Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SUNDAY, April 17, 1994                   TAG: 9404190007
SECTION: TRAVEL                    PAGE: F-8   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: By SHARON NICHOLAS
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Long

ARIZONA

With no competition from rustling leaves or rushing rivers, not to mention elevators, automobiles and tour buses, the clarity of the tweets, twitters and hoots rivals that on compact disc. Here in the vast, mystical landscape of this southwestern desert, intensity is the norm. Colors seem more brilliant. Fragrances more vivid. Tastes purer. And for those drawn to certain inviting cactuses - pain, more acute.

Thirty miles north of Phoenix is Carefree, Ariz., population 1,800. If the name alone doesn't establish the mood, every street sign provides subtle reinforcement - Peaceful Place, Nevermind Trail, Easy Street and Nonchalant Avenue.

Just up the prickly pear-lined path on the edge of town, past a few bunnies and quail, is a massive outcropping of enormous boulders in shades of bronze and rust. The rounded, creased chunks of granite are arranged in a precarious house-of-cards fashion, some serving as perches that balance other, often much larger, rocks on a single point. From a central peak nearly 400 feet high, the whole fascinating sculpture gently diffuses over the desert.

Somebody thought this would be a nice place for a resort. No big business conferences. No big city. Just a big, romantic desert.

The Boulders was built in 1984 (alongside the boulders built about a billion years ago) with extraordinary sensitivity to the ecosystem. Guest units are one and two-story, tawny, pueblo-like casitas. Each luxurious bungalow is tucked away against the rocks, or settled unobtrusively amidst hundreds of acres of undisturbed saguaros, barrel cactus and fragrant mesquite trees.

The Boulders has all the "sun-and-fun-getaway" things - pools, tennis, championship golf. But here they seem relegated to the role of extras. The star is the charismatic high Sonoran desert, just outside the door of every casita.

After a cool, peaceful night, after the dawn's feathered operetta, the sun turns a navy sky to royal blue, outlines the tops of Pinnacle Peak and Superstition Mountains in a soft haze and turns the color on.

The landscape is always a rich combination of honeys, hennas and greens against a brilliant blue sky. But when it's in bloom, the desert floor is a Van Gogh of golden marigolds and poppies, hot pink thistle and verbena, reddish-orange mariposa lilies, violet lupine, desert lavender. Rising above the floor are more colors at every level - blossoms in pale pink (pin cushion cactus), coral/violet (barrel cactus), butterscotch (prickly pear) and limeade (teddy bear cholla). The ocotillo, stretching its stems upward and outward into a rangy 10-foot bouquet, flaunts cayenne-colored flowers at its tips.

Above them all, the saguaro, with its distinctive upstretched arms, reaches 60 feet high. Living as long as 300 years, it's native only in this desert. Yellow and white saguaro blossoms, Arizona's state flower, crown each limb. Tiny caves carved in its pleated skin often become home to the cactus wren, Arizona's state bird.

The inviting terrain of the Sonoran desert covers southern Arizona and eases into parts of California and Mexico. This isn't Lawrence of Arabia's vast expanse of sand, accented by an occasional camel. The landscape is rocky, hilly, even rugged in parts. The 2,500 species of plant life fight for space to decorate the desert forest and provide food and protection for 600 species of birds and animals.

For naturalists, it's a field day. For history buffs, a closer connection to the past. For stressed-out urbanites, peace. And those who embrace a "When in Rome" philosophy find a wide range of "When in the Sonoran" desert exploration possibilities.

Ballooning gives a raven's-eye perspective on the landscape - a special treat over this desert forest. For more of a roadrunner's-eye perspective, there's a self-guided nature trail or, with a horticulturist, extended nature walks that rival a syllabus for Desert Horticulture 101.

Horseback rides here have a trailblazer feeling, compelling for anyone not worried about the horse shying from a rattlesnake and landing them on a cactus. At the end of the trail ... a steak cookout at sunset.

Adventurous anthropologist types trek across the desert with llamas, past 13th-century petroglyphs to 19th-century gold mines.

Another popular choice is a jeep ride with American Indian guides - a way to gain a perspective from those close to the region's traditions and culture. Flint, a Comanche and a recommended favorite, is a frequent guide at The Boulders. He sweeps into the lobby, spurs jangling, ankle-length duster flowing behind. From under his cowboy hat, braided waist-length black hair competes for attention with dangling silver earrings and turquoise jewelry. A sacred eagle feather is replicated in black and white leather on each side of his over-the-knee black boots. There's a Colt .45 strapped on his left hip, a coiled bullwhip in his right hand. And invariably, within moments, his dazzling smile and charm transform him into the Pied Piper of the Sonoran, followed by city-clad desert explorers as entranced as the children of Hamelin.

The jeep bounces over ruts that once resembled a road. During frequent stops, Flint mesmerizes, entertains and educates with his tales. The day is filled with Sonoran history, cavalry tales and survival techniques. A few of the 300 edible plants are sampled, like the sweet, caper-sized tomatillos and the pale green, Vitamin C-laden, melon-tasting pulp of the teddy bear cholla. And there's a lot of old west lore, such as why the catclaw is the reason cowboys wore chaps. More stories tell of the half million American Indians from the Sonoran - Desert Archaics, Hohokam and Apaches. Of the ruins. Of how Geronimo was born near here.

During all this, people begin, one by one, almost instinctively, to stretch out on smooth rocks, gaze at the cloudless sky and drink in the soft, penetrating warmth. Despite the fact that lizards have never tried to hide it, this serene tranquility is a well-kept secret. Author Pam Hait's writings on the area include some Indian folklore that alludes to being "like a lizard ... when you have finished your work, let the winter sun bake away [your worries]."

According to legend, Weaver's Needle peak casts a late afternoon shadow on the lost gold mine of the Superstition Mountains. The only sound then is the gradual crescendo of the sun setting the sky ablaze, and the panorama of boulders and mountains responding in deep copper and purple. Time procrastinates.

Later, in the still of the night, the coyotes play. Romance prevails. And the birds rest in preparation for another predawn performance.

Sharon Nicholas is a travel writer and photographer who lives in Parker, Colo.