March 18, 2022
- Start: Picketpost Trailhead (Mile 294.3)
- End: Stealth spot near Reavis Ridge (314.6)
- Distance: 20.3 miles
I slept one of the four bunkbeds in MJ’s house last night, along with the two Bobs – Fireman Bob & What About Bob. Initially, I thought scoring a bed was a major win. In hindsight though, I wish I’d set up my tent in MJ’s back yard with Mad Max, Volt, and Lucky Larry instead.
Fireman Bob snored like a chainsaw. And What About Bob was up repeatedly through the night, digging through his pack for his headlamp…then his pain medicine…then an extra pair of socks. With all the restless shuffling about and snoring, I don’t think I got two continuous hours of sleep!
And so, I was up for good at 5:30 am, sneaking into MJ’s kitchen to see about starting the coffee pot for the group. She’d already beat me to it though, and was in the process of making biscuits and gravy in the kitchen for her hiker houseguests! That MJ is something else, and I cannot thank her enough for her hospitality.
BACK ON THE TRAIL
Fireman Bob was taking a zero at MJ’s before jumping up north to hike the Grand Canyon section of the AZT. So he agreed to help her this morning by shuttling hikers back to the trailhead in her car and dropping more water jugs in the cache MJ maintained there.
Lucky Larry, Volt, and I claimed seats in the first car load out to the trailhead. But we didn’t actually get there to begin hiking until nearly 9 a.m. Bidding goodbye to Superior was bittersweet though. For a town I hadn’t originally planned to stop in, it had been a truly delightful experience.
The sun above us started warming as soon as we arrived at the Picketpost Trailhead. Clear blue, cloudless skies sat overhead, while sand-colored grasses, rocks, and cactus lined the trail. I slowly started walking north again, this time toward the Superstition Mountains.
The Superstitions get their ominous name from Native American tales. The Apaches believed a hole leading to a lower world sat within these mountains. And, when the severe dust storms hit the region, they supposedly emanated from the winds blowing from his hellish portal.
Meanwhile, the Pima people told stories about strange sounds, disappeared people, mysterious deaths, and an overall fear of the mountains. As Anglo farmers moved into the region, they heard these tales and began referring to the mountains as the “Superstitions.”
Lucky Larry and I initially started the day hiking together, heading into a concrete tunnel running beneath U.S. Highway 60 and back out into the dry desert.
These first 12 miles of the day would be mostly relaxed hiking, with flat or rolling hills around 3,000 feet above sea level. But then the AZT would head up a steep four-mile climb before sending up into the Superstition Wilderness 2,000 feet higher in elevation.
It didn’t take more than a mile before Lucky Larry pulled away from me and I was back to walking through the desert solo once again. This was how I liked it – meeting with hikers in towns, but hiking alone and at my own pace. There was no one to be accountable to, nor any reason to walk faster or slower than my body wanted.
Wildflowers welcomed me back to the trail, and small red blooms topped the long arms of the ocotillo that arched over the trail. Today was a good day to be hiking.
HORSES
Five miles into my morning, I reached a grassy draw where a small creek burbled across the trail. It was time for my first break of the day, so I stopped and dropped my pack and began stretching out my back, which was complaining and cramping up this morning.
Volt soon joined me by the creek and we were just pulling out our snacks when we heard voices and laughing behind us. The noise was from a crew of eight riders heading our way. Men in wide-brimmed cowboy hats and denim blue jeans sat astride their horses, heading north along the same path as us.
The riders stopped to chat briefly and told us they were heading to a corral near the Reavis Trail Canyon trailhead, where they’d meet some folks who were shuttling their horse trailers ahead.
The horses and riders followed a slightly different path from the AZT, crossing the creek, while Volt and I seemed to parallel it for a bit longer.
Not 20 minutes after this short break, I stopped again, this time for a completely different reason. I’d made it to the 300-mile mark on my AZT thru-hike—300 miles! My heart felt overjoyed, and I felt compelled to celebrate by marking that accomplishment for myself and the hikers coming behind me.
Volt helped me gather a bunch of rocks from nearby, and the two of us quickly worked together to build the commemorative ‘300’ on the grass beside the trail. Now everyone would know. We were 300 miles from Mexico!
WHO’S AHEAD OF ME?
The next few hours were pretty routine hiking under the desert sun. Saguaro cactus rose up toward the sky and the dusty trail snaked toward the vermilion-colored rocks. Our late start from the trailhead meant the sun was pounding down now, and there seemed to be no respite in sight.
At about a quarter past noon, I spotted a windmill and horse corral in the distance. The riders I’d met earlier weren’t there. Maybe they’d already arrived and packed up. Or perhaps they were still out here riding somewhere in the hills.
Further in the distance, I could see a large stone trough near a metal barn. If I wandered off the trail, I’d probably find water down there, but I decided I had enough for now. There were supposed to be several more sources in Reavis Canyon before I began the big climb this afternoon, so I continued past the corral without stopping.
