AZT day 8, Colossal Cave to Grass Shack Camp (Saguaro National Park) 16 miles

Even from the alicoop I see the morning star and the sky lightening just so indicating it’s time to break camp. I’m so lucky Tamara gave me tent stakes. They pretty much pull right out as I tighten the guy-lines, but having them in place makes it easier to load up rocks and keep the tent secure.

They also give me an orange which I eat while packing up. I return the topical gel that’s helping my muscles relax and write, “Thanks!!” in the sand before heading toward the ‘magic camp.’ I’m hoping to get a real breakfast in three miles from a couple who has been letting all of us know they’re here with food/water, charging stations and camping. What more could a hiker want? 

Everything feels much further than it is. It’s beautiful and unusual here, a clash of biospheres – Chihuahuan and Sonoran – and a mix of geology including a limestone injection (hence, the cave) among many others making ridges , canyons, gullies, ravines and swales, a sign tells me, and a geologist’s dream. 

Not only that, this unique place is home to half the animal species known to live in Arizona. And that included the raccoon-like coatimundi, whose sassy rump I saw on trail, its striped tail a swaying question mark. 

I climb up curly-cue trails with a view to a wide expanse of desert and the enormous Rincon Mountain range which I will cross. To my eyes it’s saguaro, barrel and prickly pear plus ocotillo with just now red flowers like flags at the end of fanciful stalks. 

I see far in the distance a white square. Perhaps that’s the magic camp. I move with purpose, thinking of the scene from Lawrence of Arabia when the man falls from his camel and walks as far as he can before the sun rises. I love the icy chill of the morning, but it doesn’t last and soon the sun burns down. Not much wind today. 

The white hump is indeed the magic camp and I am welcomed by barking dogs. Deborah shushes them and invites me into the enormous screened-in tent. She’s probably my age, long gray hair and a radiant smile. Breakfast has already begun, so I wash up at the soap station then dig into watermelon slices and a banana. 

King Arthur is here, a bearded young man with thick, wild hair plus Jeff, middle aged and clean cut. Hugo from France is taking a day off and Jim, Deborah’s husband, rounds out the group. 

I’m served pancakes with nutella and blueberries and we talk about the trail. The two got involved when they helped raise money for the ride-over contraptions at gates. Rather than open and close a stock gate, bikers and hikers can walk over. 

We tell stories about hiking and we’re warned the rangers are strict on permits in the park. Fortunately Jeff has one for Grass Hut. I really want to aim for Manning, but he adds me to his permit just in case. 

Deborah also warns us once we begin to see lizards, snakes are next. Also, when the prickly pear bloom, it’s time to leave the desert during the day because it’s too hot. 

They’ve run out of bacon, and Deborah gives me hers We all laugh about how hard they tried to make some vegan hikers coming through happy and finding it far too much work. I give them both hugs before I go, so grateful I made it on their very last day. 

I start off first, marching on mostly flat ground but a trail that winds around as it works its way to the mountains. When I mention to Jim that this winding mountain bike trail feels relentless, he tells me it’s built this way to preserve the land, mostly because the monsoon will destroy everything in its path. 

Several bikers pass congratulating me on hiking the AZT. It’s hot now and feels more and more like Lawrence under the Saharan sun. Arthur catches me up and we sing, ‘Here Comes the Sun.’ The Sonoran Singers with four miles to the first water. 

I drink and drink, not having to pee yet and knowing I need more than I think. Someone left and orange powder in the hiker box and it tastes pretty awful, but does have electrolytes and I drink it. 

Rincon Creek is in a deep wash and running beautifully clear through bright green algae. Jeff catches up and we sit under umbrellas to fill up. 

After here is National Park with permits required for the two sites on the mountain. I push ahead thinking I have it in me to climb 4000 feet. The trail heads up straight into giant Saguaro cactus. They’re completely mesmerizing – giant, for one thing, comical and fascinating. It’s not lost on most of us that they look human, a troop of soldiers marching up the mountain. 

But they come in all sorts of contorted shapes. The arms are almost like separate plants bulging out of the long, straight stalk. They seem as if eyes, or boobs, or some fuzzy growth. The classic look is for these to branch up, in praise or a touchdown, though many get so long they hang down and curl, like an inviting, if pokey, swing. 

I laugh with delight passing each one, here directing traffic, here making a peace sign. I gradually meet three backpackers who are headed to Manning and ask if I might join their permit.Andrew, Trevor and Chris are birding and out just for a night. They seem sanguine on any possibility of a ranger hassling me, but agree to let me join them. 

I lose them at the next water, beautiful and clear remaining pools on smoothed rock. I could sit here in the water all day, but it’s more than 10 miles and 4,500 feet of climbing ahead. 

I eat some Doritos picked up at the magic camp, then fill up myself and my bottles with this gorgeous water laced with orange electrolyte. 

The trail immediately goes straight up. The builders have created a super trail replete with stairs heading up a canyon on switchbacks and sometimes straight up. I’m breathing heavy but moving strong, the saguaro accompanying me up this steep face. Mount Wrightsville is far off in the distance and I can hardly believe I’ve covered so much ground. 

It’s rocky with exposed, shapely stone. Bright yellow brittlebrush accents the path. It’s hard to see where I’m going since I complete a section, only to have it open up to more higher mountain above. But soon, I come over a summit and follow a ridgeline. It still goes up, but sidles the mountain, open and aerie. 

I’ve climbed many mountains, but this has a strange vulnerable feeling. I can’t quite say why – the absolute exposure to sheer drops so high above the desert it feels like flying or maybe the sheer size of the wilderness which makes me feel tiny and insignificant. I’m never in danger at an edge, it’s more the vastness and being suddenly above the saguaro, seeing down to their rounded tops. 

Distance is all relative and no mile is created equal. I feel I’m working hard and moving fast, but I don’t seem to get very far. It’s a long way on this ridge to the next mountain face and I begin to wonder if there’s even enough light in the day to keep climbing. 

I meet a crew building these magnificent stairs with hand tools. They give me courage though say it’s still a good pull to the first camp. I’ve lost the saguaro completely, but my views are tremendous to far away ranges. 

I skip pools of water knowing there’s more in two miles at the camp. The trail worker was right, it’s a hard pull up and up, but I move well and control my breathing along rock outcroppings into a canyon. 

But I’m fooled by the distance. Hard work doesn’t mean you advance all that far and a sign indicates there’s still nearly a mile to the first camp. 

Funny that uphill isn’t what tires me out. It’s down, especially on crumbly rock with big drops. It’s here I realize I not only don’t have the daylight, but I for certain don’t have the energy for any more climbing. I mean if it were a mile or two, ok, but it’s 2700 feet in 4 1/2 miles, what would be the point?

The clincher is a babbling brook running right through camp, shaded by oak trees with inviting flat sites. I need this right now, to arrive at camp early, soak my feet and make dinner, organize my things and eat slowly. 

Honey Bear is already here, a section hiker who will head back down tomorrow. He gives me two of his stakes and shows me the bong he made from a bear-shaped honey bottle.   

Arthur arrives soon and they join me in my creekside idyl for dinner and a chat. Jeff is much later, exhausted by the climb. 

The creek and a bit of wind are lulling me to sleep, moonshadow of oak leaves dance on the tent. What a lucky day of new friends, shared meals and permits and strong legs and lungs. Tomorrow is going to be a killer, but I’ll be ready after a deep sleep.