The Prickly Pear Chronicles

 

12-18-2020: Javelina yourself a very merry Christmas.

It was on the breezy side and in the low 40's when I threw Jack's saddle on and cinched him up. If the temperature in Idaho on a late December day was anywhere near 40, that would be considered an Idaho mandate to get your butt in the saddle. One thing about the weather in Arizona; when it dips down into the freezing temps, it's rarely stays that way for long. As soon as the sun comes out...wind or not, it warms up quickly. As long as my ears and neck are covered, I'm good.

My Garmin indicated a geocache 2.7 miles toward Eagle Eye rd. Most cache's are set along roads from a vehicle. I didn't have to follow the track long to figure out this one was no different. The cache was located right on Eagle Eye road closer to town than I wanted to take my horse and dog. If the Coyote Den someday puts in a hitching post for me, that will be a different story. The Coyote gave up their liquor licenses some years back. That's too bad. I think a rustic little bar out in the middle of nowhere that catered to the horseback crowd would be a money making machine.

Lacking a hitching post and fireball at the Coyote Den meant setting our sites in a different direction. I decided to ride through the mountain pass heading east. The trail takes you through a wire gate and up toward Eagle Eye Rd. Patty D. and I rode up this way last year. I kept my eye out for the desert tortoise we spotted. Surely he'd made it across the road by now.

The tortoise was not to be seen. Unfortunately, the hobo camp we encountered, was. Blankets, a tattered mattress, broken bottles and other debris scattered about in near the same condition as we found it a year ago. Right down to the purple scrubber hanging from the palo verde tree. The children's toys were gone and of course, the Bible Patty and I picked up last year. It now has a home in my LQ.

You don't really expect to run into other people out here. Aguila and the surrounding area is not a popular area for snowbirds. Most of the equine activity is isolated to roping arenas and the like. The sound of a side-by-side coming from the south surprised me. Three, clean cut, nondescript men in car-hart vests waved as they veered off in the opposite direction as I was going. I waved back and chuckled at my too-vivid imagination: I wonder if Jeffrey Dahmer had brothers? It's seldom the “Pa's and Boy's” of the world you have to look out for. It's the clean cut, boy next door 'nice guys' that end up with serial killer stamped to their resume. I really...really need to stop watching so much television.

I considered heading toward the old sheep camp we found last year. Several stone ruins remain of a few buildings and corrals. I'd like to see it again, but I was on the wrong side of the fence and didn't have enough daylight to backtrack to the gate. Instead, Jack, Hank and I crossed Eagle Eye Rd. and followed a 2 track behind Eagle Eye Mountain.

Arizona, at least this part, is not immune from non-discretionary dumping. Seems anywhere that is easily accessible from a main road is fair game. Washer machines, mattresses, old carpet, furniture and toys outgrown by their children deface the beautiful desert landscape. Makes me sick...angry actually. A few pickup trucks with utility trailers and a handful of people who give a damn could have this cleaned up in a day. I think it's the “give a damn” that is in short order.

Once you get off the main track where vehicles can't go, the litter thins out and eventually disappears. We followed a trail that emptied into a narrow wash. Thick walls of mesquite closed us in – Jack ducked his head and plowed through as thorns scratched at my arms. My lip is still swollen from a previous encounter with mesquite thorns. It wasn't good for Jake Spoon and it isn't good for me! Time to turn for home.

We were about 2 tenths of a mile from the wire gate. Hank stopped dead in his tracks, ears alert. Jack's head shot up and nostrils flared. He snorted and whirled. First thing I thought of was wild burrows. I tried to steady Jack while searching in the direction he and Hank were looking. I didn't see anything at first. I'd have seen them had they been burrows. The thought crossed my mind it was humans lurking around...but where the hell were they/it?

I tried to ride on a little but Jack wasn't having any of it. I didn't force him. I learned a long time ago that if something freaks that horse out to the point I have to make him do something he doesn't want to do...I usually end up wishing I'd listened to him.

A few seconds passed and the sand 40 feet from us erupted in a swarm of baby Javelina. It looked like they came straight out of the ground. The young ones scurried around in a whirlpool of dust before scattering all different directions. Cindy told me earlier that Javelina will attack a dog Hanks size. “Hank...leave 'em.” Hank looked up at me like I was crazy for even thinking he might go after those creepy little bastards.

I swung my camera around to the front to try and get a shot of them. Two larger Javelina sauntered within sight. I assume the parents? I don't know, do Javelina have parents or are they spawned from the bowels of hell as they appear?

