Maverick Philosopher

Arizona Sunset, New Year's Eve, 2022

The Peripatetic Zetetic

On the Continental Divide trail near Abiquiu, New Mexico, August 2015.

Superstition Wilderness: Garden Valley Loop out of First Water Trailhead

The boys were a little anxious but acquitted themselves well on this five and a half mile loop through characteristically rugged Superstition terrain except for the easy walk through Garden Valley itself. The guide books say it takes four and a half hours. It took the old men a bit longer. We left at 6:36 and were back at the Jeep at 11:22 ante meridian. We made the full trip to Hackberry Spring which involves an arduous return via some scrambling  and a lot of streambed rock hopping.

In these times that try men's souls it is excellent therapy to be on trails that try men's soles.  Isn't that cute?

Dennis proudly standing and your humble correspondent sitting near Hackberry Spring. Photo credit: Jeff K. 

Dale Tuggy has a good eye. Here is a shot from our Good Friday hike, 3 April, 2015.  We are headed back to the trailhead from Hackberry Spring  via the First Water Creek bed.

And here is the man himself in the vicinity of Hackberry Spring:

Easter Monday Local Ramble

Out the front door, plenty of elevation gain and loss. Hike much, stay sane. The boys acquitted themselves well. Photo credit: Dennis M.

Your Vehicle

Keep it roadworthy. But it's only a vehicle. And life's only a road.

And don't forget to take it easy. We're going to the end of the line.

Sonoran Spring

Photo credit: Wifey

Treasure Loop, Western Superstitions, 5 April 2022

Lost Dutchman State Park with the Goldfield Mountains to the West behind me. Double left-click for close-up. Photo credit: Dennis Murray.

University of Dayton Philosophy Department Circa 1980

Amazing what one can dredge up from the vasty deeps of cyberspace!

The Philosopher's Consolation: The Owl of Minerva Spreads its Wings at Dusk

It may be too late to make America great again. Where is the glory that was Rome?

How Nations Slip from Greatness to Obscurity

Fremont Saddle, Western Superstitions. Weaver's Needle

View from a Side Car

We are heading east on U.S. 60 in the direction of Superior, AZ. Picketpost Mountain looms on the horizon.  Mike Valle is driving the motorcycle; your humble correspondent rides shotgun.

A Good Time to Swim the Tiber

More shots of Rome here.

At the Hermitage

Grateful to Live in Arizona

I've lived in Hawaii, Santa Barbara, Boston, and the Midwest, not to mention other places in the USA and abroad: Salzburg, Austria, Freiburg, Germany, and Ankara, Turkey.   No place beats Arizona, all things considered. That is a mighty subjective judgment, to be sure, but if a blogger cannot vent his subjectivity, who can?

For one thing, Arizona is in the West and we all know that the West is the best, far, far away from the effete and epicene East, lousy with liberals, and the high taxes they love; but not so far West as to be on the Left Coast where there was once and is no more a great and golden state, California. Geographical chauvinism aside, there is beauty everywhere, even in California, when you abstract from the political and economic and social malaise wrought by destructive leftists, the majestic Sierra Nevada, for example, the Range of Light (John Muir). Herewith, an amateur  shot of the the Sedona red rock country:

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I Introduce Two New Friends to the Superstition Mountains

One of the great boons of blogging is that the blogger attracts the like-minded.  Below are two medical doctors I had the great pleasure of spending the day with in a satisfying break from my Bradleyan reclusivity. Dave K. found me via this weblog and initiated correspondence, so I knew he would be simpatico. I didn't know about his wife, Barbara C. , but she turned out also to be a member of the Coalition of the Sane, a Trump supporter, and one charming lady of Italian extraction.

Halcyon October in the Western Superstitions

Photo credit: Barbara Caffaratti

Train Bound for Nowhere

Theme music: Kenny Rogers, The Gambler

The Open Road from the Cockpit of a Jeep Wrangler

Theme music: Eagles, Take it Easy

Parker Pass, Western Superstitions, March 2019

Dennis M. holds forth.

Peripatetic Philosophy in the Western Superstitions

Dale Tuggy and I explored some new trails in a four and one half hour ramble out of the Cloudview Trailhead, 30 March 2019. Weather exquisite, companionship excellent, conversation both deep and wide-ranging. Physical condition at the end: righteously tuckered and ready for re-hydration. In a word, beer.

 

 

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Prandial and Post-Prandial Pleasures

With Brian B. and Mike V. at Los Locos Gringos, my favorite local Mexican eatery. There is nothing better than a good meal and good conversation with like-minded friends. After Mike sped away on his iron horse, Brian and I spent the rest of the afternoon playing chess at Gecko Espresso. Mike, on the right, is one sharp-dressed man these days. Me? I am still of the '60s sartorially speaking. 

