March 28, 2022
- Start: Chase Creek (Mile 466.4)
- End: Highway 87 near Blue Ridge Campground (Mile 486.4)
- Distance: 20 miles
Although I’d worried about our campsite being too cold overnight because of its close proximity to Chase Creek, that didn’t turn out to be the case. It was a moderate night, and probably the last one we’d experience for the next week if the weather forecast was to be believed
The sun had a hard time breaking through the tall pine trees this morning, making it seem darker outside than normal when I woke up at 6:30 am. I peeked out my tent and I noticed Elliot was already gone. This was my first time camping near him, and I hadn’t a clue he was such an early riser. I hadn’t even heard him breaking down his tent or leaving in the dark.
WASHINGTON PARK
As I made my coffee and hollered over to see if Volt was awake yet, there was only one thing on my mind. This morning’s main event would be our big ascent up and over the Mogollon Rim.
We’d spent all day yesterday walking toward this dominant terrain feature, but today was the day we’d actually hike up and over it. Once we climbed above the 7,000-foot threshold, we’d be on the Colorado Plateau and remain at high elevation until we dipped into the Grand Canyon 230 miles further north.
Volt and I spending the first five miles of the morning hiking separately and lost in our own quiet thoughts. We intended to stop at the Washington Park trailhead, meeting up for second breakfast near the East Verde River. And then we’d begin the climb together.
I knew we were getting close to our rendezvous point when I spotted the nice-looking metal bridge with wood decking. Bridges like this one are far more likely to exist within a mile or less of a trailhead than deep in the wilderness. They’re always a sign you were getting back to the front country.
The East Verde’s cold water rushed underneath the bridge, and both Volt and I decided to tank up for the climb that lay ahead. We’d need to ascend more than 1,200 feet in less than two miles as we made our way to the top of the rim, and that was certain leave us thirsty.
Over the RIM
I checked the elevation profile one more time, then focused my attention on I shoving second breakfast of powdered sugar donuts into my mouth. I was fretting about the climb ahead and mentally catastrophizing about how hard it was going to be.
The key problem with walking toward a mountain (or major climb) that you could see for miles was the mental game it played. The closer you got, the bigger the terrain seemed to grow in front of your eyes. But the soothing sensation of food always seemed to help calm my nerves.
As it turns out though, all my internal fear-mongering was for nothing. Sure it was a big climb. But it wasn’t any worse than dozens of other big ascents I’d done earlier on this trail. I didn’t have to scramble over any rocks like a mountain goat. There was no blazing sun overhead making it feel hot. And it was only 1.2 miles.
All told, the Mogollon Rim ascent was much easier than Volt and I have been building it up in our minds. Barely a half an hour after leaving Washington Park, we were cresting the rim and seeing the patchy snow that covered the tree-lined landscape ahead of us.
GENERAL SPRINGS
A forest service road ran along the top of the rim, and one lone car was parked in a parking area. A monument to the Battle of Big Dry Wash – also known as the Arizona’s last great Apache fight – loomed in front of us. And then signs pointed us toward the the General Springs Cabin, which sat about a half mile further ahead.
When we made it to the log cabin, Volt and I stopped to take a closer look. A large Forest Service sign told us it was built in 1914 or 1915 and was then used as a fire guard station by the Forest Service until the 1960s. But in this season of its life, it was just an empty structure surrounded by a pool of melted snow.
As we poked our way inside, I came to suspect more than one hiker had probably used this cabin to protect themselves from the elements on a winter day. The cabin was sparse on the inside and out, but it was still in good condition, and it would keep you warm if push came to shove.
Gray clouds seemed to descend on us now, reminding us that a storm was inbound later today. Volt he had a single bar of cell service up here on the rim, so he checked the weather forecast for the both of us. Had the storm shifted? Or was it still heading toward us full force?
