Day six, for Dad and me, was both tough and wonderful. We had made our first fifty miles and all was well. Now we had entered the first range of mountains along our route: the Chiricahuas. We were excited to get off the dirt roads and onto some mountain trails.

Joshua Jensen and Al Smith had arrived the previous evening. Joshua had fixed us a meal of T-bone steak, cheese-covered potatoes, fetachini, and brownies, all made even better by sitting around a campfire in the mountains, enjoying the company of good friends. After a week on the trail, eating dehydrated meals with no spices but salt and pepper, that dinner was heavenly!

On this morning, we discussed and planned out our route before getting packed up. The original route I had planned had been exposed to a devastating fire several years before and was impassable and in places nonexistent. Good thing Joshua volunteered to join up with us. Joshua and Al, being intimately familiar with the Chiricahua trail system, mapped out a route for us that was both beautiful and exhilarating…and pretty tough in places. Whatever else the route might have been, it was unforgettable.

The route we ended up taking through the mountains took us up the Monte Vista Trail out of the North Fork of Rucker Canyon, where we were camped, to hit the Crest Trail just on the north side of Monte Vista Peak, following it over Fly Peak (where we camped that night) and down to join USFS 42C at Rustler Park. We followed 42D to Pinery Canyon Road, where we turned west (my journal says east, but it was west) and followed it down to the North Fork of Pinery Creek . We then followed North Fork for a ways, then turned north on a trail to Hands Pass. From there our route took us past Barrel Spring and through Bloomberg Canyon (where we camped the following night) and into Whitetail Canyon. We attempted to turn west up Indian Creek Canyon from there, but gave up after about three miles, finding the trail impassable (non-existent) for horses. We ended up returning to Bloomberg Canyon, staying our Sunday rest day there, then left the Chiricahuas through Whitetail Canyon Road. We then hit Noland Road and followed alongside it north to San Simon.

Now that you have our route through the Chiricahua mountains in mind, let me tell you about our companions and their mighty steeds. Both Joshua and Al ride mules. I have always had an interest in mules, but this was my first extensive experience with them on mountain trails.

Joshua is a tall, young US Border Patrol Officer in his late twenties or early thirties. He rides for their mounted patrol out of the Safford District. He’s a nice, clean-cut man and a pleasure to be around. A fine horseman and experienced packer, he has converted over to mules. He has two of them. Treasure is an experienced molly out of a thoroughbred mare. She stood about 17 hands, was almost totally black, except for a few highlights around her flanks and legs, had very fine legs and excellent conformation. She was also a bit ornery. Riding behind her, I had to watch that my horse didn’t get too close. His other mule, Tigger, was shorter and younger, about 4 years old as I recall, about 15 hands or so, dun-dish or roan-ish in color, with zebra-striped legs. A very pretty molly, she was also slow as Christmas. She just didn’t care to keep up with the rest of us. Joshua had recently acquired her and was still working with her training. While his taller, older molly had a very nice walk and could really eat up distance, the slower one held her back.

Al, on the other hand, rode a dark molly, about 15-1/2 hands or a little better, that was a real handful. She was very skittish around anyone but Al. She could really walk out, though. I mean, even my Fox Trotters had a hard time keeping up with her. Now you have to see this in your mind’s eye as I describe Al and his mule. Al stands all of about 5′-5 or 6″, and weighs in at around a buck-40 or so. He has a full beard, almost as full and nice as Santa Claus’ beard, but a little more gray than white. He has a grin that just makes you want to smile all the time and a quick whit that always kept us wondering what he was going to say next. He is retired out of the Arizona State Prison system (employee – not inmate!).  He now spends most of his time riding his mule. When Al was up on top of that mule, the two became one. Now, as I say that, you must understand my meaning. Al and his mule operated as a single unit, but, quite truthfully, Dad and I never quite knew who was in charge, the mule or Al. After much consideration, we came to the conclusion that it was simply a cooperative system – sometimes Al was in charge and sometimes the mule was in charge. Whatever it was, it was an amazing thing to behold.

What an experience it was traveling with these two men and their mules. As you will see, Joshua and Al were, together and individually, another of those gifts from Heaven that happened to us so often on this trip.

After a good breakfast, we were loaded up and heading up the trail by 9:15am. As Daisy, the Quarter Horse had started showing signs of saddle sores on her withers, we decided to cut our gear and leave one pack saddle in Joshua’s trailer and pony Daisy bareback for a few days to let her heal up. We would retrieve the gear and a few more bags of feed when we exited the mountains at Joshua and Al’s end point.

We started up Monte Vista Trail. It started out as a pretty easy trail, but soon entered a series of switchbacks and a steady climb. We ascended more than 3,000 feet in a matter of about four-and-a-half miles. Most of the trail was well maintained, but there were several deadfalls we had to go around.

As we climbed higher, the views began to open up a bit, allowing us to catch sight of where we had been the previous days. It was quite the sense of achievement I felt, looking back over the hills, seeing in the far distance the areas we had come through. It was a strange sense I felt, which eventually became a familiar and welcome feeling. It was the emotion connected with the thought that I had been over there – not just that I had been there at one time or another, but that I had just come from over there on my horse, with my dad. It was a special feeling that is hard to describe, and it was entirely new to me as I looked out over those mountains, hills, and deserts.

As we neared the summit of Monte Vista Peak, we crossed and ascended a looooong sidehill that dropped off about half-a-mile below us. This mountainside was pure shale and very little vegetation grew on it. The shale was ankle deep when you stepped off the trail and a horse that stepped off the trail would soon find himself sliding downhill with a lot of the hillside sliding with him, and there just wasn’t anything to stop you until you hit the bottom. I found out just how dangerous this could be as we neared the top of this long slide and had our second near-disaster of the trip.

