AZT day 10, cowgirl camp to wash above Hutch’s Pools, 19 miles

What a night looking back at the huge black mound of the Rincon Range. In the nearly full moonlight, I can just make out the snow patches. 

I’m in a flight path and planes come over me from Tucson for a few hours. Then stars come out and I notice a few lights far below. Someone on trail? They’re awfully bright for that. 

As is the sky; so much from the moon, I don’t need a light. I sleep well out in the open until the eastern sky lights up on a few clouds and the moon sets in the west. 

I pack up and eat a bar, feeling reasonably good after yesterday’s haul and kick a few hard, dried cowpies out of the way on the wee downhill back to the trail. It’s thankfully still cool, but already I feel warm and heavy. 

It’s not the most beautiful place, dun colored and somewhat monotonous up and down, working its way through rocky hills. I have enough water and a ‘lake’ is coming up – another name for a tank or a manmade cow pond. Bright yellow primrose and monkey flower dot the way. Slowly spring is coming. 

I have a bit of a panic attack thinking how far I have to go and if it’s doable. I tell myself to go slow and just skip boring sections if need be. I am on a bit of a schedule with my return planned. 

Still, I start to have those doubts that not only am I not up to this but what’s the point. And damn it, my SVT gets activated. I never know if I bring it on feeling crappy or I feel crappy because it’s coming on. 

It’s not too steep, so I plod on to the lake reminding myself to rejoice always and make my requests known. I think how I really kicked ass yesterday and how great my sleep spot was, and before long I’m at the lake. 

It’s a muddy spot of water and thankfully I don’t need any. Still I find a rock in shade and take a beta blocker just as Graham comes flying through. Young and carrying so little, he says he’ll rest at the campground, six miles and 800 feet over a rocky ridge. 

I wish him well even as I feel nauseated, sad and a bit afraid. Rejoice always, I remind myself as my heartbeat returns to normal and I lumber on. The ocotillo are putting out bright green leaves and my sandy trail is lined with bunches of tiny purple flowers. 

At the next water source – Agua Caliente – I meet Bailey in a wide brimmed hat and wide sunglasses. She’s getting water from a tiny puddle, filtering it first with a bandana. A nasty job but she was totally out. 

Again, I plod on, up and down and across dry washes of deep sand. The  desert is slowly greening and birds sing loudly in the trees. I meet Karen and Beverly walking sections bit by bit. Karen wears a long skirt and Beverly tops up my small bottle after I gulp what’s in it. 

She also gives me a tiny bible and opens her mouth wide in awe when I tell her I am living my Lenten 40 days in this very desert. Meeting them reminds me to stay mindful, make each step I take the priority and to rejoice in all good things, like fresh water instead of a dirty puddle filtered twice. 

The trail heads up steeply into a closed canyon. I realize here is my climb up and out, but not before a winding descent to a graffitied tank. I can walk right by as I’m full of water, but I meet a few day hikers who ask if I’m headed to the pool. I think it’s a joke, but later realize that is the last good water up the steep climb to Mount Lemmon. 

I am so distracted just thinking of my first destination – Molino Campground with a locker and hopefully ‘public’ water. “It’s just over that ridge, then all downhill. You can’t miss it!” 

The ridge is high and it’s a big, albeit short, climb up.  My views are incredible back to the Rincons and the jumble of hills I walked over. It’s switchbacks, steep switchbacks up rock and sand and never quite sending me in the exact direction, so just when I think I head one way, things turn and send me higher in another direction. 

Compared to yesterday, this should be a cake walk. But this isn’t yesterday and I’m tired. But of course, I keep going like the little engine that could and eventually see an Arizona Trail sign at the top. 

Below is the Catalina Highway and RV’s at the campgound. It’s easier going on this side, though still a stiff descent. I see four brightly dressed women and a dog heading up, chatting happily the whole way. Boy, does that make me feel good. 

Carlin, Wendy, Lorna and Erica pull off in formation at a rock and I ask if they’re lining up for a picture. “Why yes!” I take theirs and they take mine asking if I sleep outside. “Why yes!” Some seem surprised though one reminds them that she thought this was the case. 

