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Written by Michael Martin
Organizer of DC UL Backpacking
We have encountered winter; we engaged it; and we prevailed.
I'm sure many of you are curious to learn that Brian, Doug W, Jen, Jake, and I made it around the Allegheny Front Trail over the weekend, despite the storm. 41 miles in about 51 hours. A low in the high teens, winds between 10-20 mph, with the occasional gust up to 40mph ... and 3-5 inches of fresh snow on the ground.
I won't say it was easy, but we did it. I'll post pictures and a more detailed description later.
***
So here's how it went down.
Despite the iffy weather report, we five met up at Grosvenor Metro Friday morning and drove out to Philipsburg, PA, and the trailhead where Six Mile Run crosses 504. Yours truly is fine hiking and backpacking in winter weather, but a bit of a wimp when it comes to driving in winter weather, so I was glad to see that there were only a few flurries on the road. There was lots of conversation about whether we'd use trail runners or boots, but when we reached the trailhead there was only a little accumulation--Jen and Brian went with trail shoes, the rest went with boots.
As we knew from October's trip, the first few miles of the AFT are gentle enough. We took our time, and covered the 10-ish miles from Six Mile Run to Brenner Run in the few hours before sunset. Red Moshannon Creek was especially red against the snowy backdrop. When we reached Brenner Run, I learned that Laura Guay and I had camped only perhaps a quarter of a mile from where the group had camped--yes, we were that close.
We camped at the little campsite on the near side of the bridge over Brenner Creek. It was snowing steadily by that point, and though we managed a convivial camp, we were in bed quite quickly. No one was inclined to gather firewood and start a fire.
Saturday--virtually the shortest day of the year--I made the mistake of not starting us off till just after 8am. We had planned to walk a 20 mile day, but the fresh snow made that quite difficult. Very gentle slopes, things we wouldn't really have noticed in any other season, felt like terrible slogs. By mid-day, the wind was blowing hard. We crossed the Allegheny front, a walk along a moderately exposed views--it was chilly. I told everyone that we weren't going fast enough to make 20 that day, and that to finish the trail, we'd have to walk more on Sunday. Morale was at a low ebb. Jen and I both commented that we needed to get off that ridge. Brian looked at us like, "Why?" He is obviously better adapted to the cold than most of us. Ask him how cold he pushed his bag, and marvel ... He suggested that I needed to eat more food, and he was right.
We reached Smay's Run--15 miles for the day. A good solid backpacking day, especially given the circumstances, but I was worried that we might have to resign ourselves to not finishing the trip. I really did not want to have to revisit the AFT again this year! Saturday night was cold ... The wind was considerable. We all pitched shelters, ate, and basically climbed in our bags to wait for dawn. Of the 51 hours we spent on the trail, about half that was in the shelters!
(For me, I had a few moments when I was reminded of how different winter is than the other seasons. Everything froze. Zippers failed to work. We contended with epic levels of condensation in the shelters. My 3-season gear is really dialed in at this point, but the winter stuff could use some refinement.)
Everyone woke up at 6am Sunday. The thermometer read just about 19 degrees. Not the coldest for most of us, but a brisk morning, especially if you factored in the wind chill. Thankfully, though, the wind had stopped by that point.
Sunday was the sort of winter backpacking day you dream about. The sun slanting in from the southern skies, a bluebird sky through the afternoon, the snow usually crusted rather hard and good for walking. Despite some navigational issues (the AFT really needs its blazes standardized), we made great time, and ticked off the miles. By 2pm or so, we had walked 15 miles. We knew the trail was more or less done, and we were dreaming of pub grub in State College.
But the AFT had one last surprise for us. After a circuitous early afternoon in its SW quadrant, we reached Six Mile Run. The sign said just 2 miles to 504, which is where the cars were. We walked through a majestic alley of pines, frosted in snow, feeling rather good about ourselves. But then came "Rhododendron rage." The trail detoured from the direct path, following an icy side-hill. Then, the path, narrowly surrounded by rhododendron, became a perverse backpacking obstacle course. We literally had to crawl on our hands and knees under the ice-bent plants. Shouts of "Damn you, rhododendron!" could be heard. I expected to round a corner and see Doug or Jake clutched by fronds. We endured an absurdly difficult last mile of trail to reach the car.
We salved our wounds at Otto's brewery in State College (good beer, cheap pizza), and then headed home. Our final splits, according to GPS, were 10-15-17.
I would like to thank everyone for sticking this out with me, through some rather tough conditions. I would especially like to shout out to Jake. For a new guy to come out and do this trip as his first with the group is really quite remarkable--a real trial by ice! Brian broke more trail than anyone--I don't think we would have made it without his recollections of the trail. Jen and Doug were excellent, strong, backpacking companions. All in all, it was a perfect group.
I spent my final couple days in Arizona in a much different climate from the sun-baked, 90 degree temperatures of Tucson and Sierra Vista. After a relaxing Thursday at Greg and Sara’s — I was dropped off in the morning by Dad and spent the day by myself, working and buying Greg a bike lock; in the evening, I joined Greg and some of his coworkers at Four Peaks Brewery — it was time to head north to Jerome, which is about 20 miles southwest of Sedona and about an hour away from Flagstaff and the state’s highest, snow-capped peaks.
