Arizona Tour, April 15, 2012 - Chiricahua Peak

I woke up at 5:30 to a gray sun trying to penetrate the icy film on the windows of the car I was sleeping in.  It was cold, and it took me time to gather the will to wiggle out of my sleeping bag and put the key in the ignition.  It was 26 degrees outside.  Not what I would normally associate with Arizona in April.

There was a lot of snow on the ground around me, and I knew I had 10 miles of dirt road to the Rustler Camp Ground trailhead.  I wasn't so worried about getting there, but more worried about the soupy mess the warm sun would turn the road to later in the afternoon.  I could go back to the flooded road for the Mormon Creek approach, but I doubted it would be in much better shape than it was last night.  I decided to go take a look at Mt. Graham where the road is paved to the trailhead, a 2.5 hour drive away.  To make a long story short, I drove to the Graham approach where I found the road was iced over 10 miles from where I needed to start the hike.  Damn it.  There were few guardrails, and steep drop-offs in some places, so I was forced to retreat.  My goal (however silly) of bagging the 4 southeastern Arizona ultra-prominence peaks was a bit in jeopardy if I couldn't get either Chiricahua or Graham today.  I decided to drive back to the Upper Mormon approach to Chiricahua, where even if the road was still flooded I could park there and do an 18 mile hike to the summit.  After retracing the 2.5 hour drive I just made, I found the flooding in the road to be reduced enough to be passable, and had few problems making it to the trailhead at the Sycamore Campground (6,250').  However, I was getting a late start at 11:30.  What a dumbass.

I knew this approach wasn't frequently used, but it was the shortest (and steepest), which I prefer.  After taking a few minutes to find the trail itself (it was an unobvious trail that started after a stream crossing) I started off on the faint, poorly marked trail, observing several patches of snow and wondering what it would be like higher up.  Soon, the trail was clearer and easier to follow.  The first hour was pretty uneventful, at which point I came upon a firefighter for the US Forest Service.  He told me about the devastating forest fire that swept through the area last year, which was the reason the lightly used trail I was on was in such good shape - foliage had been trimmed back to give firefighters direct access to the blaze.  It began as a warming fire set by either illegal immigrants or drug smugglers - we were standing about 20 miles north of the Mexican border.  At this point he also saw fit to tell me "Well, drug smugglers don't like to use this trail much.  But watch out when you get near the top - they like the routes that traverse the summit ridge."  His advice mirrored that of locals I had contacted before my trip - smugglers tend to travel in groups of 4-6 - if I was to encounter them, pretend I don't see them and run like hell continue on my way.

Of course, I never saw anything of the sort.  What I did see was a completely charred landscape once I hit 8000'.  All that remained were the skeleton trunks of badly burned trees, and loose, dark soil.  The devastation was so complete that I completely lost any sign of the trail.  In hindsight, I should have taken pictures, but I was already concerned with routefinding through an essentially featureless landscape.  The going was miserable - I was setting waypoints on my GPS every 100 yards or so, and the loose soil made gaining ground on the very steep incline difficult.  I would estimate it took me about 90 minutes to go just over a half mile with about 1000' of elevation gain.  Soon afterwards I found the trails criss-crossing the summit ridge, and took a direct bushwhack path to the summit.  The rewards were not rich for this one.  The summit was a jigsaw of trees that had perished and survived the recent fire, with no real views to be had.  See underwhelming photo:

A summit only a peakbagger could love

It really warmed up during the course of the day, and there was noticeably less snow on the descent.  Once I dropped below the burn zone, the smell of wildflowers and other flora filled the air, and my allergies flared up on cue.  The nicest area was just near the car, where the snowmelt had given rise to a pretty strong stream:

Stream near the trailhead

Other than a bird or two and a few insects, I saw no wildlife on the hike...except when I returned to the trailhead, where a group of 10 or so parked 4 pick-ups and were blasting country music while ripping their ATVs up and down the forest service road.  Ah, nature.

Hike stats:  8.5 miles, 3600' of elevation gain - took me a whopping 5 hours and 50 minutes.

My day wasn't yet complete - I repeated the 2.5 hour drive to Mt. Graham.  The warm sun had melted the ice on the road, and I was able to make it to the Arcadia campground at dark, where I found one snow-free site and set up my tent.  It was incredibly (and eerily) quiet - I had the campground to myself, or so I thought.  A passing glance of my headlamp reflected the eyes of a spotted owl, who was silently watching me from a nearby tree branch.  I was in bed by 10, and slept well until about 2:30, when I heard a pickup enter the site.  At first I was a bit on guard, but I heard the voices of what sounded like a high school boy and girl.  They were loud as hell, then fell silent for about 5 minutes, then the pickup truck left.  I'll leave you to construct the story.  Let's just say I really wished I had one of these:

A bit scarred, I went back to sleep, with a hike of Mt. Graham on the agenda for the next day.

