The Bajada Trail – main

A bajada is the mound of run-off sediment skirting the edge of the mountain. It is not quite Spanish for “Alluvial Fan”, but they are functionally the same thing.

The Bajada Trail winds up and across its namesake across the San Juan Valley in the Phoenix South Mountain preserve. Or, rather, the main western portion des this. The eastern third of the trail is basically a connector trail we have written about elsewhere.

The portion we write about here connects the San Juan Bicycle Center with the San Juan Lookout, running from its junction with the Max Delta Trail (at the lot) to its’ junction with the National Trail on the west end of the park. You then follow the National Trail northwest to the lookout.

This is often done as a loop hike with the Alta Trail. If so, regardless of direction, do Alta is the harder of the two, and I always recommend doing the hard part first. If you do it as a loop, take a lunch.

I did this as a car shuttle. My plan was to park at the bike lot, and then have a friend drive me to the Curtis Saddle Trailhead. However, we lucked into one of those Brigadoon-like morning when the vehicle road to San Juan Lookout was actually open to actual vehicles. So, he dropped me off there instead.

The route is National Trail of Bajada Trail to the bike center – a route that is about 4.3 miles one way. Most people can do it in a couple of hours.

National Trail heading out from the lookout is what you picture single-track trail through the low desert to look like: Packed dirt wide enough for one pedestrian, winding through the cactus. There are not a lot of landmarks. Sure, to the west, AZ 202 crosses in front of the casino, but the trail itself has few features. The junction with the Maw Ha Tuak Perimeter Trail. A stand of teddy-bear cholla. A stand of chain fruit cholla. A stand with both of them together. A geologic marker. You cross three small washes, then a big one, and then East San Juan Road. On the far (south) side of that you come to the junction with the western terminus of the Bajada Trail.

The National Trail, also called the Maricopa Trail heads off further southwest until it turns east and charges up the main Gila Range to the top ridge. It will continue east across that ridge to the other end of the park.

I took the Bajada Trail, of course. It promptly crossed the grey-gravel expanse of the main San Juan wash, and then began a lesser climb up the mountain, turning east kinda-sorta along the top of the bajada.

When the road is closed, and you get some distance from the freeway, this is one of the quietest sections in the park.

The trail will go up the berm and down the wash and up the berm for most of its remaining length (either direction). It is in excellent shape, a little rocky in places, blue and black basalt with a little gypsum for color, but you can do this in tennis shoes. The entire length is a shadeless march through stunted palo-verde trees, bone dry creosote and a scattering of cacti.

The terrain is not your problem. Like all hikes in this park, or this area, do not attempt this in summer unless you start marching in the predawn gloom. The entire hike I noted two places (both washes) with enough shade that a grown human could sit down within.

Below you (north) East San Juan Road follows the wash through the relatively quiet canyon. Towards the end, after one of the few sustained climbs, the trail with turn north and descend towards the road. Before you get there, as you start to enter the main wash, you will reach the junction with Alta Trail.

You are a half-mile from the trailhead. You can guzzle some water now.

Don’t cross the wash. Stay on Bajada as it turns east again, though and then out of the wash. Then across the desert floor a little farther to pavement.

If you look up the hill during this passage you will see mine trailings, and perhaps some social trails going up towards same. There is at least one open mine shaft still existing on those slopes, but you are on your own with that. When crawling about in mine-shafts, you are betting your life on the engineering acumen and diligence of whatever miner dug this 100+ years ago, and I cannot recommend that.

The bike lot has trashcans, but no other services. The San Juan Lookout has nothing but an old ramada and signage.

https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/edit?mid=14IdApz3yrXDPYg9m-SmDkkiXZ8tYtDs&usp=sharing

Rediscovering the old Apache Trail

Photo taken circa 1910. Arizona State Library

The Apache Trail has re-opened, and one hot September 2024 Sunday, my son and I found ourselves with no obligations we could not avoid. Being too hot to hike (daytime highs never sank below 95 the entirety of September in 2024) (God – I hope that’s a remarkable sentence in the future) my son suggested that I should drive.

Because the AC in my 2015 Subaru still works.

Thus, we found ourselves burning down the Superstition Freeway [US60] past Chandler and Mesa and east Mesa and Gilbert all the way to Apache Junction where you finally exit and go north on Idaho Road.

In about two miles, Idaho road forms a triangle with the Old West Highway and state route 88, otherwise known as the Apache Trail.

The park his triangle forms around is the beating heart of the great, sprawling trailer park that is Apache junction. I kid – it’s not really one super-massive trailer park. It is a cluster of large trailer parks separated by small strip malls. Keep driving.

There are several side trips accessed from this road, and we will append those links at the bottom of the article as we document them.

Apache Trail goes northeast, out of Apache Junction and along the edge of the Superstition Mountains – or increasingly, what is left of them. For behold, once you pass the Lost Dutchman State Park and the Goldfield “ghost town”, you enter Tonto National Forest, and more tragically, burn scar country.

