Thursday – 4/13/2023
- Start: Chase Creek
- End: Hilltop west of Dick Williams Creek
- Distance: 21 miles
I definitely didn’t drink enough water on my first day on this trail, and I paid the price. I was so dehydrated that I woke up near midnight feeling parched and scrambling for my water bottle. And then again at 1:30 am… and 3:20 am… and 4:40 am. It was such a rookie mistake, and I just wanted to kick myself.
When I eventually scrambled out of my tent to go filter more water at 6 am, a severe headache throbbed across my forehead. I suspected it wasn’t just the dehydration causing the pain, though. The higher the altitude was probably a secondary culprit, and I hoped I could beat the symptoms by guzzling a liter of water mixed with Emergen-C and Crystal Light before breakfast.
None of my lingering concerns about my water filter seemed to have materialized overnight. The mildewy taste was nearly gone, and I didn’t have any stomach pain or diarrhea this morning, which seemed like a good sign. I was keeping my fingers crossed that flushing my filter with all that extra water yesterday sufficiently remedied the problem. I was going to just drive on today without getting off the trail to replace it.
A COOL MORNING
I was back on the Highline Trail by 7 am, trying to get an earlier start on the miles. If I hiked well today, I hoped to make it to the Hatchery Trailhead. That would mean a 20-mile day—assuming there weren’t any reroutes adding extra mileage.
Twenty miles seemed awfully ambitious for me under the conditions, though. Today was only my second day of hiking in the entire 2023 season, and this part of Arizona sat around 6,500 feet, which was more than a mile higher than I was used to. Plus, my injured big toe was still plaguing me. All told, 20 miles probably wasn’t in the cards, but I figured the best way to maximize my chances was to start early and see how far I could go.
The first few hours of the morning were chilly – barely in the mid-40s, and the air felt crisp. Yesterday afternoon’s wind brought a cold front, and the forecast said I should expect overnight lows in the 30s and 40s for the rest of my trip. But the daytime temperatures were still expected to hover in the upper 60s. All told, not bad hiking weather, as long as it stayed dry!
As I hiked through the pine trees, I thought about my first milestone of the day: the Washington Park Trailhead. This was where the Arizona Trail and Highline Trail diverged. The AZT went north, climbing 2 miles to the top of the Mogollon Rim before continuing across the 7,000+ foot Colorado Plateau. Meanwhile, the Highline Trail continued east, paralleling the rocky escarpment for another 40 miles toward the 260 trailhead, where I had cached food for the second half of my trip.
I was just cruising along, thinking about what lay ahead, when the trail crested a hill and then suddenly seemed to disappear. I backtracked about 50 yards to see if I missed a turn, but a trail marker confirmed I was on course. The trail definitely dropped down to the dirt road just ahead of me, but from there, it wasn’t readily apparent where the trail picked up again on the opposite side.
I scanned up and down the road for a trail marker or sign, but I was momentarily stumped. Directly ahead of me—where I’d expected to see the trail—the land was completely flooded, with water running over it like a creek gone wild. To my left, the dirt road went uphill, and there was a sign nailed to a tree that read, “Private Property. No Trespassing.” To my right, the dirt road seemed to meander downhill away from where I wanted to go. None of the options was good.
By process of elimination, I opted to turn right and head down the dirt road since it held the best chance of: (a) keeping my feet dry; and (b) not getting shot at by someone who didn’t like hikers. My gamble paid off too, and about 150 yards down the road, I caught sight of a metal AZT sign below a tree. I was back in business, and I didn’t even need to pull out my phone to check the map.
WASHINGTON PARK
As I continued hiking toward Washington Park, I could hear a helicopter overhead. The noise seemed to come from somewhere to the north, but I was close enough to the Mogollon Rim that the craggy cliff above me obscured half the sky. The helicopter’s distinct rotor noise got louder and louder, but I still couldn’t see it approaching until it was almost directly overhead.
When I finally caught sight of the small chopper, I noticed it had a load of supplies slung underneath it, and the bundle swung ever so slightly in the air like a pendulum. I tried my best to take a photo as it traveled south toward Payson, but I was looking directly into the sun and was unable to clearly capture the spectacle in the air.
Soon after, I hopped across a creek and emerged from the forest to find myself standing directly in front of a horse eating hay in one of the two metal horse stalls.
This must be the Washington Park Trailhead, I reasoned, and I immediately scanned the surroundings for a pit toilet. I’d been ‘holding it’ all morning with hopes of sitting on a real toilet seat, but I was out of luck here. I guess the pit toilets were only at the eastern and western termini, and not at the smaller trailheads along the route. Time to find somewhere to dig a cathole instead.