I couldn't get a picture over Jack's ears in my face. I jumped off and dragged my horse across the road with one hand while trying to operate the camera with the other. Hank watched from the opposite side of the road: You are on your own, human.

I almost got a shot before the two large ones suddenly dashed off. The side-by-side filled with the Dahmer triplets came roaring up from behind. They pulled alongside and stopped, essentially blocking my view of the javelina. “I'm trying to get a picture of those Javelina!! Did you see them?” They said they had never seen javelina out this direction (presumably while scouting for victims to add to their human ear collection). They asked me how many there were. “I saw two big ones and a bunch of babies.” One of the triplets apologized for scaring them off. Politeness is not uncommon in the serial killer. Another said I was lucky my horse didn't buck me off.

I searched for the javelina a bit longer after the side-by-side left. It was like they vanished into a desert mirage. I still don't know if they were actually under the ground or they were just wallowing around in the dirt. I considered checking out the area closer but realized the side-by-side would be to the gate soon. If I hurried, I could catch them and wouldn't have to get off my horse to get the gate. I stuck Jack in a hole (I'm only good for so many get-ons in a day and I had far exceeded my limit) climbed aboard and raced to catch up with the triplets. I thanked the nice serial killer man for getting the gate and raced for home.

Christmas at the Crandall's

Dave and Cindy are getting ready to head north for the holiday's. I will be holding down the fort until they get back. I spent the evening following Dave around taking notes on what to feed who and how much. Horses are like people...each one with their own nutritional needs and unique quirks. Some of us more quirky than others.

I read Dave's text: “ Christmas party will start at your arrival.” SWEET! Even though they wouldn't be here for it, Cindy had taken the time to put up a Christmas tree inside their RV complete with decorations and hanging stockings. A lighted Christmas Cactus outside the front door lights my way to the party.

I'm sure glad that when I ran away from home a year ago that I ended up with the Crandall's. I will never be able to repay all they have done for me. From allowing me to stay at their place (I seriously thought I was just going to camp out on BLM when I came down here last year) to advice on how to sell a horse. From Dave fixing whatever manages to fall apart - and a lot falls apart on a house you drag down the road with your critters in it – to Cindy's unfailing advice on everything from where to get your hair cut to how to get your horse to turn a barrel correctly.

The little Christmas party was simply another example of their thoughtfulness. They went so far as to wrap a couple of Christmas presents for me placed under the tree. A cheese, meat and cracker tray, a box of frosted Christmas sugar cookies (my favorite) and white chocolate covered pretzels laid out on the counter for us to munch on as we watched “The Christmas Chronicles 2” with Kurt Russel and Goldie. We all agreed it wasn't as good as the first one (sequels seldom are) but if it has Kurt Russel in it...it begs watching.

The movie had it's sweet, if not cheesy moments. Two kids struggling with broken families and loss learn what really matters by spending Christmas at the North pole. A bad elf turned human trying to make his way back to Santa's village learns that no matter how rotten you are, love conquers in the end.

We snuggled in our blankets munching on Christmas tree shaped sugar cookies watching a seemingly ageless Kurt and Goldie dressed at Mr. and Mrs. Clause. I am content and happy. Even though I will miss my family this Christmas, I am at peace spending this Christmas at the Crandall's...and it even has a nice ring to it.

12-20-2020 – Poop scooping contemplation and manifesting expectations.

“If you expect him to fail, he will not disappoint you.” Those words uttered by Kitty Lauman two years earlier, hit me smack in the face after Jack and I blew the clean shooter jackpot on our first stage out. Actually, I blew hit. Jack did pretty much what I set him up to do. I could blame in on a discombobulated start to the day but that would be a lame excuse. The mounted shooting world is full of them. Chuck Martino even wrote a book about it. “The top 101 mounted shooting excuses” I have used every one of them.

I've always been an early riser. Getting up at 5:30AM to feed and finish chores in time to be on the road by 7:00'ish wasn't the problem. The problem was the shoot started an hour earlier than I thought. I drove all the way to Ben Avery in dilly-dally mode thinking I was going to be way early. I plod up the stairs to the crows nest to pay my fees at the same time the lady announces last call for sign ups. There were 101 shooters...I was 98.

The up side of being 98 out of 101 is you have plenty of time to prepare and warm up. Like...PLENTY of time....2 hours plenty. Ugh.

