In the southwest, the dead are very much with us, as they reputedly are in southeastern cities like Savannah and New Orleans.  Influence from south of the border brings the dead close to us, particularly at this time of year, when the Mexicans observe El Día de los Muertos, or The Day Of The Dead.

The dead are not scary here.  They are remembered as loved ones who have moved on, and even in their skeletal form they are looked upon fondly.  It can be a little startling to a northerner to see altars in shops and homes featuring little skeletons dressed in their best clothes, alongside incense and gifts and remembrances.  But to many people here, the dead are still family and their graves are places to visit.

Between October 31 and November 2, Mexican families in southern Arizona will go to their relatives’ gravesites and honor them.  They’ll sweep the site and decorate it with gifts and flowers.  They’ll repaint the name of the deceased on the cross, and perhaps spend the entire day visiting.  The dead are remembered well, and their final resting places are not neglected.

So it is not surprising that Tucson (along with some other western cities) has several cultural events around this time. The biggest is the All Souls Procession, a 20-year tradition that looks like a mashup of Mardi Gras and Halloween, with a touch of Burning Man thrown in.  At first impression it is a parade, with a route starting in Tucson’s funky Fourth Avenue district and winding through downtown Tucson past the historic Congress Hotel and Rialto Theater, for a mile and half.

But the All Souls Procession is more than a parade for many people.  Those who walk in the route run the gamut.  There are artistic displays, actors on stilts and unicycles, fantastic costumes, and even a “dead” array of marching bagpipers.  There are also individuals waving photos of dear friends now gone and shouting out a description of their good character, and people waving posters of their dearly-departed cats.  There are families pushing strollers, with even the children wearing skeletal face paint, and slackers slouching along with clove cigarettes in their street clothes.

Good wishes to the dead can be written on a form provided by the organizers, and burned in an altar at the end of the procession, but there is no formality at all to the proceedings.  Whatever sort of remembrance or mourning you wish to do is generally accepted, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the other people.

When we arrived at the parade route along Congress Street we were reminded of Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but then the differences began to appear.  The streets are not littered with drunk celebrants. There’s no screams of “throw me something, Mister!” or people flashing their body parts for trinkets.  All Souls is a subdued celebration, and a family event.  Anyone can participate.  Dozens of people walked the parade route pushing baby strollers. There are signs of respect for the dead, and respectful protest (“Iraqi war dead,” “Death of the Pima County Library,” “Men, Women, and Children Killed By AIDS”).  And just when it starts to feel like a carnival, somebody walks by with a somber look carrying a photo of a friend mounted on posterboard, with a list of that person’s wonderful attributes.

In this culture, people die three deaths. The first death is when bodies cease to function, the second death comes when the body is lowered into the ground and disappears from sight, and the third death is when there is no one left alive to remember.

I think there’s something in that.  It is habitual for some to forget the dead and never speak of them again.  But when you forget someone, all the lessons and experiences that person brought to your life are just as easily forgotten.  El Día de los Muertos reminds everyone, especially the children, that the dead are more than markers in a graveyard; they are the people who made us who we are.  I can see why the Latin American culture respects them every year.

More photos here.

When it gets hot in southern Arizona, there’s an easy escape.   All around are “sky islands,” which are mountains that pop up from the desert to reach cool air high up in the atmosphere.   Some, like the Santa Catalina range just to the north of Tucson, are easily summited by car, and there are campsites dotted all over the National Forest lands.

Most of the campgrounds are tight for our 30-foot Airstream, but we’ve been wanting to use our tenting gear anyway.   A couple of weeks ago we took the little Honda and scooted up the Mt Lemmon Highway to the General Hitchcock campground at 6000 feet elevation.   This little campground has only about a dozen sites, all tucked into a small canyon and shaded by towering Ponderosa pine trees.   It seems much farther from Tucson than it really is.   On a day when the air was scorching the desert sand in Tucson, the camping at General Hitchcock was just fine at about 15 degrees cooler.

From any campground in the Santa Catalinas, you can find a hiking trail.   From General Hitchcock the Green Mountain trail ascends 1.8 miles to a saddle near Guthrie Mountain, and along the way you can get a spectacular view all the way back to Tucson with the famous “Thimble” in between.   The climb is occasionally steep.   You have to go further than the saddle to get a summit view, but we were not hiking with the goal of bagging peak on that day. Our goal was just to get a hike in and then return to camp to set up for the evening.

