5.85 Miles Roundtrip

I haven’t done many hikes in the Superstitions, but Flatiron was by far one of the toughest hikes I’ve done, ever. And it was the most fun.

I did this hike almost three months ago in the first week of April when my good friend, Eric, was visiting from Seattle. I’m finally writing about it because there is a short window of opportunity to appreciate the outdoors in Arizona and I had to get in as many hikes as I could during March and April. So I have some catching up to do on the writing part.

Eric arrived to Phoenix late the night before, and by the time we got home and to bed, it was pretty late. We only got a few hours of sleep that night since we had to get up early to make the drive from north Peoria to the Superstitions to get a good early start in the hike. Even in early April, the temperatures can get very high very quickly. When hiking, it’s always good to get an early start.

We met up with his dad and sister on the way, then met Chris at Lost Dutchman State Park near the trailhead. For a local hike, the drive is long, and as you get closer to the state park you pass old ghost towns that look like movie sets and tourist traps. There is a park entrance fee of $7 once you get to the parking area to the trailheads. Not a bad price for what you’re going to experience.

Not sure what time we hit the trail, but it was still pretty early. The sun was just over the jagged crest of the Mountain. We found the Siphon Draw trailhead towards the south end of the parking area. The trail starts out pretty flat and meanders through the park past camping and RV spots, then it turns and gradually inclines towards the mountains heading southeast from the park boundaries into the Superstition Wilderness.

In the short distance of 2.92 miles to the top, there is a drastic elevation gain of 2,638 ft. A little over 1.5 miles in is when you really notice the incline. That’s when the trail really starts to climb to the top and you find yourself climbing hand over hand and throwing your legs over rocks and scrambling up. This is after the slide rock area. A large surface area of rock at a sharp incline. It hadn’t rained when we went, which made it a lot easier to climb because of the traction we were able to get. If it had rained, this would have been a slippery, dangerous mess and made for some hard climbing.

After that large, open bowl area, we climbed up and over large rocks at a steep incline. We came to a wall about seven feet tall that took some skill and effort getting over. After that, the trail evens out a little and winds around to safer steps towards the top. At that point, the trail switches back towards the Flatiron, aptly named because it literally looks like the bottom side of an iron if you turned it over.

Instead of taking the switchback towards the point of the iron, Chris, Eric, and I went off in the northerly direction to summit the peak of this mountain. To get to the top, we hiked through, climbed over, and squeezed between a series of hoodoo rock formations until we made it to the peak, and from there we explored a little. There were clusters of hoodoos crowning each point in the spiderweb of dips and hills that stretched out through the Superstitions. We could see glimpses of the Salt River and Canyon Lake to the north of us.

After that, we climbed back down through the hoodoos, back to the trail, and made our way up the flat open ground of the Flatiron. There’s an unobstructed, spectacular view from there. You can stand on the edge and look down at the trail that just kicked your ass on the way up. We hung out at the point for a bit, ate some trail mix and drank water until we decided to head back.

Can you see the trail down there?

You would think the hike down would be easier because all you have to do is follow the trail back. Well, gravity is a bitch. You have to put on the breaks so as not to tumble down. Step down from those rocks a little more carefully. The climb up was almost easier, but each direction provided it’s own challenges.

Chris was the first one down and back to the parking lot. I arrived shortly after him. We were waiting for Eric and his family for a while and we kept seeing other hikers we passed on the way down come out before them. We waited a while longer and then debated if one of us should go back to see if they were in trouble. Then we saw a woman with Eric coming towards the parking lot in a hurry off the trail and they started refilling empty water bottles at the spigot as Eric told us what happened.

There was a father and his daughter whom Eric’s father and sister had made friends with on the way up, and on the way down the man was suffering from heat exhaustion. So they all stayed behind with him while Eric ran back to get more water. Chris and the woman (a total stranger) drove back to the ranger station to get help while Eric refilled bottles and loaded them into my daypack.

Interesting thing we learned from all this: The State Park Rangers won’t send rescue to a person in danger unless that person requests it. They won’t send it just on the word of a Good Samaritan. It makes sense, because the person in need of help has to pay the bill. Why should he have to pay for a helicopter evac just because other people thought he should have one?

