Humphreys Peak Trail

HUMPHREY'S PEAK TRAIL
IN THE SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS
JUNE 30, 2001 BY CHUCK PARSONS

It was a cool and refreshing Friday evening in Flagstaff, as heat-weary refugees from the valley begin arriving to check into our accommodations for the night. We were hoping to get a good meal, a good night's sleep, and a little acclimation to these higher elevations before hitting the Humphreys Peak Trail early Saturday morning. However, Motel 6 had a little surprise in store for some of us. They were kind enough to leave the lights on for us, as advertised, but not so kind enough to keep some of our reserved rooms for us. It seems they gave away three out of four of our rooms that had confirmed reservations, blaming their little snafu on that ultimate of scapegoats, "a computer glitch." Tom Bodett? Hello?

They did offer several, but not all, in our offended party vouchers for another night at any Motel 6, but I'm thinking they can do better than that, and a letter to the Customer Relations Department is on the way. Fortunately, our evicted members were able to secure a room at one of several nearby motels, and later that evening a number of us gathered at a nearby Cracker Barrel Restaurant for a meal and conversation. Settling back into our accommodations for the night, no sooner did my head hit the pillow, than I was jolted back into reality by three sharp blasts of the 11:00 p.m. freight train barreling through town on the much to close Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad tracks. Stuffing cotton in my ears, I settled back into a long and tortuous night of counting, not sheep, but freight trains rolling through town about every half-hour. This has got to be one of the busiest freight lines in the world, running right down the middle of motel row!

Saturday morning greeted us with crystal clear, ice-blue skies and a surprisingly warm temperature of 80 degrees, as we started gathering at the 9,300-foot Mt. Humphreys Trailhead at our designated 8:00 a.m. meeting time. Several of our party were a little late in arriving, and unfortunately, we started out at 8:25 a.m., without benefit of the traditional group shot at the trailhead. However, for historical purposes, we have recorded (in alphabetical order) the following names of sixteen brave and adventurous souls, whose primary goal on this last day of June is to stand on Arizona's highest peak, the 12,633-foot summit of Mt. Humphreys: Oden Alger, Beth Baumert, Candi Cook, Ginger Edwards, Angela Lien, Melinda McClelland, Joe Michalides, Rebecca Montgomery, Chuck Parsons, Kathy Robertson, Dave Self, Bob Tucker, Tom Van Lew, Jeannie Van Lew, Mike Wargel, and Peter Zurcher. We wish to thank all of you for joining us this day for the most challenging and rewarding day hike offered by the Motorola Hiking Club. Hopefully, all of us will survive the journey. Those that do not will be rolled down the mountainside in solemn ceremony.

The first quarter mile of the Humphreys Peak Trail is about as level and easy as it gets, carrying us through upper Hart Prairie in a path parallel with the Snow Bowl chairlift and through a colorful summer meadow filled with blue lupine and alpine Iris. We soon enter the thick, old growth forest covering the sloping southern flank of Mt. Humphreys, as it meets the northern edge of Hart Prairie. Our trail now starts to ascend in a series of long, gentle switchbacks through this dense forest primeval of towering ponderosa pine, Douglas and white fir, Englemann spruce, and quaking aspen. We would not emerge from the forest for almost another three miles, when we would reach timberline just below Agassiz Saddle at 11,800 feet.

As the switchbacks start to get a little steeper and a little less gentle after the first mile of hiking, Jeannie Van Lew decides it's time for her to head back to the trailhead and drive back into Flagstaff to spend the rest of the day with daughter Adrienne, who had taken time from her studies at NAU to join us for dinner the night before. Jeannie had no intention of going for the summit in the first place because of her bad knee and actually did a rather commendable job of going as far as she did, considering she was fighting an infection as well. Shortly after Jeannie departed, I finally realized I had left my hiking stick parked next to a large boulder back at the trailhead and radioed her on my TalkAbout to look for it on her return. Much to my surprise, considering the number of people on the trail, it was still exactly where I had left it when Jeannie reached the trailhead. I guess there are more good and honest people in this world than we sometimes realize. I continue on, minus my hiking stick, but relieved in knowing it was now in safe hands.
Now hiking with Candi Cook and her two friends, Oden and Ginger, Candi relates an interesting and rather sobering survival experience she had recently lived through. She and Anatoli Korkin were hiking in the Four Peaks area this past April, when they were caught by a sudden surprise late spring snowstorm above the 5,000-foot level in the peaks. Since they were only out for a day hike, they were totally unprepared for this sudden turn of events and had to do some quick thinking and fast acting in the face of their rapidly deteriorating situation. They did have a cell phone and managed to get a 911 emergency call out to authorities, but since the storm was now approaching whiteout conditions and it was getting late in the day, they were informed it would be morning before any possible rescue attempt could be made. They were now faced with the prospect of an unexpected night in the mountains with no survival gear, a blinding snowstorm, and rapidly dropping temperatures. What to do? How to prepare? How to survive the night?

