The Arizona Trail: Flagstaff to Pine

111 miles; days 9-14

Day 9 (11/19/21): 18 miles

Leaving Flagstaff was tough for me emotionally. The gravitational pull of a warm bed and amenities like laundry, hot food, a shower—even human interaction—had really sucked me in.

It wasn’t until I’d walked a full day, that I truly broke the pull.

I woke up early at Motel Du Beau and composed my email newsletter, organized some of my belongings and then headed over to the main building for breakfast.

It was simple fair but the coffee was hot and I met a woman named Judy who seemed keen on helping me do a resupply once I made it south of Tucson.

I’m always so surprised by the generosity of people—a woman who didn’t know me at all, wanted to pick me up and bring me to her home, let me do laundry, have a shower, take me grocery shopping, and then drive me back to the trail.

I was awash with gratitude as I hurried through the rest of my morning chores, which involved visiting the local REI, getting a pastry from a nearby breakfast shop, and packing up my backpack.

At one minute to eleven, I checked out of the motel and called an Uber to take me to the Safeway that was near Buffalo Park. I would walk back to the trail from there.

My achilles tendons were painful to the touch, bruised and swollen.

I was trying out a new shoe and despite the pains associated with the adjustment, I was happy. The trail runner had a thicker sole and was made of a more durable material—my hope was that it would survive the whole 800 mile journey.

When I walked into the grocery store I was struck with overwhelm; there were people everywhere, it was loud, and the lines were long. I threw my pack into a cart and wove my way up and down the isles.

I grabbed my usual: tortillas, peanut butter, granola, chocolate bars, Cheetos, ramen, salami, cheese slices, protein bars, a bag of freeze dried kale, a package of instant potatoes, and some trail mix.

By the time I got up to the register the lines had disappeared; after paying I made my way out to the sidewalk and quickly unpackaged bulkier items and let air out of some of the bags to save space.

My walk back to the urban “trail” and through Flagstaff proved very urban indeed, as its name-sake suggested. Flag is a city, not a town, and I walked right through the heart of it. I was relieved when I made it back into the woods 4 miles later.

You might be thinking, "Hey, I've seen this picture before!" No. You haven't. There were endless miles of ponderosa pre-Pine.

I was struck with homesickness and anxiety as I climbed up onto the plateau outside of town. I missed Logan terribly and felt a surge of regret for having committed to hiking for nearly 40 days continuously.

I wrestled with my feelings until the sun started to set and the sky was lit up in a neon blaze of hot pinks and oranges. Nature was reminding me why I was out here, why what I was doing was ever so important.

I recommitted to the mission.

After darkness fell, I made my home for the night in some pillowy dirt churned up by cow hooves and fell asleep quickly.

Day 10 (11/20/21): 23 miles

Today was supposed to be a thirty mile day, but I couldn’t even muster the energy to do twenty-five.

With as badly bruised and swollen as my achilles tendons were, and the major round of blisters my left foot wound up sustaining, twenty-three miles felt like a victory.

My pinky toes were totally annihilated; the left one was fully encapsulated in a fluid-filled sac, with naught but a cyclops-eye of a toenail peeking through.

I can't even remember where or when I took this photo... after 300 miles of plateau walking, everything starts to look the same.

Eight miles into my day I ran into a man who was section hiking. He seemed desperate to chat, but my body was in revolt, and standing around in 20 degree weather before the sun had fully risen left me feeling light-headed and irritable.

I tried to remain present and focus on what he was telling me—that he had been attempting a thru-hike in the spring but his wife was diagnosed with cancer, so he’d left the trail to be with her.

He began to tear up.

I tried to demonstrate sympathy; what he was telling me was truly devastating, but I was starting to feel faint from the pain in my feet and chill of my sweat cooling.

I stayed long enough to learn that his wife had made a full recovery and was waiting for him at the next trailhead in their van. He warned me about an upcoming pass—Romero?—that was incredibly steep and sheer and then waved me on.

My pace was shot. I stumbled downhill, off of the plateau and back into ponderosa, shivering and limping.

My gear was wet from another night of condensation, and so I stopped as soon as I reached a sunny patch and exploded my pack to dry everything out.

I sat down on my foam pad and stuffed food in my mouth apathetically.

There was snow in the forecast, hence my desire to bust out a big day mileage-wise, but I was past caring if I got snowed on.

I had just realized I would remain above 6,000ft in elevation almost all the way to Pine, that my walk would be nearly as cold as life on the north rim had been, and so racing the weather was pointless.

It would be what it would be.

