I really love the alicoop 2. It’s made by Gossamer Gear and called ‘The One’ for a single person, but built like a palace with an enormous pitched roof. Although it’s ‘single wall’ so when it rains at night – heavy, but short – the side is damp to the touch.
No rain by morning and I put everything away a bit damp. We’re on the edge of a ridge looking towards a giant mountain as the sky turns pink. An equally giant canyon awaits. 1,000 feet down, then 1,000 right back up.
The hardest part of the Arizona Trail is the steepness. It’s not like my lungs can’t handle it, but it seems to go on and on, up and down on repeat. For me, and most of the hikers I’ve met, the downs are taking a toll. Usually because the path itself is steep and filled with rocks. You have to stop yourself from lurching forward as well as slipping backwards.
I take my time dipping in, huge sandstone boulders are worn with holes and the ancient reefs come into view. Most of the trees are skeletons from recent fires, but even in death are beautiful.
The other aspect of this trail difficult for me is that it takes so long to move ahead. The sheer difficulty makes it slow going, then being exhausted from the difficulty slows things further.
I inch down, my sneakers crunching and slipping, though I catch myself in time. There’s no water in this canyon even if evidence of a stream. I meet two older section hikers, Heavy Hander and Dancer, perhaps walking it in stages, but still a huge accomplishment.
Going up I’m stronger snd steadier if breathing heavy. My feet touch brown pumice and large bits of conglomerate with an assortment of stones stuck in a bit of lava. I catch my first glimpse of Roosevelt Lake many miles away.
The view from this ridge is astounding. Not only the lake but ancient reefs uplifted like the prow of a ship. The land is fanciful and harsh, jagged mountains extending far into the distance. At my feet, tiny purple lupine with star-shaped leaves line the trail and I notice my shadow walking the ridge with me, sometimes full-size and sometimes a wee dot on top of a block of shadow.
All I want to do is look around and breathe it in, so high up here. But the trail whisks me off the top again and sends me back into another deep, waterless canyon. I reach a beautiful glade of juniper and cedar that feels out of place in this wide-open arid climate. Birds sing and, this time, tufted evening primrose and western blue flax line my path.
Again my view is astounding when I emerge at the top, a tall needle part of the rocky facade. I don’t mind this trail, but it links me with a road not too full of rocks, but slippery as it descends.
The trail veers off towards Cottonwood Creek, my first water source. But it’s a strange place filled with gnarly mesquite and prickly pear. Cows eye me and run to the other side of the trail for a different perspective. I’ve carried far too much water, so soaked ramen and am ready to eat, but the only shade has bern visited by cows.
I finally come to a sprawling juniper with grass, bovine-fertilized but not recently. A few cows crowd in like a comedy troupe, their heads knocking together to see what I’m up to. It’s a good rest and I need it because soon the creek becomes the trail.
Up and down I go, in and out of the dry wash, following cairns that send me on hard to manage rocks. It’s lovely in here, the rock smooth and red, sometimes shot through with yellow or brown, but it’s absolutely exhausting to move forward.
Frauke and Dennis catch up and we push through together, us two girls laughing at the sheer number of times we’re sent in and out. Soon we arrive at an electric green patch, giant cottonwoods with smooth white and gray bark provide splendid shade. The trail’s been sliced through a netting of thorns up to our armpits.
Here we catch our first running water. It’s gorgeous in this glade – cool and fresh. I fill a liter and drink one knowing we still have a lot of up and down ahead. The trail continues next to the stream, which disappears underground, crossing back and forth on rocks and coming to more gorgeous pools.
We eventually leave and enter a canyon filled with saguaro marching up the mountainsides. A hiker named Tajun, his head and face almost completely covered, catches up and tells me the bull a way’s back looked ready to gore him. When I passed, I just gave him the same steely stare.
Tajun has no trouble with these rocks but I have had about all I can take. He races on at a large water tank and it’s only three miles to go but all on road.
In New Zealand, I began to have PTSD about mud. Now, it’s rocks. At first, it’s a big climb. I see the Germans ahead and Frauke raises her poles in encouragement. Up is fine, but down is murder and the a steepness would make a roller coaster blush.
I sing a song in time to my steps to get me down, trying to gently place each foot in time to the music without skidding. Down, down, down, then swing around and go right back up. I want to cry, but it won’t do any good, so I laugh and remind myself that I never have to do that again.
The lake view opens up and I see white buildings stacked up in the flattest area. I have another steep climb and Frauke flips her sticks in the air as she rounds a bend.
A reservoir, this dammed lake in the largest entirely within the state of Arizona. Mountains surround it and it feels an oasis. As I come closer to my cutoff, I see white crosses. This is Roosevelt Cemetery I pass, finally leaving rocks for pavement.
I see John at the highway and he tells me he has giardia and needs get to get a hitch to town for antibiotics. That can’t be fun. His sister is packing up with Tajun and they’ll head on.
I find the store and Emily helps me with my package, one of about 50 in a big pile. Gossamer Gear sent me new stakes – yay! – to replace the ones I left behind near Mount Wrightson.
Now, it’s time to wash my hands and have a burger with a beer. The lovely Roosevelt folks set up a hut for us with a charging station, picnic tables and one small square of astroturf where the alicoop 2 is drying out and ready for my tired body. It’s a bit loud by the highway, but I don’t care. I have ear plugs.
Just as I cuddle in, a man comes by snd speaks with Dennis. He manages the next section and tells him that, and the one we just did, are the roughest on the entire trail. But somehow that’s a good thing because we can see how things ‘really are.’
Let’s just hope how things really are include strong legs and a good attitude.
