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When we began planning our weekend, we had no idea that it
would turn out to be one of those weekends. In fact, we thought that we were
going to have a perfect weekend. The weatherman had predicted a drying trend
beginning on Saturday; he had even said that it looked like monsoon season was
finally coming to an end. So, John and I decided that we would like to do an
overnight backpack in the Pine Mountain Wilderness Area, about nineteen miles
east of the town of Dugas. It would be a new wilderness area for us to explore
(and, of course, to christen) - that would be our nineteenth wilderness area!
(It had been a while since we had visited a new wilderness area.) Everything
seemed to be going in our favor, and it looked as though we were finally going
to have a good weekend: one without rain, without flat tires, without the van
getting stuck.
Our journey began Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. After stopping for breakfast
at Einstein's Bagels, we drove to I-17 and started to head north towards
Prescott. Suddenly, just a mile shy of the Anthem Way exit (about ten miles
north of Deer Valley), the tread came loose on the left rear tire, making a
horrid "thumpa thumpa" sound. We pulled off to the shoulder of the freeway to
inspect the damage. "Well," John decided, "we can't go to
Pine Mountain
without a spare. I'd hate to be all the way in there and blow another tire. I
think we should go back into town, find a tire place and buy two new tires.
Then we'll decide what to do from there."
Having driven the road to Pine Mountain (FR 68) before (on Super Bowl Sunday,
just to kill time before kick-off), we knew that it was a light duty road that
was rough in some spots and possibly muddy in others. During that short trip
we had taken along FR 68, we had punctured one of the rear tires and had to go
into Prescott Valley to have it repaired so that we could get home in time for
the game. Now, as John changed out our damaged tire along I-17, he was
convinced that FR 68 just didn't want him to get to the Pine Mountain
Wilderness Area. I guess that made him more determined than ever to get there.
We drove back into Phoenix on our spare tire and stopped at the Big O Tires on
Bell Road. It was just after 7:00 a.m. when we arrived; unfortunately, the
tire shop didn't open until 8:00 a.m., meaning that we were doomed to wait
around for almost an hour. The good news was that we were the first people in
line, meaning that the van would be the first vehicle serviced. Twenty minutes
later, we were on the road again, with two brand new rear tires.
This time, we made it all the way to the trailhead, though there were times
that it didn't look so good. First of all, during the first few miles of the
road, we came upon a "road block" - several cowboys were herding hundreds of
cattle down the lane. (One of the smaller cows got away, and it took three
cowboys to chase the heifer down and bring it back to the herd.) Then, there
were two creek crossings - a small one in the town of Dugas and a much larger
one later on. There are also some very rough and rocky sections - none of
which were particularly hazardous, but they could have been had we gone in
without a spare tire. And, at the end of the road, about one hundred feet from
the Salt Flat Campground, there was a huge mud puddle, in which I thought for
sure that we would get stuck. (Somehow we managed to get through it without a
problem, which was a good thing considering that there was no one at all at
the campground!)
After parking the van on dry ground, we unloaded our gear and prepared to
begin our hike. Due to our late start, we had to start hiking in the heat of
the day - "But at least it isn't humid," I kindly pointed out to John. So far,
it seemed as though the weatherman was correct in saying that the weekend
would be dry, because it wasn't as humid as it had been in weeks past. John
hoped that it would remain dry during the weekend; he was afraid that that mud
bog would become impassible if it rained.
The trail begins after crossing Sycamore Creek, at a gate that warns of fallen
trees and rocks in the "burend" (sic) areas - naturally I had to take John's
picture next to the misspelled sign as he enjoys mocking publicly displayed
errors. After passing through the gate, we were convinced that we had entered
into the wilderness area, so we shared a "wilderness" kiss. Eight-tenths of a
mile later, when we finally did cross the wilderness boundary, we shared
another "wilderness" kiss, this time a real one.
The first 0.8 miles of the trail begins as a flat hike along Sycamore Creek to
the junction with the Beehouse Trail. En route, we passed by Nelson Place,
where we found the remains of an old homestead, and Nelson Spring, which was
flowing with water that trickled through the mud and into Sycamore Creek.
