Days 34-35 Superior to near White Canyon Wilderness

MJ decorated the side of her house and car with purple angel wings. I knew that if she had room for me, she would gladly take me in. She did everything she could to help hikers.

It says a lot about MJ to know that she was honored this year by ALDHA-West. That’s the same organization that celebrates hikers who have completed the Triple Crown. She was awarded the Martin D. Papendick Award, which is given annually by ALDHA-West to an outstanding trail angel.

The award winners are nominated by the hiking community. MJ is the first recipient who was not a trail angel on the AT, PCT, or CDT.

Al slept last night in a small trailer parked outside MJ’s house, and Rocketman was in a bedroom with bunk beds. Neither one was up yet when I arrived.

Just as I expected, MJ said I could stay the night at her house. She didn’t charge for staying there or the meals she served, but she accepted donations. I was happy to do that.

Soon after Rocketman and Al showed up in the kitchen, MJ prepared an omelet breakfast for us. For the rest of the morning, I either sat in her living room or stretched out on a bunk, still not feeling well.

When lunchtime rolled around, MJ made mac-n-cheese for us. I started to feel better by then. Nevertheless, when Al and Rocketman said they wanted to visit the Boyce Thompson Arboretum, which was just outside of town, I wasn’t yet feeling up to spending an afternoon in the sun.

I stayed behind and drank Gatorade and water, then walked a few blocks to the town’s only grocery store to resupply.

On the way to the store, I got a look at Apache Leap, a sheer rock cliff with a tragic history.

During the 1870s, Apache warriors were in protracted conflict with the U.S. Cavalry. The Apache had established a small encampment on the top of the escarpment. It offered a broad view of the surrounding land, including Picket Post, a cavalry lookout at the base of Picketpost Mountain. 

The Apache could keep an eye on troop movements by posting warriors at strategic spots on the cliff. If necessary, they could use smoke to alert other tribal villages. They felt secure in their location, however, because they thought they knew of the only route to the top.

Indeed, they felt so secure, the Apache failed to post any guards on the route. This was a disastrous mistake.

During this time, Pima Indians were in a contentious rivalry with the Apache. The cavalry took advantage of the feud by enlisting Pima warriors, as well as local villagers, to fight the Apache.

Early one morning, a cavalry captain named John D. Walker led the Pima and locals in a surprise attack on the Apache. The Apache found themselves in a hail of bullets, and many died.

The few Apache who survived the onslaught were surrounded on three sides, with the cliff at their backs. Rather than surrender, they turned and leapt over the cliff to their deaths.

To this day, when a small obsidian stone is found near the cliffs, it is called an "Apache tear," representing the tears shed by tribe members in grief for the loss of their warriors.

MJ then drove us to the same trailhead where she had picked us up on Sunday. We were ready to start hiking by 8:30 a.m.

Rocketman took off like, well, a rocket. Al was only slightly slower, but at first, I kept up with him, mostly because we were both confused about the trail's direction.

It didn’t take us long to sort that out. Within minutes, Al was also out of sight.

A short distance before the trail crossed under U.S. Highway 60, I noticed a set of rocks arranged on the ground to make “300.” This number represented the miles AZT northbound hikers had completed so far. Or put another way, it was the number of miles hikers like me still had to go before reaching the Mexican border.

I didn’t need to see that number to know how far I still had to go. I’d been keeping track of the miles. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but smile when I passed it. The end wasn’t in sight yet, but I was closing in on it.

The best thing about today was the temperature. It started pleasantly cool and never became blazing hot like the last several days. And based on the forecast, it looked like it would remain this way for at least the next week. That made me even happier than knowing how many miles were left.

Picketpost Mountain (sometimes called Picketpost Butte) loomed ahead. It was a formidable mountain, rising from the desert floor. It stood 4,375 feet above sea level, with a prominence of 2,000 feet. 

For the moment, it looked like the trail’s path would lead straight to the massive rock. Before long, however, the trail made a turn to the right and bypassed it.

In 1870, a military outpost was established at the base of the mountain. Eventually, a nickname the soldiers used for the site was given to the mountain. During the Apache Wars, soldiers climbed to the summit to use it as a lookout. They tracked Indian movements from there in the same way Apache warriors spied on soldiers from Apache Leap.

I made a brief stop at Picketpost Trailhead to chat with a couple of day hikers. 

A short distance from there, I came upon a surprising sight. It was so unexpected to see a desert tortoise on the trail, I almost mistook it for a large rock. It was motionless, though I could tell it was alive.

They are amazing creatures, with an average lifespan of 70 to 80 years. Their ability to tolerate this harsh environment comes from their capacity to regulate their body temperature and their food and water intake. For most of the year, they are inactive. They are only active when seasonal rains come to the desert.