 

 

 

 

 

Snow on Superstition Mountain

On the Dutchman's Trail to Parker Pass

My e-mail to Jeff and Dennis:

Weather forecast looks favorable. The Sage of the Superstitions will take you boys on a pussy cat hike and introduce you to Parker Pass.   I don't believe you two have been out this way. Out and back, 4. 6 miles. Little elevation change, but a number of creek crossings. If we feel like it we can  explore an unmarked side trail.

 

Sunrise at 7:06. Please be at my house at 6:30.  No hike if rain.

 

https://hikearizona.com/decoder.php?ZTN=201

Weather proved more than favorable. Cold but clear after a few days of rain. Distant ridges flecked with snow. Ethereal wisps of cloud wreathed some peaks. Streams running strong; one even babbled in a language indecipherable. Numerous stream crossings tested our agility. Not too much mud and dreck, just enough to add interest and texture. The hike commenced at the First Water trailhead at 7:15 AM. A leisurely climb brought us to the pass at the stroke of 9:00. A half-hour at the pass for coffee and snacks, and then we mosied on down, making it back to the Jeep at 10:45. I calculated our pace to be about 1 and 1/2 miles per hour. Nothing to crow about, of course, but not bad for old men in rugged country.

Access road in very good shape despite all the rain. Didn't even need the four-wheel drive, but used it anyway to give it some exercise and keep the fluids viscous and happy.

Kerouac in Scollay Square

Beatific October, Kerouac month hereabouts, is at its sad redbrick end once again and it is time for me to stop the hyper-romantic Jacking off.  From On the Road:  

 

Kerouac Alley

A Northern California reader sends this photo of a street scene in the vicinity of City Lights Bookstore, San Francisco. I made a 'pilgrimage' to Lawrence Ferlinghetti's famous bookstore in the early '70s. That was before the Kerouac street sign was up.

Some of Ferlinghetti's poetry can be read here.  To my surprise, Ferlinghetti is still alive at 99. By contrast, old Kerouac quit the mortal coil and "the slaving meat wheel" at age 47.  He is, we hope, "safe in heaven, dead."  

 

From Peralta to First Water: A Tribute to Lloyd Glaus

This morning I received the news that my neighbor and fellow hiker Lloyd Glaus had died. What follows is a redacted entry from an earlier pre-Typepad version of this weblog in which I reported on a memorable trans-Superstition hike we took together over ten years ago, on 29 October 2007, when Lloyd was 75 years old and I was 57.

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How long can we keep it up?

I mean the running, the biking, the hiking and backpacking? Asking myself this question I look to my elders: how do they fare at their advanced ages? Does the will to remain fit and strong pave a way? For some it does. Having made the acquaintance of a wild and crazy 75-year-old who ran his first marathon recently in the Swiss Alps, uphill all the way, the start being Kleine Scheidegg at the base of the awesome Eiger Nordwand, the North Wall of the Eiger, I invited him to a little stroll in the Superstitions, there to put him under my amateur gerontological microscope. Lloyd's wife Annie dropped us off at the Peralta Trailhead in the dark just before first light and we started up the rocky trail toward Fremont Saddle. 

Eight and a half hours  later she kindly collected us at First Water, the temperature having risen to 95 degrees. Lloyd acquitted himself well, though the climb from Boulder Basin to Parker Pass left him tuckered. And he got cut up something fierce when we lost the trail and had to bushwack through catclaw and other nasty flora.

But he proved what I wanted proven, namely, that at 75 one can go for a grueling hike though rugged country in high heat and still have a good time and be eager to begin planning the next trip. Some shots follow. Click to enlarge. Weaver's Needle, the most prominent landmark in the Superstition Range and visible from all corners of the wilderness, but especially well from Fremont Saddle, our first rest stop, is featured in several of them.  

This is how I will remember Lloyd, and this is how I suspect he would want to be remembered -- with his boots on in the mountains.

 Tribute to Lloyd Glaus

Peralta-First Water October 2007

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A Little Road Trip . . .

. . . to Sedona, Arizona and back. Left early Friday, back at noon on Saturday. 338 miles round-trip from my place in the foothills of the Superstition Mountains by the leisurely and scenic route via Payson which avoids Phoenix and most of Interstate 17.  Wifey read a paper, so we had posh digs at the Bell Rock Hilton at conference rates.

I've lived in Hawaii, Santa Barbara, Boston, and the Midwest, not to mention other places in the USA and abroad.  No place beats Arizona, all things considered. That is a mighty subjective judgment, to be sure, but if a blogger cannot vent his subjectivity, who can?

