From time to time, I’d like to write a few lines about my passion –  peakbagging. Not stories like the ones I usually write but rather, things more philosophical, such as the following.

I prefer to climb with a friend rather than alone, but it’s not always possible. Schedules clash, priorities are different. Most hardened peakbaggers are very individualistic, dedicated enough to their craft that they’ll head out alone if there’s nobody to accompany them. After all, the mountains are out there, and none of us are getting any younger. Many peakbaggers I know won’t hesitate to head into the mountains alone. Is that safe? Most folks would say no, but those of us who do it argue that we are the safest people we know. I’m pushing 70, and several of the most-driven peakbaggers I know are in their 60s, several are in their 70s, and even a few are in their 80s. As long as you’re not taking great risks, you can still do it safely. As I’m fond of saying, “There are old climbers, and there are bold climbers, but there are no old, bold climbers.” You can only push your luck so far. I’d like to think that if I confront something in the field that I really want to climb, but all kinds of alarm bells are going off, I’d have sense enough to come back with a friend who can lead the climb with proper gear. I’d also like to think that after my 54 years of climbing, I’m a more skilled climber than I ever was, yet also safer than ever.

As I write this, I’m sitting in the cab of my truck. The sun set hours ago, it’s pitch-black outside, and I’m miles from nowhere. I’m in a remote part of an obscure range, hemmed in by the mountains I love, stopped for the night. No cell phone coverage, so I truly am alone. Winter nights are long, much longer than I need for sleep, so to pass the time I’ll snack, listen to quiet music, study maps for tomorrow’s climbs. Depending on where I am, I may even have a campfire, but that’s more fun if I’m camped with someone else. If I’m close to the border, I’ll nix the fire – I don’t want smugglers to know my position – depending on their motives, it could draw them like moths to the flame.

Last year was pretty typical – I camped out for 35 nights. Most of it (30 nights) was pretty cushy – if you’re sleeping in your vehicle, you’ve got lots of stuff, all the comforts. Five of those nights were spent backpacking, with only the basics. As much as I hate carrying a lot of weight, there’s something very satisfying about having your whole world on your back – you stop whenever you please, you set your own agenda.

Today, as I climbed up a canyon, I thought about how many times I’d done just that – thousands, for sure. Same for the ridge I descended later – untold ridges of all types. They tend to all blur together, too many to remember, but it is funny how many climbing details I can recall. Some peaks, even 30 and 40 years ago, I could recite the entire climb to you today with amazing clarity (yet, sadly, can’t tell you what I had for supper last night).

There’s no specific way to move up a mountain, it just becomes instinctive after all these years. But it occurs to me that the things we climbers take for granted would prove quite terrifying to most people. We move easily through the mountains because we’ve done it so very many times, but take someone from the city and magically drop them into that same spot – it wouldn’t end well. Sure, we’ve got maps, GPS, compass, and we know how to use them, but it’s more than that.

Yesterday, I left my truck at first light, heading into totally unfamiliar territory. By the time I’d climbed 3 peaks, describing a large loop, I’d climbed cliffs, gone up canyons, followed ridges, negotiated all kinds of loose, slippery slopes. But as I say, it’s much more than that – it’s the route-finding, that’s what it boils down to. On a typical day like that, (I covered 9 miles), you’ll need to make hundreds of individual decisions. Things like which rock you’ll use as a handhold, where you’ll place your boot as you take each step (so you don’t fall and break your neck), whether you should stay on a ridge or bail if you think it’s going to get bad up ahead, whether you should choose one canyon over another. The list of choices is endless. Again, it’s all about the route-finding. Those who do it well have a great time. Those who do it poorly – well, those are the ones you hear about on the evening news.

I put a lot of time into preparing for each climb. Nowadays, none of them are spur-of-the-moment. I have a couple of map programs on my computer. One, Terrain Navigator, is loaded on to my hard drive, and covers all of Arizona. The other is an on-line site called Lists of John, my favorite resource for planning climbs. Both of these allow me to study the topography of the area in which I wish to climb. They help me decide if it might be better to stay low in a valley or up high on a ridge to approach a peak. I can use a measuring tool to get an accurate readout of distance and vertical gain involved as I trace a potential route. This lets me play with different options, and may strongly influence which route I might take. If I can’t get in to climb a mountain right away, I might go back to it repeatedly on the computer, studying it over and over. In some cases, I’ve studied an area for years before I ever put boots on the ground there. If it’s a stealth climb, there’s usually more planning involved. If there’s a long approach, or multiple peaks to be done in one big push, here in the desert there will be extra consideration about water – where to find it (if there’s any available at all out there) or how much you can carry on your back to get you through the whole trip. Water is life out here, but it sure is heavy.

