What do you need?

Baboquivari mountain dominates the Arivaca desert in southern Arizona. At 7,730 feet its rocky summit towers over the surrounding peaks. Local legend has it that a group of Spanish conquistadors tried to dig into Baboquivari in search of gold and were swallowed whole by the mountain.

There is a trail from Sasabe, Mexico that connects to and follows the Baboquivari ridgeline before dropping down into the valley below. On that trail in one of the saddles 5,400 feet above sea level No More Deaths maintains a water drop for migrants making the perilous journey along the ridge.

On Tuesday, June 26, all the summer and long-term volunteers set out to fill this drop. We packed gallons of water, beans, trail food and socks into the trucks, drove to the closest point at the bottom of the ridge and prepared to climb. There is no trail leading up the side of the ridge, we had to pick our way through mesquite trees in washes, scramble up dried up waterfalls and crawl up sheer slopes of desert gravel and brush carrying up to 8 gallons of water and 2 cases of beans.

I began the day with 3 gallons of water and 2 bags of socks in my backpack. I also carried with me my lunch, personal water bottles, cell phone, passport, Green Card (in case we encountered Customs and Border Patrol), driver’s license, first-aid kit, sketch book and pencils and a bunch of other random small items that accumulate in your backpack during a week and a half in the desert.

The gallons of water were the first casualties of the day, one abandoned at the bottom of a waterfall rock scramble that rose 1,400 feet in under a quarter of mile, the other two left at the top as we clambered through the scrappy trees and rocks.

As I began the final ascent, using the scrub grass to hold on, my feet slipped on the gravelly sand, so the backpack had to go too. I dropped it under a scrawny looking tree, only saving my lunch and personal water bottle. My friend, Naomi offered to carry my lunch, so I would have one free hand to steady myself if my feet lost traction.

Taking the last part of the climb in 100 feet chunks, never looking up to see how much further it was and with Naomi’s patient encouragement I made it to the top of the ridge. From the top, sitting at the water drop I could see the vastness of the desert, the huge distances between the small pockets of human habitation and the main road from Nogales to Tucson with its CBP checkpoint forcing migrants out into the massive inhospitable terrain.

I left my life on Baboquivari. Every official document that proves who I am, my connections to world and my attempts to make sense of my place in it. The mountain said all I need is water and a friend. At the top, having bought no gallons of water, I was nothing more than a friendly presence in the desert, wondering and compassionate for all those who leave more than their material lives on the trails, washes and ridges in their quest for a better life.