The forecast held mixed news for us. Volt said the majority of the day would be cool, but dry. That storm was still headed our way though, and it would probably arrive in the late afternoon or early evening and bringing colder temperatures, freezing rain, wind, and then at least an inch of snow.
We needed to push some big miles today if we wanted to avoid riding the storm out here on trail. A 20-mie day would get us to the Blue River Campground, and maybe we’d find a shade pavilion we could use for shelter to keep us dry.
And if worse came to worse, the Mogollon Rim Ranger Station was about a mile down Highway 87. Comments in the FarOut app from other hikers said the foyer of the ranger station is usually unlocked overnight. Maybe we could head there and sleep indoors while the storm blew past.
POST-HOLING
Soon after we departed the General Springs cabin, the trail turned rough on us. Snow seemed to cover the north side of every hill we went over. Shielded from the sun’s rays, there were places where the trail was completely obscured by snow, while footsteps that plunged 6-12 inches deep into the cold, white contours.
The person who forged the path I was following must have gotten off track though, because it wasn’t terribly long before I ended up in a precarious position off trail.
I took a step inside the footsteps I was following and I felt my foot hitting the solid, frozen surface below. Then I took another step and the snow collapsed, plunging my leg into a deep bank of snow all the way down to my knee.
I tried to adjust my course and get back over to where I thought the trail might be located, but then more icy, snow collapsed under my feet. With each post-holing step through the snow, the frozen ice crystals sliced into the skin of my shins. Blood dibbled down my freezing cold legs, and then I took another major mistep and nearly fell down side of the slope headfirst!
Thankfully, Volt was a few minutes behind me and he hadn’t been following the tracks I’d chosen. As he rounded the bend, he was still on a more level path about six feet above me and was able to help me find my way back to solid ground.
We needed to figure out the best way down this slope together now because we were completely out of trail. We could see dry ground several hundred feet below us near a brown AZT marker. But the trail between here and there was non-existent. It was just snow.
Should we just posthole down through the snow on the most expedient line possible? Or should we attempt to follow the red line on our FarOut app (which led in a direction away from the AZT marker down below)? This seemed like one of those ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ scenarios.
Volt and I debated the merits and risks of each option. We knew going off-trail in conditions like these is a recipe for serious injury. You never know how deep the snow might be or what’s potentially hiding underneath it. You could step on something unexpected or even could break an ankle when the snow gave way under your weight.
But we could see where we needed to end up. The AZT marker was only about 200 yards away. Heading directly there down the steep slope seemed like a better option than trying to switchback down trail that was virtually impossible to find or navigate in these conditions. So we settled on taking the direct route. I’d go first, and Volt would follow. And hopefully it would all work out.
COLD, WET, AND RIVER CROSSINGS
By the time we got down to the AZT trail marker, all my bottom layers were wet and cold. Some of the snow had been crotch deep in places. My hiking pants, socks, shoes, and gloves were now soaking wet and freezing cold and it was only 10:40 am!
I used a dry area near some trees to add my rain pants as an additional layer for warmth. I swapped out my wet socks for my waterproof socks. And I donned my rain jacket. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was definitely warmer and drier than how I’d been.
Unfortunately, I still had about six wide river crossings to do over the next few hours. And these weren’t small creeks like the one we’d slept near last night where you could balance on some boulders or a fallen tree to get across the gap. No, these were the kind you had to ford.
And that’s how I discovered my waterproof socks are definitely not 100% waterproof. They were like a neoprene wetsuit. My skin was definitely still wet, just not quite as cold as it might have been while wearing regular fabric socks.
As I hiked between dry trail and more snowy trail, it seemed as if the clouds were pushing out. I got a little bit of blue sky overhead and even some sunshine, so I stopped near a river to eat a late lunch around 1:30 p.m.
I’d hoped this break was my chance to warm up and let my socks get some sunshine, but the wind had other ideas. It decimated whatever warmth I might have felt and forced me to pull out my puffy jacket to keep from shivering while sitting still.
