April 4, 2022
- Start: Flagstaff (Urban Trail – 10.5 miles before rejoining the AZT)
- End: Stealth spot near Bismarck Lake (AZT Mile 597.2)
- Distance: 22.9 miles
All three of us were up by 6 am this morning, itching to get an early start after our zero day in Flagstaff. We packed quickly and then quietly strolled out of the hotel where we’d said our goodbyes as we parted ways. After spending roughly the last 120 miles together our little trio was splitting up, possible for good.
There were no hard feelings behind this dissolution. We just had different goals. Elliot had a friend here in Flagstaff he wanted to see this evening, so he was going to linger locally with a creative itinerary for the miles ahead.
Elliot’s plan was to take an Uber to the Arizona Snowbowl – the ski resort on the slopes on Humphreys Peak and then hike up to the summit of the mountain. Then he planned to return to Flagstaff (and return the snow shoes he rented from REI for this little detour) before returning to his journey north tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Volt and I were planning to get back on the AZT via Flagstaff’s urban trail this morning so we could begin our next leg of the thru-hike toward Tusayan and the Grand Canyon.
Most AZT thru-hikers are familiar with the urban route, since very few of us actually take the alternate route around Flagstaff. Not only is the urban route about 10 miles shorter than the alternate that curves all the around the east end of town, but almost every hiker clamors to spend at least a day enjoying this outdoor-friendly town.
THANKS, DALE!
When Volt and I set off together following the Arizona Trail signs up Ponderosa Parkway, I’d expected the urban trail to be a paved bike/walking path like you might see any any town. But it wasn’t like that for long. After about a mile and a half, we were right back on single track trail that was no different than the rest of the AZT.
The urban trail took just north of town and through Buffalo Park where a tribute to Dale Shewalter sits. Dale is the USMC veteran and schoolteacher who developed the initial concept for this 800-mile trail across this home state. He died of cancer back in 2010 at the young age of 59, just months after Congress designated the AZT as a National Scenic Trail, but he’s still fondly remembered here and everywhere along the trail as the “father of the Arizona Trail.”
Over the new few hours, we passed a few people out walking with their dogs, two trail runners, and a handful of mountain bikers. But otherwise, it was just a typical weekday morning out on the trail. Nice and quiet with views of the ever-present Humphreys Peak looming to our north.
Volt and I weren’t hiking particularly close to each other at this point, though we’d vowed to stick together once we got to the snow that inevitably lay ahead. The weather reports we’d seen during our zero yesterday confirmed that the Arizona Snowbowl received 14 inches of fresh snow during last week’s storm, and that new snowfall was in addition to an already good snow year. Thus, we had a 100% chance of encountering snowy conditions before the day was out.
THE SNOW
By mid-morning, I’d ascended a few hundred feet in elevation and was regularly trodding over sections of trail covered with melting ice and snow. None of it was particularly deep yet, but I found myself paying attention so I didn’t lose my footing or slip.
Volt was still lagging behind me, but we were moving quick enough through the early miles that I was growing optimistic about us getting to the Alfa Fia Tank day by mid-afternoon. This earthen water tank sitting on the western slopes of Humpreys Peak would be our main water source for the day. After that, the trail was expected to become much, much drier on the way north to the Grand Canyon.
After 10.5 miles, the urban trail finally reconnected with the AZT bypass that went around Flagstaff. Neither path seemed to be marked as the “official” trail, even though FarOut showed the equestrian bypass (and less-used trail) as the red line on its navigation app.
And just beyond the sign, the snow receded leaving me with smooth trail covered with pine needle duff. The sun was shining brightly overheard, but it the elevation let the air feeling brisk, while glimpses of Humpreys Peak’s snow-covered summit sporadically appeared up ahead been the narrow tree trunks of pine trees.
I climbed higher and higher toward my 9,000-foot elevation goal for the day, crossing over Shultz Pass Road before weaving through bare patches of the mountain where fire-damaged trees had been cut down. Tree stumps dotted the hillsides while the detritus left behind sat in giant piles that resembled haystacks.
About an hour after my lunch break, as these dry conditions quickly disappeared and the snow returned. I knew this obstacle was coming. But didn’t know how much it would impact my progress yet.
The snow was only ankle deep at first, and I was able to trudge through it easily. But then the trail disappeared and I was post-holing again up to my knees. It was physically exhausting. And slow. And it took me close to 40 minutes to hike one mile before the deep snow slowly abated again.
MUD, SNOW & COLD
I reached a junction with the Aspen Corner Connector Trail. Turning right would take me uphill through more knee-deep snow toward the SnowBowl. But I turned left, and heading downhill toward the small snow-fed pond better known as the Alfa Fia tank.
The tank was at a lower elevation than the AZT, so I was able to make hike along the edge of the the snow line for the final 200 yards down to the muddy tank. But when I arrived, I could see a dozen or so ducks floating on the water (and presumably pooping in it). Ugh. This sight immediately reminded me of getting water from Spooner Lake during my thru-hike of the Tahoe Rim Trail in 2020. It had been some of the worst tasting water ever!
I grabbed several liters of freezing cold “duck poop water” to filter, and looked for somewhere dry to sit, but I soon realized it was a losing proposition. Everything around the tank was completely saturated by melting snow and the ground was just juicy. Each footstep was met with a pool of muddy water that oozed around my shoe as I place the weight of my food down onto the wet ground.
