10/14 Mile 288.3 to 301.6 and meeting The Ghost

by sedona maniak

When I woke up, I knew I was done.  Sometimes, an idea plants itself at an opportune time.  If I'd decided I was done without a major road crossing the next day, I might have changed my mind, but I doubt it.  Everything hurt and I had no sleep, again.  Gonzales Tank looked like a big, algae-filled, muddy respite from the aridity and monotony of the state.  I was not having fun.

My filter seemed to be passing solids through upon squeezing, even though I've taken such care to sleep next to the thing to keep it from freezing and have backwashed it as much as possible.  I added an Aquatab to my bottle and carried a liter of unfiltered algae soup with me.  The chlorine flavor nearly caused me to vomit, so I added Gatorade powder to make it drinkable.  For some reason, I was very warm, very tired, and it took me a rather long time to get to where I needed to go.  At a heavily used forest road crossing about a mile and a half from Highway 87, I decided to filter some more water and hope for a hitch.  I was sitting on a rock when I looked up to see a very put-together woman hiker lumbering up the trail which I'd struggled with to stop here.  Her pack was small, her strides long, and she poured forth an energy that I may have had once or twice on this entire journey. I called to her.  "Is that another thru-hiker?!"  She laughed as she approached and acknowledged it.  I told her that she had that look.  I didn't mention that most people don't move that fast with no pack, let alone with the usual backpacking stuff.  "I'm Hustler," I said, extending my hand.  "Anish," she replied.  I flushed.  I stammered.  I'd literally been thinking about her an hour before, wondering how she keeps going, how she deals with dark moods on bad days.  "Really?!"  "Yeah."  "Really?"  She laughed again.  I told her that it was a pleasure to meet her.  She stopped to drink some water as well.  Though I had no desire to hold up The Ghost, I couldn't help asking her about the man whom I'd heard was attempting the AZT in 14 days.  "I hear he's a supported trail runner from Flagstaff, or Sedona, maybe," she said, a little guardedly.  You never do know what another hiker's stance on supported hikes will be at first meeting, and I'm certain that she gets enough debates about it.  "I figured he was supported!  Are you gonna kick his ass?"  "Maybe, I'm planning on 17 days."  Fucking hell.  I've just been through roughly a month of on and off torture on this trail.  It's hard not to feel dejected in a situation like that, but, somehow, I didn't.  Maybe her energy just buoyed me a little bit.  We discussed muddy tank water and the trail for a moment, then she said she was off to the ranger station just off the trail for some faucet water before her night hike.  She planned to reach Pine in the morning and asked if she'd see me there.  I said I'd try...to hitch...from here.  She would be walking the whole way.  No hitches, even to towns, for an unsupported record-breaker like her.  I smiled with admiration and waved her goodbye.

Of course, I got back up and started hiking.  How could I not?  I could at least make it to the damned legitimate road, for fuck's sakes.  I trailed her, coming up on a group of day hikers whom she'd obviously passed at Ghost-speed.  The three men looked wary of thru-hikers after she'd breezed past, they moved quickly out of my way, but I stopped them, laughing, saying, "no worries, I'm not with her.  Nobody can keep up with her."  They asked if I knew her, and I instead asked if they'd ever heard of her, then told them about her speed records on the AT and PCT.  They were stunned.  Then, they offered me water and told me which way to hitch when we all reached the 87.  Eventually, a minivan pulled over, a medical transport van on its way to get serviced in Phoenix with a bored driver who thought I looked particularly pitiful.  I got a very lucky hitch right to my destination after a perfect final encounter on the Arizona Trail.

Gonzales Tank

Gonzales Tank

My last night on the AZT...this time, anyway

My last night on the AZT...this time, anyway

10/13 Mile 270.8 to 288.3

by sedona maniak

When I woke up from the brief, perhaps hour long sleep that I got last night, I was not the usual energetic starter.  The toe infection may be worse than I thought.  But, I packed up and trudged out into a glorious morning in the forest, coming immediately upon a group of guys who had just been dropped off at the nearby trailhead.  Sometimes, it's that obvious.  I didn't see the car pull away, but they had that muted terror in their eyes.  They seemed to be three generations of a family.  Grandpa in a nice old North Face external frame pack, his two slightly pudgy desk-job sons in very new REI gear, and one grandson, standing at a painful 150 degree angle under the weight of far too much stuff on his lithe 16-year-old frame.  One son was toying with a new Leki trekking pole, frustration mounting on his face.  I attempted to compliment grandpa on his pack, but he thought I was ridiculing him.  Fail.  Then, I tried to help trekking-pole guy, but he'd done something inscrutable with the thing, and I couldn't fix it.  Fail again.  Finally, I just wished them a good hike, knowing better.

