Canelo East

Passage Two: Mile 21.7 Parker Canyon Lake Trailhead to Mile 36.2 Canelo Pass Trailhead 

Day 4, continued: Cough. It's hot. The sun is unforgiving and it makes me dream of being cold again like up on the mountain. I'm impressed by such extremes in such a short time span.

I pass by the lake, appreciating its novelty in a place where water can be hard to come by. I could go down for a swim, but I'm not in the mood for a detour anymore. The goal now is to make it to a nearby river for a snack and to fill up on H20 and relax in the shade.

Sneak attack by another cow hiding in the trees. I keep getting totally surprised by them because they pop up in the weirdest places. The large, sneaky animals I'm used to being surprised by are grizzlies so for some reason, I feel like I have to give them space and talk to them. Cows don't care, they just chew their cud and look at you with those big dumb eyes.

Around 2pm, I see from a distance what appears to be a cowboy with a glorious mustache on horseback. The horsemen - sporting the traditional 10-gallon hat - approached. "Howdy!" I say. With that, the black stallion bucked and the mustached cowboy tried to regain control. I seriously never thought little old me could spook a horse. He pulled the reigns and tried to manueaver the horse nearer but the horse remained timid and very cautious of me, giving me quite the stink eye. "I didn't mean to spook your horse."

"Ah, you'd think she never saw a person before." 

"Are you looking for a cow? I just ran into one down the trail."

"No, she's not afraid of cows."

-I think he misheard me. After closer inspection, I see the man with the Ron Swanson 'stache had a patch on his arm that says "U.S. BORDER PATROL" in big dark print. 

"Where ya headed?" He questioned half yelling as his horse started to back away.

"Patagonia."

"Not all the way today, right?"

"No, probably two days."

The horse was really moving past me now. "Okay, have a good one." 

That was it. I guess I do look pretty blonde and Polish. I am a little concerned about his horse...if it is afraid of me - an average hiker - what good will it be when there's an old timey Western chase scene when the officer finds migrants? Oh wait, that doesn't happen. That's all in my imagination. 

Down to the river at mile 24.2, I fill up and enjoy the shade. There's a gentle breeze and it smells good down there. It smells rich like grass, like trees, like life.

 

Hike hike hike on up and down rolling hills that are truly pleasant compared to the drastic lung busting inclines and knee crushing declines of the mountains. I'm still not feeling 100% but I'm enjoying the day after all. I'm glad I kept going. 

I keep walking until the sun starts to set and I'm on a saddle at 6063' - a good stopping point. I set up camp and enjoy the sunset as I eat a Mountain House, plan tomorrow's hike and snuggle into my sleeping bag. The night is calm. The weather is warm. I look out to Miller Peak and it feels so far away from me now. The terrain is so different here. It is not necessarily as drastic as the mountains when it comes to topography, but certainly in beauty. Coyotes are yelping and hollering in distant locales. I imagine they're have a laugh around a campfire, telling funny stories. I feel grand. 

Day 5: I wake up and start the day with two packets of oatmeal and some coffee. I send my Mom "Everything is OK" message on my Delorme Explorer. I turn it off and finish my coffee, sitting halfway in the tent and halfway out. I notice today that despite all the baby wipe backpacker showers and river bathing...I really stink. I stink a stank I never stunk. 

I see and hear from down the valley a black helicopter fluttering around towards the Parker Canyon River. Hm. It must be Border Patrol. I watch as the helicopter approaches up the valley and right above me. I get out of the tent, stand up and give it a look over. Not BP, Cochise County Sheriff. They see me and circle around. I give them a thumbs up and  starting getting dressed and packing up. Today, I think I'll wear the pink wool hiking shirt, since it's less rank. A pink so pank it's punk. I think about the helicopter's behavior and how I'm in Santa Cruz County, I know, because I was very proud to have walked out of the Cochise yesterday. 

The chopper leaves and returns and continues to circle me. I'm confused. Had I accidentally sent an SOS  when I messaged my Mom? Oh god I hope not! Nah, I work for the government, things would never happen that fast. I keep giving the thumbs up and make an X with my arms like you're supposed to signal to aircraft. They go away for awhile and I finish my packing in peace. They must be running maneuvers or practicing...

Down off the saddle, I get in my hiking rhythm. I hear the 'copter come back, this time really close. Hovering real low, I could feel the wind from the blades. Now, I'm getting angry. It's loud and I plug my ears. They leave.

I hike for two miles to Forest Road 4749, where I hear people's voices. They're shouting out a name. Out of respect for the individual, I'm changing her name to...Mary. 

