In The Galiuros, No One Can Hear You Scream. So Don't Bother. By Kevin Franklin THE BITTER COLD of a windy midnight assaults my face as I peer from the warmth of the sleeping bag. Like a giant, bald-faced mole emerging from winter, I squint at the dark shapes of the nearby mountains. Without my glasses, I strain to see what it was that woke me. A saguaro-studded slope a quarter mile away glows with a fuzzy light. The rocks on the slope must be phosphorescent, my still-dreaming neurons theorize. The glowing area seems to be about the size of a basketball court. Fascinating, I think and begin to shrink back into my bag. Never mind that such a thing would draw scientists from around the globe. The combined forces of sleep deprivation and a few too many science fiction movies have charmed my subconscious sentinel into believing this data fails to warrant fully waking the conscious mind. Just then my brain clicks off the auto pilot and I realize the hill is not glowing, but in fact a pair of headlights from an idling pickup truck are lighting a makeshift firing range for a couple of midnight yahoos out for target practice. Unable to respond with anything but stone-age weapons, and assessing my current position to be more or less out of the line of fire, I fall back asleep. After all, these are the Galiuro Mountains, a mostly untamed range of the old west 70 miles northeast of Tucson. One should expect things like phosphorescent hills and midnight gunplay. Surviving the night with nary a scratch, my brother Rick and I pack up our gear and head up Copper Creek Canyon. An old mine road used to run several miles up the canyon, but the Bureau of Land Management rolled a couple of boulders onto the road in an attempt to turn it back to its natural state. It isn't too long before we enter a stretch where the canyon narrows considerably. The dark, leafless cottonwoods and rustling wind give the shady canyon a decidedly spooky feel. Above the narrows, several long-abandoned mines pock the hillside. But what really catches our eyes is the airplane wreckage higher up on the hill. The rusted framework and a wing section entice us to scramble up there. From our description, Lawrence Tagg, a retired Air Force chaplain and air wreck buff, surmises the plane was probably a BT 13-A or BT 15 Valiant, manufactured by Vultee Aircraft. Tagg makes a hobby out of tracking down and identifying aircraft lost in the mountains. The U.S. Forest Service archaeologists defer to Tagg, their human aeronautical bloodhound, for the history of their resident wrecks. "This was a very common airplane," Tagg says. According to his reference books, over 11,000 were delivered to the armed forces by 1949. According to Wreck Chasing: A Guide To Finding Aircraft Crash Sites, by Nick Veronico, it's a BT-13, but the book gives no history or date of the crash. After examining the wreck, we continue along the faint remains of the old mine road, just west of Mescal Peak. The next day, we follow the fence line uphill, come to a cairn and trace a pack trail up to a spring and the ridge line due south of Mescal Peak. From there it's a very difficult bushwhack back down into Copper Creek. We follow the old mine road back to the truck. The entire loop is more than 15 miles and crosses some rugged terrain. It's a beautiful hike for the well-equipped and sturdy--just watch out for the glowing rocks and speeding bullets. Getting There Take Oracle Road north toward Mammoth. Just as you begin to enter town, turn right onto Main Street. Follow that through for .6 miles to an unmarked road that crosses the San Pedro River. Follow that to River Road. Copper Creek Road is straight ahead, but may be closed for mining operations. If so, go south about three miles to Bunker Hill Road. Mapage Oak Grove Canyon and Rhodes Peak 7-1/2 minute topographical maps.

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