Even sleeping high above the tanks couldn’t shake the cold this morning. Tendrils of frost crept down and laced the entire area with white dust. It was crazy cold. We packed up quickly and decided we would eat after we had a few miles under our feet and the day had warmed up a bit. Climbing down the hill towards Maxie Tank, we ran into the two bikepackers who were also up and packing up their shelter. Turns out they were Australians who wanted to do the Great Divide but realized their time in America was too early in the season for a proper go. They had switched to the Arizona Trail which they described as “incredibly hard.” Janna and I parted from them, joking we would see them again shortly. The trail was singletrack that crossed a large open meadow before switchbacking through a forest where we saw two separate herds of elk and a coyote. As the sun finally crept its way up in a thawing fashion, the Arizona Trail joined an old fenced road and deposited us near a parking lot where two old men sat in chairs next to the trail register. Turns out they were volunteering for the Arizona Trail Association and were setting up for the day. They asked us questions about the trail, and then Janna and I pushed into the woods ahead of us. Lake Mary Road suddenly appeared on our lefts as a few cars drove by. The Australian bikepackers passed us and we waved goodbye. They let us know that the AZT 750 race had started and that we could expect to see bikepacking racers any day now as the lead pack set pace from the south to the north. Janna and I walked until we crossed Lake Mary Road and the trail began to trace a number of large marshes and lakes in the woods. A cacophony of bird cries indicative of a spread of species rose from the waters and shores. The trail joined a forest dirt road and paced back and forth next to several small lakes, marshes, and lakes all surrounded by tall ponderosas over the next several miles. By noon, after passing through miles of further ponderosa pines, we hit 10 miles and came to the trail junction for Navajo Spring Trail. We decided to take the 1 mile spur to Mormon Lake where the small general store and community lay. The trail followed the wash of the spring including a fenced off portion to prevent deer from grazing on baby aspens. A sign reported how the exploding ungulate population was leads to a decline of new aspens as trees were stripped of bark and leaves in youth. The USFS had placed fencing around sections of the forest to encourage vegetative growth. Passing an old water trough filled with ice, the day began to heavily cloud over. a strong wind blew and the forest felt like the still of winter. Small snow banks lay alongside the trail. After a mile that felt like forever, we tumbled out in Mormon Lake Lodge. We passed from the back to the front and the community was nestled around us. Mormon Lake was mostly a collection of RV park, cabins, a few small restaurants, general store, and local campground set against large Mormon Lake (waterway proper). No one was out and all the restaurants were still closed in this early season. However, the General Store was open. We went in, secured a resupply box we had sent with dehydrated beans, and then plundered the store for microwave pizzas, Drumstick ice cream cones, sandwiches, and more. They allowed us a small table against the coffee area along a wall. We sat with our steaming microwave meals and ate a sinful number of calories. My leg muscles soaked them up; they didn’t even hit my stomach. Electronics charging, we spent a solid two hours enjoying the warmth. We refilled on hand sanitizer for our backcountry bidet kits and secured some wifi. Both my double pairs of socks now had holes in them, leading to blister beneath a callus on the top of my toe. I got on Amazon and quickly sent a pair to our friends’ (Esther and Mike) house in Flagstaff. As early afternoon rolled in, we decided it was time to go as storm clouds built overhead. Donning rain jackets, we sat on the porch and disgorged our resupply boxes. Two thru-hikers (Mike and Noemi) walked up and we talked to them briefly before pushing on. As we left, a freezing drizzle started to fall. Walking back up Navajo Trail, the wind licked the trees sideways and sent a deep shiver within. It felt and looked like November. Several miles of walking along the AZT brought us by old historic timber operations with detailed history signs provided by the USFS. The gray skies began spitting both hail and snow for a bit before stopping. We passed below Mormon Mountain lot and walked over a bridge into a forest with several gorgeous stream crossings and hand-built bridges. We passed through a forest service campground (also closed for the season) and found paw-prints of coyotes and a massive one of a mountain lion (see photo below). The trail went up a small ridge where we were afforded views of the swirling gray clouds overhead. We pushed ahead for miles and miles through sloped woods where we saw a second coyote trailside that took off and looked at us for a long time. Eventually, the land began to level off as evening approached and we hit Mayflower Spring. The woods looked thick with pine-needles, the ground relatively flat, and the trees strong with no widowmakers. Given the wind and sputtering rain, this seemed a good place to camp for the night. We explored for a bit after filling up water and found the torn apart remains of an elk from a mountain lion kill. After eating dinner, we sat around while a thru-hiker came up. Turns out he had been hiking since 3 in the morning and had covered 40 miles today. He was a doctor who had a limited time off and was doing the whole AZT by hiking nearly 40 miles a day. We were mind-blown at the distances he was traveling daily, but he lamented the speed and said he would love to have more time to relax and sit as we were. He had miles to go tonight and wanted to get as close to Flagstaff as possible. We ate up a hill in the dark, the cold slowly wrapping around us. Filled with food from today (my muscles grateful), we climbed into the Triplex as rain spattered the shelter and a very cold night set in.
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We slept in late after a hard sleep all night. It was nearly 7 am when we woke up. After getting more silt-dusted water for breakfast, a southbound thru-hiker came upon us. We talked about the trail ahead - mostly learning that there were just miles of trees. After the AZT left Jack’s Canyon and its adjoining wash, the trail became a rocky mess with clumps of volcanic pumice. But, the few miles of rocks eventually gave in to easier terrain. Tank after tank of water was gloriously clear so there as no need to filter cow shit. The largest ponderosa pine forest in the world can be a homogenous place. The relatively flat terrain let us easily cover 23.6 miles. The views were basically stand after stand after stand of ponderosa pine. Around mid-day, we came upon a beautiful tank filled with a chorus of frogs. A truck parked near a dirt forest road had a hunter out collecting deer and elk racks. Shortly thereafter, we ran into Blue Skies, a thru-hiker cover 30+ miles a day. In early afternoon, the trail slowly went up a rise to 7,500 feet where we saw large patches of snow. Green grass pushing through the ground spoke to late spring in the high country. After a slight descent over several miles we came out into a large field with power line towers. The wind picked up and blew coldly