Throughout the day, I was either tired or lost in thought, and I missed the "trail" signs (read "carsonite road signs") probably 10 times.  I think I must have hiked 4 extra miles just getting back on track.  I ran into the trail steward for the section at one point, and he said it had once been a difficult area to navigate, but wasn't it better now?  I tried, diplomatically, to tell him that I was having a tough time, but that it was probably me, not the signs.  Finally, one wrong turn took me halfway down an alternate route to one of the wildlife tanks, and I gave up and took it, cutting half a trail mile off.  Fair enough, given the detours, I reasoned.  And so I gathered water from Gonzales Tank.  I caught a young Chihuahuan night snake on the way and noticed that its tail was broken from the cloaca on.  

I set up my tent in sight of the wildlife tank among some trees (yeah, I know, but I just wanted one night of wildlife watching, dammit).  There were coots and a couple of mallards, but no ungulates to be seen.  One cow stood alone in the surrounding meadow, staring at me.  All around were distant gunshots.

As I lay in my tent tonight, it is clear to me that I am not healing.  My knee and leg are in pain and swollen again, my right big toe is oozing green and the skin is not a pleasant shade of yellow.  Furthermore, the knowledge that there may be a job for me, according to an email received in Flagstaff, coupled with my desire to sell my trailer in Ehrenberg to the guy who is patiently waiting for me to finish this trail is causing me to consider quitting.  I also miss T, who has patiently endured my desire to disappear.  I am a long day or two short ones from Pine, which was to be my next resupply, but I have no ambition to get that far at the moment.  I believe that I will hit the Highway 87 road crossing tomorrow and hitch out.

10/12 Mile 250.6 to 270.8

by sedona maniak

My fingers were still tingling with frost when I finished packing up this morning.  The time it takes to bandage my damned feet makes me have to rise far earlier than I'd like.  Still, I got moving fairly early and wandered along happily, noting the growing numbers of pickup trucks and car camping areas that I passed.  Hunters were pretty much everywhere, and so were the sounds of distant (and not very distant) gunfire.  I saw lots of elk, some very large, and wondered which of them would make it through the season.  At one point, there was a shot not far from where I'd last seen one with a huge rack.  Sorry, buddy.

At late morning, I reached Double Springs Campground, where I found the first flowing water I've seen yet on this trail.  It was slightly murky, but far superior to mud trough water.  I drank 2 liters while I was filtering it, looking around at the RV campers who seemed somehow to have planted themselves in the area permanently.  The main gate to the campground was closed, but these campers were firmly installed, with satellite dishes mounted to stumps and sturdy grills painstakingly constructed in their spaces.  None of them greeted me. 

I carried out 5 liters from the spring, mostly because the water tasted good, and that was worth the extra weight.  Halfway up the climb from the little valley, I came upon some section hikers walking from Washington Park to Flagstaff.  They had that new section hiker awe of a single chick wandering around alone, and asked me lots of logistical questions that showed they'd had it a little rough.  One, in particular, did not appear to be having a good time.  He kept switching his weight from one leg to the other in a way that is all too familiar to me. 

I hauled my plunder up through trees and meadows, just past the crossing at Lake Mary Road as the light disappeared.  My tent seemed to put itself up in the moonlight, practiced and quick, and I made a huge dinner with my personal water cache.  What did I have?  Tuna not-so-surprise, of course.  The same thing I eat every night.  Tuna with mashed potatoes/stuffing mix/gravy mix.  And I love it.  Then potatea (chamomile or mint teabag in water poured over the remains of dinner...it's fancy dishwater that you drink, using the teabag as a sponge) and a Nutella tortilla.  The passing lights from Lake Mary Road flood my tent a bit, but it is an unusual and almost welcome change.

Double Springs

Double Springs

A view from a tent

A view from a tent

10/10 Flagstaff Urban Trail to Mile 231.5

by sedona maniak

Well, Urban Trail is accurate.  Some of it is city streets, some paved walkways through forested parks, and some actual trail through reclamation land.  Flagstaff is a beautiful city, and even touring its streets and concrete paths is a pleasure.  The first snake I've seen on the trail was the garter I grabbed just past Buffalo Park, and some of the lushest wetland I've seen is reclamation pond.  I think the city did a great job with this.  That said, no hiker enjoys concrete, and I was happy when the paved paths returned to dirt ribbons through the trees. 

This ribbon winds into the Lake Mary valley, with rock cliff walls and low grasses and scattered trees.  There are car sounds occasionally, but it is still a fine place to camp, and I can hear coyotes starting up.

Old one-eye

Old one-eye

10/5 to 10/10 Another Interlude: Nearos and Zeros in Flagstaff

by sedona maniak

Much fun was had by all.  Many thanks are deserving!  Deb was amazing and brought me into a group of supportive and engaging women who are all about hiking.  The presentation was given by a woman named Anne.  I presume that she is the same woman who scratched her name off the lovely bottle of water that I guzzled a few days ago.  Much of what she said rang true, made me laugh, and showed great insight into thru-hiking in general.  Also, she talked about those DAMNED GATES!  Deb gave me a shower and dinner and rides around, she also simply accepted and trusted me, which is the true hallmark of a trail angel.  March Forth, Deb!

Kyle and Sasha put me up the second day/night, and we bonded over food and drink and the outdoors as well.  Not only is Kyle and excellent cook and barista, he can be pretty damned funny.  I thank Sasha for staying up with a couple of tipsy old work colleagues...we must have been a little annoying.  Really many thanks to you guys!

