Snow + Mud Pushed Me to the Absolute Edge…

And then there was snow. SO. MUCH. SNOW!

At first I was hyping myself up at how beautiful, quiet and serene the woods would be covered in a fresh dusting of snow on the Mogollon rim. But, very quickly, I started to realize the conditions were actually quite treacherous…

Day 5: Washington Park Trailhead to Meadow (20.5 miles)

My resupply day in Payson was a logistical nightmare—one more in a long line of hurdles this trip. For the first time ever, in all my years of hiking, my resupply box didn’t make it in time. After chatting with the post office clerk, I learned it was stuck in Phoenix until at least Monday—three days away! I toyed with the idea of detouring to retrieve it or rerouting it to the south rim of the Grand Canyon, but the simplest solution was to let it “return to sender” and I cobbled together a four-day resupply at Walmart (LOTS of Luna Bars, ramen, chips, and a smoothie powder that was way too sweet).

Grocery shopping after living in the woods while in a calorie deficit is a special kind of experience. I went from a laser-focused hiker to a stumbling alien in slow motion, completely unable to make decisions (was this my first time ever in a Walmart?!). The only critical thing missing from my resupply box that I couldn’t get at Walmart was my water-filter syringe, a back-flushing tool to hopefully help bring my filter back from its death bed. Filtering water had been taking FOREVER and I had to use all my strength to squeeze my water bag with both hands for nearly 15 minutes for 1L. I soaked the filter in warm water in my hotel room and tried to blow through in the opposite direction to free some of the sediment as best I could—it got marginally better.

The night before I got back on trail (and had strategically planned my hotel day), I stayed warm and cozy out of the freezing pouring rain, thunder, and lightning. I knew this meant it was dumping snow up on the rim. I was so grateful my Trail Angel was still willing to take me up there at dawn even though the dirt roads could have been snowy and icy.

I woke up to an uncharged phone! No! My charging cable had been on the fritz, so I texted Kendra (trail angel of angels) and she gave me a charging cable for my phone and I was able to charge it on the drive as well. PHEW! THANK YOU!

I had a very steep climb to start my day and as I inched higher in elevation, the inches of snow seemed to also be accumulating. I kept glancing up to the sky, hoping for bluebird sky, like the forecast had called, but it was moody and cloudy, with only an occasional hint at blue sky. Climbing up the steep incline was really tough because the rocks were covered in a sheet of ice and there was only a semblance of trail that existed. I tried to stay to the snow in between the rocks, but even the snow became slippery, and I lost my footing and would slide downhill quite a bit. It was easy enough to find the trail on the way up because there was literally no other possible step other than up —it was cliffy with a creek on the left and a steep hillside on the right.

I welcomed the climb as it helped my body temperature be a little warmer, but as I got to the top, that all changed. Suddenly, there was just so much more snow on the top and the trail became impossible to find. I made it my mission to be the best trail finder of all time, like an expert in intuition with where I think a trail should be. I tried to have fun with it instead of let it frustrate me, because I had no idea how long this little “trail finding in the snow” game would last. I was able to mostly discern trail from not trail due to examining my surroundings and the ground feel. If it felt a little softer and grassier or there were just way more fallen trees in the way, that meant it was not the trail. Trail was sometimes discernible by a slight depression in the snow, but for the most part, it was really tough and exhausted all of my focus and energy.

It was difficult to stop to check my phone to see if I was on route because taking off my neoprene gloves was akin to taking off a wet suit, but in freezing temperatures. Putting the gloves back on was even harder. It took so much time to take the gloves on and off that I ended up leaving my phone in my pocket most of the time unless I felt really lost. I knew spending too much time going the wrong way would be a worse outcome than messing with my gloves.

I couldn’t eat due to frozen hands and the hose to my Camelback was frozen. Taking off my pack and setting it in a pile of snow seemed like not a good idea.  I stumbled upon a tent hidden in the trees. “You okay in there?” I called. A voice answered, and we chatted trail/snow conditions and I told the hiker I would leave footprints for him. I kept hoping he would hurry up and pack his tent up and catch up to me so we could way-find together. Challenges like this are so much safer and easier with another human being.

As I hiked, I kept waiting. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for though. I guess for conditions to change? I just felt like I was waiting and trying to get through this infinite snow section as efficiently as possible. The thing about hiking in snow is that it may be beautiful for about five minutes, but then having a freezing cold face, hands, and core means it’s vital to keep moving. Stopping and taking a break wasn’t an option as I would get way too cold.

