The trip to Oracle from Patagonia involved a bus ride, a stay in Tucson, two cab rides and a hitch from the suburb of Orovalley. Finally I found myself at the trailhead, about 10 a.m. on a Thursday morning, third week of November. Thus began my most rigorous climbing on the trail thus far. I was also facing water scarcity: The first place to procure it is at the High Jinks Ranch (a tourist stop where one can see, among other things, a Hollywood relic of a horse carriage where Elizabeth Taylor once sat in a movie) and the second is in the mountaintop town of Summerhaven - from a restaurant or restroom - some 13 miles later.
I’d finally committed to the larger journey and caught a bus from Patagonia - I was afraid the Greyhound driver would never see me because there was no sign for the stop, just a vague description on the website of what corner to stand at, and the names on the map and on the actual signs didn’t line up anyway - but I got that ride and stayed overnight in Tucson, reaching for inspiration hoping for serendipity somehow I was going to get further north to Oracle, from which I could get on the Arizona Trail again.
On the app I found the number of a woman of a kind referred to as “Trail Angels”; she was willing to pick me up at the edge of town, where she was grocery shopping anyway, and take me back to the Chalet she owned. I stayed there cheaply - been spending too much money in Arizona because if you linger for days trying to commit to your next leg or even find out what that might be the hotel meter is running. Next day, though, I returned to the desert and the character of it was different, more the classical desert of lore.
But it climbed and climbed; I didn’t have my “trail legs” yet and I started cursing. Actually it might have been one of the most laborious days of my life, huffing it up roads with lose gravel over sand, the most treacherous surface aside from mud-slicks and wet mossy stones, I’d say, and it just kept climbing all day. But the hard-won ridgeline was gorgeous and I arrived in Summerhaven to scarf down a big cheeseburger with the works and coffee and lots of lemonade; you arrive at a restaurant from the trail and your mind’s almost paralyzed with want of everything. You want to hand the menu back: “Looks great! I’ll take it!”
Waitress was kindly and cute and I wondered what people did up here in this little town on the roof of the world. A few days later it would be covered over from a snowstorm - heard about this from another hiker, going the opposite way as me - but at the moment my only problem was finding a campsite in the dark, as Summerhaven had no lodging (a recurring theme I’d encounter on the trail). Experienced hikers may have thought this issue a trifle and me a little ridiculous for worrying about it, but I’d committed myself to documenting my journey on film - maybe I’d carve out a place for myself in this age of social media, as the mysterious traveling author - and that meant that I had to find places to stay, with outlets and preferably internet, at least once a week or so, so I could upload everything I’d shot onto my laptop (this, too, was baffling to other hikers. “You’re lugging that thing around with you on the trail?) and edit my videos.
I did voice-overs out of my books, attempting to capture “the sweep of the journey” with evocative (I hoped) phrases like “fallow fields bear fruit on the Other Side” and “we are always at the hub of perception, the choice point from which our world is determined”. I returned to Oracle with knees a little sore, more from the descent than anything, you’re always bracing yourself for a landslide when you go down those rock-over-sand paths…
The trail south of Oracle began fairly mellow, but once it began climbing it rarely stopped. One particular stretch, much of it a steep double-track of loose stone, demanded five hours struggle (with frequent breaks) for me to make eight miles. Still waiting on those trail legs! I was concerned about the one liter of water I had carrying me the whole way (the temperature was cool - in the fifties - but the sun was shining).
The struggle with the climb cost me so much time that the sun was setting while I was still eating in town. There’s no lodging in Summerhaven, like I’ve said, so I was obliged to head back out to the trail and backtrack in the dark - a path cutting alongside a mountain, steep rise to my right and drop to my left - to find a campsite. Amidst all those climbs and drops, patches of tall grass and rock, by sweet serendipity I landed on an ideal spot within half an hour aided only by a headlamp. One of my greatest accomplishments as a hiker to date.
Stillness, communion… well, except for my mental chatter, all those internal protests. I didn’t know where the grail lay. “Keep moving” seemed a vague and nebulous scheme but it was all I had.
I ate at the Sawmill Run again the next morning and spent some time chatting with the gentleman working at the Mount Lemmon Community Center. I considered that the best strategy for getting back to the High Jinks Ranch (the closest water resupply) would be to really “camel-up”, in hiker-speak, in town. The road back was no easier (though maybe less physically taxing) downhill than it’d been uphill on account of the treacherous rock. You have to be braced every step of the way down. This led to my second night of searching for a campsite in the dark; this time it took longer because I drifted a mile or so off trail before I realized my mistake.
I got picked up at the trailhead by a trail angel and brought back to her very hiker-friendly lodgings, The Chalet Inn.