Last January I was moving out of my house an epic ordeal, twenty years getting packed up. February brought us to Zipolite. We missed the scheduled group visits to the Hot Springs.
March brought us to the newness of the Covid scare. The rest of the schedule for Spring was cancelled, too dangerous to risk the health and welfare of the tribe. The announcement reminded us that we would be together next Fall.
We have arrived at “Next Fall.” The pandemic lingers today. The entire soaking season has been cancelled. There is something about using mask at the springs. Yes, it would stifle the community and then there is that risk to others.
So, tonight I lament. There is sadness. Mt. Lemmon burnt down, many places are more crowded. I was certainly looking forward to the joy of days at those springs, glamping nude in the Eden-like atmosphere.
I have some pictures and I have memories of the reality of hot mineral springs. Here we were last Fall:
It isn’t always warm and sunny during the Arizona winters.
We once camped out of the trees and the high wind chill from the Northwest was flattening the tent, we moved about bundled, quickly stripping to jump into a tingling pool.
This last couple of times were colder, but with no wind, as we camped in the sheltering windbreak of the trees.
The winter gives color to the area as most of the predominately green hues disappear.
In the cold morning or evening, we might wander in robes and something warm on our feet and heads. Anything is used, in layers, to keep warm.
The lack of nudity doesn’t dissuade the place from its enchantment, however. There are the pools and streams of hot water, steam and mist. A fog …