Anyway, we then tried to find a way to get a hold of them up there so that this guy could request help if he indeed needed it. Eric didn’t have his phone to call his dad who was with the guy. He didn’t know his dad’s number, or his sister’s so that Chris or I could call them. So we were at a stalemate. Eric went back with the water as we were just wasting time trying to play telephone. I waited at the trailhead for Chris to come back from the ranger station. Once Chris was back, I decided to go after Eric once I refilled my camelbak. On the way back up the trail, once I got to the gate that separates the park from the Superstitions, I noticed everybody walking back. There was a park ranger in a UTV who had drove up the track as far as she could, and on her way back she told us that everything was ok and they were all headed down. Apparently other hikers told her what was going on.

Made me feel better about humanity to see so many strangers jumping in to help out a guy in trouble. Desert heat is no joke, and so many people don’t take it seriously. It was late in the day at this point, probably about 4 or 5 o’clock, and we had been out in the sun this whole time. Anyway, in the end, everyone was ok. The guy just needed a rest. Eric’s dad had gave him a wet cloth to put over his head and that helped him recover fairly quickly.

In the end, we all went to Arizona Wilderness for some eats and hipster beer, and the guy and his little girl joined us. It all turned out to be quite the adventure.

The Crack at Wet Beaver Creek

Another Saturday and another adventure. Someone I know suggested I hike Beaver Creek with Eko, so he could get his paws wet. I tried looking up Beaver Creek trails, and something called The Crack came up. Of course I had to seek it out. I couldn’t pass up something called The Crack at Wet Beaver Creek.

All joking aside, this was actually a pretty good hike. It was approximately 7 miles in and out via the Bell Trail #13. There is very little tree coverage to provide shade along this trail that runs parallel to Wet Beaver Creek. Eko and I got there and started hiking about 11:30, so it was a sunny and hot hike in. I wore a good hat and applied thick amounts of sunscreen before hitting the trail, but poor Eko had a hard time out there. Luckily, there are little offshoot trails that lead down to the creek along the way, where there are thick coverage of Cottonwoods and cool water.

You start out at about 3870 feet in elevation and gradually climb up. At about 2.5 miles in, you hit a steep grade and peak at about 4190 feet, then descend down to the creek bed. I found this to be a very easy hike and did it in my Keens. If you’re not much of a hiker, this might be difficult for you. The only thing I found difficult was the exposure to the Sun, and with that, I was mostly worried about Eko.

It took us about two hours to get down to the creek proper that leads to The Crack. It was slow going with Eko after having to stop for frequent water breaks. If you do this hike, bring plenty of water, especially if you have a dog. He drank the majority of our water supply. I think I sipped on about half a liter the whole time, but he easily drank two liters. That wasn’t including whatever he lapped out of the creek.

At the Y where the trail branches off to Weir Trail, I tried taking Eko down one of the offshoot trails down to the creek. One could definitely get down to the creek this way, but not Eko. There was a ledge I was able to scramble down approximately six feet high. I tried to grab him so I could lower him down, but he wasn’t having any of that. So I climbed back up and we walked back to Bell Trail. Once we got back to the Y, I saw a deer on the hillside near the trail, a little White Tail. It was gray and scrawny. Probably a fawn. Eko didn’t see it, but was walking in its direction and scared it away. I was able to snap a few pictures.

The deer is right above the center post.

Once we got to the creek bed the trail circled down and around this large, flat slab of red sandstone high over the edge of the creek. We followed the path around it to a sandy patch where there was smooth access to the water. Eko stood at the edge and drank. It was clean and clear and I only saw algae in a few places and kept him from drinking there. I walked out into the water and it felt pretty much amazing on my hot, dusty feet. Once he saw I could walk out in the water, he followed, and from then on was good with going in and out of the water.

There were so many people down there, and all along the trail. On the way in I passed countless amounts of people who were on their way out. Where we stopped and were walking around in the cold creek wasn’t The Crack, so I asked one of the many people I kept seeing coming from down the creek. She told me a little further up was The Crack and that’s where all the people were jumping from the rocks. Where she pointed was up the creek, past large river rocks and a thick patch of Cottonwoods. I could see a few people in brightly colored swim shorts through the trees.

