Pumphouse Wash campsite, South of Flagstaff

About a 15-minute drive South of Flagstaff, on the highway to Sedona, we found our site for the next couple nights.  Deserted but for us, the squirrels, 1 coyote, and 2 other campers that showed up late and departed early the next day, we had our own private forest it seemed.  This was another great National Forest Service campsite, well laid out with lots of room and privacy.  These were a real kick back and do-nothing couple of days, with a few exceptions…

My previously sore neck felt a bit better.  There are few better ways I can think of to explore an area than by bike, terrain permitting of course.  One thing a lot of the places we’ve gone seem to have in common in horse/hiking trails.  Too rough and narrow for any motorized vehicles, these are often the trails I find myself riding, with a few areas requiring walking through.  This was no different.  The rolling hills full of lodgepole pine we’re hiding secrets.  Behind and between, dry creek beds snaked around.  If one wasn’t careful hiking or biking above you could quickly find yourself tumbling down 80-foot cliffs of stone, washed smooth high above the current day water line, giving a glimpse into the history of what the landscape may have been.

Mine wasn’t the only excitement there.  While Angela had Jake for an off-leash walk a coyote wandered near.  Jake has been experiencing a bit of stimulation overload lately with all the new scenery and wildlife.  And the coyotes here seem much healthier than the scraggly bunch back home.  I’m guessing the fact they don’t have to survive on scraps through a chilly winter contributes.  Fortunately, Angela spotted the wild dog first and was able to quickly grab the attention, and collar of Jake before he spotted it.  I don’t think that would have ended too well had she not.

All this stimulation has more than just Jake on high alert all the time.  Gus was secured to the site post with a 30-foot line made of standard leash material when he spotted something.  I happened across the doorway of the trailer when I noticed a white blur moving quickly away.  I cringed anticipating the violent snap back he was about to experience when he ran out of slack, but only for a brief moment.  I quickly recognized the weathered maroon colored streamer flapping behind him, now at least 50 feet away!  The old line was no match for an 80 lbs Gus, bent on catching – a pine bow, that had fallen from a gust of wind.

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