I had been planning for some time to make the notorious hike up Siphon Draw to the Flatiron, so when the Motorola Hiking Club announced a hike up the trail it was an opportunity to do so without organizing the hike myself.

Siphon Draw is a drainage channel (a "draw") leading down a steep canyon in the vertical western face of the Superstition Mountains.  It is bone dry most of the time, fulfilling its natural function only in the hours and days immediately after the infrequent summer thunderstorm or winter rain.  The trail is notorious for its dizzying steepness and challenging terrain.  Officially, the trail length is about 2.4 miles.  It starts at 2080 feet in the Lost Dutchman State Park, and eventually puts you on top of the vertical-walled basalt promontory known as The Flatiron at 4680 feet, for a total elevation gain of about 2600 feet. 

However, the first mile and a half of the trail is a relatively gentle grade leading from the trailhead to the foot of the 1200-foot vertical cliffs of the western face, gaining only about 400 feet along the way.  The final 2200 foot climb occurs in the next 0.6 miles, averaging some 70 feet of elevation gain for every 100 feet of trail—that's a 45° angle. 

There were eleven of us altogether, including myself; Ben and AlexisVelasquez, Tim Stone, Anatoli Korkin, Tom Shaugnessy, Jon (or Tom) Perueoco, Carl D'Acosta, Joyce Parrish, Peter Ny and Luke Loya.  After concluding that no one else was going to appear, we distributed four Motorola TalkAbout radios between us, and hit the trail at about 8:30.  Temperature was around 50°, with a cool ascent expected through the perpetually shady Draw. 

We set a pretty quick pace up this gentle section of the trail, looking forward to the more challenging climb ahead as we gazed up into the towering canyon through which the Draw occasionally cascades.  A half mile above, almost laughably high above our heads, The Flatiron rose in 400-foot sheer cliffs from the canyon head, projecting out of the main mass of the mountain like the bow of an enormous ship carefully shaped from the volcanic rock.  I was doing well with the fast pace, feeling still the beneficial effects of my high-altitude snow climb on Humphrey's Peak two weeks earlier.  We reached the foot of the cliffs at a little past 9:00. 

For a few hundred feet the trail, moving now from the gravel onto bare rock, continues on a gentle grade, but upon entering the Draw itself things begin to get very interesting.  Siphon Draw drains a large portion of the western Superstition massif.  About a half dozen steep, rocky washes sweep down the inner walls of the dead-end canyon, converging eventually into the single main channel of the Draw—a 200 yard sluice of rock plunging at a 45° angle toward the plain below.  So violently does runoff water blast through this channel that its surfaces have been polished almost completely smooth along much of its length, and every last rock and speck of dirt swept out into the vast piles of rubble that litter the canyon mouth at the foot of the cliffs. 

The smooth, dirt- and gravel-free rock of the Draw made for good traction going up, though I couldn't help but think about the rock glissade that might await us on the return trip if we weren't careful.  The channel tops out on a small bench, a few feet below which was the shallow basin in which the separate drainage washes converge before thundering down the main channel.  From here, the trail continues up the drainage below the south face of The Flatiron, following white dots marked on rocks at intervals just long enough to make it really challenging to follow them. 

The drainage climbs steeply through the rock-choked gully, frequently requiring the use of both hands and feet to scramble over steps and boulders too large to step past.  Technically speaking, it was Class 2 much of the way, with a dozen or more Class-3 hops varying from 4 to 8 feet high.  The trail was also heavily grown with the usual variety of desert chaparral, cactus, and trees, adding an interesting squeeze here and there to the already twisting route up the wash.  Even so, the vegetation was a real blessing, as it offered comforting protection against what would otherwise have been an intimidating downward exposure! 

About a third of the way up this gully, two of the hikers decided they had gone far enough and turned back, while a short while later we were joined by another Motorolan who had arrived late and had managed to catch up.  After a long, long upward climb, we finally arrived at the final vertical scramble onto the flat top of the massif—a 10-foot vertical pitch of protruding basalt that looks more threatening than it really is.  There are a hundred routes up this narrow wall, all of which require careful hand and foot placement, but none of which requires any real technical climbing skills. 

Once this obstacle is surmounted, you're finally on top of the large, flat plateau atop the second band of cliffs.  Straight ahead is the 150-foot-high heap of rounded boulders known as The Hoodoos, which at 5027 feet are the highest point on the western massif.  The trail continues around to the right, along the edge of the topside plateau for just a hundred yards or so to the gently sloped but surprisingly flat top surface of The Flatiron. 

We dropped our gear at the front point of the iron at about 11:30 for a much-needed lunch, a few rounds of picture-taking, and some well deserved gaping at the incredible views in every direction but east.  Nearly 3000 feet below sprawled the small but fast-growing town of Apache Junction, while further west, fading gradually into the light haze that filled the Salt River Valley to somewhere above our lofty perch, Mesa and its companion cities stretched their asphalt grid in all directions.  Still further west, Phoenix was a barely perceptible shimmer on the desert floor, with South Mountain and the Sierra Estrella looming over its southern limits. 

To the north and northwest, the Usury and Goldfield mountains lay well below us, a chaotic jumble of hills revealing a splotchwork of dark basalt and yellow and orange lava.  Over their low peaks, North Scottsdale and Fountain Hills were clearly visible.  To the northeast, Four Peaks jutted powerfully from the rolling hills of the southern Mazatzals, while in the South the featureless plain was interrupted only here and there by the San Tans, the Picachos, and other isolated ranges rising above the heavier haze layers.  At our feet the Flatiron dropped straight down to the lower plateaus, then to the desert floor.  To the right lay the steep canyon through which we had ascended.  The sun was very warm up here, with temperatures in the mid-sixties and a gentle breeze. 

After enjoying the view for about half an hour, Carl and I decided to head back toward the Hoodoos, to try to find a reasonable means of getting on top of them.  We knew it was possible, as we could see someone standing at their summit as we ate lunch on the Flatiron.  We picked what looked like a promising route, but after getting about halfway up, we found ourselves surrounded by smooth boulders with no easy way out but back the way we came. 

Our decision to turn back was aided by my unintentional encounter with an extremely stiff Agave.  Stepping up onto one rock, I jabbed my knee end-on against one of its spines, which rather than yielding clearly preferred that my knee excuse itself instead.  The spine didn't penetrate the skin through my jeans, but it did apparently cause a bruise in the tissues adjacent to my kneecap.  It felt more like I'd hit it on a rock than a plant; almost immediately I was unable to put any weight on my left leg unless I kept my knee straight. 

Anyone who has spent more than a brief amount of time hiking understands that the probability of sustaining an injury increases steadily with the distance or difficulty of the return to the trailhead.  This occasion was no exception.  I was not pleased with the idea of descending 2300 feet down a rock-filled gully with half a leg tied behind my back.  But my energy reserves were high, and in any case there wasn't much choice unless I could convince someone to carry me down piggy-back. 

I had to depend heavily on my hands and my right leg as I climbed down, and while uncomfortable, it wasn't much more difficult than the normal descent, and I was able to keep up pretty well with the rest of the group.  After what seemed a fair fraction of eternity we finally arrived at the main channel of the Draw, and soon thereafter to the mouth of the canyon where the trail began to level out.  Half an hour later, at about 2:10 in the afternoon, we arrived back at the trailhead, tossed our stuff in our cars, and headed home. 

It had been one of the more challenging hikes I'd been on, as well as one of the most interesting.  My knee was stiff and sore for several days, but recovered fairly quickly thereafter.  I'll definitely return to Siphon Draw in the future, though I'll carry with me a new degree of respect for the lowly Agave. 

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.