It was nice to finally get into the mountains again. I had coffee and cereal, petted the dogs, and took off. This was my first dogless hike in months.
I met the group at 7:30am and we carpooled to the trailhead, talking the whole time about the new swine flu outbreak out of Mexico. This is starting to concern us all, as cases seem to be increasing at an alarming rate.
I hadn’t been on the Sunnyside Trail in years, but recognized it right away. It was three years ago nearby where I found some beautiful specimens of a certain mineral that is only found in these mountains. Sara back then was much more energetic.
We each grabbed some garden tools. I carried loppers and a handsaw. The others took turn with a large saw. Our mission was to cut down dead growth across the trail, which is also part of the Arizona Trail that our hiking club is the steward for in this section of the state. We were to remove growth that was growing into the trail, and remove any blow-owns. We started out at an elevation of 5950’.
The first mile was a pleasant low grade uphill which years ago was a wagon trail to a small town. The trail narrowed, crossed a creek, followed underneath Douglas firs and oaks. The smells here reminded me of Grass Valley, CA for some reason. I hadn’t smelled such pines in months!
Years ago prospectors mined for copper here. A sawmill was nearby and abandoned foundations were already overtaken by vegetation.
Years ago prospectors mined for copper here. A sawmill was nearby and abandoned foundations were already overtaken by vegetation.
We got to the Sunnyside Canyon Trailhead at 9:10am. Big Steve took an ibuprofen and we didn’t see him again until two miles later, resting in the shade for us. It was 4.75 miles to the Crest Trail, where we planned on doing most of the trail work.
My lungs were feeling OK the first mile, but as the slope increased, my breathing became more tiring, and I stopped at every switchback for what seemed a few extra breaths.
Once we reached the two mile mark we could see the open vista of the Santa Cruz valley and Mount Wrightson to our Northwest.
We made it to the Crest Trail shortly before noon. We were now at an elevation of 8475’ with strong winds coming from Mexico. Here the tall pines did not whisper, they roared. To our surprise, there were no blow-downs. I scouted out a bit further down the Crest Trail and saw two smaller blow-downs, to which the guys carried the saw.
It was windy on top, with the exposed crest pushing the northbound winds against us. Most of the vegetation in spots was just agaves and tall grasses holding strong in the wind. I lost my straw hat a few times. I could see what looked like a brush fire in Mexico.
This is where we started to lose the group dynamics. Big Steve and Gordon beat feet back down, I went off a side trail where I saw five big blow-downs in an area that looked like had had a burn recently. Older trunks were charred and there were many dead trees in a see of young Ponderosa pines.
Two USBP agents came up the Pat Scott trail with a young German Shepherd dog. They startled me at first as I thought that perhaps there were illegals nearby that they were scouting for. We chatted for a bit, I warned them of the other guys further down the trail cutting down dead growth. The agents said they were just walking down the trail and thanked me for warning them about the other dog.
I perhaps chatted with the agents longer than I thought, because I did not see another group member until an hour later when Brenda caught up with me. Where were the others? Big Steve had raced back down to the trucks to rest his sore legs, Little Steve was in the rear, and Gordon and Chillita were resting at the two-mile marker.
We wouldn’t have gotten separated had we had radios. Why did I not think of bringing ours?
We saw no other people except for the two agents. No illegals, no trash, no other hikers. This was odd, especially on the Crest Trail.
“This is one of my favorite Canyons” said Brenda as we walked together back to the trucks. I have to agree. And we saw little trash this time around. There was some water in the creek, and some lush vegetation along the water’s edge. We heard Mexican jays and saw what looked like a kingfisher. Chillita loved chasing after the birds. Had my dogs been with me, they would have joined her.
Near the trailhead Brenda showed me some Hohokam petroglyphs. I had never seen them before.
We were back at the trucks by 5pm where Brenda and Gordon had beer and some other treats for us. I accepted a Budweiser (Kevin would be so proud) and ate some chips. Big Steve was in such pain he lay on the ground. I’ve never seen him in such pain before. Was he dehydrated? Did he tax his body too much? I certainly felt my thighs throbbing too, but I don’t mind, as I finally got up into my mountains again.
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