I took pictures, ate trail mix, and drank water before we moved down to The Crack. There was a dry path on the other side of the large, flat slab of stone, but the drop down was too high for Eko. So we took the wet path around the slab through the creek. The water level came up just above my knees at its deepest. Eko had to get a little more wet than he wanted because the water came up to his neck. For a Lab, he really doesn’t like water. Luckily for him, it was just a short walk through the water. We then walked over and around the large river rocks and through the Cottonwoods to The Crack.


Through the creek, around the rock, and through the trees, the Wet Beaver Crack you will see.

The Crack is a deep swimming hole surrounded by sheer red cliffs and shelves of overhanging rocks where people were jumping off into the cold water. There was a younger couple there with a German Shepherd puppy. I asked if it was ok if Eko met him, and they were cool with it. Eko sniffed at him for a little bit, then got bored and walked out into the water.


The Crack

We hung out at The Crack for a bit. I took pictures and Eko wandered around to all of the people getting attention. To get to the top of the shelves where people were jumping from, you had to climb up these tall rock steps. I got up the first one and it was angled enough that Eko could scramble up to me. But the second one was too high for him to climb so I lifted him up there. After that he was ok to climb the rest of the way.

Once up there, you can walk around to the other side of “the crack”, the narrow point in the creek between the walls. There were even more people on that side. They had folding chairs and were laying out on beach towels and had a radio playing. Way too much fun for my liking. I want solitude as much as possible. Plus, all these strangers are now in my scenic pictures.

A view of The Crack from the other side.

After exploring for a little bit up there I decided to get back so I could get some food. Eko and I climbed down, I retrieved our stuff at the bottom, and we headed out. The hike out was pretty much uneventful. Saw a lot of big groups of college aged kids going in as we were leaving. Eko would get ahead of me and start following other groups of people who were ahead of us. Then he’d stop and look back and come back to me. He did that a few times.

Eko following some strangers.

A little less than a mile from the parking lot, we took a detour down one of the little trails leading to the creek. I’m glad we did because it was awesome. The water was clean and clear and flowing over these long, flat, red rocks that stretched across the width of the creek. It was beautiful. They cascaded down over three stages. Eko was walking through the water, following along with me as we explored and took pictures. There were a few deep spots he wasn’t expecting and fell in up to his neck. He didn’t like that very much.

After that, we got back onto Trail 13 and made it back to the car. We were about 15 minutes away from Sedona so I looked up a place where I could get a burger and a beer and that was also dog friendly. I ended up going to Spoke and Wheel, which is in the same upscale complex as Oak Creek Brewery. Eko and I had dinner on the patio there, where, again, he was very popular and the other patrons wanted to come say hi to him. I had the cheeseburger and a Lumberyard Hefeweizen, and got just a plain burger patty for Eko. Then we headed home.

Overall, it was a pretty good hike. Not very difficult, but still a good stretch to get exercise and enjoy the beautiful scenery. Poor Eko slept the whole way home, and all through the night, he was so tired. His paws are a little beat up and he’s limping a bit, but I’m glad I took him. He’s a good hiking buddy.

Salt River Canyon Day Trip

Last week I tried going to Cibecue Falls. I didn’t know anything about it except that it looked amazing from a picture I saw on instagram. I looked up one blog about it from a site called Outbound Collective. It looked amazing. People said it was amazing. So I put it in Google Maps and drove there. Well, I should have done a little more research on it, because it’s actually on the Apache Indian Reservation, and they require you have a permit to hike to the site. That permit is $30. Cash or check. Of course I didn’t have a check because I’m not 70 years old, and I didn’t have any cash on me. So I drove three hours just to turn around and go back to Globe.

Seriously, $30 a person? Kind of steep and a bit ridiculous. I probably would have paid it if I had the cash on me. Afterall, I just drove three hours specifically to see this waterfall. I reread the blog on Outbound Collective, and whoever wrote it failed to say anything about needing a permit, except at the end where there is a link to get one online, which is broken. I didn’t see it the first time anyway. But rereading it, I see that a lot of people left comments about getting a permit, and they said their permits were only $15. Which was six months ago. Why the drastic increase?