When T made it to Flagstaff on Friday, I was installed in a hotel room and slightly more mobile.  We made a couple of walks around town, but I really just needed the time to heal and chill with her.  We took Monday as an extra vacation day, and I didn't head back to the trail until that afternoon.   Honestly, I couldn't have planned it better, minus the bum leg and infected feet...

10/5 Mile 192.5 to Flagstaff Urban Trail

by sedona maniak

Yes, I really kicked ass yesterday.  Today, I have maybe 50% range of motion in my knee, and it looks like a baseball is growing out the side of it.  It's not truly painful, but very unstable, and I dreaded the descent of Humphreys.  Due to the cold, I got a late start, angrily shutting off the alarm on my Garmin at 6am.  I left camp at 9, determined to just get to the damned bottom and take the first road into town.  There was to be no more fooling around with the knee from hell.  I have a chance to rest, and I'm taking it. 

And so, down the rocky-ass trail, dodging mountain bikes going both directions.  The lava rock seems to have settled in as the primary trail obstacle in this part of the state, giving me plenty of ankle-turning opportunities to inspect the ground carefully.  Thankfully, the thick forest remained for most of the day, and I could enjoy an actual forest hike for the first time in awhile.  At the base of the mountain, the trail became more hilly than mountainous, the trees less dense and more uniform.  My pace was slow and steady, my gaze transfixed on the ground when I heard more bikes behind me.  I instinctively got off the road quickly, and one bike passed.  The second stopped short in front of me, and the rider exclaimed, "Sedona?!"  Mr. Kyle, whose phone number I'd meant to find before even approaching Flagstaff, gave me an awkward bike hug.  We made plans to meet up the following day, and he offered me a futon to sleep upon.  Now, with too much trail magic upon me, I gave in and decided to take a long pause in Flagstaff.  At Schultz Pass Road, I hitched a ride to a downtown laundromat with a woman who plays steel drums and her philanthropist husband.  I texted Deb and will meet her soon for the hiking presentation, a shower, and sleep. 

10/4 Mile 173.7 to 192.5

by sedona maniak

I spent a long, cold night in pain.  The morning was lovely, however.  It's hard to explain how just a couple of hours of sleep in a freezing tent can make it possible to just up and hike nearly 20 miles straight uphill.  My explanation on the PCT was stubbornness.  There's no better explanation that I can offer. 

Anticipating a day of climbing, I checked my morning zooming pace and settled into an uphill grind at about 3mph.  A diversity of pine and spruce trees began to appear, and new understory as well.  Ferns and robust grasses appeared around ancient, huge stands of aspen.  The wind was gone and there were trees.  I've never walked so easily and quickly uphill in my memory.  Such a contrast to the ranch enthralled me, and I didn't notice the elevation or mileage until I began to run into daywalkers and mountain bikers.  Steep mountain trails are not a good place to put backpackers and mountain bikers together.  One nearly wiped out coming around a blind corner, not expecting to see a hiker.

Heading into an area clearly popular with recreationalists of all types, I ran into a couple coming down as I continued up towards Snowbowl.  The woman stopped and asked if I was thru-hiking, and we had a short conversation as mountain bikers grumbled around us.  She offered me a place to stay in Flagstaff and told me about a friend of hers who will be giving a talk about her thru-hike on the trail tomorrow night.  Like most hiker interactions, a huge amount of information was exchanged in probably 5 minutes, and before I knew it, I was headed back up the trail with a little paper full of information on Deb.  This could be an excellent way to easily meet up with T and take a little time to heal my now very swollen knee.

When I reached the end of my 2500' climb, it was nearly 4pm.  I really didn't want to camp so high up, given the recent temperatures at night, so I continued on, hoping the trail would begin to dip lower.  It didn't.  I am camped at 8750' near a beautiful little water tank called Alfa Fia (which was Alfa Romero in my head all day, by the way).  It will be cold, but it is really a treat to camp up on Humphreys.  The woods are dense and feel less managed than the forest I've seen so far, with its prescribed burns and constant cutting. 

10/3 Mile 155.3 to 173.7

by sedona maniak

Unrelenting wind kept with me all night.  I had become used to elk bugling and owls hooting, but the wind and my swollen, angry knee and infected (now right instead of left) toe left me tired and without energy.  Limestone-cobbled mud roads continued, with gouts of wind picking up dust devils and blowing them in my eyes.  Roads passed little ranch houses, pickup trucks with empty trailers barrelled past me, and finally, I saw the forest boundary.

Between me and the boundary sign, however, were 300 head of cattle, 4 dogs, two cowboys, and a truck with a horse trailer.  In the road which was also the trail.  What an opportune time for a damned cattle drive.  And what, exactly, is a hiker to do?  To both horses and cattle, the human form altered with a backpack and trekking poles is terrifying.  The cowboys, one on each side of the dirt road, were clearly annoyed with me splitting the herd by walking in the road.  So, I stood there, waiting for direction.  Finally, an exasperated cowboy waved me up the road, yelling at me exactly as he spoke to the herd.  I acquiesced, grateful for direction, and apologized to him as I passed, although I really didn't feel sorry for anything.  What alternative had I had?

