I often get quizzical and skeptical responses when I tell people I go backpacking solo. Going in the wilderness solo has become such a part of my life that is doesn't register as unusual or dangerous to me. Part of my confidence stems from experience and part from preparation. Which, I hope to convey, is not a sense of hubris, but just an innate knowledge of my own capabilities and boundaries in the wilderness. I strongly feel that being prepared is a huge part of staying safe in the backcountry.
So it was with a bit of trepidation at my own temerity that I set out on a three-day trip in the Superstition Mountains outside of Pheonix, AZ just after Thanksgiving because you see, I was not nearly prepared as I might have wished to be. A few weeks prior I did a tiny bit of research on possible hikes and then life got busy. The week before heading to AZ, I ran my first backpacking class, had an awesome trip with some fabulous ladies in Red River Gorge, then promptly got squashed in my car the next day on my way to work. Thankfully all the camping gear that was still in my trunk survived, though the car did not.
Suffice to say, the week leading up to my trip to AZ was a bit action packed and I didn't have time to focus on the preparations I normally would before a backpacking trip. As an added bonus, I was going out to AZ for a week and a half to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family and go on a backpacking trip, all while packing in a carry-on that would fit under the seat. Thankfully I knew my sister was fairly well equipped for a backpacking trip, so gear was limited to my clothes, Steripen, quilt, and a stove/pot set.
The point of all this nonsense is to say, that by the time I actually set out on the trip, I had maps and gear and not much of a plan and no real idea what the water sources were going to be like in the desert. And to top it all off, I managed to leave the Steripen charging at my sister's apartment - good thing boiling water is a backup method, as my usual backup method was in its customary pocket in my pack in Ohio and not the pack I was borrowing from my sister.
All in all, between my haphazard planning, last minute packing, later start in the day, and lower back injury from my car accident, I was a bit unsure as I set out whether it was a good idea or not. But, being of a gung-ho, the show must go on, work-with-what-you've-got type personality, I set out anyways. After all, I'm not one to turn down a chance to spend some quality time in the wilderness.
See here more examples of my forgetfulness on this trip:
So off I went into the desert. And what wonder it was. Being a midwestern gal, who has done most of her hiking in the lush, wet, eastern mountains, the arid landscape, the jagged, colored peaks, and spiky flora were a constant delight for the eyes. I think I spent three days enraptured with the vistas, tripping over my own feet as I took in the view. (Side note - hiking and sight-seeing generally don't mix! If you want to sightsee without falling over, stop walking!)
My concerns about finding a campsite rapidly evaporated as I passed spot after spot, each one with a stunning view to wake up to. My fears about lack of water continued as I followed the dry riverbed down the canyon. However, when I arrived at Second Spring, while the water level was low, there was water. Hallelujah, I wouldn't have to bail out and call my sister to come pick me up.
Water is life. Backpacking has made me so aware of how we as a modern society are so privileged to have easily accessible, clean drinking water. I thought a lot about the Water Protectors at the Dakota Access Pipeline demonstrations while hiking on this trip. Their call to protect is truly sacred.
If everyone had the chance to go backpacking in an area or time when water is scarce, I think we as a society would be more appreciative of the ease with which our basic needs are fulfilled. Backpacking trips all around! But in all seriousness, I do wish everyone could experience the simple joy that is getting drinking water from the earth herself and realize what a privilege it is to turn on a faucet and have liquid life gush out.
Any lingering fears I had about finding water began eroding at the gentle tip-tapping of rain on my tent. The tip-tapping became a rush when the wind and rain picked up and washed away my remaining anxiety about the availability of water.
It was at this point of the trip that my lack of planning ahead of time became the best part of the trip. Nothing can compare to the utter freedom of a vast stretch of wilderness with dozens of trails and absolutely nothing on your agenda but exploring wherever your fancy takes you. The only person I saw that day asked me where I was headed and I responded with glee and delight "Somewhere, anywhere!" (which resulted in a concerned, "Do you need a map?") There is such freedom in backpacking because everything you need to survive is on your back. No matter where I went, I would be home, because home was with me.
Camping in late November means long nights, so I was in bed asleep by 8 pm. The temperature was dropping, so a Nalgene full of hot water kept me snug and warm. That is until the cloud cover dispersed and the temperature plummeted even more. I awoke around 2 am, feeling rather chilly and looked out to see a blanket of stars across the sky. A few minutes with the stove and my water was boiling away again and I snuggled back down under my quilt. In this case, I really wasn't prepared for the temperature to dip down around freezing. The layers I brought were my usual summer go-tos (Arizona is supposed to be warmer than Ohio, right?!) and not nearly what I would have brought had I realized the temperatures were going down to the low 30's, instead of the mid 40's I was anticipating. I might have taken an actual sleeping bag rather than the top quilt for my hammock which covers, but just barely, down to the sleeping pad. But physical discomfort is sometimes a part of backpacking and oddly enough part of why I enjoy it.
The third day was filled with continuously changing terrain as I took a circuitous route back to the trailhead.
I watched the sun slip below the ridge from high on a hill before a quick scramble down to the parking lot (cold weather encourages quick hiking!).
As the stars winked in above me I layered up in everything I had, feeling like a typical hiker hobo as I boiled some hot water at the side of the parking lot while waiting for my sister to pick me up.
And to top off the forgetfulness of the trip, while stopping for some foods on the way back I discovered my lobster-red face. Yep, I forgot sunscreen too.
*I've always made these short videos for my family as I hike, this is the first time I've included them in a blogpost, hope you get a sense of what it's like being out there!