Arizona Tour - Miller Peak

After leaving Wrightson Peak, I had a 3 hour drive to the Miller Peak (9,466') area.  Before leaving for Arizona, the long term forecast called for about 36 hours of crappy weather, and the local weather reports confirmed this.  A cold front was coming through, bringing sustained winds of 30 mph with gusts up to 50...and temperatures in the mid to high 30s in the towns - meaning it would be worse up in the mountains.

The weather was still good, and I stopped in the town of Sierra Vista, AZ to get Claritin and sunscreen.  I also stopped at a forest ranger station to look for campsites, where I encountered the Huachuca Hash House Harriers preparing for a run.  These Harrier clubs are located all over the U.S., and combine the mutually beneficial endeavors of running and drinking - with a healthy dose of vulgarity thrown in for good measure.  I was glad to know I wasn't the only nut out and about in southeastern Arizona.

As I drove towards the trailhead in the Coronado National Monument - just a couple miles north of the Mexican border - I saw lots of signs warning of smuggling and illegal immigration.  Not to worry, I had expected this and spoken with a few area hikers that gave me pointers on how to deal with the situation should I encounter it.

Smuggling is common in this area, so if you're looking for a career change...

The paved road soon turned to gravel, and after a few miles I was at the trailhead - seeing one of about 50 border patrol trucks I would see during my trip.  No place to camp, so I headed for an established campground (Parker Canyon Lake) a mere 23 miles further along the unpaved road - this took awhile moving at 25 mph.  My dumb ass later found that a completely paved road also leads to this campground, but why do things the easy way?  By the time I arrived, it was dark, the wind had picked up, and about 20 other groups were camping out.  Exhausted from the Wrightson hike and drive, I put up the tent and slept the sleep of the dead at 10pm.

The next morning, I woke up at 6am to find I camped at a beautiful spot, but it was time to move on.  I scarfed down a Clif Bar, took down the tent as I cursed the wind and drove the 40 minutes back to the Miller Peak Trailhead at Montezuma Pass (6,575').  It was in the low 30s with a brutal wind, so I took my time getting ready.  I loaded up on clothes and started on the trail towards the Miller Peak summit (signed as 5.3 miles away).  Luckily, this trail started on the leeward side of the ridge, so I was protected from the wind initally and was able to generate some warmth.  After a bit more than a mile I came across the first of three adits - old entrances to mineshafts.  I approached the first one slowly, as I had been informed these sometimes serve as makeshift camps for border crossers, but nobody was around.  I wanted to inspect a bit more, but the entrance was sealed, as was the case in the next adits.  So I settled for a photo.

Sealed entrance to an abandoned mine on Miller Peak

I continued upward, and got my first view of Miller Peak.  In contrast to the reddish green area I was in, the top was getting pelted with ice and snow and looked cold and grey.

Miller Peak

At this point I also saw a couple small patches of gorgeous purple wildflowers, stubbornly holding their ground in a cold, burned out area.

I know what you're thinking, but no, dumbass, this isn't Lupinus arizonicus.  It's Lupinus sparsifloris.  I can't take you anywhere.

This gave me a bit of a spring in my step...until the trail crossed the ridge into the full teeth of the wind.  It was a different world here, a very cold wind contorting the trees and further insulting them by covering them in rime ice.  I snapped a couple quick photos here, but I started freezing and decided to put the camera in the backpack for the rest of the hike.

Rime ice on some old burned trees

I moved quickly, continuing to ascend into worse conditions.  The snow started accumulating, and I was getting pelted by little hard balls of ice - part snow, part hail.  I covered my face as best I could and continued on to the summit, touched the highest point and hauled ass back to where the trail was on the leeward side.  After that it was a leisurely stroll.  The way down always seems to take twice as long.

Would have loved a zip line down to the car here

Once back at the trailhead I snapped some photos and did a quick hike up to Coronado Peak, where there was a lot of cool information about Coronado's expeditions in the area in the 1500s looking for the seven cities of gold.

View from Montezuma Pass - 6,575'.  You can see the brown border fence cutting diagonally across the middle of the picture. 

