AZT day 22, White Rock Spring to Pine, 14.5 miles

Funny that in my wee spot on the edge of the cliff, I have a reasonably decent sleep. My body’s conformed to this flat, hard, instrument-of-torture. It’s so hot, I keep the tent open to brilliant, crisp stars. My legs hurt and I sprawl under the quilt, tucking extra clothes under my knees to avoid rocks.

This hike is battering gear and me to bits. My sun hoodie already has giant holes under the arms. What a price to pay for this austere beauty – vast, remote, lonely. A yucca stands erect, its flowers dried and shaking in the wind as the sky turns a deep orange-magenta. Clouds accentuate this magnificent start to my day, but remind me bad weather is coming.

You may wonder why I’m not ’cowgirl’ camping, just laying down my mat on the ground. Even though ’no bugs!’ was part of the advertising scheme, there are definitely bugs. Nothing dangerous yet, but mosquitoes and gnats visit and who wants to sleep with a headnet? Besides, as I mentioned, I sprawl and the tent keeps me confined from the ever-present dust.

And it’s all dust to start, red to gray and back to red, and through some of the strangest rock. Exposed pieces of limestone are eroded with holes and sharp edges resembling a kind of desert killing fields. It’s creepy on this gray day, even if I spy big flat campsites under the spreading oaks. Someone doesn’t mind this place.

When I come across actual bones, the freak show is complete. A cow? Deer? White and picked absolutely clean.

The trail is not hard, but begins to feel relentless moving slowly up, the views disappearing as my feet move from dust to rock, this time brown pumice in big globs, sometimes with many holes, other times as if still liquid.

But it only serves to make the walking harder because every step is uneven, rocks roll and are different sizes. A black cow peers at me through mesquite, his ear pierced with a blue plastic tag.

I call a friendly hello, but she runs away. I have no idea what scares her about little old me. How does she survive out here for an entire season? Maybe too big for a coyote, too skittish for a snake, too thick for cactus.

And what does she think of me plodding through her territory? I must look ridiculous suited up to protect my skin from the sun and carrying all I need on my back marching along.

The trail begins to go downhill toward Rock Creek where hikers ahead have said there are still pools of water. On the map, I’m nearly there and set my mind on arriving. That, as always, is my first mistake.

The trail gets rockier and rockier, really just unpleasant stone in the trail permanently and in pieces. I hear the water below, I think. Well, I can see a pool…I think. So why am I walking on these long switchbacks? They take me back and forth along the draw somehow avoiding actually going in.

It’s a kind of nightmare, those that wake you up in a panic from where you try to run, but your feet are lead. Sure, it’s interesting country and a few flowers peak out, but enough already!

I do eventually get to the beautiful pool where Frauke and Dennis are drinking coffee, a lovely aroma that makes the past few moments seem a mere inconvenience. I find a nice rock seat and collect, filter, camel up and repeat.

I have to admit that it’s hard to hike alone. Every decision is up to me and my safety, well-being, choices, moods are all my responsibility. It’s an exhilarating challenge to take on, but this is one of the most remote trails I have ever walked.

Seeing these two takes away the pressure, especially since they feel very ’real,’ loving the views, the challenges, the unusual beauty, but struggling too. I can whimper about the rocks and then laugh too about wanting to be out here anyway.

I press on, heading steeply up and into even more rocks – lava rocks set in position specifically to trip me it would seem. Views begin to open back to Mazatzal Peak and I’m amazed how far I’ve come. Juniper trees drop lavender berries in the dust.

The day is hot and still, the sky a heavy gun-metal gray. Something is definitely coming. I try to sing that song from West Side Story, but I’m headed up on short switchbacks keeping me from entering anymore deep gullies.

This land was most definitely formed by ancient volcanoes. Obviously my rocks (if I have to walk over them, I’m taking ownership!) give that away, but the shape is of long arms and I keep working up one, then over onto another.

I am really tired now. Was yesterday too much, is all of this too much? Maybe it’s just I’m ready for a break and this is getting tedious. I play little mental games and try to walk until a certain time then give myself a break.

As I zigzag up I hear Frauke and Dennis below, then the trail goes straight and they disappear. Bonker hedgehog and beehive cactus cluster in rock gardens, their buds fat and ready to burst. Maybe rain will be a good thing for a bloom explosion.

I find a beautiful rock to set my pack and mat and lie down with a snack. I see snow now on the far off peaks. The two catch up and tell me about a shortcut to Pine. A shortcut?! I am all about shortcuts. It’s a trail up a canyon to a road above town, so I send a note to Richard to see if he can find out if it’s maintained.

The stop revives me and I push on. Not far now as the land begins to slowly turn down and I head towards Oak Spring. I join a forest road briefly that appears to have been the original AZT, straight down and straight up on baseball-sized rock.

But I turn off that thankfully quickly to a single track and see a sign to a tank. I’m fine on water, so skip this muddy cow pond and head on, the canyon below Pine revealing itself.

Is it possible to just walk there on a trail? Apparently not because I again join a road of massive rocks. It’s not the longest road I’ve walked yet, but it’s the worst, a jumble of awfulness down then up.

Funny how tolerant one can become the closer they are to a break. I hit a trail again littered with pink short-sepal bitterroot close to the ground and so gloriously perfect they appear fake, or at least placed just so on dusty gray ground to make me smile.

I stop to pick up Richard’s message saying the trail should be fine, but it’s a long way on road to town. A very fast and very young hiker with a piercing between her eyes races past and I immediately feel defeated. All this is so hard for my old body.

Frauke and Dennis catch up and we plunge into the canyon. At the bottom is a sign and our ’moment of decision.’ Let’s do it!

Am I just excited to be finishing or is uphill vastly easier than the jolting pain of downhill? I move well and the forest is lovely, tall ponderosa with reddish bark along a dry creek. Mushrooms grow on fallen logs and birds sing in this magical space.

I feel like we’re kids exploring not exactly sure what’s ahead. It revives my sense of adventure, my reason for hiking in the first place and my need to live, at least a little bit, on the edge.

The trail is beautifully clear and easy to a road and just as Richard said, a long walk to town. I can’t keep up the pace going downhill my legs hurt and so I ask for help.

And it comes in the form of a young man named Travis who’s not allowed to pick up hitchers by his boss, but tells me it’s the right thing to do. What a fun ride in the back of his pickup into the cute mountain town and right to the store where I stock up for the next section.

But I am exhausted and the help I asked for also comes in the form of a forced break. The storm will hit tomorrow and that is not a moment to be on trail. So I find a nice quiet room up the road and hole up as the rain turns to snow and back to rain.