Grand Enchantment Trail

You’ve read that right – thru WINSTON. Anyone who’s perused the Grand Enchantment Trail website, and maybe this lonely corner of New Mexico, knows the town of Winston is the Bermuda Triangle of the route. What goes in, maybe doesn’t come back out! It’s nearly the truth, as I’ll explain.

First a disclaimer. I left Clifton on March 29, and have been off the route since April 12. So as updates go, this one is more of a history lesson. We’re moving toward post-season along the route now, and it’s doubtful anyone is out there anyway, but if anyone is or has plans to go, take the following with a pinch of salt, especially with regard to water.

Segment 15

At last report I’d been holed up in Clifton with gear issues, and gazing with some concern upon a boisterous San Francisco River through town. I’d attempted the practice ford as shown on the GET map set, and didn’t like how it went – either shallow with cobbles and quick, or waist/chest deep and still not slow, and usually some of each between banks. As I expected, the sand bar mentioned in the guidebook, visible from the bridge along FR 212, was submerged. This is a good indicator of fording prospects; when the sand bar is exposed, all should be well, otherwise attempt the practice ford before heading eastbound along the route.

Leaving town the next day (3/30) the river seemed just a bit lower, but I wouldn’t know anything for sure until reaching Segment 16. Meanwhile I followed the main GET route up Limestone Gulch to the Hickey Spring Trail, which I reblazed with a more durable flagging tape. This should last a couple seasons at least, and along with my recent brushing work along this heretofore neglected trail I expect the hiking throngs will be pouring in any day now. Meanwhile Segment 15 remains one of my favorites along the route, big on solitude and high desert grassland scenery.

Segment 16

This segment now begins where the “pack trail” shown on the map meets the San Francisco. I reached the river here on the afternoon of 3/31, and decided to bushwhack around the first two fords, arguably among the most difficult. As I was making up my mind, two guys floated by on double-hulled kayaks. “The Blue was kind of scary,” one of them shouted back, meaning shallow for the boats, but scarier for me was that they had made it at all. My first ford, the third of 14 in series, seemed more difficult than it had in the record-wet spring of ‘05. So did the next ford. But farther on, the deeper fords that I remembered were above my waist that year seemed to be lower now, and not as fast. I camped half-way along, and by next morning (4/1) the remaining fords seemed easier still. I became convinced that the river was dropping by the hour, and at some point had dropped below the levels of two years ago. Checking the USGS streamflow stats now, this does indeed appear to have been the case.

San Francisco River this spring: http://tinyurl.com/345bx5

Spring of ‘05: http://tinyurl.com/2lkte6

So the threshhold for manageable fording appears to be around 350 cfs. More volume than this, and it’ll be at or above the waist at the cut-bank of almost every ford. Less than 300 cfs, and only the legs get wet, current shouldn’t demand too much strength or concentration. Below 200 cfs, it’s a creek slosh. (Below 100 cfs, the ATV’s show up!)

The Blue River was fairly easy by comparison – knee deep or less – and the trackless walking not as rough this year due to scouring of the banks during last summer’s floods. I found some nice obsidian pieces scattered at creekside, and farther along, I sighted my first ever band of coatimundi! About a dozen of them in and among a grove of sycamores scattered upon my approach, huge brown tails raised in their distinctive arc. One curious fellow approached me for a better look, as vaguely witnessed here. I was surprised to encounter coatis this far east in Arizona, though I later discovered that their range extends into SW New Mexico as well.

Segment 17

The Wild Bunch Trail over the Blue Range was in decent shape, with water available in all the usual spots. I reflagged a bit along the higher ridges, where a spotty old burn continues to fell the odd ponderosa. “Weed-thorns” (the woody, higher elevation variety) need removal where the Horse Canyon Trail runs along the exposed east flanks of Maple Peak, but it’s not a job I intend to tackle solo with loppers! Cattle should probably be kept out of the burn area toward Charlie Moore Mountain, where the impact of hooves is taking a toll, though I tend to doubt the distant Apache NF district offices lose much sleep over the border region here.

I ran into a real-life backcountry cowboy, with his teenage son, both on horseback looking for wayward cattle up among the pines. The two were based out of Alma NM, and I received an earfull about everything from the Forest Service to environmentalists, wolves, mountain lions, and whatever else that might seem to stand between a rancher and his big fat bottom line. I was left with the however-accurate impression that ranchers and cattle are persona non grata in much of the Gila NF these days, thus the need for his backwoods travailles across the border into AZ. Mexican gray wolves, he asserted, now number “in the hundreds,” despite official figures claiming only a few dozen.