In June of 2019, the inevitable fire, called the Woodberry Fire, consumed almost 124,000 acres, much of it along this road. In September of that same year, monsoons dumped six inches of rain on the fresh fire scar and the resulting runoff damaged large portions of the road and left the stretch between Fish Creek Vista and Reavis trailhead impassable – for years.

ADOT map of the fire damage closures. You can pretend the red line is grey now.

Road maintenance, you see, unfairly heightens the tax burden of the rich. No- that’s not it. I mean, a majority of the Arizona legislature has said things like that out loud, but the other problem is that the Apache Trail, when it was open, saw less than 300 vehicles a day.

The Apache Trail has never been a thoroughfare. The northern terminus is a T with AZ188 along the south shore of Roosevelt Lake. Heading northwest will eventually get you to Payson, but AZ87 is far easier. Heading southeast will get you to Globe, but even the winding, two-lanes-through-tunnels US60 will get you there faster – usually.

Trail construction circa 1909. US archives.

Apache trail was constructed, starting in 1903, as a supply road for what would become Roosevelt Dam. It gained its name from the large portion of the labor force that was Apache – including the ones who built the road.

For the most part, AZ88 follows the same route.

The southwestern trailheads into the Superstitions were still closed from fire damage as we drove past them. They may be for a long time. Fire is not part of the life cycle of the Sonoran Desert. It takes decades to grow back to where ecologists would feel comfortable again.

The road is still paved as it turns east to skirt the shore of Canyon Lake, which like most lakes in Arizona, is actually a reservoir. Every lake I mention in this article is actually a reservoir. You will pass some day-use boating sites, the marina, and then head back up the hillside towards Tortilla Flat.

Tortilla Flat is a bar/hotel/gift shop complex. On this Sunday, it was packed with bikers, and we decided we could wait until we got to Globe to eat. Given the line outside the restaurant, we might eat sooner in Globe. Your results might vary.

The trail climbs here and on top of the ridge you will pass Fish Hill overlook, which is worth a moment to stop and stretch. And there are vault toilets if you need. A short trail goes to a concrete pad with some visibility of the Salt River Canyon below. But the trail beyond that is not technically closed, and you can follow it to a more distant rocky knob with better views.

Past Fish Hill, you enter the recently opened heart of AZ88 as the road dips and winds in and out of Fish Creek Canyon crossing a couple of single-lane bridges. There is nothing here that cannot be traversed in a passenger car, if you take your time and pay attention – which you will want to do anyway- right? That is the point of taking this route.

Over the ridge you pass a couple of scenic turnouts overlooking Apache Lake, and later Burnt Corral Campground. Past the campground, the road runs along the canyon wall, just above the Salt River, fat and lazy between dams until the biggest of the dams, Roosevelt, looms ahead.

At the time it was constructed, 1905-1911, Theodore Roosevelt Dam was the largest masonry dam in the world, built from stones carved out of this very canyon and held in place by cement mixed on site. A whole village was built to accommodate the workers as they built the place, called Roosevelt, of course, most of which would be submerged by the very dam its inhabitants built.

One of the first projects of Roosevelt’s new Bureau of Reclamation, it was one of the first hydro-electric dams of any scale, and created what was, at the time, the largest artificial “lake” in the world.

That lake stretches out before you after you wind up past the dam and reach the T intersection with AZ188, which runs across the southern shores of that reservoir. You will also pass plenty of pull-outs if you want photos of the dam.

This is Roosevelt Junction and the termination of AZ88. You are still a half-hour from Globe – so this was no shortcut. But still worth it.

https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/edit?mid=1-iFXbcEIxQbP4r1MjfJ8GwEYXrDV7Y8&usp=sharing

The Alta Trail

This is the toughest trail in the Phoenix South Mountain Preserve. It is also one of the more lightly used one, as, aside from the difficulty, none of its access points are from parking lots. Originally built by CCC and convict labor in the 1930’s , it is one of the oldest existing trails in the park. And one of the best – if you’re up for it.

You can do it as a loop with the Bajada or even the National trail, and that will take all day. If you do it as a car-shuttle, no one will judge you. Either way, it is worth doing – at least once.

This article is part of an ongoing series about hikes in the South Mountain Preserve.

My son waiting patiently on “Dead Man’s Trail”

We (my son joined me) parked one car at the Curtis Saddle “Trailhead”. We only call it a trailhead because it is so marked upon a map. At the eastern dead-end of Estrella Drive, just east of 43^rd Ave, where it turns to dirt, you can find several places to park along the barbed wire fence lining the south side of the road. There are no services.

The elevation here is about 1140 feet.

A short connector trail (called Dead Man’s trail in some sources) charges up the rock slopes, bisecting the Ma Ha Tauk Perimeter Trail (aka the East Laveen Trail) before winding south through the actual Curtis Saddle and down to the San Juan Lookout.