Greg and I got on the road after an oil change that took too long, hitting the road a bit before noon. The drive was about two hours and was beautiful as we drove up and over hills and between mountain ranges. We stopped in Cottonwood, a town just southeast of Jerome, to play a round of disc golf. Greg was very good. I was very bad. Still, it was a lot of fun; we enjoyed the cool weather that reminded us of Michigan; and the clouds over the nearby mountain ranges made for scenic surroundings. We then stopped in Clarkdale at Concho’s mexican restaurant for some nachos and followed that up by crossing the street to the Hippie Emporium (I kid you not!), which featured everything from pipes, to incense, to a foot-massaging room, to a corner filled with old vinyl records. That was cool, but we were ready for Jerome, which sits a mile high up on a hill below Mingus Mountain.
Jerome, according to a website, is “America’s Most Vertical City” and the “Largest Ghost Town in America.” I wouldn’t be surprised if other towns lay claim to these titles, but Jerome is certainly in the conversation. Jerome is a historic copper town which peaked in population at 15,000 in the 1920s. Nowadays, it’s home to about 400 full-time residents, another few hundred part-year residents, and plenty of tourists. Its vertical, winding streets house dozens of art galleries, restaurants and houses such as the one owned by the Reeds, good friends of Greg and Sara whom we stayed with. Their three-level home sat above the lowest horizontal road in town, providing, from its front porch, a perfect view to the north of the red-rock canyons and Flagstaff’s higher peaks. I spent at least an hour on that porch throughout the weekend admiring the spectacle.
We spent Friday late afternoon at the house, hanging out with the crew — Jeff, his wife Kathy; their son Colin; Jeff’s parents Jim and Brenda, who originally bought the house 27 years earlier, they said; and Sazi (sp?), a friend of the family. Everyone was extremely nice and laid back. Their motto was, Serve yourself, Help yourself. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be going hungry in Jerome. Speaking of food, we went out to dinner at Grape’s restaurant Friday night, before returning to the house for more drinks and board games. It reminded me a bit of the Red House in New Hampshire except folks were a little bit more rowdy and there was a TV.
Saturday morning, it was time to get outside. Greg, Sara, Colin and I piled into Jeff’s white pickup truck and headed east on AZ-260, not sure of our destination. After more than half an hour of driving, Jeff pulled a U-turn and parked the truck in a patch of grass to the side of the road. A minute later, I was on my stomach, crawling below a fence. A minute later, we were hiking through a field of wild grass, dirt and stones — en route to a rocky ridge maybe 300 feet above us filled with holes in its protruding face. Jeff had told us they were Indian ruins, but it was difficult to get an idea of what exactly they looked like or their size from afar. As we climbed up the steep slope, we reached the ridge made up of sharp, jagged rock — I think a lot of it was sandstone — and were immediately awed. In front of us sat wide, expansive caves in which Indian tribes had lived hundreds of years ago. There was room in many of the caves for probably 10 people, although tall folk like Greg and I had to kneel over. Still, they were very impressive. We snapped some photos and then walked west along a ridge past more caves, through a three-foot crevice, and eventually up to a little mound of a summit where we found large man-made circles of rocks that we surmised were remnants of a civilization that used to make home in the area. We all agreed that it probably made sense as a place of residence because those who lived there had unobstructed sightlines into the lowlands around them. They could protect themselves.
We ate a snack and then made our way down from the ruins, careful on the loose scree before we returned to the fence. The temperature was maybe 50 degrees, but the sun shone down on us despite a sky littered with really neat clouds. The landscape was made even more beautiful by a colony of yellow and orange cottonwood trees on the other side of the highway framed by a mountain range in the distance.
Our hike in the books, we returned to Jerome, ate lunch and then gathered on the porch for some chilling time. As we were sitting and talking, admiring the view, the dark, nebulous crowds strengthened and — next thing I knew! — we were getting snowed on. Yes, snow! The day before, I had been in 80-degree Phoenix (after experiencing 90-degree heat in Tucson the day before that). Now, I was in a snowstorm just two hours away. How surreal! We bundled up in our best faux winter gear (for me, two fleeces and a raincoat; I did, also, have a hat and gloves) and walked around Jerome, stopping in a few art galleries (including one named “Raku,” the name of our childhood cat) and at one of the town’s handful of wineries for a glass while watching the storm.
After heading back to the house, Jeff was motivated to drive us boys to the top of Mingus Mountain (7,815 feet), the highest point above Jerome. We drove up the winding road, light snowfall still falling, until we reached the summit, where Jeff showed us a concrete launching pad for hang gliders. Earlier, he had told us about the most popular hang gliding spot in the U.S., where hundreds of thrill-seeking individuals gathered every year to sail off the ledge and travel for hundreds of miles over the diverse Arizona landscape. It’s incredible just to imagine.
It was cold — as in 21 degrees on top! We got back in the truck and drove back to the house for its warmth and a filling dinner. There were more drinks, pumpkin pie and games Saturday evening. It was a great way to end an incredible week of adventure and company. We rose at 5:30am Sunday morning, stepped into the frigid weather, and then into Greg’s Mercury Mountaineer for the drive to the airport.
What a week. What a state.
TEMPE, Az. — I spent the last four days hiking with my Dad and Uncle Buz on trails I was unfamiliar with. Not only that, but I had never spent that much time continuously with the pairing of brothers before. Would there be plenty of brotherly love?
As I sit here outside a Starbucks in Tempe — enjoying the mild day in the low 80s — I can only smile when thinking back on the last four days. It was an incredible hiking extravaganza in the desert.
Here's a day-by-day summary.
