March 18, 2022
- Start: Picketpost Trailhead (Mile 294.3)
- End: Stealth spot near Reavis Ridge (314.6)
- Distance: 20.3 miles
I occupied a one of the four bunkbeds in in MJ’s house last night with along with the two Bobs – Fireman Bob and What About Bob. I hindsight though, I should have just set up my tent in MJ’s back yard with the rest of the hikers
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, and 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 at zero at MJ’s before jumping up north to hike the Grand Canyon section of the AZT. So he agreed to help her out 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. In the end, I saying goodbye to Superior was bittersweet. For a town I hadn’t originally planned to stop in, it had been a truly delightful experience.
The sun was starting to warm when we arrived back 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 once again, this time toward the Superstition Mountains.
The Superstitions get their ominous name from Native Americans tales. The Apaches believed a hole leading to a lower world was located within the mountains. And, when the severe dust storms hit the region, they were supposedly emanate from the the winds blowing from his portal.
Meanwhile, the Pima people told stories about strange sounds, people who disappeared, mysterious deaths, and an overall fear of the mountains. As Anglo farmers moved into the region, they heard these tales and they began to refer to the mountains as the “Superstitions.”
Lucky Larry and I initially started out hiking together, heading into a concrete tunnel running underneath U.S. Highway 60 and back out into the dry desert.
The first 12 miles of the day would be mostly relaxed hiking 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 was pulling away from me though and I was walking through the desert solo once again. This was how I liked it – meeting up with hikers in towns, but hiking by myself 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. It was a good day to be hiking.
HORSES
Five miles into my morning, I made it to a grassy draw where a small creek burbling across the trail. This was my first break of that day, so I stopped and dropped my pack to to stretch out my back, which was complaining and cramping up this morning.
Volt soon joined me 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 on horses 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.
They stopped to chat for a moment and told us they were riding up to a corral near the Reavis Trail Canyon trailhead where they’d meet up with some folk 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 was stopping again, this time for a completely different reason. I’d made it to the 300-mile mark on my AZT thru-hike. 300 dang 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 day next few hours were pretty routine hiking under the desert sun. Saguaro cactus rose up toward the sky and the dusty trail snaked toward vermillion colored rocks. Our late start from the trailhead meant the sun was pounding down now, and it there seemed to be no respite in sight.
At about a quarter after 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.
From a distance, I could see a large stone trough near a metal barn. I could probably get water if I wandered off trail over there, but I decided I had enough water for now.Tthere were supposed to be several more sources in Reavis Canyon before I began the big climb this afternoon. So I continued on without stopping.
Forty-five minutes later, I made it to the trailhead where a 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 further ahead . They must have their trail legs now, after 300 miles of hiking through this desert. All of us were at the head of the pack, because most of the people hiking the AZT this spring were just barely starting the trail this week.
Beyond the trail register, I stopped in the shade of some trees growing on the bank of a nicely flowing creek. It was time for lunch before committing to the big 6-mile climb up Montana Mountain. It was blisteringly hot now, and was the temperature was only going to increase with the mid-afternoon heat.
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 to of one of my sock. Dang it! But I was far too lazy to make the repair during my rest break. It would have to wait until I got to camp tonight. I’d just 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 in there in the shade for the next half hour. This respite from the sun felt luxurious.
I filtered several liters of water from the creek for the upcoming climb, thenI poured a liter of cold creek water onto my sun hoody, making sure to soak the hood that I planned to pull over over my head. The wet material would serve as some makeshift air-conditioning when the breeze hit it, at least until all the water evaporated and my shirt died out again.
The BIG CLIMB
Eventually it was time to face the inevitable though. I had to get moving. Montana Mountain wasn’t going to climb itself. I just needed to put on my ‘big girl’ pants and my heavy pack and start hiking.
The AZT took me past a walled ruin made of rocks that had evidently served as as a campsite for a good number of people. There was a metal fire pit in one corner along with large rocks and logs that must have been 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 white cow laying down on trail in the shade protected 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 under the brutal sun. Within 40 minutes of leaving the creek, the water I’d soaked my shirt in had evaporated. And 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 swtichbacks. Then, I heard the distinctive rattle of a rattlesnake.