Rule #1: Do Not Panic! Panic is no doubt the number one killer of people caught up in emergency life and death situations. If we let it get the better of us, it will soon control our every thought, our every action, holding us prisoner in its deathly vice-like grip. Fortunately, Candi and Anatoli were both experienced enough hikers to banish panic from their minds and concentrate instead on the situation at hand and what they could do to control the outcome. Searching around, they soon discovered some abandoned mining supplies, primary among them a large wheelbarrow. In the shelter of some trees and boulders, they constructed a makeshift lean-to with the wheelbarrow and conserved body heat as best they could. It was a long, cold night with temperatures dipping into the upper 20's, and by morning there was a foot of fresh snow on the ground. They were airlifted off the mountain early that morning and flown to Flagstaff General Hospital. Candi had a core body temperature of 93 degrees and suffered the effects for the next several weeks. Anatoli fared a little better, since he had a bit heavier clothing.

Rule #2: Be Prepared! (So you can avoid Rule #1). Most of us go out on day hikes with only the bare minimum of supplies, both to save weight and secure in the belief that nothing can happen to us. It can happen to any of us at any time, especially mountain hiking, when the weather can take a sudden unexpected turn, and conditions can become life threatening in a matter of minutes. When we last hiked Mt. Humphreys two years ago in late June, we became acutely aware of why the Navajos often refer to the San Francisco Peaks as "the mountains through which the wind blows," as we struggled through gale force winds of 40-50 MPH to reach the summit. It was dangerous and foolhardy, and we probably should have turned back. As a bare minimum, whenever hiking we should all be carrying a space blanket, a hat, some waterproof matches, a small flashlight with spare batteries, a compass, a whistle, and a small signal mirror. In the event of an emergency, any one of these items could mean the difference between life and death.

As we gain elevation, the temperature has now dropped a full twenty degrees, from 80 at the trailhead to 60 degrees in the deep shade of the forest. The trail grows steeper as we get closer to the saddle. In the sunnier areas alongside the trail, Indian paintbrush, yellow columbine, and blue lupine add their rich colors to this mountain hiking experience. At about the 10,500-foot level, as we round a bend in the trail, we are confronted with an enormous basalt rockslide, the first of several we would encounter on our journey to the summit. This is probably some of the debris left over from the last great eruption (200,000 years ago) of the mighty stratovolcano we now call Mt. Humphreys, which blasted away its upper 1300 feet in a cataclysmic explosion that rocked the surrounding area for hundreds of square miles, rocketing millions of tons of rock, hot ash, and lava high into the atmosphere. Going back in time, the entire Coconino Plateau was a great cauldron of volcanic activity that lasted for almost fifteen million years. Sunset Crater resulted from an eruption of less than one thousand years ago. When do you suppose the next one is due?

The higher we ascend up this mountain, the rougher and rockier the trail grows, and the switchbacks become shorter and steeper. We are now above the 11,000-foot level, and we notice the trees thinning in number and shrinking in height, as they become more bent and twisted in appearance due to the punishing effects of the unforgiving and often relentless winds roaring through these mountains. We are now rapidly approaching timberline, and one of the few trees that can survive, and even thrive, on the fringes of this forest are the Bristlecone pines, the oldest living things on Earth, dating back to 4,000 years in the Sierra Nevada Range of California. Those trees were saplings when the Egyptians were erecting the pyramids. The awesome power of nature is again evident in the avalanche tracks we now see streaking their way down the mountainside, the result of millions of tons of snow and rubble roaring down the slopes, bulldozing everything in their path and leaving a cleared out swath of total destruction in their wake.
The once blue skies are now going to serious gray, and more and more cumulous clouds are rolling in from the west, as Beth radios back to those of us still below that her group has now reached the Agassiz Saddle. The time is almost 10:45 a.m., as the rest of us forge onward toward our first goal. Now above the 11,400-foot level, the only tundra found in Arizona gradually begins to emerge and take over, as the treeline slowly begins to disappear altogether. The hardy Bristlecone pine still manages to hang on tenaciously in ever-dwindling numbers, as it grows smaller and more gnarly in appearance the higher we go. It will only reluctantly soon relinquish its final foothold on these harsh and unforgiving mountain slopes, finally giving way completely to the tundra at about the 12,000-foot level. The alpine tundra, with its small and twisted ground-hugging shrubs and numerous tiny wildflowers, including the rare San Francisco groundsel, will now be the sole survivor in this extremely harsh and punishing environment above 12,000 feet.