Then, about two hundred feet after crossing the "real" wilderness boundary, we
began hiking the Beehouse Trail, which climbs moderately for about two miles
as it emerges from Beehouse Canyon. Much of this hike was very exposed until
we reached the top of the ridge, at which time we entered into a ponderosa
pine forest. There were a few patches of shade here and there along the way,
where we would stop to take a break and eat a snack or two before continuing
on our climb. That was also the place where we first heard the cows, their
moos echoing throughout the canyon - I won't even go into what it sounded like
these cows were doing! (I'd like to the keep the PG-13 rating, thank you!)
We stopped for lunch as soon as we reached the top of the ridge, when we
entered into the ponderosa pine forest. After eating, John decided to filter
some water, as we weren't sure that we would be able to find water later on.
Except for Sycamore Creek, the creeks contained only puddles left over from
the rains. The puddles were deep enough to filter from, so we took advantage
of them whenever we found them.
Continuing on, John and I found ourselves in a very exposed area, filled with
scrub oak, chaparral, and manzanita bushes that had grown over into the trail.
We suffered many scrapes on our bare legs as we tried to hike through the
mess. We also got lost periodically; the shrubs were so overgrown that they
hid the trail in some places. It took some careful route-finding in order to
stay on the trail. A couple of arguments broke out between us as we debated on
which way we should go. With all of the problems we had been having, what with
the tire, the rough road, the mud puddles, the heat, and the overgrowth of
foliage along the trail, tempers were beginning to flare, meaning that we need
to find a campsite soon so that we could rest and call it a day. However, we
couldn't stop until we reached Bishop Creek, which was the halfway point along
the seventeen mile loop trail that we had chosen to hike that weekend, so we
toughed it out until we finally made it there.
When we arrived at Bishop Creek - where we found that there were many pools of
water for filtering drinking water - we found that the area was quite rocky.
Many of the flat areas were not suitable for camping. We found an area that
contained the least amount of rocks and called it camp. Not long after setting
up our tent, John and I crawled inside and took a short nap to rest our tired
bodies. (Needless to say, we also christened the wilderness area!)
After dinner, we spent the evening swatting mosquitoes and trying to keep the
mesquite wood burning on our campfire so that we could keep warm - as the sun
began to set, the temperature began to drop. At dusk, John and I noticed that
the sky had become gray, but we couldn't quite figure out if it was gray due
to the late hour or if there were storm clouds gathering. It wasn't until it
started sprinkling lightly that we figured it out. Quickly, we scrambled
around to try to cover up our gear with the tube tent. Then, just before we
escaped into our tent, the rain stopped. Since it was almost bedtime, John and
I stayed inside the tent and played several games of Rummy. Then, around 9:00
p.m. - a bit later than usual - we crawled into our sleeping bags and tried to
go to sleep...
Just as I drifted off, I was awakened again by the distant rumble of thunder.
I tried to ignore it, but each time that I fell asleep, the thunder sounded
again, and I was awake. I heard John muttered, "Shit!" and I knew that we were
both hoping the same thing: that it wasn't going to rain. Our main concern was
that mud pack at the trailhead. We had already had a difficult time getting
through it; a rain shower would only make it worse.
At first, the storm remained in the distance, hovering to the south of us.
Then, it quickly moved in, until it was right above us, surrounding us with
loud thunder and bright flashes of lightning. It was like the storm was in THX
Surround Sound, for it was all around us. With it came the rain, lightly at
first, then pouring down with a vengeance upon our tent. John was cursing, but
as there was nothing he could do about it in the dark, he tried to sleep to no
avail. I also found that I couldn't sleep during the storm, so we both gave up
and watched the storm as it hovered, seemingly unmoving, above us.
I don't actually remember when the storm finally blew over, but I awoke
periodically during the night to silence then fell back to sleep. Then, at
6:10 the next morning, at first light, John and I rose from our slumber and
emerged from the tent to assess the damages.