I had turned on my GoPro camera, on my chest-mount, to record some of this ascent (while it was quite impressive in person, the video doesn’t quite do it justice, as is almost always the case). However, the immensity of the scenery distracted me and I forgot I had turned it on. So, on a westerly tack on the switchback, I pulled my iphone out of my pocket to take a few photos. As I messed around with my phone, I lost the lead rope on Ranger, my lead pack horse (I was riding Lizzy). I couldn’t coax Ranger to come up to me to grab his lead rope, so I dismounted and started back toward him on foot.

For some strange reason, Ranger, who was packed with 200 pounds of horse feed, turned away from me and stepped downhill off the trail. As he did so, he immediately sank to his hocks in the shale and began to slide. I rushed to grab the lead rope, hoping to get his head turned back uphill before he dragged Daisy, tied behind him, down the hillside with him. I was able to catch the end of the lead rope and get Ranger’s head turned, but by this time he was fifteen feet below the trail and sliding still. The mare had also left the trail and was floundering, but she had no packs or weight on her.  I began to slide behind Ranger, but finally got his head around and got him facing back uphill. At this point Ranger turned and began struggling to get his footing, with me pulling his lead rope. The weight of the heavy packs on his back settled back and started to pull him over backwards. I watched in horror as his front hooves came out of the shale and lifted into the air, realizing that if I didn’t get his front feet back on the ground, he was a goner, and possibly the mare with him. He would have rolled until he hit the bottom, half-a-mile below us.

Pulling with all my weight, and setting my feet into the deep shale, I was able to counter the weight of the packs enough, and Ranger was strong enough, that he regained his balance and began to charge up the very steep hillside. I turned and scrambled up, using hands and feet, finally reaching the trail just ahead of Ranger and the mare.

It was an exciting few moments, but once again, we survived with no serious repercussions. It was another good “journal material” experience with no sad ending.

The good part was that I had forgotten about my GoPro video camera! It was running the whole time and picked up the whole incident, together with a long segment of the trail. You can see it here.

Another mile or so saw us to the top of Monte Vista Peak. We stopped at the Ranger lookout tower there and let the horses rest and graze while we ate lunch. What a beautiful view from there. At 9223′ elevation, we could see in all four directions for what seemed like forever.

Just off the north side of Monte Vista Peak, we joined the Crest Trail. A forest fire had burned through the area a number of years before, a finger of which had nearly reached the top of the peak. The fire left much of the timber on the north side of the mountain dead. Much of the dead-standing timber had fallen, making travel on the trail a slow and difficult process. In the first mile we spent more time cutting and moving logs than we did traveling. It was in this area that the axe and limb saw I packed on my saddle paid for themselves. I wish I had gotten more photos in this area, but I was pretty busy hacking away at logs and trying to shift them out of the trail. Once we passed Raspberry Peak, however, things got easier and we made better time. We actually got out on the “crest” of the mountain range, which was like riding its spine. We had a spectacular view off both the eastern and western sides of the Chiricahua mountains at the same time.

At one point we came to a spectacular descent, at a place called Painted Rock. This descent on the Crest Trail comes down between two jagged, rock promontories (Painted Rock), descending several hundred feet in just a few lateral yards. The cut was so narrow and steep that part of our pack train was heading east on one switchback while I, in the middle, was on a western tack and tail-end Charlie (Dad) was on the eastern tack above me. I will never forget coming down through that cut. Absolutely thrilling!

Sadly, my GoPro ran out of battery about ten minutes before we arrived at the cut. I tried to get as much of it as I could with my iphone, but only caught just the lower part of it. I can tell you in no uncertain terms that the iphone video just doesn’t have the capability to show what that short segment of trail is really like. You can see it here.

Along this part of the Crest Trail, we got a steady west wind, blowing at 20-30 miles per hour, and it was cold! You might recall that I had lost my coat a while back and was clad only in a heavy wool shirt over my clothing. Surprisingly, that heavy wool shirt cut the wind pretty well an I stayed reasonably warm as we continued moving northward along the crest. As we approached Fly Peak, though, it was getting on toward evening and I was getting cold.

We crossed over onto the east side of Fly Peak, following a fork off the main trail, which got us out of the heavy winds. We came upon a small improved (capped) spring on the trail, which I believe may be Booger Spring, not sure. We watered the stock there and continued another couple hundred yards and made camp there on the eastern side of Fly Peak. The elevation was near 9300′.

My journal entry ends with this commentary:

[Begin journal entry]

We made 10.6 miles and camped on the east side of Fly Peak. It was a nice camp area with a capped spring about 1/4 mile before it on the trail. Being on the east side of the peak, we were out of the wind, but it was very cold.

That night most of our water froze. I didn’t sleep well, because I brought my light sleeping bag. It has proven inadequate, even for this part of the trail. I’ll need to have someone take my heavier bag to [a friend’s] place so I can pick it up when we get there.

We had no mishaps, despite the rough trail, except that one with Ranger on the hillside. The horses are starting to work well together.

[End journal entry]

Yessiree! It was cold that night and I didn’t get much sleep, but then, there we were, at 9300′, in the heart of the mountains with good people and good horses. It doesn’t get much better than that and it would take a lot more than the cold to dampen our spirits on this trip. Besides, my dog Clancy snuggled against me all night and helped keep the cold at bay.

During the day, we discovered that Dad had left one of his two-quart canteens back at the lookout tower on top of Monte Vista Peak. That was to become a real concern for us further along.

Day Seven coming up in a few days.