AZT day 3, cowgirl camp to cowgirl camp, 21.2 miles

For those trying to figure out exactly where I am, I camped on the side of the trail near the start of Passage Two, and tonight is the same, towards the end of Passage Three. 

I crawl into Big Greenie and watch the star show, only slightly less brilliant because of a bright moon and the glow hanging above distant mountains. 

Desert owls call to each other. 

Hoo-hoohoohoo! Hoohoohoo-hoo! 

I never hear them move, only their calls coming from a closer tree. It’s a cold night, but I am toasty warm and rise with the glow in the east and the coo-cooing of mourning doves. 

My appetite has disappeared. It often takes two weeks for ‘hiker hunger’ to set in. I’m mostly thirsty and seem to respond to an extra kick of electrolytes. 

The trail heads down towards a creek but I have plenty of water to get me to the next source. I see the hills in the distance, mostly cone-shaped and covered in light brown grass and dark green trees, gnarled and shapely. 

I meet Chris at the water who says it was a beautiful spot, but bitterly cold. It’s usually a bad idea to camp near water, especially in a shaded ravine, as the cold air collects here. Several tents are set in the trees and one man sits in a chair. 

I push on, up into the hills and stop once I come out of shade into the sunshine as it heats up fast. The trail is rocky and hard walking, up and down through manzanita, one beginning to bloom. Oak skeletons stand tall and strong, still beautiful in death. Cactus peaks out from the rocks, one a deep red barrel. I find a headlamp on the trail and stuff it in my pocket. 

At a flat spot I meet David packing his gear. Olive Oyl and Popeye are chatting him up and it turns out yo be their headlamp, dropped when, like me, they changed out of warm clothes into cool. They mention it was 19 last night near the creek. 

The Canelo Hills remind me of Texas Hill Country, only on a much grander scale. I know I have to climb up to a high point, but it’s not straight forward, winding around, up and down through rocky washes and along slippery, ball bearing rocks. I slide on one with a loud gritty sound, and stop myself before falling backwards. 

It’s a long way up and over – always more than I imagine – then more trail tiring to the feet. The views are magnificent though, looking out to one spectacular range of mountains after another with these hills stacked one after another like waves. 

I’m glad to meet people. Partly it’s knowing they’re here in case I’m in trouble, but it’s more than that. Simply knowing others are attempting the thru-hike, enjoying the views and struggling with the hard parts makes me feel part of a team. 

My energy flags as I twist around, up and down, needing to take care with my step and the water further away than I’d anticipated. The thoughts of why am I bothering creep in and I remind myself to rejoice in the deep blue sky, the cool air and breeze and my good fortune seeing all of this with everything I need on my back. 

After so many crosses of dry washes, I finally reach a ‘tank’ – a man-made cow pond filled with trapped spring water. I scoop up a few liters and let it gravity filter while I sit in the shade with a snack. It’s quiet and cool in the shade. 

Just then, Pop and Olive come over. I’m ready to head on for the last big climb of 1,000 feet. They’re full up with water, so we walk together. Pop is turning 70 in a week and I’m impressed how well he moves. I hope I can too as I age. 

My hamstrings are tight and I feel stiff, but I lose them on the steep up which goes on forever. Just as you reach a summit, it turns and send you  to another. But it feels like flying do high above the desert. Views open to grassland stretching far to another set of hills and jagged peaks after that. 

I crest the top, then stop at a rocky point to marvel at this scenery of sharp and jagged mountains spilling out like waves. I sort of knew it was this wild, but what contrasts. My feet walk on pink rock, pock-marked and dusted with sage-green lichen. The wind picks up and whispers through the pines. 

Coming down is treacherous. I’m not winded, but have to watch my feet on steep loose rock, some washed away into eroded slots. It’s a long way down, slow and frustrating, but I have my views the entire way to a dirt road, where myriad footsteps lead the way to a brown locker in the shade. 

Lance is here, tall and lean. He tells me there’s one gallon left of ‘public water.’ I have enough until the next good source from a well, so leave it for more needy hikers. He takes my picture in front of the sign describing the next passage, “Canelo Hills West.” Next to it is a description of the AZT. What is the Arizona Trail? 

Insanity! To which Lance laughs. I walk behind him until he steps aside to let me pass and I realize he’s moving slow because of a foot problem. 

I head uphill fast again, winding through these gorgeous hills to a gate with s fancy metal AZT sign. The wind is wild up here, so I head right back down on switchbacks to a wash far below. I eventually join a rough dirt road and begin to notice all my shade disappearing. I’d hoped to stop for a snack, but this is just wide open with low shrubby plants. 

I meet a couple day-hiking and joke they have the smallest packs on trail. Again, seeing them encourages me that this is not too bad and to keep moving and enjoying. 

It’s steep and slippery to some pools of water which I decide not to collect, though I sit on a rock and drink a chocolate, peanut butter chia shake. Lance catches me and I follow him through cow country, all black mamas and their tiny calves, sleek and new, lounging under a tree. 

It’s still a lot of up and down, huge rocks in the trail as well as thorn bushes reaching in. One catches a thread and when I move to release it, it grabs others. 

We follow the wash and reach a windmill pulling water from a well into tanks. It’s helped by a set of solar panels. This time, there’s a faucet! So lucky and the water tastes great. I meet Rachel and Haley who are hiking with a beautiful dog with liquid blur eyes named Osso. 

It’s still early, so I head on to another well, this one gurgling from a pipe into a trough. About 20 cows and calves mill about as I collect enough water for the last ten miles to Patagonia. Lance tells me his toe is in pain, but he plans to move on to another site away from this cow-pie fast. 

I feel good and push on too, setting 6:00 as the time I really need to look. The trail passes a deep valley with a stream bed below, but the bushwhack is full of thorns, so I continue on, up and down. I pass a few spots tucked in the trees, 

I catch Lance who chooses a spot, but the sun is still up and I want a view. So on and on I go, up, then deep down to a wash, and finally back up where the view opens up – as does a single cleared spot under ocotillo, looking towards the pointy mountains under an orange sky. 

Cows still mill about and I hear them mooing. Coyotes yip in a choir for about a minute. A huge falling star passes overhead and the half moon is so bright I don’t need a light. 

Just as I begin to knock off with the smallest bit of breeze on my exposed face, one cow stumbles by looking for his favorite spot. Oh dear, not getting this one tonight, I’m afraid. But I won’t be surprised if he’s sleeping nearby.