Sunday, Nov. 4 — Finger Point Canyon, Tucson
Dad picked me up from my friend Greg's amazing, pond-overlooking apartment here in Tempe Sunday morning. He did so after dropping off Mom and a couple of Ann Arbor friends at the airport. On the two-hour drive to Phoenix, Dad told me all about their eye-opening week at the Grand Canyon and hiking down to Havasu Falls and Supai Village — the most isolated, difficult-to-get-to town in the contiguous United States. Dad regaled me with stories of the highly entertaining, big-government despising cowboy (woman) who had spoken to his touring group. He talked about the general despair felt in the Native American town of Supai, where obesity is a big problem (literally) and crime among the youngest generation is also an issue. And he talked about the town's dogs, who would accompany hiking tourists on 8-mile hikes before heading back to town.
Awesome dogs. I can't wait to see the pictures I'm sure Mom — who ADORES dogs — made Dad take.
Dad's stories just about took us all the way to Tucson, where we arrived at the house where Buz was staying with his music friend Jim. As we arrived in town, I noticed how sprawling it was. Jim would later tell me that the population had grown tremendously since he moved to the "little town" in 1992. A big reason for this? It's a hot spot for retirees.
After meeting up with Buz and getting our day packs ready, we got back in Dad's rented Kia Sorento and headed to the Catalina foothills northeast of the city. Our goal was to hike up the Finger Point Canyon trail as far as we could, while allowing enough time to return to the trailhead by dusk.
The ambitious goal was the summit of Mt. Kimball, which stood at 7,255 feet and was 5 miles from the trailhead. We didn't begin hiking until about 1pm. The sky was completely clear. The temperature was in the low 80s. The autumn sun — not too strong, but plenty bright — sprayed down on us.
As we began on the fairly level trail a bit above 3,000 feet, there was disagreement over when the sun would set. Dad said about 6:15pm. Buz thought it would stay light until around 7pm. I was more in line with Dad's thinking, but curious to see how things would play out in the desert.
The first mile and a half, or so, was flat as the path weaved in between towering saguaro cacti. Then the dirt-and-rock trail began winding its way upward. The salient Finger Point rocks towered above us to the northeast. Just to the east of them stood what we figured was the summit of Kimball. But it didn't seem to be getting any closer as we hiked.
A big topic of conversation early was rattlesnakes. We knew the danger they posed, and after discussing, we agreed that the best way to treat a bite would be to get down the trail as quickly as possible and to a hospital. In other words — don't take things into our own hands. In the meantime, we reminded ourselves to look before placing hands on rocks; to not step over rocks where we couldn't see our foot's destination (I had to constantly remind myself of this since it's not an issue in my typical hiking spots in the Northeast).
By about 3:30pm, Kimball wasn't getting any closer and we arrived at a slope of flat rocks which was a perfect resting/turnaround spot. The light was also getting good, so Dad did a little exploring with his camera while Buz laid down for a nap — this would be a theme of our four days together. While it was a bummer not to gain Kimball's summit, I didn't feel like I was leaving an attainable goal in front of me. We still seemed a couple miles from what we assumed was its summit. It was time to turn around.
And good thing we did, because Dad was right. By 5:40pm, the sun was down over Tucson and we had to watch the trail closely. Buz was ahead of us by about 50 feet when it looked like he fell on the right side of the trail. A moment later, he yelled out "Rattlesnake!" Oh, boy! As Dad and I slowly approached the spot, Buz pointed to a large, bushy cactus to the left of the trail a few feet. Then we heard the loud rattling. Yep, a rattlesnake. Dad and I didn't waste anytime in hustling past the spot. No wonder Buz had fallen. That snake would have scared the shit outta me too!
We then hiked for another hour in the dark, needing our headlamps for the final 45 minutes in the desert. It was a pretty cool experience, everything so peaceful and stars above. And we didn't see (or hear) anymore snakes.
We arrived back at the car around 7pm, tired, hungry and satisfied with an awesome, action-packed, full-of-surprises hike.
Miles hiked: Approximately 6.5
Monday, Nov. 5 — Joe's Canyon, Sierra Vista
After an excellent sushi dinner in Tucson, Dad and I spent Sunday night at the house of Buz's other friend Bob, who had a million interesting stories from a life full of adventures around the world. We could have listened to Bob talk for hours, but on Monday morning we had a car ride to make — we picked up Buz and headed southeast toward Sierra Vista and the Mexican border. Dad and Buz had done a fair amount of hiking in the Huachuca (pronounced Wa-choo-ka) mountains just north of the border. They started visiting the area almost annually a decade ago to visit my great aunt Janet, who passed away just a couple years ago at the age of 95. They fell in love with the mountains and the area, so why not continue to come back?
For this occasion, Dad had booked a night at the Rail Oaks Ranch bed and breakfast south of Sierra Vista and just north of our hiking destinations. We arrived mid-morning, pulling up to a gorgeous main house where we met Donna, our host. Upon entering the house, the smell of baking brownies immediately caught my nose. Not only that, but Donna — slim, with white hair, semi-retired and probably in her late 60s — said they were gluten-free and for us. Heavenly!
There were four cottages on the property, which was right up against the Huachucas, and our residence was the Busler House. Donna showed us the cozy cottage, which was painted pink on the outside and inside featured an open kitchen, a living room with two beds and a large master bedroom. I was in love, but again — we had hiking to do!
The plan for the day was the Joe's Canyon Trail, which Dad and Buz had done a few times. It was a mellow, 3.4-mile hike just north of the Mexican border to Coronado Peak (6,864 feet). It was also extremely scenic. We got on the trail around the same time as the day before, leaving from the Coronado Visitor Center at the base of the road that winds its way up Coronado Peak. We did plenty of winding on our feet, as we hiked the gradual switchbacks up the mountain.
