On Thursday afternoon, the 22nd of July, Paul and I were the first of many to arrive at the camp-out site under a skitter of monsoon clouds. Having posted signs along the road to alert people that they were indeed on the right track, we set up camp. Paul had brought his new purchase of a popup camper for its shakedown. I towed the Association’s ramp. The ramp’s hitch didn’t want to let go of my receiver ball no matter how much we jacked, or jumped or otherwise manipulated it. I finally just drove off the receiver. Later some of the fellows separated it from the ramp’s hitch and relocated the ramp.

Paul located his utility trailer so compressed air and his generator would be convenient to any that needed air or electric power. I set up my tent behind his camper and we soon had in place a cozy home away from home.

We had guessed that the monsoon storms had been tracking more toward Green Valley and the Santa Rita Mountains. The lush green growth of grasses surrounding our campsite confirmed this.

Stacy and his family arrived to set up one of the largest camping tents I have ever seen. Many large frontier families lived in cabins smaller than his beauty of a tent. It was, of course, a Jeep tent. Mitch and Sue were quickly set up in their motor home and we had the start of what would soon become a small village. Stacy and family had to leave to return on the morrow leaving just the Hohstadts, Paul and me.

That night we sat under a sky streaked with clouds, peppered through with bright points of starlight enjoying an absolute silence and peace broken only by the whisper of a breeze and the occasional call of a bird settling in for the night’s roost. Soon, we too settled into slumber.

The first light of morning’s dawn awoke me to the wonderful fragrance of brewing coffee. As I emerged from my tent to begin the day, Mitch met Paul and me with an invitation to join him and Sue for coffee. This was all the more welcomed since Paul’s batteries had drained overnight so his camper was without power to brew our own morning beverage. After quiet talk and sharing we four set to work preparing the grounds for the expected campers. We roped off the dining/social area, cleared cow pies, policed the grounds in general, set up a registration table, shared jokes, laughter and the good feeling that comes of many hands making light of the work

Soon, one after another, campers began to roll in with an assortment of tents of all sizes and motor homes and campers. Before the event’s end we were a village of 19 or 20 lodges inhabited by 50 people with their children and pets. Two families came from New Mexico, one from Tucson and another from Phoenix. Twenty of our 25 member families were part of the village, a few came only for a day, others doubled up to share a motor home, all were having a good time.

Dave Harker wanted to add some things to a geocache he had sited above Walker Tanks in Temporal Gulch. He, in his terrorist Toy, Kathy, Sue, and Owen in the Cherokee, and me in my YJ headed out in a small convoy. We raced along hoping to complete the mission in time for the 1:00 p.m. run to Gualajote Flats through Soldier Basin. As we splashed through hub-deep pools of water at the numerous wash crossings, we watched blackening clouds race toward us from over the mountains. Temporal Gulch is beautiful at all times of the year. Now, with the creeks flowing, green grasses growing tall, flowers in bloom, dramatic clouds outlining bluffs and hills around every turn, it was breathtaking. Rains had carved ruts deeper and rearranged the road in places making 4WD useful, but travel was still relatively easy. The road travels through the lower canyon then begins a series of ascents and descents that curve through a narrowing pass beside deep arroyos and beneath rocky crags and into a pine woodland. Finally it arrives at Walker’s Tank, a concrete dam across the wash that impounds a deep, spacious pool. Water was just to the dam’s lip. As we got out of our rigs the black and purpled clouds we had raced opened up with bucket loads of hard, fierce rain. Before I managed to don my poncho I was already soaked. Absent windows, The Lady was equally drenched. Dave climbed the water slicked rocks to his cache site and added goodies. Despite the downpour, he took pictures, but not as many as he wanted. He reported waterfalls above the main pool and by the time he had returned to the vehicles water was streaming over the dam’s lip.

We had left at 10:20am; it was now past noon. The run was scheduled to leave at 1:00. With rain pouring down upon us, we hurried back along the road hoping to catch the run and to avoid being caught in any potential flooding. We needn’t have worried. The creeks didn’t rise, and we met the fellows leaving on the run as we neared camp. Dave joined them. The rest of us headed on home to camp. I had forgotten to wrap my right wrist in a brace and it was hurting so I opted out of the run in favor of getting folk signed up on the registration sheet, taking photos and socializing.