The last few hundred feet of elevation to the saddle is one of the more difficult on this trail, as the switchbacks become ever steeper and tighter and the footing more treacherous in the loose rock rubble now covering much of the path. This is going to be a real challenge on the way back down. At long last, after traversing the last of the switchbacks, the rest of us emerge at 11:15 a.m. onto the long and rocky ridgeline, known as Agassiz Saddle, that connects Mt. Humphreys with Mt. Agassiz, its sister peak to the east and the second highest mountain in Arizona, at 12,356 feet. The winds are picking up a bit, and it is getting cloudier and grayer by the minute, as the skies start to spit out small, icy raindrops. We will pause here for a short rest and lunch break and photo opportunity, as we ponder our prospects of reaching the summit.

The views from the saddle are breathtaking, with the immense Inner Basin, still containing remnants of last winter's heavy snowfall in the form of long and dirty ridges of snow, sharply sloping away to our east, and the vast Coconino Plateau and San Francisco Volcanic Field stretching endlessly toward the western horizon. This is a great destination in itself, and a good number of hikers return to the trailhead from here, having exhausted their resources and energy reserves getting to this point. Melinda decides this will be her turn around point, due to sore feet and the beginning of some serious heel blisters. Were it not for that, she would not have hesitated in going for, and reaching, the summit with the rest of us. She will rest for awhile and wait for her friend Bob to return, before heading back down the trail. Meanwhile, the rest of us bid her farewell, as we strike out for the still unseen summit, about another mile ahead and 833 feet above us.

We have already seen the first of three false summits at the saddle, each being the highest visible peak and holding false promise of being the real Mt. Humphreys, and each being more disappointing, as the weary hiker is certain he is at last within sight of the final goal. We move slowly up the ridge, as we keep a sharp lookout for the first signs of lightning or thunder, which will be our signal to turn around and head back down immediately. This is definitely no place to be in the event of an electrical storm, since we are now completely exposed with no shelter from the elements. The gunmetal gray skies are still spitting intermittent rain at us, as we struggle up and over a series of large boulders placed in our path. Gaining ever more elevation, we finally leave the last of the Bristlecone pines behind us on Mt. Humphreys steeply descending slopes. The remainder of the trail to the summit is now rough and rocky, with long stretches of loose volcanic talus, treacherous footing for the unwary. It seems we are now hiking on a giant cinder pile.

The winds are now picking up speed, and it is getting noticeably colder, with the temperatures dropping into the low-fifties, as we struggle on in pursuit of our final goal, now determined more than ever to reach the summit before the weather worsens. We are soon within sight of the second false summit, and from here on it starts to become as much of a mental challenge as it is a physical challenge to keep pushing ourselves toward that final goal. Joe and especially Angie are both now showing increased signs of fatigue and altitude sickness in the form of headaches and dizziness. We are also stopping more and more frequently for rest breaks, as the increasingly thinner air begins to take its toll on all of us.

Slowly working our way up and around the slope of the second false summit, we now see in the distance a line of tiny hikers snaking their way up, not the real summit, but the third and final false summit. This last false summit has to be the cruelest irony of all, as the unwary hiker is now absolutely certain he is at last within reach of the real thing, only to have his hopes dashed once again, as the mountain is playing one last cruel trick on him. We must now try to stay focused, alert, and more positive than ever if we are to overcome these obstacles and beat this mountain at its own game. We will get to the top of this mountain, and nothing will stop us now, except the weather. We cannot ignore that, for our own safety.
As we take another rest break, with the third false summit still in the distance, Joe makes a tough and agonizing decision. He has decided he can go no further, due to extreme fatigue and onsetting altitude sickness. I can see the pain written in his face, as this was not an easy choice for him to make, after having come so far. There is, afterall, a very fine line between pushing yourself to the limit and pushing yourself over the edge. We are now at 12,300 feet, with about another half-mile yet to go. At one point above the saddle, Joe had remarked that he would be satisfied to reach the 12,000-foot level, since he had never hiked that high before. Joe would rest here for awhile, while Angie and I would continue to press for the summit, keeping in radio contact with him, as he made his way slowly back down the trail.

