The colors change from frozen white to an arid tan. Mountains grow out of the dusty floor. Washes work their fingers out into a multitude of branches under cloud shadows.
30,000 feet below is a checkerboard of agriculture circles like a message to the gods. A snow capped sky island comes into view as the captain informs us we’re beginning our descent into Tucson.
We fly low over a green forested peak and the plane jiggles. The city spreads out in a mosaic in white. Tony meets me at baggage holding a cell phone, my name on a bright green background. He points out the bulging Saguaro, puffed up with ‘rolls’ because of so much rain they sucked up during the monsoon.
He plays a CD with a folksy narrator on our hour and a half drive giving the history of the Spanish, the Indian wars and the Buffalo soldiers accompanied by twangy country music. We pass the mountains I’ll cross – the Santa Ritas, Catalinas and up ahead my monster climb over Miller Peak.
He tells me how hard things have been during covid and he had to let go of his staff, but this season has already picked up 100 hikers. Miller is covered in snow and I tell him I’m nervous. It doesn’t help when he shares a story of a hiker who woke to a rattlesnake snuggled into his sleeping bag. I won’t be cowgirl camping tonight since it’s supposed to get down to 29.
Above us is a blimp affectionately known as ’Fat Albert.’ He looks for drug smugglers along the border. We turn up towards Coronado Memorial and Tony asks if I’m sure I want to do this. I say yes just as we pass Desperado Ave. Oh dear.
Up we go passing into oak, mesquite and desert broom. He’s not allowed yo go further than the visitor’s center, so it’s a big uphill hike for me. Except there’s a family just heading to their car who might pop me up the pass.
When I ask, they’re at first quite skeptical. I explain today is day one of the Arizona Trail and they’ll be part of the story. Turns out Kim and Tom are from the Twin Cities! They have the best of both worlds as snow birds down here.
We hop in the truck and head up the narrow and winding gravel road. There’s no guard rail and it’s a steep drop, but Tom handles it effortlessly. He asks if I’m afraid and I tell him I should be fine right before he tells me he was a border agent. He proceeds to describe encounters including murder and I wonder if I’ll see anyone.
At the top, I eat a sandwich, snap pictures then head off on the trail, immediately taking a wrong turn and heading straight up to a view. The border is far below and I have to backtrack. It’s rocky, dry and windy. Cholla are turning a fluorescent yellow. I’m chilly in the shade and feeling the altitude, especially carrying four liters of water.
The term ‘sky island’ is apt, as if a giant pinched the flat ground into pointy bits as far as the eye can see. I walk my mile and believe this is the distance to the monument, but it’s only to a junction with the trail I would have hiked. Now the real mile starts, a steep incline with ball bearing stones ready to roll me off the steep sides.
I suppose I could just look down and let that be enough, but with this area having recently been damaged and a small bit of wall installed, I feel I need to take the time and see it.
Down and down I go. I hear voices, but it’s tourists from above likely contemplating whether to follow me down. The trail is well maintained but steep. At a washout, someone has carved stairs into the rock. It’s switchbacks and steady before finally leveling off above a road scarring this beautiful landscape.
The wall appears, large metal, it’s shadow creating a triangle like a dorsal fin. No one is here, but I imagine they travel at night in the dark. The silver marker is behind barbed wire and I snap selfies as the wind picks up something fierce.
It’s no place to linger and besides, it’s all back uphill to Montezuma Pass. I wind up the canyon, my heart fast but my breathing steady. Just as I pass the junction, two backpackers come by – Five Pounds and Mule – who wisely slackpacked this section and will start for real tomorrow.
They ask if this is my first thru-hike. Might as well be with all the challenges desert brings. I’m hot in the sun and cold as the wind blows. In shade I shiver nervous about finding a site to pitch the alicoop. I pass a couple at the road who say, “Now there’s a real hike!”
I ask them to wish me luck.
Up I move into a canyon towards Miller Peak. it’s almost 5:00 so no chance of reaching it. I nervously observe the narrow trail, steep and lined with sharp, jabby plants. “Rejoice in the lord!” I tell myself. “The goddess is with me.”
Just then, a backpacker appears coming down the mountain. When I ask how he is, he tells me he hurt his knee. I promise him he’s close to the road and then ask about campsites.
Ah! Beta from a backpacker. There are a few right away, then some as you get to the ridge. It’s music to my ears, the information needed as the afternoon slips to night and I need to get set up.
I pass the first beautiful sites looking west out to the spectacular views of mountains and desert turning orange from the setting sun. But the wind is whipping here and I still have time and some energy.
It’s steep and high, my breathing strained as I plod forward one step at a time. I pass mines closed off with iron bars and an ancient pipe that’s long dry. The trail looks like it will crest a ridge but turns in, sidling a steep drop above the winding road I came on earlier. I put my hands into the loops of my trekking poles and will myself not to trip.
I’m slow like a steam engine chugging up, but I keep my breath rhythmic as I lose the wind and head into shade, still warm from exertion. As I round the canyon I see a jack pine above, mostly a ghostly trunk stripped of bark. It sits on a flat section and I’m certain it’s my campsite.
It’s 6:00 and the sun begins to sink below the horizon. I reach the pine and just as I thought, a flat peninsula reaches out into the sky, a flat space behind the tree acting as a windbreak. Large rocks lay about awaiting my tent and I get right to it as the sky turns a surreal blood orange, a sliver moon above.
It’s cold within minutes and I put on a fleece and my puffy as I bang in my stakes and hold them firm with rocks. The pad, pillow, sleeping bag and all my gear tossed in. I’m not all that hungry, so drink a peanut butter cocoa mix and watch the last of the light before diving in.
Lights twinkle below from Sierra Vista and Tucson way in the distance. Stars are out, but I’ll sequester deep inside this first night to stay warm and get a good night’s rest for a longer day tomorrow.
My carry worked and I still have plenty of water for breakfast, with four miles to go before I reach the first reliable water source. I’m warm enough and the alicoop seems to be holding steady. No one has joined me here, and I’m told it’s too cold for snakes. A few helicopters are buzzing in the distance and something is wailing with the wind.
As for me, I’m ready for a deep sleep, one borne of deep gratitude to my trail angels and the hiker with the campsite beta. What a spot this is!
2 Responses
Good work making it to that pretty campsite! BTW, you were looking at the lights of border ranches and Mexico. The campsite faces mostly south, and the mountains block your view to Sierra Vista and Tucson.
Loved that magical first spot. The juniper blocked the wild wind.