Fire in the Santa Catalinas

I live in Tucson, Arizona. For the last week, early June 2020, a wildfire has been raging in the Santa Catalina Mountains just north of the city. Tucson is surrounded by mountains, which makes it both beautiful and a wonderful place to go outdoors; hikes abound at all skill levels. The Catalinas are, to many including me, the iconic Tucson mountain range. They are close and they dominate the skyline. The “Foothills” of the Catalinas are the wealthy part of town, with often stunning views back down to the city and the other ranges, the Rincons to the east and the Santa Ritas to the south, and the Tucson Mountains to the west (which are also close in, but much smaller). The highest peak in the Catalinas, Mount Lemmon, at over 9000 feet, is accessible by car, and there is even a community, Summerhaven, near the peak. Some folks live there year-round but most have, well, a summer haven from the heat of the desert (highs in the 105 area this week). There is a wintertime downhill skiing area (one of only 3 in Arizona). There are many hiking trails, up there and on the road up. Sabino Canyon, leading into the mountains in the east, is a National Park, with a road (now limited to trams) up to the top, crossing the creek back and forth, from which trails spread out into the mountains, day hikes, backpacking, even up to the top if you’re fit and dedicated. My point is that the Catalina Mountains are part of the essence of Tucson, probably the natural feature most associated with our town.

And now they are burning. Less than a week ago, on a Friday night, we could see the flames of the then-much-smaller fire, called the Bighorn Fire because it started on Bighorn Mountain to the west of the view we see from the city. On Saturday, a friend who lives in the northwest close to that area showed me photos and videos of planes – smaller spotter planes and helicopters and huge cargo planes -- piloted by brave pilot firefighters flying within 100 feet of the mountains to drop orange fire retardant. Firefighters and hotshot teams were brought in, but the fire continued to spread, from 200 to 2300 to now 3700 acres [update: passed 7,000 acres, 10% contained]. For a couple of days, planes could not fly, not because of weather but because of a moron flying his own private drones in the area which endangered them. Last night the flames of the original fire looked small as the blaze was now visible across most of the front range, and this morning smoke covers it all. More and more units are being brought in, but it appears as if, unless the summer monsoon rains start soon – and there is no indication that they will – the fire will continue to spread, including down into the canyons like Pima and Finger Rock which are major hiking routes. And it will certainly threaten the houses built up highest in the foothills. Those houses shouldn’t be there, they should never have been built as they are right up to the border of the National Forest (which, fortunately, protects them from being built even higher); one of the more galling hiking experience to Tucsonans for many years now has been that the beautiful Pima Canyon hike begins with a half-mile trek between cyclone fences through a private development. But although they should not be there, the people who live in them should not have to lose their homes and possessions (and of course, we most importantly hope, lives).

When I was in college at Cornell, more than 50 years ago, I was in a dorm fire in which 9 people died. As we escaped that night, the smell of smoke was everywhere, and when I came back to my room it had saturated everything. I still smell that smoke; it was a toxic, petroleum based smoke from burning naugahyde and smells much different from the lovely wood smoke of fireplaces in the winter. But still, at bottom, smoke is smoke, and now as smoke fills the air, threatening to make it more difficult to breathe while outside (and, of course, in this COVID-19 epidemic, N-95 masks have not been available for months, and if they are should go to health workers), the memories are getting more and more vivid.

There have been fires in the Catalinas before. Ten years ago, much of Summerhaven was burned, and the ruined forest is still visible up there. Firefighters have some hope that this fire will become limited as it burns into that already-thinned area. Where the current fires are burning, there has not been fire for a century, and fire is a natural part of the natural cycle. The bighorn sheep on Bighorn Peak and Pusch Ridge that have been re-introduced to supplement a dwindling herd will survive. They can escape the flames. The mountains, eternal as they are, will survive, thinned out. The fire was – this time – started by lightning, not people. But it is people who built so close, and people who will suffer, and our trails will be closed, and the beauty compromised.

And the smell of the smoke will linger.

Biking in Tucson: Common and new for me. And be careful!

During the pandemic shutdown of things like the gym, I have recently taken up bicycling. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know how to ride a bike – been doing it all my life – or even that I didn’t have a pretty good bike (21-speed from REI, if a couple of decades old…). More, it was that I didn’t particularly like bike riding, which seems almost heretical around here. Pat is a big bike rider – not a speedster, but whenever possible she uses it around town as her mode of transportation and errand-doing, going distances on city streets that I cannot imagine doing on a bike path.

And that is a big positive, here in Tucson; bike riding is encouraged and relatively easy. If you stay out of the foothills (and many people do not), it is generally pretty flat (although someone like me can note the gentle but constant uphill going south). There is a terrific trail, “The Loop”, with over 120 miles of trails circling the city. I don’t ride anything remotely approaching that distance, but having done it pretty regularly for a few weeks now, I end up riding about 6+ miles. It is also easy to access the local portion of the Loop; it runs along the Rillito River (OK, a wash most of the time, only a river after heavy rain or snow melt from the mountains) which is only about a half-mile from home. Actually, through the parking lot of the Racquet Club, the gym I use, and was about the extent of my previous recent bike riding – and then only on days when it was not too hot, too cold, or I was too tired. That is, uncommonly.

