Souvenirs:
On September 24, 2022, I returned to Tucson, Arizona, to undertake a somewhat unusual project. I say 'unusual' because it wasn't a photography project per se; I didn't step out into the desert with specific photographic compositions in mind. Instead, it was a visual journal, shot on an iPhone for nostalgia. This project is not designed to be a body of work covering the Sonoran Desert with majestic landscapes and beautiful sunsets. Instead, it is a collection of journal entries, captions, and pictures written and presented from the perspective of a diary or a blog, covering a sequence of events from conception to conclusion. It records my time in the desert, burying a collection of family artifacts in a time capsule and contains random, disjointed thoughts, sometimes providing historical facts written at the time of the event.
"All images presented here were captured using an iPhone 12 Pro Max."
The idea behind 'Souvenirs' originated after my father's death in 2019; he was the last link in the family, the final adult from my childhood. I had read somewhere that unless you leave behind a legacy that will go down in history, a person never truly dies until the last individual who had ever known them has passed away. If that's accurate, then the subsequent family members will be lost to memory when I'm gone.
William David McConnell: My granduncle, was killed in a German air raid on HMS Vernon, a naval shore base in Portsmouth, on August 24, 1940. At just 20 years old, he was part of the Royal Navy's research and development team, working on sea-mine warfare, disposal, and anti-mine countermeasures.
David James McConnell: My grandfather, served as a gunner with the Royal Artillery, part of the British Expeditionary Force. He was evacuated from the beaches of Dunkirk on June 2, 1940, and later returned to France in the first wave of the Allied invasion of Normandy (D-Day) on June 6, 1944, as part of the 3rd Infantry Division (the Iron Division) under Major-General Thomas G. Rennie CB DSO MBE. David's military journey continued through Belgium and Holland; he crossed the Rhine into Germany in March 1945. Despite his wartime experiences, he faced a different battle later in life, succumbing to throat cancer in 1977 at the age of 71. David was not just a relative but also my mentor.
Brian McConnell: My uncle, passed away from a brain tumor on May 7, 1975. He was much more than an uncle; he was like a big brother and left us at the age of 36.
David James McConnell: My father, enlisted in the army in 1962. He completed two tours in South Arabia during the 'Aden Emergency' and devoted 12 years to military service. The remainder of his life was dedicated to volunteer work for the British Legion and veterans' affairs. Unfortunately, he passed away on May 8, 2019, after facing numerous cancer-related health complications. He was 84.
The day before my father's funeral, it was a painful experience watching a lifetime of his possessions tossed into a dumpster. So, I decided then that the small collection of family artifacts I've managed to preserve throughout the years would not go in that manner. Instead, I chose to give them a sacrificial burial within a time capsule—trinkets that I value, items that mean nothing to anyone else. Rather than passing them on, knowing that with time, they would lose their sentimental value to those whose possession they'd eventually end up in, I chose to bury them in the Sonoran Desert; in the hope that they're never found!
Within the time capsule, I plan to bury my grandfather's war medals: The 1939-1945 Star, the France and Germany Star, the Defense Medal, and the 1939-1945 Medal. In addition, my campaign medals: The General Service Medal (Northern Ireland), The South Atlantic Medal with Rosette (Falkland War 1982), and the Accumulated Service Medal. Furthermore, several old family photographs, my mother's first passport, the passport my father received after joining the army; my grandfather's wartime discharge paperwork, ration book, and pay book; my first birth certificate, a copy of my certificate of naturalization, the original telegrams I received at Port Stanley from home after the news of the Argentine surrender; my parents' death certificates, two Morgan silver dollars, three gold 'Victorian' half-sovereigns, and several military regimental badges and patches. Finally, a small hard drive containing all my photography and published articles.
The perfect haystack (Screen Capture, Google Maps).
I have a location in mind, west of Maricopa, Arizona; the area is remote, off the beaten path, and desolate. This wilderness region is a jumble of long ridges and isolated peaks separated by bajadas and wadis. Everything out there will bite, poke, prick, sting, or inject venom. In the height of summer (averaging 112°F), this region of the desert is unforgiving, underestimated by many—often with fatal consequences! Thus, it's the perfect haystack for my needle.
