PAGE 10 • SUMMER 2013
YOUR GUIDE TO ARIZONA RIM COUNTRY
PAYSON ROUNDUP
Swimming holes The Fossil Creek equation: Blisters + Waterfalls = Paradise BY PETE ALESHIRE ROUNDUP EDITOR
Pausing on a precarious point of balance in the midst of the swirl of Fossil Creek, I listened for the deeper rush of the waterfall I’d been promised. The day shimmered all around me — the smear of white clouds in the aching sky, the first flush of yellow and gold in the sycamores and willows, the tremble of the still-green cottonwoods, the rustle of ash and alder. But the most remarkable tint of all gleamed in the surreal aqua-blue-greenturquoise waters of Fossil Creek. The water had emerged from a great spring some miles upstream, saturated with travertine leached from the deep layers of limestone through. Now the dissolved limestone was giving up its carbon dioxide and precipitating out of the water to make mineral deposits on the rock at my sandaled feet. I flexed my right foot experimentally, to determine whether the bump on the strap had yet started a blister. Hmm. No. Wait. Maybe. Darn. No matter — we’re nearly there. The stream rushed past, offering tempting swimming holes around every turn — deep pools flickering with fish with water so clear you could see 10 feet to the bottom. The spring waters that feed the creek deposit 13 tons of travertine on the rocks and roots along the streambed daily according to one estimate — making drip-castle deposits on the rock and building meandering check dams that made stretches of the stream look like hills covered with intricately terraced Chinese rice paddies. Hiking up that thread of a trail with my shorts and my strapped-on water sandals, I felt good — like the hero of a Bruce Springsteen song. Glory days, brother. Glory days. I could have come down the steep Fossil Creek trail, with its grueling 1,500-foot elevation change. But I instead drove to Camp Verde and accessed the creek from that side — saving myself for the plunge pools. The effort to restore Fossil Creek had so far proved wildly successful. Biologists had removed most of the native fish, then poisoned out the non-natives like the swarms of sunfish. As a final, added benefit — the stream so far harbors no non-native bullfrogs or even crayfish — both great scourges of riparian areas. As a result, Fossil Creek remains blissfully free of most of the introduced species that have driven native fish and amphibians to the brink of extinction along most Arizona streams. That may account for the booming chub population — now an estimated 15,000 — along with the return of the endangered Chiricahua leopard frog and a host of other native species. Now within earshot of the waterfall, I hurried forward. Sure enough, the waterfall spilled over a 30-foot cliff. The turquoise water swirled around the rim of a deep pool and a shimmering yellow tree set itself against the deep blue sky.
Pete Aleshire photo
The surreal aqua-blue-green-turquoise waters of Fossil Creek offer tempting swimming holes around every turn, with deep pools flickering with fish and water so clear you can see 10 feet to the bottom.
I spent a perfect hour sitting beside the waterfall, diving so deep in the swirling pool at its base that it hurt my ears and even climbing to the rock outcrop from which you can cannonball the pool from a height of 20 feet. And because I have never known when to quit, I decided to push on above the falls, where the canyon narrowed and the trees grew thicker. The trail flickered in and out of existence in the underbrush. The closer we moved to the beckoning spring, the more marshy areas we encountered, thanks to the effects of those 13 tons of travertine laid down every day. The water rushing past my feet now probably fell as rain atop the Mogollon Rim thousands of years ago. To reach me, the water had to make its inexorable way down
through thousands of feet of fractured limestone. That limestone had its own ancient lineage, since it’s composed of the skeletons of marine creatures who’d sunk to the bottom of some long-vanished inland sea. The patient water followed fractures and fault lines, dissolving the calcium carbonate in the limestone as it moved. Eventually, it followed a fracture to the surface, emerging as the spring that feeds Fossil Creek. Here in the narrower canyon closer to the spring, the stream seemed much more creative and diligent about building drip castles and check dams. I pushed on late into the afternoon, stumbling out of the undergrowth finally to find a nested series of ponds, stored up behind a cascade of travertine check dams. But I had to turn back short of the
springs, as the daylight dwindled. Besides, the blister caused by the strap of my water sandal was now making its own, insistent demands. So I sat on the narrow rim of the meandering travertine dam and decided that Fossil Creek now qualified as my favorite place in Arizona. There, on the spillover of paradise, a deep-green Chiricahua leopard frog took fright at my meditations and made a great leap into the middle of the pond, as the shadows of the chub criss-crossed beneath. Fossil Creek set to work coating my blister with travertine as I sat in perfect bliss, grateful that I have still never learned when to stop. Facilities: No camping or fires along the creek, but great for day use. CONTINUED ON PAGE 11