|
Starry Nights, Pristine Caves, and Velvet ElvisBy Craig LanctoI remembered Arizona from my last visit, thirty years ago: desert, cactus, more desert… I didn’t remember the skies, or that there could be so many stars.
One lesson that I learned early on: if you keep walking while admiring the night sky, steer clear of the saguaro cactus; it’s like walking into a wall of vengeful Velcro. After dinner we piled onto a buckboard for a pitch-black ride to Stardance, the Lazy K’s sister ranch, where a telescope and astronomer waited to introduce us to the night sky. I saw things I’d never seen before, such as a good look at Mars, more butterscotch than red; the Ring Nebula, a glowing doughnut light years away; and the Owl Cluster, a constellation I could actually make out without a crystal ball and map. It was a delightful introduction and a strong indication that southern Arizona is much more than I remembered. As we rode back to the Lazy K behind horses clopping steadily into the darkness, I fought against an irresistible and inexplicable urge to sing “Oklahoma” and mused about how difficult night travel must have been in this desert a hundred years ago. The next morning, as we headed for nearby Kitt Peak Observatory (everything is an hour and a half from Tucson) on the Tohona O’Odham reservation, I refrained from mentioning that we would have a better chance of looking at the stars if we went at night. The scenery was fascinating, and the flora changed frequently and suddenly as we ascended to the observatory’s 7,000-foot elevation. Wooded mountains stretched into the distance, the valley stretched out below us, and the observatories blazed white against deep blue skies.
I had thought vaguely that "sun spots" was a figure of speech. As a former English teacher, I assume that everything is a figure of speech, and I can rattle off the distinction between a metaphor and simile faster than – well, pretty fast. But sun spots they were, and for the first time in my life I was looking at them, even without fearing that I would go blind.
From the relative cool of the observatory, we returned to the Sonora Desert and a visit to the Baroque eighteenth-century San Xavier del Bac mission. The exterior of the Franciscan mission would not be out of place in the Middle East, but the interior, virtually unchanged since it was built, feels distinctly primitive. Dinner at Westward Look Resort where we spent the first two nights was a delightful set menu paired with wines. That night’s happened to be from Australia. We started on the balcony with lobster ravioli with ancho, chile, cognac, and cream; scallops Wellington with jalapeno, arugula, and cream sauce; and sautéed smoked foie gras with blueberry compote, guajillo, chile, port jelly, and brioche and then moved indoors to begin with celery root poblano bisque with Dungeness crab and artichoke slaw. I especially liked the smoked duck bacon spinach salad with caramelized pecans and maytag blue cheese, but the mesquite-grilled buffalo sirloin finished with a cabernet, chipotle, maple glaze was tender, flavorful, and succulent. Served on a bed of mashed purple Peruvian potatoes with bright green spears of broccoli, it was almost too beautiful to eat. But we managed. I really shouldn’t have eaten the caramelized banana white chocolate cream tower of praline marscapone ice cream. With every mouthful I promised myself that I would stop until nothing remained but the sound of one fork scraping. It was far too much food prepared too well, and only one of the reasons for my gaining 9½ pounds in five days.
