Arizona Break

Moonlit winds awoke me on top of Arizona in the hours before dawn and clouds. I laid there on the cusp of Humphrey's Peak watching as faint contrails of fog began to shroud the highest of peaks and then swirl, building mass before they were siphoned down into the valley of the rising sun, pierced by it's sapphire rays. I woke Steve, Caro and Pat and we watched the surging wave of clouds vaporize into a sea a golden aspen foothills. Later crouched behind summit boulders, fighting off the freezing cold and screaming wind with thoughts of warm dessert canyons and the clearest of waters pure. We hiked down the flanks and drove to Fossil Creek. The water poured over calcified dams clear as glass with a hue of emerald. We swam and basked in the warm afternoon rays. Steve found a hideaway under a falls that the four of us squeezed into before letting the rushing torrent pull us forth into an oblivion of laughter and white water. An hour drive on a path of gravel and javelina grounds brought us to the highway. That night we swaggered down Prescott's boulevard of whiskey and micro-brews. Morning brought a dash to the edge of the Grand Canyon. Twelve miles down into the gorge of red rocks and dust brought us to the blue waters of the Supai village. Swimming under the crashing liquid thunder quenched our beaten bodies. Hovering above swarms of scorpions we swung to sleep drifting in the moonlit breeze of a Havasu canyon night on our scorpion infested island camp. Waking to the river sounds at first light we jumped over the blue streams and trekked to the lip of Mooney Falls. Down climbed the side of the canyon. We all stood in the face of the pounding relentless torrent of the falls, incapable of sound, sight or breath in the thundering smash of the two hundred foot Juggernaut. Packed up camp and made the twelve mile blister fest hike, escaping the top of the canyon physically destroyed. Dinner on route 66. Drive back to Prescott. Sleep. In the morning I found myself in the backseat of a plane with Steve instructing and deconstructing the pilot on our way over the mountains to Sedona. Breakfast at the Sedona airport was tasty. The flight back was a series of stalls on a full belly; not for the weak stomach. Steve and I went out to the Dells for a cigar. The wind and the blue waters came together to lull a melody I haven't heard whisper in my ears for a decade. It was good to hear.