At the forest boundary trailhead, right below a ranch house, there was a cache box.  My hope, after so much piss-water, was that some previous hikers/bikers/angels had left me some clear, clean water.  At first, when I opened the box, I only saw empty jugs with Sharman Bike written on them.  Further back, however, was a completely full one with "Anne" crossed out and "public" written in its place.  I took a chance and didn't bother filtering it.  I guzzled it.  I needed it.  Though I hadn't been out of water, this boon elevated my spirits greatly.

Beyond the ranch were more roads, I sadly noticed.  These roads were now cobbled with lava rock, which, though rounder, tends to be bigger and more terrifying if you're attempting to avoid stepping on certain areas of your feet, or are unstable on one entire leg.  I didn't look up for most of the day, negotiating the road like a minefield.  Luckily, I caught movement to my right just in time to see a herd of maybe a dozen elk, with two big males, silently moving through the junipers to my right.  I wonder how many I've missed!

As I continued, I began to see Humphreys looming closer.  The road brought me subtly into higher elevations as the day wore on, and I camped near the top of a rise in the San Francisco Peaks foothills, in a perfectly flat washed out area near the road.  There was time to watch a spectacular sunset before I disappeared into my tent to probably freeze my ass off tonight.

10/2/16 Mile 135.8 to 155.3

by sedona maniak

Whistling Jim had warned me that the next section, part of which he had just hiked, was boring and exposed.  I agree.  On the approach to the Babbit ranch, the forest gives way to juniper again, rubber rabbit brush and snakeweed.  Of course, I have nothing against this flora, but it is tedious.  When, at about 10am, a tarantula ambled across the trail in front of me, I stopped for a full 10 minutes to watch it, capitalizing on my spotty cell phone reception to call T and tell her of my recent adventures.  We planned to meet either in Flagstaff or Mormon Lake the next weekend, and I wanted her to know that I was on track. 

Overnight, there had been bugling elk to listen to and Great Horned owls to hoot with, and I'd hoped this traditional trail-like wildness would persist, despite the warning.  However, as the day progressed, things began to look more ranch-like.  Earlier in the day, I'd spotted a grey fox near the trail, and now, I couldn't get a view without cattle in it.  Cattle under juniper.  Cattle attempting to hide behind rabbit brush.  Cattle basking in the sun.  Cattle dropping piles in the trail.  Cattle and juniper, juniper and cattle.  

When I needed water midday, I went to Lockwood cattle tank, a dirt hole filled with mud and cattle.  No approach to a dirt cattle tank is without at least one shoe-sinking mud step.  And no water gathering attempt in the wind is without intense frustration of bottles toppling over, etc.  Amid pouring water from my Ziploc gathering bag (you can't easily gather from a shallow pool with a Sawyer squeeze bag, by the way...a Ziploc is a great alternative to skim above the muck), I looked up to see a steer urinating into my water source.  I swear the thing was sneering at me.

It took longer than I'd liked, but I gathered 4 liters and continued up the hard pan dirt road.  Relentless wind was starting, and I felt wind-burned and exposed very quickly.  Nothing made me want to stay on this damned ranch.  About 3pm, I saw, unbelievably, the silhouette of Whistling Jim headed toward me.  He looked a bit tired and asked how far it was back to his parking spot, up at the stage stop.  9 miles.  It was my turn to ask him about his water situation, and he clearly could use a bit.  I passed him my Nalgene of filtered cattle urine apologetically, but he took it unquestioningly, like a hiker.  I hope he was able to drink it.  When I drank from the same batch later, the taste lingered.  Safe water and good water are different beasts entirely. 

He continued on, and I was very happy to have returned the gift of water.  Backpackers and distance hikers have a very special relationship with water, since most of us have been in water crisis, whether real or perceived, at some point before.  Getting water in need can bring me instantly to tears.  Basic needs are quite visceral.

A couple of hours later, I found a minor respite from the wind in a little juniper and holly oak grove.  Getting the tent set up without tearing anything on the oak leaves took a bit longer, but being out of the wind was worth it.  The hard ranch roads absolutely devastated my feet and leg.  They are like concrete, except that the concrete has occasionally (for a mile at a time) been jackhammered into jagged limestone cobbles, ankle-breakers and stride-breakers.  If I ever do this trail again, I will categorically skip ranches.  I've seen cows.  Thanks.