Pelican 'Ruck Case R60' rated at IP68 waterproofing.
My grandfather's medals were vacuum sealed for additional protection.
The collection of family heirlooms scheduled to be buried in the Sonoran Desert.
One hundred and sixteen years of family history, childhood memories, family loss, pain, and suffering, all condensed into one tiny box.
Sunday, May 15, 2022: I found the perfect container for the desert on Amazon; the 'Pelican Ruck Case R60,' rated IP68. In addition to the IP68 protection, each item was carefully vacuum-sealed with a food saver. So, in the unlikely event it's ever found, it would make a pleasant surprise for someone. Having purchased the box, created a detailed manifest, and selected a location, I booked flights from Raleigh, North Carolina, to Tucson, Arizona, for Saturday, September 24, 2022. Furthermore, I scheduled Tuesday, September 27, to bury the box.
So, why the Sonoran Desert? I've always been fascinated with the desert; it's a stark, unforgiving environment with a fragile and balanced ecosystem. It's a perfect example of how life can exist, or not, within a few degrees! But, aside from that, something about Arizona, particularly the Sonoran, keeps pulling me back! Each time I leave, I think, "I need to do something different next year; there's so much more to see!" Yet, I seem to be stuck in a temporal loop, playing out a never-ending cycle of repetition. I keep coming back! Each year, I experience the same déjà vu, thinking, "I need to do something different next year; there's so much more to see!"
If I were honest, I have to say my love for the region stems back to a cartoon. As a child, I adored the Merrie Melodies animated series produced by Warner Bros., particularly 'Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner.' I was captivated by its magical landscape that featured cacti with arms. As I got older and discovered that these cacti (Saguaros) were real, I became eager to see them! Hence, my love for photographing them—and thus, the creation of my temporal paradox. This magical land of gently sloping alluvial hills creates an ideal habitat for saguaros, which grow in stands so dense they're called cactus forests. And it is somewhere out there, on that mystical landscape where Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner did battle, that I have chosen to enshrine these family mementos.
For numerous reasons, choosing a suitable burial place proved more challenging than I had anticipated.
Thursday, June 23, 2022: Selecting an appropriate burial place proved more challenging than anticipated for various reasons. Finding a location that appeared inconspicuous in the middle of nowhere posed difficulties, especially when adhering to specific constraints: off the beaten path, hard to access, elevated terrain, away from water channels, and without causing harm to local plant life. The Sonoran Desert boasts the most diverse vegetation among all North American deserts. Many desert plant species, in addition to saguaros, have incredibly fragile rooting systems just beneath the surface. Saguaros, for instance, collect water through shallow roots extending as far out from the plant as the trunk is tall. Damage to these root systems can have severe consequences, making the preservation of the desert ecosystem a primary concern. Fortunately, with tools like Google Earth, I can study the landscape and identify suitable locations. At maximum zoom, I can quickly spot saguaros and other plant life, allowing me to find the perfect spot that meets my needs without disrupting the surrounding environment.
As I've always said, "Every trip to the desert is an incredible experience." All you can hear is the wind. There's no human interaction, no cellphone service, and consequently, no phones, no news—nothing! It's a complete retreat from civilization.
Delta 1600 from Atlanta, Georgia, to Tucson, Arizona (Boeing 757-200).
Delta's first-class food service has disappointingly changed since the pandemic. Honestly, I've had better box meals in the back of a C-130 from Baghdad, Iraq, to Bagram Airforce Base, Afghanistan.
Saturday, September 24, 2022 – 03:00 hours: The trip begins! This morning, I checked in online; the flight was on time, and I was packed and ready to go. I fly out at 07:00 with a connecting flight from Atlanta to Tucson. While finalizing the packing, I carefully handled four generations of heirlooms—objects I managed to preserve for over five decades: military service medals issued during times of conflict, covering decades of devoted service. Then, I sealed them in the box for the last time, ready for Tuesday's one-way trip into the desert.
