Awake and up at daybreak, we broke camp, enjoyed breakfast as we drove to the trailhead parking lot. The sky looked promising, no clouds above.
The clear trail beckoned us upward, when we left the car at 7 A.M.
Into the first stand of trees, "This is a good place to find a stick," I said, searched and found a good specimen. Picked it up, hefted it. "Yep, this one will do, Primate."
"I don't want one. It's too heavy to carry," Dr. Bobo said.
"I don't mind carrying one," I replied.
Our steady pace slowed when crusted, frozen snow covered the trail.
Dr. Bobo swore when he slipped, "Damn it."
The wind howled through the forest.
We escaped the shadows of the trees into morning sun light near the pass. Our dispositions improved.
Cold wind increased in strength at the pass. A short break in a wind shadow gave us opportunity to view the summit.
"There it is," Dr. Bobo pointed.
Humphreys Peak, one mile away, according to trail maps, looked rugged from our vantage. I hoped the trail didn't run along the ridge.
Dr. Bobo encouraged me, "Go ahead," and followed.
Another hiker, covered head-to-toe with gear, except his face, and holding two ski poles, leaned against rocks at the side of the trail. "I turned around. The wind is blowing a hundred miles an hour up there. I didn't think I could make it. I wouldn't do it, if I were you."
"I'll give it a shot," I said, proceeded, glad the trail ran didn't run along the top of the ridge.
I judged the wind speed to be sixty, maybe seventy mph. "That hiker must be exaggerating," I said to Primate.
Near the summit, in a shallow pass filled with snow, the wind speed found an unimpeded route over the mountain. Unencumbered, the wind blasted me full-force. Everything loose flapped, windbreaker, hat. Mixed with the howl of the wind, I could hardly hear myself think. I wondered if my gear would blow away. I wondered if I would blow away. Bent, walking stick for balance, I avoided the snow, as much as possible, left the trail and proceeded on the rocks.
"Can't turn around, so close. As long as I can move towards the summit, keep going," I told Primate.
Although the wind didn't offer relief, my courage increased with each step nearer the top.
I hunkered behind a rock wall windbreak at the summit, 12,633 feet elevation, gathered myself, readied my camera for quick photos, signed the register. I lost sight with Dr. Bobo some time ago and wasn't sure if he continued or stopped, decided not to linger on the summit.
At the shallow pass I watched Dr. Bobo advance several seconds on the snow trail on hands and knees towards the summit and me.
The steady, cold wind howled, brought images to mind of men in Antarctica.
Dr. Bobo met me again on the other side of the shallow pass and we descended together to a wind shadow, ate our lunch sandwiches, talked about our ordeal.
"Somewhere between seventy and a hundred miles per hour. Hard to judge," Dr. Bobo said.
I concurred, "Close to eighty, maybe a hundred." I imagined my arm out the window of a moving vehicle, my only gauge.
Our hike down, a slog of 3.5 miles from the ridge pass, proved easy, the snow on the trail, softened by the sun, gave way under our steps.
Back at the car after our six-hour, we remove unnecessary gear, boots, windbreakers, hats, drove to Flagstaff.
"I'm ready for a beer," I said.
"I'm ready for several," Dr. Bobo replied.
Samples of local-brewed beer at the Beaver Street Brewery, followed by a plate lunch and a pint of Stout, celebrated our climb of Humphreys Peak, the last high point of our trip.
We headed west towards Kingman, a good stop on the way to our next destination, one of the last two low points on our trip.
Evening temperatures and a dry, warm breeze in Kingman, without mosquitoes or other unwanted pests, allowed us hastle-free, pleasant shots of cherry brandy at our KOA campsite table.
Today's mileage - 176 miles.
Low points - eighteen; high points - fifteen.
The clear trail beckoned us upward, when we left the car at 7 A.M.
Into the first stand of trees, "This is a good place to find a stick," I said, searched and found a good specimen. Picked it up, hefted it. "Yep, this one will do, Primate."
"I don't want one. It's too heavy to carry," Dr. Bobo said.
"I don't mind carrying one," I replied.
Our steady pace slowed when crusted, frozen snow covered the trail.
Dr. Bobo swore when he slipped, "Damn it."
The wind howled through the forest.
We escaped the shadows of the trees into morning sun light near the pass. Our dispositions improved.
Cold wind increased in strength at the pass. A short break in a wind shadow gave us opportunity to view the summit.
"There it is," Dr. Bobo pointed.
Humphreys Peak, one mile away, according to trail maps, looked rugged from our vantage. I hoped the trail didn't run along the ridge.
Dr. Bobo encouraged me, "Go ahead," and followed.
Another hiker, covered head-to-toe with gear, except his face, and holding two ski poles, leaned against rocks at the side of the trail. "I turned around. The wind is blowing a hundred miles an hour up there. I didn't think I could make it. I wouldn't do it, if I were you."
"I'll give it a shot," I said, proceeded, glad the trail ran didn't run along the top of the ridge.
I judged the wind speed to be sixty, maybe seventy mph. "That hiker must be exaggerating," I said to Primate.
Near the summit, in a shallow pass filled with snow, the wind speed found an unimpeded route over the mountain. Unencumbered, the wind blasted me full-force. Everything loose flapped, windbreaker, hat. Mixed with the howl of the wind, I could hardly hear myself think. I wondered if my gear would blow away. I wondered if I would blow away. Bent, walking stick for balance, I avoided the snow, as much as possible, left the trail and proceeded on the rocks.
"Can't turn around, so close. As long as I can move towards the summit, keep going," I told Primate.
Although the wind didn't offer relief, my courage increased with each step nearer the top.
I hunkered behind a rock wall windbreak at the summit, 12,633 feet elevation, gathered myself, readied my camera for quick photos, signed the register. I lost sight with Dr. Bobo some time ago and wasn't sure if he continued or stopped, decided not to linger on the summit.
 |
| AZ High Point. |
At the shallow pass I watched Dr. Bobo advance several seconds on the snow trail on hands and knees towards the summit and me.
The steady, cold wind howled, brought images to mind of men in Antarctica.
 |
| Dr. Bobo Slides Along the Trail From Humphreys Peak. |
Dr. Bobo met me again on the other side of the shallow pass and we descended together to a wind shadow, ate our lunch sandwiches, talked about our ordeal.
"Somewhere between seventy and a hundred miles per hour. Hard to judge," Dr. Bobo said.
I concurred, "Close to eighty, maybe a hundred." I imagined my arm out the window of a moving vehicle, my only gauge.
Our hike down, a slog of 3.5 miles from the ridge pass, proved easy, the snow on the trail, softened by the sun, gave way under our steps.
Back at the car after our six-hour, we remove unnecessary gear, boots, windbreakers, hats, drove to Flagstaff.
"I'm ready for a beer," I said.
"I'm ready for several," Dr. Bobo replied.
Samples of local-brewed beer at the Beaver Street Brewery, followed by a plate lunch and a pint of Stout, celebrated our climb of Humphreys Peak, the last high point of our trip.
We headed west towards Kingman, a good stop on the way to our next destination, one of the last two low points on our trip.
Evening temperatures and a dry, warm breeze in Kingman, without mosquitoes or other unwanted pests, allowed us hastle-free, pleasant shots of cherry brandy at our KOA campsite table.
Today's mileage - 176 miles.
Low points - eighteen; high points - fifteen.
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