March 10, 2022
- Start: Molino Basin Trailhead (Mile 158.8)
- End: Lemmon Creek (Mile 176)
- Distance: 17.2 miles
I didn’t sleep well in the hotel last night. The room was too hot, making me sweat uncomfortably into the sheets. Then, sometime near midnight, the hotel guest in the room directly above me began loudly stomping around as if he was exercising. None of it was conductive to a good night’s rest.
As I lay there, restlessly tossing and turning, I made the mistake of checking the local weather forecast. The news was not good. The next 36 hours were going to be cold and windy, with an extremely high chance of snow up on Mt. Lemmon.
Ugh. I didn’t want to deal the snow on this hike. I still avoided snow whenever possible thanks to my debacle in the Uintas. But, the Arizona Trail seemed strongly determined to make me deal with that trauma head-on.
Yesterday, it was the hovering helicopter triggering the memories of the aborted rescue. Now it was the impending snow triggering my fear of being trapped in a blizzard again.
I spend the past 18 months trying to safely, comfortably avoid all the facets of that horrible event. And now, it felt was as if the AZT was handing me individual elements of that trauma one piece at a time. Maybe this trail was just decontructing the whole calamitous event down into bite size chunks and forcing me to deal with them. Helicopters. Snow. Wind. Collapsing tent. Freezing cold temperatures. Fear. Fatigue.
I chewed on this idea a bit. Was this thru-hike part of my healing process? Enough time has passed that I should be able to work my way through one small element of the ordeal, and then another, and then another, until I had my confidence and hiking mojo back again. But did I want to??
LET’S GET BACK TO IT
Although I didn’t ever find the deep sleep I was hoping for, I’m still glad I made the impromptu decision to come down to Tanque Verde last night. Before starting the AZT, I promised myself I would actually try to take care of my body on this adventure. I didn’t want to fall back into the trap of prioritizing some dumb mileage goal while I suffered silently in pain.
One of my biggest goals with my training this past winter had been to address problems when they were still small. Stop and treat the hot spot before it became a blister. Listen to my body instead of pushing through the pain. Fix the issue in its infancy instead of delaying (and delaying some more) until it become a malignant, destructive issue that would take me off trail for days.
And so, I’m actually proud of myself. I didn’t wait until Mt. Lemmon to treat the painful chafe on my inner thighs. Or the giant blisters forming on the outside of my heels. I pulled myself off trail early and headed into the closest Walgreens to buy baby powder and some more Compeed blister bandages.
And why not? I was hiking completely solo. Who cares if I was in town just three days earlier? I wasn’t slowing anyone else down. I didn’t have to apologize to myself (or anyone else) for making frequent town stops to treat ailments. I had no one to impress.
Now, if only I’d been able to get a decent night’s sleep… But I guess it wasn’t meant to be. I was up for good at 5:30 am this morning, patiently waiting for the free breakfast buffet to open at 6 am. One last chance to stuff some hot food in my face before I head back out to trail again.
As I ate my pancakes (drenched in syrup, of course) and drank multiple cups of coffee, I debated how best to get back to the trail. Yesterday I’d been lucky to get a free ride down the mountain. But getting a hitch back up there from the middle of town was highly unlikely. I wasn’t even anywhere near the junction leading back to Catalina Highway.
Yet I did have one factor weighing heavily on my side. Tanque Verde was really just northeast Tucson. Which mean a ride share like Uber or Lyft would probably be available – especially in the early morning hours.
I pulled out my phone to check on the possibility. Sure enough, I found a Lyft driver willing to drive me up the curvy highway leading up toward Mt. Lemmon this morning. And I was back on the trail by 7:35 am!!
WWII LEGACY
My goal today was to try to make it up as high as possible on Mt. Lemmon. The tiny community of Summerhaven rests near the top of the mountain, and I had a small resupply box waiting for me at the post office there.
Yet I wasn’t in any hurry. The town was 22 miles north of this morning’s trailhead, and there was a 4,000’ steep climb to tackle enroute. Even if I miraculously managed hike that entire distance today, I wouldn’t arrive in time for it to make a difference. The post office closed at 3pm. So I might as well sweet take my time.
