Friday – 4/14/2023
- Start: Hilltop west of Dick Williams Creek
- End: 260 Trailhead
- Distance: ~17 miles
Sadly, I slept like absolute crap last night – even though my campsite was just about as good as it gets. I was perched up on a flat hill east of the Hatchery Trailhead between two creeks. Plenty of trees and bushes blocked the wind. And it didn’t even get that cold overnight. Yet, I just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.
It was nearly 11 pm when I finally dropped off, but I found myself wide awake again at 1:25 am, and I stayed that way until 4 am. I suspect my sleeplessness was partially due to my injured big toe. It still hurt fantastically bad, even with my shoes off. And it would start throbbing anew every time it grazed the bottom of my quilt as I turned to make myself comfortable.
As I lay awake, I started catastrophizing about what my injury meant for the remainder of my hike. I was less than 20 miles from the Highline Trail’s eastern terminus. I would undoubtedly finish a thru-hike of this trail, but there was absolutely NO way I would be doing the yo-yo hike I’d contemplated just a few days ago.
In fact, the idea of hiking a yo-yo made me cringe. If this toe got infected out here, it could ruin all my summer plans. My attempt to summit Mt. Rainier in late June would be in the toilet. And so would my plan to hike the Oregon section of the PCT.
I was only heading into the third day of the 6-day adventure I’d planned. And I had no idea what I would do when I got to the end of the trail. If I cut the hike short at the trailhead, could I get a hitch back to Payson? And what would I do once I made it back to town? Hang out in a hotel?? That was a lame idea, and the uncertainty had my mind working overtime.
WILDLIFE
Another anxious thought keeping me from falling back to sleep had to do with the wildlife out here. I’d seen a sign at the Hatchery Trailhead yesterday evening saying this was bear country and recommending that people hang their food.
I didn’t bring a bear bag on this trip. I just had my food stored in an OPSAK (a type of odor-proof sack). Would that barrier be enough to mask my food’s scent? Were bears lurking nearby? Did they smell my beans-and-rice dinner lingering in the air like an invisible roadmap to the rest of my food?
Between my angst about the end of the trail and my animal concerns, my mind just couldn’t relax enough to drift off quickly. But it must have eventually happened because I woke up for good around 5:30 am with a bunch of birds squawking loudly at each other from somewhere close by.
The wildlife stayed in my thoughts even after I started hiking this morning. I was just heading out of the treeline toward a series of high-voltage power lines when some elk startled me and ran directly across my path.
I was too slow to capture them on camera before their tan rumps were back in the trees, though. So I had to make do with a photo of the towers and power lines under the gloomy gray sky instead.
SNOW!
Not long after I got past the power lines, I reached the first of two crossings of Horton Creek. As I dropped down toward the first one, the West Fork of Horton Creek, I caught my first glimpse of snow on the trail. It wasn’t a lot, but it was most certainly snow!
Cold water rushed down from Horton Spring above me, moving fast as I reached the creek crossing. The mossy rocks made it feel like a slick crossing, so I scoured for a better place to bridge the gap.
Lucky for me, two long logs had been deliberately dropped nearby to form a makeshift bridge. Cross hatches were cut across the tops to help prevent hikers from slipping on the journey over the water, and I reveled in the fact that my feet would stay dry a bit longer.
After reaching the opposite side of the creek, I naively assumed the route would be flat and stay at the same elevation until I reached the East Fork of Horton Creek, but nothing could have been further from the truth. The trail climbed sharply over the steep hill separating the two creeks, then dropped back down for yet another crossing as I tried to stay upright on a muddy trail.
This second crossing of Horton Creek didn’t allow me to keep my feet dry, though. A narrow log spanned the creek, but it was perched several feet above the water. It felt like walking a tightrope. Using the log seemed harder than trying to rock-hop my way through the cold water, and I was willing to trade wet shoes for avoiding a fall off a log,
Once I reached the other side of the creek, snow and mud became my new problem. The initial patches of snow were child’s play. The real challenge came when the trail started climbing uphill on a grade reminiscent of the Appalachian Trail (where I’m convinced switchbacks are barred by law).
The entire way up, my wet trail shoes struggled to find purchase. The mud felt like hiking uphill in chocolate pudding, while the slick snow was more like trying to walk up a ski slope after an ice storm. Here I was, at barely 9:15 in the morning, and I was already feeling exhausted from the effort!
A BIG CHANGE
When I crested the top of the climb, though, the struggle was completely worth it. I was now at the highest elevation I would reach on the entire Highline Trail, and the trail’s whole character seemed to change. I was still walking amid tall evergreen trees, but everything was smoother now. The grade was more gentle. The trail tread was luxuriously soft. It was simply fantastic!