But I had to filter water here. The next reliable source was another 20 miles ahead. So I stood and filtered my water with freezing cold hands while the sun disappeared behind the clouds and the temperature seemed to drop another 10 degrees in mere minutes.
As much as I wanted to keep hikng to stay warm, I knew I wasn’t going any further in the snow without a companion. I was at 8,800 feet elevation and there was a ton of snow on trail. I needed to wait here at the tank for Volt so we could we rejoin forces. We’d agreed we weren’t going to try to hike the rest of this mountain alone, just to be safe.
FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
After Volt arrived at the Alfa Fia tank and got his own supply of stinky duck water, I suggested that we follow the edge of the snow line as we continued north. The trail was supposed to stay up around 8,000 feet for the next eight miles, and it seemed easier to walk cross-country in the muddy, uneven ground for as long as possible. We could see where we needed to go and we would undoubtedly make faster time if we weren’t trudging through snow the entire way.
Unfortunately, our intent to stay below the snow field lasted barely a half mile before we intersected with the AZT again though. The trail dropped down to our elevation and it was temporarily dry, but it didn’t last for long. Soon it was just snow everywhere as we passed through a grove of leafless white aspens. We weren’t going to avoid the snow, it seemed.
The aspens eventually disappeared and we returned back to the pine trees, with snow that reached our ankles and occasionally even deeper. But then everything went sideways.
This was the inopportune moment (and location) when my stomach began cramping like someone was stabbing me in the abdomen. Something I ate during our zero day in Flagstaff was getting its revenge. Or maybe it was the breakfast burritos Volt and I ate this morning on our way out of town. Whatever the case, I needed to find somewhere semi-concealed to stop ASAP!
As soon as the pain struck, I urgently told Volt to walk ahead – using the euphemism of needing to “dig a cathole” to signal what was about to happen. But there was no time for niceties. I barely had my pack off near a tree and my pants down in time for nature to come screaming out of me. I’d have to dig my cathole after it was all over. There just wasn’t time. And poor Volt barely had time to scramble ahead.
With my dignity in shambles, I rejoined Volt a few minutes later and then we continued trudging through the cold snow, cursing at the conditions. This was just a ridiculous task and the ice was cutting up my legs each time the snow collapsed under my weight and forced me to post-hole my way forward.
After the first hour of this nonsense, my hiking pants were soaking wet and cold as they clung to my damp skin. My feet felt like frozen blocks of ice inside my shoes. Every 10 or 15 minutes, Volt and would I swap positions to take turns breaking the trail, but it was still miserable. We started referring to our endless post-holing as being “dick deep in snow.”
During one of my turns in the lead, I stopped to search for the faint tracks through the white field the stretched endlessly ahead of me. Then I took two or three steps forward, only to have the snow suddenly collapse again. I just want to scream at the absurdity of it all, and this time the snow was so deep that I couldn’t even move.
I struggled to move forward or backward, but the snow was up literally up to my waist. I couldn’t even lift either of my legs up because the snow seems to have collapsed in around them. It was like being in icy quicksand. I immediately cried out for help, and Volt had to come dig me out of the snow with his hands and trekking poles to get me loose enough to free myself!
JUST FIND A SPOT
This utter nonsense is why we were hiking in tandem today. But after Volt dug me out from our most recent debacle, the two of us just stared at each other — silently communicating our building frustration. We both knew we were completely over this godforsaken day. It was nearing on 6 pm, and it just took us two full hours to hike a mere three miles from the Alfa Fia tank.
We weren’t having fun, and our forward progress in this deep snow was going to negligible if we kept going any longer. We just needed to find somewhere to set up our tents and call it quits.
We trudged through the snow for another quarter mile until we spotted a small area under some pine trees where the boughs must have acted like an umbrella for the ground. We could see pine needle duff on the ground. And while it wasn’t a very large spot, it was mostly dry from mud. It would have to do.
No matter where we selected to sleep, I was 100% certain our icy shoes and socks would freeze overnight. It was supposed to drop down to 22°F in Flagstaff tonight, and we were several thousand feet higher, which meant it would be at least 10 degrees colder for us.
After setting up our tents, we cooked our respective dinners, but neither Volt nor I was in the mood to talk. This afternoon just sucked all the energy out us. Maybe tomorrow would be easier. Once we got back down to a lower elevation, I’m sure we’ll be laughing about this misery. But right now, it was just a bit much.
Highlights
- The views of Humphreys Peak from Flagstaff were just breathtaking this morning under the clear blue sky.
- I made really good progress today until the Alfa Fia tank, and was able to hike nearly 19 miles before 4 pm. Hopefully, I have more strong days like that ahead.
- Thank goodness I had Volt nearby to dig me out of the snow when I plunged waist deep and got myself stuck. It was proof that a hiking partner can be a positive thing.
Challenges
- The amount of snow on the slopes of Humphreys Peak was absurd. I wish I had snow shoes like the ones Elliot rented.
- Having an upset stomach and diarrhea when you have nowhere to hide (and no time to dig a cathole) is the worst.
- Camping at altitude with all this snow around is going to be cold, cold cold!