As we hiked, we looked for signs of the June 2011 forest fire we had heard about hitting the region. We noticed some trees that were scarred and some cacti that had been affected, but not total devastation. We also passed the time talking about various topics, many of them political. After all, the rest of the world was tuned into election coverage. I found it very refreshing to be disconnected from that world, my phone off, just my next step on the trail (and snakes) to worry about.
After roughly a mile and a half, we reached the ridge and were rewarded with expansive views to the south, the west, and the peak to the northwest. I immediately looked for the Mexican border (fun fact: I've never actually been in Mexico, although I've now been very close twice). It took me a couple minutes because the hills and peaks made it difficult, but then I identified the line below us — it was less than a mile away! As we climbed the easy, gradual ridge to the north, views opened up to the east that showed off a much larger, flatter, easier-to-identify section of the border. It didn't exactly look like a wall, but it wasn't fitting into the landscape either.
We curved around the base the Coronado Peak to the north and then pulled a U-turn to make the final, 0.3-mile ascent up the mountain. We could have continued on one tenth of a mile to the parking lot at the top of the road. Buz made a pit stop there, where he chatted with border control agents stationed with their high-tech surveillance equipment (a few years ago, Dad and Buz had been just feet from where illegal immigrants who had crossed the border were chased by agents; about half of them escaped — we wouldn't encounter such excitement this time).
We reached the flat, peaceful summit around 4pm and were treated with 360-degree views, including of the peaks to the north and northeast: Montezuma (7,600 ft), Bob Thompson (7,333) and, farther north, 9,466-foot Miller Peak — our destination for the next day. Buz was interested in his nap, but Dad and I were anxious to get back to the ridge for the perfect late-afternoon photography setting. Buz decided to walk down the road after his nap, with the plan for him to meet us at the parking lot. If he wasn't back yet, we would drive up the road and scoop him up.
This four days of hiking taught me one thing — when it comes to taking the best pictures in nature, late afternoon/early evening is the best time. As the sun started descending on the horizon, Dad's and my pace slowed. The sun burned a bright orange/red over the distant mountains, casting shadows of light on the surrounding hills covered with cacti. Before we could take any pictures, though, we encountered a tarantula in the middle of the trail. A tarantula! — my first.
The only thing that would have made the evening more perfect, more picturesque, would have been clouds. A great sunset is always more interesting when clouds are present. But we weren't complaining. Dad worked on framing a cactus in front of the distant, blood-orange peaks. I'm curious to see how his photos come out. Once the sun had dipped below the horizon just before 5:30pm, we started down the switchbacks, hiking in the dark for the final half hour as we discussed how to best compose a photo and how the world's best photographers take days to set up one shot. We didn't have days at our disposal, but it's not difficult to take an awe-inspiring photograph in such a place.
It's also not hard to enjoy hiking in the desert dusk. I was getting used to it and loving it (as long as the snakes stayed away).
Buz was waiting for us at the parking lot. The timing had been perfect. We drove the few miles back to the Ranch, cooked up some frozen pizzas and paired them with spinach salad, and enjoyed our night at the Busler House. Our biggest hiking day loomed.
Miles hiked: 6.8
Tuesday, Nov. 6 — Crest Tail, Miller Peak (9,466 feet)
Tuesday morning, we had to leave the Rail Oaks Ranch. That was sad. I woke up early, full of energy, and peered out the window. There, not 15 feet from our cottage, stood a deer. I barefooted it outside and snapped a few photos of the statuesque animal (no, it wasn't a statue). Minutes later, Dad was up and we took a walk around the property, admiring the views of the peaks just to its west and noticing the dozens of sandbags along a creek bed that suggested flooding from August's Arizona monsoon season.
We retreated to the house, where we enjoyed a delectable and satiating vegetable souffle and fruit salad Donna had prepared for us. With plenty of food fuel, we packed up the Sorento, bid adios to the ranch, and drove up the same road we had taken the day before. Except this time we kept going past the visitor center and up another 3 miles to the parking lot 0.3 miles from Coronado Peak.
It was Miller Time.
A few special notes about the hike we planned to do:
- Miller Peak (9,466 feet) is the highest southern-most peak in the United States.
- Miller Peak is also the 57th highest peak in the U.S. if you're measuring the distance between the low-lying area around it and the summit (for example, many Colorado peaks are 14,000 feet, but the towns around them are 11,000 feet; Sierra Vista, on the other hand, is 4,633 feet, making Miller nearly 5,000 feet taller).
- "Rodriguez," the border patrol officer on duty, told Buz that the most likely place in the Huachucas to see illegal immigrants would be by Miller.
- We were hiking on the day of the Presidential Election, which many were predicting would be the closest EVER.
- It was also my sister Rose's birthday!
Got all that?
The plan was to hike the Crest trail — up and down the ridge — 4.5 miles to the summit spur, which is half a mile. And then retreat. So 10 miles and over 3,000 feet elevation gain total. A pretty decent jaunt.
We were blessed with another perfect weather day. Low 80s. Clear. Still, I brought my customary longsleeve AMC shirt and fleece, because you never know what a windswept summit might feel like. I've learned my lesson many times.
The first 2 miles climbed up and around a ridge at a steady but not steep grade. Buz was in the political mindset from the get-go, repeating every 5 minutes, "O-BAM-A/Yes. We. Can!" Normally, I despise phone calls on mountains, but Dad convinced me it would be OK to call Rose from the summit since we'd not only be wishing her a happy 23rd but also making sure she had voted. Dad said she was the only person he knew from Michigan who might not have voted yet. As we trekked, along, I mentioned how great it felt to be on a hiking trail and not glued to a TV or computer or iPad or phone on election day.
Dad agreed. "It's all guessing," he said.
It was great to be disconnected.