After I finished my business, I walked back to the creek to filter more water and met up with the horse’s owner. She had a thick German accent and seemed to be camping at the trailhead in her truck camper, with a small horse trailer hitched to the truck’s rear.
We got to talking for a bit, and she told me she’d been staying at Washington Park for a few days and using the trailhead as a basecamp so she could ride the trails radiating out from here – the Highline, the Arizona Trail, and the Colonel Devlin Trail, and so on.
I asked if she’d gone above the Mogollon Rim yet, and she immediately launched into a story. She went north on the Arizona Trail yesterday, and when she crested the rim, the snow reached the horse’s belly. Knowing it would be a disaster if the horse injured itself, she immediately turned back and rode one of the trails below instead.
As I listened to this report on the snow conditions, I hoped Tom (the AZT hiker I met yesterday) would use equally good judgment when he crested the rim the next day or two. It didn’t sound fun.
THE SPLIT
I said my goodbyes to my new acquaintance, then continued down the trail toward the bridge across the East Verde River, where I spied another trail register. As I stopped to sign my name, I was wholly surprised to read some of the comments left by hikers ahead of me just a few days earlier. Three AZT hikers mocked the high snow ahead and vowed it wouldn’t stop them.
I shook my head at the hubris as I read their snarky comments. Mother Nature didn’t care how tough they were. Nor did she care that they had a timeline to finish the trail. I hoped they’d wise up and make some good choices up there. Nobody should ever recklessly gamble their safety for the sake of a thru-hike.
I continued on toward the East Verde River, reminiscing about the last time I’d been here – just a year earlier. This was where Volt and I had stopped for our second breakfast before tackling the two-mile uphill climb to the rim. I’d been so certain it would be grueling, and I’d built it up in my mind as a monstrous challenge. But it was just like any other climb on the Arizona Trail.
As I walked over the bridge toward where the trail splits, the river seemed less impressive to my eyes today. Perhaps I was simply numb to the abundance of water after seeing all sorts of creeks flowing these past 20 miles. This year, the East Verde River looked like Webber Creek (yesterday’s major water crossing), with the only notable difference being a bridge across, so I didn’t have to ford the cold water this morning.
Once on the opposing bank of the river, I was ready to break new ground. I left the Arizona Trail behind and continued east into the bright sun below the escarpment’s outline. I was now hiking on just the Highline Trail and excited to see what adventures and scenery would unfold from here on out.
At first, the Highline Trail seemed as well-defined as the AZT had been. Perhaps all my worrying about the route was all for nothing. I’d read a few comments online during my prep back home that the middle of this trail was harder to follow, but it didn’t seem that bad at all.
The vegetation lining the trail added to my chipper mood. Near the ground were giant tufts of some kind of grass that looked like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. The mounds were about 18 inches high and had long strands hanging down like tiny haystacks. It was just the funniest sight, even though I had no idea what the grass or plant was really called.
DUDE CREEK
For the next five miles, the Highline wound through the landscape toward the western boundary of ponderosa forest damaged by the Dude Fire. Back in 1990. That’s when a massive wildfire from a lightning strike near Dude Creek burned 25,000 acres of land, destroying 60 homes and killing 6 people.
And while that might seem like a long time ago, disaster struck once again in June 2017. Another wildfire brought firefighters back to the same area to deal with the Highline Fire as it burned right across the Dude Fire’s scar.
The equestrian I’d talked to at the Washington Park this morning told me there would be a fence marking the burn area. But she didn’t have much information about the trail’s condition beyond that boundary. She hadn’t ventured into the burn. But I had no doubt that the middle of the day would be exposed and dry as I walked across this terrain.
As I kept hiking east, I started to feel the benefits of forcing myself to drink tons of water all morning. This morning’s throbbing headache was nearly gone, and I kept gulping water every 20 minutes to make sure it didn’t come back.
Unfortunately, this forced hydration I’d been drinking had a downside. I was having to stop and pee off trail over and over again. Plus, I was depleting my water faster than normal. I was down more than a liter in the miles since Washington Park, and knew I’d need to stop soon to fill up again before entering the burn area.
I found the perfect spot to grab some more water at Dude Creek. It was flowing fast and deep, but I didn’t have to ford it today, thanks to a log that someone had dropped across the gap.
Just beyond my crossing point, the trail rose above the creek where I could see what looked like natural water slides. Water several inches deep poured over long, smooth rock slabs that sloped downward – eventually dumping into round pools before continuing on. On a warmer day, I might even be tempted to try it out! But today I was trying to make 20 miles, so I turned east and kept on walking.
