I had a funny feeling last night that I should set my tent. I look out around 10 or so, and the stars are brilliant, covering the sky.
A few hours later, it rains – for about 30 seconds. I wake to a crystal clear morning, but dew collected on my tent. A curved bill thrasher sings his long form song and a black throated sparrow punctuates it with a tambourine shake.
What a gorgeous place to wake up to! I make coffee with the last of my water and eat two of my vegan pemmican bars. Cows moo somewhere out on the flat expanse as the cactus wren revs up with a whira-whira-whira throaty murmur.
I stay in my sleeping bag for the show because I can see my breathe, but the sun pops over Antelope Peak and it warms up fast. It’s going to be mostly flat today as I walk through the Sonoran Desert.
For now, I follow abandoned ranch roads that crisscross this massive expanse. It rained heavily here recently as evidenced by a few remaining puddles as well as fossilized footprints. I wonder if the maker of this prints was as irritated as I when their shoes became heavy high heeled mud shoes?
I soon reach Freeman Road where two mountain bikers prepare for their ride on the AZT. A locker provides a full water bottle, but recently, the association built a fabulous water catchment system. A massive funnel collects rain and snow and stores it in a metal drum which slowly feeds out to a trough. I think we should all do something like this at home.
I drink a liter and pack two before heading out to the desert of mesquite trees, ocotillo, prickly pear and cholla cacti. I’m so happy to be walking north with the sun always at my back.
Milky white quartz shot through with pink is at my feet along rolling trail, dipping steeply into one wash after another. There are fewer flowers, but it’s green and the saguaro have a healthy wave to their shape meaning they’ve been drinking up.
A northern cardinal swishes across the trail landing on a cholla branch and posing for me. Bet you didn’t expect to see me here! he chirps before his mate joins him and they fly off.
It is quite a surprise but this common bird of the eastern US seems to thrive here as well. Wow! and what a brilliant color against all this green and brown.
Oftentimes we refer to things as ‘deserts’ to emphasize that they are dead or lacking in some way. This desert is very much alive with birds singing and fresh coyote poop on trail.
All the roads and fences remind me this land is leased for use and as if to emphasize the point, I meet a cow and her wee charge hanging out in the shade of a sandy wash. The calf makes a break for it, but the cow and her massive udder stay put for a photo.
I walk an hour, then find a grassy spot in the shade to have some water and a rest. It’s a long way to reliable water – another big tank and a smaller set up at a spring.
I rely on notes from hikers ahead in an app, but I realize somehow when I updated the comments section, it erased all of them. Here’s hoping I meet hikers walking south!
As I rise, I get views back to Antelope Peak, which looks so far away now, as well as snowy Mount Lemmon, a white bump on the horizon. Ahead, I see the sharp cliffs of the Superstition Mountains and beyond, the pointy four peaks. They all look huge and forbidding – and I have already walked them all.
There’s a strange rock garden feeling to this place, as though each plant was carefully selected by hand and individually planted. Some may find this passage monotonous, but I am delighted with its fortitude in such an unforgiving location. I wouldn’t survive a day without water caches.
I follow enormous power lines most of my day, crossing under and moving away, then returning to more. A red-tailed hawk screeches from atop one and I notice a nest and mate with him high above.
Just as the land changes to a rocky and rough terrain, a young man comes my way. Saved! Jake is friendly and in no hurry, taking the time to ensure I know where the water is available, and maybe more important, where it’s not since it’s oftentimes a decent hike off trail to sources.
I take his picture and leave feeling much better. The sky is getting darker filling with clouds. I like how they block the intense sun, but I’m not sure I want to contend with rain.
Three men on three 4×4’s come up the road and stop to offer me some water – ok, I asked! Then tell me there’s a 35% chance of rain and to be sure to camp high. Everything is dry as dust now, but one rain could flood every one of these hundreds of washes I’ve walked through.
I keep that in mind as I keep up the pace in a blackening sky. The land opens up even wider with views for miles. Huge saguaro stand sentry, some eternally optimistic, their bodies half dead, but still growing a beautiful, healthy new arm.
A gila woodpecker emerges from a hollow in his body, the peeps in midair heading for another. Crickets begin to sing from somewhere as I descend into a deep wash.
I keep my eyes open for good camp spots since I’ll plan to camp here tonight near the water source. If rain is coming, I’d love the option to wait it put in my tent.
The wash is windy and I stay above it mostly, before plunging steeply down and squishing through deep sand. Soon, I see the blue tub across the sand and pass a few perfect tent sites.
I hear voices and it’s Kate, the solo backpacker dropped off by the day hiker I met on day one and Ozoner, a solo male backpacker. Kate has a horrible blister, so I give her one of my blister packs before she hikes on to get a jump on tomorrow.
Ozoner and I take the two sites and chat as the Turner-esque clouds tirn pink. His name comes from an old time nickname for drive-in theatres, one of which he just sold in Buffalo. He’s one of those hikers brimming with advice which could drive one crazy if she’s not in the right spirit.
I like him just fine and let him tell me about better gear and proper techniques and his upcoming plans. It’s sweet and bonds us in this strange saguaro-studded canyon where a stealthy creature visits after dark hoping to find food left out.
We both yell and shine lights before bringing everything inside our tents. A poorwill whoops for a few moments but the crickets have quieted.
And now a handful of raindrops ping against the tent and I close my eyes to sleep.