For one thing, Arizona is in the West and we all know the West is the best, far, far away from the effete and epicene East, lousy with liberals, and the high taxes they love; but not so far West as to be on the Left Coast where there was once and is no more a great and golden state, California. Geographical chauvinism aside, there is beauty everywhere, even in California, when you abstract from the political and economic and social malaise wrought by destructive leftists, the majestic Sierra Nevada, for example, the Range of Light (John Muir). Herewith, an amateur  shot of the the Sedona red rock country:

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February in Arizona

February brings to the Sonoran desert days so beautiful that one feels guilty even sitting on the back porch, half-outside, taking it all in, eyes playing over the spring green, lungs deeply enfolding blossom-laden warmish breezes.  One feels that one ought to be walking around in this earthly heaven.  And this despite my having done just that early this morning.   Vita brevis, and February too with its 28 days.  The fugacity of February to break the heart.  It's all fleeting, one can't get enough of it.  All joy wants eternity, deep, deep eternity.

And now I head back outside, away from this too-complicated machine, to read simply and slowly some more from Stages on Life's Way and to drink a cup of java to stave off the halcyon sleepiness wrought by lambent light and long vistas on this afternoon in the foothills of the Superstition Mountains.

Why Isn't There More Progress in Philosophy?

An article by David J. Chalmers.  (HT: Dave Lull)  I read nine pages into it before I got bored.  And this despite my fascination with metaphilosophy.  So I went back to reading Klavan's memoir.  I am now on p. 173 of this 'page-turner.'  I am marking it up something fierce. Damn if it isn't good!   Scroll down for a couple of Klavan entries.

I spent the afternoon out back in T-shirt and shorts, drinking chai and enjoying a cheap cigar, on this, the fifth day of January, anno domini 2017.  It was nippy during my pre-dawn hike, though, circa 50 on the Fahrenheit scale.  I had to don a long-sleeved shirt. Life is tough.

A view from my stoa (click to enlarge, and again to enlarge):

The West is the Best

In every sense.  Well, maybe not in every sense: I live on the far eastern edge of the Phoenix metropolitan area with those glorious mountains right outside my window.  The western end of the Valle del Sol is flat and boring.  You may as well be in the Midwest.

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Biola University, Spring 2014

David Rodriquez sent me the following shot of some participants in an event at Biola University in the spring of 2014.  Ed Feser read a paper and I commented on  it.  I am the guy in the dark glasses with his arm around Ed Feser.  The tallest man is David Limbaugh  To my right is Adam Omelianchuk.  I apologize to the others for not remembering their names.

Owl in Nest High Up in Saguaro Cactus

 Note the half moon, faintly visible.  Click to enlarge.

In the Vicinity of Hackberry Spring, Superstition Wilderness

Dale Tuggy has a good eye. Here is a shot from our Good Friday hike, 3 April, 2015.  We are headed back to the trail head via the First Water Creek bed.

 

First Day of the Year, First Hike of the Year

I began the year right with a two-hour ramble right out my front door over the local hills. Very cold temps ramped up the usual saunter to a serious march.  I always go light: short pants, T-shirt, long-sleeved shirt, bandanna, light cotton gloves.  Rain that turned to snow overnight gave Superstition Mountain a serious dusting.

And I always take a notebook and a pen in case I get a really good idea.  Haven't had one yet, but you never know.

Walking in the wild, alone, is a pleasure to keep one sound in body and mind. "Really to see the sun rise or go down every day, so to relate ourselves to a universal fact, would preserve us sane forever." (Henry David Thoreau, Life Without Principle.)

Click on image to enlarge.

Friday Cat Blogging! No Cat Without a Catechism

My cat Max Black with his 'catechism.'

Lake Sils, Upper Engadin, Switzerland

Mark Anderson, presently on a sort of Nietzsche pilgrimage, sent me this panoramic shot.  Left-click to enlarge.  Mark explains:

The photo shows lake Sils. The little settlement below is Isola. Further to the right, where the lake ends, is Sils-Maria. The large patch of green that may look like an island right up against Sils is the Chasté peninsula, one of Nietzsche’s favorite places. He even fantasized about building himself a hermit’s hut there.

My Cat Caissa

Full of sound, and furry.

She lived 20+ years.  Here she is, subdued, near the end.

 

On Independent Thinking

Properly enacted, independent thinking is not in the service of self-will or subjective opining, but in the service of submission to a higher authority, truth itself.  We think for ourselves in order to find a truth that is not from ourselves, but from reality. The idea is to become dependent on reality, rather than on institutional and social distortions of reality. Independence subserves a higher dependence.