After lunch, the trail held more of the same challenges. Then there was the icy, steep decent down to East Clear Creek. At the bottom I’d have to ford knee-deep freezing cold water, which meant stripping off my rain pants, pulling my hiking tights up above my knees, and fording through ice-cold water to get to the rock cairn marking the other side.
I was barely across the fast-moving river and getting dressed again when Volt showed up and had to do the same. As he reached the far side, we just looked at each other with a sense of exasperation. We both thought the Arizona Trail was supposed to be easy after the Mogollon Rim. Someone had definitely lied to us.
A STORM’S A COMING
Beyond the creek, we had a mile-long ascent that left me more winded than it should have, and then there was a new obstacle to contend with. Mud!!!
For the next four miles, the AZT was nothing but flooded trail and mud. The trail conditions vacillated between something that resembled canned pumpkin and peanut butter, and there was little chance to keep our feet dry in this mucky mess.
Every inch of the trail seemed to be moist. Everything beside the trail was flooded. A season’s worth of melting snow had turned the AZT into a hot mess. This was the downside of starting the trail early and being at the head of the pack. The sun and heat that would come in April hadn’t arrived yet, so we had to navigate the remnants of winter.
About a mile south of Blue Ridge Campground, I spotted the dark gray clouds rolling in from the west. They were coming in hard and fast and this didn’t look good. I could see pretty far into the distance here, so I toggled my phone out of airplane mode in hopes of checking the weather. Maybe the storm wasn’t an ominous as it looked.
When my phone pinged with a single bar of service, the news wasn’t good. We were definitely going to get snow tonight. Possibly even several inches of snow now! This new information sealed the deal for me. I wasn’t going to mess with the trying to find a good spot at the Blue Ridge Campground – especially if the campground was a flooded as the trail had been.
I would plan to walk the extra distance to the Ranger Station and hope to stay in their lobby. I’ve already tried to ride out one blizzard at high altitude in a tent, and it didn’t turn out well.
As I passed the campground, I spotted a dumpster. Nice! No need to carry it all my used food wrappers, dirty baby wipes, and other detritus to town. I could empty it all out here in the dumpster and lighten my load – even it it was only by a few ounces.
There were bear boxes at each of the campsites too. But no shade pavilions to protect me from the incoming snow storm. I guess I’d just keep walking. It was only another 1.5 miles up to Highway 87, and then I could begin the paved 0.8-mile walk to the Mogollon Rim Ranger Station.
Light rain was falling now, and the sky was darker than it had been all day. As I rolled up to the trailhead forest road leading to Highway 87, I spotted a trail register. I ran my finger up the register to see who else had come through ahead of us.
Lucky Larry was now two days ahead of us, and left a comment in the observation section of the trail register that read, “Mud is an asshole. – J.W. Powell” I’m pretty sure the famed 19th-century geologist wasn’t on record with that statement, but after today’s stretch of the AZT, I wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.
Leah (who was now using the trail name “Too Hot”) had come through here yesterday, and her comment in the trail register was: “What Larry said.” Clothesline and Taejen were just ahead of us, having passed through earlier today, and they must have been just as dismayed by the muddy trail too because one of them wrote: “Can I have the snow back?”
I chuckled to myself. At least I wasn’t the only one ready to pull my hair out by the muddy, wet conditions of the trail above the Mogollon Rim!
WINSLOW
Elliot was sitting on a giant boulder near the trailhead eating another one of his cans of beef stew or God-knows-what. He was lost in the screen of his phone when I approached and didn’t even look up until I was directly in front of him. I asked him if he planned to camp at the trailhead or head further up the trail, and he surprised me with his answer.
He was looking to get indoors and ride out the storm. But we were literally in the middle of nowhere. Highway 87 was the same one that ran through Payson and Pine, but the closest hotels were 45 miles away. Elliot mentioned a town called Winslow, Arizona too, but it was in the opposite direction and it was 50 miles away.
