Rough Ground, Vague Traces
Monday, October 13th, 2025: Hikes, Peloncillos, Southeast Arizona.
My entire region was under flash flood warnings, so I had an even harder time than usual deciding where to go for Sunday’s hike, which in turn delayed my departure.
Finally, I zoomed in on the topo map for a low desert area over in Arizona that I’ve only scratched the surface of and have been intending to explore more. It’s at the far north end of the very long, very narrow north-south mountain range – continuing into Mexico – that’s geologically diverse with a lot of cliffs, hoodoos, and rock outcrops. Suddenly I noticed the label “Indian Rocks” on a small outlying peak. What could that mean? Petroglyphs or pictographs? A cave with artifacts?
The peak itself didn’t offer me enough distance or elevation, but south of it was a cool-looking mesa – adding that to my hike should make it just right.
Due to my late start, it was lunchtime before I reached the turnoff, so I stopped for what turned out to be a mediocre burger in the Mormon village restaurant. I’ll stick to the enchiladas in future.
The map showed a couple different access roads, one with a solid line and one dashed. I tried the dashed one first, but it was clearly abandoned, deeply eroded, and way too slow. The next one turned out to be well-graded, obviously serving residences or working ranches.
The map showed this route crossing washes, and I knew a heavy rain could strand me temporarily. But eventually the flood would subside, and hopefully I wouldn’t have to wait too long. And hopefully I wouldn’t encounter any clay that would turn into deep, sticky mud.
It’s hunting season, and I passed a group parked on a side trail. I would hear their shots sporadically throughout the afternoon, about a mile and a half away in this open country.
To reach the “Indian Rocks” from this road I would need to take a powerline road over a pass, and those are notoriously rough. But with my lifted suspension and nearly new all-terrain tires I had no worries.
Beyond the pass, I could finally see the landscape between the powerline, Indian Rocks, and the mesa. A broad, low, creosote-lined ridge clearly led from the road to the base of Indian Rocks, and from there I could traverse around to the back to get to the mesa.
I now carry field glasses in the Sidekick, and although I couldn’t see any promising rock formations with the naked eye, the field glasses enabled me to see not only a rock formation, but a cave, just below the little peak, less than a mile away. Promising!
The habitat here is very similar to my California desert, and the creosote bushes were blooming all over – but not releasing their medicinal scent. I trust them more than the meteorologists, but my poncho and waterproof pants were in the pack, just in case.
The ground between the road and the peak was fine gravel, so I made good time. But bushwhacking is twice as hard as hiking on a trail, and my lung capacity is way down from 17 months of knee injury, so the 200 vertical feet to the rock outcrop went slowly.
The rock outcrop – facing north – was covered with an amazing thick layer of moss, more than I’ve ever seen anywhere in this region. But the cave turned out to be too small for a human to enter, and after scouring the ground below I found no artifacts. The only evidence of natives that I could find was desert tobacco, blooming around the foot of the outcrop – the first I’ve seen in this region.
To be sure this wasn’t the only outcrop, I climbed to the top of the peak, where amazingly, I found a summit log in a jar. It recorded only two visits, in 1995 and 2003.
The climb from the outcrop to the peak had been arduous, over the dreaded volcanic cobbles, and now I could see that the entire south slope – my route to the mesa – was lined with those.
I could also see that the slopes surrounding the mesa were striped vertically, alternating between grass and volcanic rock. My best approach would be on the far right, which looked to be grass, at between 15 and 20 degrees.
After slowly and carefully picking my way down that treacherous slope, I found that the valley below was mostly dirt and fine gravel. A low ridge rose across the valley – I would need to climb that and descend into some kind of gulch on the other side to reach the base of the mesa. From the valley, under those dark clouds, the mesa looked forbidding. I doubted I would end up climbing it.
As soon as I began climbing the low ridge, I encountered the cobbles again – so hard to walk over! But I made it to the top of the ridge. It’d taken me two hours and I knew I’d gone less than two miles. I wanted to get home before dark to avoid deer on the highway, so there would be no mesa today.
The top of the low ridge was dotted with volcanic boulders that had split into pieces, in place, like 3-dimensional puzzles. I assume this happened after they’d been ejected and landed, and while they were cooling. Interesting.
A recently-strung barbed-wire fence ran mostly west of my route, and halfway between the low ridge and the base of the Indian Rocks peak, a lone, yearling cow appeared, running frantically along this side of the fence. It had apparently ended up on this side by mistake and was separated from its range and its herd. It stopped to stare at me for a minute, then resumed running south toward the low ridge. A little later, it appeared running back north, and I watched it follow the fenceline out of sight. It would end up on the powerline road, and maybe get home that way.
As I approached the gully at the western foot of Indian Rocks, I found an old, narrow trail that was clearly man-made – possibly an Indian trail. I could see more promising rock outcrops below, so I detoured down there. There was a clearing that turned out to be a favored gathering spot for cattle on this side. There was a neat overhanging boulder, but I scanned in vain for petroglyphs.
Past the divide, on the north side of the little peak, walking was much easier. I hadn’t found clear evidence of the “Indian Rocks”, but I did find their tobacco, and I may have found their trail.
Beside a dry wash along the powerline road near where it meets the ranch road, somebody has set up a fairly elaborate camp, with a couple of trailers, several vehicles, and both the US and Arizona flags on a pole. The map shows this as public land, so it must be someone squatting on the grazing allotment with permission of the rancher.
I made it home without a drop of rain, and the streets looked dry. But we got some good rain yesterday – hopefully more will come tomorrow!