Forty-five minutes later, I made it to the trailhead where another AZT trail register waited in the sun for me to sign it. I ran my name down the column of names ahead of me. Lucky Larry was the only name ahead of me today. But Leah passed through here yesterday and so did the Three Amigos.
It looked like Yoda and Helium (neither of whom I’d actually met) were pulling even further ahead. After 300 miles of hiking through this desert, they must have their trail legs. All of us were still at the head of the pack though, as most of the people hiking the AZT this spring wouldn’t be starting the trail until this week.
Just beyond the trail register, I found some trees growing on the bank of a nicely flowing creek. The trees lent the perfect amount of shade, and it was time for lunch before committing to the big 6-mile climb up Montana Mountain. The air was blisteringly hot now, and the mid-afternoon heat would only increase during the afternoon..
During my lunch break, I took my shoes off to air out my hot, swollen feet and that’s when I discovered I’d formed a hole in the big toe of one of my socks. Dang it! But I was too lazy to repair them just now. It would have to wait until I got to camp tonight. I’d simply hike with a hole in my sock and hope it didn’t get too much bigger in the meantime.
Volt caught up to me as I sat there in the shade for the next half hour. This respite from the sun felt luxurious and I wasn’t feeling eager to return to the trail just yet..
I filtered several liters of water from the creek for the upcoming climb, then poured a liter of cold creek water onto my sun shirt, making sure to soak my shirt’s hood. Once I pulled the hood over my head, the wet material would serve as makeshift air-conditioning when the breeze hit it (at least until all the water evaporated and my shirt dried out once again).
The BIG CLIMB
After lingering in the shade along the creek for as long as I could, it was time to face the inevitable. I had to get moving. Montana Mountain wasn’t going to climb itself. I needed to put on my heavy pack and start hiking.
At first, the AZT wound past some ruins and an old rock walk that had evidently served as a campsite for many prior hikers. A metal fire pit rested in one corner, and large rocks and logs were used as makeshift seats around the fire.
A half hour further, I came across a concrete trough filled with green water that looked absolutely horrible. Bugs floated along the water’s surface, while olive green slime coated the structure’s bare concrete walls.
Thank goodness I didn’t need water from this source. It made my stomach turn a little bit. I’ve been lucky with water lately. There hasn’t been a lot of it, but almost all of my water sources were significantly better than this option.
The slog uphill was long and slow. I startled a cow lying on the trail where he was trying to find some shade protection from the mid-afternoon heat. Then I crossed paths with two bikepackers on their mountain bikes heading south toward Superior.
I struggled up some of the steeper sections of the trail under the brutal sun. The heat was zapping my energy, and within 40 minutes of leaving my lunchtime spot by the creek, the water I’d soaked my shirt in had fully evaporated. Moreover, I was pretty sure my sweat was evaporating in seconds too.
Grass and yellow-orange poppies covered the hillside as the trail zigzagged its way up the mountain over what felt like one hundred switchbacks. Then, I heard the distinctive rattle of a rattlesnake.
I stopped in my tracks, swiveling my head in search of where the snake might be. The snake wasn’t on the trail directly in front of me. Nor in the six foot radius around me. Was it resting on the hillside just above me or hiding somewhere in the grass immediately below the trail? I was never very good with spotting these camouflaged reptiles.
I stood there for a full minute trying to decide what to do next. Where was the damn rattlesnake? It definitely saw me (or at least felt me coming) if it warned me not to approach with that distinctive rattle.
I clacked my poles together to see if that would trigger the noise again. I didn’t hear a thing. I took a tentative step forward. No rattle. That was a good sign.
I followed up with another step. Still no noise. Maybe it had slithered away and the danger had passed. Or… it could just be coiled up waiting to strike. Damn it. I couldn’t stay here indefinitely.
I continued moving forward with a few more tentative steps. When I neither heard the noise again nor felt the fangs of a rattlesnake striking into my leg, I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d come out to the AZT knowing a rattlesnake encounter was likely. But, that didn’t mean I was eagerly awaiting one.
One of the main reasons I picked such an early start date for the AZT is my apprehension around snakes. The colder the weather, the more likely Arizona’s snakes would be in their brumation stage—holed up in their dens or moving lethargically.
But these hot temperatures didn’t exactly promote the message that it’s still late winter on the calendar. It was into the 80s again today, not the 40s or 50s that would signal the snakes needed to rest.
THE SUPERSTITIONS
I finally reached the top of the climb around 4:30 pm and scanned the area below me. I couldn’t see Volt moving anywhere. He was probably struggling with the steep incline and hot sun like me. Maybe he’d been smart and stopped to take a break part of the way uphill.
The air felt slightly cooler now, maybe because the summit was more than a mile above sea level. Or perhaps it was because the sun was dipping lower in the sky, creating shadows across the trail from the trees and rocks.
The AZT temporarily followed a forest road heading into the Superstition Wilderness. You’d think this dirt road would have made for super easy hiking after the long 6-mile climb I’d just endured. But it didn’t. I repeatedly slipped and slid on loose dirt, while realizing that my shoes’ tread was completely shot.