I could at least be on time for the shooters meeting. I rushed to get Jack saddled. He no more than backed out of the trailer when he discovered J'Lo was in the area. They couldn't see each other – how do they know these things? We followed J's whinny over to where Leslie was parked and tied Jack next to J. They whinny back and forth some but neither is obnoxious when you pull them apart. We are able to separate to warm up, compete and can tie apart without much ta-do. I see no harm in letting them hang out together during the two hour wait between stages...good hell. Two hours.

Speaking of J'Lo – not only does she have a new home, shiny new tack and a new rider she appears to adore...she also has a new name: Lucy. I like it. I think it suits her. I had a hard time picking a name for that girl and went with J'Lo because nothing else seemed to work. Leslie says it fits her. I Love Lucy, red hair and all.

Leslie and Lucy were ahead of us in the go order. They were team number 91. They made a nice run. It's still hard for me to believe this is only their second shoot. If they keep this up, Jack and I may never have to compete against them as Leslie is a class ahead of me starting out.

Course number 32 is not complex. Just go out there, shoot your balloons and call it good. Nope. I have to overthink everything. I decided to run it like a left handed shooter. I like cross shots and by doing so made the one difficult shot a strong shot. That was my plan and by golly...I'd change my mind the minute we stepped into the arena. Never do that. It's something every shooter knows: MAKE A PLAN AND STICK WITH IT. DO NOT CHANGE YOUR MIND AT THE LAST MINUTE. I don't know why I did it. We ran up to the first balloon...made a nice arch, shot the first three and headed to the last two random to split like a gate. All I had to do was stretch out – stay off my horses face and sail through to the rundown. Instead, I anticipated Jack to overrun the gate and we'd be on a trail ride in the north forty....because that's what I expected him to do. Fearing he'd have a run off – I checked him up, over corrected, got a little lost coming out of the gate and ended up turning the rundown barrel on the opposite side. It took up too much real-estate. Our raw time sucked and I missed a balloon. I don't even know which balloon...which means I never looked at the damn thing.

They changed the format of the shoot. Each shooter is guaranteed 2 stages. Only those riders clean on the first two stages advance to the third stage. If you miss in the first 2 stages, you are still in it for the buckle at the end of the series. You get points for every rider you beat. At the end of the series, you still have a shot of winning something.

If you are going to miss a balloon in a clean shooter pot, you might as well miss it on the first stage. For all practical purposes – I was here only for the clean shooter pot until Jack and I get in sync. With the pressure off, we could play with the second stage like a glorified practice.

Course number 24 is another no-brainer. They call it the wedge. Run straight up – shoot three strong – split 4 and 5 – turn the barrel and shoot the angled rundown. Well...you can shoot the angled rundown first....Nope. Learned my lesson. Not changing my mind. The End.

I was not getting in my horses way this time. I made up my mind and that was final. I would not check him no matter how it ended up. If he took off for the end of the arena, jumped the fence and ended up back in Idaho, I was not checking that horse. I moved my rein hand as far up his neck as I could reach and grabbed a hunk of mane. We made a one lap circle and off we went. I concentrated on keeping my upper body forward and my shooting arm straight. I paid little attention to the horse under me. It felt like slow motion. I had all the time in the world to shoot my balloons, make a gun change and shoot the rundown. Smooth as glass. It felt so slow that I cringed to look at our time: 19.1 seconds. A tenth of a second short of matching Leslie and Lucy's 19.0. It was a huge improvement over the Larkyn shoot where she beat us 3 seconds every stage. I know it will take time before I am as comfortable competing on Jack as I was J...but knowing we are getting there is the confidence boost we both need.

Thanks to two missed balloons, I was home in plenty of time to feed/water, clean pens and settle in before dark. A person has a lot of time to think when they are scooping poop. Especially when you missed the morning poop scooping to barely make it to a shoot before last call. With six horses...that's a lot of poop to scoop.

My mind was free to wander as I went from pen to pen in perpetual poop scoop mode. I was excited for our next shoot. It may be I learn more from going to an actual shoot than I do during practices. You don't know what to work on until you go out there and put it all to the test. I 'thought' I needed to work on rating. In actuality, we aren't going fast enough to need to rate. We need to work on control. We should be able to make most any turn or direction change going the speed we are now. Control...and trust. I need to trust that Jack will make those turns...and more importantly, I need to expect that he will succeed and have the faith that he won't disappoint me.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-23-2020

I was finally able to sleep in this morning. I scrounged through my cupboards and fridge to find any perishable food that might spoil. I had eggs, milk and bread: French Toast it is. I like my French Toast with cinnamon and sugar. Unfortunately, the sugar I bought happened to be sugar cubs. Oops. What is the purpose of a sugar cube anyway? I tried to crush them up. They are sturdy for no bigger than they are. The best I could do was add a little water, butter and vanilla to them and make a sort of syrup.