I felt like I was just moving so slowly and I honestly didn’t know if there was any end in sight. I wasn’t going to be gaining or losing any significant elevation between here in Flagstaff, and when I had checked the radar last night during the storm, it seemed that further north by Flagstaff, they were getting even more snow than down here in the Payson/Pine region. As I continued north, I figured I would just continue to have more snow and I just wasn’t sure there was ever going to be an end. How would I camp? I just held on to the mysterious waiting feeling all morning.

The trees were so covered in snow that any little whisper of a wind would blow snow all over my face and pack, and it almost felt like it was snowing at times when it was windy. I kept reminding myself that this was infinitely better than if it were snowing, because if it were snowing, there was no telling how long that would last, whereas these were just temporary gusts.

Later in the day as the snow began to melt, the trees would shrug the snow off of them, and throw snowballs on me. The snowballs would land on my head, pack, hands, or right in front of me and explode in snow and it almost made me laugh. However, the sound of the snowballs leaping from the trees was mostly startling because it made the same kind of sound as a big animal making movements in the woods. I didn’t wear headphones at all today as I needed to be on high alert and focused—there was never a single moment for zoning out.

Typically, I can eat a bar while I’m hiking, but I found that challenging as well and I would need to stop to eat. Luckily, I had packed out two sandwiches and didn’t have to deal with making a smoothie for lunch and I was able to eat bars and my sandwich throughout the latter half of the day when the temperatures were a bit warmer.

I had a really challenging time seeing because I either had to choose vision or warmth and warmth usually won. Although being able to see any little undulation in the snow was pretty important because the trail was not visible unless I paid attention to where rocks might be set to the side or if there was a slightly lower snow level. I needed to wear my sunglasses because I know snow blindness is a very real thing and I’m slightly traumatized by my sister having had snow blindness for a few days once upon a time from trail running in dappled sunlight with no sunglasses and lots of snow. So I wore my sunglasses, which also helped see in the snow a little bit better. But they fogged up nonstop because I had my buff covering my face and between my two hoods, visor and buff, my eyes barely had a little window of vision, and that window was mostly foggy with an occasional spot in the fog where I had a little visibility. It was hard to not have peripheral vision or good vision, and occasionally, I would sacrifice the buff to see or sacrifice the sunglasses for warmth.

the “trail”…

I needed a sign of life—anything to break the isolation of constant snow-wayfinding. I kept hoping for footprints to follow. I would give my gloves away for some footprints! Anything! I needed to know there was another human doing what I was doing. I knew there were so many AZT hikers out here, one of them had to be in front of me at some point. It was only a matter of time before I would encounter footprints of somebody who would’ve begun their day hiking in the snow. I just kept thinking to myself. “Please let me see some footprints! I would give anything just to see some footprints!” It would mean mental relief from the way-finding to be able to follow in someone else’s tracks. After 12 miles of searching for footprints and trail, I finally crossed a dirt road and viola! FOOTPRINTS to follow! Hallelujah!

I was like a little kid on Christmas morning! I was so relieved and comforted to finally have footprints with me. It was like I had arrived at the thing I had been waiting for all morning. I was not alone. I was not having to way-find. It felt like having a pacer in a race. Something to follow and take my mind off of that one little task. I kept thinking about my “pacer” (the footprints) and wondering if I would ever meet my pacer. Were they far ahead of me? Was I two miles or 10 miles behind them? I would never know because I never found the human to my footprints, but I thought about them keeping me company and it felt more comforting than I can even describe.

However, by the time the footprints arrived, they weren’t all that helpful (besides the emotional comfort). The snow started to become a bit more sparse and melt as the day warmed up. I was able to take a few minutes to take my pack off drink some water and have a snack. Throughout the whole day, I never really stopped to take my shoes and socks off to give my feet a break.

The second half of the day was all mud. This was a preview of what was to come, but I was, for a while, a bit relieved to have mud instead of snow. At least I could see where the trail was, and it meant slightly warmer temperatures, which meant the use of my hands and better able to stay on top of my nutrition and hydration. I was exhausted with mental fatigue.

My pack was so heavy. I was carrying a full resupply and so much water from my hotel (and I had hardly drank any). I was so glad to have the extra water and not have to deal with any water tasks like harvesting water from a natural source and then filtering it as all of that takes a ton of time to be stopped (and when I am stopped, I am cold!). Also makes my hands unbearably cold and can hardly use them when I’m handling water in such freezing temps. For a few hours, I felt like I could’ve fallen asleep while I was walking, that’s how tired I was.

