D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
February
2009
Wet and Wild
A hike of a different sort — a winter wading adventure
in the Gila River.
It is wintertime as I write this, and snowing outside. Yesterday I took a hike of a different sort and found it quite rewarding. I pen the following adventure with the thought that one or two of you readers might enjoy such a foray — those of you who don't want the everyday or ordinary.
First off, you'll need special equipment, like a stout hiking staff and a quality pair of insulated chest waders. Yeah, that's right, chest waders.
This outing involved wading the Gila River, going downstream, but any old river near you will do. I wanted to see for myself how the past summer's high water had affected this wild river, and so I traveled north of Silver City to a place where I could access the river fairly easily.
I recently had purchased a really good pair of nylon chest waders. So I figured this would be a great opportunity to test their merits and see if they truly were better than my old standby rubber hip waders.
I took along a nylon wading stick made from an old mop handle, a piece of wrist cord attached to the top, and a small fanny pack, which held my wallet in a plastic zip-lock. I added a knife and some toilet paper, also in a baggie. Along with these meager necessities, I wore my trusty large-bore .44 revolver, just in case.
Arriving at the river's edge an hour after dawn, I gingerly eased into the frigid, gray-green flow. I quickly noticed the terrain had indeed changed: Before me lay a long, rock-covered, sandy beach that stretched 400 yards — it wasn't there last year.
The hiking staff was a godsend, as I constantly used it to probe ahead of me to check for soft spots. I also used it to balance against the strong current flowing by me.
I stayed away from still water and eddys, since that would indicate deeper water with soft bottoms where quicksand might be lurking to pull me down. Water flow with shallow riffles or waves, on the other hand, indicated the probability of a rocky bottom where I could meander safely. I still probed ahead just to make sure. Water depth varied along the courseway from mere inches to four feet.
If the rapids were narrow and fast with high, furious waves, I climbed ashore and skirted them by traveling overland on the many beaches. Three times I had to enter the channel proper, where the water reached four feet in depth. If I had been wearing my hip waders I'd have been swamped or had to look for easier crossings. I grew to love these chest waders: To my pleasant surprise, they were lighter in weight, warmer and easier to walk in than the "hippies."
Beaver sign was everywhere, identified by drag marks and tracks, plus fresh and old tree and sapling cuttings up to eight inches in diameter. In one location, four or five large trees lay chopped down and their bark was all chewed off. These beavers had learned not to dam the river, but had built land burrows instead.
The summer rains had straightened and cleansed the Gila River. Because of that fact, I suppose, I found few waterfowl — only two mallards and three snipe, all very skittish.
I also kept encountering a small, snipe-like bird with a white bill that constantly flitted about and even floated in the current like a duck. It had a shorter bill than a snipe and made a "peet-peet" sound. I enjoyed its antics and accompaniment on my journey.
The sandy beaches revealed many critter tracks, especially deer, and even tiny Coues Deer tracks, plus the sign of numerous gray fox and one or two bobcats. There was even a lone canine track, very fresh and indicating the critter was running away; the track was about twice the size of a coyote track and there were no attendant human tracks with it, so I strongly suspect it wasn't a dog but likely an errant lobo.
As surprising as that track was, I was more taken back by spying of one set each of large and medium lion tracks — not together, by the way, but a half-mile apart. They were both smokin' fresh!
Even though I know that most cats will avoid humans like the plague, there is always the minute chance that it could be a hungry rogue, made that way by injury, illness or too close a proximity to humans (thus losing their inherent fear of us). I took comfort in the revolver on my left hip as I carefully peered all about me.
Small saplings had shot up all along the river. I was glad to see their profusion since the thickets provided critters with needed cover and also food for the beavers.
It was absolutely quiet on my jaunt except for the incessant low hum of the river current as it made its journey towards the Arizona desert. I relished this quietude and aloneness, but all too soon it was time to exit the flow and head back upstream, through the myriad of thickets and tall vegetation and over the beaches.
I approached a grove of very tall trees siding some high, steep cliffs. I craned my neck back, scanning the tops of both for the "cats" that might be lying up there.
That made me ponder what would happen and what would it feel like to have a hundred-plus-pound lion fall or jump on me? I likened it to having a full sack of flour weighing as much falling on me; surely it would break my ankle or leg or even my back or neck! Not a comforting thought!
Of course, that was silly and it never did happen. Heck, I didn't even see a catamount or a sunning raccoon.
And so I meandered slowly upriver, soaking in the sun and the sights around me. (I was forced to meander because by now I was awfully tired!) It took me only 10 minutes more to come back than it did to descend via the water.
My river hike was an utterly wild encounter and very soul-satisfying. I highly recommend it to those of you who are more adventurous and physically fit than average.
As always, keep the sun forever at your back, the wind forever in your face, and may the Forever God bless you as He has me.
Larry Lightner writes Ramblin' Outdoors exclusively for Desert Exposure.