As we slowly make our way to the base of this last false summit, we hear Tom Van Lew's voice over the TalkAbout, announcing his groups' arrival at the real summit, along with a weather advisory that it is actually snowing and sleeting at the top of Mt. Humphreys. Snow in Arizona on the last day of June! Hard to even conceive, since we had just suffered through a sweltering 116 degrees in the valley only a week earlier. This only serves to remind us of the totally unexpected and unpredictable conditions you can encounter at this elevation. These mountains literally make their own weather, and it can snow, sleet, and hail on any given day during the summer months in these San Francisco Peaks of Arizona.

At long last, we are now finally within reach of our final goal, as we gaze on the genuine Mt. Humpreys in the not-too-far distance. I am now getting more concerned about Angie, as she complains about dizziness and almost blacking out a couple of times, but she is now determined to make the final push and go for the top. We will proceed very slowly and very cautiously from here on, giving her plenty of rest breaks and every opportunity to turn back if her condition worsens. At this point, I can certainly use the rest breaks myself. Fortunately, I am feeling no effects of altitude sickness, but am a little fatigued and have some very sore leg muscles by now. Assessing our situation, we now have roughly 100 feet of elevation gain to the ridgeline connecting to the base of the summit and about 300 yards of ridgeline to walk. A couple of hours ago, and this would have been a cakewalk. Now it is more like a walk in hell, over agony hill.

With a couple more rest breaks, we finally make it to the ridgeline and then, ever so slowly, make our way to the base of the summit, where we are still faced with another thirty-foot climb up the steep south face of the summit slope. Pulling out all the stops now and gathering every last ounce of reserve strength, we scramble for the very top of Mt. Humphreys, where we are greeted by Tom, Mike, Kathy, Dave, and Peter, who are anxious to start making their way back down before the weather gets any worse. The skies are now an ominous gray, with sleet and snow coming down harder, and the air temperature hovering in the upper 40's. We put on an extra layer and grab a quick bite to eat, while admiring the surrounding views. We then pose for a quick group shot, while gathered around the Mt. Humphreys elevation sign, as proof positive that we were indeed standing on the very top of this mountain that we had all struggled so hard for.

At 12,633 feet, we are now standing on the true rooftop of Arizona. You can go no higher in this Grand Canyon State with your feet still firmly planted on terra firma. We are actually at 2.4 miles above sea level, and it is still clear enough that we can see for hundreds of square miles around us in a 360-degree panoramic view. The dark gash in the earth to our north is, of course, the Grand Canyon, admittedly hard to recognize from this vast distance. To the northeast we can see Navajo Mountain in Utah. To our southwest lies Kendrick Peak, Sitgreaves Mountain, and Bill Williams Mountain. Out to the east, near the New Mexico border, lie the White Mountains, where some of us will be hiking Mt. Baldy in a few weeks. We can even see the Mogollon Rim and some of its side canyons to the south, as well as Oak Creek Canyon. This is a view that is unparalleled anywhere in Arizona, but unfortunately we cannot stick around too much longer to enjoy it, since we need to get off this mountain before the weather gets really serious.

As I reflect back on this hike, this has to rank close to the very top of all of my hiking experiences in my nearly four years with the Motorola Hiking Club, and a great deal of that is due to the terrific group of people who turned out to join me in this, the toughest and most challenging day hike this club has to offer. I know it was a bit of a struggle for a number of people on this hike, including myself, and more than a few were experiencing the effects of altitude sickness. Everyone, however, pushed on despite fatigue, sore muscles, headaches, some dizziness, and even a little nausea, pushing themselves close to the limit in their sheer determination to reach that goal of standing on top of Arizona's highest mountain. Congratulations to everyone on this hiking adventure. I am proud and honored to share this experience with all of you.

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.