I was barely 300 miles into this thru-hike, and my shoes were 100% smooth on their bottoms. The rocks and rough trail conditions had beaten them up far worse than any other trail I’ve hiked on. What’s more, it would be at least a week before I had new shoes. My replacements were currently sitting in my resupply box in Pine (near mile 450 of the AZT)!
As I tooled along the forest road carefully watching my step to prevent a fall, I passed three different empty Jeep Wranglers parked down little side paths. Each time, I wondered where their owners had gone. Were these all day hikers? Or were they folks coming out for a short backpacking trip in the Superstitions?
WHERE TO CAMP?
The AZT eventually parted ways with the forest road near the Rogers Trough trailhead, and there was a little surprise waiting for me at that junction. Two one-gallon jugs sat below the metal trail register. They’d originally had a hiker’s name on them, but it was now crossed out, with the word “public” scrawled beneath it with a Sharpie pen.
Free water! I could definitely use a little of that precious joy! I helped myself to a half-liter of this “public water,” trying to leave enough for the hikers behind me who might be even worse off than me. I’d tried to conserve as much water as possible while climbing Montana Mountain’s switchbacks, but today’s heat and steep terrain made it impossible.
The public water jugs were totally unnecessary, though. Just another 300 yards further up the trail, I discovered some nice, clear pools of water waiting to be filtered. So, I stopped once again to grab three liters of water, guzzling an entire liter as soon as it was filtered into my bottle.
I’d only planned to walk another mile and a half beyond those pools, hoping to make camp near a junction in the trail just ahead. I’d chosen that spot as tonight’s tentative campsite because it was where the AZT dropped back down to 4,300 feet elevation. Soon thereafter, it would climb up to Reavis Ridge – which was about 1,000 feet higher and likely to be much colder overnight.
Unfortunately, the trail junction had nowhere to set up my tent for the night. It was barely even recognizable as a junction. The trail that broke off from the AZT was completely overgrown, and the grass on either side of the AZT was about waist high. So so I had to keep walking while keeping my eye out for any available spot before the climb up to Reavis Ridge.
The next flattish area I encountered was equally untenable. It was vegetation-free, but that was all it had going for it. The downside was that it was in the middle of a rocky wash with lots of loose sand and boulders, so I continued walking.
Every time I thought I found a halfway decent spot to set up camp, another issue arose. The ground was too soft to support my tent upright. Or it was too uneven and sloped. Or there was water pooling in a low spot.
I had no choice but to keep hiking higher and higher in elevation as the trail wove in and out of dirt washes over and over again and through thick brush that scratched up my legs and even drew blood.
Finding the small cairns to navigate where the trail went next was like a constant scavenger hunt. This game was one I didn’t need this late in the day when I was both physically and psychologically tired. I suspect this was why Red Dragon warned me not to go into the Superstitions alone. I could see how easy it would be to lose the trail here.
Two miles past the junction, the sun was no longer visible and it was nearing dusk. I was out of the washes and back on a defined trail again. I was nearly up to Reavis Ridge too. Yet I still had nowhere feasible to camp. Everywhere I looked, the terrain was sloped or overgrown. A steep dropoff sat on my right side of the trail, while a hillside covered with thick vegetation saw to my left.
As the last of daylight faded to darkness, the trail seemed to level out a bit. And then I got a glimmer of hope. There appeared to be a flat area through some brush to my left. I wasn’t 100% certain. But perhaps I could set up camp there.
I squeezed between the brush to survey the spot in the beam of my headlamp. It had definitely been used by hikers in the past. The spot was barely large enough for my tent, but it would have to do in a pinch like this. So I dropped my pack and began the well-memorized routine of setting up my tent – this time in complete darkness.
By the time I finished setting up camp and eating dinner, it was 8 pm. The night was pitch black, with thick clouds blocking the illumination of the nearly full moon.
I was far too tired to do anything but burrow into my down quilt, and sip some water after this incredibly hard 20-mile day of hiking. Mending that new hole in my sock would have to wait until another day.
Highlights
- Many thanks to MJ – the trail angel of Superior. She is a real gem! Her hospitality made it the perfect stop before heading into the Superstitions.
- Passing mile 300 was a major milestone. Although I still have nearly 500 miles left until Utah, I’m closing in on the halfway point!
- The steep climb up Montana Mountain was hard, but I still felt like I made good miles today – 20 miles was a solid day.
Challenges
- Our late start departing Superior put the climb at the hottest part of the day, which was a real bummer.
- The distinct sound of a rattlesnake shaking its tail sent a shiver of fear down my back. Although I never spotted it, I hope it doesn’t foreshadow what’s ahead during this next stretch.
- Navigating the wash and overgrown trail at dusk was frustrating. I just wanted to find a spot to camp and it seemed to take forever. I sure hope Volt and Mad Max had better luck!