San Juan Lookout is one of several parking lots in the park where you are no longer allowed to realistically park. That’s another article. To our purpose it is a trail hub granting access to the National or Maricopa trail, which crosse the entire park east-west, the Bajada Trail which goes across the gentle slopes of the San Juan Valley to the east, and the Alta Trail, which also heads east – but straight up the slopes of the Ma Ha Tauk mountains.

It has always been my preference to go up the hard way – while your feet are fresh, and then down the easy way, which is why we describe this hike west to east. The western climb has some switch-backs, but it has just as many places where you are going to be obliged to use your hands or maybe your knees to get up the rock-surface portion of the trail.

There is one particularly daunting spot, where a straight climb up scree leads you to a trail marker, taunting you. This is a trap. Look behind you. The trail actually switches sharply back to climb the slope in a more rational manner.

This old trail winds up the oldest of the two ranges that form the park. This range and the western portion of the Gila range (due south) are composed of Precambrian gneiss pushing up granite 1.7 billion years ago. It has been slowly eroding ever since. You’re helping.

There are a couple false summits where you can pant and take pictures but the literal high point is also approximately the half-way point, around 2.5 miles, when you reach the ridge crest and can see both the north and south sides of the range. This is 2400 feet, depending upon which rock you sit on. That’s why you’re tired.

The highest point of the range, at just under 2500′ is called Maricopa peak – on some maps.

From here, the trail winds up and down the high slopes on the north side for a mile or so before cresting again. On the way, you can see the farming village of Laveen and the gated communities that increasing surround it. You can also absolutely win a game of desert cactus bingo along its slopes, passing stately saguaros, whispey ocotillos, stunted palo -verde trees, angry cholla and in the right season delicate wildflowers. If you’re lucky you’ll see some hawks. If you’re less lucky – jet planes.

The last mile and a half winds down the southeast slopes in lunatic switchbacks – a hallmark of CCC trail engineering. Towards the bottom, you might find where the original course was abandoned for a straighter line along the wash.

You will cross that wash, and the trail flattens as it approaches the San Juan Bicycle Center, where you can find the Bajada Trail and the Max Delta. The San Juan Bicycle Center is another not-really-open parking lot that we ~~made fun of~~ described in the Max Delta trail description. It has trashcans and places to sit, but no other services. There are other normally open parking lots just down the road.

We reached the Bicycle Center from Curtis Saddle in just over 4 hours – but I hike slow and take notes and pictures. My son could have easily shaved an hour off of that were he not waiting on me.

https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/edit?mid=1e9FnqcM6gPcCKJL-YigFhgey3FrwWRQ&usp=sharing

The abandoned Holbert Lookout (I think)

I can’t call it the Lost Lookout, as cool as that sounds, because you can see it from the street.

As I stare at the Phoenix South Mountain Preserve, the ridgetop immediately east of Dobbins Lookout also has a stone structure upon it that I can see from my house. As a side-quest to the Holbert Trail I decided to seek it out.

To reach it, I followed the Holbert Trail south and up, past the Dobbin’s Lookout connector, and up to Buena Vista Road. I then followed the actual road east for a few hundred yards. Before you get to the junction with TV road, you will encounter a guard rail on the north side of a gentle curve across a relatively level ridgetop. This is not necessarily to keep careless drivers on the road. This is to keep curious drivers off the remnant road running north of here.

Well, I’m a pedestrian. So I went around the rail and south along what was vaguely a remnant road flanked by small palo-verde trees and young saguaros. The oldest of the saguaros guards the destination about a half-mile from the road, but you’ll see the big double-hoodoo first.

The remnant road climbs the hill, past the hoodoo to empty into what was clearly a vehicular parking/overlook with space for maybe 10 cars.

The topo map has the elevation at 2246’ above sea level.

I believe, based on inferences, but not direct references, in old city planning docs, that this was called Holbert Overlook. The concrete stamp on the west side declares it was built by JSP in 1979-80 for the City of Phoenix. Its is referenced in the 1989 city master plan for the preserve.

D3 – The North Overlook area near the Summit of the Gila-Guadalupe Range. Containing Holbert and Dobbins Lookouts, with access to Buena Vista and Gila Overlooks, this sub-zone will continue to receive large numbers of visitors. Overlook sacrifice zones should be defined and edged with compatible barrier treatments.

Or abandoned and forgotten apparently. It does not appear on the 2007 trail map, or any map afterwards.

The road, though, appears on the 1952 USGS topo map.

All searches for Holbert Lookout will produce results for the trail. The lookout was abandoned before the internet was useful, so sometime in the 1990’s. I’ll update this article if I find an answer to that.

Meanwhile, I had the place nearly to myself. The other guy was also making a video, though in Spanish. He climbed the hoodoo. I did not. But I enjoyed the view until the rest of my hike called me away.

