Day 17, Lakeview Campground to Double Springs Campground

Lakeview Campground didn’t have a well or piped water for campers. Instead, potable water was brought to the campground in a large plastic tank called an Intermediate Bulk Container. Starting the day with plenty of clean water was another reason I was glad I camped here. I didn’t have to filter it before refilling my bottles.

It would be a long while before I didn’t have to filter water again.

The campground wasn’t full. Perhaps a dozen or so sites were occupied last night. When I began walking at 6:30 a.m., I only saw one camper, who was walking a dog.

A one-mile climb back to the Arizona Trail began as soon as I left the campground. I paused at the top for a view of Lake Mary.

Sunlight was beginning to sweep across Anderson Mesa and hadn’t yet hit the lake. When I saw a thin layer of haze hanging below the mesa's rim, I had my answer about why condensation collected on my quilt overnight.

The low sun shining through tall pine trees made long shadows on the mesa’s flat top. Because of the angle, it was hard to see the small volcanic rocks that littered the trail. 

In a short time, there were even more rocks covering the trail. The trail was an old road with so many ankle-twisting rocks that walking felt like I was on the "Rocksylvania" section of the Appalachian Trail.

I stopped for a 30-minute breakfast break at 8 a.m., then continued down the rocky trail.

Not far from my breakfast spot was Horse Lake Tank. Adding "lake" to the name didn’t change the fact that it was a livestock watering hole. The trail didn’t go directly to the tank.

I was glad I didn't have to go off the trail to get more water. I still had plenty. The next source wouldn’t be for another 15 miles unless I were willing to go off the trail, and I wasn't.

At last, shortly after 10 a.m., the trail left the rocky road and smoothed into a flat and much more comfortable path. It was about here when I passed a dead animal. It was so mutilated, perhaps by vultures, that I couldn't tell what it was.

Soon after that, I began a sudden descent from the mesa through the most trees I’d seen in a while. The trail dropped 300 feet in the next mile.

Another break came when I saw a large, flat rock that could serve as a nice bench. This was intended to be a short break, but I ended up staying longer because my shoulders were aching badly.

I took some ibuprofen and re-adjusted how I was carrying three liters of water. These changes provided some relief, but not completely.

At the bottom of the descent, the trail crossed State Highway 3, then after a short distance, crossed a Forest Service road.

On the other side of the road, the trail followed a long, nearly straight path that was higher than the surrounding ground. It took me a couple of minutes to realize I was probably walking on an abandoned railroad grade.

A bikepacker who passed me yesterday approached me today from the opposite direction. He stopped, and we had a short conversation. He intended to ride farther yesterday, he said, until he realized he was taking on more than he was ready to do.

The bikepacker was the only person I talked to today. Three more bikepackers passed me as I prepared to start hiking again, but I didn’t talk to them.

When I stopped for lunch at noon, I remembered to pull out my quilt and spread it in the sun to dry. It dried quickly, though I stayed longer than that, about 45 minutes. I felt tired and worn down, and I wasn’t sure why. The trail hadn’t been difficult. 

I hoped I would perk up enough in the afternoon to complete at least 20 miles. If that didn’t happen, though, I knew there was a campground a little over seven miles away where I could stop.

When I was back on the trail, I saw more evidence that I was following an old railroad bed. The first was where large boulders were lined up next to the trail. They were obviously placed there intentionally.

I could see the railroad bed more clearly when the trail turned away to go in a different direction.

It wasn’t long before the trail rejoined the railroad bed, and there, wooden ties were scattered about. 

The rails were gone, but a small number of rusting steel spikes were still embedded in the ties. 

Eventually, I saw a sign that explained when and why a railroad ran through this area. It said the route was constructed by the Flagstaff Lumber Manufacturing Company in 1923. The line was used to haul lumber from as far south as Mormon Lake. Trains also carried sightseers to the lake on weekends.

Though slumping lumber prices forced Flagstaff Lumber Manufacturing Company to cease operations in 1927, other logging companies occasionally ran trains on the tracks until 1966.

The trail climbed gradually up a ridge and then dropped down to Double Springs Campground. By mid-afternoon, I knew that would be my stopping point for the day. I hadn’t perked up as much as I hoped.

According to comments posted in the FarOut app, the campground was closed. I confirmed that when I arrived. It was deserted. Doors to the pit toilets were locked, as was a gate at the road leading to the campground.

True to its name, there were two springs near the campground. Both flowed into a creek.

After collecting water, I set up to cowboy camp. Then I looked at the water situation for the trail ahead, and as I did, I gradually became discouraged. There was more water available than I thought there would be, but most of it was not good water. Many hikers complained in FarOut about polluted livestock tanks and silty water.

This information shouldn’t have been demoralizing, but I was still feeling the weight of the extra water I had to carry. It put a strain on my shoulders. My pack never felt comfortable, even after I made adjustments to it.

I was in a gloomy mood, caused by my aches and pains, plus knowing there would be more days ahead like today. This compounded other emotions I had begun to feel over the last couple of days.

For one, I was still worried about my son and his family in Asheville. They were still struggling with the devastating effects of Hurricane Helene.

I was also unsure how I would get around the trail closure near Pine. And if I had to skip a section, I’d feel obligated to return later somehow and complete those miles. This big uncertainty weighed heavily on my thoughts.

What’s more, I appeared to be the only hiker on the trail. Other than bikepackers, I hadn’t seen anyone going in either direction in more than 24 hours. Loneliness and isolation were gnawing at me hour after hour.

I called Kim to talk through what I was feeling. I needed to sound it out because being so disheartened didn’t sit well with me.

I enjoy hiking. Being outdoors, breathing fresh air, and testing how far I can push myself are things that make me happy. I’ve walked enough miles to know some of them will be rough from time to time, but overall, hiking is supposed to be fun. Right now, it wasn't much fun.

I told Kim that when I get to Pine, it might be time to end this hike.