The Voice of Jack Smith Spring

The Voice of Jack Smith Spring, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

When I was snowshoeing around the Inner Basin the other day I stopped near Jack Smith spring to record some audio of a small stream gurgling and splashing its way through rocks and ice. I placed my recorder down in the channel on a small telescoping tripod mere inches above the water. Between jet intrusions the recorder's stereo microphones captured the stream's polyphonic voice as it bubbled and babbled its age-old story of slumbering mountain peaks and deep winter snows. I stood nearby trying not to shiver in the lingering cold, thinking about the water slowly percolating its way through porous lava rock and forest detritus, imagining the subterranean wonders it might've seen on its journey from the snowfields above.

Below is (hopefully) an embedded MP3 player so you can hear a four minute segment of the flowing water. A downloadable 6MB MP3 file is also available if you want to listen to it on your ipod or other audio device. If you listen closely through headphones you can hear at least two layers of gurgling and splashing cycling back and forth, the harmonics merging and stacking atop one another in complex ways. It's kind of relaxing and helps one to understand how dynamic and active free flowing water can be.

The Voice of Jack Smith Spring

If you've ever hiked the Inner Basin of the San Francisco Peaks you probably know the place I was standing: it's where the Inner Basin trail meets the waterline road, a mile or so above Lockett Meadow. Tucked into the trees there are several green sheds and an outhouse toilet that used to be full of shy black widow spiders that would watch nervously from the gloomy corners while you did your business. The buildings are presumably associated with the extensive water wells and pipelines that slurp water out of the Inner Basin watershed and funnel it 17 miles down the mountain into the Flagstaff water system. I won't go into what happens to it after that, although it would appear that some of it may soon be finding its way back up the mountain - albeit a little worse for wear - and sprayed out as artificial snow at the Arizona Snowbowl.

 

Icy Stream, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

According to my topo map Jack Smith spring is actually a few hundred yards up the drainage from where I recorded the audio. The gurgling and splashing water you hear in the MP3 issues from a large diameter pipe that comes down the hill out of the woods and is likely carrying water from the spring to the cluster of buildings. Although it's possible that it's just some other unnamed spring that the Forest Service wanted left free-flowing for hikers and wildlife to use. I'll go out on a limb and say the water comes from Jack Smith spring, but it doesn't really matter: most of the springs up there are imprisoned inside concrete spring boxes and metal pipe and everything mingles together these days.

Jack Smith spring has a somewhat interesting history, which I'll probably post about in a few days.

Comments

[Brandon]

It's all connected underground, anyways :)

Thanks for making your blog a multi-sensory experience. Ever heard of the book "One Square Inch of Silence" by Gorden Hempstead? Interesting read.

[del]

Hi Brandon. I'm glad you enjoyed the audio. Yes, "One Square Inch of Silence" was an interesting read indeed. I read it last year and it inspired me to purchase a relatively cheap recorder and try some of my own audio recordings in the backcountry. There's a long learning curve and tons of technical difficulties to recognize and overcome. It's at least as fiddly a hobby as photography. I've only had the recorder about a month, so not much stuff to share on the blog yet.

In much the same way that photography helps you to see more clearly I've found that mindful listening helps to enhance your enjoyment and awareness of wild places. It's also a really good excuse to take a ten minute break in the middle of a hike. :-)

[Brandon]

For sure. I'm so much more aware of the natural soundscape since reading that book, moreso than I already was: I'd always looked (listened?) for the quieter spots. I'd love to someday hear that whole-valley music that comes from the sounds of a river moving through very still air and the forest trees.

[del]

I know what you mean about wanting to hear that whole-valley music. That part of the book intrigued me, too.

I bet you could get the same whole-valley music effect from wind interacting with trees and terrain. Or maybe rain.