Too Much Work?
Monday, December 11th, 2023: Chiricahuas, Hikes, Snowshed, Southeast Arizona.
After the relative success of last weekend’s big climb on an unfamiliar trail, I decided to drive over the state line this weekend to re-do a slightly longer big climb that I hadn’t done for over a year. Unfortunately, in multiple instances of wishful thinking, I mistakenly assumed I was back in top shape after more than a year of setbacks, and I forgot how challenging the hike actually is and what limited time you have to complete it once you drive over there.
It was 21 degrees out when I left home, and I packed my gaiters, expecting both creek crossings and patches of deep snow.
Approaching the mountains I was surprised not to see snow on the crest. The temperature at the trailhead, a couple hundred feet lower than home, was still in the mid-20s – colder than I remember in this location – and my uncovered nose quickly got cold, so I hurried through the shady spots. The creeks were lower than I’d ever seen, so the gaiters would just be dead weight.
The first three-mile segment of trail climbs 2,000 feet, with the first mile and a half at a steady 15 percent grade, from oak scrub to ponderosa pine forest. From there it traverses a shaded north slope to the junction with the upper trail. I always forget how hard a climb this is.
I’d seen a couple of footprints on the initial climb, but most people just do the first mile or so, and I was the first hiker on the traverse in many months.
The first payoff of this hike is when you cross into the next watershed, a big east-trending canyon whose head is on the crest of the range. Much of the forest was destroyed in the 2011 wildfire, and at this time of year the rocky, treeless slopes are dominated by ferns in their fall color, rust-red.
What follows is a traverse that climbs 1,300 feet in another three miles – which doesn’t sound like much, but the trail hasn’t been cleared in many years, the footing consists almost completely of loose, sharp rocks, and our wet year of 2022 resulted in erosion of tread and overgrowth of woody shrubs that block the trail in many places. There was no sign that any other hikers had tried this trail in the past year.
I found this traverse so difficult that I had to stop repeatedly to catch my breath, and in the last mile I realized I wouldn’t reach my destination, and began feeling like I’d made a mistake in coming. This trail climbs to a barren saddle, and from there continues across the head of the canyon to its junction with the crest trail. I’d forgotten that it originally took me three tries, simply to reach the barren saddle, and then another couple of tries to reach the junction, which offers a view into yet another big canyon.
You have to be in killer shape to reach that junction quickly enough so you can return down the trail before the cafe closes, and I was not in killer shape now. The six miles to the saddle had taken me almost 4-1/2 hours, and continuing to the junction would force me to hurry down that treacherous loose rock, almost certainly missing my deadline.
On the way down, I gradually became aware that I’d been so distracted throughout this hike – thinking only of my problems at home – I’d barely even been aware of my surroundings. Normally I love the views here, and I had noticed four redtail hawks working the canyon and a young whitetail buck crossing the saddle, but overall, this was the first hike I could remember that I simply hadn’t enjoyed.
To compound my discontent, I developed a leg cramp on the way down, so bad that for about fifteen minutes, I was screaming whenever I tried to move. This was the third hike in a row where I’d developed a cramp, despite drinking plenty of water and adding electrolytes. I’ve been bringing 3-1/2 liters since cold weather started – that was more than enough in the past – but this year I find I’m running out of water before trail’s end, and getting these terrible cramps.
By the time I reached the pine park – the halfway point – my neck, shoulders, hip, knees, and ankles were all aching. I didn’t know if it was due to lack of conditioning, or simply natural aging. My whole routine for the past five years has been oriented toward longer, higher-elevation-gain wilderness hikes. And whenever I find myself losing capacity, I wonder if the loss will be irreversible this time.
On the way down, instead of enjoying the hike, all I could think of was dining in a restaurant and spending the night away from the problems that are crushing me at home. But despite giving up on my original destination, I still ended up cutting the return too close – the cafe was closing so I had to get my burrito and beer to go.