and powerfully across the field. We stopped at a spring forming a pool and small stream where frogs called to grab some water. The trail moved into the forest past gorgeous green fields with towering pines. A large herd of elk broke into a run between the trees. The sun filtered sideways through the trees setting the whole forest into golden light. Small ponds and snowmelt sat in areas, encouraging the growth of new plant life. After carefully walking through mucky and deep mud in double track, we approached a series of small tanks set in the woods. A herd of tree trotted up the trail in front of us. One tank was in a small flat valley with a rise nearby. We walked up the hill and found a flat area in some trees on top. There, we setup camp with a beautiful view into the tanks and grassy trees below. Two bikepackers riding the Arizona Trail showed up and setup camp in the valley below. We ate dinner and watched streaks of red light up the sky in the evening light. Cold clamored toward us and we snuggled in our quilts. We woke to the rushing sounds of the East Verde River. Slowly, we pulled ourselves out of our quilts and into the cold morning. While eating breakfast, a bunch of birders pulled up at the nearby parking lot and pulled out binoculars to check out the ornithological scene. Back on trail, we crossed a bridge over the Verde River (only a rushing stream here) and noted the abundant biodiversity. The AZT now split from the Highline; the Highline continued east while the AZT turned north and ascended one of the few “easy” passes up the Mogollon Rim. We closely kept to the river, small waterfalls and narrow channels frequently occurring. Ferns grew abundantly in some sections of the woods. The forest was verdant and swelling with life. Eventually, the AZT joined up with some doubletrack. I’ve heard legendary tales of this section for bikepackers. Officially, the AZT mountain bike route follows this doubletrack up and over the pass onto the top of the Colorado Plateau. But’s gnarly, CRAZY steep, and chock full of boulders. I’ve heard that it can sometimes take longer to bike up this section than it would be hike. Fortunately, the AZT left the doubletrack and began switchbacking up a slope nearby. I turned around frequently to catch my last views of central Arizona. The land began to fold in around us. Back and forth all morning until we rejoined the doubletrack. Steeper and steeper, we passed an old abandoned railroad tunnel and suddenly, we were on top of the Mogollon Rim. Standing on a small rise looking north, the immensity of the Colorado Plateau hit me. Hundreds of miles of relatively unbroken ponderosa pine forest before us. At 7,000 feet in elevation, this section of the Arizona Trail is notorious for being flat, dusty, fast-to-cover, easy in some ways, and sometimes monotonous for its unbroken level expanse of pine trees. But I was excited now. We were in a new biome with all new life to see. We passed by a plaque describing the Battle of Big Dry Wash where European colonists/settlers were killed by Apaches. A person had spray-stenciled “Settlers had it coming” over the plaque. Indigenous protest at Eurocentric commemoration - well placed and of some valuable worth to consider. We walked along the road which passed by several snow drifts, our first since the Rincons back in southern Arizona outside Tucson. Small snowmelt streams filled the dished-out meadows in areas. The historic site of General Springs Cabin came into view and we stopped to walk inside and check it out. At this point, the miles came easy and fast. The trail broke off from the road and plunged solely into the woods. It wound past granite boulders and down smooth valleys with small streams. We climbed over snowpack sections here and there, but nothing too intense. Eventually the trail entered a canyon where at the bottom a significant slow and crystal clear stream flowed. We crossed the stream easily, admiring the gorgeous curves of the wooded canyon at high elevation. The Arizona Trail traced the river for several more miles, winding in and out of it. At some point, it broke away from the steam and climbed a hill back out of the canyon. The AZT wound through the flat woods with slight inclines for miles. We stopped when we wanted, enjoying the abundance of shade. At points, it joined random forest roads and double track for a mile or two before returning to singletrack in the woods. We startled a large herd of elk in the woods that took off running. In and out of the trees, we passed by an official forest service campground not yet open for the season. It bathrooms and trashcans sat locked from the snows of winter. The trail became encrusted with rough hewn volcanic rock that slowed us intermediately. The steams kept coming and the trees stood always. We crossed a paved highway, entered some golden grasslands, and plunged right back into the woods. We passed a muddy cattle tank - our preplanned stopping point for the day. However, a Guthook comment indicated that a possible stream ahead in Jack’s Canyon had ample clean water. Avoiding cow shitwater is a must. I easily convinced Janna and we wound up and over a small rise and descended for several miles into a wooded wash that grew into a sandy but dry stream. Firmly in Jack’s Canyon, we were comfortable covering the extra miles in the easy terrain but dark was coming on and no water was visible. At this point, my legs began to get tired. Regret soured my choice to push forward as this comment seemed way off base and we had barely any water left. The streams were plentiful all day until we were miles from one. Rounding a corner, we decided to find camp nearby and just get up early and find some water. I started scouting a site in the near dark while Janna looked ahead. She came running back saying she checked the wash ahead in Jack’s Canyon and found one dusty pool. Literally, a layer of dust covered the water. We drank up the silt-flavored water and setup camp in a field nearby under a few ponderosa pines. Eating in the absolute dark, some wild turkeys called nearby and a male elk began screaming/calling in the dark a few hundred feet away. What a change in wildlife. Gone were the low desert species. Now it was all Rocky Mountain material. Exhausted, we climbed into the Triplex as temperatures dipped very cold at 7,000+ feet and the wind whipped up. But a bed of pine needles beneath our bodies always softens my body for sleep no matter what conditions are outside. We slept in until mid-morning, enjoying one last day in the cabin. There was a certain sense of safety. Gone were the imminent feelings of needing to move before the Sun got high in the sky and cooked us in the desert. We were at the base of the Mogollon Rim. We were at the cusp of northern Arizona. Water should be more plentiful - the trees would be thick and protective. Saddling that idea in our heads drove home a desire to start the day slow. The Early Bird Cafe called to us for breakfast so we walked there. I ordered probably the largest spread of breakfast I had ever had in my life. I couldn’t even eat it all that’s how much this place made. As we sat there, another man a booth over kept looking at us. He came over, introduced himself as Carl, and told us he was a thru-hiker with an ankle injury. Carl was staying in town to heal up for a week or two and wanted to know if he could treat us to a car ride back to the trailhead. We happily obliged. He picked us up with our gear and dropped