The San Rafael Valley - First Look

 

The San Rafael Valley is an obscure area located along the border of Arizona and Mexico and nestled in a wide valley created by the Patagonia and Huachuca Mountains as well as the Canelo Hills. Have you ever heard of it? Neither had I.

I first read about it in a lengthy tome called “A Natural History of the Sonoran Desert”, put out by the Arizona Sonoran Desert Museum. Even there, where descriptions are usually detailed, the San Rafael Valley merits only the briefest of mentions.

Try reading up on it and you will discover very little to broaden your perspective. Technically, a part of it is state conservation lands, however, there are no improvements, and though the state does own it, it hasn’t provided interpretive information because it is not open to the public due to lack of funding.

For whatever reason, I have been unable to resist the urge to visit. For the better part of a year, I have been yearning to go. The brief descriptions piqued something inside me, awakening a curiosity and, like any good adventurer, I scoured the interwebs for every morsel of information I could find. One woman, blogger Marlene of Wild Woman Wonderers said, of SRV “It was simply a valley with nothing of interest.” With a description like that, how could I resist?!

Even finding directions to the area seemed uncertain. I was sure that I had read descriptions from the Tucson Audubon Society that ominously warned me to not try to bird watch from certain locations due to making the locals angry. Everything about this place was shrouded in mystery and uncertainties.

After doing as much research as I could manage, I decided to set out mid-day, hoping to catch some beautiful evening light. I knew the drive would take me about an hour and a half but had little idea what to expect beyond that. There were descriptions of dirt roads, but I was not clear on where those began. Undaunted, I filled Ava Matilda’s tank, carted lots of water and my camera gear and headed out.

My drive took me across Highway 83, traversing the foothills of the Santa Rita Mountains and moving past Empire Ranch, the town of Sonoita and into the rolling hills that harbor vineyards and ranches along the route to Elgin and Parker Canyon Lake. Much of this area is lush, green and grass covered and beautiful in it’s own right. It’s a rural area with low traffic and plenty to catch my eye. It was a discipline to not stop many times along the way to explore!

I had taken the road south out of Sonoita and followed as though I were heading to Parker Canyon Lake until the GPS told me to keep heading South on Canelo Pass Rd. This is where the dirt began. I wound along through thick Juniper and Oak scrub, climbing up and over the pass which topped out at 5,482 ft. The trip down into the valley seemed much quicker. I finally crossed paths with a couple of other vehicles, but they would be the last or a long time.

Finally, rolling hills covered in golden prairie spanned the horizon for miles. I was entering the San Rafael Valley at last.

Across the valley, a coveted desert storm was releasing its best over the farther southern reaches of the grasslands, most likely in Mexico. Reaching the beginnings of the savanna, I couldn’t resist stopping to get out and breath in the air and this is what I discovered.

Silence. 

Silence unlike anything I had experienced before.

I was hit with a silence so unusual to me that I simply had to listen in wonder. It was almost like a presence of its own. 

I live in the country and am used to relative silence. Its rare that we hear sirens or much traffic noise. Still, over the 19 years we have lived here, the underlying hum of community has increased. Even at night, you will always hear something. A dog barking, a train rumbling through, a neighbor yelling across the yard or the sounds of cars speeding along the busiest road, about 1.5 miles away. It is quiet but it isn’t still.

In this place, there was nothing. There were no cars. There were no sirens. There were no neighbors, no dogs, no trains…….no sound. Simply silence. Not even a wisp of wind, though the temperatures were a heavenly cool in the vicinity of 75 degrees.

As I stood contemplating, suddenly, as if to contradict my speculations at how such silence was possible, a whooshing sound began. I looked West, where it was coming from, to note some grasses beginning to sway about 100 yards out.

The soft whoosh built slowly, growing into a roar. I was confused. It was centered across a brief swath of grasses. But on it went, growing and growing until suddenly, I saw and heard it sweeping towards me like some kind of spirit.

I stood my ground, detecting little else beyond the swoosh and the movement of grasses. There was nothing else to see, but I could feel it’s power. I stood stock still in my place and felt it move right through me, hitting me in the chest and parting immediately to swirl and dance around me.

I turned to watch as it went and saw the instant lift of dust from the road behind me as the unseen powers of a dust devil swirled, for the briefest moment into a visible dance and then almost as quickly were gone again. I was mesmerized. I had never before stood my ground in the face of this malevolence, but having done so, I was thankful for the experience.

Nothing of interest huh? I was immediately taken with the place and knew that the San Rafael Valley would far exceed my expectations.