Sarah, mom, and Diana (and Abby, wish you would be here, too. why haven’t you posted on here yet?)–
We are going to have a shower for Jessica at my house on Wednesday, Dec 21st from 6 to 8ish. Hope ya’ll can make it. D, we understand if you can’t.
The plan was to drive to Sedona on Nov. 14, 2005, hike the Broken Arrow Trail (classified as easy), test the sprained ankle, take a few pictures, have a nice dinner and come home.
I’ve wanted to hike Broken Arrow since March when we took the Pink Jeep tour. The scenery was spectacular then and I was sure it would be even better afoot.
I was right.
The Broken Arrow Trail is just as advertisted: easy and every-step gorgeous. The fly in the ointment is the Pink Jeeps!
Seeing them where the trail intersects with the road was at first entertaining
Hearing the tourists squeal reminded me of our own experience when Amye and Paula were hollering the s-word as we went down a couple of vertical stretches.
But the Pink Jeeps just keep on coming; so many of them that the thrill was soon gone. We were ready to get away from them after not too many waves came through.
To their credit, the drivers are friendly and helpful. Different ones offered water, gave us directions (that were not all that complete) and talked about hiking experiences. Enjoyable people making a living. Can’t fault them, but a Pink Jeep is not the best hiking companion.
Broken Arrow ends at Chicken Point, about 1 1/2-to-2 miles from the trailhead.
Al and I had already decided we’d go another two miles on the Little Horse Trail, which comes out at the highway. Al told the lady giving us directions at the ranger station earlier that 8 miles (round trip) was nothing for us, even though he was 79 years old. That brought the oohs and aahs that he always gets with that shtick.
We’d taken our time getting to Chicken Point. We stopped at Devil’s Dining Room Sinkhole (literally a big hole in the ground) but missed Submarine Rock, which we figured to catch on the way out. (I’d seen it when I took the Jeep ride.)
One of the afore-mentioned drivers pointed out the trail marker just down from Chicken Point and we were on our way on what we assumed was another easy two miles on the Little Horse Trail.
But as has happened on many previous hikes, we assumed too much. We took the visible trail that swung to the southeast, when we needed to follow a bare-rock path to the southwest.
I had it in my head that we needed to take the Jim Bryant Wilderness Trail for a short distance to connect with the Little Horse. So I wasn’t concerned when I saw the wilderness trail sign.
I was wrong.
We were headed in completely the wrong direction and didn’t know it for a long time.
But the trail was good, well-marked and the scenery was magnificent. We were in a canyon, with wonderful red rock walls and gorgeous pillars and chimneys. A redtail hawk soared above us.
So when, after a mile or two, we realized we’d missed the Little Horse, we didn’t mind. The trail was so well-marked we were certain it would take us somewhere near civilization. We expected it to swing south and then back west and connect to the highway. But at each turn in the canyon, when we expected to head up over a pass and drop down, we were fooled. The trail just headed deeper into the canyon.
Then the trail started dropping to the canyon floor and then immediately coming back up. The elevation change was minor, but I started worrying about having to come back the same way.
Al was doing great. He had no problems hiking at a comfortable pace. He was taking the dips and the climbs without stopping. But I wondered how he would do on a reverse journey.
The trail got narrow, in places. Catsclaw became our big enemy. Our arms and legs were covered with cuts and scratches.
The cairns that marked the trail so well early on became harder to find.
So now the hike became less about the great views and became a mixture of anticipation and dread.
We had come so far that we wanted to continue to see where the trail ended. We still thought it had to connect with another trail that would bring us out of the canyon. I also thought that the trail, because it was so well marked, might be leading us to some ancient ruins. That would have been worth the experience.
But, at the same time, we dreaded the idea of having to come out on the same getting-tougher trail on which we came in.
Finally, the trail ended. We could see the canyon’s end maybe a half-mile away. No ruins, no trail going over a pass.
We couldn’t find any more cairns. “Time to turn around,” Al said. And that’s what we did.
It was 2 p.m. I wasn’t sure we could get out by dark.
We lost the trail a number of times. At one point, we dropped down a ways looking for the trail but couldn’t find it. I worked my way back up and found a cairn. I told Al to come up where I was. The only way, however, was through about 10 yards of catsclaw and other torture devices.
I felt bad for Al as he fought his way through it.
Al was getting tired. He needed a lot of rest stops, plopping down on just about every trailside rock. I needled him about it, as I always do, mostly to provoke him to keep moving. I was still worried about getting out before dark.
I needn’t have worried. We got out a lot qucker than we came in.
Looking back, it was a good-to-great hike. Sometimes you don’t enjoy the experience so much until you know you are going to survive and can look back with appreciation. This was one of those hikes.
My ankle held up OK. I did strain it a bit, and probably set back my full recovery for a spell.
I called the ranger station the day after and talked with a guy that had hiked the Jim Bryant. From my description, he said we went about as far as you can go. The trail just ends, does not go anywhere, which is exactly what Al and I had concluded
The guy said it’s about 4 miles in from Chicken Point. That means we did about 11 miles.
Have to give credit to Al. I don’t usually cut him any slack, but you couldn’t find one near-octogenarian in 1,000 who could make that hike.