Desert tortoises can survive ground temperatures of up to 140ºF because they use their sharp front claws to dig burrows and escape the heat. They can spend as much as 95 percent of their lifetime in burrows, which probably explains why I’ve not seen one before.

The trail grew hillier and winding. It was gradually climbing, going up 1,400 feet in the first 12 miles. But there were many dips along the way, as the trail meandered up, down, and around the hills.

Late in the morning, I came upon another mileage number on the ground, "500." Whoever made this one showed some resourcefulness. They used desiccated cow droppings for the zeroes.

The number's placement wasn’t quite accurate for me. My distance from Utah was slightly less than 500 miles due to the fire detours I had to make.

As the terrain continued to become hillier, I noticed that some of the hills were small buttes. I was entering an ancient, eroded volcanic field. The rock here was formed roughly 18 million years ago. Over time, water had rounded hills of softer rock, while denser rocks were still jagged, rising above the surrounding land.

When I stopped for lunch, there was no shade to be found, but it was cool enough that I didn’t mind. I sat on a slope with the sun to my back, and the temperature was comfortable.

During my break, I checked my mileage for the day, and it was an agreeable surprise. Though I'd started only four hours earlier, I had already walked nine miles. The weather and changing scenery had made the miles pass without my noticing.

There was one section that wasn’t as pleasant as the rest. That’s when the trail passed through an area that was burned less than two months ago. The Wood Fire was started by lightning on September 1 and burned more than 7,200 acres.

Thankfully for me, the fire didn’t burn a long section of the trail.

As the trail continued to climb, I began to see more evidence of volcanic activity. Rhyolitic lava, the most viscous type, left wavy patterns across the landscape when it cooled and hardened.

At 3:30 p.m., I arrived at a large, metal cylinder that flared at the top. It was a rainwater collector, which was constructed five years ago by Arizona Trail Association volunteers. Up to 1,500 gallons of rainwater can be captured and stored in the tank, solving a longtime problem for hikers. Without this tank, the next available source of water was the Gila River, 21 otherwise dry miles from Picketpost Trailhead.

The tank was a little off the trail, and I’m glad I noticed a sign pointing to its location. Beyond the tank, the trail made a steep descent. If I hadn’t seen the sign, I could have made the long drop before realizing my mistake.

From a valve on the side of the tank, I collected two liters of water. I hadn’t needed as much today because of the cooler weather, though admittedly, I probably should have drunk more.

Soon after I left the tank, I passed a man walking in the opposite direction. He didn't look like a hiker. He was dressed in a tracksuit and carried a duffel bag that looked nearly empty.

I nodded and said hello. He returned the greeting politely but had no interest in interacting with me.

After he passed by, I almost asked myself if I had really seen him, but I knew I had. This was an extremely remote part of the trail, with no road within a half-day's walk in any direction. So how did he get here? Where was he going? How was he navigating? I was curious, but I didn’t try to stop him to ask questions. He was doing his thing. I was doing mine.

This part of the trail was in Tonto National Forest. I’m old enough to remember watching reruns of the Lone Ranger on TV. The rugged landscape with many buttes reminded me of the scenery in the show, though I’m sure it was filmed in California.

In the show, Tonto was the Lone Ranger’s sidekick. The national forest isn’t named in his honor. Its name comes from the Tonto Apache tribe, who lived in this part of Arizona long before the first white settlers arrived.

There are some odd facts about the name. For one, the Lone Ranger radio and TV programs never portrayed Tonto as an Apache. He was said to be a member of the Potawatomi tribe. What’s more odd, his name and the tribe’s name translate from Spanish as “fool.”

The time was 5 p.m. when I paused to enjoy the view. The sun was sinking close to the horizon by now, and I knew I should start looking for a campsite. According to some comments I found in the FarOut app, one was just a little more than one mile away. This was perfect timing.

The jagged mountain rocks that surrounded me quickly began to turn pink and orange in the fading sunlight. I had plenty of light to find my way, but I was glad I didn’t need to use my headlamp to find the campsite.

The sun had barely reached the horizon when I found the campsite. As I started to unpack my gear, I realized I had failed to recharge the battery in my headlamp during my zero day in Superior. This wasn’t a critical error, however. I was able to charge it from a battery I carried, and I didn’t need the headlamp right away.

The site was flat, with plenty of room to set up my gear. It was just outside the boundary of White Canyon Wilderness. This would be as close as the trail got to the 5,790-acre wilderness area. AZT planners chose to route the trail around the boundary because mountain bikes are not allowed in the wilderness.

I hadn’t expected this section of the trail to be as beautiful as it turned out to be. At every turn, there was a new and fascinating view to take in. Despite my relatively late start, I was pleased I completed more than 16 miles today.

If I can keep up this pace the rest of the way, I won’t have to worry about flying home during the Thanksgiving travel rush.