us down at the Pine Trailhead outside of town. On trail by 9:30 am, the day was indeed hot. We weren’t yet ascending the Mogollon Rim. Instead, Janna and I would be tracing the bottom of the rim eastward on the Highline Trail. We’ve hiked pretty far on the eastern portion of the Highline Trail outside of Payson, but this would be the first time we were this far westward. The Highline passes through some gorgeous spaces, a blend interface between Colorado Plateau and central Arizona highlands. As we started out from the parking lot, making sure to sign the trail register, we plunged into the red dirt. It was amazing how hospitable the trail was now - large ponderosa pines, abundant springs, and easy/flat terrain. We moved to cover quick miles. The views were spectacular. It honestly reminded me of Sedona where rim buttes thick with sanguine dust clashed with evergreen colors. The trail wound in and out of curves in the rim wall. Midway through the morning, we ran into two backpackers finishing up the Highline westwardly. They were on their “Refirement” instead of “retirement” because they wanted to burn their lives bright. Inspired by their perspective, we pushed on, sometimes on exposed bushy slopes and often in ponderosa forests. We crossed several streams and saw a large Scout troop out camping/backpacking. The trail took us deeper in the woods, slowly ascending. It then exited onto a high red dirt plateau with juniper and agave growing starkly. Truly Sedona-esque. We wound back into the woods and passed a past burn area. Mile markers noted our continued distance from both Mexico and Utah. The sun passed in the sky and the evening rolled in. The views of the Mazatzals in the distance complimented the green expanse of pine forests stretching before us. We arrived at Washington Park trailhead near dusk. The rushing waters of the East Verde river flowed nearby. We setup our Triplex in the darkness and sat back to relax. An old chained forest road nearby served as an excellent place to eat dinner and watch the stars overhead. This was the first day I KNEW I could finish the trail, that my knee wouldn’t hold me back. I went to bed looking forward to the climb tomorrow into the largest continuous stand of ponderosa pine forest in the world. The photo above is a fitting picture for today: steep and rocky. Today would actually prove to be the rockiest section of the trail. Everything we thought was rocky before held little compared to today. It rained all night and we woke up damp from humidity and condensation, but dry from the rain. The Polk Spring with its warm waters kept the entire area, including our tent, warm all night and morning. Clouds hung low over the surrounding mountains, obscuring any views of the top. Grays and whites hung and ascending tussling over one another. We packed up in the humid field, secured one last collection of water, and prepared to exit the Mazatzals and get to Pine. Rejoining the AZT, it immediately led up a steep ascent. Black rock formed under foot as ankle-rollers abounded. A swathe of lupine grew along and up the trail - absolutely gorgeous. The trail crested a high mesa. Thick green grass grew across the flat high field. Information suggested this next section was relatively unmarked; just a series of rock cairns blending into the ground. We moved slowly across the field, making sure we didn’t stray. The fine silt and clay making up the soil, now saturated, began sticking, clinging, and weighing down our feed. Peanut butter mud. Gumbo, Frankenstein mud. We grew 6 inches each as a solid mound of earth clung to the bottom of our shoes, growing with every step. Now freshly weighed down with 5 pounds of soil on each foot, our pace slowed to a crawl. We would take a few steps and then pound our feet in an attempt to remove the soil. Unsuccessful, it was better to just keep walking. We caught up to Wags and Frenchie who passed our off-trail campsite this morning. They were laying our their gear as sun burned away cloud. Their items were pretty well soaked as they had camped up on this exposed mesa and weathered the storm and with sideways rain. They said they would get to Pine tomorrow and that we would catch up on our Zero Day. Passing them, the trail passed into drier red dirt. The mounds under our feet began to chip away slowly. My mind became focused on that one end: get to Pine. Again, I felt in my mind at the time, getting there would mean I could finish, that my knee would be okay. Time to move. We sped up, both sure of Pine or bust tonight. And with that, the ground began to rise. Drastically, the land dominant plant forms of the land went from high desert to Juniper-Pinion woodland as the geology became characterized by more volcanic northern Arizona rock type. Like a curtain rising on stage, we passed from one realm into another, from south/central Arizona into the northern. A whole new trail experience lay ahead. The trail began to absolutely disintegrate. I take back everything I said about the rockiest days before. This was the rockiest the trail had ever been. I tried to capture the absurdity of what we were climbing, but the washed out lighting of the day blended the ground texture. The steepness and stones were lost on camera. Just look at the photos and know what a mess it was. The flanks of the mountains were pure volcanic spill, boulders upon boulders of pumice and pocked rock, all smeared with lichen. Sweat poured off as we pushed upwards. The unforgiving rocks were finally felt on the bottom of my feet. Even as we climbed, the once dissipating storm clouds began to regroup. Eastward, large fast-moving cumulus clouds gathered in heaps of dark gray. Our climb with methodical, almost robotic to get to the top. We reached a high plateau by passing through a barbed wire fence so narrow I could barely squeeze sideways. On a red dirt road, the black boulder slope was gone. The grade became more gentle. The mountainside we were climbing seemed to be easing up - we could almost see the top of the rise in the far distance. A group of thru-hikers heading south on Day 1 of their section hike met us. They asked us if the trail was as easy as the dirt road they had just walked down. Janna and I said no, and secretly thought we had just gone through a battle they had yet to enter. And with that, the trail somewhat evened out in a large open expanse of juniper-pine grasslands. We sat next to a road sign with the first indication of the Grand Canyon written on it. The skies swirled gray but we felt victorious and HUNGRY. Knocking back some jerky and bars, around the corner came Basis Ben. Basis Ben (as we called him) was a thru-hiker we had last seen in Patagonia, AZ. And here he was coming southbound! He said he reached Pine, heard from a friend about a kayaking trip down the Verde River, and was hiking back through the Mazzies to Sunflower to meet the guy by the highway. Damn - what a rockstar. The AZT followed the red dirt roads here as a few ATVs revved past us. It sharply turned onto some rocky/jumble double track that head up into ponderosa studded hills along a telephone wire cut. We were giddy. The worst of the long climbing was behind us for the day we were only like 7 miles from town. The double track was chunky for sure, but the temperature was cool and the cloud cover kept the sun exposure down. Eventually, the AZT split from the double track after several miles and plunged into thicker forest. The trail pumped up and down repeat steep