THREE SISTERS
I was barely half an hour past Dude Creek when I approached the series of switchbacks leading to the edge of the burn area. Up ahead, I saw something else moving on the trail. First, one hiker. Then another. Then a third. They seemed to be moving like a slow conga line up the slope.
A smile broke across my face. Maybe one of those hikers dropped the sock I’d been carrying for the last 24 hours. If so, I’d have the chance to be a momentary hero who rescued a lost piece of precious clothing. So I picked up my pace, hoping to catch them before the top of the climb.
When I came within a single switchback below them, I called out to say hello, and we all stopped to talk. The trio were sisters – named Maureen, Francine, and Cathy – out for a multi-day backpacking trip.
Before I could ask any of my own questions, Maureen asked if I was hiking the Arizona Trail. That seemed like an unusual question, given that we were nearly five miles east of the AZT now. But maybe she thought I was one of the thru-hikers out enjoying an alternate trail while I waited out the snow.
I told her I was hiking the Highline Trail this year, and then she looked me in the eye and asked, “Where does the Highline go?”
The question genuinely surprised me, since we were all standing on the Highline Trail with no other trails around (that I knew of) within miles. Nevertheless, I patiently explained that it ran east-west, paralleling the Mogollon Rim between the Pine and the 260 Trailheads. Then I asked what trails they were hiking out here.
Maureen told me they initially had a permit to hike a circuit near the Grand Canyon’s North Rim. However, they had to scrap their plan because the Arizona Department of Transportation wasn’t opening the road to the North Rim until June 2nd this year because of the heavy snow. So the sisters switched plans and drove out to Washington Park this morning to hike a passage on the Arizona Trail instead.
Ah man… I hated to break the bad news, but someone needed to tell them they weren’t on the Arizona Trail. So in the kindest way possible, I explained that they missed their turn when they crossed the bridge over the East Verde River. The Arizona Trail overlapped with the Highline Trail for about 20 miles, but that section was behind us now. They were just on the Highline now.
Instead of getting upset about the bomb I’d just dropped, they were actually grateful! They thanked me profusely and said they were glad they ran into me this morning before they ended up completely lost. They were going to double back to Washington Park and figure out their next move from there. With that, I wished them luck, then headed east toward the barbed wire fence on the outer edge of the most recent burn area.
MY OWN WRONG TURN
I made my way through the first miles of the burn area, noting that the trail was in far better condition than I expected. It followed a well-defined but often rocky path between manzanita bushes, their white and pink bell-shaped flowers still in bloom. Meanwhile, Myrtle Point jutted out in the distance, distinguishing itself from the rest of the rocky escarpment and beckoning me further east.
My left toe was still tender from stubbing it yesterday, and I somehow managed to graze several more rocks on this stretch of trail. Then I must have shifted my gait in response because it wasn’t long before I felt hotspots and blisters suddenly developing on several of my toes. Man, this trail was not an easy one on the feet, that’s for sure!
When I got to Bonita Creek, the trail unexpectedly forked. And for some odd reason, the white diamond trail marker was nailed to a pine tree exactly between the two diverging paths. It was extremely unhelpful, especially since there was no arrow or any other marker indicating which path was correct. Should I go uphill or stay on the flat trail?
I took an educated guess and picked the lower option, as that trail looked much more worn and defined, and it seemed to continue straight ahead instead of breaking away. So I continued about 100 feet further before dropping my pack and heading to the creek for more water. I was famished, and this was as good a spot as any to break for lunch, filter more water, and tend to my feet.
When I looked back toward the trail junction from the reverse vantage point of my lunch spot, I saw another white diamond nailed to a nearby tree just above me. Whew! This sign seemed to confirm I’d picked the right trail, so I didn’t even bother pulling out my phone to double-check during my break.
Of course, within 10 minutes of resuming my hike after lunch, I began to seriously doubt that I’d chosen the right trail. I hadn’t seen any more markers – though this wasn’t particularly unusual in and of itself on the Highline Trail.
Five minutes later, my doubts increased even more. The trail grew fainter and fainter, and it still seemed to follow the banks of Bonita Creek, with thick berry brambles running along it. Paralleling the water meant only one thing. This trail couldn’t be right. The creeks out here mostly ran downhill (south) and away from the Mogollon Rim. I should be hiking parallel to the rim and perpendicular to the creeks, not beside them.