I knew I could afford to have a shorter first day as later in the segment I would have lighter pack (and hopefully less snow!). I thought about going 18 miles and eventually decided I would push to 20 miles. Right at around 18 miles there was a resupply box along the highway filled with 12 gallons of water and I took a gallon and filled up my water carrying vessels on top of the 1.5L I was already carrying. I just didn’t want to have to deal with filtering water as my filter has been so notoriously slow.

At 20 miles, I crested into a flat, grassy meadow, a reprieve from the rocky landscape prior. I wasn’t sure if there was any reliable camping ahead as there were not many comments on FarOut about camping spots, so I seized the opportunity and called it quits.

In typical Arizona Trail fashion, the wind blew my tent across the field in gusts that felt like a practical joke. I chased down my tent and went on a scavenger hunt for my stakes. As I was re-staking it down another gust blew it right out of the ground, this time with some of my stuff inside of it as well! In my third attempt, I quickly staked my tent down with large rocks, and settled into chores, relishing the warmth of late afternoon sun.

I had finished my day at 4:30 PM, which was incredibly early considering the sun sets around 7:00 PM and I usually like to hike later. I don’t think I have ever finished hiking this early before…like ever.

I thought I would have so much time to write a blog post and perhaps even do a little bit of work. Thank God there was no service this night. I found myself barely able to keep my eyes open around 6:30 PM and fell asleep! I got up to pee at 3:15 AM and realized I had had plenty of sleep and I could begin hiking if I wanted to, but I figured I would lay in my sleeping bag and close my eyes for a little bit longer to see what happened and I didn’t wake up again until 5:30 AM! It was already light out! I could not believe I got 11 hours of sleep on trail! Some of my best (and worst) night’s sleep are in my tent. I knew I needed that rest and the adrenaline of feeling like I had a late start to the morning got me up and out quickly the next day.

I had some coughing in my sleeping bag from the dry air, so my lungs were not super happy. I also realized I had been coughing quite a bit the night before in the hotel room with the heater and was glad I didn’t have any breathing issues during the day, but nighttime still seems to be somewhat of an issue. My breathing is not great during the day, as I definitely don’t have full breath capability and my voice is still a bit raspy. But luckily, pulling my buff over my face in the cold mornings provides moisture and warmth to my airways.

Day 6: Tent spot in Meadow to tent spot near Forest Road, 28 miles

Today there was just so much mud! Like so much mud! Arizona mud is a special kind of mud as the PH of decaying pine needles affect the mud in a way which creates adobe. However, hiking in all this snow and mud felt like an AZT rite of passage. It wouldn’t be a true AZT hike if I didn’t have copious amounts of mud to deal with or a random snow blizzard in April to march through.

Nothing compares to the bog stench of the Appalachian Trail mud in Maine. I will never forget that smell and how it ruined my socks and toenails for a long period of time. But, Arizona mud is the kind that just sticks and sticks onto your shoes nonstop. It is slippery. It is sticky. It would cake and cake and cake until I after about 5 steps it was mandatory to find a rock to scrape my shoes on in an attempt to get the mud off, but even the scraping was a ton of effort.

The bottoms of my poles also began to get caked in mud just like yesterday with the ice and the accumulation made the poles heavier. I tried not using poles at all, but the ground was so uneven and I was so unstable I needed them for each step.

Trudging through the mud slowed me down significantly, but at least I wasn’t having to way-find! It was exhausting, dealing with the mud, and I tried everything to become friends with it; telling it how special it was and that I recognized its powers. But the relentless mud had its own way of beating me up with its never-ending monotony.

At least for the first few miles in the morning, the mud had been frozen and I remembered how much I love frozen mud, but I didn’t love frozen hands! The morning made my hands so cold. My fingers were in so much pain from the cold. I had so much frost on my tent this morning. I attempted to shake it off, but it was futile, and I had to pack it away frosty, which, of course turned into a wet rain fly I was carrying around all day. I rarely took any breaks, because who wants to sit in mud?

My first water stop was 18 miles into my day. I got there and realized I still had tons of water on me and I did not need to stop to refill water. Throughout the day, I took two breaks to take my shoes off and eat some snacks and my second sandwich.

I could’ve gone about 30 miles but I wasn’t too sure about the camping situation again. After about 25 miles, the terrain became much snowier again and the ground was soaking wet everywhere. The trail was a stream, which was honestly better than the mud because I could at least walk through it with relative ease, but it was cold in the evening. I decided to call it when I crossed a forest road and saw a patch of pine needles and a flat spot without snow. From what I had been walking through with all of the rocks, mud, and water, I needed to just take this campsite and call it a day.

