This hike was timed to coincide with Pete Bojanoski's visit to our home state of Arizona.  Pete had taken part in the Mt. Whitney hike earlier this year, so this was his second western state High Point.  We drove up to Flagstaff on Friday morning to meet the Bojanoskis, and to spend the night at the town's 7000-foot elevation before taking on the mountain the next day.  The forecast as of mid-week had been for continued sunny and seasonable conditions, with peak fall colors expected that weekend.  I was therefore surprised to find as we approached Flagstaff on I-17 that the mountains were covered by an early snow!  A storm had swept further down from the North than expected, bringing thankfully short-lived white-out snow conditions to the northern and northeastern parts of the state.  There was no snow on the ground in Flagstaff, but it was cold and very windy, which along with the 10,000-foot snow line on the peaks didn't bode well for the morning's excursion. 

But we were already there, we figured, so we'd just see how far we could go.  There were to be eight hikers altogether:  myself and Pete, Carl D'Acosta, Dennis Miller and two friends whose names I characteristically failed to remember, Laurie Jacobsen, and Michelle Pagano.  For all but myself and Laurie, it was the first time on the trail.  Laurie also brought her dog Spackles, who unfortunately was unable to make dinner at Black Bart's on Friday night.  My wife and 16-month-old daughter were at dinner, as was Pete's wife, but they would not be joining us on the next day's hike. 

We arrived at the trailhead between 6:45 and 7 Saturday morning to a beautiful view of the eastern slopes of Kendrick Peak as it basked in the pink glow of sunrise.  It was a cloudless morning, with Carl's parka-zipper-mounted thermometer registering a chilly 23° and the skin on our faces gauging what was so far just a light morning breeze.  We hit the trail at a quarter past seven. 

There was indeed snow on the ground as we started the long march through the forest, but it was less than half an inch thick, and apparently enough people had been up on the trail Friday afternoon that a clear path had already been worn the whole length of the trail.  We were only the second group to sign in that morning, though, having been beaten by half an hour by a boy scout troop. 

We were happy to see that the snow didn't get much thicker with increasing altitude; at 11,000 feet, it was still only about half an inch deep.  While it was still below freezing, the expected windy conditions had not yet developed, so we were plenty warm enough.  Snow clung like Christmas garnish to the undersides of the trees as we approached tree line and the saddle, casting a festive silver hue over the stands of dwarf fir and pine as we gazed upslope.  Soon the trail turned steeply uphill toward the saddle, and I changed into my trusty hiking boots (the ones that had been on holiday in my garage when I went to Mt. Whitney).  My fears that snow on this steep section of the trail would cause dangerous footing were quickly allayed, as the previous afternoon's near gale winds had cleared most of the snow from all but the sides and undersides of rocks, where corniced and scalloped ruffles of hard-packed snow conjured the same festive spirit as the trees below.  Shards of freed snow fluttered in the air like chaff when a gust of wind came through, the sun's radiation doing entropy's bidding despite the temperature still being just below freezing. 

We rested for a while on the saddle, finding a sunny slope out of the ever-present wind and crashing out for a relaxed lunch.  It was nice for a change not having to move on quickly for fear of building clouds.  It was also interesting to see the inner basin with a light coat of fresh snow over the North-facing slopes, rather than the usual grungy piles of left-over snow from the previous season.  The South-facing slope of Humphrey's Peak, visible for the first time from the saddle, were clear of snow, but as always, impressive for its massive majesty. 

After a leisurely half-hour lunch, all but one of us packed up and started the laborious mile long scramble up the summit ridge. The female member of Dennis' group had developed rather severe nausea due to the altitude, and wisely decided not to try to go any further.  The going is always slow above the saddle, and even strong hikers generally take almost an hour to climb the last 853 vertical feet to the summit.  The long, steep climbs up one false peak after another can be quite demoralizing, but finally you reach a short stretch of near level trail, after which it's just one last hundred-foot scramble up the scree to the summit.  It was 12:30 when we signed in at the top, where a good half dozen people had arrived before us.  There had only been two other cars in the parking lot when we hit the trail, but the crowds were really starting to move up the mountain as local hikers realized that the trail conditions were good and the weather was to remain bright. 
The sky was still crystal clear, with visibility better than I've ever seen it up there.  The colors and deep fissures of the North Rim were easily visible, as were the hills and craters of the volcano fields to the Northeast, the Little Colorado Gorge, the Painted Desert, and the rolling patchwork plains of evergreen and aspen to the South and West.  And most surprising of all was the almost total absence of wind on the summit.  We were not in too much of a hurry to leave, but eventually some of the group started packing up to go.  Dennis, who had skied the slopes below but never hiked to the summit, had taken a while to get there; but he made it, and several of us waited a while longer before starting down to give him time to rest.  One of the cardinal sins of hiking is leaving a tired hiker alone behind you—unless you're leaving to get help.  The hike back down from the summit is long and demanding, and is not the place one wants to run out of steam.  But after a 15 minute rest, Dennis was fine, and we started down. 

Back at the saddle, we again waited for a while good half hour I guessed while Dennis' friend worked up the energy to fight back the altitude sickness and get back on her feet.  Again, I wanted to see that she was on her feet and moving at a sufficiently healthy pace before going on ahead.  But Pete and I did need to get back to civilization to call our wives, who had generously given us the entire day to indulge our hypoxic obsessions, so once we saw she was moving all right Pete, Carl, and I made a quick descent, catching up with Laurie, Michelle, and Spackles about halfway to the trailhead.  Temperature had risen to the low 50's down here, rendering much of our winter dress quite unnecessary.  We lost the gloves and scarves, unzipped the jackets, and completed the last two automaton like miles of the descent in good time. 

We were back in the parking lot around 4:00.  After dismounting from our hiking garb and calling our wives to arrange a meeting place, Pete and I returned to the trailhead and hiked about a quater-mile back up the trail.  We didn't want to leave without first making sure the remaining three hikers made it down safely.  They did indeed return, at about 4:45, tired but fine.  I knew exactly how they felt, having been thoroughly exhausted myself on my first hike up this intriguing mountain. 

Another successful hike completed (except for a case of strep throat which surfaced a few days later), we coasted down the long road back to the main road and said goodbye to the San Francisco Peaks— at least until next June.  At that time, if all goes well, Take A Hike will return to Humphrey's Peak for the sixth time, in preparation for 1999's feature hike. 

The above listed trip reports--documenting day hikes, backpacking trips, and car camping trips organized and arranged by the Arizona Trailblazers Hiking Club, Inc.--are meant to be more of a record of the various events performed by the hiking club and are not meant to be the only guide for anyone else wishing to do the same hike or backpacking trip. Instead, they should only be used as a supplemental to an official guidebook that addresses that specific hike or backpacking trip. Natural changes (floods, fires, windstorms, etc.) can occur and change and alter the landscape. The Forest Service sometimes changes the routing of a trail. Trail junction signs can be removed or altered. For these reasons, the hiking club's trip reports and even the official guidebooks may no longer be totally accurate in describing the trail and its layout. There is always the possibility, however remote, of a hiker sustaining harm or injury while on any hike, no matter how safe it may initially seem. The Arizona Trailblazer's Hiking Club, Inc., as well as any of its officers, directors, representatives, and designated hike leaders, disclaims any liability or responsibility for accidents, injuries, damages, or losses whatsoever that may occur to anyone using the trip reports that are available on our website. The responsibility for good health and safety while hiking, backpacking, or camping, ultimately rests with the individual.