Realizing I was wasting time, I eventually broke down and pulled out my GPS app to see where I was relative to the trail. Dammit! I was definitely off-trail. I should have taken the uphill trail at the fork. The Highline Trail was now about 1/3 of a mile to my north and about 200 feet higher in elevation!
Instead of retracing my steps, I scanned my surroundings for a quicker option. The brush above me was mostly manzanita, and daylight poured through gaps wide enough for game to squeeze through. If I just went uphill and headed on a north azimuth, I should eventually intersect with the trail. That route had to be shorter and faster than backtracking, I reasoned.
And so that’s what I did. It probably only saved me five minutes, since I was bushwhacking uphill without a trail instead of following a defined path. But I eventually got back on the Highline again, cursing the whole way about the two stupid trail markers near my lunch spot that seemed deliberately misleading. Who the heck marked this trail??
ZANE GREY
Once back on track, the trail became much harder to follow. It was rockier and more rugged. Chunks of vermillion-colored rock the size of oranges and grapefruits dotted the trail, and I tried my best to avoid accidentally kicking them. This was almost impossible, though. It felt more like I was walking in a shallow ravine than a true trail.
A short while later, I passed Perley Creek, and then I spotted a sand-colored structure off to my left, silhouetted against the rocks. It looked a bit like a hunting blind with a dozen struts radiating outward to support some sort of wide collar atop it, and it was surrounded by a perimeter of barbed wire fence
This unusual sight might have stumped me if I hadn’t already hiked in Arizona last year, where I’d seen something very similar just north of the Gila River. It was a rainwater collector placed here to capture snow and summer monsoon rains for the local wildlife roaming the arid landscape.
I continued walking past the site, and then the trail dropped down to cross a wide dirt road. It felt tremendously good on the soles of my feet after all the miserable rocks after lunch. I swiveled my head around in that unconscious way you do to look for traffic before crossing a road, and that’s when I spotted a yellow Jeep Wrangler parked off by itself.
The vehicle’s presence out here surprised me. I hadn’t really expected to see anything when I glanced left and right. And this spot seemed like a truly odd place for someone to park. It wasn’t a real trailhead, just an unmarked dirt road in the middle of nowhere.
The owner didn’t seem to be around, at least as far as I could see. With nobody to talk to, I kept hiking east, dismayed that the damn rocks were back and seemed to have multiplied. Manzanita and juniper bushes now lined a four- to six-foot-wide corridor of trail, though. So even if the trail’s tread was crap, the path was substantially easier to follow here.
As I tried to avoid tripping over rocks, a flicker of motion caught my attention. A small bit of orange ribbon hung from a branch beside the trail, and the gusty wind made it flap and snap. It was the same kind of tape trail maintainers use to mark places that need repair. But this tape was more festive, with black polka dots on the orange background
About 75 yards further up, another piece of orange tape was tied to a branch on the opposite side of the path. And then, another 100 yards beyond that one, there was another one.
Oh, I knew what this was! It had to be some of the markings for the upcoming Zane Grey 100k endurance race, which would use the Highline Trail for its route later this month. These high-visibility markers were here to make sure the runners stayed on course and didn’t get lost.
Maybe the yellow Jeep I spotted earlier belonged to a race organizer who was out here marking the route ahead of the event! That would make sense for why someone parked so far from a trailhead to access this trail.
HELLS GATE
As it turned out, those race markings proved incredibly helpful during the next few miles of my route. As I got closer to Hells Gate Canyon, the trail seemed so faint it virtually disappeared. The corridor of brush was gone and so was the trail, or so it seemed. Yet I could see orange ribbon flapping on trees here and there, so I blindly followed it.
I was entering the stretch known as Hells Gate Canyon, and let me tell you, the name bestowed on this section of the trail was spot on. The next mile of trail dropped sharply to Hells Gate Creek, then climbed back up the insanely steep, rocky slope with no real indication of where to go.
Game trails crisscrossed, and none of them seemed like the actual Highline or a real trail. I just followed the orange race tape wherever it led and saved my mental energy as I wondered how on earth people figured out this section of invisible trail without the race markings to guide them. Without them, I honestly would have needed to have my GPS out the entire time to navigate like I was hiking on a trail completely obscured by snow.
Eventually, I made it back up to the opposite side of Hells Gate Canyon and nearly stumbled into two day hikers from Manitoba named Mark & Bonnie. We stopped to talk for about 5-10 minutes, and it turned out they owned the yellow Jeep Wrangler I’d spotted a few miles earlier (not a person marking the race route).
