Mount Lemmon Almost a Lemmon

By Ryn Gargulinski
After seven months in Tucson, it was finally time to go see what this nearby Mount Lemmon was all about. So far I’ve only heard raves about how cool it is or wrote about it when it’s struck by a lightning wildfire or someone drives off a cliff.

Of course, I had to bring Sawyer. One of my dog-loving friends recommended a secret meadow some 9,000 feet up. She said it was perfect for pooches - stocked with tall, green grass and surrounded by those things called trees that don’t happen much in the desert. It was nestled up the mount some 25 miles.

Sawyer threw up at mile 15.

It may have been the change of elevation (at that point we were more than 5,000 feet up) but more likely it was the drive up the winding mountain roads. Winding roads had the same effect on my dog Zola when I lived near the sheer Smith River cliffs in northern California. Wiping down the car seats was a regular thing.

After Sawyer got his bearings back and I scooped out the car’s back seat, we headed back down below 5,000 feet. I could have thrown in the towel right there, except it was covered in puke, but we had to get our money’s worth, after paying that Coronado National Forest entrance fee.

At a lower elevation we found a thing called Bug Springs Trail that would have to suffice. It was all we had imagined Mount Lemmon to be: searing sun, pasty-colored rock and dead trees struck by lightning. It made our day complete. That, and the one shady glen on the whole mountainside that Sawyer found to rest beneath after our hike was done.

For anyone attempting a similar journey, I recommend a camera, plenty of water and, as found in airplanes, one of those bags for special emergencies.