sections check full of rock shards. It came down to a beautiful meadow and swept pass a crystal-clear spring. The water quality was entirely welcome. The AZT took us up an adjoining hill full of agave interspersed with pine. At the top of this last saddle, the mighty Mogollon Rim slopes stood before us, as well as the distant rooftops of Pine. Sloping toward town and the Mogollon Rim, the trail became well graded and smooth. Massive green and flat meadows spread before us including one with a large lake. Ponderosa Pines in full height cast shade and shadow over the trail as late afternoon wore on. We were walking fast to the highway into town. There is a brewery outside of town (THAT Brewery and Pub) and we were DETERMINED to get there at 6 (it closed at 7 on this weekday). The trail sloped through a towering ponderosa pine forest with golden light shafting between the trees. Woodsmoke from a large ranch across a stream cutting across a field added smell and invitation to the area. Curving through the trees, we heard the whir of cars and stepped out into gathering evening, around 6 pm, onto the highway. FUCKING VICTORY. We walked the shoulder of the highway past the “Pine” city sign and within a mile, arrived at THAT Brewery and Pub. I cannot describe the absolute elevation we felt at walking up to that restaurant in the chilling air. The place freaking loves AZT hikers and has a logbook, holds resupply packages (they were holding ours), and provides a massive assortment of food. In the evening shade, we heard voices calling to us from the outside eating area. Katya was here and somehow passed us today! She was sitting with Scruffy, a thru-hiker from Tucson. We all sat together eating loads of food. I ordered a massive salad, an Elk Burger with beer cheese fries, ,and at a bowl of ice cream. The place let us stay past closing and let us take a look through the hiker box. Full of food, and the night now full on around 8:30, we began the extra mile walk into town. In the darkness, we donned our headlamps on the highway shoulder and passed a MASSIVE herd of elk just eating grass in people yards. They just looked up at us as we shined our nights from feet away. We got to the reserved cabin at 9 pm. It was insanely nice. It was more of a mini-house with a jacuzzi in the bathroom and a very modern spread. We stepped inside, and I felt a sense that I might actually be able to finish the trail. ——————————————————————————————- 4/18/19 The Zero Day was deeply deserved. In hindsight, the section of AZT stretching between Superior and Pine, Arizona would end up being the most rugged, steep, tough, and mentally challenging. Getting this Zero Day in was well worth it. We woke up later than usual (up at nearly 5:20 am daily with the Sun at this point) and made our way to the Randall House for a full spread breakfast. After that, we picked up our mail and started a long day of laundry at the laundromat next door. We walked our way to the grocery in between, picking up enough food to get us to Mormon Lake and enough to take back and binge eat. We ran into Scruffy and Katya doing the same. Back at the cabin, I thoroughly washed and aired out all gear. I hung the Triplex up from the back porch after a thorough water wash to allow it to dry. I washed out our backpacks in the shower, repaired the hole in my front mesh, and scrubbed our shoes of salt and debris. Around lunch, we made our way to the local deli where Janna had the best sandwich she ever had in her entire life. Hunger is the best seasoning. In the afternoon, we kicked back and watched several movies on TV, relaxing, taking a nap, and just catching up on a load of fluids. As evening approached, we made our way down to the Old Country Inn Woodfire Pizza where we ran into Wags and Frenchie - both jubilant to see us! They saved us both seats with a crew of thru-hikers including Scruffy, Katya, and Blue Skies. Katya let us know this was her last night in town as she had to head back to the Typical world in order to keep her job. She would be back this fall to finish by going southbound. After two large pizzas and a massive woodfired chocolate chip cookie, Janna and I made our way back to the cabin in the dark for one more night’s sleep in a bed. Backpacking is hard on the body. We woke up and got moving before Katya, bidding her a goodbye and promise to meetup in Pine in a few days. We hiked up from the valley through a juniper-pinion pine forest. The trail became rocky shardy again filled with stone chunks. The hue of the land began to change, began to become more iron-based red. The junipers fell away as the Arizona Trail zig-zagged across multiple rolling hills. The Mogollon Wall was incredibly visible in the distance. That wall that separated us from the high country. On a descending ridge, Janna managed to get just enough reception to call ahead to reserve us a cabin in Pine. We mutually agreed we wanted to take a 0 in Pine. Lodging with a hot shower was strongly desired. With that sliver of bars, she was able to confirm us their last cabin in town. A roof secured, we walked on, pumping out more miles. Small white flowers began blooming trailside in red dirt. The surrounding rock facades increasingly reminded me of northern Arizona - striated with pale whites and sanguines, the true forms of red rock country. The AZT led down to a wash where we climbed over old fallen burned timber and jumped around large boulders. Low growing oak and manzanita continued to crowd up against the trail in places. Water was plentiful so we took what we wanted, when we wanted. We moved in and out of chunky rock-strewn trail before it came through a vegetative thickness. Campsites abounded, but the gently sloping land up here’s only shelter was the body sized shrubs and isolated deadfall. Glad we didn’t camp here last night, we pushed, gaining elevation upwards now. We kept our eyes on the sky. The morning had a mix of blue and white, but a more permanent cloud cover seemed to be moving in now. Thick, draping clouds hung on the highest peaks behind us. The storm didn’t hit last night, but a cold front had definitely arrived. The sky suggested a mid-afternoon storm. As we moved along, we began to notice a new array of flowers popping up all over the places: multiple cactus flowers, Mexican gold poppies, fireweed, jojoba blooms, and mallows. The profusion made me extremely grateful to be hiking the AZT in such a wet year - beauty born of water. The trail came over a higher ridge and began a steep series of distant switchbacks to the now visible Verde River valley. The trail straight-up plunged down some 5,000 feet to the river valley in only a few miles. We began descending the slanted trail, my knees lock stepping to halt the speed of my descent. Trekking poles were slammed in front in many places. We wound down and down. Above and behind us, large cumulus began building - the storm in wait. As we were walking, I began to feel a certain pain developing in my right knee (my good knee!). Then, the pain became sharp, defined, and felt like clicking. All bad signs. I stopped immediately began going through my ritualistic stretches in an attempt to realign that which wasn’t. Unfortunately, this pain would haunt me for days, causing much alarm about possible damage. By the time we got to the Grand Canyon, it was gone. But in this moment, it served its own dish of worry. We rounded a corner and found a hillside swept with gold poppies. Plus, we caught up to two backpackers