The Russell Tank trough, a few miles from the big dirt tank, did manage to collect some monsoon water

The Russell Tank trough, a few miles from the big dirt tank, did manage to collect some monsoon water

Lockwood tank, post cow-piss

Lockwood tank, post cow-piss

10/1 Mile 116.4 to 135.8

by sedona maniak

It didn't take many miles for the blisters to return.  About 5 miles into my morning, wandering along fairly flat trail, attempting to make good time, I felt a nagging sensation under my right foot.  Again.  Before I could even find something to sit on, the thing ripped open on a misstep, and I slumped on a stump to look at it.  Engrossed, I was startled to hear a whistle coming from the trail ahead of me.  There stood a tall man leaning on trekking poles, who appeared to be having no foot issues at all.  He had a once-off-white day pack and worn boots.  With a huge smile, he said, "I didn't want to startle you."  We talked briefly while I assembled my dangling skin.  He was a physical therapist who was hiking the trail in sections, parking and doubling back each day.  Somehow, we managed to get some thorough personal biographies in our brief interaction, and, discovering that we had much science background in common, we resolved to try to meet up after he'd doubled back a couple of miles closer to where I'd camped the night before. 

With water an issue, however, I didn't want to wait long, and I left a note at a road crossing giving him my contact information just in case we didn't meet after all.  Less than a mile from the note, I heard "Hustler!"  He was behind me, approaching quickly, and I smiled and yelled, "Whistling Jim!"  His stride was certainly mine plus half, but he insisted on my walking ahead and talking so he could hear me.  We talked all the way to his truck, where he kindly offered me an energy drink and fruit; he also offered me water, but I declined, hoping that the recent rains had filled Russell Tank, which I'd planned for my stop that night.  He had planned to make Russell his next jumping-off point, and was about to drive there and begin the next section.  I left to hike the distance, hoping I might run into him again that night.

The terrain in the interim was rocky and heavily sloped.  An alternate bike trail had been built to keep mountain bikers from barrelling down the switchbacks to their doom.  As I picked carefully down them, I wondered how many people had tried the trail before the signs to use the bike alternate or walk bikes had been put up.  On the way back up (for one only goes down so that one may go up again), I noticed my knee making a sound not unlike Grapenuts settling in a bowl of milk.  It also hurt a bit, but that pain was fairly indistinguishable from the chorus of other IT band songs emitting from my right leg.  I blew it off.  Eventually, I reached Russell Tank, surprising a Northern Goshawk that had been feasting on a squirrel.  The squirrel's accomplice was chattering loudly from a nearby tree, and I wondered if it had just lost a relation, friend, enemy or lover to the raptor. 

The tank was dry.  I continued to the parking area, and was relieved to see Jim's Tacoma parked there, without any sign of the driver.  By the time I'd set up my tent and the light was markedly fading, I began to wonder about the guy.  Of course, just as I was considering popping down the trail to look for him, he came whistling around the corner, Tom Bombadil-style.  He'd done over 25 miles that day.  Though tired, he seemed to be in good spirits.  I bummed water off of him with profuse thanks.  We spoke briefly, but he wanted to get driving on the spiderweb of dirt roads before losing the light.  Maybe we will meet again tomorrow.

When I settled in my tent, the cereal sound in my knee was quite evident.  It has swollen considerably.  Excellent.

Hilariously, there are interpretive signs all over the place in random spots

Hilariously, there are interpretive signs all over the place in random spots

9/30/16 Mile 107.9 to 116.3

by sedona maniak

Dad dropped me off in the early afternoon after we attempted to find the route to the trail from Tusayan.  A pair of seeming locals informed us that the gate which appeared to be the easiest access to the trail was private property, so we simply gave up and drove north of town to a culvert trail crossing.  Eventually, I walked to the gate that the women had so adamantly denied being trail access.  It had a deeply incised trail used by many hikers to access the town or the trail, and was, actually, the only way for hikers to make it easily into town.  Jerks. 

After the ordeal of foot infections, I stopped every 3 miles rather than every 5 to remove my shoes and inspect my feet.  At each stop, joy began to seep back into me at being back on the trail after days off.  Amid the huge puddles left by the monsoon were freshly washed lupines and flowering buckwheat varieties.  Fragrance lifted off the evaporating rain, and I was happily intoxicated once again. 

I have forgotten to mention a couple of important points about this trail.  First, much of it is road, mainly decommissioned forest roads, but some active, frequently graded ones as well.  Second, there are SO MANY gates.  These are primarily ranch style, stick and wire, two loop cattle and game gates.  Gates like these seem to be constantly tightened to the brink of mobility by gangs of tall, hulking cowboys.  Several have caused me squished fingers, pack-dropping, and swearing.  The last one today, however, was simply impossible.  The wire loop was fitted into a groove on the opening stick at a height already exceeding mine.  It had been clearly tightened with a fence tool...some asshole really wanted to keep hikers out.  I had to slide my pack under the space between the gate and the ground, then squeeze myself under, catching my pants on the barbed wire a couple of times. 

Finally free of the evil gate, I hiked along a fence for awhile until spying the perfect campsite.  Music swelled, a light breeze trickled over me, a stray sunbeam shone tantalizingly on the little, flat patch of duff before me, between a couple of trees, with east-facing exposure.  It was late enough on a near-o day.  I took it.  After I'd put up my tent in a leisurely fashion, I cautiously removed my shoes and discovered no new blisters.  Lovely!