Segment 18

After an amazing night hike, walking into a rising full moon framing the Mogollon Mountains, I found good water in Vigil Canyon and made a late camp. Reliability unknown, but this is the only natural surface water in the segment, save for the San Francisco River when flowing. To find it, eastbound follow the roadwalk route across the dry drainage, then as it parallels it on the south. The drainage heads away from the road, then returns, now in a shallow gorge. Find a way the 25ft down into the gorge and look for pools in the bedrock bottom, among sycamores.

In the morning I heard a roadrunner. *Heard* is the operative word here. A deep, staccato, “whoop,” if I recall correctly. These birds are generally silent. I had absolutely no idea what animal was making the sound until I emerged from my tent to find him glaring at the object of his interest from a rock a few yards away. Then the two of them were off.

A typically diminished river here, the San Francisco was flowing ankle-deep where it crosses the county road just west of Alma. I made it into town in time for a late breakfast at the efficiently-named Alma Grill. This was my first time in, and I suspect it won’t be my last. I informed the waitress that she was serving up the best food in Alma, to which she laughed, before I assured her that I meant Glenwood too! Too bad neither the Alma Store nor Glenwood Trading Post have enough trail food to make trail life so comfy, or Glenwood and its P.O. might be entirely skippable. Unparticular hikers (like me this time) might be able to get by.

The cultural disparity between Clifton and Alma/Glenwood is remarkable. The former, though itself a small remote town, nonetheless feels linked to the modern world – even Phoenix – by the industrial mining trade at Morenci. One can see it on faces in town, hear it in the conversations, and in the music blaring from car radios during the orderly procession of traffic at “quittin’ time.” Alma, by contrast, is pure southwest New Mexico cowboy country, the anglo conservative base to Clifton’s more liberal multi-cultural leanings. Quite unintentionally, the two towns have absolutely nothing to do with each other, and the folks don’t comingle. Most have likely never been to the other; the towns are separated by many miles of forking 2-lane highways and no good reason to go. Only the backcountry traveler bridges this gap in time and space, and in 3 days along the GET moves between worlds apart, a lone vessel for this awareness.

Segments 19-21

The Mogollons Mountains still appeared to hold a lot of snow up high, so I opted to detour widely around them, first via the Mineral Creek Trail. I’d been wanting to explore this route as an alternative to the snow-detour advice detailed on the GET maps, namely entering the Gila Wilderness at the Catwalk, then bailing out of Whitewater Creek at Redstone Park and up to the Bursum Road. The Mineral Creek Trail by contrast would offer a more direct approach to the Bursum Road and the continuation of the detour around the Mogollons. And it might be nice and scenic in its own right.

It is. It’s also a lot of work following the trail, at least along the first few miles of Mineral Creek where last summer’s floods scoured the drainage from wall to wall. It’s a narrow canyon through here, not unlike the Catwalk but without the crowds or elevated pedestrian walkway. It’s easy to lose the trail where it’s washed out along the banks, and searching through the brush is work here. Finally conditions improved a bit, though the trail seemed endless, fording back and forth with few good bearings or signs to indicate progress. Scattered throughout were numerous old mining operations and encampments – curious piles of stone, heaps of timbers, and occasional iron works wherever the creek banks accommodated. One huge iron relic had been constructed in Indianapolis, of all places. Mineral Creek Canyon is surely a wilder place now, and is certainly more difficult to travel than Whitewater Creek. I’d recommend it to those who’ve already seen the latter, and who have reason to avoid the Mogollons and make time.

I continued up South Fork Mineral Creek Trail to the Bursum Road, where water was available in snowmelt pools at roadside, the snow largely clear from the roadway and forest here at 8800′. Farther down the road I entered the perimeter of last summer’s Bear Fire, which burned with varying degrees of intensity over a large area just north of the Gila Wilderness. I also believe I heard a wolf in this stretch, a brief howl from somewhere a good distance away to the north, deeper and more liquid than a coyote’s, without the barking introduction. The possibility seemed more tangible when I came across a set of large canine tracks the next day. These were along the Middle Fork of the Gila River, which I opted to follow instead of the GET’s preferred West Fork, mostly out of curiosity. I’d also bypassed the Middle Fork during my CDT hike in 2003, and was eager to experience it and compare the two. Both canyons have outstanding beauty, the Middle Fork seeming to spend extended miles in a scenic but milder, more expansive topography, while the West Fork is more hemmed in, featuring more tall spires and stuff to gawk at but it’s limited to fewer trail miles.