As we gained elevation, we passed a couple caves with rusted bars over them that appeared to be old mining shafts. As I walked off the trail to get a closer look at one of them, I noticed a medium-sized lizard on a rock. It sat there for a good 5 minutes, allowing Dad and I to conduct a photo shoot. It was one of the coolest, least scary — not to mention poisonous — critters we encountered during our four days.
The Crest Trail was really neat because of its changing ecosystems and environments. After being out in the desert sun for two miles, we entered a short portion of trail shaded by trees — cottonwoods, I believe. We took the respite of the sun as a sign to eat our leftover Donna brownies, which hit the spot.
We then emerged from the woods and hiked out in the open on the east side of the ridge, which provided excellent views of Montezuma, Bob Thompson and a large, alluring, pointy peak in Mexico that we never identified (but were completely fine not knowing). There was also a cool view of the border as it disappeared to the far east.
Then we took three switchbacks and emerged on top of the ridge before descending just a little to its western side, where we had wide-ranging views of mountain ranges to the west and north and a peak of what was ahead of us. We also encountered a large forest of trees that had been burned by the June 2011 fire on the hillside below us. Many trees, we noticed, had been charred black and then lost that outer layer, leaving their skinny trunks a marshmallow white.
I could tell Dad and Buz were a little fatigued at this point, but I could smell the summit and the sense of accomplishment that would come with gaining it. The brothers realized this and agreed to carry on — a really nice sacrifice on their part. For awhile, we had been able to see parts of Miller's higher reaches, but the Crest Trail skirted around its western side, which made the approach seem pretty long. We ascended a handful of switchbacks up large, New Hampshire-like granite igneous rocks. Dad and Buz survived a scare from a swarm of bees that suddenly buzzed out from under a rock. Thankfully, they weren't interested in human flesh.
Then we reached the intersection for the spur, turned right — to the northeast — and ascended through ash trees to the summit. Upon emerging on top a little after 2pm — less than 4 hours after our starting time — we high-fived each other, looked around, took in the wide-ranging views in all directions and smiled. We then allowed ourselves to sit on the few flats rocks, eat our sunbutter and almond butter sandwiches and grapes, and called Rose. She didn't answer, but we sang happy birthday to her voicemail.
"O-BAM-A!"
As we began our descent a little after 3pm, I thought to myself: How could Mitt Romney — how could anyone? — want to drill for oil on incredible public lands like the trails we were traversing.
"O-BAM-A!"
We moved quickly on the decent, with the goal of reaching the final 2 miles of ridgeline when the light for taking pictures was at its best. On the way up, I had carried Dad's tripod and we had stored it in a yucca bush above one of the old mines along the trail. He wanted it on the decent to use for low-light photos where he could utilize the low-shutter speed the stabilization provided.
Upon emerging from the forest section of the Crest Trail around 5pm, we began to wind our way around the ridge — on the home stretch of the hike. The late-afternoon sunlight cascaded over the ridge, illuminating the shoulder of Montezuma. Behind it, in the distance, stood — magnificently, I should say — the mysterious Mexican mountain with its numerous hills and shoulders leading up to its pencil-point top. It made for an incredible photo.
But, wait, there were more. Many more.
The sun was blocked from us by the western ridge looming above us, but then, around 5:30pm, we rounded a corner and there, framed in front of us by a photogenic tree branch, was that blood-orange horizon ... again. It hadn't gotten old. It was just as incredible as the day before. Dad was behind Buz and me, hurriedly setting up his tripod at different spots along the trail. I called out to him, using his nickname — "Bust, great photo spot!!" A minute later, he joined me and we admired, in union, the view and photo opportunity.
Well, you know how it went from there. Lots of photos. And a final decent in the dark. I almost didn't want it to end, it was so spectacular, yet so simple. We knew what awaited us next — a car ride back to Tucson and election news. Lots of it. It was exciting, but also exhausting, also worrisome. The hiking wasn't. The mountains weren't.
But every amazing hike does end.
Thankfully, Obama's presidency didn't end Tuesday night. I'd like to say our — err, mostly Buz's — chants as we ascended Miller Peak caught a wind gust and motivated the voters in border states Nevada and Colorado (although there was hardly a lick of wind).
Whatever the case, Miller Peak didn't disappoint. Not that I ever thought that possible.
Miles hiked: 10.0
Wednesday, Nov. 7 — Bear Canyon, AZ
Tuesday was a long day. Between the 10-mile hike, the 90-minute drive afterward, and the exhausting election coverage, we were all pretty pooped by the time Dad and I left Jim's for the night. As we left it, we and Buz were on the same page about our last day together — we would hike, but it wouldn't be overly ambitious. We wouldn't be setting alarm clocks, either.
Dad said he felt good Wednesday morning, but then he walked up and down Bob's stairs a couple times and said he definitely felt like he had hiked 10 miles the previous day. That sounded about right. After meeting up with Buz, we decided to hike in Bear Canyon, which is adjacent to the extremely popular Sabino Canyon in the Catalina foothills. After some navigating, we found the trailhead and got out of the car around 11:45am.
It was HOT! We were just a couple thousand feet above sea level, so the temperature that felt around 90 wasn't surprising. As we started into the desert canyon, we passed a trio of people finishing their hike who couldn't believe we were heading out in the middle of the hot day.
I guess we were the unknowledgeable, out-of-towners! The fools who didn't know when to explore the canyon!
