| Jun. 4th, 2006 @ 09:32 am plans-plant |
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(Transplanted from plans for safekeeping)
Home again, home again, jiggety-ugh. 5 days above 7000 feet, hiking all day, sleeping under the stars, and recharging with cold, fresh water from springs and high streams. Back to Tucson, back to work, back to summer -- a sunny 105 degrees, with dry thunderstorms and dust storms expected over the weekend. Funny, it was still getting down close to freezing at 10,000 feet.
On the other hand, we got lost. Not a little bit turned around, but Lost, such that it took us a solid 24 hours of intense struggle to get found again. It was frightening, but it was also refreshing. Nothing like an epic battle with the elements to clear the head and boost one's confidence. I'm thinking in particular of the day before yesterday when, forced by circumstances to scale, a very steep 1000 ft slope, covered with talus and thorny brush, more or less straight up. Upon reaching the top, I commented to Chris, "I would never have thought that I could do that." And I wouldn't have. But I could. So now I can. Anyway, we're home, safe and sound, if also somewhat, blistered, bruised, scraped, and battered. And a little sore.
A brief summary, keeping in mind that I haven't yet figured out either the milage involved or exactly where we were on Monday and Tuesday.
Saturday: Drive to trailhead on western edge of Gila National Forest, roughly 6,000 feet. Hike about 5 miles into Gila Wilderness, mainly through hot, dusty, up-and-down desert trails. First few miles fairly well populated.
Sunday: Climb to Hummingbird Saddle (15 miles, up to 10,000 ft) for water and camping in beautiful mixed conifer. Two other hikers pass through after dark but never saw them. Wonderfully cold and fresh.
Monday am: Climb Center Baldy (10,500-some ft) just after breakfast for the view. Hike 6 miles along a ridge to Apache Springs (~9500 ft), where minimal water is available. Collect and treat two liters and meet up with a trail-maintenance crew. One crew member warns us of a severe lack of water in the high country and points us toward a more reliable water source. This will be the last person we see until near the trailhead.
Monday pm: Change plans to make a bigger loop while staying close to good water sources. Chart course for Dry Creek (perennial water in upper reaches) and set off. Descend to about 8500 feet before realizing we are on the wrong trail. Reascend to Apache Springs, then to summit of Black Mountain (10,300 ft?) to find correct trail. Lose trail in massive burn area. Several hours of bush-whacking through thick aspen and gooseberry. Descend steep talus slope to meet Dry Creek and find the trail there. Water available, but no good camping spot. We fill up, consult the map, determine our location, and plan to follow trail about one more mile (200 ft ascent, 200 ft descent) to next creek crossing. Ascend approximately 1000 ft, conclude we must be on the wrong trail. It is getting dark, no sign of water or flat ground. Redescend to Dry Creek to camp uncomfortably, agonize over options.
Tuesday am: At dawn, a thorough search reveals no other trail. Much agonizing. The question: Climb the trail again, figuring it must be the right one, or bush-whack roughly a mile downstream (though thick brush) and attempt to find trail at next crossing? Back to the trail, which is clear and well-marked with cairns, if somewhat steep and covered with bear spoor. Just above the previous day's turnaround, trail seems to turn the right direction and descend.
Tuesday noonish: The trail continues: slight descent, much twisting and turning, and switchbacks up to about 1500 ft above previous camp. Suddenly, it turns completely the wrong way. At the next viewpoint, we are clearly on the wrong trail. In fact, we are on the same wrong trail as Monday, about 5 miles downstream. It leaves the forest into empty desert to the south, with no road or known water source for dozens of miles. No option: We return to the previous night's camp for an invigorating lunch of crackers, reconstituted hummus, and (treasure of treasures) a tin of smoked oysters. Much water is consumed.
Tuesday pm: A new conclusion and new set of decisions: After losing the trail in the burn area, we must have descended to the creek too far to the east and found a connecting trail, not on the map, that led up to the wrong trail from yesterday. Do we now bushwhack down the creek a few miles west to find the correct trail, or do we cut our losses, reascend roughly 2000 feet to Black Mountain, and take a shorter route back to the initial trailhead. We bushwhack. About a mile downstream, the creek narrows (as expected from the map), and we are forced to take to the slopes. Unfortunately, the map in question rather understates the steepness of both creek and canyon sides. To avoid sheer rock face, we are forced to bushwhack 1000 feet almost straight up to the ridge. No sign of the trail, although we must be within 1/2 mile to the south of it. In order to find the trail without becoming permanently lost, we follow the ridge a few miles back east, past the previous campsite, nearly to Black Mountain. As morale and water supplies approach an all-time low, Chris drops his pack and starts down the north slope a slow, methodical search for the trail. After about 10 minutes, he finds it and comes back to find me. We descend to the trail through heavy burn and windfall -- huge ponderosa pine llie scattered like matchsticks, and the now-sunny slopes have been colonized by very thorny thickets of locust. The trail goes about halfway up the opposite slope, to about 9000 or 9500 feet, and slowly skirts toward out goal for the day: the convergence of the Spruce and Dry Creeks at 7000 feet. We save two gulps of water each for the hike, and spend about 6 miles hiking to a place we have been within 1 mile of on at least two occasions. We reach the convergence at dusk after an extremely rapid (thus painful) descent and jump immediately into the icy water. Laundry, a hearty dinner of lentils and rice, and much drinking of cold water follow. For the first time in 36 hours, we're pretty sure we know where we are. Unfortunately, we're also almost out of food, having planned to return to the trailhead on Wednesday noon. 10-15 miles and several drainages out from the trailhead, can we make it back in one day, or should we ration food and plan to stay an extra night?
Wednesday am: Up before dawn for coffee and very watery muesli. At dawn, we are on the trail. 1000 feet up. 200 feet down. Cross into a new drainage. Lose the trail in a new burn. Find the trail. Nope -- wrong trail. The right trail has probably been washed out in last year's post-fire flooding. Up 200 more feet. Find the right trail. Up 1000 feet over just a few miles, through high-severity burn. Nearly every pine is dead, blackened from top to bottom, and the understory is full of brilliant green ferns. We reach a saddle and know, at last, where we are and where we're going. And where we're going is down.
Wednesday pm: Fortunately, the final descent is slow -- perhaps 3500 feet over more than 10 miles. Within 1.5 hours, we have reached a perennial branch of the Whitewater Creek, which we will follow to the trailhead. The trail rises and falls but stays close to the creek, crossing it frequently. We stop at a deep pool to bathe and eat the last of the food. By 7000 feet, the forest is gone, and the heat and the flies have become intolerable. The last two miles of the trail seem interminable. My feet are a bloody mess, and my knees are shot. Extreme culture shock and general grumpiness ensue. We reach the parking lot at 4:30 pm. A tourist from Vermont brings his two tiny rat-like dogs over to the car, where we are changing and attempting to clean up. As I unbandage my feet, he waxes poetic on the upcoming Rainbow Gathering, which he plans to attend, and on the ridiculousness of people who stay in Arizona for the summer. We ignore him, and he looks at my feet, at my arms, which are nearly covered by thorn scratches, then at Chris's face, and he slowly backs up and returns to his car. |
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