Sanctuary

I thought about going for months before I finally went. I decided to take a friend from out of town. Hopefully, Sabino Canyon would be an awesome sight for someone that had never been to the Southwest. We arrived later in the day, an hour before the last tram left for the top. A blister on my foot prevented me from hiking and I worried the trip, solely on the tram, would not be entertaining enough. However, I crossed my fingers and hoped that the canyon lived up to its reputation.

As we started up on a wide, paved path, I wondered if I had chosen poorly. There was little difference between this area and some of the foothills we had driven through earlier. A little further, though, the walls began to close in and a stream appeared. Water is scarce in the Sonoran desert - a delightful surprise after months of dry riverbeds. The tram wove back and forth over the stream, allowing glimpses of small pools and rocky beaches. I wanted to jump out and splash around, but contained my excitement, keeping mental notes of the best place to stop on the way back down.

At the top, the tram paused for a few minutes to allow for picture taking. I obliged by snapping a few shots, but was eager to set off again. I had spied a small waterfall near stop seven that I wanted to explore. I knew my friend would be happy to follow along. After a few more pictures and short ride down, we were there. Despite my complaining blister, I forged ahead on the trail, quickly scrambling over rocks and passing slower hikers to get to our destination. Around each corner I caught sight of the waterfall and pools, encouraging me to walk faster.

At last, we were up close with the waterfall. A large shelf of banded gneiss, striped black and white, blocked the downward progress of the stream. Defiantly, the water gouged out a groove in the smooth surface before falling into a peaceful, shallow pool. Behind the rippling curtain, a dark hollow beckoned with the lure of unexplored depths. A smoothed boulder waited in the middle of the pool. It was a tempting area to use as a waypoint to pierce the veil of water. Giving in to my injury, I asked my adventurous friend to climb out and get a better look. I gave him my camera and hoped he did not fall in.

The smooth rocks and spray from the fall could prove to be his downfall. I watched on, faithful he was up to the task. As I stood by, he carefully climbed around to the top and then down onto the bank. He took a moment to assess his surroundings. Bending his knees for balance, in the same way he teaches his Kung Fu students to lower their center of gravity, he sprang up and effortlessly hopped to the rock, sticking the landing. His reward is one that I can only guess at; he took some pictures for me and then paused, sitting on the boulder and meditating in the serenity before turning back.

Wanting to get a taste of what he had seen, I braved the smooth boulders and climbed above. There, the water slipped over the marbleized surface before sluicing over the edge. Climbing to the brink, I lay down and peered past the cascade. The rock had been polished smooth and eroded away to form a tiny gully for the water to fall through. If not for the narrowness of the groove, it would have been a perfect waterslide. Just before the precipice, a small, deep pool beckoned. I took off a shoe and sock, unable to resist the temptation. The melt water from the mountain above shocked my skin, a jolt of cold in the 70 degree heat.

To preserve the experience, I crawled around on the slick surface, taking lizard-level shots. I captured the lazy flow of the water and the liquid ribbons of the stream falling to the pool below. The cool rock radiated the chill of the water and invited me to stay. The slipping and sliding of the water filled my ears with serenity and calm. The only way I could justify leaving was to promise myself that I would come back, foot healed and swimsuit in hand.

Later, after my friend left to go back East, I finally peeked at the pictures he had taken for me. They revealed a small hollow behind the waterfall. It looked to be the perfect size for someone to hide in. They would be protected from the outside by the crashing of the water and the privacy of its curtain. I dream, now, of crawling into that small nook and hiding away from the world. To be surrounded by the cool stone and buffeted by the sounds of water, I can imagine peace. Tranquility. Stillness and solace. Nourishment of the soul. I want to go back. I long to go back. I must go back.