9/23/16 to 9/30/16 Another Interlude

by sedona maniak

Somehow, I am able to ignore pain until I stop moving.  In a hotel room in Kanab, I had to admit that I was far too messed up to return to the trail right away.  My left toe was a deep red of infection, pus oozing from it at every step.  My left leg was continually humming with the heat of an angry IT band, every step a new agony.  And the blisters on my left foot truly covered 60% of the bottom of the foot, with a deeply painful fold still prevalent from my stupid hammer toe.  This, too, oozed white and green.  I slightly tearfully agreed with my dad that taking a few days off was a good idea.  He drove us back to Kingman, where he and I managed to have some very good time together while my feet were progressing back to the safe zone.  On 9/30/16, he dropped me off north of Tusayan, and I can't thank him enough for being my impromptu trail angel.

A side trip to the Seligman area with Dad

A side trip to the Seligman area with Dad

9/23/16 Mile 65.9 to 79ish

by sedona maniak

I awoke with pluck and vigor.  At some insane point, I honestly believed that everything was fine and I would just waltz into the Grand Canyon, pop down to Cottonwood Camp, hell, maybe all the way to Phantom Ranch, and come out the other side of Kaibab smiling.  My day started roughly a mile from the park entrance, which would set me up perfectly for the endeavor.  Truly, I believed this.  On the way in, I competently yet slowly ascended the North Rim fire tower to check out the landscape, then I traipsed, still pluckily, over to the guard shack and asked if there would be a place for me at Cottonwood Camp.  Because who wants to walk 13 or so more miles only to find that there is nowhere available to legally camp in this damned national park?  The unhelpful 20-something working as fee collector (if you say his job title fast enough, it gives a hint as to how I feel about this kid...fecal) thoughtfully pointed me 10 miles south, without offering any alternative, to the backcountry office.  "So," I asked, trying to make sense of the situation, "you want me to walk 10 miles to find out if I am required to leave the park to camp or not?"  "Yeah," he replied with a shit-eating smile.  You know, according to the wise sage Bob Hare (the creator of the MSLR psychopath test), psychopaths often take positions as gatekeepers.  I fucking nominate this kid; he would get along well with Donald Trump.

So, I began walking.  After the park entrance, walkers are stuffed onto old, very steep roads that park employees clearly navigate only via ATV.  My leg ached heavily.  Every rock stabbed the holes in my feet.  I began to doubt.  At some point, well into my journey, I noticed my phone making sounds...reception.  My father had wanted to meet me on the South Rim today or the next, but, with no reception, there had been no way to plan it.  I really didn't want him to waste a weekend in Tusayan waiting for me to probably not make it, so I called him, telling him my plan to hitch around to the South Rim.  The mere thought of the stupid Kaibab Trail, the stupid park rules, the damned tourists and day walkers was just too much.  I wanted out of the canyon that I've spent so many years hiking and generally hating anyway.  (Who designs a hike that has the climb on the way OUT, anyway?!)

My dad and I agreed, after some haltingly poor reception, to meet up at Jacob Lake after he'd driven all the way around the canyon to meet me.  What an excellent guy!  I got a hitch from the road which heads toward the Visitor's Center from, surprise, a couple of Germans.  They took me all the way back to Jacob Lake, where I downed a BLT and a ton of coffee, convinced a young Mormon waiter to take his bride backpacking for a honeymoon, and generally stunk up the area while making reservations for a hotel with Dad in Kanab.

From the North Rim fire tower

From the North Rim fire tower

9/22/16 53.6 to 65.9 (and 5 miles of roads to get there)

by sedona maniak

There is some resilience in me that I can't explain.  Somehow, I can wake up barely able to move, with aching blisters in wet shoes, intense pain in my entire leg, and just walk miles and miles with fairly minimal pain (as long as the Vitamin I is taken at the appropriate times). 

I woke up to more rain, but packed up anyway, confident that the weather report from several days before would remain accurate.  Actually, there was no confidence at all, but I really had no desire to talk to the surly camp host again.  I hitched back to the confusing network of roads with another German, and thanked my foresight for purchasing the "Active" version of my phone, allowing me to navigate the roads with it in the rain.  Up the roads, I was walking a steady 3.5 mph, a quick uphill pace for me, and I barely noticed that the wind was picking up. 

Finally back on the trail, I enjoyed several miles of aspens and pines, oaks and pine-needled soft trail before a huge meadow opened before me.  At this point, the wind had become a gale, and the rain continued.  My pace had slowed somewhat, and the warmth that I'd been unknowingly generating started to dissipate.  Each curve of the meadow offered hope of a grove just around the corner, but I was disappointed repeatedly.  Before I could reasonably remedy the situation, my hands began to clamp and spasm on my trekking poles, and my legs started shivering.  I shuffled to the nearest trees, probably 1/8 mile from the trail.  By the time I reached them, my whole body was shivering, hot then cold, and motor control was not as simple as it had been earlier in the day.  I understood the situation.  Though it was only about 3am, the wind chill had snuck up on me, and I had to make camp immediately.  There was a slightly less sloped area just above me, and I made camp next to a fallen log, barely squeezing in between a couple of ponderosas.  For the next 13 hours, I attempted to stop the shivering and convulsions, keep my sloped tent dry, and to come up with creative ways to void my bladder and avoid leaving the cocoon of my quilt (ZipLoc bag--I'm not proud of it, but I also didn't die of hypothermia).  It was a very long night.