I digress.

I had stopped at the Salt River Canyon Rest stop there before you turn off the 60 to the dirt road to the falls. It has some wonderful views of the Salt River Canyon and the two parallel bridges that cross over it. One of the bridges is decommissioned. You can walk over it, but can’t drive. I had actually been here when I was about 11 years old on the way back from a camping trip in the White Mountains with an old childhood friend. His dad pulled over at the rest stop and my friend and I climbed down the stairs to the river and explored.

By that time it was noon. I figured, maybe I could get back to Globe and get some cash and then come back, hike the two miles to the falls, hang out for a bit, and head home. Well, on the way back to Globe, I pulled over to let Eko out because he was whining. He did his business, and then I gave him water, of which he drank quite a bit. So, now I needed to get cash, and more water. Not a problem. So we jump back in the Jeep and drive back to Globe.

Looking down on Salt River Canyon from a pullout.

The drive was longer than expected, and by the time I got back to Globe, I needed more fuel. So I refilled, bought some water at the gas station, and tried to get cash back. They don’t do none of that here fancy cash backs in these parts. But they did have an ATM. I could have used the ATM, but then I had a great idea of driving further into town and finding the Safeway so I wouldn’t have to pay the ATM fee. That shouldn’t take too long, right?

I should have just paid the ATM fee, because apparently, in the Safeway at Globe, the employees don’t know how to cashier. Or suspend a transaction after their card reader freezes. Or get someone who knows how to fix it. Or give cash back. I had to go to the customer service desk and catch the lady just before she was going on break and I bought a bag of jerky and got my cash back. Yee Hah!

After all of that, it was almost 2 o’clock. By the time I would have made it back to the trailhead and down to the falls, I would only be able to spend maybe two hours there before I had to leave to get back to the Jeep before dark. So halfway there, along the stretch that parallels the Old Highway 60, I saw a turnoff to a dirt road and decided I should just take it and do some exploring. I only saw signs that said 304, but it was Chrysatile Mine Road.

I drove down Chrysatile Mine Road for a while and eventually pulled off the dirt road and parked. I let Eko out, who was having anxiety from all of this new stuff, and took some pics. I left the car there and hiked down the hill until the road came to a stop at a gate. It was access to private property. Left from the road was a trail that looked like it it would go down into a deep draw that had access to what must have been the Chrysatile mining shafts, but after about 30 yards, it was fenced off.

We hiked back up to the Jeep. I ate a banana and a PB&J sandwich, then we drove back up the road from where we came. I turned off another side road and followed it along the edge of the mountain. It was a very narrow road and I thought, if another car comes up this way, we’re going to be in trouble. Sure enough, another car came up the road. There was a wall of mountain to my left and a sharp drop to death to my right, but I wasn’t going in reverse all the way back up this hill. Nothing bad happened. We squeezed by each other, but it was enough to get the adrenaline going.

I reached the bottom of the hill and crossed a dry creek bed that was pretty gnarly. I then took a sharp left and followed the road until it came to an end at a grassy camp site. Next to the campsite was the creek bed. It was solid rock with a few puddles of stagnant water in its recesses, and the whole scene was walled in by the rock wall of the mountain I just descended.

I parked the Jeep near the campsite and let Eko out. We then walked further past the campsite into the woods. The Jeep trail grew more faint the further in we walked. Eko ran back and forth sniffing at all the new things he discovered, and peed on them. I came across a very old, rusted out car door riddled with bullet holes. A little further ahead of me was the rest of the old car. Not sure the year, make and model, but maybe something from the late 40s/early 50s. It’s motor was gone, along with the doors and windows. The insides rotted out or stripped away. It was also riddled with bullet holes and the roof was crushed in with rocks. Kind of cool to find out in the wilderness.

Anyone know what car this is by any chance?