ahead of us. We met Wags and Frenchie - two flip-flopping thru-hikers from Pine. They raved about their town and insisted we meet up when we all got there. They were doing the Mazaztals now and then were going to flip down to the border and head north from there. Then, flip back to the northern end of the trail to finish up. We talked about the profusion of flowers, the insane amount of snow/rain this past winter, and our favorite areas in Arizona. They were honestly some of the few other thru-hikers we had run into who were from the state. We pushed ahead, gingerly (my knee was clicking with pain on every step down) ahead of them. A few hours later, the incline of the trail decreased. It began to wave past more flowers, instead undulating through pinion-juniper stands. The heat of the day had risen as our elevation decreased. And suddenly, we spilled out on a dirt road leading to the Verde River past a ranch. As we walked, we heard barking and a pack of dogs from the ranch came out at us. I was like, “Shit!” but the dogs barked and circled us before running back on their property. As we walked on, sunlight began to dip (even though it was only early afternoon) as rain clouds built up. The deepening gray made the entire area seem damp already. The studded rock trail became smooth, then sandy, as the floodplain approached. Large sycamores grew densely along the sandbars and banks of the Verde. We were curious how deep it would be flowing. Guthook comments from only a couple of weeks ago suggested that the river was flooded with spring melt. Hikers had to actually swim across to get to the other side. We walked through the sand and large river stones and came out into the actual river channel. Deep sections lay before us so we walked upstream and found a perfect crossing spot with an easily manageable depth. We crossed and took some time to enjoy beauty of this undammed river still running wild in Arizona. But the gathering clouds were starting to dim everything more, so we climbed a hill. As we left, loud peacocks from the ranch began calling. We would hear their calls all night long. Pacing up the hill, we entered juniper-pine stands again. A few miles in, we left the AZT to hike into the wood to Polk Spring. Polk Spring ended up being a naturally warm spring that made the resulting field it ran through temperate and comfortable in the gathering chill. We setup camp in the field well away from widowmakers and branches, using a bush as wind-block. The spring fed a stream through the north side of the large field. A layer of watercress and ivy richly covered it, not making any water visible. I walked up towards the source in the woods and found water exposed and running through tree roots. I took off my shoes and soaked my feet in the warm and clear waters. Being here by 3 pm, Janna and I decided to divide tonight’s dinner into two. Early dinner and late dinner. We ate early dinner right away and took some time to reorganize and patch our gear (especially the rip on my backpack where I had fallen in the Superstitions). By 4:30 we decided to eat late dinner as it was obvious that the storm was going to unleash in the next hour. Food consumed, we made sure the Triplex was well battened with all tie-outs and headed in. Not 10 minutes later, a wave of clouds obscured all peaks as a steady rain began to fall. The night would bring an intense lightning storm, thunder, and driving rain for hours. Refuge was our shelter. The night was cold, long, and it felt like we were so far away from humanity. For some reason, it reminded me of sleeping in the Paria Canyon. You stare up into deep stars, the night sky a sliver between rock walls. Nighthawk calls continued until the touch of dawn. We awoke and I felt urgency. Urgency to get through the Mazzies to Pine. In my head, I thought, “If I can get there, my knee will be good, and I can finish the trail…If I get there, the heat will lessen, and water will be plentiful…If I can get there, shade will be more abundant….” The urgency was also born of a weather report suggesting a very large storm and rain system approaching tonight or tomorrow. We wanted to cross the Verde River (a federally designated Wild and Scenic River) and find some good shelter before a veritable deluge hit. Therefore, we had miles to make today. We climbed out of the Triplex into the frigid air. Again, ice caked where condensation had formed. I felt well pleased because the Destin and Preparation H were doing INCREDIBLE things down there. My butthole and cheeks were simply on the up. I had settled into a rhythm with using my derriere creams: (1) sleep with no underwear to air the area. Wipe with baby wipes before bed to remove salt crystals from sweat. (2) Apply Preparation H before bed to keep the itch away while I sleep. (3) Add Destin before and during hiking to prevent the cheek chafe. Golden. The day began with Mazatzal Peak rising all day until we stood across from its 8,000 ft. prominence. The trail switchbacked up an opposing peak on a narrow edge. Scrub oak grew low and bushy and packed right up next to the trail. We felt exposed to the Sun again, but after the trail curved the mountainside, we entered an unburned ponderosa pine forest with a sprinkling of junipers. The evidence of the wildfire impact was just dramatic across the whole range. We’d dip into an unscathed pine forest only to abruptly exit into a hillside of grass/scrub oak/manzanita all knee high with splintered ponderosa skeletons lodged about. Near 7,000 ft. high again, the botany began to change. Agave and firs intermingled in the high places. The trail scooped out of a turn and we both stopped to gaze at an unbroken expanse into the heart of the Tonto National Forest north of Phoenix. The valley down below contained horseshoe lake and a white building, a spec really, on a distant parallel range proved to be the Humboldt Observatory out at Seven Springs. Looking south, we could just pick a few distant glints of houses from Cave Creek. I was pumped when I looked north and saw the caked-in-snow rise of the San Francisco Peaks small but clearly seen. The wall of the Mogollon Rim cut perpendicularly in the north. Wow. In this one view, we could see it all; from Phoenix to Flagstaff. Just as we started to move again, an older couple rounded the corner. In their 60s, they were finishing this last section of the Arizona Trail. With it would come completion of the whole route. We congratulated them and felt a sort of awe wondering what it would feel like if/when we reached the end. The trail wound through a burned forest of black stumps and splinters with chunky red granite forming the ground. It curved over the top, provided us views into the east, and then came down the side of another mountain at a saddle to a spring. At this point it was nearly noon and we had done nearly 12 miles. Feeling comfortable with the pace being made in this steep terrain, we took a break. I was good on water, and so was Janna, so we decided to keep going after a snack. The views, unbroken by trees (burnt by the fire), revealed hulks of red granite ranges stretching into the distance. The AZT joined the Mazatzal Divide (a trail bisecting the range) and undulated up and down over miles of incredibly rocky trail. Janna and I settled into conservations about school, student behavior, trends in education, and the like. We realized during early afternoon that we were now back on the section we had hiked before when we visited the ice