That night, I had the coldest night of sleep yet on trail, which kept waking me up. I was completely buried in my sleeping bag with all my layers on and I couldn’t get fully warm enough to relax into a deep sleep.

Day 7: Forest road spot to Mud spot: 29 miles

I woke up and did a little bit of work from my tent as I had some Monday morning emails to respond to and two bars of LTE. I savored being semi warm in my sleeping bag, but my fingers became so cold it became too hard to use my phone. I’ve had very little additional bandwidth to text or do anything with my phone for that matter, as every available iota of energy has been going to wayfinding, moving, surviving, eating, staying warm, and navigating around wet, snowy, muddy terrain. This section has been mentally draining. Just stay alive and keep going.

This morning was bitter cold even though I got a later start than I usually do. The frozen mud quickly disappeared, but my frozen hands had a hard time getting warm. I mostly hiked with my buff over my face, poles under my armpit, and hands in my pockets to stay warm. The terrain was relatively easy with the occasional stream runoff or mud feature to navigate around, but I was able to find somewhat of a morning rhythm. There were a lot of coyotes howling in the early morning, which I had been realizing the last few nights were silent, without any birds chirping in the morning. Maybe they just wake up later because I tend to hear and see them plenty while I’m hiking.

20 miles flew by. The mud was there, but totally manageable. I carried tons of water, but I’m glad I did because the water sources were nearly nonexistent. I called my dad to check in when I crossed a highway and told him “yeah, today is easy. Like almost too easy!” But I spoke too soon.

The absolute CRUX of this entire section came seconds after I lamented about how “easy” the trail was. The flat terrain of the “easy” had been monotonous. My muscle groups never got to switch it up, and mentally it can be tougher to keep going when there is no extreme life-threatening thing to focus on. No mountains to climb, rocks or roots to dance around, water stops to plan for, just a whole lot of plodding through old growth forest “easy” trail. The first 20 miles of my day were akin to running on a treadmill. Just tough to stay engaged and motivated.

But GOOD GOD I would give ANYTHING to have that easy treadmill-trail back. The mud situation escalated to an all-time impossibility. I mean I was hobbling along like I had broken legs. FOR 9 MORE MILES! (Which took HOURS…!)

The mud was so slippery and so sticky and so heavy and SO RELENTLESS! It didn’t matter where I walked (on trail or to the side of the trail). I was essentially on a plateau that was a sea of mud and rocks. There was no escape. I couldn’t even rock hop because there weren’t enough rocks. And whenever there were rocks, I would have to scrape mud off my shoes for damage control, otherwise I would not be able to lift my legs anymore because each shoe got so ridiculously heavy. I was stopping so much to scrape just to get my shoes caked all over again within seconds.

Even when the mud would get scraped off the bottoms of my shoes, it would cake on the perimeter of my shoes and on top of my shoes as well, and that stuff was actually impossible to remove so I just dealt with it. It was like I was wearing sticky, slippery, weighted snow shoes on the bottoms of my shoes. I even considered going barefoot, but there would be absolutely no way to clean off my feet if I eventually wanted to put socks and shoes back on (plus, with the weight of my pack I needed shoes for support).

Just barely surviving y’all…

Scraping my shoes fatigued me to the verge of cramping in my legs and feet. The muscle fatigue was next level with the additional weight of mud on everything. The mud slog was so bad and took every ounce of my focus. I couldn’t eat or drink and walk at the same time. My poles, again, became caked in mud at the bottom, making them so heavy I could hardly lift them. But whenever I attempted to not use them, I would feel so unstable in the slippery mud terrain and need the poles to hold me upright.

It would be impossible to overestimate how challenging this mud battle was. I was so sore and tired but I couldn’t stop. I needed to feel like there was some sort of finish line to this madness before I could end the day. Plus, there was literally no viable option for pitching a tent. And I couldn’t imagine starting my day off in this absolute mess.

Eventually, I reached some pine trees and found a not so wet muddy ground to pitch my tent. But I was hiking in the dark with a headlamp and moving at the pace of molasses.

I had a hard time falling asleep that night bc my legs and feet were  in so much pain from the mud workout. Bones I didn’t know had nerve endings were tender as hell in my feet. But mostly, I was just beat down mentally and emotionally. I had nothing left to give. Every iota was focused so intently on the mud tronch for so many hours nonstop I was entirely spent and couldn’t even think. I felt scattered and spacey.

