A Somewhat Trying day In Four Peaks

I moved to Arizona in 1998 after graduating from high school and in the years that followed I spent very little time in the wild deserts that surround and engulf much of the state. However, in 2010 I became hooked on trail running. This change in thought and lifestyle took me to many wild places in and around the city of Phoenix mostly and also slowly gave me the skill set to set out into the mountains with full confidence that I could handle what was presented to me.

Through the last 3 years or so it seems one Valley landmark has avoided my pursuits. That being Four Peak's. It's four spired massif rises from the Mazatzal Mountains to the northeast like a saw blade, demanding your attention from nearly any place in the Phoenix area. It is the highest point in Maricopa County at 7,657 feet and probably the most easily noticeable with its toothy peaks carving its niche in the eastern horizon.

I had decided that I would wait no more so after spending the night at a friends the night prior, I decided to try and make up time by taking Power Road in east Mesa north hugging the Salt River as it rounded east before turning into Bush Highway which would intersect Highway 87 only a few miles from the Four Peak's recreation area turnoff. 

After making the turn off of the highway and onto the 18 mile and much dreaded dusty forest road, I knew to expect over an hour of driving by the multiple sources I had talked with as well as multiple trip reports online. I settled in for the roller coaster ride under the mid morning sun. Seventy five minutes later I found myself pulling into Lone Pine Trailhead. Weakened, especially my back by the ridiculously long and treacherous drive I was happy to get out and stretch my bones for the task that lie ahead.

Pulling my pack from the bag I preceded to fill it with an extra long sleeve shirt, my knife, my phone, hat, as well as two slices of pizza, two bags of M&M's, two energy bars and my two 20 ounce water bottles. As always I had a minimalist approach to the coming endeavor but I made sure this time to not leave anything to chance and not make a stupid decision that would prove costly as I had learned and done before. I was ready.

After briefly viewing my map and notes I headed to the trailhead. After quickly glancing at the sign to Brown's Peak Trail I headed off in that direction anxious for what lie ahead of me. I started to lightly jog down the pine covered trail under the towering ponderosa pines which seemed to of survived the fire that ravaged this region back in 1996. I was happy to see that the majority of the fires path had now taken a backseat to gorgeous patches of manzanita, sage, and other desert dwellers. I felt light on my feet as I careened eastward along the mountain.

Maybe a half mile in I came to a signpost. Screeching to a halt I read the sign stating that this was the intersection of the Amethyst Mine Trail which I had read at some point I would come across which would basically merge with the summit trail heading to Brown's Peak. Without much thought I lean into the incline and head up Amethyst on a trail that seemed too light for the heavy foot traffic that it took in each day. I quickly realize that without constant attention it seemed I could lose this trail in a heartbeat. I take notice as my heart rate rises.

After about 20 minutes of steep hiking and at times what seemed like bushwacking, I come to a clearing under a burned out ponderosa. In the shade I rotate around. I have lost the trail I realize. I also realize that though I was trying to keep calm and assume that there was no way I could of already lost the trail I may have actually lost it almost a half mile back. I am confused and a bit angered that this has happened on what seemed like a perfect Arizona day. I turn and backtrack back a few hundred feet hoping to find something I missed. Suddenly I am back in the same clearing with nothing gained but lost time. I stand and stare blankly around. How did this happen?

I realize that the next few moments are crucial as I have never been to this mountain, to this area before and my sense of direction could get lost if I do not take note of my surroundings and my situation. I am angered at the trail and my predicament. Clearly visible? I remember one of my friends saying. Bullshit! I curse the blank and unrelenting sky. Arms akimbo I glance up the northeastern face of the mountain at Brown's Peak. I take note of my gps watch which says that I am a bit over 2 miles into my hike. I then pull my map out which states in scribbled ink that the hike is less than six miles round trip.