Maricopa Wilderness, Arizona:
Tuesday, September 27, 2022 – 09:44 hours: I have arrived! It's time to bury the box. I drove into the desert for two hours, and when the dirt road disappeared, I trekked a further 3 miles on foot, the limit I set for myself from my point of shelter—the vehicle—and resources. My goal was seclusion, and I succeeded; I've seen no one since I left the highway this morning, which can be a little intimidating, even for someone accustomed to spending a lot of time hiking in the wilderness. To me, the Sonoran Desert provides the opportunity for isolation, the space to think and process whatever is in my mind—a time to walk in silence, with nothing but the sound of the wind and my footsteps pounding the hard dirt. The appeal of these vast uninhabited spaces, for those who choose to venture out, is that it is still possible to drive into the great outdoors and leave civilization behind.
Crossing the Gillespie Dam Bridge heading west. The Gillespie bridge is a through-truss bridge spanning the Gila River in Maricopa County. The bridge was constructed in 1925 and was completed in 1927.
Leaving the highway—and cell phone service.
Driving what seemed to be an endless dirt road continuously pushing west.
End of the road—time to hike.
Digging the hole was much harder than I had anticipated—compacted rocks made digging with a cheap shovel difficult.
10:06 hours: In a shadeless landscape with a temperature of 102°F, visible heat waves rise from the desert floor, shimmering and blurring the horizon. The ground is rock hard. I expected the digging to be tough, but I anticipated hardships through heat, not trying to dig into tightly packed stone with a cheap shovel from Ace Hardware! The heat reminds me of Iraq; the sun beats down relentlessly, with no moisture in the air whatsoever. A steady breeze hits my face like a hairdryer as the sweat stings my eyes! Between bouts of digging, I watch the labor on my arms vaporize, leaving a white crystallized salt stain on my skin. Desert romanticism aside, it's easy to imagine how this could become a treacherous place without water!
The final resting place.
10:33 hours: It's done! Those mementos are in the ground. But I can't help but wonder if my grandfather would have approved. I'm sure he could never have imagined back in the early '70s, in Belfast, when he gave them to me, that one day his war medals would end up across the Atlantic buried in the Arizona desert. In saying that, it was inconceivable to me as a child to think I would become an American living in North Carolina! As I stood looking down at the dirt, fighting the impulse to dig them up again, the lyrics to a song by American singer-songwriter John Prine sprang to mind! 'Souvenirs,' released in 1972—with a slight manipulation of the original line to suit my situation:
"It took me years to get those souvenirs, and now they've finally slipped away from me!"
It has been described as the monarch of the Sonoran Desert, the symbol of the American West. Its skin is thick—its survival fragile. Here in southern Arizona, the saguaro endures immense summer heat and thrives with little rain, and at times, its shape appears all too human. With water being such a rare occurrence, it's no wonder that everything is covered in thorns and needles, protecting themselves from becoming a meal for the local wildlife.
10:41 hours: I've plotted a new course on the map and entered the waypoints into the GPS. Fortunately, it's too early to return to the vehicle. Instead, I plan to take full advantage of being here; I'm going to wander off towards the horizon, capturing photographs of desert compositions and saguaro cactus along the way, circling back to the vehicle later this afternoon. Should I change my mind, I've recorded the coordinates and taken a few photographs of the burial site. Theoretically, the spot is now a safe deposit box, becoming a time capsule when I'm gone. At least that's what I'm telling myself, allowing me to walk away and leave so much family history buried in the ground.
Standing in a forest of these living ancients that started growing in the late 1700s was an incredibly humbling feeling. As far as saguaros go, statistically, the tallest one ever measured was 78 feet tall around Cabe Creek, Arizona; it toppled in 1986 during a windstorm. The oldest saguaro recorded was 'Old Granddaddy,' estimated at 300 years old when it started to die in the 1990s, making it the oldest known cactus worldwide. Not only was Old Granddaddy old, but it was also a giant at over 40 feet tall and had 52 arms.
It would appear that a coyote recently had bobcat ribs for dinner.