They were snowbirds who’d spent the past 20+ winters in sunny Arizona, and now they were section-hiking the Highline Trail in small chunks. They were essentially doing out-and-back hikes from any place they could access the trail by vehicle.
This explained why their Jeep wasn’t parked at an official trailhead. They were trying to find any way they could to break up the long 19-mile stretch between Washington Park and the Hatchery Trailhead.
KICKING ROCKS
After parting ways with Mark and Bonnie, I kept going along the crazy rock trail and knocked my injured big toe on another baseball-sized rock. Waves of pain shot through my toe and foot, and tears welled up in the corners of my eyes yet again.
Why did I keep stubbing this injured toe? It’s not as if I was suddenly wearing giant clown shoes that were so long that I couldn’t see where I was putting my feet. I was wearing the exact same model of trail shoe I wore for my entire 522-mile hike through Spain last autumn. Was I just becoming lazy and not lifting my feet enough??
Not five minutes further up the trail, I almost had another mishap. But this time, instead of kicking a rock, I nearly stepped on a horned toad in the middle of the trail. The reptile just froze as my foot came its way and didn’t scatter as a normal lizard with self-preservation instincts would. But at least it wasn’t a rattlesnake!
And then, just like yesterday, the clouds rolled in around 3 pm and the blue skies simply disappeared. Everything took on a colder, grayer look, and it started to feel so much cooler out than the 55 degrees that the forecast said it would be today.
For a while, the trail wove through more Dr. Seuss grass and past some private land. Then I passed a small spring where a group of elk was gathered. I must have startled them as I approached because the next thing I knew, I saw their sand-colored rumps racing up the hillside away from me, and their hooves sounded like thunder.
As I climbed the next hill, following the elk’s path up the rocky trail, I felt as if I was moving so slowly today. Normally I have no problem hiking between 2.5 and 3 mph even on moderately steep terrain. But with my foot pain, the elevation, and the trip through Hells Gate Canyon, my pace felt ridiculously slow, and it took me four hours to cover a mere eight miles of trail since I stopped for lunch.
Two more elk darted across the trail a few minutes later, but once again, I was way too slow to get my phone out to take photos. It was all just hoof beats and tan rumps. On the bright side, the trail suddenly got smoother and easier about a mile later. And what a difference that made on my feet and my morale.
FISH HATCHERY
Around 5:40 pm, I crossed a creek running over smooth vermilion rocks, creating a lovely waterfall just off the trail. In my mind, this looked like the perfect area to camp, but I was still more than a mile west of the Hatchery Trailhead and the fish hatchery that had been today’s initial goal. I’d come this far, and I really, really wanted to make it there tonight.
Unfortunately, I was losing daylight. I knew from yesterday’s hike that I had less than an hour left before the sun would be nearly down. So I picked up the pace and kept hiking.
I finally reached the trailhead just after 6 pm, only to find the raging Tonto Creek and signs warning that camping was prohibited. Sigh. I guess I’d have to cross to the opposite side and find somewhere to camp within the next mile (where nobody would come looking for me).
I almost managed to keep my feet dry as I carefully used the boulders to cross the swollen creek, but my right foot slipped off the last rock before the opposite bank, and my shoe plunged into the cold water.
Wasn’t that just my luck today? Instead of celebrating 20 miles, I’m fuming over getting my feet wet at the last creek crossing. So I grabbed some water and hiked another half mile up the hilltop on the trail between Tonto Creek and Dick Williams Creek.
I found a fire ring marking an established campsite and dropped my gear to set up my tent as quickly as possible before darkness descended. Today had been a really hard day. My feet ached from the rocks. I was mentally gassed. But I’d made it. I finally made it!
Highlights
- As with yesterday, the Mogollon was the the star of the show, and I saw a lot more snow clinging to upper reaches of the escarpment too.
- The wildlife on trail was quite diverse, with the large elk running away from me to the horned toads that refuse to move when I approached.
- I didn’t expect to see so many people on trail today and everyone was so nice – from the German lady with her horse, and the three sisters who took wrong turn, to the section-hiking snowbirds from Manitoba!
Challenges
- My wrong turn near Bonita Creek was a frustrating detour, but the thing that made it worse is that I was actually following the Highland’s white diamond markers! Thank goodness for GPS route as a backup!
- Why do I keep kicking rocks with my injured big toe? There’s no doubt I’m going to lose this toenail for the 2023 hiking season.
- Hiking a 20+ mile day on this stretch of the Highline Trail was so much harder than I anticipated. The elevation. The rocky tread. The disappearing trail and steep drop down into Hells Creek Canyon. The combined lot was quite the challenge.