The gray, overcast sky I’d woken up to had given way to a patchy blue sky and sunshine. Red rock formations and ledges started to appear on the cliffs below me. The scenery was breathtaking with each turn. Even the flora was changing, with agave and paddle cactus replacing some of the juniper and manzanita I’d walked through over the past two days.
As I stopped for a mid-morning break, I caught sight of some squirrels that made me smile. The squirrels where I live are usually bushy-tailed Western Gray squirrels or Douglas squirrels with long, reddish-brown tails. But these were the adorable Abert’s squirrels.
What really sets Abert’s squirrels apart from their PNW counterparts is their ears. Instead of typical round ears, these squirrels have long, furry, pointy ears that stick up, so they’re sometimes called “tassel-eared” squirrels.
But just like all the elk I’ve seen the past two days, the squirrels were all too fast for me to get close-up photos, so I have nary a single photo of them. My pictures of the lovely landscape will have to suffice as a stand-in.
A bit farther east, I crossed paths with a hiker named Jesse, who was out for a few days hiking the Highline and some side trails, like See Canyon (which was still up ahead).
We talked for a bit about the trail, and I warned him about the snow and slick terrain near Horton Creek. But I doubted he needed my advice. He seemed pretty well-prepared and was even wearing hiking boots with gaiters up to his knees.
A NEW PLAN
As I kept hiking, the red rocks and scenery only got better. This stretch looked so different from the rest of the Highline Trail that I started to form a tentative plan in my mind.
Maybe instead of heading back to Payson when I got to the 260 Trailhead, I could spend the next few days slowly exploring this gorgeous bit of the trail, like Jesse was doing. I didn’t have to kill myself with a yo-yo hike back to Pine, nor did I need to bail on the outdoors and go sit in a hotel merely because I reached the end of the trail. There were quite a few trailheads out here that I could utilize once I was done.
I still had three more days to play out here, and it was totally feasible to slowly enjoy the details along the Mogollon Rim within the physical limitations of my current condition. Three days of R&R in my tent would cost me $0, and I could hike 0 miles, 5 miles, 10 miles, or whatever I felt like for the rest of my time out here. I could even come back and camp near these awesome rock formations that intrigued me so much.
And with that, my morale suddenly was buoyed again. I wasn’t on a death march. I wasn’t a failure for quitting my plans to yo-yo the Highline. I was just on a backcountry adventure. And wasn’t that why I’d come back to Arizona in the first place?
JAG CORPS
As I continued hiking east, I reached a series of long switchbacks leading all the way down to See Canyon Trailhead. This must have been a more popular day-hiking spot too, because unlike Washington Park and the Hatchery Trailheads, there was actually a pit toilet here! There were also 6-8 cars and trucks parked in the lot.
I slowly made my way a few hundred feet up the trailhead, where another hiker sat enjoying his lunch on the banks of Christopher Creek. When I asked to join him, he agreed. I soon discovered Isaac was hiking the Highline Trail too; he was just heading westbound toward Pine. Today was his first day on the trail, and he was 7 miles in by lunchtime.
As we ate, we swapped intel about what lay ahead for the other person on the trail. Then he shared that he was a law student at Arizona State University. When I asked what type of law he was hoping to practice, he said military law! What a wild coincidence.
I told him I was a retired Army JAG officer, and he immediately opened up and wanted to talk about the military. He went to OCS the prior summer for the Marine Corps and was waiting for his orders for the JAG basic course after he passed the Arizona bar exam.
Honestly, I think Isaac was more interested in picking my brain about what it was like to be a JAG officer than in any details I might have shared about the 50 miles of trial still ahead of him over the next few days. But I didn’t mind one bit. It was a lovely lunch for both of us!
CHRISTOPHER CREEK
After 45 minutes of chatting, it was time to part ways. Isaac needed to get walking if he was going to finish the trail in the days he had allotted, while I had a new obstacle to deal with: Christopher Creek.
This was the most daunting river or creek I’d come across on this entire journey. It wasn’t much wider than Webber Creek (from day one of this hike). The challenge here was that Christopher Creek was considerably deeper and faster.
Water was pouring over through the creek at breakneck speed and it looked to be at least 4 feet deep where the trail crossed it! There was no easy way to ford it safely, and I worried about getting swept downstream if I tried. But Isaac said someone had dropped a log upstream so people could get across the trail. That was the best place to cross, in his opinion.
As I hiked up the canyon trail that paralleled the creek, I spotted the log he must have been talking about. It was at least 20-25 feet across and perched barely a foot or two above the fast-moving water.