A little bit later, we passed a group of women, who laughed at us when we mentioned hiking to Seven Falls, the prime attraction of the trail (not that it wasn't otherwise pretty). "Come back in April," they chortled. We took it all in stride, knowing they were right. The hike was relatively flat, as we walked alongside the dry creek bed. The sun was as bright as it'd been all four days, although we would later notice some clouds in the sky that made for an incredible post-hike sunset. Canyon walls rose up on both sides of us and Gibbon Mountain created the backdrop to the hike. The scenery was nice, but we also imagined how pretty it must be when the stream is raging during August's monsoon season (or even April).
We stopped for lunch after a few hours, not sure whether we had reached the talked-about Falls. Either way, from talking to people, we were pretty sure it would be dried up. So we were content when we found a huge boulder that provide shaded slabs of rock that we could lie down on and relax. We deserved it. This was our "easy hike" day. We talked politics (again) and even sports. Dad did a little searching for photos. Then we turned around. On the way back, I climbed atop one of the many gigantic boulders along the trail, providing one of the best photo opportunities of the day.
We arrived back at the Sorento earlier than we had either of the three previous days — by design. Dad and Buz had scheduled a music-playing session with Bob for the evening. The only bummer about the hike was that the sky, shrouded with thin, wispy clouds, was ablaze with the most incredible sunset. Unfortunately, the view from the parking lot was obstructed. We did, however, set up the tripod for a group photo.
Wednesday's hike in itself wasn't spectacular, but if you add it to the previous three days, it helped create an incredible, exciting and unforgettable hiking trip with two great people who enjoy being out in the wilderness as much as I do and are fun to be around.
We'll be back.
Miles hiked: About 5.0
Total miles hiked: About 28.3
I climbed my seventh and eighth 14ers today — giving me six in a three-day period — but when I think back on this hike, they will be but a footnote. The highlight, the main event, was climbing the ridge between Bierstadt and Sawtooth, a crest that when viewed from the west especially, looks exactly like a sawtooth.
For many experienced Colorado hikers, the Sawtooth probably is just another walk in the park. For me, it was my first experience with “Class 3” terrain, and doing it alone made it even more exciting or nerve-racking (it was both at times).
Prior to the hike, I had done my research. I had printed out the 14ers.com route, which laid out step by step the best way to traverse the approximately 1-mile ridge. I had also read a few trip reports on the website, and the people who wrote them said the ridge wasn’t too bad and that the narrow ledges looked worse in pictures than reality.
I was prepared.
After a long but fairly mellow 3.5-mile ascent up Bierstadt (14,060 ft) from Guanella Pass, I readied myself mentally for the challenge. Ever since I stepped out of my rental Camero and saw the ridge in plain sight, it was basically all I thought about.
The Sawtooth.
After a brief snack and some pictures on top of Bierstadt, I began the descent down toward the saddle between the peaks, following the cairned route to the east of the highest part of the ridge. The first half hour of the hike was simply a difficult descent down rocks, sand and scree. If I slipped, I wouldn’t have fallen hundreds of feet. Down to my right lay beautiful, sparkling Abyss Lake. It looked more appetizing than the ‘tooth. I tried not to let my mind wander.
Focus. Focus.
As I neared the saddle, I gradually made my way to the west and the top of the ridge. Before me stood a huge gendarme — or tall steeple of rocks. Following the directions, I found the skinny path that sloped around the gendarme to my right. I then reached the based of a gully, where I began my steepest climbing of the route. Utilizing handholds and carefully plotting each step, I made my way up toward the ridge, then hooked another right, following cairns, before finally emerging on the sawtooth.
It was time for the ledges.
I sat down for a minute, ate a couple bites of my sunbutter sandwich and slurped some water. I needed energy and renewed focus on the ledges. Then I stood up, and hugging the right side of the two-foot-wide path, slowly made my way above the sawtooth and underneath the towering rocks above me to the northeast.
How dangerous was this? Well, I really would have had to slip in the wrong direction or take a really bad step. But if either had happened, there’s a decent chance I would have fallen hundreds of feet. I’ve been on some exposed ledges before, but this was the narrowest, most nerve-racking yet.
After maybe 50 yards, the path widened out, but didn’t become sturdier. What I worried about most were the sand and loose rocks. It’s easy to walk on rock slabs or packed-down dirt. This, though, was the kind of stuff you could easily slip on.
And this is when I made my navigational gaffe. Ahead of me lay a fairly steep dirt and loose rock ledge. I thought it might be the route, but I couldn’t locate a cairn on it. On the other hand, looking to my right — to the southeast and up from the sawtooth — I saw a cairn and mistakingly thought that was the trail. I scrambled and climbed my way up some 30 feet and then slowly walked along a ledge above the ledges I had just navigated. I thought I was getting somewhere.
At that moment, two other hikers — clearly more experienced on Class 3 terrain — came around the corner on the ledges. I watched as they navigated the loose rock and dirt with ease and started up the wide ledge that I had bypassed because of the lack of cairns.
Crap!, I thought.
To be honest, the Sawtooth to that moment had been difficult, but not beyond my expectations. I had handled the climbing and the ledges without a problem or complete confidence in myself. Going down from my wayward climb was the scariest part of an hour and 45 minutes since departing Bierstadt’s safe summit. For a minute, I found myself stuck on a ledge topped with loose rocks, wondering how I would get down from it and over to where I should have been all along.
But as I’d done all hike — and have become much better at with each solo trek I attempt — I reasessed, found a better route, and just a minute later was easily climbing up the correct ledge, reaching the easy talus rocks, and then gaining the summit.
I was exhausted. Delirious. Thirsty. I had made a difficult hike even more difficult, but done just fine with no scares. I am usually good at navigating, but had made a could-have-been costly mental error (the route description had clearly said to “continue north toward the top of the ledge,” yet I had somehow gone east then south!).