The Holbert Trail

When you have friends or relations in from out-of-town and they say that they want to hike up South Mountain – and you are satisfied that they understand what “hike” and “up” really mean in this context – you want Holbert Trail.

It is also worth doing on its own merits.

This hike is part of my Phoenix South Mountain Preserve Collection.

One of several park things named for Charles M Holbert, the first custodian of South Mountain Preserve from 1929 to 1939. It is said that there was no place in the preserve that he had not visited.

The official trailhead of Holbert is now in the giant parking lot near the Central Avenue entrance. Where exactly, in the giant lot depends on where they are in reconstructing the group picnic site.

The two and half miles of Holbert Trail can be roughly divided into four sections. The first section starts in the giant parking lot, wandering east across the north base of the mountains, skirting a couple of retention basins. You can find some petroglyphs in the early going. This is where you take out-of-towners who clearly do not grasp “hike” or “up” in this context, and you do not want to hear them whine. Meaning this portion is super-easy, and totally skippable.

The second part can be easily reached by the 7^th Street or Mineral Road trailhead. This is no longer an official trailhead on city maps, but the dead-end of Mineral Road heading east from the southern terminus of 7th Street is very much used as a trailhead. Both the footpath on the west side and the access road on the east side will lead you to signed junctions with Holbert Trail.

This is also the entrance for Mystery Castle – should that attraction ever manage to open its gates again.

Past the second water tank, Holbert starts its second section, a sustained, winding climb up and across two ridges and then up a narrowing canyon lined with blackened basalt. Every time you can bring your gaze up from the constant rock-stairs on the trail you will see the desert slopes of the mountains spreading before you. Stop and turn around and you will witness the whole of the Phoenix metro stretching off into the horizon.

So, this hike is best done on a clear day. Otherwise, you will see the bowl of haze you hiked out of, realize that you actually live in that, and struggle with sadness. But on a clear day, this is awesome.

As this popular trail winds up the canyon, the voices of other hikers in the distance will echo around the steep walls. This is a poor place to plan a felony with your friends.

Just past what would be a waterfall, for the seven hours a year this canyon has running water, you will encounter the junction with the Dobbins Lookout Access Trail. At this point you’ve climbed 500 feet up in just over a half mile – which is why you’re feeling it.

Most locals with out-of-towners in tow take the access road to Dobbins Lookout. Yeah – don’t tell them. Hearing your friends exclaim “We could have driven up here?” is a long and traditional source of great joy.

There are also vault toilets here – one of the few available outside of the developed picnic areas.

When I did this hike for photos, I cheated. I had a friend drop me off at Dobbins, then I went up Holbert, off to a side-quest, and then down.

Upper Holbert continues past the Dobbins junction, climbing the rest of the way out of the canyon before crossing Buena Vista Road. It keeps climbing over and then on top of the actual mountain. This portion is quieter, less crowded, slightly easier and more scenic than the portions that came before, and totally worth doing. In less than a half mile from Buena Vista Road, you will reach TV Road. Across that road – which goes to the antenna farm on the summit and the Gila Valley Lookout – is the terminus of the Holbert Trail as it T’s with the Maricopa or National Tail. You are at the 2.5 or 3 mile mark, depending on whether you went up to Dobbins, and have climbed at least 1200 feet from the trailhead to stand at 2400 feet above sea level.

The proximity of either Dobbins or Gila Valley lookouts make this a super-easy car shuttle. You could also take the National Trail west to the Kiwanis Trail and then Los Lomitas Trail to make a full loop of it. The loop would add a couple of hours.

The up and back described could be done in four hours, five if you dawdle. I mean – I suppose. I actually cheated.

Los Lomitas Trail

Los Lomitas Trail in South Mountain Preserve is the connector trail between the middle of the developed picnic lands and the giant parking lot that separates the conference center from the group picnic grounds. It is the third and final leg of my South Mountain Infrastructure Loop.

For all that, this trail is worth doing on its own. Because this is part of the loop, we start in the middle of the park, and head towards the great lot where you likely left your car.

We start at the four-way junction: The Bajada Trail goes south, up the slope. The Ranger trail continues north, towards the Five Tables Trailhead. The Derby Trail, which is oft signed as part of Los Lomitas, goes west to eventually join the Max Delta Trail, but the part we want, the main portion of Los Lomitas, heads east, before bending north.

East now, from the junction, Los Lomitas goes over low hill and shallow wash a few times before crossing some flat desert. On the far side of that, you reach Los Lomitas Cabanas, which were fenced off when I was there, but the restroom was open. By open, I mean unlocked. The gate door is closed and latched, presumably to keep the critters out of the garbage. Latch it back up behind you.

The trail follows ridgeline NE to the Kiwanis TH (and another RR), then parallels the road a spell before dropping into a large wash near the ramada compound of the Piedras Grandes picnic grounds.

