Words by Greg
Photos by Greg and Trina
Our quest for secret water in southern Arizona ended when water found us. We left the higher country and headed for the lower, classic Sonoran desert. For the prickly companionship of ocotillo, saguaro and the dog-dreaded cholla. We set up our tent on dry gravel under a sunset-reddened sky. And woke to a hard, pounding rain. Breakfast was aborted. Wet gear and damp dogs were thrown in the truck. Raindrops gathered into trickles in the gravel. Trickles quickly turned into runnels. Runnels into streams. The truck tires splashed down the track and onto the relative safety of pavement. Into the relative safety of civilization and the charms it offered. Hot breakfast. Warm drink. Solid shelter.
The rain played down on and off through the day. Ephemeral creeks turned to frothing rivers. Displaced boulders scattered across the highway. We flowed along a slow, wending course toward the end of our time in Arizona. Eddying out to delve into desert gardens, both wild and exotic. Washing briefly through the small lives that persist in harsh conditions. Gaining momentum that pushed us onward. Toward home.
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