When I finally made it past the Mormon Lake junction around 2PM, I was flabbergasted at how slow my pace was. I dropped my pack and flopped down next to it.

Big sigh. I pulled out my phone and tried to decide on a realistic goal for the day. It looked like I’d reach a cow tank in about 3 more miles and I was confident I could find camping near-by.

I stood up with a wince and wobble and slung my pack back onto my aching shoulders.

It felt like the slowest 3 miles I’d ever walked, but I made it to the water source by 5 and was fluffing up pine needles to make a soft campsite shortly after.

Day 11 (11/21/21): 30 miles

The temps stayed in the upper 30s until close to dawn, and then plummeted sharply.

I’d slept well, though, on my cozy bed of pine duff, and woke up feeling entirely refreshed.

As the day progressed, the skies remained clear and the atmosphere, windy, which made for an energizing walk.

I took my journey 9 miles at a time, feeling surprisingly good, given the struggles I’d endured the day before.

After midday, all the water sources I encountered resembled chocolate milk; the mud in the tanks had formed a thick suspension and by early evening, my filter’s output had slowed to a drip.

My pace had slowed marginally by the golden hour, and just as I was passing through a gate, I heard a scream.

The cry echoed and reverberated eerily, it sounded close. I snapped my head back and forth, scanning the trees and tall grasses. I kept walking, wondering if I was about to stumble across an active murder scene.

The alien scream came again, but this time it sounded almost musical in nature.

Finally, some distant piece of knowledge clicked into place in my brain.

It had to be elk bugling. It was the right time of day, and I remembered watching a youtube video ages ago, being shocked by how high pitched their calls were, for being such massive animals.

I quickened my pace, eager to catch a glimpse of these magical animals in a rare state.

The woods opened up around a wildlife tank, enclosed in barbed-wire, and suddenly, I saw them.

The biggest elk I’d ever seen stalked with cool confidence across the meadow, his chocolate mane thick and curly, his rack impressively wide. He dipped his head and upturned his muzzle, emitting another ethereal cry.

I was dumb founded.

Two younger males jumped the barbed wire and began rutting playfully next to the water. I saw more elk waiting in the trees above their locked antlers. Steam radiated from their open mouths in the cold, dusky air.

And even though I didn’t make a single sound, suddenly all three of them turned their gaze to me. Within seconds they were gone. Ghosts disappearing into the woods.

I thanked the Universe for allowing me a glimpse of nature, undisturbed.

And then I climbed through the barbed wire and pushed literal mud through my BeFree, before walking another 6 miles to camp.

For lack of pictures of this section, here is the tarantula I saw on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.

Day 12 (11/22/21): 24.5 miles

I woke up furious.

I scrambled out of my hobbit-hole and shouted to the trees, “I can’t do this anymore! I hate this f*cking trail!”

The night had been a brutally cold one and—surprise, surprise—my tent was full of ice, my sleeping bag was soaking wet, and I was feeling particularly cantankerous.

All of the magic from the previous night had evaporated with the bitter chill and after packing up my tent with numb hands, I marched along the trail with them jammed into my pants for warmth.

I didn’t actually hate the trail, and I definitely didn’t want to quit. It was merely a bad moment.

I stuffed frozen energy chews into my mouth as I walked, nearly ripping my teeth out in the process. My face felt puffy and my limbs, like lead. When I finally emerged onto a paved road, I half wanted to hitch out of there, to some town, anywhere warm.

But I trudged on, across the blacktop and, wouldn’t you know it, I found a PopTart in a bear box; my day radically improved. It really is the little things.

Every thru-hike is like this—full of the highest highs and lowest lows—the trick is remembering moments come and go. Neither the good or bad ever lasts.

Prickly Pear Cactus just north of Pine-you might be noticing a pattern, here, I didn't take very many photos in the colder sections.

I stopped to dry my gear out in the sun as soon as it graced me with its presence. And then I moved on to my water source at 12.5 miles. It was a beautifully clear tank, full of pond grass, and it boosted my moral considerably.

I bathed the salt from my feet and rinsed out my filter; I used only Aquatabs to purify the water since it was so clear.

And then I kept on walking. Because that was all I could do.

The trail was very up and down for the rest of the day, but I felt better as the temperature warmed.

All of a sudden I found myself at the edge of something—another rim—I was about to drop off the Mogollon (pronounced: mah-gee-yon) Plateau.

Two men about to get into a pick-up truck said, “Hello.”

I waved and set my pack down on some rocks; the trail had been following a gravel road for the last couple of miles, and now it was about to take a nose dive straight down a canyon to lower ground.

