Three-Watershed Hike
Monday, March 30th, 2026: Chiricahuas, Hikes, Ida, Southeast Arizona.
Since my knee injury, two years ago, I’ve tried, over and over again, to treat it and recover from it. Sometimes under a doctor’s orders, sometimes by trial and error.
Currently, suffering from residual pain in my left foot and right knee, I’m back in trial and error mode – trying to find ways to get out in nature while allowing both knee and foot to recover. That means doing less challenging hikes, in the hope that eventually, I’ll be able to increase the challenge yet again.
Last week’s hikes, at 4 and 5 miles and over 800 vertical feet each, were at the limit of what I can do and recover from quickly now. But after years of long, spectacular hikes, it’s hard to find easy ones that can motivate me. There are easy hikes near town, but I’ve done them hundreds of times, and they’re boring at best.
For Sundays, since short hikes won’t get me deep into wilderness, I need other incentives – spectacular drives, restaurant food. Of the five two-lane highways leaving town, only two offer both. Last Sunday I’d driven north and west, today I would drive south and west.
Leaving in mid-morning, I’d reach the cafe at the entrance to the mountains in time for brunch. Another hour climbing on a rocky dirt road would get me to the crest.
The temperature was in the mid-60s, with scattered clouds above, when I left home. Weeks of wind across the playa had filled the sky along the border with dust, and more clouds were moving in from the west. I had trout, scrambled eggs, and salad at the cafe – I know, life is hard – then headed toward the crest.
After only a couple of miles I came up behind an immaculate Jeep Rubicon tricked out with all kinds of racks and jerry cans, oversize off-road tires, ornamental brake lights built into the spare tire, and spacers that gave it a ridiculously wide track. The driver was holding it to 15 mph where I could go twice as fast, so he soon pulled over for me.
Then I hit a bad rocky stretch and realized I should deflate my tires – they were probably overinflated due to recent warm weather. But I didn’t want to have to pass that guy again, so I raced uphill for a few miles, then pulled over. But sure enough, by the time I’d deflated my tires, the Jeep had passed me – still going only 15 mph – so he had to pull over a second time to let me by.
Now I was on the final ascent, and soon the habitat transitioned from pinyon-oak to pine-fir. After passing the Jeep I was surprised to see no one else. At the saddle on the crest I turned onto the dead-end crest road and passed spectacular views until I reached the side road which climbs over the crest and down to the abandoned campground in the shaded, well-watered pine park at 8,200 feet.
This is one of my favorite spots in the Southwest. The forest trails are too rough for trailers, and I’ve never seen anyone camping here.
The sky was mostly cloudy now, the air temperature in the high 60s, but I knew hiking would keep me warm. I’d been wondering about this trail for years. The only trip report I’d read said it was badly overgrown with thorny locust. But despite being hidden far off the beaten path in this remote, lonely spot, it surprised me with a new trail sign and appeared well-maintained.
Under tall pines, the trail descended into the convergence of drainages for the basin, then traversed the right side of this shallow canyon. I kept seeing blue paint blazes on pines far back from the trail, wondering what they were for – hopefully not logging.
I noticed movement up the slope and spotted two whitetail does. Finally the trail began climbing a rocky slope, below talus, and I came upon stands of blooming ceanothus, incredibly pungent, sweet with a touch of tang like cinnamon. Then the trail rounded a shoulder and I was entering another watershed.
I now faced dramatic yellow rock outcrops across this new canyon. The trail entered a burn scar, and I studied stretches of bare dirt but could see no human tracks. Rounding the head of the canyon I began traversing and climbing an even rockier slope below the outcrops, with a more and more spectacular view south under darkening clouds. I was looking over the western wilderness I’d barely penetrated, a few months ago, and was hoping to explore eventually.
Finally I reached the saddle below the peak the trail is named for, and entered my third watershed of this hike – three watershed views in little over a mile! This view, over the northern crest of the range, was the prize.
From the saddle, the trail traversed a very steep slope below the peak, into open pine forest. My plan was to reach a branch trail that leads to a spring on the west side – I expected that to yield 4 miles and less than 700 vertical feet out-and-back.
On that traverse I found clear indications that a trail crew had been here recently – hence the great condition. But big snags had continued to fall across the trail and were difficult to climb over with my bad shoulder, foot, and knee. And I still saw no human tracks – until finally, within a quarter mile of the spring trail, I found small sneaker prints, probably from a woman who had climbed from the lower trailhead and turned back here.
My map showed that the spring trail started where the main trail began a much steeper descent. I found that spot easily, but the spring trail had apparently become overgrown and disappeared.
The climb back to the saddle would be a test of my foot. As usual, I tried to adjust my gait and use my toes to keep pressure off the ball of the foot. It didn’t seem too bad on such a short hike.
That traverse is a beautiful forest hike, and the upper part of it, through burn scar, is dramatically steep and rocky.
By the time I’d returned to that high saddle, I was elated and surprised to feel like this was one of the most spectacular hikes I’d ever done. But I’ve done amazing hikes – in the highlands of Guatemala, California’s Mount Shasta, Utah’s Arches, Canyonlands, and Zion, the Grand Canyon – not to mention my beloved Mojave Desert.
And recently, I’ve been doing short climbs of rocky peaks. Maybe what makes these short hikes so spectacular is that they’re so far off the beaten path, and so seldom visited. This landscape can’t match the magnificence of those famous “postcard destinations”, but these places are all mine, for weeks, months, or years at a time, in between the rare visits of others.
One side effect of that obscurity is no phone service. You lose your cell signal entering the mountains, and after four hours in Arizona, even on the crest of the range, my phone still showed New Mexico time.
The final stretch, out of the middle watershed into the shallow canyon below the pine park, went quickly. I always hate to leave that dark, rolling basin below the cliffs and talus slopes of the crest, with its towering old-growth pines, abandoned dirt tracks, and concrete picnic tables, but I’m not prepared to camp alone in bear habitat…
Apart from a Jeep SUV parked at the crest trailhead, I still hadn’t seen another vehicle in the past four hours. But a mile below the crest, I came upon the tricked-out Rubicon for the third time, returning down the road, still trundling along at 15 mph and still pulling aside to let me pass.
And nearing the research station in the bottom of the basin, I passed a Mercedes overlander in the small creekside campground. Those things will set you back $200,000.
The hike had taken longer than expected, it was dinnertime when I reached the cafe, and I got a room to avoid driving home in the dark. I was still surprised at how few visitors I’d seen in the mountains on such a beautiful weekend day.
In the morning, on the long, lonely two-lane north, I thought of my California friends, who also love the solitude of the desert but are stuck living in vast metropolitan areas. For twenty years now, I’ve lived on the edge of a huge wilderness area, and every weekend I get to drive these lonely roads to obscure, seldom-visited places of beauty like that pine park in the sky. I would sure love to share this with my friends.
