The Arizona Trail: Mazatzal Wilderness to Roosevelt Lake Marina

122 miles // +23,790ft // Days 15-19

Day 15 (11/25/21): 26.7 miles, +4,800ft

Today was a weird day on trail, being that it was Thanksgiving(taking), I was leaving town after a zero day, and I had this huge climb looming at the end of the day.

I wasn’t even sure if I would do the climb today; I was considering stopping at the East Verde River, around mile 20, instead.

I woke up at 6 and was on the road hitching by 6:30. It was still somewhat dark and I wasn’t too pressed for a ride, since the walk back to the trail from Strawberry was mostly downhill and only about 4 miles long.

Someone did stop for me, though, and I regretted my decision to get in the car as soon as I shut the door behind me. He was an unusual character—a bit twitchy—on his way to the casino in Payson.

He kept scratching his neck and slamming on the brakes.

I remained calm and considered how I might grab my pack from the backseat in the event of an emergency exit.

When we made it to the trailhead, I thanked him very much for the ride and exhaled a massive sigh of relief.

It took me a moment to orient myself, and pick up the trail across the parking lot from where I’d left it two days ago. The soil was sandy and rocky and my pace was slow.

I climbed onto another plateau and stumbled my way across its rutted, dry, and exposed terrain for several hours. The trail was faint in places, and the view somewhat oppressive—endless desert scrub in all directions.

At 1PM I made it to a nice spring and took a break in the shade of a massive juniper tree. I only had 3.7 miles to the East Verde and debated what I would do when I arrived.

The hike turned sharply downhill after I left the water source; sandy rocks rolled suddenly out from under my feet and I struggled to stay upright beneath the weight of my food-laden pack.

Finally I landed on the bank of the river. It was a stunningly beautiful reprieve from the dryness of the day. I soaked my feet and ankles in the icy water and contemplated my next move.

Ah, what the hell. It was only 3PM and I decided I may as well do the climb.

I was at the high point by 5PM and down to camp by 5:30. It was beautifully graded terrain, gaining about 3,000ft over the course of 6.5 miles.

The spring I decided to camp near would have been impossible to find in the dark save for the cairns built by other hikers, and I was awash with gratitude for the markers they had made.

After I gathered water, I crashed through the bushes back to camp, pitched my tent, scarfed down some food, and crawled into my sleeping bag.

Day 16 (11/26/21): 20.3 miles, +4,590ft

I woke up with a still tired body, to a pale pink sky. The first miles of the day were slow ones.

Last night I’d crossed into the Mazatzal Wilderness and I would spend all of today winding my way through its rocky, steep, mountainous terrain.

It seemed a dry, treeless place, and yet the springs the trail guided me past were flowing impressively.

My hike took me up to a ridge with a nice rock shelf, which I hid behind from the wind for a few minutes. I even found a modicum of cell service and was able to reach out to friends and family.

I felt really supported when I turned on my phone and saw texts from Logan and my parents—everyone was rooting for me and people missed me. I’m not sure why that felt so simultaneously surprising and wonderful.

Of course people miss me. But it’s nice to read it, it’s nice to know it.

By 12:30 the sun was baking hot and I was regretting wearing long pants for the first time on my hike. I had shorts in my pack, but they were buried deep. I’d have to remember to leave them on top tomorrow.

At long last I reached the Bear Spring junction. It was only 3PM but I was exhausted and did not care to do the next climb that day. I hiked the quarter mile side trail to the water source and dropped my pack in some leaves.

There were a surprising number of bees zipping around the cold pool of water, and a wildlife camera was positioned on a tree just past it.

I wondered what the viewer would think of me, as I made ramen in my Talenti jar and stuffed peanut M&Ms in my mouth.

I made camp back at the trail junction and was in my tent before the light had fully faded from the sky. An early night for me, but one that was much needed.

Day 17 (11/27/21): 27 miles, +3,200ft

I reached the halfway point towards the end of my 17th day on trail.

It was a rollercoaster of a day both mentally and physically. Around 9AM I started my period without any warning. Luckily there wasn’t a soul around, so I didn’t have to scramble off the side of the cliff to find privacy.

The morning’s sunrise was stunning—dusty pinks and purples in the sky and orange alpenglow bathing the mountains. And then things got HOT.

I kept marching along despite the heat, pausing only once to soak my feet in a stream and filter water. The trail was riddled with “roller rocks”, as I’ve come to call them, you know, the deadly ones that send your feet flying out from under you on steep downhills.

The terrain grew increasingly dry, rough, and exposed. I felt like I was hiking through mud rather than sand; my pace became remarkably slow.

And then I realized that I probably didn’t have enough food to make it to Roosevelt Lake. I was ravenous, quite suddenly. Up until this point, I had not been struck by “hiker hunger”, I was not yet a bottomless pit.

Well, now I was.

I found some shade and studied the contents of my food bag hopelessly. I had a few bars left, one ramen packet, and a little cheese and salami.

I wondered if I should walk well into dark tonight so that I could make it to the Marina the next day?

The idea of being hungry all day tomorrow did not appeal to me, so I packed up my bag and got walking.

The sun began to drop behind the mountains; I could hear a highway in the distance; worry and hunger were gnawing at me.

Then something amazing happened.

I saw a large, blue tupperware bin under a tree about 20 yards ahead of me on the trail.

Could it be? I broke into a run.

It was. It was trail magic!

I threw the lid off and found all manner of snacks inside—nuts, bars, goldfish, candy—I basked in relief. I didn’t have to walk 40 miles tomorrow.