Everything was absolutely caked in mud! Even the inside my sleeping bag had mud from my filthy, muddy pants (which are my only pants so I also have to wear them to sleep in!) I don’t have the luxury of being able to carry an extra set of clothes for sleeping, although I do have a wool long sleeve shirt I wear in between my sun hoodie, and my puffy when I’m sleeping and this layer certainly helps. But I made the tough call to leave my set of leggings behind, to save on weight. I think if I were to redo it, I would have brought them because if it were pouring rain and freezing cold, I would need to wear both pants. Luckily, I have not had any cold rain while I’m hiking, and I have decided that if I do, I will set up my tent to ride it out because it’s either that or hike in my shorts.

Day 8: Mud spot to Flagstaff: 14.6 miles

I woke up super early to pee, and instead of going back to sleep, I decided to start my day. I knew I had short day mileage-wise to get into Flagstaff, but there was absolutely no telling how much of the mud war remained, so it could take me all day.

Luckily, the mud legitimately ended after 1 hour! It was a long first hour with no end in sight, but then suddenly, the terrain and trail changed to more forest instead of wide open sea of mud and just like it had arrived it was GONE!

I wish I could say I ran to Flagstaff after, but I felt hungover from wrestling with impossible mud for so long, I just walked. One step in front of the other.

Very shortly after the disappearance of mud, my neck seized up in a dramatic way. So much pain shot through my left shoulder region and I lost about 25% of my range of motion. I could not do a full head circle or lean my head back or to the left. I wasn’t able to drink my smoothie as the leaning back motion was impossible. It continued later at the hotel when I tried to lean my head back to wash my hair — couldn’t do it. My neck was just completely locked up and in pretty severe pain.

I knew immediately what the cause was. My shoulders had been tense through the mud episode and my head naturally tilts to the right (thanks to an eye muscle imbalance I was born with). Basically, to see straight I have to tilt my head slightly right. My left shoulder was pulled into the shrug position and with all the looking down at every single step, plus a heavy pack, this survival posture enraged my neck and shoulder muscles.

My lungs are slowly worsening, but they aren’t “bad” yet. The good thing is the last 4 days I only spoke about 1.5 hours in total. So my throat and vocal cords got a significant break, but the exertion has been taxing on my lungs and I’ve been having to breathe out of my mouth due to congestion. Mostly I’m dealing with a dry cough at night and just a generally inflamed and dry air passage. Inconsolable and rough. My voice quality is hanging out at the top register (so not raspy like before), but it’s not full. I’m not getting full deep breaths.

Learning more about me…

It’s me versus me out here. Or as I like to think of it, “me with me” in more of a collaborative spirit. I’m not out here to “win” the Arizona Trail, or to compete against other hikers or even to compete with myself. I am here to push myself to discover more parts of myself because when you put yourself in challenging situations alone, and you are your only guide, you learn so much more about yourself. I am so comfortable with my solitude and have learned I am so mentally tough and can endure long monotonous 12 to 14 hour days of putting 1 foot in front of the other.

I want to be able to do this kind of thing until I am very old and I aspire to never lose it so I may quickly acclimate to trail life for as long as I can. It helps me re-center and my priorities instantly reorganize. There’s a certain amount of survival that keeps propelling me forward as slowing down would mean running out of food or stopping could mean hypothermia or heat exhaustion depending on the day.

As I move, I meditate on things that I am grateful for in my life. I feel so accomplished and at peace within the pain and suffering, and I know it is important to tap in to this level of challenge regularly to keep myself tough, resilient, and strong, so that the hiccups and bumps in the roads on trail and in life feel insignificant. The perspective I gain out here is truly incredible and I am glad I push myself outside of my comfort zone and spend expansive time with just myself to learn more about the depths of my soul and my capacity so I can be the best version of myself off trail.

On loneliness…

I have not had one minute of loneliness out here even though 99% of my time is alone (so far).

I got to this realization by wondering if loneliness is inevitable in life. Off trail, I have experienced deep loneliness by being alone and even deeper loneliness inside of a relationship. I started to realize that maybe the antidote to loneliness is living on trail by myself. I’m wondering how to bring this feeling of peace with myself back to the other life or is it possible? Off trail, I am much more connected to people, so perhaps with intimacy, an open heart, and vulnerability, loneliness is just part of the equation?

On trail, I am able to escape the deep, sad, loneliness feeling because when I’m alone in nature moving, I have me, and my mind is at peace. The only thing that reminds me I am a physical being is the physical pain and ailments of my body. Otherwise, I just feel like a peaceful spirit floating inside of a body.

And so grateful to give that body a little rest and a shower in Flagstaff! I’m not entirely sure my body can go on — especially if there is mud north of Flag… Is this where it ends?