Summary stats for April 14:  11.0 miles, 3440' elevation gain, 5 hours 15 minutes

It was then time for another 3 hour drive to Chiricahua peak.  I had no problems on the roads, and was hoping to arrive at camp before dark (which arrives early at 7pm).  I didn't quite make it.  Darkness had just fallen when I made it to the dirt road that led 9 miles into the Upper Mormon Creek Trailhead (Iocated at the Sycamore campground).  The road at first appeared fantastic, wide and level, but the storm that hit me at Miller Peak had also hit here, and as I gained altitude the road started to get a bit muddy in places.  Still no problems until mile 6, where the road was flooded.  Damn.  I didn't want to drive through the water in the dark, so decided to pursue an alternative approach to the Rustler's Creek campground.  However, after four miles of 14 on a dirt road I started seeing a lot of snow left over from the storm.  By this point I was tired, so I pulled off to the side of the road and went dirtbag for a second night, sleeping in the back of the Crown Vic.

The Arizona Forest Fire Tour - April 12 and 13

With a conference to attend in southern California on April 18 and 19, I decided to do some peakbagging "in the area," just 500 miles away in Arizona beforehand.  The objective was to get the 4 ultra-prominence peaks in southeastern AZ and whatever else I could fit in.

I landed in Tucson around 9:30 Thursday night.  Pickings were sparse at the rental car company, so I got the police car special, a black Crown Victoria.  After a 90 minute drive, I ended up in Madera Canyon - I had planned to stay in the campground next to the trailhead, but it was full (?!).  No other campgrounds were in the area, and I was tired.  Being a dirtbag, I parked at the trailhead (5,500'), pulled out my sleeping bag and curled up in the spacious back seat.  The Crown Vic was already paying off. 

My objective for the day was Mt. Wrightson (9,453'), considered by some to be "the nicest hike in Arizona."  I woke up at 5:30 with the sunrise.  It was just above freezing outside, so I got ready and hit the Old Baldy quickly to warm up.  The first point of note was the Josephine saddle at about 7,400', with a memorial to three young Boy Scouts who died in a freak storm in November of 1958.

I continued on to the Baldy Saddle, where I emerged from the woods and was treated to the spectacular views.  Unfortunately, I'd also begin to see evidence of a past forest fire, which was a theme for my entire trip. 

Baldy Saddle.  Evidence of the 2005 forest fire is still very evident.

It was also at this saddle (about 8,750') that I began to feel the effects of altitude, something that I always experience in the first couple days of a trip out west.  From here it was a mile hike to the top of Wrightson.

Mt Wrightson from the Baldy Saddle

At the top were the ruins of an old fire tower and some really nice views of the lower peaks of the area.

Views from Mt. Wrightson

From here I descended back to Baldy Saddle, and then north to the unofficially name "Mount Ian" (9,146').  The trail doesn't go to the top, so it involved a little bit of bushwhacking through burned out forest and over some rocks.  At this point it was starting to get hot outside, but I didn't have to worry about rattlesnakes emerging to sun themselves - they are rarely observed above 7,000'. 

"Mount Ian"

One of the many victims of the 2005 forest fire

Mt. Wrightson framed by one of many burned out trees

After a not particularly enjoyable bushwhack back to the trail, I had to decide if I wanted to go for the obscure "88 Mac," (8,853') another unofficially named peak about a mile north of Mount Ian.  At this point I had done about 4,500' of elevation gain, and knew I'd be in for about another 1000'.  It being early yet, I decided to go for it. 

"88 Mac" from the trail to Florida saddle

I took the trail north, and it heartbreakingly lost over 500' to the point where I'd need to depart and bushwhack for the 88 Mac summit. I was not looking forward to making this up on the way back; I was getting a headache from the altitude and/or heat - or so I thought.

I got to do some more off-trail scrambling to the summit of 88 Mac, where I took a 15 minute break and had a snack.  One thing I love about western peaks is the tradition of summit registers, especially on less-traveled ones like 88 Mac.  It's a bit like traveling through a time machine - this one went back to 1992.

"88 Mac" summit register - entry from 1992



85 degrees in nearby Tucson, but still some snow lingering up here!

 From here it was a long walk down.  As it was warming up, I saw more and more wildlife.  I saw dozens of blue-tailed lizards as well as a single horned orange one.  I was too slow with my camera to catch them, but did borrow an image for posting below:

Blue-tailed lizard.  Not my picture, and I lost the reference information.

I began to zone out on the walk down, which was about 6 miles long.  Near the trailhead I saw a bear about 25' from me in the woods, both scaring the hell out of each other.  I was pretty alert the rest of the way down.