I stopped in my tracks, swiveling my head in search for 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 the 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 was warning 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 forward with a few more tentative steps. And when I neither heard the noise again nor felt the fangs of a rattlesnake striking into my leg, I breathed a sight 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.
My apprehension around snakes(or even variety) is one of the main reasons I picked such an early start date for the AZT. The colder the weather, the more likely the snakes would be in their burmation stage – holed up in their dens or moving lethargically.
But these hot temperatures weren’t exactly promoting that message that it’s still late winter to the desert reptiles. It was into the 80s again today, not the 40s or 50s that would signal they need to rest.
THE SUPERSTITIONS
I finally made it to 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 just as much as me. Maybe he’d been smart and stopped to take a break part of the way uphill.
The air felt a bit cooler now, maybe because the summit sat more than a mile above sea level. Or perhaps it was a result of the sun dipping lower in the sky, creating shadows across the trail from the trees and rocks.
The AZT followed a forest road here, and this should have made for super easy hiking after the long 6-mile climb I’d just endured. But it didn’t. I was repeatedly slipping and sliding on loose dirt and realizing that the tread on my shoes 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 beat them up far worse than any other trail I’ve hiked in the past. What’s more, it would be at least a week before I’d have new shoes. My replacements were currently sitting in my resupply box in Pine (near mile 450 of the AZT)!
I tooled along the forest road carefully watching my step. I passed three different empty Jeep Wranglers parked down little side paths and wondered where their owners had gone. Were these day hikers? Or folks just wanting come do a short backpacking trip in the Superstitions?
WHERE TO CAMP?
The AZT parted ways with the forest road near the Rogers Trough trailhead, but there was a little surprise waitng from. 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 a liter of the public water, trying to leave enough for the hikers behind me who might be even worse off than me. I tried to conserve as much as my water as feasible during the climb up Montana Mountain’s switchbacks, but the heat and steep terrain made it impossible.
But I needn’t have bothered with the public water jug though, because I’d soon discover there was plenty of nice, clear water sitting in pools just off the trail waiting to be filtered barely 300 yards up the trail!
I stopped, yet again, to grab three liters of water here, guzzling an entire liter of it as soon as it was filtered into in my bottle. I’d planned to walk another mile and a half further, where I hoped to make camp near a junction in the trail.
I’d chosen that spot as a tentative campsite because it was where the AZT dropped down to 4,300 feet elevation before climbing up to Reavis Ridge, which was about 1,000 feet higher in elevation (and likely to be much colder overnight).
Unfortunately, the junction didn’t have anywhere to set up my tent. It was barely even recognizable as a junction, since the trail that broke off from the AZT here was completely overgrown and the grass on either side of the AZT was about waist high. And so I kept walking, assuming I’d find something soon.
The next flattish area I came to was equally untenable. Sure, it was open and free of vegetation, but that as all it had going for it because 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, there was another issue. The ground was too soft to get my tent to stand upright. Or it was too unlevel. Or there was some 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 was like a constant scavenger hunt, and one I didn’t need this late in the day when I was both physically and psychologically tired. I suspect this was the reason Red Dragon warned me not to go into the Superstitions alone. It would be very easy to lose the trail here.
Two miles later, the sun was no longer visible, and it was nearing dusk. I was back on a defined trail again, and most of the way up Reavis Ridge, but I still had nowhere feasible to camp. Everywhere I looked 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 seemed to fade to darkness, the trail seemed to level out a bit. And then I got a glimmer of home. There seemed 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 turned on my headlamp and squeezed between the brush to survey the spot. It had definitely been used by hikers in the past. It was was barely large enough for one tent, but it would do. 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 camp and eating dinner, it was 8 pm. The night was pitch black out, with thick clouds blocking out the illumination of the nearly full moon.
I was far too tired to do much of anything but burrow into my down quilt, and sip some water after this incredibly hard 20-mile day of hiking. Mending the 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 was the perfect stop before heading into the Superstitions.
- Passing mile 300 was a major milestone. I still have nearly 500 miles left until Utah, but I’m closing in on that halfway point!
- Although the steep climb up Montana Mountain was hard, 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 did spot it, I hope it isn’t foreshadowing 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 to find. I sure hope Volt and Mad Max had better luck!