So I don’t claim to be a great, strong, or fast bicyclist (I am not usually a liar!) but I have been getting better and a bit more confident, as one does when one keeps at something, even if you’re not trying. I don’t claim to actually enjoy it, but, well, I don’t find it as hard to get out and do it, as long as it’s early enough (not too hot), short enough, and not rushed. I find zero pleasure in either pushing myself or going fast. This, of course, is not the case for the serious cyclists who ride the trail, and in this town there are a lot of them. They are not all young, but they are serious (!), skilled, and like to go fast without stopping. I am sure that the presence of relatively slower cyclists like me, and children, and people skateboarding or scootering or running or jogging or walking or in wheelchairs or pushing baby carriages, is frustrating to them as they have to pass. They are supposed to say something as (or right before) they do (“passing” or “on your left”) or ring a bell, and many of them do. Many of them. Not all of them. There is some correlation with age – older serious cyclists are more likely to say something than younger, but this is far from 100%, either way. It would be also nice, I observe, to say “passing two” (or “three”) if there are two or three of you riding together, though this is not required.

The real problem is that these serious cyclists have basically only one real response to someone being in their way, which is to pass them. Actually, they have a second response – to speed up and pass them faster (this is often employed when there is oncoming traffic, especially another fast serious cyclist coming the other way). Slowing down is apparently never an option. I say this is a problem, but really only when there is something  other than just another person, walking, running, or slow biking or whatever, to pass. Sometimes a whole lane can be occupied by a single baby carriage, or wheelchair, or one of those 3-wheel recumbent cycles, or maybe two people walking (or, and god forbid this happens!) biking next to each other instead of in single file. And then maybe there is another going the other way. And a cyclist – or five – trying to pass them. I am not trying to rain on their parade, but there are times when slowing down might be (dare I say it?) safer.

I am (pretty) sure that most of these serious cyclists, are, in the rest of their lives, thoughtful, caring, concerned, and not self-centered people. Likely many of them bemoan the lack of social responsibility that others have, not wearing masks in public, or thinking that only they and what they want to do, matters, and not the benefit of all. This is not only a viewpoint pretty common in Tucson, but pretty common among a group that includes a high percentage of serious cyclists. But, when we are doing what we really love to do and are good at doing, it is possible to lose sight of this.

The fact is that the person limping slowly along, or in a wheelchair, or being pushed in a baby carriage, or strolling, or (left this one out) riding a horse (in the parts of the trail where there is no adjacent horse path), or running, or scootering, or riding a bike more slowly, has not only just as much right to be there as you, they are getting their exercise, as are you. They deserve respect and concern and caution, even if it is inconvenient.

Tucson Winter Weather: a tale of coats And a new dog!

Tucson winter is not like winter in the north, not like Chicago or Kansas City, where I have lived, by any means. A good reason to live here. But in the desert the temperatures each day and night have a wider range than they do in coastal areas, say San Diego. And it can get cold; even when it gets to the 70s in the daytime, there are always several nights where the temperature goes down to 32 or less, and the plants need to be covered. So, as one goes out about one’s business (especially walking the dog), different times of day require different outerwear.

During the long first-light (roughly 7am) walk, with the temperature in the low 40s or high 30s, a down jacket is in order (at least for me and many others; some folks seem to be able to wear hoodies!). Then, toward late morning/noon, mid 50s to 60s, light windbreaker type jacket is enough, and by mid-afternoon, high 60s or even 70s, shirtsleeves (usually, though, long sleeves). Then the evening walk after dark, 8:30 or so, we’re back to yet another jacket, flannel-lined denim, a bit warmer than the windbreaker but certainly not the down. The morning cold is exacerbated recently by high early-morning humidity (80-90%, with heavy dew); we’ve even had a couple of days of rain. The other day, the mountains rose above a layer of clouds (see picture) which someone referred to as the “marine layer”. I don’t think we get a marine layer 400 miles from the ocean, but it was very pretty.

Soon, though, it will be spring, and then summer, and probably by April, it is t-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops 24/7!

Speaking of walking dogs, about two months ago, I wrote of the death of Maggie, our older dog, and that we had just adopted Molly, 5 years old, 3 days earlier. Now Molly has been with us for two months, and she is a good dog, energetic and eager to please. She is very affectionate, likes to greet other dogs, and especially people. She knows that people are much more likely than dogs to pet her (and offer her treats). She knows some commands, like sit, and is working on “come”.

 

Then a couple of weeks ago, I noticed spots of blood on the floor. Coming from her vulva. It can’t be estrus, right, because she is spayed – so it says on the certificate of sterilization from the Humane Society. So I bring her to our vet. She is, he says, in heat. She has no surgical scar. Her genital area is swollen. I say we have a certificate of sterilization! He says that he knows; we had given him the paperwork when we first brought her to him for a checkup a week after adoption. So I brought her back to the Humane Society.

Whoops. They insisted on a hormone test (LH) to ensure she was in heat. Yup. OK, they apologize, and will do it for free. Of course. Meanwhile she walks in the park and recently I’ve been letting her off the leash to run around with other dogs. They’re all female or neutered. Until today. A young (15 mo) poodle could not take his attention away from her nether regions; luckily didn’t try to mount her. OK, waiting until there are two of us here to help her with her surgical recovery and a couple of weeks of the “cone of shame”. Just have to be careful for a bit.

And I thought I’d add a couple more pix of sunsets and such.