waterfall a few winters ago. It felt good to be someplace we had touched, a sort of confirming progress. Moving into another long expanse of manzanita-choked trail, the terrain below us disintegrated into the most insane rock. Shards, babyheads, river stones, chunky granite rounds. Like god punched the mountainside and strew the ankle-bending bits along this section. I was happy with the max soles of my Hokas as the bottom of my feet would have been destroyed. We walked quickly but carefully through the miles of possible broken ankles. Then, someone hollered to us from behind. Surprised to see anyone else, we turned and met Katya. She immediately recognized us (given our sun hats) and said that she was one of the hikers we had seen on Day 1, all the way back in the Huachucas. She had seen us take the alternate down low when she went high into the snow - again reaffirming our decision as good risk management. She said it was terrible up there. Apparently, she had been covering something like 20-30 miles a day but got an injury outside of Superior that forced her off the trail for a week or two. During that time, we had caught and passed her location. And now, despite the month passing since we all left from the Mexico/US border, we happened to intersect again. Janna gave Katya some olives that she was sick us; Katya ate them up for the palate change. She jumped ahead of us but we caught up when we both stopped at the same spring off trail to collect some water. Janna had gone down first and somehow I got lost descending the mountainside and walked through a ton of catclaw that ripped my legs apart. Find the stream flowing over a raw granite outcrop, I dipped by bottles only to bring up small leaches all over. I took some time to scrape them all off before walking downstream and finding Janna and Katya talking. Somehow, there was a clear trail there that I had missed. Janna and I told her we were aiming to make it to “The Park” tonight, a rare flat valley area a few miles ahead. It was supposed to have a small stream nearby and a thicket of wind-protected pine good for camping, and good for weathering the storm should it blow in. We pushed on ahead into early evening. The sun drifted behind some cirrus clouds, which seemed to drop the temperatures suddenly. The trail broke out into a pimplefest of fist-sized rocks and climbed upwards 1,000 feet. Yearning for smooth dirt track, the Mazatzal Divide suddenly summited out on a ledge with an awesome view into crimped peaks and ranges stretching out far. We switchbacked down the trail studded with agaves in the granite. It curved the width of a mountain flank and suddenly, there The Park was. A few acres of healthy pine in a small valley below. With evening in full force, we hit the bottom, crossed a small stream, walked up a large meadow and entered the woods. We hiked off trail a ways and found an absolutely perfect area to camp for the night. Good trees with no big branches overhead, flat, and with a thick bed of soft pine needles to camp on. After setting up camp, I hiked back down to the trickle of a stream to fill water and ran into Katya. I told her our location for camping and invited her to join us. I filled up my water in the dropping temperature and walked back up. The three of us ate dinner in the dark as Katya told us some stories about thru-hiking the PCT. We stayed up well-past dark and climbed into our shelters as the wind began picking up in earnest. Both of us were anxious to get moving this morning because we needed to meet Kristin who was bringing a load of fresh fruit and food. We got up early and found that, even up above, a deep cold had descended from the surrounding mountains, leaving us in a sheen of morning ice. We packed up our crispy bags, now soaked with collected condensation and hit the trail. We shivered in the subfreezing temps, even this late in spring in the desert. Eventually, the AZT came up on a rise and provided a long view of leafless cottonwoods lining the entire path of Sycamore Creek, now in the distance. We allowed the Sun to hit us. Sunflower, more a spot on a map then a real stop at all, was a short side-hike from the AZT. Sunflower sits along State Route 87 (The Beeline Highway) and has a tow truck business and a collection of houses. No services. We’ve never stopped there on drives to Rim Country. But there is a pullout just past Sunflower that leads down a lane to a dead-end where the AZT picks up at trail. Now warmed, we made our way to that pullout parking area to meet Kristin. Janna and I arrived at the parking area earlier than the planned meeting of 9 am. We took the time to empty all our gear to air out and dry out in the quickly warming sun. With our pack contents disgorged, a car pulled in and out popped Kristin and Sandra (both teachers from Janna’s school). They brought us our mail to look through, tons of fresh/easy water, MY FUCKING BUTT CREAMS (Prep. H + Desitin + Baby Wipes - I thanked them a million times and apologized for so personal a purchase), our resupply of food to get us to Pine, and a WHOLE TON OF FOOD we had requested, including: • McDonald’s Sausage Biscuits (I ate 2 - the first McDonalds in years) • 2 packages of iced cookies and 1 fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies • Cake • Tortilla Chips + Salsa • A bag of fresh oranges • A whole thing of bananas • Sourpatch Kids • Strawberries Over the next 1.5 hours, we literally ate it all. I don’t know how, but I literally consumed thousands of calories and an unbelievable volume of consumables. It was so much I thought I was going to vomit. It was wonderful. We all sat around laughing, asking each other questions about the typical world and the extraordinary world (as Murilo from NOLS would call them), and ate food endlessly. It was like I could feel the surge of calories being fed to my leg muscles through an IV or something. The recovery effect was huge for my energy, morale, and physical state. We dropped off trash, sent back that which we didn’t want/need anymore, and took a few more cookies for the trail ahead. Now, it was 10:30 and Janna and I need to go because tough terrain lay ahead. They said goodbye and drove away as we hiked back down to Sycamore Creek, crossed it, rejoined the AZT by a country home, passed under the highway via a culvert, and stared at the first peaks of the Mazatzal Mountains. The Mazatzals, or Mazzies (or Mad-as-Hells), are singularly notorious for being the most overgrown, hardest to navigate, very remote, rugged, and hardest section of the entire AZT. The mountains there have experienced multiple burns, the land is almost never flat, the trail is VERY rocky, and frequent manzanita covers the trail requiring scraping and bushwhacking. The range hit its highest point at nearly 8,000 feet at Mazatzal Peak. It was an intimidating section in our minds, but also one we were looking forward to. A couple of years ago we did a winter hike up Barnhardt Trail from Highway 87 to a frozen waterfall. It made our appetites grin to see more. As well, I knew this to be the last of low/hot country. Once we reached the end in Pine, we would enter Arizona’s high country. Grass grew alongside the trail gorgeous and green. The smattering of houses around Sunflower fell away as the trail because overgrown with grass. It was front easily discernible to one needing close attention. We began picking our path by looking for the telltale sing of footsteps in vegetation. Then, it rolled out into