"You're not Mary" annouced a tall, middle aged man in a black t-shirt, cargo pants and a wide brimmed hat. His name is Scott.

"No, I am not." 

"We're looking for a lost hiker." 

I think, oooooh everything makes a lot more sense now. 

"Did you get chased down by a helicopter? They said the hiker kept giving them a thumbs up and continued hiking so it didn't make sense that it would be Mary, but we thought we'd meet up with you and see if you saw anybody."

"Nope. I haven't seen anyone since 2pm yesterday when encountered BP on horseback."

"Well, we'll tell them that you are definitely not Mary and you can hike in peace."

"Well, I have this satellite messenger, if you give your number and a description of her, I can message you if I find her." 

"Okay, great. 74 year old female, 5'2" short, wiry red hair." 

I gather some other information like place last seen, when they realized she was overdue, etc...all the things they've taught me about in park ranger trainings throughout the years... It turns out that I would be unlikely to encounter her because she was supposed to be back by Parker Lake, and I'm quite a distance from there now. 

Two middle aged women join up with us, friends of Mary. I mention how sorry I am that I'm not their friend, but I'll keep a look out. We say our goodbyes and they give me a KIND bar, which I do really kind of love.

I hike on, down through Pauline Canyon which is forested and cool. I take a break, wolf down the KIND bar and sip my water. I'm getting low, but there's supposed to be some aqua in Middle Canyon, just about a mile away so I'm not worried. Up a hill and down across another dirt road. I'm headed back up a hill when I see a backpack. Next to it, a hat, and then, I see a person...a woman person! She too is wearing a bright pink shirt and lying in the shade, but she's not moving. Oh no, I found Mary and she's dead, I think to myself.  

"Hello?"

The woman stirs. Whew, sheeeeeee's alive!

"Hi."

Smiling, I ask, "Are you Mary?"

"Yes."

"Oh, am I so glad I found you!"

She tells me about she was hiking and how she got turned around. She knows she should learn how to use a GPS, but was resistant until now. She decided to stay put in the shade and wait for someone to come. (The right thing to do.) I ask if she needed water and she says that's the only thing she needs. I give her the rest of mine, knowing that less than 1/2 mile more is to be had. 

"I'm not lost. I'm navigationally challenged." she jokes. I laugh nervously like a ranger would do in the knowledge that she had no detailed map, no compass, and didn't know there's water nearby...

I start getting on the Explorer to contact people and tell her she's alright. The decision came that I would walk out with her to Canelo Pass, about 4 miles where someone could pick her up. 

We stop in Middle Canyon for water. She has a filter but doesn't know how to use it. I show her. She's using a Dasani plastic water bottle and the ranger in me cringes at having so little water. I'm a beast. I drink a lot of water and hate being even slightly dehydrated. I don't care how much it weighs, I rather have enough than too little. I fill up both my 3L bladder and 1.5L Nalgene - though it's only four miles to the next water - in the off (or likely) chance that she'll want more than that itsy Dasani bottle.

We hike. It's slow going but we're doing fine. I'm quite impressed by her 74 year old stamina as we hike to the high point. I feel bad for being inwardly grumpy about water even though I never showed my frustration. She's an outdoorswoman who just lost her way, and who hasn't in life, really? That being said, the desert is no joke. Mary ended up drinking a good portion of my extra water.

We get to the high point where the Scott from earlier meets us. He takes her pack and we three all hike down to Canelo Pass together. At the road, Mary thanks me and Scott puts some beer in plastic water bottles as a thank you. The Wisconsinite in me is happy. They depart and I decide to set up camp right there. I saw as we were descending the hill, there's a bright blue tank (note: "tanks" are a term for water ponds) not far from here so I can fill up before heading out.

I prepared dinner and thought about how uneventful the search and rescue was. I definitely am glad of it. Things went really well in Mary's favor and I'm happy that I stumbled upon her. The Canelo Hills are not as rugged at the Huachucas, but they certainly are remote. Who knows when the next person would be hiking in that area this time of year? 

I read the ingredient list to my dehydrated  chicken and rice Mountain House and on the packaging there's a Yogi Berra quote, "If you don't know where you're going, you might end up someplace else." After the day's events, I took a sip of beer and couldn't help but chuckle. 

(To be continued...)

Huachuca

Passage One: Mile 0 US-Mexican Border to Mile 21.7 Parker Canyon Lake Trailhead

Day 1: My trip into the mountains started like many trips do, with a fond farewell. I had been visiting with friends Andy and Ali in the greater Californa-Nevada-Arizona area for about a month, camping and hiking and exploring. They so kindly said they'd drive me down to the border to start this crazy trek along the Arizona National Scenic Trail (AZT) and they did just that on Monday. What swell people and first trail angels they truly are!

