Please be sure to read the prequel to this story, entitled Sauceda Six-Pack, before you read this follow-up

By mid-afternoon, I had packed up and driven away from my campsite at road’s end. Because I was now familiar with all of the tricky spots, my journey out went much more quickly than that in. Along the stretch of road that wasn’t shown on the map, as I headed north, a couple of things caught my eye. The first was a huge golden eagle soaring overhead. Although I don’t see them but a few times each year, these magnificent birds live throughout the Sonoran Desert. The second was more of a surprise – a large buck ran across the road in front of me, then up a hill. I took this photo of him on the crest.

Some of you may find it odd that deer live here in the desert, where for months daytime temps exceed 100 degrees, but they have adapted well and are plentiful. This guy was a real beauty. He stared at me for a minute before moving on. Not long after seeing him, I reached the point I told you about yesterday, where the road shown on the map ended and disappeared into the broad, sandy wash. Without going into details, let’s just say that I found a place to camp that was to die for.

It was still pretty early, maybe only four o’clock, which gave me plenty of time to set out my lawn chair in the shade and appreciate where I was. The sky was the clearest blue, with no breeze and 75 degrees. At the risk of sounding cliché, it was as fine a day as I’ve ever known – the beauty of the setting staggered me, brought tears to my eyes. How could I be so lucky to have been given the opportunity to experience this?

After a while, I couldn’t stand it any longer – I had to share it with someone. Firing up my not-so-smart phone, I was shocked to see that I had connectivity. I rang my climbing partner Mark, the friend who had done the recent Aguila Mountains trip with me (see “The Eagle Has Landed” on this website under Stories). He answered, and I gushed about what I was experiencing. Mark, no stranger to the Saucedas, knew exactly how I felt and shared my joy.

After signing off, my usual supper of noodles was soon prepared. I prefer a good feed of carbohydrates so I have the energy I’ll need for the next day’s climbing. As the daylight faded, I explored the area around my campsite. This valley was untouched, and I’d been looking forward with anticipation to climbing here. The elephant in the room was a small peak north of camp. Six months earlier, while climbing other peaks with Andy, he had pointed this one out to me, saying that he thought it could well be technical in nature, and if that were the case, he’d come back in with me and lead it. When I told Mark about it, he urged caution and said maybe I should wait and try it with a partner. From camp, it didn’t appear easy, but only time would tell.

The next morning, I arose an hour later than the previous day (waking up too early had forced me to sit in the cab of my truck for an hour waiting for daylight’s arrival), but still had plenty of time to eat and load everything into my vehicle and lock it. There were three peaks on the agenda for today, and none appeared climbed. My thinking was I’d leave the iffy one for last, so I set out east across the desert floor and soon arrived at Peak 2340. It was an easy ascent by its southwest side, and when I reached the summit I could see right away that no one had stood there before me. It’s always enjoyable leaving a register and surveying the desert from on high.

Okay, one down, two to go. I dropped down the north side to a prominent wash and followed it for a while, then headed cross-country over to the base of Peak 2368. This one had a steep southwest side which seemed the easiest way to the top.

Along the way, in the wash, I found this shell of a desert tortoise.

I slowly climbed up the loose slope and, at 10:00 AM, made the summit. Once again, nobody had been there, so I left my mark. The morning’s chill had vanished, the day warming nicely as I slid down through the talus slopes that covered much of the steep mountainside. This put me in a saddle at the base of my third and final peak of the day.

It was crunch time. Within a very few minutes, I’d know if this steep peak was gonna go or not. It was an easy 200-foot climb to the base of the steep summit block. There I was, no more excuses. I’ve said before that no matter how gnarly a climb may look, it’s foolish to make any decisions until you’ve got your nose right up to the rock – only then can you see what’s going on. Well, there I was and I didn’t much like what I was seeing. I was on the northeast corner, and it looked questionable. It was steep, no doubt rotten and there was much of the route I couldn’t see at all. Hopefully there’s a Plan B, something else that looks easier. Fingers crossed, I started to circumnavigate the summit. It was one big block of crumbling rock, vertical or overhanging everywhere I went. There was a possible route on the northwest side, which I soon dismissed as being too dangerous for me as a solo climber. That quickly brought me back to my starting point on the northeast corner. Although I wasn’t thrilled by the prospect, I knew it was time to give it an honest try or go home. Here’s what happened next.

The start was 10 feet of vertical rock of so-so quality. Several of the holds pulled loose in my hands and I tossed them to the ground. That left me with more stable rock with reasonably good holds, allowing me to get to the top of that stretch with no problem. Once up that first part, it was easy scrambling up another 20 feet, where the face forced me to the left.