Opuntia, more commonly known as prickly pear or pear cactus, is found growing in washes, rocky hillsides, around boulders, and in areas where the soil is sandy or gravelly. Prickly pear can be found over much of the desert southwest from central Texas through inland southern California. Prickly pear cactus treats diabetes, high cholesterol, obesity, and hangovers. It's also known for its antiviral and anti-inflammatory properties.
Saguaros have accordion-like ribs and a stem succulent that allows them to store hundreds of gallons of water during rainfall. As more water gets stored, the saguaro's skin expands to allow more storage. As a result, these cacti can be very heavy. At total capacity, a saguaro can weigh over a ton.
Cactus spines are painful, and puncture sites can become infected like any other kind of wound in a desert environment. I have learned with experience to be mindful of what I grab for as I slip, stumble, or fall.
18:09 Hours: After an exhausting trek back to the vehicle, I made it... back to some long-awaited goodies: Gatorade, cashew nuts, beef jerky, and dehydrated apricots. Although my initial intent was to find a location that was challenging to reach, I believe I succeeded—I didn't even want to climb it myself. The lazy voice in my head was saying, "This will do; my freaking knees are throbbing, nobody's gonna come up here." Meanwhile, the suspicious voice insisted, "Don't trust him! I'll bet people come out here all the time metal detecting." Despite being in the middle of nowhere, he seemed to know what he was talking about, so I took his advice and continued.
Tropical Paradise Trail Mix; the breakfast of champions, a feast for kings.
Even though I was fully prepared for the heat, the distance, and the terrain, the desert always tends to sap more out of you. It was hard work getting up there, especially on my ankles and knees. I left the hotel at 05:00 hours; it's been a 13-hour day, roughly 8 hours in direct sunlight with nothing but a hat and a small travel umbrella. While trekking, I had envisioned getting back to the hotel earlier and slipping into the hot tub, but it was too late. The sun is setting; it's two hours to the highway and a further hour back to the hotel. So instead, I shall settle for a cold shower and a platter of sushi I left in the fridge for dinner.
The inner accordion-like ribs of a dead saguaro were once a mechanism used by the plant to store hundreds of gallons of water; now, these ribs are strong dry strands of wood with many uses. Some local bands of the Apache believe that the saguaro is their ancestors that have returned to watch over the land in the afterlife. And while using the ribs for construction, tools, and fencing is acceptable, they can never be used as firewood.
Cactus (Ferocactus & Echinocactus). They are always cylindrical or barrel-shaped, and all members of this genus have prominent ribs and are armed with fierce, heavy spines. In some, one or more central spines are curved like a fishhook, accounting for the common name Fishhook Barrel Cactus. Barrel Cactus flowers always grow in a ring around the top of the plant. The flowers are approximately 1 1/2 to 2 inches across and range from yellow to orange to red. Most bloom from April through June, depending on the weather. Native Americans boiled young flowers in water to eat like cabbage and mashed older boiled flowers for a drink. The fruit becomes fleshy and often juicy. Though it can be eaten, it is not usually considered edible.
Best Western, Gold Canyon, Arizona.
22:40 hours: As much as I love the desert and the solitude it provides, there are always apprehensions when trekking into the wilderness alone. The dangers of hiking solo are considerable; many who come here don't realize how swiftly things can go wrong in the great outdoors—changes in weather, wildlife encounters, and injuries. Out here, accidents happen quickly and without warning! Loose rocks, a broken ankle, or a fall can swiftly become dangerous in a solitary environment. It wouldn't be the first time I've returned to the vehicle limping, with gravel rash on my hands and knees.