This leisurely approach is one of the reasons I decided to take a short detour off trail just an hour into my day. I wanted to head over to visit a place that most AZT thru-hikers don’t even know exists – the Gordon Hirabayashi Recreation Site.
Dr. Gordon Hirabayashi was an American sociologist born in Seattle in 1918. He was in his senior year at the University of Washington when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor in December 1941. And as you might have deduced from his surname, he was Japanese-American.
Shortly after the Pearl Harbor attack, President Roosevelt signed executive order 9006, which ordered U.S residents of Japanese descent to be forcibly moved from the West Coast and into internment camps in the interior parts of the U.S.
Hirabayashi defied the order, arguing any sort of internment based on race or ancestry was unconstitutional. After all, he was a native-born American citizen. He had no more allegiance to the Emperor of Japan than the hundreds of thousands of German-Americans citizens on the East Coast had to Adolf Hitler.
Hirabiyashi eventually turned himself over to the FBI in 1942. And he was subsequently convicted of violating the local curfew (which ran from 8 pm – 6 am) and the disobeying the internment order, before the court sentenced him to 90 days in federal prison.
Although he appealed the validity of his criminal conviction all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, Hirabayashi lost, and he was directed to report to the the Federal Honor Camp (minimum security prison camp) here in Arizona’s Santa Catalina mountains.
Ironically, the U.S. Government didn’t transport Hirabayashi to the prison camp, nor did they want to pay his train fare there. So, he had to hitchhike from Seattle to Tucson to surrender himself to confinement.
Dr. Hirabayashi’s case was re-opened in 1987, and his criminal conviction was eventually overturned when a federal commission determined the internment of Japanese-Americans was motivated by racial prejudice and wartime hysteria. Simply put, it was aberration of our American values.
In 1999, the former prison camp where Hirabayshi served his sentence became part of the Coronado National Forest, and a recreation site was re-named in his honor. And so, I was curious to see this somber place with my own eyes and acknowledge this sad part of our nation’s history.
CANYONS
Once my visit to the Hirabayashi site was complete, I decided it was time to get hiking in earnest. I could see the outline of Mt. Lemmon in the distance and knew I had quite a bit of elevation coming up ahead.
First up was Sycamore Canyon, which was incredibly lush and green amid the brown mountains. Leafy trees sat at the bottom of the canyon along with ample, clear water. If I hadn’t gone into town last night, this probably would have been the ideal spot to rest in the warm sunshine and set up camp.
Once I made my way across the creek and sandy wash at the canyon’s bottom, the AZT climbed for a bit to a pass. As I hiked in the warm morning sunshine, I was pretty sure I spotted Prov’s shoe prints in the soft dirt ahead of me. She’s wearing a pair of boots with a very distinctive caltrop design in the tread. If those were actually her prints, she must have caught up and slung ahead of me when I went into town last night.
Soon thereafter, the trail crested a small climb up on the northwest side of the canyon, and then it opened up into a much larger and bigger canyon up ahead. I was awestruck by the beauty of the steep walls and deep valleys.
Behind me, the sound of mens’ voices approached rapidly. Two lean trail runners were right on my heels, carrying on their rapid conversation as I squeezed myself (and my large pack) as close to the hillside as possible to let them past on the narrow trail.
I’d hear the echoes of their conversation for the next 10 minutes as they descended down the switchbacks below me into the canyon, all the way down to the my low elevation point for the day near 3,600’ elevation.
A sign near the bottom at a trail junction told me I was now in Palisades Canyon, and I swear it was one of the prettiest sites I’d witnessed thus far on the trail. The morning sun was bright and warm, and it was hard to believe a cold front and late spring storm was supposed to move in today. It was just too beautiful. And there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky.
Just knowing you are at the lowest point for the day and have a massive climb of 4,300 vertical feet ahead of you will make anyone want to soak it in and linger for far longer than necessary. But, honestly, my photos can’t do it justice. Palisades Canyon was stunning!
There was a surprising amount of water inside the canyon too, along with tons of lizards darting across the trail. Tiny butterflies flitted around me in the sunshine. Barrel cactuses and tiny yellow flowers popped up here and there. And I stopped for an early lunch around 11:30 near a water crossing to soak it all in.