Here, you trudge through sand, as opposed to the packed dirt of the trail that came before. In mid-day, the high walls of this wash present your only hope for shade. Los Lomitas climbs out of this wash to merge with Box Canyon Trail, a horse trench bending more north now. Soon, Box Canyon/Los Lomitas parallels the Judith Tunell accessible trail as it gradually bends from north to northeast before reaching the parking lot.

Where exactly in the parking lot depends upon where they are in the endless construction. This flat expanse of asphalt hides few secrets, and rarely more than a dozen cars. You’ll be fine.

The water works of Tres Rios

Tres Rios Wetlands Environmental Restoration Project is the outflow from the city of Phoenix water treatment facility that they have made into a public park. No – the water’s fine. It’s already treated before you can get anywhere near it. They won’t let you swim in it, but they will let you walk around (with a free permit) and fish (with a paid permit).

One path through here is a segment of both the Sun Circle Trail, a bike route that runs around most of the cities in the metro area and the Maricopa trail, which circumnavigates the entire metro area. [They have an interactive map!} Also, it is a local hike, and the day (30 Jan 2022) was great for local hiking.

My route would start at Tres Rios, then follow the trail past it, westwards along the Salt Riverbed to its confluence with the Gila river, near the Base and Meridian Wildlife Area. I would return the way I came.

Tres Rios has a gravel parking area, a single plastic outhouse, interpretive signage and large trashcans. There are no other services. The large trashcans represent a futile attempt to keep fisherfolk from leaving their fishing garbage all over their fishing place.

The city says this of the project:

The lush and scenic Tres Rios is now home to more than 150 different species of birds and animals like muskrats, raccoons, skunks, coyotes, bobcats, and beavers. The beautiful cottonwood groves, willows, mesquites, and other desert shrubs around the reed-lined ponds and along the trail attract many migratory and wintering songbirds. By bringing the Salt River back to the condition it was in during the early 1800s, this project is repairing a natural habitat.

The reclaimed water from the wastewater treatment plant is pumped over to the wetlands, and the plants and animals take what they need before it is discharged back into the river.

Like the 1800’s only now, and with more plastic trash

From the parking lot, three trails (wide graded dirt roads really) proceed westward in parallel. The center one, with the signs, if the official course of the Maricopa Trail. It also seemed the most crowded in the late morning, but also had the better of what scenery there was. To the north are the lagoons, and to the left, after the first half mile, is the mesquite bosque. The trail also passes the “waterfall” where the lagoons discharge into the Salt Riverbed.

The north track has those same lagoons to its south, and open farm fields to its north.

The south track had brush to the north and the normally dry portion of the Salt River to the south. It also features zero shade.

I had dutifully applied for my permit, and had it ready to show on my phone, but there was no evidence that anyone enforces that. All the numerous “No Trespassing” signs about the place – that means people without permits. Or visiting after dark- park hours are dusk/dawn.

Several concrete causeways separate the various lagoons, and these can be crossed on foot. I’m not sure if you are supposed to, but fisherfolk clearly do this all the time. But beware, At least two spillways on each causeway guarantee a water hazard.

Past the lagoons, the north and center roads converge, ending in a turn-around marked by giant concrete pipes. To the north of these pipes, the Maricopa trail continues, intermittently following the remnant rod, or making its way as a dedicated footpath.

I dutifully followed the marked trail on my way in as it hugged the great wall of caged rock that marks the northern edge of the Salt’s flood-zone. I followed a series of dirt roads on my way back and found that I did not miss the trail at all.

The trail closes in on the riverbank just as you reach the boundaries of Base and Meridian Wildlife Area. B&M is primarily a fishing spot. It shares parking with the Phoenix International Raceway. From that parking lot, a bridge crosses a wash to land onto a paved road bisecting the riverbed. From this road all manner of dirt roads and trails fan out to various fishing spots.

Due south of the parking lot is monument hill, where the geo-marker forming the basis for the state’s survey lines is located. Alas, it is also possible to glimpse into the raceway from that height, so the hill is now fenced off. It’s not much of a fence, but you would be on your own with that. I tossed the garbage I had collected on the trail into the trashcans provided at the trailhead and turned back.

I found the actual confluence, where the Gila, maybe ten feet across at that point, burbles into the Salt, fattened to hundreds of yards across by the Tres Rios discharge.

One of the dirt roads bisects an island in the middle of what would not be the Gila River, and I was able to sit quietly on the bank and listen to one fisherfolks Tejano music battle with another’s rap music battle with oldie-rock being covered by whatever band was playing whatever even went on at the raceway.

Remember that you are, at either trailhead, walking distance from a convenience store. This will not be a wilderness experience.

Even so, I did find some measure of peace and quiet. On my return, following the dirt roads closer to the river, I encountered nobody for the better part of a mile, and was able to even sit by the river in peaceful reflection, doctoring a blister. That moment alone kinda made the trip worth it.