We chat for a bit and they offer me a ride if I need one. “See the blue car?!” Then they head on to the view as I slowly descend, my knees taking a beating. The locker is right at the end and filled with water, mostly marked ‘private’ for specific hikers, though one huge jug remains. I fill up and spy some sun dried tomato tortillas and a meat stick as ‘give aways.’ 

Right there is a rock and shade and I eat up just as Bailey shows up , then Arthur and Benny, a section hiker who offers up his extra food before hitching out to Tucson. 

I’m exhausted and mentally drained from the monotony and hard work of this last bit. When I study the map, I realize I’ll head right back up another one of these shadeless, samey steep slogs and even higher than the last climb, and this time it parallels the road. 

“No way! I’m hitching.”

“But that’s cheating!” says Bailey with a wink. 

“I’m 57 years old and have two new hips. I do not need to walk where the road goes.” And almost on cue, the women return and offer me a ride to the campground a whopping two miles away. 

But those two miles change my day. Or maybe it’s eating and drinking, or laughing with hikers, or meeting lovely people who want to help me out. Whatever it is, the day changes over to something new as I hike up the Gordon Hirabayashi Trail. 

It’s just sand and mesquite at first, but I meet people sitting in the shade or taking a walk and everyone seems happy. Two section hikers, Mica and Tyler, fly past me heading to the pools. A woman comes down commenting that here’s someone who carries more shit than she does – before realizing I’ll sleep out, so need it. 

The trail heads up steeply, still looking much like all that I had hiked thus far, until it reaches the top and a magic world unfolds. Mount Lemmon is sheer and dotted with dark green – pine trees above 7,000 feet. In front are other mountains as if guarding access. It actually looks completely impenetrable.  

Obviously, there’s a way through and it begins by descending steeply, sidling the cliff and heading directly down into Sycamore Canyon. Many day hikers are coming up, some elated, some out of breath, some concerned too many people are camping at the pools. 

Like magic, the mountains in front of mountains appear to slide open to let me in. it’s not too far to the bottom where huge cottonwoods reach leafless branches to the sky. It’s a bit messy down here, clearly large amounts of water flowed through and have torn things up. I sit on a log for a bit to rest and drink, no need for water yet. The grass is bright green. 

I notice another tree I can’t identify. White bark that peels into a gray color and large hand-shaped leaves. It’s so startling to see these trees here in the Arizona desert, and yet I’m told the canyon never completely dries up. 

From here, it’s a brief up through large campsites and crossing a wide, full river. I meet the men again and tell them I don’t need water, so plod up to the top for yet another magical valley. This time, it’s the sheer size that takes me breath away. 

Again, I hug the side of the cliff and walk on long switchbacks into Pine Canyon. The river is far below and only gray rocks from here. It’s a sharp edge, so I walk carefully and now can see how the trail will eventually work its way up the mountain. The magic has been revealed  

Far below are fluorescent green trees fed by a constant supply of water. And working their way up the opposite side of this canyon are enormous saguaro. The rock is reddish brown and yellow and pink flowers bunch along my path. 

It seems an eternity to reach the water and only a mile. I think of the French who mark trails with the time it will take to get there rather than distance which is all relative. 

I get slightly confused at a large campsite but finally choose the ‘middle path’ that begins to long ascent. Someone mentioned it’s easier to collect water when the trail crosses rather than at the pools.  

I wash my feet and massage them in the gravel as my water filters than rinse my face and hair and keep moving up fully loaded with water. The boys seem happy with the spot to themselves, so I press on. 

Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s steep switchbacks without any flat spots. Except, maybe this side channel. I turn into a wash and find a flat sandy spot just the right size for my body. 

It feels early, but I linger over dinner – a tuna wrap Benny gave me – and roll out my bed. Crickets chirp as the wind blows loudly above me. A huge moth like a hummingbird visits as does a frog who plops down next to me. There are bats and the hoot of an owl, and just now, the full moon.