I was surprised that unlike our previous experience, we were never allowed the opportunity to look at an image, either through the lens or by computer, which had been the most rewarding element of our visit to Mount Kitt. The amount of information being gathered at these observatories is almost incomprehensible. When one of the engineers proudly told us that on one recent night scientists here had been able to gather information simultaneously from 252 galaxies, I realized that I had trouble truly grasping the immensity of the universe. Insignificant as we are, we were hungry, and our hosts at the Arizona Office of Tourism (AOT) had arranged for dinner at Rio Rico Resort, where Executive Chef Warren Weekes and his able assistant, Adolfo Aris Cabrera, created surprise after delectable surprise at the tapas bar. The pan-seared goat cheese with sweet balsamic reduction was far different from the usual earthiness of goat cheese. However, among the succulent prime rib and sesame duck, and a range of eminently satisfying palate pleasers, two stood out: medjool dates served warm with prosciutto and cabazola was a melt-in-your-mouth medley of bleu cheese reigned in by the dates’ sweetness, and Caramba! the giant white Mexican shrimp wrapped in bacon and grilled in a soy-prickly pear sauce. This must be the hors d’oeuvre served by the gods. Indeed, every dish was a victory. The next morning, Chef Weekes took us to Nogales, Mexico, to try a couple of his favorite restaurants and some traditional Mexican cooking. Along the way, we made stops so that Weekes could teach us about different kinds of peppers (So that’s what chipotle means!), their relative heat on the Scoville scale, and how they are best used in cooking. He also made time to teach us about tequila. In Guanajuato the previous year, I had been introduced to reposado, an aged tequila that I call sippin’ tequila. It is smoother and more flavorful than ordinary tequila. No one had told me about añejo, an older tequila, aged in oak barrels, that is to reposado as reposado is to tequila. Naturally, both are made only with blue agave. Weekes runs the Mexico tours out of Rio Rico about once a week. For $59, safe transportation into and around Mexico, food, beverages, knowledgeable guides, and a chef’s view of produce and drinks, I think it quite the bargain. We said good-bye to the chef and dashed for Patagonia Lake, where park ranger Steve Haas awaited us. In a state where only 13 percent of the land is privately owned and the question of water supply imbedded in one’s awareness, Patagonia Lake is like an oasis in the desert. Well, I suppose that it is an oasis in the desert. The lake was formed in the late sixties when Sonoita Creek, which supplies it, was dammed. With Ranger Haas, the park’s manager, at the wheel, we toured the lake in a pontoon boat, while volunteer John Webb described our surroundings. Haas mentioned that budget cutbacks have made loyal volunteers such as Webb critical to properly operating the park. We were surprised and delighted at the abundance of wildlife around the lake, with blue herons taking flight as we hugged the shore, one obligingly swallowing a large catfish before our very eyes. Around us swam dozens of whiteface coots. (My grandson would have said they were my peers.) From time to time along the shore, we spotted some of the small deer that roam the park. After a leisurely tour of the lake we headed for the hills and the 1920s adobe ranch house at Tierra de los Sueños, the bed and breakfast where we would spend the night. I like houses that ramble, and this is one of the most wonderful houses I have had the pleasure to visit. After we unpacked and the battle over favorite rooms was lost and won, we headed the three miles into the center of artsy Patagonia (population about 900) and the charming and quirky Velvet Elvis Pizza Company.
Velvet Elvis has something for everyone. “The organic food is for the sophisticated palate,” says Bermeo, who had painted pictographs on the dining room floor in response to an inner voice, “the voice of the ancient ones.” “The Native American spirit expresses my strong connection to Native Americans,” she said. Images of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the patron saint of Mexico, were also gifts. Organic food, pictographs of the ancient ones, images of the King, a cedar archangel and paintings of Native American women on the walls are only the surface of Cecilia’s story, but you’ll have to ask her about how she came to be in Patagonia when you visit. The following morning found us on the road to Kartchner Caverns State Park. At the time “the Big room” wasn’t yet open to the public, but AOT managed to get us into a practice tour. I prefer Virginia’s Luray Caverns, but what intrigued me about these was the uncompromising commitment to conservation. After touring the visitors’ center, visitors board an electric tram that whisks them to the cave entrance, a convenience for the elderly and infirm who happen to be exploring caves (The walled, paved trails are entirely wheelchair accessible), but it also protects the landscape and keeps visitors relatively dust free. Dust or lint can be a hazard to caves, introducing algae to the environment. So, as we entered the cave, we were misted by a fine spray overhead. In the 90-plus degree heat, I was thankful, but the spray moderates the arid air and rinses off or dampens down any free dust and lint before we enter the first of four sealed conservation chambers designed to keep humidity in and desert air out. The first chamber felt like a steam bath. Like canal locks, everyone must be in and the first door resealed before the second door is opened. As we entered each chamber, we experienced a greater degree of comfort until we finally reached the caverns. The cement paths are lined with either very high curbs or very low walls. Because lint can be a major problem despite the extensive measures in place, the paths barriers allow flushing the trails by pumping water through them after the last of the day’s visitors have left. As another conservation measure, the water is then used to water plants around the visitors’ center. The cave offered many familiar formations, crenellated columns, bacon and eggs we have seen done better at Luray, but indirect lighting and use of flashlights maintained the atmosphere and integrity of the caves better than any other I have visited throughout the United States. In another conservation measure, to protect the 800-1000 bats that live in the cave, the caverns are closed during the maternity and nursing period, usually from mid-April to mid-October.
