A CHRISTMAS STORY

Christmas time is a time for remembering the birth of the Christ Child, of reflection, and of giving service to others. It is also a time for Christmas parties, and tonight we had been invited to just such a party with some of our old neighborhood friends.

When we arrived, we parked the car and started walking up towards the front door, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a........... a major award! Yes, there it was, occupying its rightful place of honor right in the front window. The “major award”, the most sought after prize of memorabilia, the ubiquitous “leg lamp”. Where or how they got it I don’t know, but there it was, heralding in the beginning of the Christmas Season.

Once inside the home we were greeted by what looked like Mr. and Mrs. Clause, but who were really our good friends, Mary and Rawley.


Their home had been decorated just as “Ralphie” had described his childhood home, there on Cleveland Street, in the film classic “A Christmas Story”. The smells emanating from the kitchen told us that a Christmas feast was in preparation. Large pots of meatballs, sauce and homemade lasagna were cooking on the stove.

The whole house spoke of Christmas; there was a brightly decorated Christmas tree standing in the corner; the tables had been set up with dishes and napkins which were embossed with Christmas logos, all just waiting for the guests to be seated around.

M&M’s were placed in every corner, on every shelf and on every table. Wait a minute, M&M’s; that’s not a Christmas tradition. Well, maybe not in anyone else’s home, but they sure were here. There were small packages of M&M’s placed on the tables, on the shelves, and on the tree. There were miniature M&M characters occupying almost every spare space throughout the house. There were large M&M dolls propped up in corners, on beds, and sitting in chairs.

As we toured through the house looking at all of the antiques, memorabilia and Christmas decorations, I spied the infamous fuse box. Yes, the one that Ralphie’s dad had been so adept at in replacing a blown fuse that there was hardly an interruption in the festivities at all.

Walking down the hall I found an open door; it was, …… the basement. The portal which would allow access to the very gates of hell, housing that dreaded furnace; the coal burning, smoke belching, clinker growing furnace. We dared not venture down into the belly of the beast even though we were assured that the old coal burning furnace had been replaced long ago with a modern gas flame variety.
 

We had viewed most everything in the Christmas House when I spied something different; a new type of “mini-me”, a miniature version of the famous “major award”. It had to be a “minor award”, a smaller version of the awesome “major award” leg lamp. So cute, so adorable; where on earth did they get it? None the less, there it was, occupying its rightful place in the rear window of the home.

It had been a wonderful night, full of merriment, good food, good company, and wonderful memories. Complete with a house full of memorabilia which brought back visions of a simpler life and a simpler time. The only thing missing was an adorable pink bunny outfit just like that one Aunt Clara had made for Ralphie.

BEEN THERE, DONE THAT

SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN –

THE FLATIRON

by Gary Hyde

February 21, 2001

 Living at the base of Superstition Mountain, waking to the first rays of sun as they illuminate the towering cliffs and crevices of the mountain, then watching the vivid color changes which occur as the sun sets, it was easy for me to say “yes” when my neighbor Gerry asked if I would join him on a hike to the Flatiron. The Flatiron is a craggy mesa atop the western side of the Superstition Mountain at an elevation of 5024 feet above sea level.

The day of the hike we hopped in the car and headed for the trailhead at the Lost Dutchman Campgrounds. Along the way, we picked up my friend Don who had previously expressed an interest in the climb. As we drove through the park entrance, the ranger handed us a map of the park trails. It showed that the trail to the Flatiron headed east up the slopes of Superstition Mountain into Siphon Draw. “Siphon Draw trail is a well marked 1.6 mile trail to the basin. The remaining 2.8 miles to Flatiron is on a non-maintained, non-designated trail, and it is advised that only experienced hikers in good shape attempt to hike to the top, as the trail is steep and difficult to follow”. That described us to a tee. Three individuals, retired from the everyday humdrum of a working life, and dedicated to the pure pursuit of pleasure.

