I have the best site. The water gurgles all night and the forest sounds lull me to sleep. I can hardly tell when it’s dawn in this canyon, but I’m soon up for a big climb up Montana Peak.
The wind is up and the clouds are much more present than I’ve seen them on this hike. It’s easy up long switchbacks, the flowers are brilliant. Mexican poppies closed up like little umbrellas marching up the trail. The view back is astounding, Huge rock formations from ancient seabeds thrust straight into the sky.
I think about my dream last night. My former boss was watching as I forgot my lines. Even with notes, they were so small I couldn’t read them. I came on this hike partly to fix some broken pieces in my life – like still giving that really horrible person power over me. Also, to see if I still have it in me to walk a thru-hike. There’s more, though, something deeper – to find the magic again in walking, that feeling of being so completely content and grounded.
Just as that thought floats in, I see s bit of deep magenta ahead. My first cactus bloom! A cane cholla, just small spiny protuberances with a brilliant and delicate flower hanging on. More buds are in waiting.
Two older hikers come walking down, Sky and Shira who also see their first bloom. They’re thru-hiking but flip-flopping all over to make it work best for them and their family. I realize I too flipped a section, but I definitely have not quit, just restructured.
I head on up into a beautiful flat area with green grass and gnarly trees that look like part of an orchard. John meets me here moving lightning fast. “Can’t do this in Minnesota!” Maybe up Carlton Peak 77 times. Sitting in the grass with breakfast is a German couple, white blond, Frauke and totally bald, Dennis.
I press on, assuming everyone will pass me, though Clothesline meets up at the top and sits down for food while I press on. I can see a hazy Mount Lemmon from here.
Through another gorgeous Arizona Trail gate, I meet a road! So wild and rugged and you can just drive here. I don’t do well on the slippy stones, but the kids catch up and we start talking about the Te Araroa.
From here the view is of layer upon layer of jagged peaks, seemingly unclimbable. It’s gray and dark but I can’t tell if it’s dust or storm clouds. Soon we hear ATV’s heading up and I make a drinking motion to ask for a beer. Eddie and Dan back up over some huge rocks to suggest I open their cooler. A Bud at 9:00 am!
We soon break off into the Superstition Wilderness and descend into Rogers Canyon. It’s rough trail filled with rocks and cats claw grabbing at my arms and legs, but John and I reminisce the entire way when he slows to my pace. Frauke asks what ‘superstition’ means and I give an example of spilling salt which immediately makes sense.
They all cruise ahead as soon as the ‘trail’ follows a wash. It’s another big climb up to Reavis Saddle, but this time through water’s destructive force. No water is here now, just rock, gravel and debris. It’s fairly clear and someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make cairns as the path zigzags from bank to bank.
I meet three backpackers out just for the weekend. Andrew, Taylor and Jeremiah with two packing heat. When I ask what it’s for, Andrew tells me he’s come face-to-face with a lion. Maybe just make yourself look big and unappetizing? The gun at least makes him feel in charge.
Onward and upward. I meet a few more backpackers before leaving the wash and cruising up long switchbacks. It’s exhausting but frankly easy for me. The valley is made up of rounded mountains covered in mesquite and oak. Sharp rock fortresses jut out near the top.
When I reach the saddle, I expect water at Pine Creek, but how things work in these sky islands of the desert is the water completely disappears underground until some ways below. I don’t need water mainly because the cloud cover has kept things cool. So I plod through a pine forest devastated by fire and follow the river bed.
The wind picks up in the pines and the sky gets very dark. In one thick grassy section, the trail disappears completely. I hear thunder then a few drops of rain hit me. i see pools of water then finally flowing water. The rain is a bit heavier, so I dig out my raincoat which was smashed at the bottom of the pack.
I push on to a bigger flow and a place to sit under sprawling cottonwoods. The water is fresh and tastes good. I have several more climbs before my last water for a big carry. It’s always hard to know just how much to collect.
When I leave, I head straight up again so take off my jacket. Again, I can push uphills pretty strong, but when I hit a rock-strewn path on the other side, I slow way down to pick my way through.
The terrain is far more rugged with views of spires and mesas. It’s slowly down to water that’s yellow from sulphur – safe to drink, just tastes bad. I have plenty and head right back up.
At the top this time, the view is stunning. An enormous mountain range comes into view as the sun peaks out under a cloud. The trail has me heading straight towards it. I’m sure I don’t climb it, but it’s stunning in size and shape, pyramidal peaks poking into the sky as the sun sets.
My last water is a spring, made available through a square metal trough. A few bugs float on top, but it looks clear enough. As I filter, the Germans arrive and we discuss the ten mile dry stretch with a 1,000 foot descent and ascent ahead of us. They seem sanguine enough about the challenge and head on to find a flat spot to camp.
It’s late, the sun has set and I follow behind hoping for a flat spot without too much wind. And we find it – looking out on the abyss and the gigantic mountain. With cheap tent pegs, I use piles of rocks to hold the alicoop in place. The wind has totally died and it’s absolutely silent, only a few drops of rain as I set but still now.
Praying all stays put as I close my eyes now on a most extraordinary day.