I got back to the car at 3pm, with the great feeling of being pretty spent from the day's effort.  Unfortunately the headache didn't subside as my altitude headaches usually do after losing elevation - I was to find out later this was an allergy headache.  All hail Claritin.

Final stats:

15.2 miles, 5500' of elevation gain.  Took me 9 hours, which is longer than I would expect, mostly due to the altitude.




The day's labor (my route in red)


From here, it was a drive to the Parker Canyon Lake trailhead near tomorrow's objective, Miller Peak.



The Santa Rita mountains, including Mt. Wrightson



Umstead Long Run - April 7 - and Its Aftermath

After running the 2011 Umstead Marathon (I use the word 'run' liberally, as it took me nearly 5 hours), a hot early spring sapped my desire to run, and I ran a grand total of 16 miles between April and September, and I didn't get even half-way serious about running until January. 

Why am I telling you this?  Well first, I'm blogging, so I'm a bit of a narcissist.  But also, to illustrate that I've had to rebuild mileage slowly.  To date, my long runs have been no more than 8.3 miles, which meant Saturday was a perfect time to go to Umstead for a three hour run.  My goal was simply to keep moving.

I loved the feeling of just running for three hours, taking whatever path I felt like.  A nice change of pace from a mileage-driven goal.  In short, I walked most uphills in the last two hours, but did manage to run 16.1 miles in 3:02.  A 11:20 pace, which isn't much to brag about, but I didn't feel dead afterwards.

I even felt pretty good Sunday, but with a slightly stiff back.

Today?  I wake up with sharp pain in the right knee and a tight right calf.  Go to work, and it gets worse after sitting for most of the day.  Stop off at Umstead on the way home, hoping it will loosen up.  It doesn't.  I came home.  Will try again tomorrow.

Linville Gorge - Day 2 (April 1)

We're up at first light Sunday morning.  I begin wondering what the implications are of Brogan staying up 2 hours later than normal and waking up an hour earlier than normal.  We quickly down a champion's breakfast of coffee/hot chocolate and a Clif bar and take down the tent.

First on the agenda - a visit to Wiseman's overlook.  Great views of the gorge.  Unfortunately, the photos are a bit bleached - I forgot my polarizing filter.  We hang out here for about 20 minutes.

In front of Hawksbill, which we'd hike later in the day

The view south down Linville Gorge from Wiseman's Overlook; Table Rock to the left

Brogan looking north along Linville Gorge

Hamming it up at Wiseman's Overlook

Next up - Laurel Mountain (4,060'), just off the road on the west rim of the gorge.  There is no trail to the top; it's a summit only a peakbagger could love.  I debate whether or not to subject Brogan to this idiocy, but when we pull off the road my GPS tells me we're only 0.28 miles from the summit.  How bad can it be?  We start up through some rhododendron and blow-down.  Brogan is dubious, but soldiers on.

I am a bad father.  Next up, chainsaw juggling.

That is, until the bugs come out.  Brogan has a bit of a bug phobia, and is very annoyed by those flying around his head.  About halfway to the top, we pass a dead tree, about 15' high.  This tree is peculiar in that most of its base is gone.  I tell Brogan to take a wide berth around this thing, and this is the last straw.  Lack of sleep, the bugs, the bushwhacking and the fear of being "smushed" by a tree all combine to break the camel's back; a mini-meltdown occurs, and he asks to turn around.  It's the first time he's ever done this, so I know he's upset and immediately head down.

How is this thing still standing?

  He's still excited for Hawksbill, as there's a trail to the top and he saw how "cool" the mountain looked from the other side of the gorge.  The trail is rocky and steep.

Why take the easy way?

I was too slow with the camera to catch his crimp move with the left hand.

Success!  Now, how to get down...

At this point, I hear words that send me into a panic.  "Dad, I have to poop."  We're pretty far in at this point, and I'll spare you the conversation, but it was clear we had to get somewhere fast.  Luckily, I had stashed some TP in the backpack he was carrying.  There will be no pictures from this portion of the story.

Suddenly three pounds lighter, Brogan bounds up the trail to the summit, which was fantastic.  Lots of rock outcrops for great views. 

Victory!

View across the gorge from the top of Hawksbill

Brogan at the top of Hawksbill, camera looking south.  The two peaks we climbed the day before are visible - Dogback (L) and Dobson Knob further away (R, just left of Brogan)

This little dummy made me nervous, jumping from rock to rock, oblivious to the several hundred foot drop-off just below him

After a snack and taking in the views, we head down.  Tree roots keep grabbing Brogan's feet, and a couple nasty falls onto the rocky trail result, including an acrobatic one that involved a somersault and miraculous avoidance of hitting head on rock.  At this point we decide to call it a day and forsake our last hike to the top of Gingercake Mountain.

