Sycamore Creek, and the Forest in Payson, AZ.

Well, I had the opportunity, so I took it. The rockhounding group had an excursion to the Payson, AZ area to find zebra jasper. With plenty of social distancing and only a group of about seven of us, we took a forest road to an area that was filled with jasper, as well as druzy quartz, and just plain pretty rocks. Bill, our leader, made note of one particular rock that I found which was a fossil with very strong markings looking like a shell. According to him it was a prized specimen, and congratulated me on finding such a rare piece. A little gem and a little jewel as I go along finding these rocks. 

I decided to head out with the Sylver Gypsy, a day early and spent the night at Sycamore Creek across from Mount Ord, on a fire road where I have stayed a few times since last year. In this case I was able to find a vacant spot right next to the creek and across from the Arizona Trailhead. There is some water running, and I found a little hole about 18 inches deep, where I decided to sit down, to cool off. It is north of Phoenix, but still warm, in the 90’s, even though there were plenty of sycamore trees shading the whole area. I sat there for a moment as the cool water was quite refreshing. Tadpoles, or what we called polliwogs, in New York, were plentiful, and made me jump as they started to nibble, so I didn’t sit there for very long. And of course I took JoJo with me as he was forced to wade the waters, about 6 in deep, towards this hole, and every time I would have to coax him, and had to view his concerned face. He has an expressive face which tells me he’s not happy and he feels a little bit betrayed since he knows, that I know, that he absolutely hates the water. "We need a cool down, I told him," and he never wins this battle, though he got a peanut butter treat for the effort. I spent the rest of the afternoon sketching, and just admiring the beauty and unbelievable peace and quiet. I listened to the birds, the wind, and the rustling of the leaves. At dusk, I enjoyed a surprising chorus of tree frogs, a beloved sound reminiscent of life, in New York. On my little stroll through the creek I came across another jasper combination of gold, red, orange, and white. It was quite the find, but I had to dig it out of a pretty good-sized hole. It was everything I could do to pick it up and carry it to my RV. I showed rock hound Bill, and he said that it is an absolutely perfect landscape rock, so it will wind up in my yard. I got an early start to meet up with the rockhounding group and after our extensive search I loaded up the RV with probably a couple hundred pounds of rocks. I think I am officially obsessed. 

I decided to continue on the road to the Mogollon Rim, which is quite high in elevation, in the white mountain region. As I climbed, the temperatures went from the 80s into the mid-70s. I was really hoping to find a camping spot, however many of the campsites are actually closed due to covid-19, and the rest of them were posted as full. The road into this area is dirt, and I could not believe the level of traffic coming both ways. This is the roadway to Winslow Arizona, which is still quite a travel from this area. So, after a quick stop for lunch, I turned around and headed back to the forest area near the rockhounding site. Good thing I take notes and keep track about where I've been, because this is not an easy place to find, and just a benign turn off of Route 260. So far I got lucky as I a found a spot well off the road and seem to be the only one in my area. A neighboring spot had weathered bones, which is a bit ominous, and memorable. I’m certainly hoping no one else joins me, as I have become quite the hermit at claiming my stake in the wilderness. I stayed for two nights, and didnt see anyone for more than 40 hours. Bliss for me. But a fire is spreading, and the sky was a haze, which I think lended the right combination for fantastic sunsets. Fortunately I had good cell reception, and alerts regarding these fires, and the next morning I had to take a huge detour around this rural area just to get back home.

My name, Sylvia, has been translated through many languages, and in essence means “one with the forest,”  “maiden of the forest.” So maybe this is why I gravitate to forest, and woods, and seemingly serene untouched places. It seems to resonate not only with my name, but with who I am.




























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