Tuesday – 4/11/2023
- Start: Eugene, OR
- End: 260 Trailhead (near Payson, AZ)
- Mileage: 1,200 miles by air + 109 miles by rental car
When planning my weeklong getaway to central Arizona this Spring, I knew I wanted two things. The first goal was to feel some warm sunshine on my face. I was mentally done with the record rainfall and gloominess of the Pacific Northwest winter. I needed a break. But my second objective was more specific. I wanted to get out and see some of the trails near the Mogollon Rim.
Most Americans have never heard of the Mogollon Rim. I’m usually met with blank stares whenever I mention its name – even when talking to people who’ve lived in Arizona their entire life. But for me, the Mogollon Rim is one of Arizona’s hidden gems, and I was excited to spend time exploring it.
My first real introduction to ‘rim county’ came 450 miles into my Arizona Trail thru-hike last spring. As I hiked north from Mexico to Utah, I spotted the Mogollon Rim looming on the horizon near the town of Pine, Arizona.
This rock escarpment dominated the views in front of me. The landscape seem to rise up vertically by at least 1,000 or 2,000 feet. It was like tectonic forces cracked the earth apart, lifting that section of earth up toward the sky and leaving a jagged scar behind that ran east and west as far as my eye could see. Above the rim was the Colorado Plateau, which led north to the Grand Canyon. But below it was a mix of green foliage again red rocks.
I’d get my first close-ups view of the Mogollon Rim when the Arizona Trail merged with the Highline Trail – an old homesteaders route that parallels the Mogollon Rim. But after just 20 miles of scenic hiking, the Arizona Trail jogged north again and ascended the rim, while the Highline continued heading east below it.
DID THE HIGHLINE MOVE?
The Highline Trail stuck in my mind long after my AZT thru-hike was over. How much farther did it go? I wondered. Was the entire trail this spectacularly scenic? Could I do a long-distance hike on the trail?
As I researched the Highline Trail from home this winter, I didn’t come across very much information. The trail seemed to be flying under most people’s radar. And nearly every new resource I read tossed out a different length for the trail. Some references said it was 54 miles long. Others said it was longer… 55 miles, 58 miles, even 60 miles.
Beyond the general lack of agreement over the trail’s length, there were other issues too. I found references to the “old” Highline and the “new” Highline. I knew it the route was originally designated as a National Recreation Trail back in 1979. But did this mean there were two separate Highline Trails now? Had the U.S. Forest Service or other trail organization completely rerouted the trail over the past 44 years? Or was the “new” Highline trail just a bunch of minor deviations due to trail improvements and fire closures?
In the end, the most up-to-date resource seemed to be the Zane Grey 100k, an ultramarathon that uses the Highline Trail for its race course each April. From the race’s website, I learned the Highline Trail was roughly 57.5 miles from western terminus (Pine trailhead) to the eastern terminus (260 trailhead), and I had a GPS track to add to my existing maps to help keep me on track from end-to-end.
PLAN A IS A LOSER
I had more than enough time to hike roughly 58 miles of the Highline Trail in the six days allowed for my springtime trip to Arizona. Heck, I would probably be done with the entire trail in just three or four days’ time. And so my mind got spinning. What else could I do to fill out the rest of my time?
As I studied the maps for the surrounding area, I came up with a plan. What if I created a loop? I could start in the town of Pine and head east on the Highline Trail to its opposite end. Then, just to get a completely different perspective, I could ascend the Mogollon Rim on Military Sinkhole Trail and return to Pine via the General Crook #131 trail (another national recreation trail) that skirted the upped edge of the rim.
All told it would be a 115-mile loop, which seemed ideal for a six day adventure. I’d just need to average 19 miles a day. And while the Highline Trail (below the rim) was rugged and filled with lots of ups and downs, the the General Crook trail (above the rim) was virtually flat. If I fell behind schedule a little on the first half of the loop, I’d certainly be able to make it up on the second, flatter half.
But, as military strategists like to say, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. And the ‘enemy’ in this situation was the weather. This winter turned into a massive snow year for Arizona. Each week seemed to bring more and more snow. By April 1st, the Colorado Plateau was at 279% its typical snow pack.
