Day 3, Jacob Lake to Stealth Site at Mile 41.7

When I didn't see any tourists in the parking lot, my chances of getting a ride back to the trailhead looked dim. Instead of hanging around and hoping for a ride, I decided to set off down the road and try to hitchhike on the way.

Like yesterday, there weren't many cars on the road. A pickup truck heading in the opposite direction passed me. Three hikers riding in the back waved to me as they passed, and I waved back. I wondered if I would see them later.

I got about a half-mile down the road before a friendly couple from Arkansas stopped and offered me a ride to the trailhead. They told me they often come to the Grand Canyon for hiking. They have also been section-hiking the Arizona Trail.

When I left the trailhead, I noticed a sign that displayed a different AZT logo than I'd seen before. It included the words "Kaibab Plateau" and depicted a squirrel with big ears and a bushy white tail.

The sign didn't show just any squirrel. It was a Kaibab squirrel, which lives in the ponderosa pine forests around the Grand Canyon but isn't found anywhere else in the world. Their ears appear longer than those of other squirrels because the tips have tufts of fur.

The first two miles went smoothly despite my sour stomach. It took just 45 minutes to go that far because the trail was mostly flat. To reward myself, I stopped to eat one of the cookies I bought at Jacob Lake Inn.

I almost had to force myself to finish it. Something was certainly wrong with me, though I couldn't understand what.

I'm sure I would have felt much worse if it were a warm morning, but there was a slight breeze, and the temperature was in the low-70s. Shade from the pine trees also helped.

The trail followed an old two-track road with ponderosa pines lining both sides. Before long, a few aspen trees appeared, scattered among the pines.

Many of the aspens had bright yellow leaves, a reminder that fall was here in Northern Arizona. The trees stood out brilliantly in the morning sun, contrasting with the green needles and red bark of ponderosa pine.

The uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach was getting worse. I tried to figure out why. Was it dehydration? Was it something I ate?

To help me keep going, I adopted a pattern of walking for 45 minutes and stopping for 15. At this slower pace, it was clear I wouldn't get as far today as I hoped. It was already looking like I would need to cancel my room reservation.

Even if the frequent breaks slowed me, they kept me going. And eventually, I took fewer of them. I thought I was feeling a little better.

When I stopped to collect and filter water at a shallow, muddy tank, however, I suddenly felt much worse. I wasn't just feeling crummy. I was nauseous.

I knew this for sure when I tried to eat a snack bar. I gagged on it.

Continuing south, the forest had fewer ponderosas and many more short aspen trees. I could tell this area had been severely damaged by the Mangum Fire in 2020.

Before long, there was no forest, just a few small clumps of trees. All that was left were the black and gray remains of dead trees lying in tall grass.

The trail ran roughly parallel to Arizona Highway 67, the road that takes tourists to Grand Canyon National Park's north rim. I could see it from the trail from time to time.

I reached the second and last water source of the day at 3 p.m. This one was a concrete trough filled with green, cloudy water. The next water source was 9.1 miles away, so I needed to collect extra to get me there tomorrow morning.

My goal for the day was a trailhead at Telephone Hill, but there was no doubt now I wouldn't get there. Knowing that, I began to look for a suitable campsite in the FarOut guide. There weren't any spots labeled as one, so I read through the comments for other waypoints. That's often a way to find a site, but nothing looked promising.

The terrain was more open with fewer trees past the water trough. A lack of shade didn't cause a problem, though. The temperature wasn't as hot as it had been the last couple of days, and a breeze helped keep me from overheating.

The open spaces allowed me to see the east rim of the Grand Canyon far in the distance. I wasn't seeing a part of the canyon I would cross in a few days. It was a narrower section where the Colorado River flows south out of Glen Canyon near Page.

The trail went up and down over small rolling hills. The elevation gradually increased, though the climb was barely noticeable. Still, I should have seen what was happening. The trail was now above 8,600 feet.

Instead of noticing the altitude, I wanted to stay focused on finding a place to camp. I didn't care if I stopped early and cut short my mileage for the day. I just wanted to be done.

At last, almost in desperation, I settled on a small clearing in a low depression just 30 feet from the trail. It was just large enough for cowboy camping, but it wasn't flat. The space wouldn't have been large enough for my tent, and there were no other options because the rest of the area was rocky.

The time was 5:30 p.m. when I stopped. It was a shorter day than usual, and I didn't feel well all day. Nevertheless, I was pleased to complete nearly 14 miles.

That was three miles short of my goal, but I still had a chance to reach Bright Angel Lodge as I originally planned.

I didn't have much of an appetite and wasn't sure I could hold down my dinner, but I cooked it anyway. I could only eat a few bites.

After settling into my quilt and sleeping pad for the night, I took another look at the FarOut app. That's when I realized I was camping at 8,700 feet above sea level.

Now it all made sense. I was feeling nauseous and had no appetite because I was affected by the altitude. My symptoms weren't bad enough to be called altitude sickness. I didn't have dizziness, headaches, or vomiting.

Not yet, anyway.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I noticed the light of three headlamps heading toward me. I hadn't seen any hikers on the trail today. These were probably the hikers I saw this morning in the pickup truck.

They looked around for a spot to camp, so I told them I didn't think there was any place nearby. It was too rocky.

They departed to continue their hunt for a campsite, and I figured I wouldn't see them again. They would be hiking much faster than me.

For that matter, I wasn't sure I would be hiking at all.