I always print a hard copy of the map to use in the field, and I’ll keep that field copy with all the notes I make on it during the climb. Once back home, I’ll put the field copy in a folder for reference. Some of the field copies are interesting to look at – they may be stained from sweat or rain; they could be ripped from rugged use; they may have squished bugs on them; sometimes, even my own blood. Some folders are quite thick with paper copies of maps. A range I might climb in a lot, like the Sauceda Mountains, could amount to over a hundred pages. Looking back through those maps can feel like experiencing the climb all over again. My field maps are covered in notes about the route I took, animals I saw, interesting features along the way, any illegal activity (such as drug cartel lookout posts, trash left as they passed, or even smugglers themselves), encounters with law enforcement, road conditions, and of course climbing conditions of all types.

Driving is another important consideration. Here in the desert, once you leave pavement, you will probably need a high-clearance vehicle, and sometimes four-wheel-drive. Back roads out here are never repaired or improved, so they just get worse and worse forever. Eventually, they won’t be able to be driven any more. If I’m alone and I come to a really difficult-looking spot, I’ll get out and walk it first. There have been times when the road is so bad, it’s a difficult decision as to whether to try it or not. You may be able to drive down into a place but not be able to drive back out, and could be really rolling the dice if you decide to proceed. Making a decision like that can be easier if you are not alone. I’ve driven through spots which caused me no end of worry for days until I came back to try it again on the way out. Some of our desert roads are so rough that it’s hard to drive more than 5 or 10 miles per hour on level ground. There have even been times when walking is faster than driving. Suffering a mechanical breakdown when you are 30 miles from pavement can be fatal in 110-degree heat, so it’s vitally important to make sure your vehicle is in good operating condition.

Camping in the right place can take a bit of planning. My main criterion is a level spot. A nice sandy wash can work well, but any place that is flat does the trick. As the desert has become more dangerous, I prefer a spot that is secluded, one where my truck isn’t visible from afar. Try as I might to do that, I have been awoken in the dark of night by the soft passing of many feet only yards from my truck – a group of undocumented border-crossers heading north. I happened to be along their path, but they tried to continue without waking me. That’s an event that will make you sit up and take notice, I assure you.

Clothing is a very important consideration here. The Sonoran Desert is the world’s most vegetated, and many of our plants have sharp thorns.  In other places, climbers can get away with shorts and T-shirts, but here the smart money is on long pants and sleeves. I wear rugged pants and shirts, and always a hat with a wide brim and a large attached veil to protect my neck. I wear two pairs of socks year-round, both of which wick moisture away from my feet, and I haven’t had a blister in decades. My boots are the type with a higher top, with a thick sole, and made of heavy materials so nothing can puncture them. I always carry a thick pair of full-leather gloves for descents and serious bushwhacking. Sunglasses are a must, on every climb.

I never drink water while climbing, only an electrolyte replacement. Just drinking water in the desert is asking for trouble. I try to bring more than I think I’ll need, sometimes caching some on the way in to drink on the way back. Even though I’ve had some close calls with dehydration, and you’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now, sometimes I still don’t bring enough.

Food – my needs are simple, and I eat pretty much the same thing every day. For breakfast, I have Greek yogurt with some granola stirred in, to get a good shot of protein to get me going and to keep me going for a while. In the heat, you don’t eat much, but during the day I’ll eat energy bars if I get hungry. For supper, I’ll cook up a mess of pasta and eat my fill, washing it down with a cold beer and plenty else to drink. Throughout the evening, I’ll snack on whatever I have that tastes good, and drink more liquids. I’m not one for those high-tech goos and gels that are popular these days, but I’m sure they work just fine. Me, I prefer good old-fashioned food that tastes good.

The desert holds an amazing array of creatures that will bite or sting you if provoked. After scouring the internet, I came up with the following: 18 snakes; Gila monster; 3 spiders; 2 centipedes; 14 bees; 2 wasps; 3 hornets; 17 ants. These are all different species of creatures that live in my desert. When you’re climbing, you need to be on the lookout for them, because if you piss them off badly enough, any number of them can kill you. That’s another reason you need to carefully pick your camping spot, so these guys won’t climb on to you or inside your sleeping bag.

So those are a few thoughts I wanted to share with you about what I do – more to follow another time.