9/20/16-9/21/16 Interlude

by sedona maniak

The camp host at De Motte Campground made me feel right at home by shouting through the half-open screened window of his monstrous RV that there is no special "backpacker" campground and I'd have to pay what everyone else pays.  I hadn't inquired about a discount, however, but whether there was a space that the Park Service wanted to shove "walk-ins" who would not need RV hook-ups, and therefore would not be taking up the precious space allotted for such.  This is the case in many organized campgrounds, and was intended as a polite inquiry. Before I could explain myself, the little sliding window slammed shut against the downpour under which I was standing unprotected, and I hobbled to the nearest open campsite (these were on fairly level spots, which alleviated my concerns about being washed into the eroded surfaces of the burn).  I dropped my pack, walked back to the fee collection station, grabbed an envelope, and realized I'd forgotten to look at the site number.  Another damp, excruciating hobble later, I'd put cash into the envelope, filled out the soggy thing in the rain, and had made a bet with myself regarding whether the few dollars' change for my 2 night expected stay would actually be given back to me.  (It wasn't.)

I set up my tent as quickly as possible on the little afterthought of a gravel sandbox provided, next to the metal fire pit, as a space for the children of Real Campers to put up their little pussy tents while moms and dads eke out alone time in campers with adequate leaf springs.  During an endless deluge, as all tent dwellers will attest, it is impossible to keep the floor of a tent dry while wrestling down a rain fly in slick wind.  The bathtub floor became just that, as expected, by the time I began putting myself and stuff inside the tent.  I used my spare shirt to mop up what I could, blew up my air mattress as a lifeboat on which to place dry items, and set to creating a brief home. 

Inside my shoes, evidently, water had had some negative impacts, particularly in the blistered areas.  That is to say, well, my feet looked like this when I finally removed my shoes:

Yeah, I walked on those for awhile.  And this photo was before the REAL infection...

Yeah, I walked on those for awhile.  And this photo was before the REAL infection...

So, I spent the first rainy night drying out my feet and wondering at the obviously IT band related pain in my leg (from hip to hamstring to quad to knee to ankle and back again).  The next day was pouring as expected, and I spent most of it groaning and injecting Neosporin into the open areas of the huge blisters.  Occasional stumbles to the nearby pit toilet made me long for the trail, which is generally deserted, meaning that I don't usually have to go so far.  Around noon on that day of damp, tent-hiding luxury, a kind-faced woman with long salt-and-pepper hair yoo-hooed at me from outside.  I unzipped my tent to a peace-offering smile next to a jug of water which had been placed next to the flap.  "I thought you might want this," she said, clearly intrigued with my presence.  We chatted about backpacking and about her own solo car trip to visit her brother on the east coast.  She wanted me to understand how she was taking her time, camping along the way, avoiding the directives of the menfolk in her family, hahaha, etc.  I listened, understood that she was lonely for the company of independent women, and accepted that, for the courtesy of listening and agreeing with this woman who clearly needs to get out more, I would be paid in clean water and her wooden sign reading "site taken," which might save me a few angry headlights for a night.  RV people are never happy to see a tent and no vehicle in a site, especially after they've partially pulled into the seemingly vacant site.  They also seem to have no desire to read the dates on the tags posted on the site entrances.  But I digress.  She eventually drove off in a 90's Subaru festooned with bumper stickers proclaiming everything from vegetarianism to the rightful color of Lake Tahoe.  I drank the entire gallon of water that day.  Thank you hippie lady!

9/20/16 Mile 39 to 53.4 (and then a 5 mile network of long, confusing roads to Oblivion (aka De Motte Campground))

by sedona maniak

At Jacob Lake,  I'd checked the weather.   Sure, I saw the huge fucking storm headed this way.  I even camped on highish ground, out of the wind last night, in expectation.  I put together everything, stuffed it all in waterproof places, and slept.  It rained.  The wind blew.  When I woke up, there was an incessant drizzle.  My huge blisters oozed in response.  I bandaged them and was hiking fairly early in my rain jacket, with my pack cover on, noting the spreading dampness inside my shoes. 

I had camped in the large 10 year old burn just above the north rim.   Funny thing about burns...they provide no cover, no reprieve from the weather.  There were tiny young stands of aspen all around, none large enough to do anything but make you wetter in the search to be dry.  The trail was rocky, and I could hear traffic along SR67 all morning.  If you ever want to test your resolve, hike in increasing rain through a burn, on rocks, with substantial blisters, in soaked-through shoes, with an ever-more enticing road with traffic just a few hundred yards away.