I got to the water’s edge where the tree rested on the bank, but I wasn’t too eager to walk across the top of it. From this vantage point, the narrow tree looked like a round balance beam, gradually widening as it reached the other side. The bark was still on the top of the tree, making for an uneven surface. And it was just high enough that I’d feel like I was perched on a slackline where I truly needed to balance. This was my least favorite type of log crossing.
How was I possibly going to make my way across this narrow obstacle? My balance was definitely off with my bum big toe, and one wrong step would send me straight into the water. I didn’t feel good about it. Not one bit.
In the end, I decided the safest way across, at least for me, was to straddle the tree like a horse and just use my hands to hoist myself forward in small increments. It would take four times as long as walking across, and I might look like a complete moron. But hopefully I wouldn’t end up soaking wet in Christopher Creek with my pack floating downstream away from me.
Ultimately, my plan worked. But it wasn’t without its own issues. I’d taken my sun gloves off for lunch and forgotten to put them back on again when I started my journey across, so the bark tore up the skin on the palms of my hands. It also made a small hole in the inside of my hiking tights that I’d have to sew up once I got back to town. But, you know what? I made it across with all my gear! And that was good enough for me!
THE FINAL MILES
During lunch, Isaac told me I still had one major climb ahead, so I was mentally prepared to head uphill once I reached the opposite side of the trail. But Isaac didn’t tell me this wasn’t a short climb like Horton Creek. It was nearly two miles of gradual uphill terrain, taking me from the creek’s low elevation up to 6,800 feet.
What’s more, I’d need to navigate a section of trail that was completely flooded out, leaving behind sticky mud that was the consistency of peanut butter. Oh yes, I remember this mud all too well from my AZT hike last year. It clung to your shoes, making them feel 10 pounds heavier, until you found somewhere solid (like a dry rock) to scrape the paste off your soles.
The rest of the trail after that was a complete blur to me. I was like a horse heading to the finish line once I made it to the top of this climb. I could smell the end of the trail up ahead. I was ready to get to the 260 Trailhead, where I hoped my Ursack was still safely cached for the rest of my time out here.
I knew I was getting close to my destination when the road traffic from Highway 260 grew louder and louder to my right. It’s amazing how much noise large semi-trucks and motorcycles make when your ears are used to birds chirping and the quieter sounds of the backcountry.
However, the true sign that I was getting close to the trailhead was a large tent set up in a small circle of trees. It was the size of an 8-person tent, and it signaled that car campers were nearby. No backpacker would carry the weight of such a giant tent for this hike.
My suspicions were soon confirmed when a group of people in their early 20s came trotting down the trail carrying plastic tubs filled with board games, chips, and a jumbo-sized bottle of cheap vodka. It was Friday night, and the kids were out to camp and party in the wild.
260 TRAILHEAD
I eventually made it to the parking area near the 260 trailhead around 4:15 pm as the sun was already starting to drop in the west. I’d made it to the eastern terminus in just three days, despite my foot issues.
I’d just finished my thru-hike of the Highline Trail, and I’d answered all the questions about this trail that cropped up in my mind while I was hiking the Arizona Trail last spring. I got to spend nearly 60 miles hiking below the Mogollon Rim, and I’d satisfied my curiosity about where the Highline Trail went.
Now that I was done hiking, it was time to find somewhere far, far away from those kids where I could set up my tent and just rest. But first I was off to find my cache. I hadn’t seen any water within more than a mile of the trailhead, and I was super thirsty. Thank goodness I’d had the forethought to hide a gallon jug of water with my Ursack so I wouldn’t have to backtrack to the last water source!
Highlights
- The vermillion rocks I passed between Horton Creek and the See Canyon Trailhead were so unique and enchanting. I really wish I could have camped near them on this hike.
- The Abert’s squirrels were so amazingly adorable with their long furry ears. I’m completely forgot about them from last year’s AZT thru-hike.
- Eating lunch with Isaac on the banks above Christopher Creek was super cool. It’s not every day I get to meet a hiker headed down the same unusual career path as me.
- Celebrating that I made it to the end of the Highline Trail in just three days’ time! It wasn’t an easy hike though, and I’d definitely recommend hiking it in the slightly easier (westbound) direction instead of the way I went.
Challenges
- This injured big toe has radically changed the my plans for the rest of my time out here in Arizona, and the anxiety of figuring out what’s next kept me up much of the night.
- Crossing Christopher Creek on the long, narrow log was not pretty, and it left me with scraped up palms and a hole in my tights. But I’m grateful I was able to stay dry.
- The lingering snow and mud slowed me down a bit today, but luckily, there were also plenty of easier spots on trail to balance it all out. And now my journey on the trail is complete.