I hadn’t even heard of Winslow as a potential trail town because it sat so far away from the AZT. But Elliot could see there were hotels there, because it was where Highway 87 and I-40 met.
It didn’t matter whether Elliot wanted to go to Payson or Winslow though, because neither one was happening. No one was around. The campground was closed for the season. There weren’t any cars racing up and down this stretch of Highway 87. It was dead!
Volt joined us about that time and I shared my plan to head to the ranger station to ride out the storm. I had no idea if the lobby or vestibule was really open, but there was a good chance. And even if it wasn’t heated, it would block the wind and freezing rain and snow that was imminent. Volt agreed that sounded like a good idea, so the three of us started walking down Highway 87.
A few minutes into our roadwalk along the highway, a lone pickup truck pulling a horse trailer passed us heading in the opposite direction. Then a sporty Mercedes passed going in the same direction as us. Elliot threw out his thumb in a half-hearted attempt to get a ride, but both vehicles kept driving.
But then we all watched as the Mercedes’s brake lights came on and it slowed to a stop about a quarter mile ahead of us. The driver just sat there. He didn’t pull off to the side of the road. He just sat there in the highway with the car running, but too far away to give us hope. It was just teasingly close so we could see him, but know it wasn’t stopping to give us a ride.
We continued walking, closing the gap between us and the idling car, and I wondered if the driver was having car trouble. But wouldn’t he have pulled onto the road shoulder if that was the case?
Once we were within 300 yards of the small luxury car, the driver put the car into reverse and started backing up toward us, then he stopped again. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. What was happening here? Was this driver going to shoot us all and leave us for dead on the side of a desolate Arizona highway? I didn’t like this situation one bit.
I slowed my pace and hung back as Elliot approached the car on the passenger side. I could see the driver was a woman through the rear window, and I heard her was asking Elliot where we were heading. “It was almost dark. Why were we walking on the side of the road?” She wanted to know.
Eliot set out to explain that we were hiking the Arizona Trail, then he gestured back toward where we’d come from as if to bolster his claim. There was a storm coming, so we were trying to get to Winslow to get a hotel room. Could she help us out?
The woman told him she lived less than 10 minutes from here, so there was no way she could drive us to Winslow. That was an extra 45 miles out of her way (or 90 miles round trip). But she told us to hop in, and she’s take us to the ranger station.
We crammed in the tiny car, trying not to smash her two bag of groceries and thanked the woman for helping us out. She immediately replied in a rough German accent that it would be better if she took us to the Blue Ridge fire station about 5 miles further up the road. Surely they would let us ride out the storm inside the fire station and it would be warm. Eliot, Volt, and I looked at each other and shrugged. If she wanted to take us to the fire station, I guess that was fine with us.
We were almost to the fire station when she made an unexpected call on the her cell phone to inform her husband that she would be late coming home. She’d changed her mind. She was driving to Winslow to help out some hikers. And that’s how we ended up telling her all about the Arizona Trail as she drove us an hour out of her way to the town of Winslow!!
Highlights
- We finally made it above the Mogollon Rim! I’d been dreading the ascent up this steep escarpment, but it was honestly much easier than I’d imagined.
- The General Spring Cabin was an interesting historical addition to the trail, and it’s also part of a 27-mile loop trail linking Pinchot Cabin and the Buck Spring Fire Guard Station.
- Getting hitch into Winslow to avoid snow was another bit of unexpected trail magic. I think we should continue hiking with Elliot. He seems to be good luck.
Challenges
- Postholing in the deep snow, nearly falling off trail, and fording several cold rivers were definitely lowlights of my day. I thought the AZT was supposed be easy once we got north of the Mogollon Rim!
- Mud, mud, more mud! Ugh!
- Although I’m glad to be spending the night indoors and out of the elements, I’m worried this incoming storm may hinder my 6-week AZT timeline, especially if the snow makes the trail conditions worse.