I did not bother to GPS this, but ten miles round trip feels right. You could probably do it in eight miles if you did not wander. I was on the trail about five hours.

Ten seconds of water in the desert

West Pinto Creek – a journey without a particular destination.

West Pinto Trail #212 in the Superstition Wilderness is an easy (by Supes standards) hike into transition/riparian habitat without requiring expeditionary resources. It takes a bit to get to the trailhead, but that trip is actually (and literally) half the fun.

I included this trail in my book Day and Overnight Hikes in the Tonto National Forest, but that was over 10 years ago.

The eastern portion of the Superstition is the higher and more remote half. What it lacks in developed trailheads, crowds, cholla and mythology it makes up for with peace and occasional shade. I hiked this on an April Saturday, and passed some folks on the road, but met no-one on the trail.

To start with, US 60 east of Superior is one of the best drives you can take on pavement. Past Top-o-The-World (this is a town) a bridge crosses the deep canyon formed by our destination. On the far side of that bridge to left turn lane leads to FR287. The pavement here soon turns to graded dirt as it wanders through active mining country en-route to the wilderness.

The mines move big piles of rock around all the time, and then re-direct FR287 around those. This leaves maps and directions useless. Google regularly suggested I turn left, which would have been over an embankment and into a steep ravine. The mines have marked any road you are no supposed to take. Go slow, follow the signs, you’ll make it with or without maps or directions or a patient voce in your dashboard suggesting trying to get you killed.

A Y intersection at about 7 miles in marks the transition from mine country to actual Tonto National Forest. Go right, across the narrow bridge to FR287A. A sign will warn about single lane with pull-outs. Yep. Go that way.

The road benefits from a higher clearance vehicle, but you will never use 4WD even as it winds around the canyon walls. Most of the way the road will be the same color as the cliff on one side, and the ravine to the other: red, grey, greenish grey, white. You will pass the transition zone between high desert and low scrub, with saguaros growing right next to juniper trees. The switchbacks mean you are close. That flat spot at the bottom of the canyon ahead is the remains of Miles Ranch. This is where 287A effectively dead-ends.

There are two effective trailheads at Miles Tarilhead, located among the remains of the old Kennedy Ranch. The official one is poorly marked. Look for the Superstition Wilderness wood-cut sign across the road from the Miles Trailhead sign. The actual trail is just beyond, climbing the hills westward into the scrub oak. This wanders up and down the side of the hill until the junction with Bull Basin Trail.

Or you can pass by the shed (empty save for vermin dropping and a scattering of hay). Nothing will stop you from seeing that for yourself. Eventually some jack-ass will burn this to the ground because their special-ass needed a fire under the roof, but right now, there it still sits. A remnant road continues westward on the far side of the gate, providing a shadeless march through the desiccated remains of the pasture. It joins the main trail within sight of the Bull Basin junction.

Bongo inthe shed that hasn’t burned down yet

The main trail is longer and has more up and down, but it also has shade.

West Pinto continues as a single-track up the canyon of its namesake. It is moderate. There were only a few places where I had to pay attention to the trail, rather than write articles in my head, and none of these lasted more than 15 yards.

Here my Tonto description remains accurate, except in 2021 there is less water. Other than isolated pools, I did not encounter water above my ankles. I was a mile in before I encountered any water at all. All the rain run-off from this spring has already sunk into the thirsty sands.

While my old warning about water level may have expired., these days you would actually worry more about fire than flooding, the poison ivy persists, so it is wise to watch your step.

In a couple of places the trail climbs abruptly up the ridge, presumably to avoid obstructions in the stream bank. I took these going in, but ignored them coming out, content to splash in and out of the stream with no undue hardships. This might not be the case if the creek ever has high water flow.

At about two miles, a series of trail junctions (Cuff Button going north, then Spencer Spring going south) announce the proximity of Oak Flat, a sandy clearing filled with manzanita and surrounded by oaks. Mike book presented this as a destination, but it is really just a landmark. You can see how users of the campsite area would have to share with the large colony of red ants right near the fire pit. Across the clearing, West Pinto crosses the (dry) creek near its confluence with the (dry) Spencer Springs Creek and continues up that canyon.

I followed for a few miles up the steep canyon side, crossing a couple of saddles until I became hungry, and realized I did not want to fight the wind to eat lunch on the shade less slopes. West Pinto continues to climb as it approaches Iron Mountain and points beyond, hitting the Reavis Trail about 9 miles from the Miles TH, but those were far beyond the distance I was prepared to hike that day. So I retreated back to Oak Flat, ate my lunch , and returned to my car.

West Pinto between Oak Flat and Iron Mountain

My total hike was 6.3 miles, which I did at a leisurely pace in just under 4 hours. My highest elevation gain was 3900 feet (the high saddle past Oak Flat) about 1100’ above the trailhead.