We explored this area a bit longer, then we returned to the Jeep and headed out. As I got to the highway 60, I turned left and headed up toward Salt River Canyon again. I wanted to get some pictures of the abandoned Seneca Lake Trading Post before the sun went down. Further up the 60, within the Reservation boundaries, is the remnants of a lake resort business venture gone belly up. It was really spooky looking, so I had to see it.

When you first drive in, there is what used to be a gas station near the highway. The lamp posts are still there, but the building is covered in grafitti, the windows and doors are gone, and trash and debris cover the floor. I drove past it and further onto the property. The roads around the site are rustic at this point, grown over with vegetation and washed away, making for a slow, bumpy ride. There were sleeping cots underneath some trees and it almost looked like there might have been people squatting in what was left of the few buildings out there.

The old Seneca Lake gas station.

I drove slowly towards the lake when I saw a blue, Chevy truck heading towards me. It was slowly following me for a minute, so I pulled aside and turned around to leave not knowing if this was private property, or if the Reservation didn’t want trespassers. As I passed the truck, there was a Native woman driving and she smiled at me as she passed and there were a group of kids sitting in the bed. They called out “Puppy” when they saw Eko and were happy to see him. They were just heading to the lake. I continued on towards the rest of the dilapidated buildings and circled the property and took some pictures.

I didn’t get out of the car to explore any of these old buildings. They were too creepy, and I didn’t want Eko getting hurt on any broken glass or debris. I just snapped the photos from my car and then we left.

The drive home was uneventful. I made a quick stop in Miami to take a picture of a politically charged statement someone painted on the side of their building. I just found it amusing that someone felt so strongly this way, they took the time to paint this, but once she lost, they just left it their anyway. Anything to spruce up Miami, I guess. Place looked like it never recovered from the Great Depression. The drive between Miami and Superior is beautiful, however. It’s a National Scenic drive of spires of red rocks and canyons. Very beautiful.

Kind of an odd day full of surprises. You have your heart set on one thing and your day going one way, and it throws you a curve ball and it still ends up being eventful.

Mt. Baldy Overnight Hike

Last weekend I hiked up Mt. Baldy with a group of four: my friend, Chris, my brother, Jim, and Jim’s friend, Scott, and his son, Ryan. Mt. Baldy is the second highest mountain in Arizona at an elevation of 11,424. However, the summit is within the boundaries of the White Mountain Apache Reservation and is off limits unless you have permission to access it. We did not have that permission, so we went as high as the trail would allow, where East Baldy Trail #95 connects to West Baldy Trail #94 at about 11,175 feet of elevation.

I drove up with Chris Friday night after work to the Big Lake campground. We arrived about ten o’clock at night and ended up sleeping in the SUV. Next morning, we woke early and met with the rest of our group and headed to the East Baldy Trail 95 trailhead after we left two shuttle vehicles at the West Baldy Trail 94 trailhead. There is a three mile connector trail, #96, between each trailhead that makes the whole loop approximately 17 miles, but we decided on foregoing the connector trail as it is an uneventful walk through the woods.

We started up East Baldy 95 which takes you in and out of a tree line along a pleasant green meadow and gradually inclines into thicker woods and brings you through some very impressive granite rock spires and formations that I was surprised to see in this area of Arizona. The trail winds up through these rock giants and up the mountain until you find yourself on top of a range of these boulders that stretches a good portion of the mountaintop. From up here you get a great view of the surrounding land and Big Lake without the obstruction of any trees in the way.

At this point, approximately four miles in, my brother decided he would turn back due to headaches, shortness of breath, and chest pains as he did not want to get too far in and become an emergency situation. Sad to see him go, but understandable that he should play it safe, we parted ways. Two of our party were already far ahead of us, but it didn’t take Scott and I long to catch up with them.

Once we passed through the stretch of boulders, the path was obstructed with frequent downed logs. We had to climb over and under and around them for most of the remaining trail. We caught up to Chris and Ryan and carried on. Shortly after, we came upon a meadow of tall, green grass on top of the mountain of thick woods and found pieces of a fuselage from an old military plane (Beech AT-11) that crashed there in 1943. Not far after that, we reached trail 94.

