The Grand Enchantment Trail, Volume Four: Aravaipa and Beyond

[Brad Young]

This fourth trip to the G.E.T. started with one of the great canyon hikes of Arizona (not THAT canyon though). It required a peaceful, easy road hike. And it took a 30 mile backpack that used up all we had for three very hard days.


Day One:


The (online) Grand Enchantment Trail guidebook makes these points about Aravaipa Canyon:

-  It’s widely considered to be Arizona's "Grand Canyon of the Sonoran Desert."

-  Like its neighbor to the north, Aravaipa Canyon is a place born of water, uplift, and erosion - a great curving and carving of the land into a sheer-walled labyrinth of light and color, liquid and life.

-  This grand canyon is small though - a fifth as high as the Grand Canyon, its main passage walkable in just a day or two.

-  Aravaipa’s perennial creek, fed by subterranean waters from past Ice Ages, harbors more native species of fish than any low country stream in Arizona.

We’ve been waiting for this hike ever since we saw the canyon’s west entrance a year ago.

The only downer about today’s hike is who in not here with us. My longtime friend Dave Harden was to have joined but couldn’t at the last minute. Dave’s spent a lot more time in Arizona than I have; most of it climbing. I was really looking forward to his company down there and I know that Jon was pleased that he’d get to know him better.

But a bunch of things came up on the eve of departure and Dave couldn’t make it (among these were lots of very low snow at home combined with power outages - Dave opted to make sure his wife wouldn’t be stranded at home if he left).

We were down here, we had the permit and the weather wasn’t terrible. So on we went.

We stayed 12 miles from the canyon’s west side trailhead. We went to bed with a very nice weather forecast.

What we woke up to was a little different though:







Still, clearing was still in the forecast (instead of clear right now). So we just lingered a bit, delaying our departure:







The trailhead was still cloudy, but we were going no matter what (so, smiles all around; or, in my case, what passes for one):







Down to the Creek:




And then the crossings started, right away:







As will be seen below, Aravaipa Canyon is quite narrow and deep (not a slot canyon though). It has year-round water and is a relatively cool place. Plant life thrives there (so does animal life - we saw several huge piles of what could only be bear scat - but the animal life does not affect the hiking). Add in periodic flooding that sometimes uproots full size trees? There's no way to maintain a trail down there - one walks on use-trails or in the creek. When the use-trails end (every 50 to 500 feet or so), one crosses the creek:










Before we reached constant cliffs, the canyon walls had lower-angle sections. And so we saw a beautiful riparian corridor... with saguaros just beyond the trees:










Such gorgeous scenery:




More Creek Crossing (we thought we crossed around 60 times in 13 miles):







The cliffs started closing in:







Jon found a cool bypass to wading the creek:




Others didn't:




Huge side-canyons joined Aravaipa - but they had much less water (apparently without a year-round source):




The canyon features several nice camp sites (we'd considered doing it in two days but carrying large packs seemed just too much):




Jon couldn't skip the crossings every time:




Huge Towers loomed above:







Here's my favorite shot of the day. I call it "Taken By the Scale:"




More cliffs and more use-trails:













The way the cliffs and the water flows interacted was incredible:







More great places to camp made us realize that this might be a place to linger (with a different schedule - but we had more trail to hike beyond Aravaipa):







At just under 11 miles, the trailless canyon reaches a junction with Turkey Creek. Turkey Creek is quite similar to Aravaipa and also has a perennial water source. A road which ends here continues to the east end of the canyon - so cross-country-like hiking ends. The beauty doesn't end though:










The canyon opens up some to the east and the constant cliffs end. Plenty of rock though and some of it quite impressive:




Aravaipa's east side trailhead is only 13 miles from that on the west side. But the canyon cuts through tough mountains and there is no easy way from one side to the other. The drive around from west to east? Ahem... it takes three hours (!!). And of course, Vicki was there to pick us up (what in hell would my life have been like without this woman??):







This was a great hike, one of the greatest. What a day! Tomorrow would require only six miles of road hiking and so now we could consider a bit what we'd committed to in two days - 30 miles of hiking that sounded just ominous.

[Brad Young]

Day Two:


The Grand Enchantment Trail might be better called a route. Over 770 miles, there are sections of good trail, sections of bad trail, areas where trails once existed and there is cross country walking. There are also sections of road hiking to connect many of these other features.

We had examples of road hiking last year. A very interesting road hike will appear in the future - 50 miles past the end point of this trip - the trail/route walks the sidewalks of a small Arizona town (Safford) while it crosses the Gila River Valley.