I reached Crane Lake, drew a little water, felt another blister rip open, and continued, even more slowly.   Water was beginning to puddle now, even though the trees had returned, somewhat.  As I crossed a big meadow right next to the road, visions of flooding had taken over my dark mood.  I knew that there was a lodge just off the road a little south, and that the rain was supposed to continue until Wednesday, and that my feet really wouldn't heal in this damp.  So I did the thing.  I took a forest road (213, maybe?), and hitched to the Kaibab Lodge.   I'd already resolved to pay whatever insane price they wanted for a room.  The Minnesotans that I'd hitched with offered to wait in case I didn't manage to get one, but I cockily sent them on to the Canyon.  Yeah.  No rooms.  Nor phone service, Internet, nor whisky, which I would have paid handsomely for at that point. 

My walk, which was now really nothing more than a slowly controlled stumble, to the Forest Service campground next door was both agonizing and demoralizing.   At least I had a burger and pie in my belly when I got here.  I've decided to give myself tomorrow to recover and let the weather ease up. 

Sheer fun.

Sheer fun.

9/18/16 Mile 4.1 to 20.8

by sedona maniak

What a damned beautiful morning.  I walked back to the wildlife tank to retrieve 5 L for today's walk and a dry camp tonight.  While I was squeeze-filtering the second liter, concentrating intensely on getting only clean water in the container, I failed to notice the gray fox that had come in just across from me to drink.  His nose was close enough to touch, and he looked at me curiously when I bade him a calm, "good morning."  I finished my filtering as he watched, seated next to the pool.  He was so close that I could confidently determine his sex.  Quietly and steadily, I walked back to my backpack about 100'; away, turned on my phone, and approached again.  There were stellar photos as the curious fellow allowed me within 10'; again.  I thanked him and moved on.

Just before lunch,  a badger crossed the trail a few yards ahead of me.  Being an idiot biologist, I followed it to a cloud of dust that it was hastily creating to escape me.  It ducked inside a hastily remodified burrow just before I could get a photo, but I snapped the den anyway.  Since they have such a well-deserved reputation as badasses, I decided to leave it there.

By the time I reached the dry reservoir, I was at about 2.5 L of water and thirsty.  I'd prepared for a dry camp, as the water spreadsheet on the ATA website had accurately characterized this reservoir.  To my elation, however, there were two pristine gallons of cached water at the nearby trail junction.  I drank a full liter standing there, then filled up another.  Excellent trail angel-ing!

About a mile later, a blister on the ball of my right foot popped in an agonizing way.  I decided to walk another mile, then make camp and do some blister care.  This leaves me in ponderosas and Gambel oak, on some comfortable duff.  I'm pretty happy with 16.5 miles on my first full day, actually.   I hope I can stand up tomorrow.

Critters and plants today:
Ponderosa pine!
Pinon pine
Juniper
Gambel oak
Live oak
Several heavily grazed bunch grasses
Lichens aplenty
Plantago
Mojave yucca
That same damned goosefoot shrub
Desert Firecracker
Indian paintbrush
A lovely purplish penstemon
Prickly pear
Old man prickly pear
Silver cholla
Some mammalaria
Chamacyce (sp?)

Northern goshawk
Pinon Jay
Mountain bluebird
Ravens
Golden Eagle
Redtail hawk
Some Empidonax
Some wren with lots of yellow
Thrashers
Woodpecker
A large Coyote
Gray fox
Badger
Squirrels of many sizes
Jackrabbits
Horned lizard
 

9/17/16 Mile 0 to 4.1

by sedona maniak

After a huge breakfast in Flagstaff, T drove me the 3 hours to the Stateline campground at the Utah/Arizona border.  The Arizona Trail begins at the campground’s SE end, in a well-marked area with interpretive signs and a pagoda-style area at which one may cry as she realizes that she is embarking on a hot, juniper-filled set of switchbacks right away.  Not that I shed any tears, but I certainly wasn’t looking forward to this stark beginning on a big breakfast now churning away in my belly at early afternoon.

T sent me off with a shared beverage, a photo-shoot designed to hide my incredible beer gut next to the trail sign, a kiss, and a look that made me question whether she thought I might just go missing out here.  I set off, mildly huffing and puffing.  When walking in familiar landscapes, I immediately start naming species to take my mind off of my feet, knees and lungs.  The running jumble in my head often sounds like this: Yucca mohavensis?  What the hell is the correct species name for Mojave yucca?  OK, there’s Krasheninikovia.   How the hell can I remember that and not the species name for broom snakeweed?  And so on. 

So, today’s species list includes:
Winterfat
Broom Snakeweed
Mojave Yucca
Juniper
Indian paintbrush
Old man prickly pear
More juniper
Low sage
Gambel oak
I hope that's not poison oak surreptitiously mixed in there
Cheatgrass
Indian ricegrass?
Some cryptantya and a couple gilias
More juniper
Pinion pine
Russian thistle
Silver cholla
Purshia
Some goosefoot shrub
Globe mallow

Whiptails
Side blotched lizards
Jackrabbit
Bobcat tracks
Coyote and cow scat
I also heard frogs starting up near the wildlife tank.  Maybe I can catch one in the morning.

Today’s walk was just an afternoon jaunt to the first water source, 4 miles in.  Hopefully, tomorrow,  I’ll get in a good full day.