AZT day 17, High Spot to Low Spot next to Boulder Creek, 18 miles

I wake to a jet engine of wind in the tall widow-maker above my tent. Only its rounded top has needles, but they shake a shimmy and I need to take care packing so as not to lose anything in the gusts.

What a sunrise over the lake – a deep orange melting to indigo. I wear all my clothes and sit on a log for breakfast. It’s cold, but I still slather on sunscreen. I was plenty warm last night with my quilt and puffy. The best feeling is laying down with my legs out in front of me on the mattress, but it’s time to keep moving, just a few miles to water. 

I’m up high close to the peaks which loom over me, snow still encrusted to their rocky flanks. I work my way down, sidling the mountain on loose stones. The wind is so wild it threatens to take my hat, and maybe even me. The moon is perfectly in half, white on an azure sky. 

I’m wearing all my gear, at least the top half including gloves. The wind is very cold. Nothing froze like the first night when I had chunky water, but I keep moving even when the sun comes out full blast. 

I look for other campsites but don’t see anything as nice as mine until right at Shake Spring. It’s on full blast with a fairly substantial waterfall pouring through jumbled boulders. I skip this water with another spring just a few miles ahead. 

I’m amazed there’s so much water up here in this incredibly dry environment. Everything is brown and half the trees are charred from recent fires, but the water crosses the trail several times before I meet Pigeon Spring. 

This time, water is collected in a concrete tub sunk into the ground. There are some leaves and a few bugs, but when I dip my cup in deep enough, the water is clear and filters well. One thing I’ve learned is to keep my filter clean. There’s so much silt and dirt, it can clog up easily and once the water stops flowing, it’s difficult to clean. 

I take a moment to backflush with filtered water and the flow speeds up again. I prefer to carry 1 1/2 liters because more than that makes it nearly impossible to walk, I’m so heavy. I usually drink an entire liter before heading on too, especially since this carry is nine miles. 

Just as I leave the spring, I reach a road. A sign warns me about the Arizona Black Rattlesnake, one of 13 rattlers in the state. This one is unusual because it can change color like s chameleon. It also partners when tending to its young and is far more docile than most snakes. I have yet to see a snake likely because it’s still too cold. 

It’s definitely odd to reach a road. The trail was so wild on the edge of the mountain, especially with all that wind and my being completely alone. Now I feel domesticated, I can even see a town far below in bright green at the end of the lake. 

It’s hard-packed and easy walking, so I call Richard. Today’s his birthday. We really miss each other but he’s glad I’m giving this a try. One lone mountain biker passes as we talk. 

The road follows the ridge for miles. It’s mostly easy walking, but I’m exhausted and down gets harder for me as the day wears on. The mountains are huge around me in jumbly shapes, sometimes sharp, sometimes more like mesas. The ridge is another ‘land of weird rocks,’ weather-shaped stone in spires and hoodoo shapes. If I turn back, I see the snow-encrusted four peaks getting smaller. 

At the spring, I filled a Mountain House beef stroganoff picked up at the hiker box in Roosevelt Lake with water. I love these dinners because they’re really salty and filling, but pretty expensive. Everyone dumps out items from their resupply and the rest of us benefit. 

I carry it until lunchtime, trying to see how far I get in two hours. The monotony is getting to me. There just isn’t enough to keep my interest and my body is really tired. 

So I sing as I walk. And I look at the weird rocks. And I study this deep shade of blue high up here in the mountains. A bird calls squee-skdkdkdkd and the wind keeps me cool as the sun blazes warm. I walk through an area thick with pine and the aroma overwhelms. Even here, water crosses the road enough to collect. 

I come back out into the open and find a flat rock jutting out, perfect for a lion or me with my lunch. The stroganoff is perfect and I gobble it up, followed by hiker box fritos and a chocolate-peanut-butter shake. I’d say I was hungry. I sprawl against my pack, then head on to the water feeling revived. 

Several streams cross the road and I pick one to filter, large puddly pools running clear. I can’t imagine any other circumstance where I’d scoop water for drinking from the middle of the road, but it’s delicious. 

I look back at my peaks one last time, then prepare for another steep up which is shockingly short before I head down steeply on loose stones. This walking just wears me out. In fact, it hurts to walk this way and within a mile I’m headed up and, what do we have here? A trail! 

It’s not a massive improvement, steep and full of loose stones, but I head up and over into a deep canyon, my poppies returning happy to see me. I zigzag down into the canyon and right to a stream bed. It is a mile or so of buggy, cat-claw grabby awfulness, in and out of rocky stream bed and up and down barely there trail. The saving grace are the wonderfully fragrant white flowers that calm me.  

Soo  I reach beautiful, nourishing, life-giving water and sit my body down in the middle of the wash to fill up. I’ll be out of this rocky horror soon and onto grasslands, with just enough light to get me to some flat camping. 

I pass pools loud with frogs belching, waterfalls pass through the rocks. The crickets saw loudly through here. Spreading fleabane with its many-petaled face crowds thickly against the trail. The poppies have closed for the night, delicate crepe paper umbrellas. 

I still walk in and out of dry side channels feeding Boulder Creek, but my feet have found at least 100 feet of joy as the canyon opens towards grassland and the huge Mazatzals in front of me. The light is orange now on the grasses and prickly pear. 

I come close to the creek and find a flat bit of grass to set the alicoop. Dinner is quick as the sun sets. A few lazy mosquitos land on my toes. The stars are brilliant as I cuddle in, falling asleep to murmuring water.