All this to reach an end point just east of Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Day two this year was a pleasant, six mile road hike. We walked away from the areas of cliff, crossing Araviapa Creek several times while doing so, and reached the more open desert on the east side of this range:
















The historic Salazar church along the way was interesting and we got its story first hand - on this Klondike Road out to the east end of Araviapa is the small town of Klondike with its Klondike store. When Vicki stopped in there (on one of her numerous trips in and out), she learned that one of the owners is a Salazar and that the church is still in use and accessible to the public:







The Nature Conservancy also maintains a set of buildings on this road. It owns lots of wild country in this area - country which it will keep wild and keep accessible to recreation:







Naturally Vicki was waiting for us on Klondike Road, right where the G.E.T. leaves that road for 30 miles in the Santa Teresa Wilderness:

[mungeclimber]

Aravaipa looks pretty amazing. Mud walls are always cool.

[Brad Young]

Day Three:


I don’t know about Jon, but I’d been thinking about the Santa Teresa part of this trip with a little trepidation. The guidebook tells of difficulties and offers two easier alternative hikes (yeah, right). It warns of trails that barely exist any more and of some cross country movement. Even the old Arizona Back Country climbing guide from 1997, which documents several climbs in Holdout Canyon, warns of deteriorating trails (then!). We allowed three days to go “just” 30.4 miles.

Roper State Park near Safford, Arizona made a great staging location:



We drove back out the remarkably smooth, dirt, Klondike Road to the start.

And at least this was brush free and easy to find - a four wheel drive road with three miles of uphill. Oh yeah, and starting on the other side of a fence with a gate marked “private property.” Mountain Project comments about these same Holdout Canyon climbs note how local ranchers have “expanded” their fences and gates to include land that is not theirs in order to keep the public out - this road is called public in the 1997 climbing guidebook and in the G.E.T. book and, notably, there was no lock on the gate.

Temperatures were just right:













After three miles we came to the end of the road (described as “parking” in the 1997 climbing guidebook):




Remnants of a trail led from the gate, across a hillside, to a drainage. When we saw the drainage, one of our pre-trip concerns was completely wiped away; although the guidebook discusses waterless stretches along this whole hike, this would not affect us. Recent rains made sure we had no shortage of water anywhere on the hike:










We had lunch:







The canyon above got steep and rocky:







We were supposed to follow the trail to a small reservoir called Reef Tank, but what trail?







This is the best section of trail we found and it lasted for 200 feet:




Occasional trail ducks helped. We saw what looked like trial tread in a few places. But by the time we were halfway from the end of the road to Reef Tank, we were no longer sure whether we were in the correct drainage (the one that led to the reservoir).

The higher we went, the less sure we were. Several identical-looking drainage systems extended uphill. No Reef Tank.

Eventually we agreed that we were lost (for the first time). Not lost in the BIG sense (we knew where we were within a mile). But lost from any trail or acknowledged path that might exist. We had to be too far east.

Knowing that the trail beyond Reef Tank continued northeast, we kept moving uphill/northwest hoping that if (when?) we crossed the trail beyond we'd recognize something.

And that’s how it happened. We crossed what might, maybe be a trail. I dropped my pack and walked down it enough to be 90% sure it was the trail and then we followed it up. Trail tread and then old, thick, sawed off branches (to make room for the trail) made us sure we were actually in the right place. Wow.

We’d skipped Reef Tank. But we'd gotten ourselves where we needed to be.

OK, now onward, toward the top reaches of Holdout Canyon. But where were they? Where’s a trail across this?







We dead reckoned, calculating where the trail “had” to go. Heading toward the “right” saddle we found slight traces of trail, places where people had passed. Bare traces… we thought.

Eventually we reached this saddle:




Now we could see down Holdout Canyon! See all those rocks? These were unmistakable; we were definitely in the right place now:




All we needed to do for the rest of the day was make distance down this canyon. At first we followed the trace of a wash:




Big rocks impressed us (some of these have climbing routes on them - put up in the ‘80s and ’90s:










Some sections of trail were evident. A few lasted for hundreds of feet. All of them disappeared eventually. All of them required moving through intruding, aggressive desert plants. In places we backtracked.

These things helped; they helped a lot (although not all of the trail ducks were works of art like this):




We kept going down canyon but it took serous effort in places not to cliff-out or get caught up in jumbles of the big boulders. The sun got lower and lower:



Pooped, and out of light, we found a flat place to bivy before it got dark enough for headlamps. We knew about where we were (within a mile) and all we would need to do tomorrow was keep heading down canyon (at first anyway). The day had been fun and we’d seen some gorgeous country. We went to bed satisfied and only a little stressed.