The lower slopes of the mountain were still in the morning shade and covered with wild flowers that had not yet opened to the warmth of the sun. The trail up to the basin, as with many other trails in the Superstition wilderness, was littered with fist sized chunks of rock, making it a necessity to be observant and watch where each new step was going to be placed. This was a far cry from the fir needle-cushioned trails I had been accustomed to while hiking in the Pacific Northwest

Once we reached Siphon Draw the canyon began to narrow. To the right is a large rock formation called Crying Dinosaur. The vertical head and neck of the dinosaur and the V-shaped mouth are visible from the trail. A long crack in the rock near the eye looks like a tear. This formation is a popular destination for local rock climbers. Beyond is a smooth rock basin, which extends about 200 feet up the canyon. It forms a natural funnel, which, during the winter monsoon storms, collects the water that drains down from further up the canyon, including all the runoff from the surrounding cliffs, and sends it gushing down the mountain. A large pile of boulders at the bottom of the basin is evidence of the awesome power the runoff water could have.

Halfway up the basin we were passed by a couple of other hikers, Solomon and a visiting friend from Vancouver B.C., Canada. Solomon had produced a digital camera from his pack with which he offered to take our pictures. Once taken, the picture was immediately visible on a screen on the back of the camera. The image could then be downloaded to a computer and printed off, or sent to some close admirer via e-mail. This was great. (Note to self: Get one!). After the photo session we exchanged e-mail addresses and promised to exchange pictures. Solomon and his friend continued on up the draw while we marveled about the advances of modern technology.

Resuming our trek, we soon reached the end of the smooth rock portion of the basin and, just as the park map had indicated, the trail disappeared. Searching for the best way to continue, we decided to travel up the bottom of the ravine. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves climbing over steep walls of rock six to seven feet high. I see what they mean by calling this a difficult climb. After crawling over a steep ledge of large rocks and boulders we looked up to the side of the ravine only to find our friend Solomon, smiling down and waving at us as he walked along a fairly good trail. Swallowing our pride, we clambered over more boulders till we finally reached the trail. Once on the trail we could see that it had been marked with occasional spots of white paint. But still, owing to the difficulty of the trail, it was sometimes dubious as to the intent of which way the marks were intended to lead.

During our frequent rest stops, we would look back to see how much of an elevation gain we had made. The elevation change from the trailhead to the Flatiron is 2781 feet, with the bulk of the gain in the last 2.8 miles. At first we looked out over the gentle downward slopes of the mountain. A short while later we were looking out over the small town of Goldfield, and as we climbed higher the descent of the canyon was so steep that just looking back would make me dizzy as if looking out over the edge of a high cliff.

At one point as we were making our way up a steep portion of the trail, we were passed by a young woman dressed in black lycra pants, with a short sleeved tee. She smiled and wished us well on our hike as she sped on by. Muttering to ourselves that if she kept up that pace, she would never make it to the top, we continued on.

As the trail got steeper, we were often pulling ourselves up by our hands, taking steps of two to three feet in elevation gain at a time. Now, it’s a rule of hiking in the desert country that you never put your hands or feet where you can’t see, lest there be a rattle snake or some other desert creature waiting for you on the other side. On many occasions we not only unable to see where to put our hands, but we couldn't even see the top of the rocks we were scaling. Fortunately it was mid-February and there were no poisonous snakes around, at least not that we could see.

Pulling ourselves up an exceptionally steep portion of the trail and scaling a twelve-foot embankment of boulders we finally reached the summit. From there the trail gently rose and curved over to our right. Looking up we could see over to the Flatiron, a flat mesa that narrowed to a point at the edge of the mountain and resembled the shape of a flatiron. There were already several hikers there, our friend Solomon and his companion, another small hiking group, and a single man incessantly talking on a cell phone; glory has no meaning unless you can share it with someone else.

We all said our hellos, commented on the difficulty, or ease, of the hike, took pictures, and sat down and enjoyed our lunch, and a well-deserved rest. The overhead sun warmed our bodies, and a cool breeze refreshed us. Looking down from the Flatiron we could see wild flowers that completely covered many areas of the lower mountain slopes. A soft yellow hue of flowers on a green background of brittlebush and grass covered the slopes leading to the main drainage systems of the mountain.