I checked my phone for service and made several salami, cheese, chip tortillas. I was able to snag reservations for two nights at the Strawberry Chalet, which seemed like the only place to stay near Pine and my body felt in desperate need of a zero day.

The air was getting cold, and I smiled because I knew I was about to step into a whole new world—a warmer one most likely. I was finally leaving the cold behind (at least for a while).

My hopes were confirmed; the lower I dropped, the greener the world around me got. And there was water flowing in the Verde River. It was as if I’d stepped through a portal into a much friendlier dimension.

Gnats buzzed around my face, meaning the overnight temps staying above freezing.

I joined the Highline trail at the bottom of my descent; the earth beneath my feet turned orange and the vegetation, sharp and prickly.

I walked until just before dusk and made camp at mile 313 on the Arizona Trail. Tomorrow I would hike into Pine. I pitched my tent near a creek and fell asleep to its quiet babble.

I felt immense gratitude for the water, warmer weather, and a flat place to sleep.

Oh, and to have left the Mogollon Rim behind me for good.

Day 13 (11/23/21): 15.5 miles

I carried this manta for the duration of my hike in support of Madres e Hijos, a humanitarian organization; their mission is to provide families south of the U.S. border the option to stay in their homes, and not migrate north.  

November 23rd marked me having reached 8 months post-ACL reconstructive surgery, meaning, I was officially cleared to resume pivoting activities like trail running and skiing.

It felt like a huge mile-stone. I had never once dreamed I’d be able to do a thru-hike in the year after tearing my ACL. My heart was full of gratitude for my body and all it could do.

I felt stronger for having been through the injury and subsequent recovery period. I’d learned so much about myself, and I’d had the opportunity to develop an unwavering sense of self-worth.

I woke up as the sky was turning pink and packed up my gear swiftly. I was dying to get to town for no particular reason—I had plenty of food left in my pack and I’d had a shower 4 days ago.

The Highline Trail was a rollercoaster of tiny ups and downs and I felt worn out after only covering about 5 miles. I picked up trash as I went—wrappers, tuna packets, paper—there was a surprising amount of it.

Finally I crested the final climb of the day and began the long descent to the trailhead outside of town. It really was a beautiful walk and such a nice change of pace, but I was wiped out and ready to be still for a day or two.

Alligator Juniper Tree on the Highline Trail

Another lovely tree, just north of Pine.

Immediately upon wandering into the parking lot, a man pulled over in a tacoma and offered me a ride to That Brewery. I accepted gratefully even though I could have easily walked the mile to the pub, and listened to him tell me about his connection with the AZT.

Once at the restaurant, I found myself too exhausted to be hungry. I ordered a few tacos and some french fries, and then gulped water as I picked through the hiker box and signed the logbook (something I had been avoiding doing up until this point).

My brain was fried and now I needed to make a decision. I’d heard back from a trail angel who said I could stay at her house and zero there the next day. But for some reason I felt beholden to the motel, even though I hadn’t payed for my room yet.

I was suffering from major brain fog and struggled to make a decision.

Ultimately I stuck with the Chalet, but somewhat regretted the choice due to how expensive it was… The owner told me I would get a “hiker discount”, but when I got rung up at the bar (it was a bar/motel combo), the woman did not give me the discount.

When I asked her about it she got defensive, so I let it go. I was already causing enough of a scene, men were staring at me from all corners of the packed room, making stupid noises of approval.

Everyone in the vicinity now knew which of the 4 cinderblock rooms I was staying in, too, since the barkeep had chosen to call that information out across the bar as she ran my credit card.

Call me paranoid, but there’s a reason why I wasn’t signing the trail logs at various points along my hike. I attract enough attention as it is, and I didn’t want anyone trying to catch me out on the trail.

I hurried out of the dive and was immediately whistled at by two men sitting on the patio.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” One of them gloated.

I acknowledged them politely (and hated myself for doing so), then kept walking.

Once in my room I burst into tears, mostly from exhaustion but also because I felt like I should have just stayed with the trail angel.

Talking to Logan on the phone helped, and later that evening when I went to pick up my dinner from the bar I actually met another southbound thru-hiker, Roadrunner.

I felt like maybe I was where I was supposed to be after all.

Day 14 (11/24/21): 0-day

In general, I use my zero days to rest, wash gear, treat blisters, eat as much food as possible, and resupply.

I won’t go into much detail about day except to say that I easily hitched a ride from my motel to Pine and back, and got an amazing breakfast at Early Bird Diner.

If you’re ever in Pine, AZ, go there! The pancakes are freaking huge.