After taking the food I needed, and writing a thank you note on a piece of paper torn from my journal, I hit the trail once more. I planned to camp in another 2 miles at Sycamore Creek.

Darkness fell fully once I reached the clear, flowing water. I leveled out a patch of sand for my tent and collected water.

As I pitched my tent, I became acutely aware of all manner of creeping things in the dark. Sandy beaches are prime-time spider habitat. And spiders that live near water are usually just huge—not quite tarantula sized—but long-legged and fast.

I shone my headlamp about and counted more than 20 wolf spiders, daddy long legs, and smaller, furrier arachnids, spreading out across the sand.

I ate dinner sitting just outside my tent, flinging clots of sand full of spiders away from myself and the yellow ring of light my lamp cast.

Even when I bedded down, the spiders were crawling all over (and under) my tent. Thankfully exhaustion won out.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

Day 18 (11/28/21): 28 miles, +6,200ft

I got a slow start in the morning, spiders be damned (beach spiders are nocturnal creatures, anyways).

Then I began a long and arduously thorny climb through a series of washes up to a high point, where the trail joined a dirt road.

I followed this road for roughly 10 miles and the walking was quick; however, I was joined by many-a-razor and jeep. The dust they churn up is worthy of major eye rolls and an asthma attack.

I caught views of Roosevelt Lake as the road wound around the ridge; it was really an amazing sight to behold—so much water.

Finally I reached the trailhead that would take me back into the thick of things and away from the dust monsters. I was tired when I reached my water source at mile 21—a shallow puddle under a rock—and wondered where I would camp.

I could walk a few more miles, I reasoned with my tired feet.

A “few” turned into a very committed 7.

The trail contoured a cliffy ridge, chocked full of thorns and sharp, grabby vegetation. I power-walked as fast as I could, without tripping and tumbling to my death.

The light was fading and I still had several miles to go.

I fought with bushes, tripped over rocks, battled it out with fox grass, shouted at tree—I’m not terribly proud of my behaviour—but I made it, eventually, to a notch in the ridge.

I dropped my backpack and crammed handfuls of trail mix into my mouth, inhaling peanuts, choking on raisins.

I pulled on my long pants, expecting more thorns.

And then I got walking again. There were definitely more thorns.

I chose to camp in a surprisingly big, flat expanse, along the descent. The temperature had dropped sharply and I could see my breath, a steamy cloud against a clear night sky.

I had some disgruntled, nocturnal neighbors, but fell asleep quickly despite their fussing and scratching.

Day 19 (11/29/21): 20 miles, +5,000ft

I began walking before the sun was up, only to be greeted an hour later by a mesmerizing swirl of deep blues and neon oranges over Lake Roosevelt.

The “descent” to the lake was proving to be a rather uphill one, but at least it was scenic.

My second tarantula sighting occurred on this section!

And at around 4,000ft, I encountered something entirely new:

A spiny green giant, with bent and twisted arms, and rippling flesh pockmarked with black holes.

The startlingly incongruous figure cast a narrow, elegant shadow; it’s arms were raised in worship of the relentless sky.

It was a peaceful form which seemed to stand sentinel over all the surrounding desert, a creature full of wisdom and patience.

Suddenly there were hundreds, all over the hill side, rearing up out of the tall, sun bleached grasses. Each seemed an independent being, keeping plenty of space between itself and the next.

They all seemed to be waiting for something—rain, perhaps? Or nothing at all.

The hour was a golden one, when I saw my first saguaro cactus.

I walked among their mind-boggling forms all the way to the lake and for many miles after.

The day grew hot around me, and my walk was an exposed and treacherous one. The soil was sandy and rocky, and the terrain unnecessarily hilly and steep.

But there was the lake, just there! And the marina!

But no. It wasn’t. The trail would wind temptingly close to my destination and then drag me sharply away, into one drainage after another as it contoured the hillside.

Finally I made it to the turn-off and marched my way down hill, past a cemetery, to the Marina grocery and restaurant.

I was ravenous. Of course.

I was placing my pack by the railing outside when a familiar face appeared on the other side of the glass doors.

Roadrunner! The other southbound hiker from Pine.

We had lunch together, I, devouring a brisket sandwich, plate of fries, two chicken tacos and a load of tortilla chips—oh, and desert—and he, a burger.

Between mouthfuls I caught him up on my hike, and while I was inhaling food he told me about his.

I spoke with Logan on the phone for a glorious hour, during which time Roadrunner headed back to the trail. I’d agreed to catch up with him so we could camp together.

The marina shop was surprisingly well stocked—the food was not particularly healthy, mind you—but I was able to get the essentials (ramen, PB, and couple frozen burritos) to get me to my next stop, which was to be Kearny.

When I finally started hiking again, I was feeling refreshed. The staff had been so welcoming, it was honestly hard to walk away. I’d walked 11 miles already, and Roadrunner had said he was going to camp after 7 more.

I hit mile 7 in the dark, it was the Superstition Wilderness Boundary; the climb had been rather steep and long leading away from the lake.

I paused and scanned about with my headlamp. No sign of any tent.

I kept hiking uphill.

Eventually I saw a small light across what I could only guess was a wide drainage. I let out a woop.

The trail kept me high, contouring just below the ridge and eventually brought me to where Roadrunner was camped.

It felt like a victory, getting twenty miles in despite taking a three hour break in the middle of the day.

And it was such a wonderful experience to finally camp with another hiker and discuss our experiences ontrail.

I wound up pitching my tent between two very spiny bushes, with only inches to spare, and falling asleep to the sound of a growing wind, the distant glow of Tempe to the west.

I’d arrived at mile 450 of the Arizona Trail.