Dogs & Dilemmas

Dogs & Dilemmas

Rowdy hikes in the McDowell Sonoran Preserve

Living with a rambunctious pack of dogs helps one develop a sense of humor and an ability to appreciate the lighter side of life. If you take yourself too seriously you might see an occasional poo-poo in the kitchen or a butt-sniffing incident in front of company you’re trying to impress as disasters instead of the disarming stagings of canine Commedia dell’Arte that they are.  Dogs throw a wrench in our most cherished routines and possessions.

Layla takes a break on a Scottsdale trail

The peed-on pillow, the dug-up garden and the change in plans brought on by a trailside skunk encounter are disruptions made to bolster our resilience.

Dogs make good pilots during times of crisis.

Ironically, through their inconsistency, dogs send a consistent message: the only thing we can control is our own behavior.  That’s a good concept to embrace during a global pandemic.

Sophia Maria hikes Dixileta Trail in Scottsdale

Because of conflicting messaging, coronavirus stay-at-home orders have been particularly trying and confusing for hikers.

We’re being told to both stay home and go out and hike because it’s “safe”.

The mantra of “practicing social distancing” is proving to be just a catch phrase as parking lots at popular trailheads are crammed full while vehicles circling like vultures wait for available spaces.  Social media is replete with visuals of large groups congregating and cars parked bumper-to-bumper along forest service roads near “remote” trails where “nobody goes”.

Chessy at the Silly Mountain Park in Apache Junction

Trail closures and restrictions that began as precautions are now necessities to protect public health. For instance, Arizona State Parks had to temporarily close several parks for day-use this past weekend due to overcrowding.

Kleiden loves hiking in Flagstaff

My personal decision to avoid hiking hot spots has been met with ambivalence. 

It’s not lost on me that many hikers refer to my reviews when researching trail destinations and I am well aware that that comes with responsibility.  These past weeks, I’ve been overwhelmed with requests for suggestions about where to go to escape the crowds and questions about why I have not posted any new hike reviews. Truth is, I’m in a sort of Catch 22 situation.  Here’s why.

Maddie on the Aspen Loop Trail in Flagstaff

Like many regular bloggers, I get dozens of pitches from marketers offering me free products and services in exchange for promoting everything from trail foods and gear to free trips to outdoor vacation destinations. (I do not accept any of these perks, preferring to keep this blog non-commercial.)

The coronavirus stay-at-home orders have changed the tone of the messages that land in my inboxes. A few weeks ago, the drift was all about “stay home and stay safe”, “we’re in this together”, “let’s care for each other” and “please stay away from small towns to stem the spread of the virus.” But this weekend, the love fest took a disturbing turn.  My email was rushed with pleas from small businesses and communities to “send hikers to them” and a swell of “we’re open for business” reminders.  Clearly, the novelty of the novel virus has lost its panache.

Dogs make fine pilots in times of crisis

   

Rocco and Jasmine play on the Badger Springs Trail

All this at the end of a week where I watched two of my favorite restaurants shut down for good and heard that one of the services I use for my dogs is on the verge of going under as well.  It’s heart wrenching.  The Catch 22 is this: If I start directing hikers to the small communities that depend on tourism to survive in a time when friends are fomites and visitors are vectors of disease will it be welcome relief or a health hazard?  There is not yet enough data to decide. 

In retrospect, there might be some humor to be found in this historic episode of pandemonium.

But right now, even when surrounded by six dogs vying for lap time, it’s not funny. It’s just confusing.

Since dog is my co-pilot, I’ve decided that the best way to bring the pandemic to heel is to sit and stay.

Post Apocalypse. Slow Ahead.

There’s a feeling you get during the last mile of a long hike.

Sweaty, tired and hankering for something to eat other than trail mix, the final leg of a hike—the light at the end of the tunnel-- holds the promise of relief, celebration and maybe a cold beer.

Hike progressions can be sort of like the ubiquitous bell curves and graphs that have become lifestyle tracking devises—the GPS—of the novel coronavirus reality we’ve been experiencing during these past weeks.

Solitude on the Sycamore Point Trail, Kaibab NF

Like those charts and graphs, hikes roll out on a curve. First, there’s the warm up followed by acceleration and pace-finding. Well-designed trails usually crescendo at a summit, high point, crux junction or vista point before winding down for the home stretch.

Sedona's Carroll Canyon area trails are less crowded options

But, unlike following a mapped trail with a pre-determined outcome, tracking a novel virus is a whole other matter. Being the insufferable nerd that I am, I know bell curves and projections are rooted in probability. They are code for researched guesses to help us make decisions and feel like we have some control over outcomes.  But, they are just tools for modeling  the what-ifs that drive decisions about which trajectories to ride through the crisis.

Over the past few days, reports that physical distancing efforts have been helping and the worst may soon be over hint that the light might flip on sooner than later.

The promised light at the end of the tunnel may indeed be flickering but caution is still advised.