After we had finished our lunch and rested for a while, we decided to hike the last mile up to the pinnacle of the mountain, the Hoodoos, a craggy rock formation that forms the very top of the Superstition Mountain. The view from the top of the Hoodoos is magnificent. To the north you see the back slopes of the Superstition Mountain, the headwaters of West Boulder Canyon and First Water Creek. The Massacre Grounds are further to the northwest with the Four Peaks Mountains lying in the distance. Moving our eyes towards the west, we see the city of Fountain Hills nestled in the foothills west of the Fort McDowell Indian Reservation. Further to the left, the horizon becomes more obstructed by the ever present haze of pollution. It wasn’t too bad today however, as we could at least see the outline of Camelback Mountain. Directly to the west lay the city of Phoenix, with its cluster of tall buildings struggling to be made out through the brownish gray haze. For a moment, I reflected on a period in my life back in the ‘60’s when, for five wonderful years I lived in Phoenix. The city was smaller, the air was cleaner and life was simpler. Now, twenty-five years later, there was a blanket of brownish haze, which extended from the north of Scottsdale, down through Phoenix, and then south along the I-10 freeway corridor. Looking to the southwest, I can barely make out South Mountain, and the Santan mountain range.

Sweeping our gaze around to the left, the brownish haze turns into the more natural silver-bluish haze of the desert. Just a few miles down the southern slopes of the mountain, I could see the community of MountainBrook Village, where I lived. The entire village seemed slightly larger than a MasterCard credit card. Eagle Rock, a prominent landmark was now just a small blip on the desert floor. We were on top of it all. “Bow down ye sniveling masses, riding in your electric golf carts while putting in a strenuous 18 holes of golf, for we are kings of the mountain”. We had arrived.

After gaining my humble composure once again, I looked off towards the east and could just see the edge of Picketpost Mountain. Just north of the ridge of the Superstitions was the famed Weavers Needle, a prominent landmark described in the Legend of the Lost Dutchman’s Gold. Then following along the ridge of the Superstition Mountain is, Uh…. Oh, Oh. The easternmost peak on the mountain looks higher than the Flatiron Hoodoos, which we are on. Indeed upon closer examination of my map I see that the Hoodoos are marked at 5024 feet and this other peak is marked at 5057 feet. My apologies to everyone for my delusions of grandeur, but still, this is one tall peak.

I was not looking forward to the trip down the mountain. It is bad enough climbing up hand over hand, but for me, going down was just as strenuous, if not more. My mother had often complained of weak ankles. “If I had stronger ankles, I could have been a great dancer, or a figure skater” she would say. Well, I must have inherited some of that weakness. Even on flat ground, a well placed crack or rock can send me plummeting down towards the earth, and here where a fall can continue for hundreds of feet, I picked my steps very carefully. But alas, there always those with stronger ankles and thicker heads for it wasn’t long before we were passed by a young man who was virtually flying down the canyon through the same cracks and crevices which we had to study out, and take several well placed mini-steps to navigate.

And then, she came. That girl, the one who had passed us on the way up. Black lycra pants, with a short sleeved tee, wearing her headphones and bounding down the mountainside. I swear I had met her sister who overtook us on a previous hike along the Mormon Trail in South Mountain Park. She slowed down just long enough to say hello, so I asked her what she thought of the climb. “I just wanted to see how hard it was” she exclaimed. “And the verdict” I asked? “Just as hard as I had remembered it from when I was a little girl” she replied. Thank goodness. At least that was some consolation for all our hard climbing, scratched arms and legs, and torn and sweaty clothing.

We continued down the mountain in silence. For the most part we were able to stay on the trail, even so marveling in awe at some of the rocky terrain we had traversed and rock ledges we had climbed. As we emerged from the canyon of Siphon Draw, the most spectacular view of the day was to greet us. It was now 3:00 p.m., and the warm sun had beckoned all the flowers to open their colorful blossoms and turn their heads towards its life giving heat. There were vast fields of the yellow brittle bush flower, pockets of gold from the Golden Poppies, all shining even brighter than old Jacob Waltz’s fabled gold. There were delicate hues of purple lupines accented with the pale orange of the Red Mallow. This is one of the most spectacular displays of wild flowers I have ever seen. With the abundance of moisture from the winter rains, it seemed as if the entire ground had been covered with a yellow pigment from the artists’ sponge.

Aching and weary, but well pleased, we headed down the trail to the parking lot. Glad to arrive at the truck, but sad to leave the beauties of the mountain, we discussed the hike. “The Flatiron? Oh yea, it’s an all right hike. Been there, done that”. But now, looking to the future, we all agreed that we must find the trail that leads to the higher eastern peak, the 5057-foot elevation of the Superstition Mountain.