The Arizona Trail Association was even recommending backpackers pause their thru-hikes once they got to the Mogollon Rim and come back later in the season. The snow was dangerously deep above 7,000 feet elevation. And even the modest creeks, which were barely 6 inches deep in a normal snow year, were currently waist high and raging.
If I went ahead with my original plan, I’d probably be trudging through snow for 50+ miles above the Mogollon Rim. No thanks!! I’d already had my fill of that misery before. The Highline Trail might be fine for a spring hike, but I wasn’t going to turn it into a loop that also went above the rim this year. It was time to turn to Plan B.
The easiest option, of course, was just to slow down the pace of my thru-hike of the Highline Trail and enjoy the trail over four, five, or even six days’ time. After all, this was my first long-distance hike since I returned from the Camino del Norte six months ago. Taking it slow and stretching out my hike translated to a pace 10-15 miles day. And that would give me ample time to explore side trails that intersected with the Highline. I could soak in the Mogollon Rim and I’d still get a good springtime adventure at that relaxed pace.
But there was also that ambitious side of me that was just so tired of being indoors all winter. This uber-competitive part of my ego loves hiking bigger miles and seeing how far I can push myself. Soon I was thinking about where I could yo-yo the Highline Trail over six days – hiking all the way to the eastern terminus in just three days, then turning around and hiking back to the western terminus over the second three days. Could I motivate myself to hike 20-mile days on this rugged, rocky trail to finish in my allotted time? Or would it turn my fun spring hike into a dreadful death march?
As I mulled over the pros and cons of each alternative, I didn’t mentally commit myself to anything. It was best to just wait and see what the trail looked like once I got to Arizona. I would keep my options open, I reasoned, and I’d make the call once I got on the ground.
I’M FORGETTING SOMETHING
I started my adventure in Eugene, Oregon, waking up to (yet another) rainy day with a high temperature in the 40s. I packed all my gear the night before, but I still had that unsettled feeling that I was forgetting something. I double- and triple-checked that I had my tent, and my tent stakes, and my stove, and my water filter… It was all there. So I chalked up the nagging paranoia to all the little things I still needed to buy after I landed in Arizona – like a fuel canister for my stove, a mini lighter, some food, etc.
Of course, I eventually realized what I’d forgotten to pack. But not until I got to the airport and through security. I didn’t have my sunglasses! And there was no chance I was going to endure a six-day hike in the bright Arizona sunshine without sunglasses. Sigh. I’d have to pick up a new pair when I got to the other end.
My flight was delayed too, and I was trying my best not to have a pity party for myself as I waited. Thus far, there weren’t a lot of things were going right with this trip. I’d had to change up my hiking route thanks to the snow. I didn’t have my sunglasses. And now it seemed like I wasn’t ever going to leave the airport waiting area.
Should I be paying closer attentions to these signs? Was fate subtly trying to foreshadow a potentially doomed hike ahead? Or maybe it was the opposite dynamic. Maybe I was just getting all my bad luck over with before I got to the trail…
Eventually, my plane did board and take off. And when I landed in Phoenix (an hour later behind schedule), things were finally beginning to look up. It was sunny. It was 99 degrees outside. And it was completely dry. Time to get my hike on!
DAY ZERO
Once in Arizona, my next big task was getting myself to the trail. But first, I had to locate my duffel bag (because you can’t take trekking poles or tent stakes or even tiny Swiss Army knives on airplanes). Then I had wait in line to pick up my one-way rental car to Payson. And finally, it was time to head over to REI in Scottsdale to buy myself a fuel canister for my camp stove (and a pair of new sunglasses) before stopping to grab dinner for the road.
The sun was already setting when I left Phoenix, and the drive on the dark, curvy highway out to Payson felt so much longer than the 90 minutes it took to get there. But perhaps that was just because I was so anxious to get this adventure started already. Travel days are the worst!
I made a quick stop to grab some hiking food for the week at one of the grocery stores in Payson, then continued east in the dark onto AZ-260 for another 27 miles to drive to the trail’s eastern terminus. My plan was to save on a hotel and just car camp at the trailhead for the night. I could sleep under the stars and then check out the trail conditions the next morning before deciding whether to cache my food for a potential yo-yo hike.