It is worth noting that thinking for oneself is no guarantee that one will arrive at truth. Far from it.  The maverick's trail may issue in a dead end.  Or it may not.  The world is littered with conflicting opinions generated from the febrile heads of people with too much trust in their own powers. But neither is submission to an institution's authority any assurance of safe passage to the harbor of truth. Both the one who questions authority and the one who submits to it can end up on a reef. 'Think for yourself' and 'Submit to authority' are both onesided pieces of advice.

And you thought things were easy?

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Merry Christmas, Loyal Readers!

Ed Farrell sent me the above.  Check out his fine photography here.

Thanksgivukkah 2013

The usual suspects enjoyed themselves immensely, three of whom are depicted below:

Sonoran White Tail Deer Breakfasting on Jojoba Behind My House

More Pictures from Prague

Peter Lupu wanted to see some pictures with me in them, so here we go: hiding one's vanity is perhaps a form thereof.  But first a shot of Ed Buckner and his charming wife, Fiona.  It was good to meet him in the flesh after many years of correspondence and weblog interaction.  He has appeared in these pages under such pseudonyms as 'William of Woking,' 'ockham,' 'ocham,' and a few others.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The remaining shots were all taken by Dale Tuggy.

Prague Conference on Analytic Theology, September 2013

Dale Tuggy on our rural ramble outside of Prague.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dale hoists a bottle of Pilsner Urquell.  To his right, Daniel von Wachter, Daniel Novotny, Alexander Pruss, Michael Gorman, Piotr Dvorak.  In the background, left to right, Jan Liska-Dalecki, Lukas Novak, and Trent Dougherty.

Right click to enlarge.

 

 

 

 

 

Lukas, Jan, and Vera.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trent Dougherty with his arm around Vlastimil Vohanka.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of the participants, fearful of objections, showed up in full armor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marvellous Czech cuisine and beer as our reward for exploring a medieval fastness and traipsing some 10-15 km through the woods on muddy trails.  What looks like bread is Knedlik, a close relative of what the Germans call  Knoedel.  That amazing sauce with a dollop of sour cream and cranberry and lemon accents won't soon be forgotten, nor will the ebullient Czech waitress whose jokes inspired a large tip of Czech koruna and U. S. dollars.

 

 

 

 

 

The Vila Lanna conference room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Peralta Canyon, Western Superstitions, 17 August 2013

Peter's girlfriend Carolyn wanted to go on a hike, but Peter the biker is no hiker.  So the guide task fell to me.  It was a tough job, but somebody had to do it. The day's high was 113 F. with monsoon humidity.

  

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Black Top Mesa, Western Superstitions, 21 April 2013

Yesterday's killer hike, commencing at First Water Trailhead at 7:30 AM, took us to the top of Black Top Mesa (not to be confused with cholla-forested Black Mesa, also accessible via First Water).  It is a leisurely saunter over Parker Pass and across some now-almost-dry streams until you arrive at the Bull Pass upgrade which is not only steep but slippery as hell.  At Bull Pass, a cairn marks an unofficial spur that leads to the top of the mesa and some fine views.  It is easy to miss it and end up on a very different (false but seductive) spur that peters out only after one has been well-seduced.  (Been there, done that.)  It got warm and our start was late, James having driven up from Tucson, so the two old men spent 8 1/2 hours on the trail including leisurely rests and a half-hour lunch atop the mesa.  We were out of water and well-trashed by the time the death march was over and we climbed back into the Jeep with visions of Fat Tire Ale dancing in our heads.  Mileage is about 12 round-trip with accumulated elevation gain of about 1600 feet.  Details here.  Weaver's Needle from the top of the mesa:

 James sucks it in and strikes a pose:

 

Not happy to see us (left-click to enlarge):

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Boston-Cambridge Under Lock Down

Two of my Boston stomping grounds, Harvard Square and Kenmore Square, deserted:

 

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Miner's Needle, Western Superstitions, New Year's Day

Thirsty hiker takes a drink at the junction of the Dutchman's and Coffee Flat Trails.  Note the 'eye' of the needle.  Left-click to enlarge.

Cathedral Rock, Western Superstitions, New Year's Day

My hiking partner James L. begins the descent into Coffee Flat.  The magnificent formation in the distance is variously referred to as Castle Rock (Tom Kollenborn) and Cathedral Rock (Jack Carlson).  Left-click to enlarge.

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Merry Christmas

Ed Farrell sent me the above.  Here is more of his spectacular photography.  The New Testament verse he chose is one of the most beautiful in the whole Bible.  One of the gifts of the Father of lights is the Range of Light, as she is called since John Muir so named her, the Sierra Nevada of California.  Ed's Sierra Nevada Gallery does justice to this, one of the great mountain ranges of the world. 

Companion post: The Range of Light