An excerpt:
“4 a.m. on a December morning, 1989. I drove north out of Tucson, Arizona, whisking through the deserted streets of a small town down the highway and then by a state prison flooded with orange light. My tires whined on U.S. 60 running along the southwestern flank of the Superstition Wilderness, east of metropolitan Phoenix. I spotted a lone gas station and a small Mexican restaurant in a white box building, shut down for the night.
At the western edge of the Wilderness I bumped along a winding road to the deserted First Water Trailhead. Strapping on my backpack in the chilly air, I gazed at the white and gold first light above a black rise in the trail, backed by a mountain’s slender arc. A lone Saguaro stood thin and sharp in the gold sky. The veil of contemplative silence that you find in a Wilderness lay a mile down the trailhead.
At the time the population of nearby Apache Junction, the outlying rim of greater Phoenix, was 18,100.”
To read more of Scott’s story, click the image below:
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