I firmly believe that each time you step into the desert, you must show it respect. Nature has a humorous way of imparting humility—a lesson I'm constantly reminded of. As mentioned, I've injured myself in the past, more than once, taking foolish risks for a photograph—irrational decisions that, if gone wrong, would've instantly propelled me into the 'Darwin Awards,' a tongue-in-cheek honor given each year to those with the most foolish deaths. Earlier this year, while crossing the Mojave, a Park Ranger tried to dissuade me from traveling solo. She shared a recent discovery: an experienced backpacker missing for 17 weeks, found by accident in a crevice by a group of hikers who stopped for a break. Instead of discouraging me, the story reminded me of some of the more foolhardy things I've done while hiking alone—and that even experienced hikers can find themselves in trouble. Aron Ralston, an American mountaineer, is a perfect example. In his 2004 autobiography 'Between a Rock and a Hard Place,' he detailed an incident in 2003 when he was canyoneering in Bluejohn Canyon in the Utah desert, becoming trapped for five days. He describes how he dislodged a large boulder, pinning his right wrist to the side of the canyon wall. Then, on the fifth day, he had to break his forearm to amputate his hand with a dull pocketknife.
Aside from the apparent injuries and heat exhaustion, a significant threat to Sonoran visitors this time of year is 'Crotalus Atrox,' the Western Diamondback. There are over 30 known rattlesnake species worldwide; 16 of them are common in the United States. The Western Diamondback is the most typically encountered snake in this part of the Sonoran, and getting bitten out here is a potential death sentence. Bites from diamondbacks are common and often fatal, responsible for more deaths in the United States than any other venomous snake. If bitten, an individual needs to seek immediate medical treatment. However, with no cell phone coverage and three hours by dirt road from civilization, that isn't always feasible.
Having said all that, I would still recommend to anyone who hasn't done so to get out and see these vast spaces before they disappear; the deserts of the American Southwest are incredible. But traveling the wilderness alone is not for everyone and shouldn't be taken lightly. So, travel in groups, plan, be prepared, watch the weather, seek advice, have the right gear, and don't rely too heavily on technology. Technology can let you down! Leave a schedule with someone else, but more importantly, "Don't take stupid risks!" These are words of wisdom I try to adhere to each time I venture out. While it's always a risk to step out alone, in my humble opinion, the rewards of being solo and experiencing all this vastness greatly outweigh the fears!
Saguaro National Park. When you see a coyote out here, it's a great feeling of being in touch with nature, animals in their natural habitat. But when you're hiking alone in the dark, trying to catch a sunset, your headlamp catches three sets of reflective eyes staring at you from the scrub… It provides an instant twinge and a clenching of the butt cheeks.
Tucson Mountain Park:
Friday, September 30, 2022 - 20:19 hours: For my final night in Arizona, I decided to drive into the desert, specifically Tucson Mountain Park (Ringtail Ridge), and sit under the starry skies. Amidst this magnificent celestial display, there's nothing more meaningful than realigning one's soul with humility. To have the opportunity to sit in a place free from light pollution, surrounded by such grandeur, is one of life's absolute pleasures. Moreover, it's a time to ponder. So, as I sit beneath the heavens, sipping freshly brewed coffee and listening to Johann Strauss, I jot down my unrelated thoughts:
"Having watched the 1968 science fiction epic, '2001: A Space Odyssey' (directed and produced by Stanley Kubrick) numerous times, it's difficult to gaze into the heavens without thinking of the classical piece 'An der schönen, blauen Donau, Opus 31.'
'At the Beautiful Blue Danube' (Translated from German) is a waltz by Austrian composer Johann Strauss II, composed in 1866, and is better known to the English-speaking world as simply 'The Blue Danube.' Kubrick effectively used the piece in the movie's opening to illustrate an elaborate docking sequence between a small shuttlecraft and a large space station. Arguably one of the greatest uses of classical music in movie history! Since the movie's release, the piece has been closely associated with space and the night sky—which is bizarre, as it was composed 37 years before the Wright brothers took their first flight and nearly 100 years before '2001' went into production."
Saturday, October 1, 2022 – 00:03 hours: Another journey in the Sonoran Desert has concluded. It's past midnight here on Ringtail Ridge (00:03 in North Carolina); the hotel is over an hour away. It's time to depart, return to the room, and pack! My flight out of Tucson is in six hours. The spot west of Maricopa, where I buried the box—I shall never return. I don't want to succumb to the urge to dig it up again. I've made the decision; it's done; those things don't belong to me anymore. Oh, and one final thought!
"I need to do something different next year; there's so much more to see!"