From there, the hike over rocks along Evans’ west ridge was anticlimatic. It was far from easy rock-hopping, but after Sawtooth, I felt stronger taking on this Class 2 ridge scrambling. On top of Evans (14,264 ft), I chatted with two of the three guys who had also done Sawtooth. They hadn’t broken a sweat, probably because they had done winter hikes on Colorado’s most dangerous, avalanche-prone peaks. They’re climbers. I’m a hiker with a little climbing experience. I have no aspirations of becoming a rock climber, but I surely think I can handle more Class 3 terrain like Sawtooth — which I’ll need to do if I’m to conquer all of the state’s 54 14ers (only 46 to go!)
The hike back to Guanella Pass was long and difficult. After retracing my route just east of Sawtooth, I cut off to the northwest and descended through a large field of grass and boulders until I reached the top of a gully that would take me down to the north of the Bierstadt trail I went up in the morning.
The reason for this route? There was no way I was taking on Sawtooth again!
The gully was steep, and it required careful footing, but there was an established trail. At its base, I was in a bog, and on one step, my right boot was fully submerged in mud. Nice! But I was able to stay on the trail, for the most part, through willows and more mud, and eventually connected with the Bierstadt Trail, as the route said would happen.
After soaking my feet in the creek — at less than 12,000 feet, it wasn’t nearly as cold as my experience at about 12,200 feet the day before and I was able to keep the feet in for over a minute — I returned to the parking lot after 8 hours.
MILES HIKED: 10.25 miles
PEAKS: Mt. Bierstadt (14,060), Mt. Evans (14,264), The Sawtooth (13,780)
9.5.12 — Decalibron, CO
Today I took on my fourth and fifth 14ers, plus a 14er in Cameron that, well, isn't an official 14er but is taller than many of them. It was my fourth day since flying in from the flatland of DC and my second consecutive day hiking 14ers — I had done Quandary the previous day — so I was curious how I would handle the loop, which I would finish off on the shoulder of Bross since the summit is closed to the public.
I was also anxious as to how my rental Camero would handle the road to the Kite Lake trailhead. As it turned out, the low-clearance vehicle made it within 0.25 miles of the trailhead. I proceeded up the road.
I reached the main parking lot around 7:20am. It was frigid outside, but also beautiful as the sunlight reflected off the nearby peaks. The hike up to the Democrat-Cameron saddle wasn't too long or difficult, but I still found myself resting frequently to catch my breath. After about a mile, the sun eclipsed the Bross ridge and I was able to take off some layers.
I gained the ridge in less than an hour and headed up what I knew would be my toughest ascent of the day — Democrat.
The ascent was slow going over the talus, but not too difficult. On a couple occasions, I looked around to make sure I was on the trail. I was. I caught up with a gentleman, who said he was from Providence, RI, was 70, and had flown in the previous day. If that wasn't motivation, I was helpless. I reached the top of the steep climb, passed a pair of descending hikers, and emerged onto a plateau (aka, false summit), from which I had a clear view of the nearby summit.
Minutes later, I was on top of Democrat at 9am, a fairly quick first summit gained.
I waited for the Providence hiker, and a few others behind him, then chatted briefly about how brilliant the day was, got my photo snapped (No. 4!) and then headed back to the saddle. Before heading up Cameron, I stripped down to my shorts and polypro, as it was warm out. When I passed a couple of guys, they thought I was crazy. But I like hiking with few layers. It helps me feel less cumbersome.
Well, when I took the ridge up Cameron, as part of the very legitimate, have-to-earn-it ascent, the wind started blowing, harder and harder, and when I finally gained the flat summit, I was FREEZING! The top of Cameron was pretty unique, as it's like a table top, but it also makes for a windswept zone. I didn't stay long, especially with the picturesque twin peaks of Lincoln just ahead. It was only about 10:30.
The hike from Cameron to Lincoln is short and enjoyable — an easy descent, some walking on flat gravel the color of hot sauce, and a short ascent up a spiral staircase followed by a skinny — but not at all scary — ridge. A few maneuvers later, I was on top of No. 5!
It was a tad after 11am
The ridge hike over to Bross was easy and uneventful. It was mostly flat and on a packed-down, gravelly surface that wasn't difficult to navigate. The color of the rocks — bright orange — made it beautiful, and I found myself constantly looking back toward the alluring Lincoln and the seemingly tranquil Cameron. Democrat, in the distance, looked even larger and steeper than when I hiked it!
I heeded the advice of the two hikers in front of me and ignored the “No Public Access” sign to ascend Bross (No. 6!). The ascent was fairly easy, and the summit was flat and bland. I enjoyed conversing with the couple and then I headed back down to the designated trail, which was pretty tricky for its majority. Descending steeply over scree, gravel and dirt, I had to switch to careful hiking mode, and even then, I slipped a few times in descending the gully back to Kite Lake.
Just a couple hundred feet from the bottom, I stopped to soak my feet in a stream just above a small waterfall. I couldn't keep them in the water for more than 30 seconds. FRIGID! The air temperature, on the other hand, was hot — and getting hotter — and the sky remained a completely clear blue. Talk about a perfect day for such a hike!
I finished around 1:40pm, a little over 6 hours after I started. I highly recommend the Decalibron!
Today I hiked my first 14er of the season, Quandary Peak (14,265 feet). It was my third full day in Colorado and just my second hike, so the acclimation process to the altitude was much quicker than during my first visit to the state last year. After hiking up to Pawnee Pass (12,555 ft) on Monday, I felt I was ready to start on the 14ers.