Unlike our weekend on the
Highline Trail, all of our gear managed to stay
pretty dry during the storm - our tent didn't even leak, which was a miracle
considering how hard it had rained during the night. The ground, however, was
pretty saturated. That was when John made the critical decision to take the
shortcut back to the van. Instead of continuing along the Pine Mountain Trail,
we would instead take the trail along Bishop Creek. Taking this trail, we
would completely avoid Pine Mountain and cut several miles off of our trip -
it would only be about four or five miles back to the van - but we needed that
extra time in case we got stuck in the mud and there wasn't anyone around to
rescue us.
 We broke camp a little before 8:00 a.m. and began hiking north along Bishop
Creek. A few hundred yards up the trail, we came to an area that had been
burned many years ago. The forest was in the process of re-growth. There was a
forest of seven-foot tall baby pine trees growing among the blackened fallen
tree trunks that were strewn about our path. The blow-down made our journey
through this part slow-moving as we had to jump over many, many logs. Some of
them were easy; others were not. Some of them were several feet off of the
ground, so we had to climb over them (there was no way to crawl under them).
And some of them we approached with caution, as they appeared to be
smoldering, as if they had been struck anew by last night's storm. We
discovered that they were cold to the touch, so we were able to clear them.
After passing through the Clover Leaf, the trail began to descend towards
Sycamore Creek. Not long after that, we met up with the Beehouse Trail
junction and the wilderness boundary, meaning that we weren't far from the
trailhead. That was also where we began to see people - a welcome sign! That
meant that, even if we got stuck, there would be someone there to help us out
or to call someone for help.
We finished hiking around 10:00 a.m., and after loading our gear into the van,
John went to inspect the mud pack. It was worse than it had been the day
before, and there was nothing we could do about it except drive like mad
through it. That was exactly what John opted to do. After pausing a moment to
gather his nerve, he put the van into gear and drove like mad through the
mud...
And as we reached the mud puddle, the van slipped off the road, high-centering
itself on a hump of rocks, and came to a stop just feet from a tree as the
front left tire impacted a boulder. We heard a loud hissing sound that we
thought was the radiator, but it turned out to be the front tire, which had
been split open by the boulder.
We were so stuck!
It took the kindness of strangers to get us out of that situation. At the
campground, there was a woman cooking breakfast for her three boys; she had a
four-wheel drive pick-up truck with a tow strap that she could use to get us
out of the mud. However, in order for her to tow us out, we had to dig
ourselves out of the mud and remove the boulders from the front of the van.
While we were doing so, we were joined by a pair of hikers - Tim and Lori -
who offered us their assistance. They helped us push the van backwards so that
we could remove the boulders from under the front bumper. Then, they helped us
dig the rocks and mud out from underneath the running boards. With all of the
dangerous obstacles out of our way, we could now be towed from the mud, so the
lady with the 4X4 hooked up the tow rope and tried to yank us free. However,
with the flat tire proved to be a bigger problem than we had anticipated. The
tire had begun to come off of the rim. Rather than risk damage to the rim, we
opted to change the tire first.
Changing the tire took us close to an hour, and again Tim and Lori, our
helpful hikers, stayed to help us throughout the crisis. It took us three
jacks to raise the front end of the van enough to get the tire replaced,
because the jacks kept sinking deeper and deeper in the mud under the weight
of the van. At some points, it almost seemed as though we would never get that
damn tire off of the van because of the mud. But finally, we were able to put
the spare tire on the van, and minutes later, the lady in the 4X4 pulled us
free while the rest of us cheered.
We would probably have been stuck there for several days had it not been for
the kind strangers who helped us out. Although we'll probably never see these
people ever again, we hope that one day they'll stumble across our web site
and see this:
THANK YOU, TIM AND LORI (AND THE LADY WITH THE 4x4 - WE DIDN'T CATCH YOUR
NAME)!
Once we were back on the road again, the rest of our trip went without further
incident, and we made it home safely, arriving just minutes after of one of
the worst monsoon storms of the season. (John calls it the monsoon that
destroyed the city of Mesa.) That evening, we shared a nice bottle of wine to
celebrate the fact that we had survived another adventure. |
