To Climb Kino Peak, You Must First Suspend Your Disbelief By Kevin Franklin YOU'RE GOING TO say it," insists Organ Pipe National Monument Ranger Dom Cardea. "No way," I reply. "If you can hike up without climbing, like you say, how can it look impossibly steep?" "Look, you're just going to say it. I know you are," Cardea responds, a mildly sadistic glint in his eye. We're climbing through the foothills of Kino Peak in the Bates Mountains on the western side of Organ Pipe National Monument. Cardea is convinced that once I see our route up the 3,000-foot volcanic crag, I'll be forced to say, "No friggin' way." Our ascent begins along a dry wash etched into solid stone. The going is steep, but clear of rocks and heavy brush, so we make good headway. Looming over us is Kino Peak. From here it looks like an insurmountable monolith. Arizona is filled with steep mountains and countless cliffs. But the top of Kino Peak is guarded by sheer cliffs on all sides. The northeastern flank is the lowest, but still promises 500 feet of free fall. The southwestern slope presents a 1,200-foot drop. I have difficulty believing we can climb it in relative safety without ropes and gear. Nevertheless, Dom beckons me on with promises of views into the Gran Desierto of Mexico and across the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge. We follow the wash until it ends at the top of a ridge. We're already a good 800 feet above the surrounding plain. Saguaros and organ pipe cacti cover the blocky mountains around us. A wash cuts the mountain range in half. The jagged green band of the wash looks like a living crack on the otherwise unyielding face of the desert. We sweat to the top of the first ridge. It had concealed a deep circular basin. The basin funnels the wind and shoots it out over this ridge. I keep a firm grip on my hat and stare into the blustery abyss. The wind is so strong I can hardly hear. The next climb brings us to the top of a razor-edge ridgeline. I feel like I'm walking along the gigantic spine of some slumbering Japanese monster-movie creature. Now we have a clear view of our final leg of climbing. From here we drop into a saddle 100 or so feet and come to the foot of the vertical block guarding Kino Peak. I'd expected to see some forgiving slope, or a winding path up the mountain. Instead, all I see is 500 feet of cliff. "Dom, where's the trail?" I ask. "It's right there. Don't you see it?" Cardea points out several distinctive boulders and claims our trail runs right along them. Some of the boulders hang out from the cliff, casting shadows in a noonday sun. "No friggin' way!" I say, without feeling the slightest bit cowardly. Ranger Nancy Favour, the other member of our peak-bagging band, earlier had mentioned that when she told the other rangers she was going to climb Kino Peak for the first time, no one seemed envious. Now I see why. "Dom, we're going to need gear to climb that safely," I say. "Oh no, you won't. Follow me." For some reason, I do. As we reach the base, an inkling of a trail presents itself. At every turn I expect to reach a point where I'll be edging along a whisper of a ledge with a drop below that could swallow a 50-story building. But I never do. Every time it seems hopeless, the trail switches back and the climb proceeds in relative safety. I wouldn't recommend it for novice hikers or those afraid of heights, but there's never a point where even a cautious hiker would want ropes. "If you find yourself doing something dangerous, you've gone the wrong way," advises Cardea. The view at the top is everything promised and more. We check the trail register Cardea originally placed here several years ago. No one has been here in six months, and only a half dozen or so have ever signed it. Most people probably shy away from this peak. I can't say I blame them. Getting There Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument is 140 miles west of Tucson along Highway 85. Before going into the wilds surrounding Kino Peak, you must get a backcountry permit from the visitor center. Mapage Trails Illustrated makes a good topographical map of the area.

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