When I heard of the run later, I was glad I hadn’t joined in. Jim Van Dyke said that he was too. He said that he would have been more scared than me if I had gone. The place where Lady Freedom had once nearly left the mountain as she danced with air balanced on one tire was deeply gullied down to the bedrock and needed filling. Shortly beyond was a landslide and beyond that a rock slide to be cleared. Marty Sindelar got high centered with his front pointed to the drop off where Roger Pluta with his tires spinning had to tow him back. Someone bent a tie rod and there were other vehicle damages. I fear, had I been along, I just might have parked The Lady and walked on down that mountain. Now that my transmission and transfer case are all working right I’m willing to face that hill again, but I’m glad I didn’t have to under those conditions! However, those who did face that hill claim to have had a blast.

In the meantime I socialized with those who stayed in camp. On our runs we are often so focused on getting on down the trail that we miss out on the times of cementing friendship. It was very pleasant to have time to stroll around the grounds stopping for conversation here and there, getting to know each other better. Several of us kept our cameras hot snapping off photos. As we each begin to add our pictures to the gallery, we should have a really nice representation of our 2004 Camp-out.

The camp quieted as each family tended to dinner. Paul had assumed Kitchen duties for the trip. After a simple and delicious meal we joined the night run under Marty sindelar's leadership. I have never liked driving after dark but so many Rangers had extolled the fun of night runs that I was anxious to see if off road made driving at night any more interesting and fun. A group of about 13 set off toward the Mowery mining district with shadowed forms of shrubs and trees framing the road. Hoping to see wildlife foraging in the night I positioned myself right behind Marty. Rain clouds darkened the still night sky blanketing out any pricks of starlight or rays of moonbeams that might have brightened our way. Washes loom deeper, rocks loom higher caught in the shadow and light play of headlights. The roadside shrubbery appears as a tunnel. Only the roadway caught in headlamps is visible so response times seem different than in daylight. At one point, I became aware of the depth of the ravine to my left, but in the dark it was easy to ignore the drop off, a plus in favor of night driving. As soft rain began to fall, part of the road became more slippery, vision more obscured. One or two low traction hills were eased by dropping into 4lo, but generally the driving was easygoing enough–at least until we reached “The Squeeze.” This is a narrowing of the road as it crosses at the rim of a Jeep sized basin of sharp rocks hemmed in by a steeply rising slope to one side. The inner lip had washed away forcing an off camber traverse. I could just envision The Lady sliding off the hill to tilt into that basin ending up on her roof. I wouldn’t have been eager on a dry day, but on a wet night, I just wanted to turn around and go home. However, Marty got his Cherokee across in fine shape and stood ready to spot me across. The Lady did slide at one point but not much and we too were safely across. Everyone else made it across in fine shape as well. We traveled to the top of a hill where the group turned off to take a harder loop and take a second run at “The Squeeze.” Paul and I elected to park and wait for the group to rejoin us to head out together for home. With the lights out and the engine off, we sat alone on top of the hill listening to the soft plops of rain falling from the tree limbs. Other than that musical sound and the occasional bursts of CB chatter we were in utter silence and solitude in inky darkness. We got out and walked around a little trying to get a sense of what must have been beautiful landscape around us. We could not tell whether the hilltop offered any panoramic view or not, just blackness all around. Before long, the group rejoined us having safely gotten everyone through “The Squeeze” again. It was a short jaunt home to camp and a sound night’s sleep. The driving was fine, even fun, the road was reasonably easy with only mild challenge, but I still don’t like driving in the dark. Off Road doesn’t make it more fun. I enjoy the scenery on our runs and the wildlife and both of these important elements were missing from the Night Run.

The gentle fall of evening rain continued through much of the night. My little tent stayed snug and dry. Another camper was not so fortunate as his new Wal Mart bargain let in a flood of water through its tub floor seams. He wisely got in his vehicle, traveled to Nogales and spent the night in the comfort of a motel room where he enjoyed a hot bath and a soft mattress arriving back at camp refreshed, ready to begin Saturday’s fun.

