, prickly pear, sotol and maybe small saguaros. Many of these
cacti were blooming; a beautiful thing to see. My favorites were
the pink flowers atop morning dew covered prickly pears, the
morning sunlight glistening on the flat green flesh of that
cactus. And cacti resembling small barrels appeared to be
wearing yellow Mexican sombreros, their large flowers cocked on
top of their heads. The Kentucky Camp, which was race's start and
finish, lay at an elevation of 5142 ft above sea level. The course
dipped as low as 4031 ft and climbed as high at 5857 ft. These are
not significant altitudes by any means but flatlander that I am I
sensed the "skinny air" from time to time. Our route was
billed as having a 6% grade with 7000 ft of climb and 7000 ft
of descent over the 50 miles. In the near distance snow covered
Mount Wrightson could be seen. But I found distances here to be
impossible to gauge, the land was so wide-open, unimpeded vistas
without contrast. How does one judge distance? Even when running
into and out of the canyons and arroyos, up and down steep rocky
trail it was as if I could see forever. I wondered what it must
have felt like loading bags of dirt and gravel; stuff hopefully
mixed with gold onto pack animals and carrying them from these deep,
dry canyons. There were times when I had all I could do to haul
my own sorry self up and out and on towards the finish line. Ah
but the rewards on top were breathtaking! Rugged mountain outcrops
lined some of the trails, often just overhead. The primitive
beauty that surrounded me most of the day was rejuvenating and was
indeed part of that sought after reprieve and rest. So much
of what I experienced that weekend was new. I hadn't expected
as chilly a day as I found, it had rained a bit in the days
leading up to the Old Pueblo event and the springs and creeks were
swollen by desert standards. Dawn brought clear and mostly sunny
skies. Rain that had pooled as puddles froze overnight and the
cattle bridges we moved over where slippery. Cattle bridges are
grates made of metal with 4-5 inch spaces between the rungs. The
free-range cattle refuse to walk over them and they serve as
unfenced gates on many back dirt roads. Cattle won't walk over them
and this ultrarunner will not run over them. I had nightmare
visions of slipping a foot into one of those gaps in the grates
and breaking an ankle. A bridge like that was one signal to walk,
as were the steep climbs and the many opportunities to just stop
and drink in the world that was being presented. Cool breezes met
us at every ridge top. The image of cattle grazing freely on the
open range was such a novel thing to see. I am used to seeing cows
fenced in and being fed by farmers, not let loose to fend for
themselves on sparse desert grasses. A friend told me that she
had watched one of these hearty pieces of beef on the hoof eating
cactus flowers. I came seeking respite and that is what I
found. The combination of hot sun on my face and cool air seemed
to nurture my spirits. The camaraderie felt while standing with my
fellow runners before race's start always charms and soothes me.
We left Kentucky Camp at the bottom of a gully and climbed up onto
the high flatlands before sunrise. Dawn brought with it a world of
red rock and dirt, I remembered cowboy movie matinees I saw as a
child and felt that I'd seen this land before. Perhaps I had for I
learned that many movie Westerns had been shot here. Oklahoma had
been filmed a few miles from where we were at the break of day.
Some of the climbs and downs went on for miles at a time. Some of
the trail was rocky enough that strict attention had to be paid
less the runner fall and hobble himself. A lot of the trail was a
combination of sand and fine gravel that taxed lower legs. But
the contrast of up and down was good; there was never any long
repetitive motion. Trail running like this gives every part of the
body the opportunity to work and play. I kept the trail out of my
shoes by wearing gators. Twenty miles into the run turquoise
stones littered the trail, as did unfamiliar scat. Why didn't I
pick up souvenirs? (Turquoise, not trail poop). I saw no wild
animals other than birds, no mountain lions or coyotes. I was
oddly reassured that if I had wanted to I could run away and get
lost in these hills. I smiled knowing that much of the land I ran
on belonged to me as a United States citizen. We did cross
private property from time to time, having to open and shut gates
as we moved along on our way. At one point late in the race it
took both myself and another runner to figure out how to open a
primitive gate and then our combined strength to close it again. I
did see lots of barbed wire that weekend. It was cool enough to
wear tights all day and the two bottles carried on my belt helped
keep me hydrated in between aid stations. Salt, GU, Ensure, fruit
and chocolate candy fueled my body. The smiling faces of aid
workers every 5 or 6 miles and the example my fellow runners provided
fed my psyche. Trail running on courses such as the Old Pueblo's can
be spiritually uplifting but mentally draining. Attention must be
paid to the lay of the land or the runner can find himself or
herself seeing it up close and perhaps even tasting it. I usually
do watch where I place my feet especially on technical parts of a
course, it's when the trail becomes flat and clear that I relax
and then relax too much. This occurred while on a red dirt road
about 40 miles into the run. I do not know what I tripped over,
maybe my own feet but down I went. Boom! I wasn't hurt
just completely down and prone, horizontal. And it felt so good.