muddy and rocky doubletrack. Peaks and unconformities rose in the distance and hillsides bled red rock. We passed by a muddy cattle hole while humidity shot up. The AZT crested a grassy knoll and a herd of wild horses stood before us. They brazenly refused to step aside of the trail and somewhat bristled at our approach, so we gave them a wide berth. We passed the horses, the AZT joined and left a dirt track, it crossed a flowing creek, and turned abruptly up the canyon bearing the creek. With that, we firmly hiked up the foothills of the Mazatzals. The heat cooked up as the day progressed. All that food we ate was fuel running through me. Janna and I moved with speed and strength. A weathered sign welcomed us to the Mazatzal Wilderness. From there, the Mazzies revealed their steep and vertical structure. The trail would skirt up the sides of streams, gaining elevation steadily higher and higher. Unlike other mountain ranges encountered on the AZT which featured large climbs and rounded roofs with broad valleys and meadows, I would describe the Mazzies as sharply rising and falling slabs of mountain that meet in narrow “V” valleys. The walls of opposing flanks are begin and end sharply with elevation - there is no flat, no valley bottom. They are straight rockwall to creekbed to rockwall. This new topography made the Arizona Trail shoot straight up and down climbs. In addition, a massive fire that passed through here over a decade ago had removed much of the large ponderosa pines that would have provided cover from the Sun. The trail itself seemed made of straight-up flaked rock shards. As the day went on, the trail seemed to only get steeper, forcing me to descend sideways in some areas. Here and there, pockets of untouched pine behemoths beckoned shelter in narrow valleys. The trail would leave the manzanita chaparral to plunge into the evergreens. Many gorgeous campsites with supple streams drifted nearby. A few abandoned mine shafts sat trailside. For all of its sharp and rocky harshness, it was exhilarating to be in this legendary range. It also seemed little used, but promised many side backpacking trips from a maze of trails splitting from the AZT. At one point, the AZT climbed a ridge and then cut along a contour line, staying even and steady. We took the opportunity to peer at the distant peaks. It was truly a place of solitude. As late afternoon approached, we officially hit the halfway point of the entire trail, spelled out in rock shards on the shattered ground: 400 Miles, ½ Way. That felt like an accomplishment –> having hike ½ the trail. But dusk in the narrow-valleys made the night only come on faster. The sun drifted behind a tall ridge and shadows cast coldness as chilled air sank. We picked up the pace, sweating profusely from the frequent up and downs. Literally walking up washes in places. I wanted to make sure we had a place to camp out of the wind as it was rushing down the valleys in places. About a quarter mile before Thicket Spring, we found a flatish spot, literally just big enough to pitch our Triplex trailside. The topographic maps and Guthook comments revealed little to no camping off trail as everything was vertical walls. Tonight, we would camp with the trail forming an edge with our shelter walls. We tried to clear the ground of the sharpest of rock shards before setting up. As cold descended, we climbed into the Triplex, feeling truly isolated out in this range. The calls of lesser nighthawks on a high cliff filled the night. Darkness was solitude. The pattern repeats. All ascents one day. All descents this day. I woke up very grateful for the awesome campsite we had last night. We were dry, sheltered from the wind and rain. Today looked clear weather-wise, but the morning was ridiculously cold. We got up, scraped a layer of frosted ice off our tent, and got moving for warmth. We crossed over Shake Spring and got that frigid water on the toes to help us move along. The trail swept in and out of valleys and we passed many backpackers in various campsites the closer we got to Four Peaks Road. With that, we stumbled past a beautiful site onto the road. That road. I hadn’t been up here in several years - the last time with Reed when we summited. We were up on Four Peaks! Feeling pumped, the AZT followed the road. On either side, we could glimpse far off views of either Roosevelt Lake to the east or the Fountain Hills and the Phoenix metropolitan area to our west. It seemed so crazy to see our city and yet be so very far from it. Eventually, the road split with a spur leading all the way back down to Roosevelt. We took the high fork, left Maricopa Country, and officially entered Gila County. Now, the morning was looking beautiful. With that, we exited the Four Peaks Wilderness and took a picture to commemorate having walked up here. Many AZTers would complain about road walks. They hated walking on forest roads, saw it as drudgery, or perhaps hard on their feet. Maybe it’s the significant gravel grinding we do, or the fact that Arizona is covered in literally thousands of miles of dirt roads, but Janna and I LOVED it. We relished the change in walking terrain, having gone from rocky singletrack to smooth dirt. The road kept high, undulating over small rises. Low clouds passed quickly overhead. After a couple of hours, we turned to see a ball of cloud building into the upper atmosphere over the Four Peaks. Rain - the ever present afternoon threat at elevation. The forest road sauntered through large exposed sections with rocky outcrops reminiscent of Joshua Tree, fell across shallow round valleys with good camping, and then snaked through a large forest of ponderosa pine. A few ATVs and trucks passed us - people out enjoying the weather and views. Clouds come rolling overhead, fast, thick, and low. Blue sky and cloud. The sense of rain. We walked through a ponderosa pine forest for a while before the road made a broad turn and descended. With that, the ridge became a flank and the flank let us see out into the Tonto National Forest again. The hulking mass of Mt. Ord stood before us. We walked down the road, enjoying the shade now as the day heated up. I was sweating profusely, and then suddenly, was in pain. Now here is my disclaimer. If you’re going to read this, you get to read the whole truth about backpacking. That includes the unfortunate things that happen to your body when you’re moving it great distances. Things rub. Blisters happen. And in this case, I got a massively terrible case of butt chafe. Literally, like Satan was rubbing his hot fingers across the tender insides of my cheeks. I had been ignoring it all morning, but now the pain came screaming up my ass. I stopped. “Janna, I can’t walk. Oh my god. My butthole is itchy and BURNING.” Janna, my lovely wife, calmly put up with everything that followed. I dropped my pants in the middle of the road and she looked. “Don’t panic Forrest, but there is blood.” IMMEDIATE PANIC ENSUED. My mind raced to the most logical (at the time) of possibilities. Anal fissures. Why anal fissures? For no other reason than that episode of The Office where Dwight reads off people’s healthcare issues, only to say anal fissures is fake before Kevin says he has them - Dwight’s embarrassment ensues. I am Kevin. I have anal fissures. The whole time I’m freaking out, Janna is like: YOU DO NOT HAVE ANAL FISSURES. I pull out my cell phone and find 1 bar of reception. I immediately Google Image “anal fissures.” Only one