MAP

Up, Down and Around Picacho Peak.

The saddle-shaped Picacho Peak marks a long used pass now underneath Interstate 10 between Phoenix and Tucson. It has been a state park since 1965, and you can climb it.

But you have to really, really want to.

The peak is a mere 1500 feet above highway grade, but the way is steep and only gets steeper. My route went up the north side, down the south, and then around the whole mountain to the west all on established trails. This can be done in a half-day, but it will use all of that half day. I started at 2pm on a March afternoon and reached my car just past sunset.

From the Barret Loop parking area, Hunter Trail charges straight up the north slope of the peaks at stairstep grade through the creosote and saguaro and ocotillo. After about a half mile, it evens out for a hundred yards or so, and then it gets even steeper, and stays that way all the way up.

The trail proved surprisingly crowded for a hike so notoriously difficult. The difficulty is balanced perhaps by the shortness of the hike, 2.2 miles one way, and that it is located right off the interstate.

On this slope, you’ll encounter your first bit of wire rope. The signs recommend gloves (and I wore them because I had them). The wire, however, is tightly spun and in good shape. You have more to worry about from heat than splinters. Up the north slope they are a convenience. Further up they become a necessity.

Despite its shape, the peak is not a dormant volcano. It is a remnant lava flow which has eroded unevenly over the past 22 million years or so.

At just shy of a mile, and just shy of a 100’ elevation gain from the parking lot, Hunter reaches the saddle between the two main peaks. There is a sign and a bench. I made the saddle at 3:50. This is the turn-around for the moderate hike. Past here it is as much a climb as a hike.

You’ll hug the bottom of the cliff as you wind east towards the summit approach. Past the intersection with Sunset (which we’ll get to) you will find two “ladders”: straight-up vertical climbs with wire rope on either side, and footholds slickened by thousands of boots before yours.

You are not actually near the summit until you cross the plank. You’ll see what I mean.

We can thank the Civilian Conservation Corp for the summit approach route. They used it to build and service a 40-foot light beacon that was installed at the top of the peak for air traffic control in 1932.

At the top saddle, I did not climb the taller east peak because of other hikers. This was the tail end of Covid times, and there is only the one path. But I crossed the ridge to towards the west peak. I did not climb that all the way either because the turkey vultures, who, judging from the slicks of white slime decorating the cliff, spend a lot of time there. The top saddle would have to do.

As I admired the vista in both directions, I also noted how low the sun had sank. So down we go.

Going up, the wire ropes were really more of a convenience. Coming down, which I often had to do facing the cliff, they were a necessity. I cannot say I would have attempted this without those ropes in place.

Imagine for a moment the guys who built these.

The hardest ladder of the journey was heading down Sunset Trail, which basically slows your tumble down the cliff. (Again, courtesy of the CCC). Once off the rocks, Sunset continues as a series of tight, rubble-filled, joyless switchbacks for another half mile.

Sunset levels out as it bends west to wander across the ridges and washes draining the southwest slopes of the peak. It goes through private property through much of this passage, so stay on the trail.

Learn from my mistake: a liter of frozen water will not melt fast enough in March to keep you hydrated. I coaxed enough liquid out of it to stay out of real trouble, but not enough to be comfortable.

Cholla displaces ocotillo and crowds the trail in places with their spiky pods of ouch. The sun was low enough by now that small palo-verde trees were shading my passage on the trail.

I reached Sunset trailhead at 6:20pm. I found a welcome restroom at nearby day-use. I then marched through the twilight along the road, past the campground and eventually the (now closed) visitor center and back to my car.

The park gates are open from 5am to 10pm. Trails are open sunrise to sunset. It cost me $7 to drive into the park in my car. The visitor center promises exhibits but is really just a gift shop.

https://azstateparks.com/picacho

Ford Canyon is a good test without becoming a major expedition.

If you wonder where you are in hike conditioning, the Ford Canyon loop we are about to describe will answer that question. Also, it will take you away from the city without forcing you to take an actual road trip.

I learned that I have, comfortably, an eight mile hiking range through mountainous terrain. The route I took covered ten miles. So, even though I limped to the car, I have no regrets.

To reach White Tank Mountain Regional Park, take Olive Road (Dunlap in Phoenix) west until it basically dead-ends at the park’s guard shack. How you get to Olive Road is on you. One note: you would think that there would be an exit for Olive on Loop 303, but there is not.

Most of my information on this trail loop comes from my hike on 5 March 2021

White Tank Mountain Regional park is a Maricopa County park covering nearly 30,000 acres centered on the northern portion of the White Tank Mountains. This range rises from the 1100’ valley floor to 4000 foot peaks and separates the Salt River basin where Phoenix is centered from the Hassayampa plain to the north and west.

The park is open from 6am to 8pm, and entry at the gate is $7 per car.