I am off track. As the crow flies the peak seems to be at least a mile and a half away which would put me a bit over a half mile or so off course. Suddenly I hear voices. I crane my neck and filter out the breeze and let the voices pour into the orbit of my ear. I can hear them but they are surely a ways off, maybe a couple hundred yards? Maybe a couple thousand yards? Stashing my map and phone away I careen off in the direction of the voices as they surely must be on a marked trail, only an idiot such as myself would be out here thrashing around hundreds of feet if not meters off course.

Pausing after a couple hundred feet of bushwacking up the hillside, I hear nothing. Silence. They are gone? I try to block out the trees and bushes that are gently dancing in the cool breeze. Nothing. Then suddenly I hear the voices again but they seem closer and they seem as though they are descending. I know I must find them so I push through the growth as my shins get sliced from the low growing sun baked manzanita that litter the hillside.

Orange. Hunter orange I see through the thicket. As I course around the brush I find two men, eyes on me, relaxing on a large exposed rock smoking something that is illegal at least in Arizona. Between drags I enlighten them to my predicament and they gesture and point up the hillside saying,

"Yeah, the trail is just up the hill right there."

After gaining the trail I am amazed at how packed and well maintained the route is. They were right. It is obvious.

Fifteen minutes later I find myself emerging from the canopy of aspen and chestnut trees and standing on the saddle which I had read about. I knew that what they called The Chute still lie ahead so after climbing a large bouldered area I pulled myself to my feet and gazed at why lie in front of me. The Chute. Breathing in the thin air my eyes follow its body which is thin, twisted, jagged and seems nearly vertical in its nature. A quick burst of fear courses through my body and mind as I realize that from this vantage point this may be something that I cannot overcome. I told myself I would not do anything to compromise my life. From this vantage I would be compromising it in a big way. 

After hugging the rock and downclimbing a thin gullet with deep hand and foot holds that lock the toes of my shoes in their endless gaping mouths I am dropped out at the base of The Chute. Gazing upwards I am relieved to realize that the nature of the Chute is not nearly as steep as it seemed back at the saddle. So, after a few deep breaths and a few routes I worked out in my head down pat I lean into the cold jagged rock and make my way up its lower face. 

In the week prior to this outing I had started reading a classic climbing/mountaineering book called Beyond The Mountain by Steve House, a fellow Oregonian and climbing legend in the fields of climbing especially alpine mountaineering. I had recalled in the book him saying one of the most important guidelines to climbing and climbing safety was to always have 3 holds when making any move whether it be two hand holds and one foot or the other way around. I knew this climb from here on up would take clear and precise movement on my part so I made it a point to continuously say to myself, "Three holds. Three holds."

In the shade, deep into the Chute, I could feel myself becoming more intimate with my movements, more organic with every inch gained. I repeated my mantra and felt the cold rock glide underneath my extremities. Dodging rockfall my senses were brought back to the current state, me and the steep unforgiving rock. I shook it off moved quickly and before long I pulled myself up to the last narrow saddle below the summit. Gazing due south I followed the descending, jagged, knifes edge of the three other peaks standing proudly in the suns rays. I marveled at the transparency of the flora on the eastern slopes and those on the western. It was a sight to behold. I took mental note of the the peaks and their beta for an adventure in the near future and turned to make my way to the true summit.

Standing on the summit I marveled at the vastness. I rotated 360 degrees taking in some of the more prolific monuments of the state of Arizona. Squinting I confirmed their presence from my perch above the earth. I felt small, unimportant.

After a quick lunch of pizza and M&M's I descended as I had come. An hour later I found myself staring at the trailhead sign at the lot a bit confused and bemused. Somewhat stupidly it turned out I trotted off in the direction of the pointed sign which on one end was cut as an arrow and the other end flat. Yet, carved above Brown's Peak Trail on the wooden plank was an arrow pointing due south, the other trail. I took note and made my way to the truck dodging a group of 40 somethings drinking wine and beer and motioning around loudly while sitting on their tailgates. I was alive.

An hour later I felt the wheels of my truck gain traction and smoothly arc onto the highway as I sped off into the desert with fading light. Behind and to the east lied my muse for the day and boy did she teach me some things.