[Brad Young]

Day Four:


Morning was chilly but nice:







Two of us were ready to hike sooner than the other two:




Downstream with lots of water:










Our Holdout Canyon joined Black Rock Canyon (Black Rock Canyon is one of the easier, alternate routes described in the guidebook):




Black Rock itself could be seen in the distance:













Is it just me or is this balanced rock also streamlined?




As we got closer to Black Rock our way forward got “less clear.” We knew that we needed to cut up off Black Rock Canyon at some point, some point alongside a big span of cliffs. And then would begin three miles of pure cross country, due east. But which cliff was the right one?

After lots of map consultations, lots of river walking and sometimes moving up onto the benches next to the creek, we thought we could tell where we were and where we needed to be:










Something as simple as an old gate (described in the guidebook) is just a relief. After lots of wondering if we were going the right way (we thought we were), something that made it clear that, at least up to this point, we were:




Up and over the cliff. Onto what looked like an almost-level bench on the map. And it was… except for the deep, deep side canyons that we had to cross, one every half mile:













Lots of rock in this area. That 1997 book was kinda vague about this section of towers but it seemed like some routes had been done here:




After crossing four side canyons we couldn't figure out where we were (again). We'd come up out of the side canyon hoping to see Preachers Spring or at least a canyon that contained it. No Preachers Spring. We dropped packs and walked all over the ridge from one end to the other. I saw a trail below and way right but it didn't correspond to anything we should be seeing.

And then it hit us: that rough concrete, rectangular trough we'd seen one side canyon back was Preachers Spring! We'd passed right by it and were almost to the (good quality) trail to Kanes Spring!

Sustained, rough uphill hiking felt laughably easy… we were following a trail. An old water catchment and, later, a corral, confirmed our location at Kane Spring:










And then the day turned really, really damn hard.

The way forward from Kanes Spring looked obvious. But there was something wrong with the map. Where it looked like we should go was not what we saw. What we saw was a seemingly small gap up way above the canyon and a lot of uphill to get to it. The guidebook called out a trail sign showing the way. But if there’d ever been one, it was gone. Although the steep uphill was fairly open we couldn’t see any obvious way and couldn’t find any evidence of a trail that the guidebook called overgrown but “well engineered.” We did more backtracking in this area than I’d like to admit (up and down hill).

Finally after making 20 minute's progress over the course of an hour, we decided that trail or not, we had to make our way to that gap. We’d turn around if we were wrong and go back to Kanes Spring to start again in the morning. Ten minutes later we started crossing signs of a trail (ancient sawed off branches, an occasional duck, once in a while trail tread and two (!!) built switchbacks.

Overgrown and obscured by rock slides or not - we knew that there’d been a trail here and we knew (80% sure) that we were heading to the right gap.

At just after 5:00 we reached the gap and a trail and trail ducks. A short break for water.

Here’s the last photo we took that day: down Four Mile Canyon toward the Gila River and the town of Safford (Vicki is down at Roper State Park somewhere within this shot):




We now had to traverse an east-facing canyon wall toward a possible place to camp among ponderosa pines a mile and a quarter beyond (we were up above 7,000 feet elevation now). But we couldn’t see any trail ahead and our light was failing. Onward. Now!

On a guess I moved uphill 50 feet and found trail tread. Plain and discernible tread. Fast now, a race against dark. A huge dead tree across the trail costs minutes. The tread fades to nothing again and again. More lost time looking for its resumption.

The guidebook mentions that this area of trail was rebuilt and cleared 11 years ago. I call complete bullshit on that. I don’t know what source the author used for his comments, but we’re guessing half the time where the hell this thing goes.

After 9/10 mile we reach a tiny saddle. The trail now seems to descend! If that’s the trail; it’s damn near dark now and it’s hard to see anything. A short rest while I disassemble my pack to get my headlamp (Jon was smart enough to keep his accessible).

The trail stops in a tiny creek. It’s 6:30 and 100% dark now. There’s no sign of any continuation of the trail. Nothing. Dammit. We thought we were on the trail. Were we? What now? Stop and bivouac sitting on a hillside? Keep on by headlamp to see what we can see? Into the situation pretty deep now, we opt for the second choice. By gut and dead reckoning the trail has to be on the left canyon wall. It has to be above us. We have to have missed a turn or switchback (or such a feature is just gone now).

With full packs and full darkness we move up the hillside. Very steep and very brushy. The dogs aren’t happy (it’s past their dinner time). We’re not happy. What the f$%k now? After almost an hour we can tell by starlight that we’re getting high enough to be out of the canyon. The hillside is less steep. We reach a ridge. Following along the ridge top we come to two miracles: a flat enough spot to bivy and nearby, snow to melt for water.