Callaghan had just finished picking grapes. As tired as he had to be, he became increasingly animated as he discussed each of his wines. More fun was watching Toronto wine critic Michael Vaughn’s growing excitement as his nose plunged deeper into his glass for longer periods of time. I know rapture, and this was it. Thus reinforced, we headed for the Café Sonoita, a deservedly popular restaurant with a varied and sophisticated menu and an equally sophisticated wine list. The prime rib stuffed with jalapenos was popular, and the pork chops were finished with a prickly pear glaze. AOT’s Heather Wright and I, the major prickly pear fanciers, high-fived over yet another use for our favorite fruit, but I finally settled on the more pedestrian filets mignon. Sometimes a man just needs to have meat and potatoes. My personal highlight was the thick block of chewy fudge brownie topped with ice cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce. In a realm where I am truly a connoisseur, I had found paradise. In the Arizona desert. Who would have believed….? I left Arizona reluctantly. I still associate it with cactus, but now, I have added fine dining, excellent wines, and night skies that are truly stellar. The author wishes to thank David Elms, Arizona Outback Adventures, and the Arizona Office of Tourism for their generous support and assistance. |
|
TM
Our
first night in Tucson, we went to the Lazy K Ranch for dinner. I was sorry that
we had arrived at sunset, because what I could see was spectacular: directly
behind the main building, a soaring 60-foot cliff where guests climb and rappel;
a corral where young riders come to test bulls for buckworthiness before they go
on to the rodeo circuit; saguaro cacti more than a century old, a meadow filled
with horses, the biggest doggone dog – a massive mastiff – you ever did see; and
the star-studded night sky. Living in Washington (not the state) I had forgotten
that there were more stars than one could count on the fingers of one hand. In
southern Arizona it was like looking at the roof of a planetarium - without the
humidity.
Kitt
Peak National Optical Astronomy Observatory (NOAO) has the largest array of
optic telescopes in the world. When we entered the visitor’s center, I noticed
that the screen with a pale disk seemed to have been damaged in the lower right
corner. Our guide, program coordinator Robert Wilson, told us that many visitors
don’t realize that they are seeing a live image of the sun projected onto a
screen. Imagine that, I chuckled, casting sidelong glances at the screen. Robert
pointed out that each of the sun spots clustered like frog eggs in the lower
right quadrant was many times larger than the earth, represented by the little
marble suspended next to the huge disk of the sun. I ventured that some people
didn’t even realize that those were sunspots—but I was embarrassed about it.
Wilson
guided us to the observatory that school groups generally use. This hydrogen
alpha telescope filters light from the sun so that only one wavelength of
hydrogen is visible, allowing us to see the sun as a red disk with clear
sunspots and the fuzzy arches of prominences, hundreds of times cooler that the
surface of the sun. When students use this telescope, they control it from a
computer so that the images appear on a screen that more than one can see. NOAO
provides the students with a video of their observations and one of them using
the computer.
The
next morning we headed for the Fred Lawrence Whipple Observatory atop Mount
Hopkins, 8550 feet above sea level. Operated jointly by the Smithsonian
Institution and the University of Arizona, Whipple is about an hour’s drive from
the visitor’s center, up a narrow twisting road, often with nothing between the
government bus and a tumbling, terrifying death – not that it ever occurred to
me.
The
view from atop Mount Hopkins was breathtaking—and that was looking down! The top
of the mountain was leveled to make a space for the 550-ton building that houses
the main telescope. Unlike most observatories, this one is not in a dome with
telescope and slit tracking the advance of stars across the night sky. Instead,
one wall and half of the roof slides open, and the entire building rotates on
railroad tracks to follow the stars.
In
addition to serving delicious fare that happens to be organic, the Velvet Elvis
is a story unto itself. Yes, it does contain a rendering of Elvis on velvet, but
that came after the restaurant was named. For Ecuadorian proprietor Cecilia
Bermeo, “Velvet Elvis” was nothing more than a whimsical name. It was later that
a friend donated the fuzzy portrait of The King. As it happens, I didn’t even
notice the painting when we first entered because the life-size sculpture of the
Archangel Michael that guarded the door had my undivided attention. Carved in
Guadalajara from a single block of cedar, the sword-wielding archangel was
destined for the nearby Mission of San Miguel, which Bermeo is converting to a
non-smoking bar every bit as whimsical as Velvet Elvis.
After
the caves we visited some local wineries to taste their wares. Our second stop
of the day was at Callaghan Vineyards where owner Kent Callaghan and his friend
Al Buhl from Dos Cabezos Vineyards greeted us on the porch.