The Death of a Chaco

Once again Ben and I find ourselves heading to the desert. This time we go south, away from the glory of the Colorado Plateau. Through the bastard-child city that is Phoenix. Down to where the coyotes creep and the Saguaros sleep. For what is surely a rare occasion, our objective is to go up; climb a hill and surmount the point, mainly because it is there. In the case of Weaver’s Needle I can’t think of a better reason. It dominates its surroundings, pleading for you to realize it. Calling for you to look at it. Begging for you to climb it.

• Weaver’s Needle

We had a great trip, though I finally broke one of my beloved chacos on the descent. Yet sitting at the 4,553-foot summit of Weaver’s Needle with sandals on surrounded by spectacular 360 degree views in the beginning of February is pretty damn nice, I must admit. Especially considering where we were about 12 hours ago. It has been a wet and heavy winter thus far in the great state of Arizona, getting pounded by two huge storms and many smaller ones in between. Even now, the forecast for the foreseeable future is a chance of snow. With several feet already on the ground, it can get a bit depressing. Cabin fever is setting in. Alas the snow feeds the canyons and the rivers, and though it may be a very long winter it is going to be an amazing summer. We gonna have some fun, kids…

-Eric