Ford Canyon trail start to finish is 7.4 miles one way, but I skipped the first mile from the terminus (which is a dirt sidewalk through low desert scrub) to jump on at the sub-trailhead at Spot #9 on Ford Canyon Road. I then left the trail at its junction with Willow Canyon to head back down. That route, along with the lower portions of Mesquite Canyon Trail and towards the end Waddell Trail form the loop that led me back to my car.

I parked my car at spot #9. Like nost of the numbered spots in the park, this features a restroom and a scattering of concrete picnic tables. From the signed trailhead, the wide, packed-dirt trail quickly goes in and out of deep wash.

The lower portion of Ford Canyon Trail is a sidewalk of packed dirt across the arroyo. Besides the dirt track, signage looms plentiful and obvious. If you get lost through here, you should reconsider your form of recreation.

Memorial benches adorn every trail intersection. On my hike day, a proliferation of signage for some trail running event to be held the next day decorated the sides of the path. Teddy-bear cholla stands out as one of many spiny assailants awaiting anyone who would stray off the path as it winds over a low saddle and northwest towards Ford Canyon proper.

Just shy of 2 miles in (all distances are mine – from Spot 9) the warning sign announces that the trail from here – which narrows to a footpath immediately beyond the sign – becomes hazardous.

The sign does not lie. This section is on of the hardest trails in the metro area. Only Camelback Mountain and Goat Camp trail (in this very park) rival it – at least for these next three miles. You will end up using your hands more than once.

The White Tanks are known habitats for javelina and deer as well as the usual low-desert critters, but the largest vertebrate I encountered on the hike were fat and brazen squirrels.

Much of the exposed granite through here has been whitewashed by the occasional tumult of rain run-off. In early March, some pools of standing water remained. These are, in fact, some of the white tanks that give the region its name.

Towards the top, even the goat trail disappears, and you will end up hunting ribbons along the wash. The route does indeed generally follow the wash. You are a ways from any path across the shoulders.

Lower, you might have seen signs explaining how leaving the trail will increase the erosion. It is true that much of the Sonoran Desert is held together by a layer of microbes imbedded in the soil, and our boot-stomps harm it. Do not worry about that here. This is a wash. There is nothing but granite and sand. Whatever trail ran through here before was washed away by the last rain. Whatever path your footsteps help create will be washed away by the next rain. Choose your steps according to safe, forward progress, and finding the next ribbon. Worry about nothing else.

Somewhere in here, I got my foot stuck in crevace between rocks. I got it out, but not with much grace. It buggered my boots a bit, but I thought little else of it at the time.

That left boot sock had absorbed a good bit of blood by the time I got back to the car.

The old dam is about midway through the wash passage at 3.3 miles and an elevation of 2250’.

At my 4.15 mile mark, a foot path finally appeared, climbing out of the wash. You are through the worst of it, but not yet halfway. The single-track continues through the shadeless slopes as wide switchbacks up the canyon wall, across a saddle and into the next canyon.

You cannot hear the city this far up in the White Tanks. You can, if you are still for a moment, hear the buzzing of insects, the scurry of lizards and the chirping of birds.

You can also hear on occasion the roar of F-18’s flying in and out of their nest at Luke AFB.

The saddle with the 6 mile trail sign marked about 5 miles into my hike, and the half-way point of the route. This saddle stands at 2813’ and was the highest point I recorded on the route. A half mile beyond, the Ford Trail meets the Willow Canyon trail.

Ford Canyon trail goes on another three-quarters of a mile until it Y’s out into the Goat Camp or Mesquite Canyon Trails. I took Willow Canyon instead for it was shorter, easier and more scenic.

A quarter mile past the intersection, Willow Canyon crosses the wash near an old cattle-tank sight. Past this it climbs slightly but steadily even as the canyon floor sinks steadily below you. The footpath winds across the steep slope, revealing intermittent vistas of the west valley.

At 7.2 miles, Willow Canyon T’s into Mesquite Canyon, near the bottom of Mesquite Canyon.

Here the path widens a bit as it switches back down the canyon. Go left (east) to climb out of this canyon, across a ridge, to switch back down a different, unnamed canyon to the south. As you approach the bottom of the switch-backs benches appear – signaling your approach to relative civilization.

Here is also where my feet, particularly my left foot transitioned from fatigue to pain. Constant downhill always brings out the worst in foot problems. So forgive my dearth of superlative language through here. I was just trying to keep going.

By the intersection with the Waddell train, the path has become a packed-dirt sidewalk once more. Take the left (north) up the Waddell Trail.

Waddell Trail which will eventually merge back with Ford Canyon. However, a mile before you get to that point, a short spur will take you to pavement a few hundred yards from Spot #9.

Full Hike = 9.88 miles. It took me 5.5 hours, but I took notes and photos, and covered the last two miles at a -er- measured pace.

I’d still do it again.