The highest point we could go without violating Reservation boundaries was the junction of 94 and 95. If you had permission from the White Mountain Apache Reservation, you could follow signs south that would take you to the true peak. However, we continued onto East Baldy 94. At that point we had hiked approximately six miles and we had plenty of daylight ahead of us. From the boulder area where we parted with Jim to this point, the elevation grade was very low, so we were able to cover more ground quickly. Since it was all downhill from that intersection on (an intense decline on the trail), we kept up with that pace, and probably could have gone faster if it weren’t for the downed trees creating obstacles.

Since we were on a mountainside for most of the descent on 94, there was no where we could have pitched a tent for the night due to lack of flat ground and so many fallen trees. And with plenty of daylight still, we kept going and eventually met with the Little Colorado. This is where the land began to even out and we started looking for a good camp spot. We eventually found one in a nice little clearing that had soft ground and good tree coverage. At that point, we had hiked about 11 miles. We pitched our tents, made dinner, and settled down for the night.

The next morning, we spotted a coyote traipsing across the hillside down the trail from us as we drank coffee and made our breakfast. Ryan and Scott packed up and headed out before me and Chris. We said our goodbyes, finished breakfast, then packed up and headed out about a half hour after them.

The rest of the hike out was relaxing and we enjoyed the scenery as we paralleled the Little Colorado for the last three miles. At the end of the trail we met up with Jim and exchanged accounts of what each of us did after we parted. We then went back to Big Lake, rented a boat, and fished for about four hours.

More accurately, I sat in a boat getting sunburned with a string floating in the water. I caught nothing, maybe a few taunting hits at my lure, Chris had a few bites, and Jim came out victorious with two fish, each about seven inches long. But it was a great way to end a great hike.



Sad Fat Dragon With No Friends Con

Or, Phoenix Comic Con 2017

Or, Sad Fat Asshole with No Friends Who Ruined An Entire Convention Con

Warning: This is just going to be a long rant. Enjoy!

This year’s Phoenix Comic Con kind of sucked a fat one. The first dead giveaway that this con was going to be lackluster was the announcement of their big guest, Dick Van Dyke!

Seriously? Dick Van Dyke?

I mean, sure. Yeah. Mary Poppins was all right. His old TV show where he would fall on the coffee table was amusing. But a guest at comic con? Pass.

Matt Murdock, or whoever plays him, cancelled his appearance. That wasn’t a good sign. At least the Green Ranger was there, guys! Not that pussy, the Red Ranger, but the Green fuckin’ Ranger!

I don’t really care about any of those people anyway. You wait in line for hours just to maybe speak briefly with these pseudo celebrities and get them to pretend they care you’re a fan and scribble on whatever you brought to them for some ridiculous amount of cash, and that’s it. And that’s all these cons are, really. Lines. Waiting In Lines Con. You rush to wait in line to get your pass. Then you rush to wait in line to get inside the convention center. Then you rush to wait in line to see some celebrity/artist/writer. And that’s not even the basic stuff, like waiting in line to use the bathroom, or use the escalator, or grab a bite to eat at the food truck.

We all love it though, we attendees. We wait all year and save up some spending cash to go see our favorite artists/writers/celebrities, and we put up with the crowds and the lines and the security to hang out with our best friends to people-watch and buy some cool shit. That’s why it sucks when a sad, fat asshole ruins it for everybody. Some psychopathic, pathetic piece of shit has to say he’s the Punisher and bring real firearms, knives, and throwing stars to the con claiming he must kill the Green Ranger and bad police officers on day 1 of the con, thus setting in motion a pretty inconvenient and annoying, and almost infuriating weekend. (The details of that last sentence may be skewed, depending on which source I got them from, because they were all different. For example; ABC said he claimed to be Rambo, other sources said Punisher. Some said he brought swords, others knives. Some say he’s 30 years old, others 29. Yay, journalism!)

I guess this little incident with the sad, fat, asshole, psychopath, douchebag happened earlier that afternoon, approximately an hour or so before I got there. I was wearing a backpack and was able to walk right into the convention center. No one stopped me and asked to check my bag. At previous cons, there was always someone checking at the doors. This time, no one. I even walked up to a table where two of the convention security run by Contemporary Services Corporation were standing and asked them for directions where to get my badge. They answered my questions, but did not check my bag. Instead they were busy pointing and amused by all the costumed folk. Good thing that weirdo’s friend notified the police about his intentions and they were able to apprehend him without incident, because CSC would have been like, “Look at that sad, fat, weirdo! His guns look so real!” (You might think I’m being mean, but look at this fucking guy.)