Kids always seem to like tenting, and so do I.   There are always things to do: setting up the tent, unpacking the bedrolls, fetching water, cooking, and all the other little simple tasks that kids can help with.   In addition to the jobs, there are bugs and critters to discover, rocks to climb, and running around to be done.   Everything’s an adventure in a forest campground like this one.

Adults have to remember how novel the tenting experience is for a kid.   Sleeping outdoors!   In a tent!   With Mom & Dad right there, to talk to, and play checkers, and explain the strange night sounds.   Nothing to fear, all the comforts a kid really needs, and plenty of opportunity to learn from each other. Even after three years of life in our Airstream, tent camping is still fresh and exciting for all of us.   Personally, I like all the neat gear.   It just tickles me to fire up my little camp stove and boil some water for dinner.   Don’t know why, but it’s fun.

I left the rain fly off the tent so that we’d be able to see the stars.   The chance of rain was absolutely zero.   Because we were above the dust layer that often covers the low desert, we could see brilliant glowing of constellations all night through the trees.   Owls hunted up above, and we could occasionally hear them hooting at each other.   My ears got a little chilly when the overnight air cooled to about 50 degrees, but it was worth it for this night of fresh air and the rare experience of sleeping closer to the ground.   I know most Airstreamers say that they bought their trailers so that they wouldn’t need to sleep on the ground anymore, but once in a while I still crave the simplicity of the experience.

Descending the mountain road again the next day, we passed through an elevation at which the saguaros were at the peak of their springtime bloom.   I had forgotten that the saguaros were due to flower at this time of year. I suppose most people don’t know that they flower at all, seeing as how they are only found here in the lower Sonoran desert. Seeing the spring bloom is one of the little cues that tell us the seasons are changing.   It’s not all just hot and dry here … even from day to day the scenery can change, as our little overnight trip to the Santa Catalinas has reminded us.

It has been a long hot period in Tucson lately.   The heat has struck a bit early, meaning that we’ve had about 10 days straight of 100 degrees.   As summer sets in, certain outdoor activities become off-limits, and people begin to seek recreation either inside shopping malls or up in the mountain parks.

But I’ve had a certain hike on my mind for three years now, and I was determined to do it before we leave for the summer.   As one drives along I-10 between Tucson and Phoenix, a peculiar pointed mountain appears to the west.   It appears un-hikeable, by its steep sides and nearly jagged contours.   This is Picacho Peak, the site of a state park and a fine campground, which we’ve visited several times.

There is a trail that leads all the way to the top, about 2.1 miles each way.   The climb is extremely steep, to the point that many times the only way to ascend is with the help of steel cable lines that have been bolted into the rock.   It is really more of a “climb” than a hike.

The steepness of the climb dictates that people with very short legs (a.k.a. Emma) can’t make the climb without assistance.   And people with any sense at all (a.k.a. Eleanor) quickly realize that a climb like this on a day that is destined to hit 100+ is moderately insane.   Fortunately, Brett had flown in from Denver for the weekend, so I had a like-minded (meaning “equally soft in the head”) companion.   So Brett and I left the house at 6:30 a.m., alone, in an attempt to reach the summit before the temperatures spiked as sharply as the peak itself.

We completely failed in one respect.   The temperature was already well into the 80s at 7:45, when we reached the trailhead (50 miles from Tucson).   By the time we finished it was over 100 degrees.   More than half the trail is completely exposed, with no shade, and the heat of the sun bakes the steel cables to the point that they can burn your hands.   But along the way, the trail rewards you with spectacular views, which help distract you from the minor discomforts.   Of course it helped that we were prepared for the trail with leather gloves, broad sun hats, white shirts, SPF 55 sunscreen, hiking shoes, energy snacks, and lots of water.

Water is the big thing.   Brett brought 70 ounces of water in his backpack, and ran out about midway through the return descent.   I brought 100 ounces and ran out at the very end of the hike.   All of that water was evaporated through our skin — there were no bathroom stops during the 3.5 hour roundtrip. (Yes, in case I didn’t make the point with my previous post, the air is very dry here.)   Ill-prepared people would not be able to complete the hike in these conditions, at least not without suffering.   We groused about the steepest sections, but really, it was a fun adventure.

My advice to others would be to hike this peak between November and April, like a sensible person would.   It’s tough enough to make you realize you really did something, and yet manageable by most people with good fitness. Bring the Airstream and camp in the park to double your pleasure.   It’s worth the effort.   I can’t think of another small mountain climb quite like Picacho Peak.