I sleep reasonably well on my wee bit of astroturf. I talk to Richard and decide to carry only enough for a shorter section. The trail is steep and I can only handle so much weight.
I also decide to hitch the winding bit above road. I guess I’ve come to an age where lines are being drawn! Is it really necessary to walk back up to where I left off and follow a road steeply up and down? I would say, “No.”
Russ is having breakfast at the picnic table. He’s part of the trail maintenance crew and slept in his car. He’s early and happy to drive me a mile down the road and across the beautiful girder bridge. He tells me they need to rent a jeep to get up the steep section I walked yesterday. I’m so glad I didn’t wipe out on it.
From the road, I head steeply up Vineyard Trail. It’s full of rocks and exhausting hauling myself up, even with just three days of food. But I like going up and I get my rhythm quickly. It’s eight miles to reliable water, but I’m already peeing on the trail after a big camel up.
The lake is a deep blue and shimmers in the morning light. Above is a radio tower which looks more like a billboard. That’s what Bob and Ro ask me when they catch up, what it’s for. Showing movies?
I begin to see hundreds of wildflowers, purple geranium and white tackstem for the first time and a carpet of yellowey-orange Mexican poppies with deep indigo lupine interspersed. They point out lilies, though I’m pretty sure it’s rock hibiscus.
Just where they plan to turn back is a kind of saddle with a sheer drop down to more water. Saguaro march up and down the hill here, enormous and old. In one scenario, a leader high atop a hill holds his arms up to his followers in a sort of Sermon on the Mount.
I head right for these cacti and walk through them, sidling the steepness. Landslips eject fist-sized stones and they crackle under my feet as I walk on them.
I’m amazed how fast I’ve risen from the lake which stretches out long below craggly hills. I’m also mesmerized by the flowers everywhere. The wind keeps me cool, the sun at my back and birds sing with joy on this first day of spring.
I leave the saguaro behind and begin walking a ridge, the land falling away beside me, covered in bright yellow. The trail is steep as i head for the hills beneath the ‘Four Peaks,’ rocky and imposing.
I see signs above and top out at a small parking lot from a long forest road. I guess I could have started here, but I would have missed the saguaro parade and poppy fields. I’m about to start the Mills Ridge Trail. A sign warns me about black bear and I’m glad I brought an odor proof food bag.
The trail gets really steep now, contouring a mountain straight up. But I’m happier going up than trying to stay upright headed down on big, slippery stones. Flowers still follow me including desert honeysuckle, but they peter out as I rise giving way to bushes with a white spray of flowers that’s beautifully fragrant.
Soon, I descend – yes, on loose stones – heading into my first reliable water. Buckhorn Creek is flowing beautifully and I fill bottles and myself as well as have lunch. There are some small pools another eight miles ahead, then camping after which I see now can be a problem in this steep, rocky, sidling kind of walking.
I head on up deciding to try and make the water and camping, but it takes me so long to get very far, we’ll just have to see.
I walk through a tunnel of grabby , sticky things and am particularly happy I wear long pants and thorns scratch them not me. Then I meet Mike heading down. He seems to be carrying very little and admits he was quite cold last night. I tell him my plan and he’s impressed by people who just keep hiking. Of course, I have a good amount of water, so can stop early, of course.
I have another mile or so straight up before the trail reaches the ridge. I don’t walk on top of it, but more as a balcony walk. It’s astounding how high I am, about 3500 feet above the lake and it’s just spread out before me with all the mountains and hills below.
I work my way slowly towards the Four Peaks on long contours heading sharply in towards creek beds tracing a ‘V.’ It’s very steep to my right, so I’m careful where I place my feet. Sometimes the trail moves well, other-times it forges up or down steeply on rock. Each wash I meet is a destructive rocky explosion and I’m glad I’m not here when it happened.
The path is somewhat overgrown, though surprisingly well cared for so high up here. I am on a balcony and completely open to the air, like flying. I meet patches of snow and a bit of mud, but nothing to slow my progress.
Though it’s really hard to tell how far I’ve gone. I move a long ways in, then come back out, up a bit and over a rock outcropping. The hills below the peaks appear like stairs I’m slowly climbing.
Soon, ponderosa pine appear, unusually tall and sparse. There’s evidence of fire and I wonder if these gentle giants will ever return. Up and over and around I go, finally walking directly under the peaks. My final thrust to the water Alder Saddle requires extraordinarily long stretches out and around and back in.
I see the wash which looks like all the others but still has some tiny pools. I fill up my dirty water bag and head on, planning to filter when I find a site. The shadow of the ridge is long over the foothills, but the lake is still azure as the distant peaks pinken.
I head steeply up on rock, then down switchbacks and up again over an outcropping. I can see a ridge ahead with some tall pines and it looks flat.
It is! A tiny site for one with a downed tree to sit on. I set quickly and eat just as the sky turns magenta. It’s cold, but even seeing snow on the mountain, I doubt it will freeze.
What a day, one that reminded me more of the PCT. I felt strong and more myself and I’m not sure if that’s the more familiar, straightforward trail or my getting stronger. In any case, the views and wide open feeling like flying made all the work worth it.
Now to sleep with the wind whispering through pine needles.
