Years ago, when I lived in Arizona, a few years before I moved to Oregon, one day I walked out the kitchen door, put down the garage door, shouldered my pack, and hiked to the top of Kimball Peak in the Catalinas.
Just like that.
Well, not quite. I was running out of time to spend a night camped out in the Catalinas, within walking distance of my house, before I moved out of Arizona after more than 30 years residence. I had climbed Finger Rock Trail, 5 miles and 4300 feet of tough elevation gain, with no available water, many times. When I came down, I was fine initially but for the next 3 days my quads were so sore when I stood it took me about 30 seconds before I could walk. I figured I was getting old.
This day, I hiked from Table Mountain Road, where I lived, down Campbell, turned left on Skyline and stayed on it to North Alvernon Way, where turned left and walked uphill to the dead end and then began the desert trail. I was carrying enough water for 24 hours, a gallon and a half, and I drank a good deal of it on the way up, past Finger Rock itself, on the other side of the dry drainage, up, up, and more up, until I reached some forest and eventually the summit of Mount Kimball, 7200 feet elevation.
The mountain is forested with alligator juniper, some ponderosa pine, a bit of manzanita and small oaks. On one side below is Tucson; on the other side is Oro Valley, both nearly a vertical mile below. There is a path that goes further south and comes out at Pima Canyon, west of my house, which I had hiked only once, a much longer route up. This afternoon, I set up camp and lay in and also out of the tent, enjoying the breeze, reading, and recovering. I had an early dinner and then saw the sunset reasonably well, although there was some blockage by trees, retiring early, reading in the tent, then periodically checking the night sky and noting a million people below me, not more than a handful in this mountain range tonight.
It was a cold night, and I had forgotten gloves, but I had socks to put on my hands and went outside to drop the sides of the tent so cold air wouldn’t have such easy access to me.It was nearly freezing at dawn, and I had what passed for breakfast, some coffee, some ice water at that temperature, and some chocolate. I struck the tent, packed it, and packed up everything else.
There are things in the world worse than going uphill long distances. One of them is going downhill long distances, as many a Grand Canyon hiker would attest. The descent from Mt. Kimball is steep and rocky, with many chances to fall, shindiggers to do just that to one’s legs. When I was about a mile from the bottom, I started resting for a completely different reason: my quads were shot. The prior day’s long climb coupled with the current descent had made it difficult for me to use my quads at all, which made hiking a problem. I limped out of the canyon with still over a half mile in desert scrub to get back to asphalt, where I would have another long downhill. I couldn’t believe how bad my quads felt. It was awful.
A few rests later, I came over a rise and saw the sign marking the trail’s end/beginning. There was no way I could even carry the pack further. I wasn’t sure I could even walk without it very far. I took off the pack, hid it, then slowly started moving forward and in that way somehow got back home. I got into the car, drove back to the trailhead, slowly walked to and retrieved my pack and eventually finished with everything I started with.
I did what I wanted to do the most: camp out in the Catalinas. I wasn’t able to do all what I hoped I could do, which was carry everything from the house to the top of the mountain, and home again, I could see where I had been, but I got up and down the mountain, and that would be as good as I would ever do.
As for my quad problem being due to growing old, in Oregon I did several 3400 foot elevation gain hikes, routinely 2000 plus elevation gain hikes, and double digit mile hikes routinely, sometimes carrying tools along with my pack. I just wasn’t in shape.
Boreal B[l]og 