Despite the pain of several falls, the promise of ice cream still draws a smile.

Overall, a good trip.  I'm not happy with how quickly our boy is growing up, but on the way home I do realize one benefit:  he is getting better at expressing himself.  He tells me his favorite things about camping is "sleeping in the tent with his Dad" and "roasting marshmallows."  He also enjoys adding mountains to the list that he's climbed, but not the ones that make him fall or don't have a trail.

Linville Gorge - Day 1 (March 31)

Tiff skipped town to Chicago to run a half-marathon in her 13th state, leaving me with the boys.  That meant - peakbagging!  The plans were probably too much for a 10-year old hobbled dog, so I dropped Leon off at the in-laws Friday night and packed for the trip.

Only 3 hours after our scheduled 5am departure, we headed for Linville Gorge.  A healthy breakfast of donuts and coffee (Mom's outta town!) along the way, donuts and coffee-induced farts in the car (go wild, it's Mom's car!) and we're reach the Kistler Memorial "Highway" on the west side of Linville Gorge at noon, heading south.  Our first objective, Dogback Mountain (3,540'), was an easy 0.1 mile round-tripper off the road, but with great views of Hawksbill and Table Rock. 

Brogan and Gus posing for a terrible photographer - I hid Table Rock behind a tree

A hop back in the car and a few mile drive to an open white gate off to the right - we take this 2.7 miles to a small parking area for Dobson Knob (3,700', one of North Carolina's 95 peaks with 1,000' of prominence), our longer hike of the day.

The first mile or so of the hike is on an old jeep trail.  We pass the time in true Dillmore dorkiness - Brogan insisting on math problems after every 0.1 miles, doing well on addition and multiplication but experiencing problems distinguishing between velocity, distance and time.  Gus, wanting to participate, trots up after the first mile or so with a very self-satisified look on his face.  Did he just figure out how to split the atom?  Did he just prove that P=NP*? No, but close...he rubbed himself with Unidentified Animal Feces (UAF)!!!  Because it is smart to smell like the excrement of a wild animal (who apparently had Mexican food and beer the night before).
* - bzzzt!  If you got this reference without google, you are even more hopeless than I am.




The UAF stripe on the shoulder really ties his ensemble together - and guarantees him a lot of space in the tent

 After many washings in puddles, admonitions from Brogan and verbal affirmations from me that yes, he is the male offspring of a female dog, we are on our way again.  Soon the road becomes a foot trail - the Mountains To Sea Trail in fact.  I remark to Brogan that this is the same trail that passes within a mile and a half of our house back in Raleigh, and that we travel this same trail often.  He, being five, has not yet learned how to politely hide the fact that he could not possibly be less impressed.  Which then makes me wonder about my daily interactions with other adults...

Anyway, after about 2 miles we see an unmarked path heading off to the summit of Dobson Knob.  I hand the GPS off to Brogan, who likes to watch the mileage decrease as he approaches the summit. 

Literally following the shortest line to the summit.  Metaphorically following in his Dad's footsteps.  The over/under on age he first kisses a girl is 18.4

We reach the summit (sic) and shatter the ethos of the wilderness with a cell call to Mom.  No more peaks on the agenda today, so it's time to find a campsite and settle in, right?  Well, no.  See, a small distance away the topo map indicates two contours that are the same height as the marked summit, meaning we can't be sure that we reached the true summit of Dobson Knob.  So, we tack on an extra mile to visit the other areas.  I have great difficulty explaining this to my five year old, which means

• it's probably too complicated
• there's hope for him yet

Tromping to the summit(L)/[thought bubble] Oh no!  P=NP has terrible implications for the future of cryptography!!! (R)

The rest of the hike is rather uneventful.  We find GPS readings on the other contours to be 25' lower than the marked summit on the topo map.  We also see lots of tadpoles in the puddles on the way back.  Brogan is proud to set his one-day hiking record of 6.19 miles (boo 1!) and 1225' of elevation gain.

We take our pick of the numerous fantastic sites available on the west rim of Linville Gorge and settle in for the night.  Mac and cheese with peas followed up with S'mores make it a great night.   

Our accomodations for the night.  Gus sees some poop in the distance that looks like the rollin'-in kind

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Winding down with Dr. Seuss by the fire

Night be damned, that Dr. Seuss book WILL be finished!