Given the weather, one may as well be on the 40^th parallel (every stop from Denver to Philadelphia). The temperature lingers between 30°F and 34°F. Rain is spotty, ranging from mist to deluge. As we gain altitude, the rain turns to heavy snow. Fortunately, we visited a chandlery before we left – a nice lunch is onboard as we hold the lay line.

Flagstaff AZ is a waypoint about midday. Flagstaff is buried under a foot of snow with another 8 inches predicted today. Fortunately, Flagstaff is our bearing to change our course to the southwest for the final leg to Phoenix.

The terrain is a series of mountain ridges slowly dropping in altitude. Eventually an occasional palm tree can be spotted and the landscape fills with Saguaro cactus and other interesting desert plants. Sailing into Phoenix, an overnight motel is welcome. Docked 18:00 hours local time.

Ship’s Log Day 4

A cold wind blows through Phoenix; the temperature hovers around 45°F with light rain. The mariner’s first thought is that Phoenix (a) is too far to travel for a temperature increase of 15°F above that in Iowa. (b) Phoenix is a large, overgrown city with poor commercial zoning and a monolithic housing architecture. It is not the warm idyllic retreat the mariner had in mind. However, he will refrain from final judgment; mariner and his wife look forward to greeting their children and their partners – Altogether, a rare event.
It is likely mariner will depart Phoenix following the Mexican border into Southern Texas in search of a bone warming retreat.

Ancient Mariner

The mariner and his first mate are cruising toward Albuquerque, our second port. We are passing through the Texas Panhandle. Hour after hour, there is no sign of human life, no notable elevations other than some that remind the mariner of ocean swells. There is nothing to do except hold the lay line. As time rolls by, one becomes aware that the Panhandle has permanence – a stillness. It is a forgotten land while the rest of the world sails into an unknown future.

Suddenly, a very tall structure looms on the horizon. Quickly, one discovers it is a giant Christian Cross. It stands easily 120 feet tall – a proselytizing presence by itself. Mariner has a new understanding for the gargantuan, hyperbolic nature of the divine symbols of kings and gods typical of the ancient Abyssinian, Babylonian and Egyptian religions. Perhaps that is a weakness in Islamic and Christian religions today: their God denies images – let alone 120-foot images.

We cruise into New Mexican waters. The deserts seem more amenable to sharing with humanity – though barely. Occasionally, there are signs of managed fields and abandoned wooden huts. A new phenomenon occurs called a mesa. The mesa fires the imagination of travelers, realizing that, at the top of these flat, seemingly displaced forms, was the bottom of a body of water large enough to be a small ocean.

Before that, though, it was a mountainous region that collapsed when tectonic activity drew away the deep magma. The land we cross today is older than the Rocky Mountains – 80 million years old. The mesas resist erosion longer than surrounding surfaces, sustaining a fascinating, somehow historically obligated role to remind humans that they are indeed a short term renter of Earth’s sphere.

The mariner sails into an expected front of rain and snow that will encompass us all the way to Albuquerque. Hold the lay line.

Ancient Mariner