There, I had to traverse left on pretty thin holds with a lot of exposure to get on to easier ground. The next part was straight up for a good bit, but partway up that stretch, I came to a spot where some bush was growing right in my way. This thing was nasty, with really sharp thorns (a lot of desert plants are sharp, but this one was unreal). I tried to push it aside with bare hands but couldn’t do it. When climbing on rock, I never wear gloves because I want to feel every nuance in the rock, to use the tiniest holds (which is impossible while wearing leather gloves). So now, I was forced to stop on a very dicey piece of rock, oh-so-carefully take off my pack with one hand while delicately balancing, and take out my gloves and put them on. Only then could I push the sharp branches down and clamber through. That done, I found myself face-to-face with the most feared denizen of the Sonoran Desert, a teddy-bear cholla cactus. Gingerly, I made my way around that obstacle and then breathed a sigh of relief.

It was an easy scramble up another 20 feet – I was taking it one step at a time – where I came up against the next obstacle. I stood in a little alcove (flat, with good footing) and saw an overhang in front of me. I tested the rock and the holds seemed pretty solid. Only twice before had I climbed anything overhanging, both times with Andy leading a roped climb. This time, it wasn’t high and there was no exposure, so I was game to give it a try. The holds were solid and I pulled up over it quickly, surprising myself in the process – the whole thing wasn’t more than 8 feet high. Another easy scramble above that took me to a very cool spot, the only feature on the mountain visible from miles away.

This natural window in the rock is about 10 feet tall, and through it you can see steeply down to the desert floor 400 feet below. I knew I must be getting mighty close to the top. Over to the right, the only way I could go, was another short scramble up some Class 3 rock, and I was almost there. One thing was left to do – a short walk across a narrow (2-to-3-foot wide) rock bridge, which turned out to be the top of the arch! The exposure on both sides was breath-taking, and there was a teddy-bear cholla in the middle of the bridge. Damn TBCs!! Well, I’m sitting here writing this, so things must have all worked out okay. I tiptoed across and walked on to the summit of Peak 2186.

I guarantee you no-one else had ever had set foot on that one. It was a relief to have made it up in one piece, and I was mighty glad it was done. In the summit cairn, I left a big-ass glass jar as a register and took a few photos. At least this was one I wouldn’t have to bother Andy to lead. After a short stay and photos, I carefully walked back across the bridge to easier ground and started the descent. When I reached the overhang, rather than try to downclimb the whole thing, I clung to it like a spider and jumped off of the last five feet. Wearing gloves, I more easily passed the thorny bush, continued down and did the traverse, then downclimbed the vertical start of the climb. Terra firma – yay! It was a short walk down the mountain slope to a wide, sandy wash which I followed to my truck. Here’s a look back up at the summit block. My route was well over on the right side.

It was a little after noon, and I was done. This valley had yielded three unclimbed peaks, and had proven free of trash from border-crossers. That was significant enough, but an added bonus was the fact that it was scenically beautiful. After changing out of my sweat-soaked clothes, I brought into the cab of the truck the items I like to have handy (maps, GPS, camera, food, drink) and started the drive out. In a short while, I passed the mysterious well, then continued on the easier road towards the highway. As I drove, radio on, filling my face with a snack, something remarkable happened. Without any warning, something moved across the road in front of me. I was so startled that, before I could turn on my camera, it was gone. Three Sonoran pronghorn antelope had bounded across the road from north to south. I was in a state of disbelief – these animals are highly endangered, so much so that many desert travelers will never see one. Only once, 2 years before, had I seen one – in the southern end of the Granite Mountains, and that was at some distance. Today, 3 of them had been within a hundred feet of me. Before I could appreciate what had happened, they had disappeared in the distance.

From the cab of my truck, I looked south and, lo and behold, there they were – a good quarter of a mile away, but stopped and looking back at me. They are, sometimes to their own detriment, extremely curious creatures. I crept the truck forward a bit to get a better view for taking photos, and that didn’t seem to alarm them. They just stared. My photos are hand-held, maximum telephotos, so I apologize for the poor quality. One of the three was wearing some kind of a white collar and a big red ear tag.

Here’s a link if you’d like to learn more about these rare creatures. After 15 minutes, they were still staring at me. I knew that if I started walking towards them, they’d run away, so I drove away slowly and left them in peace. This was right up there with my best moments ever in my 30 years of climbing in the desert. Slowly coming down from my natural high, I drove the rest of the way to the highway and then home. What an amazing 48 hours – 6 peaks, 4 of them first ascents, some exciting wildlife, and all in an untouched area of desert. It’s impossible to get too much of this.

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