I found no other human footprints along the Middle Fork so early this spring, so the canine tracks surely were not those of man’s best friend.

The Gila’s Middle and West Forks were each flowing at 70 cfs or less, fordable without issue, although the beds of each creek can be slippery where solid rock. I linked the two creeks using the CDTS route, the trails of which are very popular with equestrians in this stretch and getting wider and rockier each year.

Segment 22

Day before Easter at Doc Campbell’s Post, and I arrived to live entertainment, compliments of a local guitarist and artist who was serenading passersby, his wares on display out front. Hearing original folk songs about the Gila River after hiking it is neat! Otherwise, Doc’s was its familiar self – not much to eat but the ice cream was good. A dozen or more yellow bottles of HEET were on display by the front window. Paul the owner stepped outside briefly, explaining to an incredulous motorist how to inflate his car tire by mouth, because the air pump (functional, on premises) “will run for half an hour.” It was a good time.

Easter morning while breaking camp near Little Creek just outside Gila Hot Springs I thought it odd to hear a white-winged dove calling. According to the Gila National Forest “bird handout” I found at the Cliff Dwelling’s Visitors Center, white-winged doves – the familiar “who-cooks-for-you” doves of metro Tucson and Phoenix – are considered uncommon in this area.

The GET heads up the Middle Fork for a few miles, then over North Mesa to the East Fork. This was the easiest of all, just a single ford, a quick splash across its gentle flow, as usually it seems to be. The Black Range from which it drains just doesn’t receive snowpack like the taller Mogollon Mountains. Diamond Creek also presented easy fords, and the social trail along it was better defined than a year and a half ago, likely due to increased equestrian use by “Links Ranch” as shown on maps.

I added to existing flagging, showing the way over to Tom Moore Canyon via the GET’s little-used trails in this remote part of the Gila. A herd of a dozen elk were grazing in Tom Moore, unaware of my presence some 200 yards away. Although I remained motionless in the gathering dusk, I was standing upwind of them. A head went up, signaling unease. It went back down and grazing continued. Up again, then another. Without actually spotting me the group instinctively bounded away from my scent, then bunched together partway up the hillside, watching with seeming relief as my movements betrayed me as human. This was springtime, after all, not hunting season. They moved on at length, more casually this time. I was not a wolf, or a mountain lion.

Tom Moore Canyon had water, starting just above the box, then again as a flowing creeklet a few miles farther up-canyon. Incongruously, I found a small notepad in the road along FR 150, full of names and phone numbers and written in Spanish. It appeared to have been lying there for some time. This would be my one vestige of humanity between Gila Hot Springs and Winston; no people, no vehicles the entire way. (More on GET prospects for solitude in a follow-up note.)

Segment 23

Into the Aldo Leopold Wilderness, just beyond the Me Own Helitack Site, then around Me Own Hill following Me Own Trail, but accidentally dropping down to Me Own Tank, which was full. Some of the signs around here list “Meown,” as if to be extra clever.

South Diamond Creek presented chilly but generally ankle-deep crossings. I was reminded again of the widespread effects of last summer’s floods, noting places where the creekbanks had eroded into the trail, leaving steep little dropoffs to maneuver around. Approaching the Black Range I entered the burn zone in Burnt Canyon, which historically hasn’t always been burnt. The latest burn is fairly recent, but the trail here has seen a crew and is in fine shape approaching the Divide.

Segment 24

Thus ends the GET’s own unique route through Gila country, here joining the CDT official route north along the crest of the Black Range. This whole stretch through the Gila is arguably the highlight of the GET experience, mile after mile of nearly seamless travel along established trails, with plenty of water, wildlife and shade, but few road crossings and even fewer people.

Diamond Peak (9800′) held no snow to speak of, though it offered views south to taller Reeds Peak which did. Diamond Peak Spring was meager but usable, and could certainly stand to be improved before the trail that slabs across it finally causes its demise.