After a respectably long break, it was time to started my climb in earnest. As I slowly worked my way up higher, the wind began to gust a bit here and there.
I kept looking for the side trail down to Hutch’s pool, a popular swimming hole in the canyon, but didn’t see it until I was at least 200 feet above it. Oh well, I wasn’t going to swim today anyway.
A bit further ahead, I crossed paths with an older man named Bob, who told me he was from New Hampshire. As I stopped to guzzle a bit of my water, he wanted to have a conversation about some ultralight hiker up ahead of us. He couldn’t believe the young guy was only carrying 9 pounds of gear.
Bob, on the other hand, looked as it he was ready for an Arctic expedition. His giant pack was bulging at the seams and I had no doubt he would be better prepared for the inbound wintery weather than anyone else on the mountain today.
I bid him goodbye and climbed higher and higher, and the views just seemed to get better. Clumps of purple wildflowers dotted the trail’s edge and tall yellow grasses seemed to grow nearly across it. It wasn’t quite bushwhacking, but I did spend a lot of time feeling like I was wading through the grasses and weeds.
CLIMBING MT. LEMMON
The climb from the canyon up the side of Mt. Lemmon was consistent in its grade up until 6,000’ feet. So I put in a single earbud, turned up a podcast, and just put one foot in front of the other until I reached Romero Pass.
The distraction worked too. I was tired, but I still had some energy left in reserve when I got to the pass. And then I ran into two more backpackers who’d stop to take a breather there too.
One of the hikers was Cheez-it, the older guy I’d met at the bear box at Molino Campground yesterday afternoon (right before I went into town). During our break, I learned he was from southern Arizona and lived just west of Tucson. The AZT was virtually in his backyard.
Meanwhile the other hiker was a guy in his late 20s named Carlisle whose name I’d seen in the trail registers over the past few days. Carlisle was from Utah, and said the Arizona Trail was his very long-distance hike. Wow! This trail had a lot of hard terrain and logistics to cut your teeth on. I was impressed he had the temerity to take on the AZT rather than trying our a shorter, easier adventure first.
Right above our break spot, the AZT transitioned to something entirely new. The old dirt trail disappeared, and in its place, was an insane, calf-burning rock scramble. It wasn’t technical at all. It’s just that the trail was now mostly steep rock slabs and boulders with rock cairns marking the route.
In fact, the next 1.5 miles of climbing were murder on my weary legs, with the gain of nearly 1,500 vertical feet in that short distance. But, then again, what choice did I have? This was where the trail went, and this was where I’d go too.
As the three of us finally crested the pass as the Wilderness of the Rock Trail junction 45 minutes later, we could see for miles and miles to the north side of the mountains. It was utterly beautiful to behold. But it only took a minute to realize we’d need to get into the shelter of some giant boulders to block the cold gusting winds around us.
As I tried to recover from the physical exertion of the climb, I toggled my phone out of airplane mode to check the weather forecast one final time.
Tonight’s low temperature was supposed to drop to 17°F with a wind chill of 9°F. The chance of overnight precipitation had dropped down to just 50% now, but it would undoubtedly come as snow if it fell. I’d just have to brace myself for the cold and whatever else rolled in with the storm tonight.
After putting my phone away once again, I bid goodbye to Carlisle and Cheez-it. I really needed to hike another 2.3 miles up to Lemmon Creek before dark. If the temperature was going to drop that low tonight, I had to expect my water was going to freeze inside my bottle (once again).
So I really wanted to make it all the way up to the wide creek ahead, where I might have a chance of flowing, unfrozen water in the morning.
LEMMON CREEK
Now that I was at nearly 7,500’ elevation, the air temperature was dropping off quickly. As I stopped to don my rain jacket for extra warmth, I notice patchy snow clinging to the ground. Nearby, clusters of ice clung to rocks and green moss like mini frozen waterfalls.
Up above me, colossal round rocks balanced atop rocky outcroppings, and looked like massive cairns. How did they get like that, I wondered? Was it erosion? Or the strong wind? The formations reminded me of the hoodoos in Utah.
After close to an hour more of hiking, I made it to Lemmon Creek. It was flowing fast and clear, and was about four feet wide where the trail crossed it on a series of boulders.