Today was the warmest day since I've been in Arizona; 71° and not a cloud in the sky. I saddled Jack and ponied J'Lo and rode South toward the mountains. We hit the power line road and turned East toward Eagle Eye Peak. It does look just like an eagles head with a big eyeball overlooking Aguila...which means "eagle" in Spanish. 

We took it pretty easy. Jack is still haired up like a wholly mammoth and I didn't want him to overheat on the first warm day of our trip. I let him pick his way through mesquite, grease wood and mesa verde trees. He took to the washes when accessible....climbing in and out when they weren't. I think that horse is impervious to thorns. I'm guessing chaps were invented in Arizona. I was wishing I had worn mine.

We road as far as we could before hitting a fence. We turned south up a draw I that looked inviting to explore. I tied the horses where they could get to what little grass is available. I hiked to the top of Saguaro covered ridge that overlooked Aguila to the North and a whole lot of big country to the South. I spotted what I assume are Javelinas tracks. I was hoping to spot some (called a squadron) but from what I'm told, they are mostly nocturnal. They also smell slightly like a skunk – which might explain the musky odor I smelt later on that I mistook for somebody smoking weed.

Somebody was spray painting neon orange on the vegetation along both sides of the power line, including large saguaros. They had done it in the time I'd been having lunch in the draw. Weird. I saw a truck up a head. Jack honed in on the human with the paint can 100 yards from his truck. We were almost to him when he jumped in the truck – drove a hundred yards, stopped, and commenced to spraying more bushes.

I beat him to the truck this time. A “Vegetation Management something or other” magnetic sign stuck to the side of his truck. He didn't seem to have time to chat but I asked him what the markers were for anyway. He said he was spraying the vegetation that would later be cut by the sawyers. That seemed odd to me. I asked what the point of that was – there isn't a plant in Arizona that would come within 50 feet of those power lines. He said it was an overzealous government thing. I left it at that.

A quarter mile down the road, another man dressed in the same outfit and carrying an orange spray can was doing the same thing. They were leap frogging along the power line. This one was enthralled on his cell phone. I asked if they were going to cut the big saguaros down, too. He said they would top them, yes. I asked if it would kill them (just curious since from what I understand, the saguaro is protected.) He said he didn't know. He wasn't even sure what he was doing here. I left it at that.

Jack is a bloodhound. I let him pick his way back to camp. We had made a loop and weren't going back the way we came, but he zeroed in on home like a four legged GPS. Does not take after his rider.

I did a little research on Javelinas. They are sometimes called “Skunk Pigs” and put off an odor similar to a skunk but not as strong. Either I was close to a squadron of them today, or the “Vegetation Management” going on by our illustrious government employees had little to do with pruning trees.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-20-2020

Javelina Hunting with Friends. 

 When a stray dog shows up in your yard, you don't go to feeding them or they will never leave. I warned Lynn and Scott of this fact but they kept on putting food in front of me.

I had a few simple goals for the day: Scope out an RV Dump, do laundry and get back to Aquila before dark. Goals are for sissy's. I'm not a sissy, I am a Snowbird and Snowbirds don't have goals....they have wings!

Shortly after chores we took Lynn's Tacoma into Wickenburg to find an RV dump. You would think the Team Roping capital of the world would have two on every corner and one at McDonald's. Not so. We found the only one at the 76 Station on Wickenburg Way. We made sure we could get our rigs in and went in search of breakfast.

Lynn wanted to try the Gila Monster Eatery. Not only did we not spot any Gila monsters, but they weren't serving breakfast for another two weeks. You got the impression from the man and two pit-bull's that met us in the yard that in two weeks you may be served breakfast by the Mexican Cartel. Lynn and I quickly thanked the nice man in his wife-beater T and bandanna and wasted no time in our exit strategy.

The “Cowboy Cookin' seemed more befitting two country girls fresh off a weekend of shooting and riding. Good food and great service. We made plans to ride after breakfast behind Lynn's place and take our LQ's to the RV dump later. I hoped we could squeeze all this in before dark or I might end up in California trying to find the turn off to Crandalls in the dark.