Having booked a hotel for Tuesday and Wednesday, my plan was to do three days of 14ers hiking starting with Quandary.
After a drive of a little over two hours that was absolutely beautiful because of the surrounding mountains and cliffs, I reached the trailhead just off Route 9 at 9am. It was a bit of a late start for a 14er, but the sky was crystal clear and the hike wasn’t too long. I wasn’t too worried, but was anxious to get on the trail.
The Quandary climb along its east ridge can best be described as one long, steady, plodding walk. After about a half mile in pine trees, I emerged onto a rocky trail and could see what I thought was the summit a LONG way from me. I plodded on. For the entire hike, I stole views at an alluring ridge across a valley to the south and the pointy summits of a couple of mountains beyond it. I’m pretty sure those summits belonged to my targets for the following day’s hike — Mt. Bross, Mt. Democrat and Mt. Lincoln.
As I continued up, there, just to the side of the trail, was a pair of white-as-snow mountain goats! I had never confronted the alpine animals before, so I wasn’t positive how to proceed, but they didn’t seem agitated the least by my presence. I snapped a couple pictures and continued on. As I would see an hour later, their friends — including a couple babies — were farther up the trail, again just a few feet from where people were hiking, and I took photos of them, too. What a sight!
Besides the mountains goats, the climb was pretty straightforward. As I got within about a mile of the summit, the grade increased and I had to stop for a few seconds frequently to catch my breath. I’m just not used to this kind of altitude! I clearly wasn’t the only flat-lander doing the hike — probably one of the easier 14ers — as I noticed several other people with their hands on knees and one dude, decked out in U-M regalia, who I later learned was from Chicago, sitting on a rock looking like death (note: he did make it to the summit).
After ascending the steep pitch, I reached a flat area and saw the marked summit just a few hundred feet in front of me. I completed the 3.4-mile ascent with 3,450 feet of elevation gain in just over two hours. On top, I signed my name on the list secured in the capsule tethered to a rock, had my photo snapped to document 14er No. 3, ate a delicious sunbutter sandwich, then headed back down.
I drove back to Frisco, checked into the Snowshoe Motel, took a little tour of the cute town right on the Dillon Reservoir, and refreshed my body in the hotel’s hot tub (which had its own private room; so cool)!
Another day, another 14er. No biggie.
Today was my first hike of this Colorado visit, and since it was Labor Day and he had work off, Eliot joined me as we headed to the beautiful Indian Peaks Wilderness. As we gained elevation on the drive to Brainard Lake, I was curious how I would deal with the altitude. I had only been in Colorado for a day and a half and hadn’t done anything active. On Saturday night, Eliot and I drove to south Denver to meet up with some friends and watch Michigan get spanked by Alabama. We stayed the night in the area and then met up with Kevin — whom I hadn’t seen in probably nine years — on Sunday for an offensive inning of the Rockies game and more drinking.
So to summarize, my first day and a half in Colorado was spent sitting around watching sports and consuming alcohol. Not exactly the best way to prepare for hiking at extreme altitude. On the plus side, I considered myself to be in very good shape, thanks in large part to the personal training sessions at my gym in D.C.
We were one of hundreds of people who had the same idea for a Labor Day hike. When we arrived at the recreation area, dozens and dozens of cars were already parked along the road. The hike started at 10,515 feet, and right away I could feel the altitude in my rubbery legs. I wasn’t about to fall or anything, but there’s no denying that it was affecting me. Going from 5,000 to 10,000 feet just like that can’t be easy for any flat-lander like myself.
But as we hiked the fairly level, mostly wooded trail alongside Long Lake, I began to acclimate and gain strength. It was an easy 2 miles to Lake Isabelle, the popular destination for most of the day’s hikers. The lake was extremely low, as we could tell from the sandy banks that appeared were used to being part of the body of water. Still, that didn’t take away from the beauty of the scenery. The jagged, piercing summits of the Indian Peaks rose up and towered all around the lake. The wind gusted at around 20 mph.
It was around noon, which is far from early when it comes to hiking in Colorado because of the afternoon thunderstorms that often arrive out of nowhere, especially during the summer. So the decision to continue 2.5 miles to Pawnee Pass wasn’t a no-brainer. From my standpoint, I didn’t feel like I’d exerted a lot of energy getting to Lake Isabelle, which just required 400 feet of elevation gain, and I wanted to gain more elevation in preparation for my 14ers trip beginning the next day. We decided to start up toward the Pass, with the expectation that we might not get all the way there.
As we started up the trail, we felt a couple drops of rain and a nebulous cloud settled overhead. If it had gotten any darker or if the rain had pounded us any harder, we would have turned around. Fortunately, however, the rain stopped and the sky brightened. We marched onward.
The going was a mix of gradual and steep, and we soon emerged from the thin treeline into the open, climbing switchbacks up a rock-strewn landscape. Peaks towered above us as we hiked. I was surprised that the altitude didn’t affect me more, like it had at the beginning of our hike.
After about 90 minutes of climbing, we reached Pawnee Pass on the Continental Divide at 12,555 feet. Out in the open, with nothing to block the wind, we were blown around as gusts of up to 40mph hit us. I quickly layered up in my fleece, pants and winter hat. It was COLD! It was also beautiful. We continued a couple hundred feet beyond the Divide and were rewarded with a whole new slew of mountains to gaze at to the West. We took it all in, snapped a few photos while making sure our cameras weren’t blown away, then headed back down the trail.
MILES HIKED: 9.1
PEAKS: None, but the high point was Pawnee Pass (12,555 feet)
DOGS SEEN: Approximately 63 of varying breeds
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