I found water south of Fishermans Bluff, where the trail crosses a small wooden bridge over a minor drainage (near the T in ‘Continental’ on USGS maps). This creeklet seems to flow in springtime during and following the snowpack melt. North of Fishermans Bluff I added fresh flagging in the burn, which has now felled most trees over a trail distance of half a mile, not presenting a blowdown hassle so much as a routefinding issue. The standing trees seem well-anchored and the flagging will hopefully keep for a couple of seasons or until crews can perform rehab.

Chloride Creek and the drainage feeding it from the south both held plenty of water; in three hikes, both spring and fall, I’ve never seen these dry.

I left the CDT / GET before the end of GET Segment 24, at the crossing of FR 226. As usual, I wanted to keep going but had run out of time. Down to Winston, I decided. I hadn’t yet been there, despite its being a genuine GET Trail Town, listed in the Town Guide along with all sorts of unverified hearsay about it. From Winston I’d try hitching out to Truth or Consequences, where I could catch a bus.

Less than a mile east of the Divide on FR 226 I came to Monument Park Cabin, operated by the Forest Service, locked but available for rent, apparently. The covered front porch was accessible, and the setting was beautiful. Even a regulation FS toilet sat across the road.

Farther down the road, a strange thing happened around sunset. An elk emerged from the brush and walked across the road, back into the brush. Not so strange. But then as I continued on a few feet a group of 4 or 5 cattle spooked from the same area. Not as casual, the cows bolted down the road away from me. Looking off the road, down where the cows had been, I saw a large bull elk standing idly by, gazing at me indolently. Obviously the cows and elk had been feeding, or possibly watering, in a group of sorts, each accepting the other’s presence. And possibly benefiting from it, I imagined, in terms of scouting for danger. Maybe the elk knew the cows would play the canary in the coalmine, singing at everything – my presence in this case. In any event, the bull elk finally turned and trotted off, probably more annoyed than concerned.

I camped back at Chloride Creek, then the next morning followed the 4WD road without traffic for the remaining long miles out to civilization. (12 miles total, 3000′+ elevation loss) This is no resupply route for GET or CDT hikers, for sure. The town of Chloride would be a ghost town, I knew, but no! People here, habitable structures. Even a functional storefront, aimed at the occasional auto tourist heading here on the so-called “Geronimo Trail.” I spoke with the proprietor, a lifelong resident, who told me about cabins for rent in town, and also more about Chloride Creek, which she said ceased flowing year-round in 1978. Now it runs only sporadically, as the snow melts in spring and whenever it rains enough. I liked Chloride, virtually serviceless though it was. The nearby Cuchillo Hills looked inviting, a remote island of a range only tall enough to support a sea of lion-colored grasses and the occasional juniper.

Winston, by contrast, appeared to be in a slump. Many of the yards I passed were stockpiled with unknowable junk. I found the Winston Saloon, right in the midst of this setting, then across the street noted the now-defunct Winston Bed & Breakfast. Main Street appeared vacant except for a gas company worker running about reading meters. He pointed me up the road to the Winston General Store, the meat and potatoes of town life. Here I found mostly snack foods, along with fresh-made microwaveable sandwiches and burritos. Better still was the Winston General Store Official Merchandise: I scored a namesake camo ball cap, which I assured the bemused clerk would improve my chances of catching a ride out of town.

It didn’t. But then I didn’t care to walk, knowing it was 40 paved miles to T or C, with little public land or water en route. T or C now has a taxi company, but the driver won’t run beyond city limits. Out with the thumb. How hard can it be to get a lift? Actually I’d had a fitful night’s sleep, worrying about this hitch. I’d even formulated a plan to buy a used bicycle in Winston, if available. None were. “Some days the road gets traffic, other days not much,” the clerk advised me. “How has today been?” I’d asked. “Kind of slow,” she’d replied.

NM Highway 52 runs through Winston, a straight shot from T or C. Almost all traffic heading east goes to T or C. So it’s not a problem once the vehicle pulls over, it’s finding one to hail. I stood around for about an hour, during which time a total of 3 cars passed, all heading the other way. Little did I know how remote the DIVIDE was, I now thought!