Peter helped me catch and groom my horses. I felt like he might want to go. When Lynn handed him “Shotguns” halter, the grin on his face verified he indeed wanted to ride. I rode Jack and towed J'Lo. Lynn rode her Rocky Mountain trail horse, Friday and Pete was proudly mounted on his sorrel gelding, Shotgun. For somebody who hasn't ridden a lot – Peter rides very well.

Lynn's intent was to ride to “The Baby Mountain” as she dubbed it; a small hill covered with Saguaro. The cactus grow at a certain elevation and The Baby's elevation is perfect for them. It felt good to be out on the trail in this beautiful State. Unfortunately, we didn't get an early enough start to make it to the Baby Mountain on horseback. We needed to get the trailers to the RV dump before it closed.

We stopped at tractor supply for a septic hose for Lynn's LQ before turning into the 76 station. The drain valves are low to the ground on my LQ. The septic dump is on the backside of a curve....causing the hose to essentially lie uphill. I think I got a third of it dumped before calling it good. I might try pulling the tires up on chucks to make it higher than the curb. I don't know. It occurred to me the other morning as I was cleaning horse pens, scooping dog poop and now stressing over septic that 'POOP Management 101' could be it's own blog.

We did a little shopping at Bachas' grocery before turning back to Nine Irons Ranch. I needed a few groceries and a sewing kit. I've been carrying around a cholla sticker in my thumb for a week. I didn't want to make my thumb sore by digging it out prior to my shoot.

I wanted to take the dogs for a walk before bed and Lynn was determined to show me The Baby Mountain. Lynn said she would finish up chores while I took the dogs out – then her and Pete would pick me up in the Ranger and take us to the mountain. The dogs and I made it to the first gate before we heard the roar of the Ranger.

Pete and I piled in the side-by-side and hung on for dear life. Lynn drives like a crazy woman being chased by jumping teddy-bear cholla. First impression of Lynn might lead one to believe her to be demure...almost fragile like. That would be the wrong impression. Lynn is about as fragile as a handful of silly-putty and three times the fun.

We were flying over washouts and sliding around corners going 9-0. There wasn't much daylight left. Lynn was determined to make it to The Baby Mountain before dark. I was lost as soon as we passed the area we had ridden earlier.

We came to a collection of bee boxes. Peter showed me how to spell “BEES” in sign language. When I spelled out the letters with my hand – I felt like I'd just learned to how to read. I can't explain it and do it justice. I'd spell it out: “B” - “E” - “E” - “S” with my fingers and Pete would nod his approval. I craved that approval – I spelled it again and again. He'd smile and pat me on the shoulder. Several more times of this and I think I was getting the courtesy pat - “Ok woman...you can shut the hell up now.”

We reached the Baby Mountain at dusk. We snapped a few pictures, piled back into the Ranger and sped for home...or so we thought. Lynn didn't seem at all worried. I was a bit concerned when we'd climb into a wash we'd not been in before...ducking mesquite and creosote brush as it whipped past the side panel.

Lynn's driving of that 4x4 was impressive if not somewhat demon possessed-like. Both hands on the wheel – bent forward with eyes squinting to see in the ever darkening desert night. She'd whip around one corner – down into a wash I swear was going to swallow the Ranger...back up the other side of the wash and onto a barely used trail. Then she'd stop. “This doesn't look right. Oh-well, it has to go somewhere, right?” Off she sped...then suddenly bust up in a belly laugh that made everything right again. Even if we didn't know where we were going, we were having a heck of a good time getting there.

Jackrabbits the size of Hank darted here and there. If we get stuck out here, it's raw bunny for dinner. I wonder what kind of slow, painful death consuming raw rodent brings about in a person? Maybe we would get lucky and spot ourselves a Javelina to hunt! I secretly hoped not. I know they say they aren't a pig or even related to a pig – but they look like a wild boar to me and those creepy bastards will eat you!

Lynn said we were all good as long as we could see Vulture Peak in the distance. It was her landmark to home. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face let alone a peak 15 miles away. A flashing red tower light in the same direction as Vulture Peak shone like a beacon. Lynn pointed the Ranger at the light and sped across the desert. The fence line we needed soon appeared and we were back on track.

I was tired. Pete was tired. Lynn wanted to head back out and try her hand at Javelina hunting. If she did, she was going all by her little lonesome. Pete signed that he was going to bed, gave me a hug and hooked his index fingers together and smiled. I looked to Lynn for an explanation. “Friends,” she said. “That means friends.” I made the same gesture and rushed off to my trailer before they could see me get misty-eyed. Some fearless Javelina hunter I turned out to be!