That respite from movement in the midst of my intended respite
felt exquisite. I just lay there a little bit drinking in how good
it felt. I lay there like I often do in bed just after the morning
alarm goes off. I know I should get up and get going but in a
minute . . . . in a minute. We hopped over and through many
small streams and creeks, perhaps some of the winter runoff that
100 years ago James Stetson had hoped to store and use to get
rich. I managed to keep my feet relatively dry while crossing the
water. One of my favorite parts of the course was dirt laden and
led into a steeply banked gully that I moved down into by
negotiating and running along its walls. It reminded me of a
toboggan course but instead of being lined and covered with snow
it was made of red desert dirt. I felt strong and capable most
of the day. Aches and pains were transient. I thought my effort
was measured and steady. But it's interesting how that perception
was skewed. I came into the 25-mile aid station at Box Canyon after
4 hours and 45 minutes on the course. It took me 3 hours and
35 minutes to reach Cave Canyon at 40 miles and another 2-½
hours to finish up. Although I felt I was running well and moving
right along my watch told me I averaged only 4 mph for the last 10
miles. Maybe it was a taste of the elevation, more likely a
measure of my fitness. Nonetheless I felt like a runner doing what
a runner does and enjoying it. It made complete sense to be
spending the day like that. It really was a very relaxed day
in the high desert. The field was limited to 80 entrants, 71
started. The group was small enough that there were long periods
when I would run alone without seeing another, alone but not lonely.
Maybe this is how those solitary miners felt in years gone by. Coming
across the finish line I smiled when I saw that there was no
visible clock ticking the minutes away, I liked that! Time was of
course recorded and I was more than satisfied with breaking 11
hours. Burgers, Coke and endorphin inspired good will met me at
the finish line. There are always one or two I meet for the
first time or again that inspire me and help validate what I do
while running from here to there. It was and always is a pleasure
to run with Rolly Portelance from Canada. Rolly is an ultrarunner
with a long and impressive resume' and a gentleman besides. I was
pleased to see his mobile retirement home parked off Gardner
Canyon Road inside the National Forest boundary on Friday
afternoon. Rolly's words of encouragement during one of my first
long trail runs in northern Ontario one night helped get me to the
finish line. A new acquaintance was a fellow I met in a general
store the night before the race. He is known as the Kid but I
think the name on his driver's license is Grant Holdaway from
Utah. Grant is seventy something years young and was so totally up
for the distance and day's challenge. I want to be like these men
when I grow up. I went into the canyons and ran over the high
grazing lands of southern Arizona and found what I sought. An
interval of rest, delay and reprieve from the stresses that
everyday life presents the 21st century man and woman. I was able
to step off that beaten path for a short time and gain strength
through active respite. I was lucky enough to understand my need to
leave newspapers and the computer behind and be able to distance
myself from the onslaught of information that makes up my working
day to day world, to rest - if only for a little while. I needed
that time of moving meditation to gain spiritual and mental strength.
I wondered if there was more sought by those hearty dirt miners at
the turn of the century than riches. Did those placer miners look
for something in desert hills other than gold? Perhaps seeking the
rewards of self-sufficiency? Of solitude and a well-defined goal?
I do hope that they found what they needed and were looking for. I
found respite in the high desert doing a very simple thing moving
from here to there and trying to pay attention to what surrounded
me and remembering as much as I could, returning home refreshed
and ready.
Happy Trails, John
Results from the Old Pueblo
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