11.9-11, 2012 — Jerome, AZ

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.

11.4-7, 2012 — Arizona hiking with Dad and Uncle Buz

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