Finally a large van pulled over, miners carpooling home from the nearby St. Cloud mine. Thanks, miners. I learned a bit about the operation, though never did figure out what they were mining. It wasn’t copper. And in any case, I felt overwhelmed just being in a moving vehicle, speeding down the rollercoaster highway at a commuter’s pace, my first car trip since my shuttle had dropped me at the foot of the Superstitions, some 40 days prior.

It was a fun, rewarding, and as always, a challenging trip. I hope to return to the GET this fall, heading westbound from Albuquerque. I’ll probably bypass Winston, though.

Friends Hiking Club (www.friendshiking.com) did the Safford-Morenci seg 13. See the
hike description at HikeArizona (www.hikearizona.com/decoder.php?ZTN=10243).
Many thanks to simblissity for for the best available info for this trail!

(Please note – A free HikeAZ membership is required to view the above link, which includes a trip report with photos. The text portion of this entry only appears below.)

Historic trail rises again……
by hikeazFirst, a little background on the origins of this trail….
Farmers and merchants in the mid-1870s pieced together the Safford-Morenci Trail to pack their goods to the mining country. The ragtag route faded from memory once automobiles came on the scene. Consequently, the trail never made modern maps. Generally, the original route of the Safford-Morenci Trail headed northward from Safford into the Gila Mountains, writhed through Johnny Creek Canyon, waded Bonita Creek, climbed up colorful cliffs in Midnight Canyon, stood upon 6,800-foot-high Bellmeyer Saddle, dropped into South Smith Canyon, crossed Eagle Creek, then followed Gold Gulch into Morenci. Though this journey takes hikers through some extraordinarily scenic country rich in natural and human history, the unmapped trail also demands good-to-excellent hiking and route-finding skills as it picks through challenging terrain with few trail signs and fewer water sources. The Safford-Morenci Trail follows a combination of foot trail, 4WD tracks, and cross-county drainages, and features occasional brown and (older) green metal signs marked “TRAIL.” You may also encounter flagging tape along the way, such as in South Smith Canyon where a finalized route in the drainage has been scouted.

“Crack!” went the GPS on the ground as we were making our final preparations to leave the east trailhead of the Safford-Morenci Trail. Not a good omen on a trail that has little to no trail markers. Luckily, only a portion of the screen remained black, so we could at least establish our position and compare it to our topographic maps when necessary.

After a missed turn when locating the trailhead on the drive in (don’t be deceived; just past the Eagle Creek Pump Station you want to make the turn to the right that appears to lead into private property), we were a bit behind schedule, and were ready to hit the trail. We had decided to hike this trail east to west, and, in retrospect, were glad that we did.

(Mile 0) The trail starts out up an abandoned 4×4/wagon road in making its way gradually uphill to Smith Spring, which is on the site of an old homestead, best we could tell. The spring (mile .7 +/-) was flowing quite well with sweet water bubbling forth from the small tank. From there the “road” walking continues uphill on a gradual slope, all the time in the wash. The fist to small football-sized rocks made for a bit of tedious hiking, but the abundant tree cover made it a beautiful hike nonetheless. Eventually, the “road” peters out and a trail forms. Through this area you should encounter some small signs with “trail” marked on them, as well as occasional orange flagging tape. This trail, wonderfully earthy and mossy smelling, follows next to the wash, crossing it numerous times. After about three miles, the trail will begin to steepen, and it is sometimes VERY steep. Not to worry, though, as this signals your approach to Bellmeyer Saddle. In this steep section (remember this is March) we found a flowing spring about 10 minutes below the saddle. As you reach the saddle (Mile 4+/-) and catch your breath, prepare to have it taken away as you take in the views of lower Midnight Canyon, upper Bonita Creek, the Gila Mountains, and beyond, floating like a mirage on the horizon, the high crest of the Pinaleno Range. As we made our way off the saddle, we descended into Midnight Canyon, starting on a tight zigzag down brittle volcanic cliffs. We decided to make a detour to Toppy’s Spring, which is shown on the topographic map. The spring pours over a cliff, allowing us a well-earned shower. The area near the falls is lush, with almost tropical-looking plants. Back on the trail after our side-trip, it is mostly road walking now, and although the views are outstanding, the road walking was less than. The road switchbacks on two separate occasions and after the second, the trail will veer into the wash and the road climbs up and out of the wash to the left. This, for us, was a great spot for a rest, as there is a gigantic juniper at this point (Mile 7.2+/-). As we resumed hiking, now in the creek-bed, we noticed chalk-like bands of soft rock within the normal sediment, and we commented that we had not seen that before. The hike continues down Midnight Canyon through a series of slot narrows that are awe-inspiring. With the creek running under-foot and the serpentine narrows, it was as if we were on another planet. Red walls reaching skyward were close enough on each side that by straddling the creek you could touch both walls. Look up and watch for the single boulder that lies precariously across the canyon. After about a mile from where we diverged from the road, the canyon widens, signaling Midnight’s junction with Bonita Creek. We had arranged to meet a few friends at Bonita who had hiked in from the west trailhead and spotted them straight-away. After a round of “hey, guess what we saw…..”, we proceeded with our sundry chores.

