We are settling into our routine as camp ground hosts once again. This particular role is easier than our role in Tonto Basin. Primarily, we are cleaning campsites and checking in campers. We don’t have to clear brush or weed whack or trim trees here. Mostly, visitors here are very clean and leave little litter. As opposed to Arizona where the Covid is creating havoc, folks here wear masks when they are out in public. Not so much when they are in their campsites or fishing or hiking, but when they are in any sort of group setting they follow safety guidelines. What a difference in attitudes. We are enjoying this area and our role immensely here. The weather really makes a difference. As we watch the heat rise along with the humidity back in Missouri we bask in the breeze as the temperature stretches to reach 75-80 degrees. Night time temps dip to the 50’s and 40’s. Ahhhhh! Sweet sleeping weather to boot.
Wildlife is abundant here, too. Moose, bear, mule deer, marmots, beaver, bald eagles, mountain bluebirds, sand hill cranes, BIG trout, red fox, muskrats, and little skitter varmints too numerous to mention here, have all agreeably made their presence known to us. Yesterday, the 29th, Diane and I were hiking along a dirt road near Wyoming with the dogs. We were in a mile long broad valley of little rolling knolls with the occasional clutch of Aspens breaking the plain. Mountains surrounded the valley giving us a panoramic view that was peaceful as well as inspirational. I just happened to turn around and look back in the direction that we had been walking. Something caught my eye about a quarter of mile back. I find that when you are living out in the open as we are you get good at spotting animals. They blend less into their environment and start standing out to your eye, much the same way body language becomes a fluent vocabulary in the office. What I saw I believe may have been a mountain lion. Racing full bore left to right from the field there, very low to the ground, across the road and then into the field to the right on the edge of the forest, ran the animal. It resembled a cat to me, fast, fully stretched out while running, and hugging the ground. I lost it as it ran behind a little hillock. I didn’t have time to grab our binoculars that we usually carry for such an experience. Diane saw it, too. She believed it may have been a lion. If it was it was the first time we saw a mountain lion in the wild. I felt my hair stand up on my neck and arms.
As I’m writing this morning it’s raining. We haven’t had much this season here yet and it is welcomed. We’ve learned to appreciate the rain and snow more than ever while in the West. Low clouds are curling over the edges of the hills and mountains here, sweeping down into the valleys giving gray movement to the atmosphere. I cannot see the top of Hahn’s Peak. Along with Sand Mountain, Hahn’s Peak is the dominant feature in the area. During the 1930’s a fire station was built on top of the peak. It stands there still today as both a sentinel and challenging destination point to those who might climb its rocky slopes. The last 1000 or so feet of the mountain are treeless and rocky. It’s actually a volcano that has long since gone dormant. The remnants of its last eruption line its sides...lava rock, porous and misshapen, irregular and really tough to walk on.
One of the camp hosts and a new friend of mine, Gene, talked to me about climbing Hahn’s Peak together. It stands at 10,859’ high. We are camped at 8000’ give or take. It doesn’t seem that 2000’ vertical feet would be too daunting a hike. It is a steep incline, however. Gene and his wife, Diana, are incredibly friendly folks. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but one of the great joys of this lifestyle we lead is meeting folks just like Gene and Diana. Neither Gene nor I would do it alone. For me, it’s mainly a safety issue. If something were to happen it would be bad news to be out there alone. After talking it over we decide on a day and time, and more importantly, we vow to make it to the top one way or another. Guys like us do that from time to time. We can’t give up the ghost. It’s even more important when two make the “vow”. It’s binding.
Well, the morning came. 7:30 AM to be exact. We set out in Gene’s Jeep and circled around the back side of the mountain. Gene had been there before scoping out the area and the trail to the top. We drove up a dusty mountain road and parked at a makeshift parking lot. The road continues around and up the northern side of the mountain. So, we head out and up the road, chipper as a couple of jaybirds on a telephone wire. At this elevation we are making our way just fine up the steep road, but breathing hard nonetheless. We rest when we reach the top of the various grades along the road.
Things are going great. The views are increasingly more beautiful and the weather is exhilarating...perfect for a hike like this. Something is not quite right, though. We figure we should be climbing the backside, or north side of the mountain as that’s the known way to the top. We are circling the mountain, angling around to the south side. That’s the side that faces our campground. It’s the most vertical side of the mountain. Back and forth we reason with each other. “Surely this is the way, right?” “I didn’t see any trails leading off, did you?” “Let’s keep going, we’ll find a path off this road.”
Finally, two guys on dirt bikes come roaring out of nowhere behind us. I flag them down. After some quick small talk they tell us we are on the right path and should just keep going. “Well, that’s reassuring.” we say to each other. Off we go reassured and refreshed for the next leg of the journey. By now it’s warming up considerably and we ditch our sweatshirts in favor of tee shirts. We’re working hard now, climbing, climbing, still climbing. Finally, we see that we are on the south side of the mountain, clearly the wrong side for the known path up, but...what the heck, we’re gonna do this, right?
Then came the bikers again, this time coming down the mountain toward us. They once again reassure us that we’re going the right way. However, they say, the road splits up ahead and the left fork ends with only a long hard climb of scree to the top...definitely NOT the way to go. “You won’t make it that way.” we’re told. “Stay right and you’ll find a a path. That’s the right way to the top.” Well, we found the fork and we took the right hand path and NO, there was no path as they said there was. Back down the path and now to the left hand side fork we go. Sure enough, It ends abruptly with no path to the top either way. Just scree straight up for hundreds of feet. I look at Gene, he looks at me. No words need be said. We’re going to go up the scree and reach the top, by God.
So, up we clamber. It must be a 60 degree incline. The rocks, mostly the size of bowling balls and shoe boxes, move precariously under our feet sliding this way and that. The going is pretty rough and the altitude gets to us about every 30 yards or so. We rest from time to time and reassess our direction. I elect to do zig zag patterns, left then right. This way I won’t inadvertently knock loose rocks down on Gene and Roxie, his dog and faithful companion. It starts getting really challenging and we are not seeing the fire lookout at the summit. “Man, how far up is it??” Nonetheless, we keep going.
Then, I see it...the fire tower. We’re there! We’ve really done it, we’ve made it. I have to say, this climb has been one of the most challenging things I have done...at least in recent memory. Gene says the same. We’re pretty elated and pretty proud of ourselves. By God, we did it...the hard way.
I’m gazing out at Hahn’s Peak now as I’m writing this and I see that the rain down here has lifted. The clouds have curled away from the summit. It is draped in fresh, new snow under the crystal blue sky, resolute as always.