The drive on AZ-260 had a surprising amount of traffic for this late at night. Yet the large yellow signs warning about elk crossing forced me to slow down. I already had the experience of hitting a deer in a rental car back in 2021. And I definitely didn’t want a repeat to event with a 600-pound elk. This trip already had enough hiccups without me totaling a rental car.
My slow highway driving relegated me to the right lane while large semi-trucks rumbled by without a care in the world. As a consequence, I ended up missing the turn for the 260 trailhead in the dark. I spotted the entrance for the trailhead on the left side of the road, but not in enough time to get over and make the left turn and I whizzed right past it.
Unfortunately, I’d need to drive another four miles – all the way to the Mogollon Rim Visitor Center – before I found any space to turn around. But perhaps this wasn’t a misfortune after all. My headlights flashed on heaping piles of snow sitting beside the entrance as I maneuvered the car to make a u-turn.
If I needed another sign to confirm that hiking above the rim definitely wasn’t happening this week, this snow was probably it. Thank goodness, I already discarded my original plan to make that 115-mile loop above and below the rim.
the 260 Trailhead
I doubled back down the highway toward the 260 trailhead again, trying to keep the car’s speed slow enough amid all the downhill curves that I didn’t miss my turn a second time. And then I pulled onto the short dirt road that led to the dark parking area, but I was genuinely surprised to see I was not alone. There was already another car parked near a sign for the trailhead!
I manuevered to a slow stop on the opposite side of the lot, genuinely hoping I wouldn’t wake the occupants of the other car if they were trying to sleep. It was already 9:30 pm. But now I had a decision to make. Did I grab my tent and head down the trail in the dark looking for somewhere to set up my tent or just crash in the back of the Kia Soul I’d rented?
Laziness ultimately won out. I dropped the rear seats as flat as they would go and crammed myself into the cargo area. It wasn’t remotely designed for my 5’9” body, and I was spent the next 20 minutes fidgeting and trying to get comfortable, but it was fruitless. I was awkwardly cramped into a space that was better suited for groceries than car camping.
As I lay there trying to pretend sleep was an option, I became focused on the ridiculous amount of road noise from AZ-260, which sat just 200 yards away. Seriously?! Why were all these cars and trucks driving on this rural highway so late at night? There was nothing down this highway other than the small town of Show Low (population: 11,967) and the New Mexico border.
Sleep still hadn’t come at a quarter to 11pm, when I was alerted by the noise of a vehicle rolling into the parking area. Was it another hiker, I wondered? Or a USFS ranger coming to kick people out of the lot? I hadn’t seen a “no overnight camping” sign at the trailhead, but I can’t say I really did much looking around the area, given the late hour I’d arrived.
I laid quietly in the back of the Kia Soul, discretely peeking out its rear window. The bright headlights of a large pickup truck circled the dirt parking lot before stopping, then the vehicle just idled there for about a minute. My mind raced, wondering why the truck was there. But then a man exited the driver’s side of the truck and headed over to the pit toilet, and I heard the sound of the metal door slamming shut. It was just someone with a full bladder.
The driver was done two minutes later, got back into his truck, and was heading back toward the highway. But now I was wide awake. Please tell me my night wasn’t going to be filled with people using this trailhead as a rest area, I thought. Between the constant road noise and my anxiety over more middle-of-the-night visitors, I was pretty certain I wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep.
I finally drifted off sometime after midnight, but I seemed to wake up every 10 or 15 minutes feeling hyperaware of my surroundings. Then 2 am rolled around and I was wide awake once again and I couldn’t seem to will myself back to dreamland. Nothing seemed to work. Not laying there quietly. Not listening to a podcast on my phone. It felt like I was destined stare at the upholstered car roof of this stupid rental car for the rest of the night.
I finally managed to briefly drift off again around 4 am, but the sun was brightening the sky by 5:30 am. In the end, I think I got a total of three non-consecutive hours of sleep. I guess I’d just have to start day of my hike with an energy deficit.