Hugs and goodbyes finished and fully loaded with gear, food, water and hope, I made way up the Joe's Canyon Trail from the Coronado National Memorial Visitor Center. This trail is nearly 5 strenuous miles up to Yaqui Ridge and back down to the border. It's a haul for sure, but I happily hoofed towards the border still filled with anticipation and those awesome pre-hike jitters.

As I rounded the final corner of the trail before the border monument - which is the true start of the AZT - high velocity wind gusts came cruising around a bend in the topography and rather unpleasantly blew sand directly in my face. This made it difficult to joyfully commemorate this momentous beginning and hastened me along the trail. Little did I know that this breeze was just foreshadowing for my entire trip in the Huachucas.

Up up up and back to Yaqui Ridge and finally to Montezuma Pass, where many begin their hike to the monument. It was really getting windy up there, but one must press on. I used the pit toilets one last time and waved to the Border Patrol officer. Crossing the road, the trail follows the "Crest Trail," which winds up past old mine adits and along some stellar ridges. I met two Canadians on their way down, and they were the last people I'd see for two days.

I had gotten a late-ish start. The sun was getting low, my shadow was getting long, and the trail was getting steeper so I had to think about where to camp soon. There's no camping in Coronado National Memorial on account of the border activity, so I had to get to the boundary with the Miller Peak Wilderness in Coronado National Forest, which is only 2 miles from Montezuma Pass.

A rough two miles, steep with heavy pack and the wind now blowing 35 mph, it was slow going. On a knife ridge, a tremendous gust popped my hat up and with it my sunglasses flew into the air and down the canyon. I could see them tumble, hitting rock and after rock after rock. It was way too windy and steep to retrieve them, lest I wanted to end up where they are...so my sunglasses are now forever sacrificed to the Huachuca Mountains. Woof. I put my head down like a sled dog and just grumbled my way to the top. If it weren't so windy, I would have soaked up the scenery more.

I made it to the wilderness boundary with a little light creaking from the mountains. I've never been so happy to see a sign and a flat place to camp. 

The wind was howling and the trees were  bashing and rubbing against each other, but I was in a little alcove that I thought wasn't too terrible. I tried setting up my tent but every time I got the stakes down and lifted one of the trekking poles, a gust would come tearing through and turn my tent into a parachute. 

After several tries, I gave up and decided I'd just have to set down my sleeping bag and pad and wrap myself in the tent like an emergency bivvy or hypo wrap one learns about in WFR. It worked pretty well at keeping the wind out and me from being too chilly. There were cracks, which every now and then I would get a cold shot of air on my back or face, just enough to keep me from sleeping. 

I laid there, tired after hiking 8 miles, looking at both the stars in the sky and the lights of Mexico with mixed feelings. I've made mistake. This hike isn't going to be fun and it's just not worth it. No, this hike will be challenging, and that's so worth it. I literally could have gone either way. 

Day 2: Many sleepless hours pass, the wind becomes more of a breeze and the sun begins to rise. I slowly get gumption  and begin to get the F out of there. 

Not far down the trail I find a perfect snow patch in the sun and use it to get some fresh water and eat breakfast. I listened to some Hank Williams on my phone - because it just felt right - while I scraped the top layer of ice off with my trowel and got down to the good stuff in the middle. Trowels really are so useful. Snow extractor, cathole digger, impromptu tent stake...I love you, trowel. 

Feeling better after Hank, grub, and sun, I begin the long journey up the steep rocky trail through fire scars to nearly the top of Miller Peak. Oh my god, did I mention steep? I will have amazing legs after this. 

9000something' and that breeze below now whips up and kicks you right in the face. Alas, the worst is behind and it's time to descend. I've been looking forward to this because I'm sick of the up and sick of the wind.

Not far from the Miller Peak turnout, the trail goes into the shady leeward side of the mountain. And so, the trail is easy to follow because you step in someone's ankle-high footholes in the snow. In some places, trees have fallen across the trail (presumably the night before) and new little routes would have to be made, causing adventures in waist-deep post holing. 

The snow continued for awhile, until about AZT mile 8.3 where a bizarre but welcomed sight awaits the weary traveler... A seemingly algae filled bathtub, trickling out spring water, cold and clear! Why yes, I spent some time there and filled up my various vessels.