photo loads…of a diagram…that plays havoc in my mind. Meanwhile, Janna is like: YOU DO NOT HAVE ANAL FISSURES. I shuffle down the road a bit more. More images load. Dude…insane. And clearly, based on these photos, I do not have anal fissures. Instead, I have a terrible case of salt causing friction causing raw skin and severe butt chafe. I thoroughly wash and rinse the area, let it dry, and apply some balm to keep the friction down. We descend further down and exit the ponderosa woods back into the desert. The high thornscrub-shrub interface forms around us. At a switchback in the road, we stop for a break, and for me to expose my butt for some air and drying. Janna called Kristin to check-in on our resupply for tomorrow in Sunflower. Kristin is tremendous teacher at Janna’s school who has agreed to come out and meet us along Highway 87 to bring us a resupply of food. As Janna’s talking on the tenuous reception, I ask her to ask Kristin, with complete humility with no questions asked, to bring (1) a bottle of Desitin/diaper rash cream, (2) a tube of Preparation H, and (3) baby wipes. I am FOREVER indebted to Kristin for literally bringing the creams of the gods. Honestly, and I mean honestly, the pain was so bad, that I thought it likely that I might need to quit the trail. The diaper rash cream and hemorrhoid cream I would receive tomorrow would be my elixirs until the end of the trail. Mid-day (and slowly now that my butt chafe has led to delicate walking and a careful pace), the AZT split from the forest road and led down into the desert. Switchbacks in the sun and lizards everywhere. The Arizona Trail eventually met a tributary of Sycamore Creek. Water flowed clear and cold through a rocky riparian zone. We stopped several times to rest, soak our feet in the cold water, and KEEP MY BUTT DRY AND CLEAN. Our pace was leisurely as we were close to our stop and we had a preplanned meetup tomorrow. High grasses spread over the land as the sun slanted in the sky. Janna and I were walking along, talking about that thru-hiker named Legend we had met before back in the Santa Catalinas. He had announced via Instagram and FKT.com that he was attempting to do an unsupported FKT on the Arizona Trail. This was a big deal. When we passed him going southbound on Mt. Lemmon, he was merely using a few hundred miles to warm up his legs and body before turning around at the border and heading northbound to set the FKT. I had been following his attempt via Instagram to see where he was. Based on his current pace, we laughed about running into him. With that, we heard an “Excuse me,” only to turn around and there he was! He stopped to talk to us for a minute, I caught a photo of him, and he (with slurred words of exhaustion) told us how beautiful the desert was. With that, he hiked ahead us with his tiny pack and was gone. In a few days, he would indeed set the Fastest Known Time on the Arizona Trail. Unsupported, he hiked all 800 miles from the US/Mexico border to the Utah border in 15 days, 13 hours and 10 minutes at a pace of over 50 miles a day on average. We arrived at Sycamore Creek in the early evening. It had a deep, beautiful, and large flow. More stream than creek, we hiked to a campsite up a hill nearby. There, we hunkered down for the night, looking forward to diaper rash cream, good food, and seeing friends tomorrow morning. One of those gorgeous days with so many photos I had to divide the day into two posts. This is Part I. ———————————– A drizzling night led to a damp morning with overcast skies. The rest of the day would threaten complete storms, hail, and visible downpours occurring in discrete patches around us. Most of the pictures of distant scenery from today have a large downpour occurring in some frame of the photo. The temperate morning was a welcome relief to the heat of yesterday. This ensured that our nearly continuous day of solely uphill travel from the low desert would be much cooler. We started up from our campsite overlooking Roosevelt Dam. Roosevelt Reservoir and the further Sierra Ancha would serve as a backdrop for the rest of the day. We eventually hit an upper rounded mesa with a small radio tower for town. Skirting it, the four peaks rose monstrous before us - massive rakes dead ahead. The AZT became undulating, moving around the contours of hills and ducking under massive saguaro. Even here, large fields of 4 foot tall vibrant green grass swayed with the rippling wind. Behind us, the Apache Trail, a famous dirt forest road, wound into the confines of canyons quickly building around us as we ascended. The route eventually collided with Four Peaks Trail 130 and joined a different dirt road. Using recent Guthook comments, we had only carried a little water up here (to reduce the strain on the climb). We went off-route and rounded a bend to a dead end with one of those descending stair wildlife tanks. Newly built in the last few weeks, we filled up what we needed to get us high up on the peaks. The Arizona Trail now left the dirt road and went straight up a rounded ridgeline. Valleys sloped off to our lefts and rights, descending to far canyons below. Massive downpours with clearly demarcated edges erupted water from above around. We kept our eyes on those cloudbursts, expecting one to open the heavens above us. Somehow, we kept in a moving and constant gap of non-cloud/sun. The sky above us often was blue, but curtains of water threatened to hit us from even a quarter mile away. And all that rain brought out a profusion of flowers. What new species we had yet to see were busting out color on every hillside. Succulents swollen with rain put forth rare blooms. The creams, violets, and yellows blanketed hillsides dressed in green growth. Janna and I both commented that the rich, damp plant life along with the overcast day reminded us the pacific northwest. We eventually summited out at a parking lot where the Butt’s car was stationed. We had plenty of water so didn’t grab any - pushing on. Now, the real effort began in earnest as the slope steepness increased and the trail became narrow/rocky singletrack hugging the hillside. But visual sensory overload: mountains, canyons, flower blooms, cloudbursts, the blue swathe of a massive reservoir in the gold desert. After some time, based on conversation with some older locals out on a day hike, we navigated off-trail to an unmarked Native American ruin at a location not to be given. Old structures with original stacked rock walls and pottery pieces everywhere. It was affirming to see a place not pillaged by “art collectors” or “artifact hunters” - namely people taking a piece of someone else’s history as their own personal collection item or to be sold. Leave No Trace Principle 4: Leave What You Find. As the day rolled on and rain continued to roll in waves, we reached higher points in the trail where it began to fill with chaparral. The path came over a small rounded peak and descended into the thick of brush as small streams flowed nearby. We ran into Gummy Bear, a thru-hiker who had done the PCT last year. We talked to him for a bit before continuing our climb upwards. Chaparral became juniper, and juniper became pine. The trail began taking a sandy wash and passed several large and excellent campsites before beginning an outward trek around mountain on the contour line we were walking. As the trail swept around the eastward flank of the mountain, the Four Peaks dramatically came back into view. To be continued in Part 2. |