Well, they made up for it the next day. Came back with a vengeance, they did. No props! Period! Convention Director, Matt Solberg, Phoenix PD, and CSC had a knee-jerk reaction of banning all costume props from Comic Con.

All. Costume. Props. From. Comic. Con.

“Hey, adorable 6-year-old Jedi, get that lightsaber out of here!”

“Hey, 40-something grown-ass man dressed as a Stormtrooper, get that blaster out of here!”

“Hey, teenage Anime something, get that… whatever it is… What is that? What are you!”

A bit of an overreaction, really, and the initial result was having to wait up to 3 hours in security lines to get in, and a whole bunch of upset attendees. Probably a whole bunch of people who just went home for the weekend, and probably won’t come back next year. Not to mention, all the vendors in the exhibitor hall who sell all that crap to people had to jump through some extra precautionary measure hoops and probably lost business. One vendor, Ultra Sabers, left the convention. Because, as security knows, any dangerous person’s first weapon of choice is a plastic light saber.

I’ll be curious to see what the final number of attendees were this year compared to previous years. There were definitely far fewer people this time around. Which was kind of nice, really. Gave you some elbow room, compared to previous years where you were packed in like sardines and breathed in the vaporized sweat, body odor, and farts of tens of thousands of nerds. Let that permeate.

At one point, a CSC security guy was circling me and following me as I was minding my own goddamn business. He followed me to the food court area and became very anxious as I set my backpack down on the table and opened it. I just shook my head at him as I produced a carrying case and put a piece of artwork away. I mean, I know my beard may resemble someone from ISIS, but good guys have beards too. Ulysses S. Grant. John Muir. Early Jimmy Page. Gandalf. Zeus.

I am so sick of being profiled because of my sexy ass beard.

It wasn’t as bad as I’m bitching about. I did get to meet author Timothy Zahn again and he signed my new copy of Thrawn. Also spoke with author Kevin J. Anderson after I went to his panel. Very interesting hearing him talk about how he became a writer. Got my Generation X #1 signed by artist Chris Bachalo, which I had to wait in line for a very long time! And more importantly, I had a lot of fun hanging out with my friends and family and seeing all the glory of the nerds.

Despite the weekend setting off on a very awkward note, and there being extremely awkward security measures, attendees took it in stride and made the most of it. Stormtroopers carried baguettes instead of blasters. Westworld cowboys carried bananas instead of six-shooters. Wolverines carried nothing instead of claws. And one very brave man took it upon himself to dress as an extremely drug addicted and stoned towel to put smiles back on the sad faces of all attendees.

Here’s a bunch of pictures of my friend Chris dressed as Towelie from South Park, and some other malarkey from the con.

Sycamore Canyon: Just a Taste

I recently took the time to go up to Sycamore Canyon, which I’ve been wanting to do since I’ve heard great things about it. I was not disappointed, and I didn’t even hike that much of the lush canyon. Due to time constraints, we only hiked approximately 2.5 miles (in and out) to Summers Spring of Parsons Trail, and just getting a glimpse of that little bit has made me want to go back and hike the full length of the 11-something miles.

Just north of Cottonwood and Clarkdale, the trailhead is accessible from Forest Road 131 in the Verde Valley. You will need a vehicle with some ground clearance for this road. All wheel or 4 wheel drive isn’t a must, but helpful.

We caught great weather, and it was nice and green along the creek at the bottom of the canyon. There wasn’t much strenuous climbing over obstacles, or a lot of up and down, but you will have to cross the creek at various points.

It was so much fun, and I can’t wait to go back for the rest.

From Song of the Broad-Axe

What is your money-making now? what can it do now?
What is your respectability now?
What is your theology, tuition, society, traditions, statute-books now?
Where are your jibes of being now?
Where are your cavils about the soul now?

– Walt Whitman