I can’t say that I didn’t not sleep. Though this mattress takes some getting used to, flat on the ground with very little cushion. But at least I can’t puncture it.
I’m up with the light, but tucked so deep in the woods, I can’t see much yet. The dilemma is how much water to carry. I use some to make breakfast and pack a little less than two liters. That’s for ten miles with one 1,000 foot climb in the middle.
It’s really a problem each of us has to solve on our own. Take too much, and you can barely move. Take too little, and you feel thirsty and out of energy.
I try to compromise, but still feel a bit heavy as I pass Joey in his cowboy setup, completely crashed out. I feel like I’ve met my trail again. It’s more ‘cruisey’ with not quite as many rocks. Sure, I’m slow and out of breath, but it’s more like a ramp up to a grand view of Mount Peeley.
I see that I will eventually have to work my way between this glorious peak and another, unnamed and like a flatiron jutting into the sky. It’s exhilarating taking switchbacks on the Mazaztal Divide trail higher and higher. Nearly everything is wide open with views far and wide on the Arizona Trail. It makes me feel tiny in this grand expanse, vulnerable and like a visitor to something with such a long history.
The funny thing is there is no way to simply walk straight over to the mountains. Deep canyons separate us with steep walls. The only way to get there without losing too much altitude is by tracing the mountains. I come nearly backwards around, deep into tall ponderosa pine. Patches of snow still follow the trail in the shadows and I touch it with my walking stick.
This could be Minnesota except for the clusters of cacti, tightly packed in rock fissures. Sage-colored lichen crawls along boulders. A woodpecker shrieks. My feet touch a carpet of curling brown oak leaves and pine needles. Antelope horns and cockerell’s stonecrop push through the litter, bright white facing the sun.
I pass a draw with pools of water fed by a seep, but pass by confident I have enough for the big climb to the ridge. The views look toward the desert, red and light brown. This area was burned recently and skeletons march up the mountainside.
I pass a sign for the wilderness boundary and one that reads simply “3.” There are lots of great campsites here but it’s still morning and I move up steeply now. It’s much greener here than further south mostly from thick manzanita with peeling read bark and healthy light green leaves.
I have to put on my bug burka because there is absolutely no wind and the gnats are swarming my face. It’s harder to see and warmer and I notice the whole day is warmer, almost humid. Clouds build at it feels like the weather will be changing soon. I’m hoping once I’m close to Pine, but you never know.
I move up and around to avoid the canyons, drinking most of my water as I pass these big peaks. Just as I arrive at the top, I hear, “Blissful!” It’s Joey, looking about as silly as me with this giant, floppy mattress tied to the top of his pack – although his is orange.
He tells me he saw boxes at the campsite filled with water. How on earth did anyone get them here? I wonder if maybe it’s for trail crew and he says he didn’t take any since our spring is just down here.
We talk for a while, he even turns around and offers help over a large blowdown. But clearly he’s much faster and I tell him no need to stick with me.
I’m thirsty now and hungry and it’s down steeply to a shaded saddle under tall pines. I still have a liter left and could stop, but just keep marching down to where I see Joey’s pack. It’s a bit of a walk to the spring and everyone says the water smells bad. I sit down and make a shake with my remaining water and eat before exploring.
He returns with his large dromedary full and offers me half of it. What a guy! I really wasn’t in the mood to add more walking and I figure I just drank a liter, so one liter should do for another five miles.
I trade him a salami stick and filter up before heading on. It’s mostly down with two small ups to another spring. The first up is right away and it’s here i realize I probably should have drunk more water. Maybe if the wind was blowing or it was cooler, I’d be ok.
Nothing to do now but press on. Joey passes me almost right away and at the top, I see his white pack bouncing ahead in the manzanita. Each shoulder is more extraordinary than the last, huge Mazaztal Peak the center of attention as I sidle the cliffs on a long descent.
I pass over several landslips, massive boulders in a jumble to climb over. The clouds begin to look even more menacing now, perhaps rain is coming but the air remains still and my bug burka goes on and off and the little swarms find me.
It’s rockier now and much harder on my feet, but the huge canyons and jutting buttresses hold my attention as does the view back to Four Peaks and the Superstitions in lighter shades of blue. A clump of feather rose peeps out of rock below.
I pass a deep red mountain eroding onto the trail, then march up, just a little, the second one before working down to the spring. Now, my water is gone and I still have a rocky mile to go. You learn quickly there really is only so fast you can go, especially on rocks. I begin to turn and hear voices below at a camp.
Here it is! The turn to Chilson Spring. I climb steeply up only about 100 feet to a beautiful box with spring water piped in. There’s even a place to lie down on the rocks as my water filters. I down an entire liter and carry another this time as it’s another three miles to a spring and all uphill, though at this one I’ll try to camp.
It’s up for sure, but not that steep as I push towards another saddle. I pass a deep canyon with eroded cliffs. Water spills out in a falls, but I keep heading up. There are pools at Sandy Saddle and I skip them. At the turn off to a ‘seep’ I again hear voices, but press on. Finally, less than half a mile from the spring, I reach more pools and this time fill up the dirty water bags to filter in camp.
Hopi Spring spills across the trail, but it’s muddy and hard to collect. The spring itself is a good hike up a trail, but I have my liters which should get me over this pass and three miles to another spring tomorrow.
I read there’s one tiny spot on the side of the trail and I set up here, all alone as the sun sets and the sky changes color, the distant peaks wave upon wave of purple. I eat dinner and forget I packed olives, the ideal salty and fatty food. A few mosquitos buzz me ambivalently and all the weather that appeared to move in disappears.
As I look out on the glorious sky on fire with color and look back at those mountains, I realize I walked them to get here. Step by step with so many experiences and views and thoughts along the way.
There’s still a long way to go and when I cross this saddle tomorrow morning, the future will be revealed.