Perhaps stay-at-home orders will be lifted in May. Maybe June. Until then we continue to optimistically interpret the slightest downward twitch in the curve as a sign we might be creeping back to normality.

Apache Maid Mountain near Sedona hike ditches the crowds

Creeping is the key word here.  As parks and trails begin to open back up, let’s not take that as a checkered flag but as a flashing red traffic signal.

Instead of racing out to usually swamped trailheads (Devils Bridge in Sedona, I’m looking at you), consider exploring less crowded destinations for a change.

 

Fine space on the Davenport Hill trail near Williams

Across the world, countries are slowing beginning to open back up. One news report showed images of people swarming formerly closed recreation sites in what looked like ridiculously uncomfortable and potentially hazardous conditions. Let’s not do that. Instead, once the all-clear is issued, resist the temptation to besiege popular trails and instead find solitude on the thousands of miles of lesser-used city, county, state and national trails we are so fortunate to have here in Arizona. 

Urban Wilderness

Urban Wilderness

Dreaming of Doe Mountain in Sedona, but staying home.

Fay Canyon in Flagstaff is on my post-crisis to-do list

Four blocks from my house, there’s a yard with the most gorgeous hollyhocks.  I must have walked my dogs past the little bungalow dozens of times on our 5 a.m. and 9 p.m. walks, but the hollyhocks never caught my attention.  A few homes down the street, chickens scratched the ground behind a non-descript brick home. African daisies bobbed among aloe vera plants in a weedy space between an alley and a median.  For the more than 20 years I’ve lived and walked in my Central Phoenix historic neighborhood, these details were lost among doggie poop pick up stops, rogue chihuahua encounters and occasional chats with neighbors who happened to be out and about at my fringy walking hours.  Most of the homes in my corner of Downtown are old, some coming up on 100 years in age, and encompass architectural styles that include, among others, Tudor, Hacienda, Territorial, Art Moderne, English bungalows and a few new-builds that made attempts at replicating the neighborhood’s historic vibe with varying degrees of success.

Dreaming of Bill Williams Mtn Trail, but not now.

It took the COVID-19 pandemic for me to fully appreciate the diversity and weathered beauty of where I live. 

Billy Creek in the White Mountains, can't wait to get back.

Prior to the new reality of social distancing, my weeks were defined by a full time, Monday through Friday job, a Saturday hike and Sundays doing house and yard work, and those dawn-dusk walks.  Things have temporarily changed.

Even though most hiking trails are open for business, I’ve made the decision to forfeit my weekend excursions to avoid adding to the headaches of our already overburdened healthcare workers and first responders.  Of course, missing my weekly trips to explore new trails and places across Arizona has been tough. I miss it terribly. It’s as if a part of my brain shut down.

The void is blacker than I ever expected. Hiking is a big part of my life and its abrupt removal from my weekly rhythm feels like losing a limb.

As a hiker, risk-taking is part of my world view. And yet, these are not normal times. Choices are no longer individual, they are collective. I’m not willing to put others risk for my personal satisfaction.

To keep my wanderlust under control, I’m hiking familiar sidewalks close to home, crossing streets when others approach and not worrying that I’ll get lost or seriously injured while doing so. It’s the same fresh air and mental health benefits I’d get on a trail. While sidewalks may not provide the challenge of trails, rediscovering the treasures of my urban wilderness has been enlightening.  Also, I made some really bad paintings from some of my old trail photos.

I'll Be Back. Later.

View from Crater Lake trail, Flagstaff

In all my decades of hiking, I've never been off the trails for more than a few days. Now, I'm going on my second week without stepping foot on a hiking trail. My choice to avoid trails for the time being is not only because of the ongoing pandemic and the unprecedented (and reckless) surge in trail visitation but because I do not want to strain our already overburdened first responders and healthcare workers. What if I fell, got a snake bite or suffered a medical crisis while hiking? That would pull resources (assuming they would even be available) from where they should be focused.   Also consider that when you travel to off-the-beaten trails, you will likely make rest stops, use public facilities, get fuel or pick up some supplies thus risking unnecessary exposure in small communities where resources and medical services  may be in short supply.

Little Elden Trail, Flagstaff

It’s true that many popular hiking destinations have not yet closed. But "open" and "okay" are not the same thing.
I am spending my time researching and planning hikes for when the crisis is over and looking forward to returning to Arizona’s high country and smelling the pines.
Please use good judgment and stay safe. 

Stay Home.

This week there's been a lot of media coverage about how hiking is the one last "safe" thing we can do in the new reality of social distancing. Predictably, popular trails are now experiencing heavy visitation. Unless you're out in the middle of nowhere, hiking is not a guaranteed safe space.  With this in mind, I will not be responding to requests asking for recommendation about less crowded trail destinations. My best advise is to stay home and spend time researching trails you will do once this crisis ends.

And it will end. Please don't take unnecessary risks. Staying off crowded trails for awhile isn't the end of the world.
Need some inspiration? I've been writing about under-the-radar hikes for years. Here's a compilation of a few of my favorites:
https://cities-west-publishing.square.site