After a night of campfire tales and s’mores, carried in by one of our group, we had a fitful night’s sleep. The weather, overcast and cool in the morning, had heated up throughout the day to about 78, but still remained at about 60 at 9PM.. You may want to make the side trip up Bonita Creek to the Old Lady Gay Cabin, about a mile upstream. At the Midnight-Bonita confluence, there is also a granary high up on the south-facing cliff.

Well, dawn brought a bright, sunny day for our remaining hike west. After a morning of coffee and cards we set out, briefly bidding adieu to our friends. We crossed Bonita Creek (following orange flagging tape) at the beaver dam. Safely across the creek after filling our bottles, we headed up Johnny Creek, our early morning feet objecting slightly to the cobbles. After about 7/10 of a mile, there will be a trail that climbs steeply out of the drainage to your right (creek left). This trail climbs up to bypass a series of pour-offs and boulder jams. If you miss this trail turn-off you will be turned back by the boulder jam and can re-trace your steps about ¼ mile to the trail. While on this “high-trail”, take a moment to edge over and check out the canyon that you are bypassing. When we were here the creek was running quite well and was showing off its series of falls….nice.

After bypassing these impediments, the trail drops back in the creek-bed and it is cobble hiking again. If it is running like when WE were there, do not bother trying to keep your shoes dry. You’ll save time and energy by just admitting defeat and stepping into the creek. To a degree, this hiking is tedious, but this canyon holds many awesome sights; it gets prettier by the mile. The cobbles are often broken up by roads of bedrock. The hike leaves the creek-bed after about 3 miles, switch-backing up an old road to the left (creek right). The road climbs up out of the creek and makes its way over undulating hills for about two miles where it intersects a gulch. As you climb up this gulch you will crisscross it numerous times. As you check your back-trail, remember to look out over what you have just hiked… this is beautiful, wild country. You will begin to see that the trail is rock-lined at this point, and you will continue to see this, intermittently, all the way to the west trailhead. As you reach the head of this gulch you will have reached the last high spot, and it’s all downhill from here all the way to the west trailhead.
- Apr 03 2007 hikeaz & Moovyoaz

Well, the hike continues to move at what would appear to be a snail’s pace. Such is the nature of the beast in my case, hiking the route in addition to whatever additional effort I can muster on behalf of the trail corridor. Lucky for the route, my efforts have been greatly surpassed in this section by trail crews who are currently reconstructing the Old Safford-Morenci Trail. Their efforts have been ongoing for several seasons, and it’s now really coming together. The stretch of trail in South Smith Canyon, on the east end, appears finished now and is a joy to hike. This is in addition to new construction and maintenance on other portions of the 15 mile trail. Apparently the final piece will be a realignment of the route in Johnny Creek Canyon, sending it north of the canyon itself, eliminating the rugged cross-country walk in the drainage. In the meantime this remains the most rugged portion of the S-M-T, and is currently a flowing creek due to recent rains.

 

Segment 11

 

Backtracking for a moment… I was able to walk the newly proposed GET route out of Safford, which now bypasses downtown in favor of a quieter walk on the rural fringes. It looks possible to shortcut across Freeman Flat to Discovery Park Blvd, although most hikers will probably walk a variation on the Safford Loop idea depicted on the map set. The town is currently working on building a system of bike routes and lanes, some of which may one day be an option for GET hikers while heading into and out of town. In any case, the current route from Discovery Park Blvd onto Solomon Rd is pleasant enough (for a paved road walk). For hikers who tend to drink a lot of water, Solomon Rd offers one good option for dealing with the after-effects – where the road crosses the San Simon River (dry), a concealing riparian area is at hiker’s left.

