Hike All The Days!

Today I went hiking.

I meant to head out at sunrise, to avoid the heat of the day as much as possible, but that plan failed spectacularly.

My alarm went off at five, and I hit snooze every 9 minutes until half past six. I got up, stumbled to the bathroom, and realized I was unsure how long it had been since I'd last washed my hair. It was gross, and clearly needed washing. I took a shower and dried my hair. I packed a bag and was out the door by 7:10.

I had to stop to pick up enough water for the trip. I realized I'd forgotten my breakfast and drove home to pick some up. I headed out again and realized I'd forgotten my sunscreen, sunglasses, and to put on deodorant. I returned home to avoid what would have been impending doom.

It was after 8 by the time I got to the Peralta Trailhead, but it was still in the 60's temperature wise, and the sky was as clear as it's ever been.

There was a man sitting at the trailhead whittling, and as I approached he said hello and asked me if I'd hiked here before. Startled by the unexpected social interaction, my mind failed to form any words for a minute or two. I looked at him, then at the maps/visitor information and told him of course I'd hiked here before. Scoffed, almost. Then I smiled and hurried past him without looking at the information. There were three trails to choose from, maybe five feet behind the man, and I didn't have time to debate the merits of each trail, or pause to think about what I was doing. If I hesitated, I feared he would try to talk to me more, and it was far too early in my day for that nonsense. I needed time to acclimate.

I'd done enough compulsive research over the past couple of weeks to have been okay regardless of the trail I'd chosen, but as luck would have it, I took the trail up to Fremont Saddle, which is the one I had intended to hike anyway. It's just under two and a half miles up to the saddle, and it is marked as a moderate hike, so I wasn't particularly stressed. I ambled along, but before long the trail was kicking my butt. Literally this entire hike was an uphill climb, and not a particularly gentile one at that.

For the first forty minutes or so I huffed and puffed along, being lapped by elderly persons and large women inexplicably hiking in tutus and sports bras. In addition, the whole desert is in full bloom. There were bugs everywhere, and I was covered in tiny flies that I convinced myself were sweat bees, and because I am pathologically afraid of wasps, the constant buzzing had me on edge. Every butterfly that flew past me (and there were MILLIONS of them) sent me in to a panic. Every bee or fly that buzzed made me jump and dodge like a crazy person. It was not pretty.

I sat down in the shade, shamefully far from the top of the trail, to collect my wits. I opened my bag and took and allergy pill, which almost immediately made my day better. I ate a cliff bar (yay caffeine!) and had some water, but before I knew it I was covered in tiny flies (sweat bees!!!). I muttered to myself that this was some sort of evil plot the desert had to keep me moving at a rapid clip. If I slowed down at all (or heaven forbid stopped!) the sweat bees would soon sap my body of all its moisture. I put on my headphones and turned on the music to drown out the buzzing sounds and started moving again.

Then about an hour in I found my clear head space (and my hiking legs) and began to feel invincible. Maybe it was the food, maybe it was the caffeine, maybe it was the allergy pill, maybe it was that I couldn't hear the buzzing and spaz out about wasps, maybe it was heatstroke, but whatever it was, my day soon became magical.

I ran up the mountain.

I hopped up rocks. I took all the picture. I smelled all the flowers. I chatted with people that I passed on my way up. It was grand.

I became so emboldened by my new found fearlessness, that I stopped to explore some stagnant puddles filled with tadpoles despite the six million bees swarming around them. I DID take some pictures for you. You can't really see the tadpoles very clearly, but I'll try and post them for you tomorrow after I get them all uploaded. I was so pleased about the tadpole puddles (and the fact that my music blocked out the buzzing) that I didn't even notice that I was loitering in a swarm of wasps for several minutes. When I finally came to my senses, and realized that no, those weren't bees, they were wasps, giant, ugly, evil, menacing wasps, I nearly fell right off the side of the mountain.

Luckily I regained my footing, and ran the heck away from there.

I made it up to Freemont Saddle and looked out over Weavers Needle. My initial plan had been to continue on from here down Needle Canyon and around Weavers Needle doing the full loop, 12.9 miles, but because the man had startled me at the get go, I now had two problems. First of all, I didn't have a map, and I hadn't gotten a chance to look at the map at the beginning to note where I needed to change trails. Second, the trail north of the saddle was marked as 'strenuous', and when compared to the 'moderate' trail I'd just come up, I began to doubt myself.

As I sat there, eating more cliff bars and contemplating where to go from here, two of the older ladies that had lapped me early on emerged from the 'strenuous' trail like it had been a cakewalk. Ridiculous. I came to hike! And hike I shall!

I set off down this other trail, the name of which I was unsure of. (I was also unsure if this was the trail I had wanted to take, or a different one, or where exactly it lead to, but that's neither here nor there. It headed down toward Weavers Needle, and that was good enough for me.) I marched along, still feeling invincible, pleased that the trail was downhill, rather than up.

This trail was not nearly as well traveled or maintained as the south side of the saddle had been. It was barely wide enough for one person, and was overgrown with all sorts of lovely desert things. It was also significantly less populated. While there had easily been a hundred people hiking up to the saddle with me, I only saw two others during the five hours I spent on the north side of the saddle.

I marched along for a couple of hours. I came down one side of the canyon, and skipped along the other. I walked all the way around to the north side of Weavers Needle, not noticing the time, distance, or heat. There was a lovely breeze blowing and the lower canyon was shaded so it didn't feel like it was in the 90's at all. Before I knew it it was well past noon. I'd started out with eight liters of water, and I was half way through number four, so I decided it was probably best to turn around and head back.

I'd wanted to do the loop, but since I was unsure what trail I was on, and if it made the connection to the Lost Dutchman trail I needed I decided it would have to wait for another day.

On the way back I lost the trail several times, but always found it again (thank whatever gods may be for cairns!) My lovely downhill hike now became an uphill trudge, and the sun was high overhead, reducing my shade cover dramatically. This wasn't particularly bothersome, particularly in light of the solitude it granted me, and I skipped along back up the mountain.

I made it back to the saddle at the height of the day. It was sweltering. I was sunburned, I had a million cactus thorns in my jeans, and I could feel my feet blistering, but I was happy.

I began the decent down the south side of the saddle, back now on the Peralta trail, however the lovely breeze that had made me forget all about the heat was gone, and there was absolutely no shade. It was a long, long decent. 2.5 miles suddenly feels like a million when the sun is beating down on you, no matter how beautiful the view is. With a mile to go, I was exhausted and the sun was winning.

I could totally just spend the night here, I reasoned with myself. You've got plenty of water, no need to push yourself. Look how lovely the ground looks. Just take a beat. The other half of my mind kept saying, you're crazy. Maybe you have heatstroke. Why on earth would you give up now? You're not throwing up, bleeding, or dead, ergo you may not rest! March onward!

And so I did.

That last mile was the longest mile of all my life. I was so grateful to reach my car. My shoes were torn up, and all my toes had blisters on them, but I couldn't have been happier.

All in all I saw six rattlesnakes, countless lizards, eagles, hawks, buzzards, ground squirrels, chipmunks, tadpoles, and butterflies, but no gila monsters. (I was REALLY hoping to see a gila monster!). I hiked further than I had planned to 13.4 miles total, and spent eight hours out in the wilderness. It was fantastic, and next weekend I'll be at it again.

I miss you terribly, and I couldn't help but think of you while I was compulsively taking twenty pictures of every flower I passed. I wish you could have come with me, and that we weren't rapidly approaching the two year mark since your departure. But on the bright side, I took lots of pictures for you, and I will get to see you soon. Until then, all my love, as always.

me.