Saturday morning began with bright sun dazzling off the jewel points of rain drips from the night’s storm. With much on our agenda our little village was buzzing with busyness. New comers arriving just for the day needed to be registered. Families were finishing breakfast and camp chores in time to ready their rigs for the day’s runs. Out of towners looked forward to the day’s hard run to Mansfield Mine. Others of us were geared up for the scenic run led by Dave and Jim that would take us through beautiful oak forests and grassy dells abloom with summer flowers on the way to the Boundary Trail West of Lochiel. My wrist still hurting I rode as passenger with Roger Pluta and enjoyed the freedom to take photographs. The trails we rode were relatively challenge free but took us through some of the most beautiful scenery in Cochise County. Much of the way was new to me. I particularly enjoyed the hill tops that seemed to put us on top of the world with long views across San Rafael Valley as well as into Mexico. We passed working cowboys, the cows they herded, and one large--very large, strutting bull that kept a cold eye on Roger’s red and door less Jeep.

The Mansfield Mine bunch arrived back at camp soon after we did, with tales to tell--another tie rod bent, a clash with a rock or two, and slippery slides down wet hills. Mitch undoubtedly captured the Dances With Air Award when he put his rig into a crack on its rear end. Jim could not reach the front tires with his full stretch.

In the afternoon lull, we played a 4WD game, a version of blindman’s bluff. The blindfolded driver was guided through a course of cones and trees by the passenger/navigator. Some, who were accused of peeking, made it through with nary an errant wriggle, but most took hilarious detours with many a near collision with some hapless pine tree to the roar of laughter from the spectators. At first Paul gave hand signals and wondered at my erratic course. We worked out a better system of directions and the second time through stayed on course, but not fast enough for a win. That honor went, I think, to Tom Parcenue, who zipped through straight and true in record time to win 25 precious raffle tickets.

All afternoon the sweet smell of stewed onions and bell peppers had floated over the campsite. That fragrance was now joined by the pungent aroma of roasting bratwurst. Serving tables freighted with a grand assortment of side dishes beckoned. Finally, the dinner bell was sounded; the village gathered under open skies to feast on delicious food made more savory by shared effort, comradery, exercise and fresh air.

As twilight approached, the last bite eaten, excitement grew in anticipation of the night’s festivities. Tom introduced Becky Antle and Rheal Tetreault from the State Association. They had come from Tucson to present us with the Best Website Award. Our site was brand new when we submitted it to the Association Convention for review; many kudos to Matt Barker for his hard work constructing the site and to those who contribute items that keep it interesting. Then began the big event: The Raffle! Jim Van Dyke and Mona Parcenue had gathered more than $1100 worth of items to be raffled, many of which were donated by supportive businesses. Many campers held long streamers of red or blue tickets. As numbers were called a hand or voice was raised and a troupe of giggling little girls delivered the prize to the winner and collected the ticket. Some of the prizes were larger than any of the children but they never flagged in their job. Every prize was a winner. There were a lot of happy campers as the raffle ended, sprinkled with a few who were disappointed to not have had a winning ticket.

There remained, however, the chance to win $25 in the Poker Run. Just about everyone participated in this merry treasure hunt laid out by Dave Harker along the easy route up to Gualajote Flats. The treasure to be found was the numbered cans at each checkpoint located by Dave’s sometimes poetic directions. I rode shotgun with Jim Van Dyke. We were the last to set out on the trail. Jim, however, has been over the area’s trails so many times he has them memorized. With each clue he would recognize the endpoint and off we went at breakneck speeds collecting can numbers and passing other contestants. Had this been a race we would have won hands down. As it is, Jim had the winning poker hand and collected the $25. I also won as Jim kept up a steady stream of driving instruction as he negotiated curves, washes, rocks, limbs and hills.

When I returned to camp, Paul was already in a deep sleep in the camper. I slipped into my tent and soon was in a deep slumber as well, broken only briefly by the rumble of thunder, slashes of lightening and a driving rain that pelted my tent.

Morning was sunlit and humid. There had been some talk of a morning run to the lower Mansfield Mine area, however almost everyone was busy finishing breakfast or beginning to breakup camp. Paul and I lingered over our breakfast of oatmeal and pastry savoring our coffee reflecting on a fun-filled, relaxing, social week end with a great group of people. I walked around camp to chat a bit and take more pictures before beginning the task of helping Paul dismantle our camp. Just as we had been the first to arrive to prepare the camp site, we would be the last to leave to police the site. All that remained in the pasture that had been our village were good memories, the echo of sweet laughter and pleasant talks.