This would be camp for the night. Plenty of water. And a good bit of shelter from the wind. It wouldn’t be warm at this high elevation, but it had all the amenities I needed – lots of flat spots to pitch my tent and a good flowing water source.
As I began filtering water for my dinner, a tiny part of me wondered if I shouldn’t just try to hike the rest of the way into Summerhaven tonight. I’d read the local post office keeps its door unlocked and it’s heated inside. AZT hikers often stay the night in the lobby, and the post office would probably provide good solid shelter from the incoming weather.
But, I quickly nixed the idea for several reasons.
First off, it was already after 5 pm, and would be dark soon. The post office still another 5 (uphill) miles away – with a route that required me to visually rely on cairns to mark the route. I definitely wouldn’t make it there before 7:30 pm, and I was far too exhausted to hike any further after the steep climb up from Romero Pass.
Second, even though the post office might be heated inside, I didn’t know who else might already be there. Surely other AZT hikers had seen the weather forecast too and descended on the post office for shelter. If the small lobby was full, I’d be stuck inside town limits with nowhere suitable to camp, and at an even higher (i.e., colder) elevation.
Third, I read comments about how the overhead lights in the post office stayed on all night long. So even if I was completely alone up there, I’d get some truly horrible sleep with the bright fluorescent light shining above me. My tent was a far better option.
Fourth, I still needed to pick up my resupply package tomorrow morning. The post office window didn’t open until 8:30 am. So what was the purpose of getting there tonight? Did I really want to just camp out there?
Nope. I’d stay right here at Lemmon Creek. It was great camp spot with room for a half dozen hikers on each side of the creek. And who knows, maybe I’d even have company. I didn’t ask Cheez-it or Carlisle how far they planned to go tonight, but chances are one (or both) of them might end up here too.
And so, I set up my tent on some lovely soft duff and settled in for the evening. I pulled on both of my wool baselayer shirts and prayed I’d be warm enough with those layers and my 10°F quilt. I’ve never tested my quilt out in such cold weather, and I sure hope it performs up to it’s temperature rating. I’d hate to be shivering all night long.
Luckily, I have a secret weapon though. I packed an 18-hour Hot Hands Super Warmer pouch in my pack. If the temperature drops so low that I’m shivering, I’ll just bust out that pouch and let it warm my bag an extra 10 degrees to take the edge off.
As the sun started to set, neither of the other two hikers had joined me at my spot near the southern bank of Lemmon Creek. I had it all to myself. And then the dark full descended and the air dropped below freezing. Time to snuggle down into my quilt and go to sleep.
As I lay in my tent trying to stay warm, I heard the distinct pitter-patter of something on my tent around 7:30 pm. It wasn’t rain. It was much harder. So I turned on my headland and took a peek under the edge of the rainfly.
Tiny BB pellet-sized ice littered the ground just outside my tent. It was hailing. I guess the storm was moving in now. I braced for it, and reminded myself I was going to be fine. Time to come face-to-face with this element of the trauma.
I silently and calmly assured myself that I could ride out this storm just fine. I was far better prepared than I was in the Uintas. I had a sturdier tent. The wind wasn’t blowing at 20+ miles per hour. And I was only 5 miles from town. I would be safe this time. Really…it would be ok!
Highlights:
- I truly enjoyed learning a bit more about Gordon Hirabayashi. Our country’s history is not perfect, but only by acknowledging our scars will we avoid creating the same injuries again.
- Palisades Canyon was simply stunning from just about every angle. This segment of the trail is somewhere I’d definitely recommend to day hikers who want a taste of the AZT.
- I feel like I lucked out today with several, clear flowing water sources. Not a single cattle tank to filter from!
Challenges:
- Despite the beautiful lushness at bottoms of the canyons, there were also plenty of gnats buzzing around too. I think I might have actually had some fly into my mouth and swallowed them. Yuck!
- That 1.5-mile climb up above Romero Pass was super hard. I don’t think I’ve hiked anything quite that steep since going up Mt. Wrightson back on day 4.
- The biting wind up on the mountain made today my coldest day on AZT yet. Let’s hope the impending storm tonight doesn’t make it one of my more memorable evenings too!