 

The town of Solomon was a pleasant surprise. This is a small community that feels a world apart from more modern Safford. Services in town are bypassed by Highway 70, so to visit Solomon is to comingle with the locals. In addition to the post office, the town has a small convenience store – C.D.’s Quick Stop – on Bowie Ave, one block south of Hwy 70, offering drinking water, snacks, and microwave foods. Open 7 days. A Mexican-American restaurant, La Paloma, is nearby, open for lunch and dinner, closed Sundays. The town also has a bar with menu, currently closed pending new ownership.

 

Segment 12

 

The route north from Solomon also works fairly well. The stretch from Tidwell Wash north to Solomon Pass Road is straightforward and mostly silent. Solomon Pass Rd carries some vehicle traffic, mostly recreational in nature. Here I found water at Rattlesnake Tank corral (trough with float valve), as well several good pools in the drainage containing Boo Tank. Bear Spring, just before the Safford-Morenci Trailhead, also had plenty of water.

 

Segment 13

 

Plenty of water here too, including the drainages crossed within the first mile. Johnny Creek was flowing, and will certainly have pools well into the spring months. The creek added to the ruggedness of the rocky drainage walk here, but it’s no big deal for trail-hardened hikers. Bonita Creek was an easy ford as usual, although it’s probably not an ideal water source for drinking, due to much beaver activity in the area – including a dam right where the route crosses, and a lodge just upstream. (I heard tails territorially slapping the water as I approached after nightfall.) There’s also water just beyond in Midnight Canyon, and then again in South Smith Canyon. Smith Spring was its usual fine-tasting self.

 

From Bellmeyer Saddle, the Safford-Morenci Trail offers far-ranging views to the west, and also a glimpse of the Morenci Mine to the east. Beyond the mine, I noticed for the first time the Mogollon Mountains looming in the distance, highlighted as they were with snow on their summits. Mogollon Baldy appeared to be snow-covered even on its west-facing slopes, perhaps down to an elevation of 10,000. North-facing slopes likely still hold snow down to 9k, although I’ll find out for sure not until the middle of next week.

 

Segment 14

 

Eagle Creek also shows beaver activity and is thigh-deep at one ford, otherwise shallow and riffley. I followed the main GET route up Gold Gulch, passable via an old burro route up the south wall, as described in the guidebook. The portion of the wall traversed here is low-angle, so exposure is only moderate and is probably not an issue for those who’ve hiked, say, the PCT in So Cal with its side-cut tread in steep terrain. The slot portion of Gold Gulch has water. Beyond the slot, and beyond the corral and 4WD shown on the map set, a side canyon joins Gold Gulch from the right. I explored this option, which avoids about a mile of the Lower Eagle Creek Road. Early on, the side canyon has one modest pour-off, which can be negotiated on its right side via footholds in the polished bedrock. Otherwise it’s a fairly easy wash walk, with some water, and utter solitude. I also found it interesting how the canyon deposited me on Eagle Creek Rd right below the Morenci mine and its enormous tailings pile – talk about startling contrasts!

 

In other news, the Conoco gas station/mart in Morenci (junction of US 191 and Markeen Rd) sells HEET. I bought their last bottle, but received assurances that they would stock more in the short term. The auto parts store in town no longer sells HEET, so Conoco is about the only option, save for rubbing alcohol (isopropyl) available at Basha’s supermarket.

 

I’m currently waylaid in Clifton awaiting some fresh gear. Meanwhile I checked out the San Francisco River north of town. Fording conditions are currently very marginal, due to continuing runoff from last week’s rains. The flow is slow where deep (waist high) and quick and turbulent where shallow (shin), with no obvious good lines of travel from bank to bank. Admittedly I don’t yet have enough experience with this river to know how conditions in this area correlate with conditions along the route in Segment 16. I intend to increase experience within the next few days. The good news is that the river is currently subsiding at a rate of about 100 cfs per day (current flow is ~450 cfs). By way of reference, the flow was around 350 cfs when I successfully (though with some difficulty) forded in spring of 2005. Barring any more substantial rain, I imagine the flow will be manageable for hikers coming along a week or two from now.

 

This will likely be the last entry until I finish at Monticello. I may, however, be able to convey a message or two by phone, maybe to someone who could then post word to the list.

 

Best of luck to anyone heading out, and stay safe,