Onward and upward as the 6 o'clock hour approaches. Soon, I find my way to a nice flat and breeze-free campsite on Bear Saddle at 8100'. Not far from a spring if need be, though I had just filled up. All's well as I set up camp and eat dinner as the sun sets. The sunset was so peaceful after a hard day sweating and trudging up and down...the soothing blues, pastel pinks and faint yellows put me to ease as they let way for stars and more far off city lights and I drifted to sleep. 

Darkness. I'm abruptly awoken by pummeling winds announcing themselves from distant canyons and roaring into the sides of my tent. The walls collapsing around me and I was cold. So cold. I grew up in Wisconsin. I live in Alaska. I've never been this cold. Shivering for warmth in my 0 Degree Never Summer down chrysalis. Fade into sleep. Fade out. Fade in. I awake several times throughout the night to thundering wind. 

Day 3: Morning, fade out. Cold. Crunchy. Why am I so crunchy? Frost. Why does my throat hurt? Dry cough. Thirsty. Water's frozen.

I wait for the sun to shine in on me before I escape the sleeping bag or tent. I thaw out and slowly get moving, warming water and making breakfast. Cough. I think I'm sick. 

Packed and ready to once again get the F outta there, I head up the hill. One last up before the long downward zigzag to Sunnyside Canyon. Hard to breathe. 

Down down down down. Will I have knees after this? So worth it. Warmer already as I make it to Copper Glance trailhead at 7194' and feeling almost good when I get to mile 16 for water. This stop, the cement water trough, is known to be a fairly reliable source. Now, I wasn't expecting much as cows outnumber people in these parts, but frankly, yuck. Stagnant and scuzzy, this trough is not for me. There's a perfectly good stream right next to it, so that's where I scooped in my H2O.

Following Scotia Canyon, I walked out of the wilderness and past a few windmills, spooking cows and vise versa along the way. 

The sun crept slowly down as I made it to mile 20. I camped in some grass and the night was wind-free, clear, and cool.

Day 4: Drip. Drip drip. Drop. I had dreams about caving. I woke up crunchy again but my tent ceiling was dripping water onto my face. Melting frost in the morning sun. My throat still hurt but life  was not nearly as miserable as the night before, so I was thankful. Funny how it takes being cold and miserable to truly appreciate the many comforts one is afforded in life... 

Not feeling very well or motivated at all, I waited until noon for the tent to dry out and get back on the trail. I was going to finish the passage that day I decided because it's only 1.7 miles, but I'm not sure how much more I could do after that. Maybe I could just camp at Parker Canyon Lake (not far from the passage terminus) until I feel better? That could be nice since I can't really breathe and it's sunny and there's plenty of water.

I weave through savanna like shrub and grasslands and finally get to the Parker Canyon Lake Trailhead. Woot! I made through and the sun is shining. There's a bit of trail behind me and a beautiful lake ahead of me. Maybe things are looking up after all.

Maybe, I can go on. (To be continued...)

The Beginning

It was Christmas Eve and just about a week after my Dad passed away when a small package arrived for him at my grandmother's house in Illinois.

The return address said "Arizona Trail Association." Hm. That's odd. I had mentioned to my Dad once or twice while on the phone from Alaska that I was starting to plan a hike along the 800 mile trail this spring. He said he happened to be planning a trip to desert around the same time and that we should definitely meet up somewhere for at least, dinner and a beer or two or five or possibly he could join the hike for a short section. I thought hey, that would be fun, but I honestly didn't think much more about the topic, as kids do when they're busy and across the country from their parents.

My grandma told me told me to open the package. I felt weird about opening mail with my Dad's name on it...like once you start opening packages and going through checkbooks and clothes, that's when a person actually passes away. You realize then you'll never see their distinctive handwriting or their feet in those ugly white gym shoes again and your memories of them will begin to grow just a slight shade dimmer with each ticking instant. How sad and how quickly entire lives are ended and tossed away. Alas, as the living, we have the great responsibility to move on and forward.

Inside the package was a Arizona National Scenic Trail baseball cap, bandana, guidebook, map, and sticker. I'm not sure if my Dad intended it for him or for me, but either way, it felt really great to be thought of by my father one last time. Oh the feels.

Arizona National Scenic Trail schwag my Dad ordered

My brother, seeing the box's contents, remarked, "Well, now you have to do it." and I think he's right.

So, for all who may want to join in on the adventure, I'll be starting this blog as a trail journal for my attempt at the AZT. Comments are welcomed (no trolls please) and I'll try to answer questions as they come up. I'm not sure I'll be posting daily or weekly or whatever, but I intend to make it regular. I hope this blog can add value to you somehow and at a minimum, keep my family and friends updated as to my whereabouts.

Here we go!

<3 Kara