That’s it. We call a halt. It’s 7:40. Jon bravely explores onward with headlamp but without pack (nothing). I feed the girls and start setting up camp.

With phone reception for the first time in a long time, I take a break to call Vicki about tomorrow. We’re a little lost I tell her. Completely lost, actually. We will need to figure out where we are in the morning and then decide how long it will take us to get out from there. I’ll call again then.

I manage to make an enhanced ramen for dinner and get it down. Apparently Jon ate two bites of his dinner and couldn’t stomach any more.

Fed and settled in, I study the maps and description. My strong guess is that we may be as close as 300 yards from the trail. In the morning, with light and looking from a ridge top, we should be able to figure out where we are and, more critically, where the trail is. I text Vicki a less panicked message and pass out in my sleeping bag.

[Brad Young]

Day Five:


Although daylight brought no sign of the trail, it made us realize how lucky we’d been to get a good night’s sleep - we’d found the only nice place to camp in a long, long distance:







We were up high and could see. After breakfast and some coffee, we packed up and made ready to go exploring:




As we move out we look around. Lots of ridge lines and we’re about as high as any of them. The trail has to be around here:







We find the little water course that Jon had discovered last night and fill up:







I’ve been little slow uphill and so I start up while Jon is finishing with water. Halfway up the next hillside, there it is: I step onto clear trail tread. A little more than 300 yards from where we’d slept. Now there’s a relief. We now know where we are.

The trail continues for a while crossing frozen snow in a few places:




And then it disappears again. We find it. Ah, the same old game that we played yesterday. Today though we’re up high, we’ve got a good idea of where we need to end up so that we can descend to the desert again and we’ve got daylight:










Worried a bit about just getting out to meet Vicki, we talk about an upcoming feature called “Holdout Overlook.” The guidebook calls it a quick and "absolutely must" diversion from the trail. Yeah, not for us, not today. We’ve got business to attend to and no diversions.

And then we come upon it, the overlook point visible from the trail. Holdout Overlook. Does the word overlook even do it justice? Do photos do it justice? All of Holdout Canyon (and Black Rock Canyon too for that matter) visible in one swoop. Yeah, we diverted from the trail:













The view was spectacular. And not just of Holdout Canyon. Way, way beyond Holdout Canyon we could see the huge smokestacks of the copper smelting facilities clear back on Highway 177 near last year’s hike:




More ridge top hiking with some trail tread every once in a while and we reach a point where we can see down to Cottonwood Canyon:










There’s supposed to be a trail now, downhill, into this canyon. We'll hike that until it becomes a wash. The wash leads to a side road which takes us to the main Klondike road and Vicki.

We get another view of the snow-covered Pinalenos - one of the prominent “sky islands” in this part of the southwest. Mount Graham in this range is over 10,000 feet in elevation, the most prominent point around for many, many miles (it gives it name to the county - Graham County, Arizona). These sky islands dot the southwest and include stacked belts of different elevation environments all the way up to alpine terrain. We’ll cross the Pinalenos next trip, although they’re so covered with snow in winter that that next trip won’t be during that season:




The trail down to Cottonwood Canyon isn’t bad. Until it is. It’s just gone in a few places. But as always, with enough searching, movement and swearing, we find its tread again. Ducks help and there are lots of them in some sections:




Parts of the trail require acrobatics:




And then we finally make it down into the canyon:







The creek widens to a wash. We exit to join a road for a while and this becomes a track:










We rejoin the wash which branches and weaves. The walking is easy and we just need to keep going downstream:







The side road that leads to Klondike is located by its “white metal gates.” That’s an oddly specific description, but OK. Ah, yeah (we see), oddly specific, but actually a perfect descriptor (there's no mistaking them):




Three tenths of a mile of road walking now to Vicki. The girls get excited and run on ahead:







Jon and I arrive and that’s it, we're where we need to be:







Back to the state park and some much needed cleanup. Jon’s gotta get back home and Vicki and I are needed for some climbing in Joshua Tree. This year’s G.E.T.  travel is done.

Five additional days and we’re still at it, hiking this trail. I’ve only read the guidebook for about the next 50 miles but there’s not supposed to be anything in that span that’s as hard as this has been (well, there’s that long section of trail in the Pinalenos that washed out in 2017 and which requires “class four” movement in places… but we’re climbers and how bad can a little “class four” be?).

So will we be back? Probably. In fact I’ll bet that, five weeks from now, when this just-finished trip seems fun, I’ll say “highly probable.”