The midday sun was intense at the Coronado National Memorial Visitor’s Center. The regular drop-off at Montezuma Pass was closed, so Gabrielle, the shuttle driver, dropped me off with two Swiss hikers at the Joe’s Canyon Trailhead. That added 1.6 miles and 1,200 feet of climbing to an already difficult start.
Early on, I was surprised to encounter a border patrol agent on foot. He was friendly.
After reaching the Arizona Trail, I hiked a mile south to the Mexican-American border. The border wall is incomplete here—the terrain is too rugged for the machinery used to build it.
A quick break for lunch, a few photos, and then it was time to head north—a steep climb through mountainous desert terrain. My goal was to hike at least eight miles that day, but the late start and tough ascent left me two miles short. I decided to camp on an exposed ridge, trading comfort for a front-row seat to the sunset. The howling winds made for a restless night. The first night on trail rarely brings good sleep.
Day 2: The Sky Islands and an Unexpected Encounter
Climbing Miller’s Peak the next morning, I was in awe of the “Sky Islands” of southern Arizona—a striking mix of desert and high-elevation ecosystems. I don’t recall seeing so many birds in one place. Agave, yucca, and cholla cacti—plants I didn’t expect to see at higher elevations—lined the trail.
When I reached the summit trail for Miller’s Peak, I debated whether to hike the extra mile. My feet were already sore, but I went for it—and was rewarded with incredible views.
The real payoff, though, came on my way back down. That’s when I met Mike. At nearly 80 years old (his birthday is April 12th!), Mike makes this grueling 12-mile round trip every week to maintain his mental health. His dedication inspired me.
Descending the north side of Miller’s Peak was far less strenuous than the climb up, but the scenery remained spectacular. I had expected to walk off the mountain and into flat desert, but the terrain transformed into rolling hills. At times, it felt like hiking through an African savanna.
I made up for lost miles on Day 2, hiking 13.7 miles—and I could feel it in my body.
Day 3: The Challenge of Staying Present
Long hiking days tend to trigger compulsive behavior in me. I constantly check my phone’s GPS: How much farther to the next water source? When will I be over this mountain? Of course, this drains my battery—and it doesn’t make the next milestone come any faster. A watched pot never boils.
I keep reminding myself to stay present—to notice the sights and sounds, to feel what’s happening in my body. This is why I’m here.
The Arizona mountains got less snow than usual this past winter, which means fewer seasonal water sources. As a result, I’ve had to carry four liters of water at times—a heavy burden. My knees ache, my back protests, and my swollen feet feel compressed in my shoes.
Despite the discomfort, I trust my body will adapt. Sometimes, you have to push through to get stronger.
As I crested a ridge, I instinctively checked my phone—one bar of service! I called my honey, Cheeky Monkey, and we video-chatted until duty called us back to our separate worlds. A moment of connection in the wilderness.
That night, I camped in a field clearly used for grazing cattle. Nothing elegant, but it worked.
Day 4: Solitude and an Oasis
Another 13-mile day. More birds. More rolling hills. Sparse water. Little shade. The Arizona sun is relentless, even with daytime highs only in the low 70s. I start my hikes early so I can rest in the afternoon heat.
I’ve stopped checking my phone incessantly, but now my mind tries to predict the trail ahead. Every wrong guess brings frustration. Expectations are premeditated resentments, they say.
The mind clings to anything to avoid simply being here. If I’m not checking my phone or guessing my route, my brain is spinning old stories. Staying present is a challenge.
Then, a gift—Parker’s Creek. My first running stream in almost 25 miles. An oasis. I soaked in the cool water, reluctant to leave.
I hiked until I couldn’t go any farther, setting up my tent where I could catch the sunrise.
Day 5: Patagonia Bound
I woke up too late for the peak of sunrise but caught its final golden moments.
By midday, I reached Red Bank Well, where a cattle trough is fed by a pumped well. Three other hikers—Alex, Andrew, and Rebecca—were hiding from the sun in the shade of a fiberglass water tank. After two days of solitude, it was great to talk to someone other than myself (which, let’s be honest, I do frequently).
I napped until another hiker, Ditto, arrived. We chatted until he moved on.
The rest of the day was about getting as close to Highway 82 as possible. I was craving a hot meal cooked by someone else. Biscuits and gravy would really hit the spot!
The next morning, I hiked just five miles to the highway. Nearly gave up on hitchhiking, but then Ephram pulled over. A kind man. I always meet interesting people while backpacking and hitchhiking.
In Patagonia, I went straight to Gathering Grounds Café. The biscuits and gravy were exactly what I needed. Great food, friendly staff.
Then, I walked a mile to TerraSol Camping Hostel, where I found Andrew, Rebecca, and Ditto, all taking a well-earned rest. TerraSol is fantastic—they support hikers and bikers and even offer kayaking trips.
An Unexpected Zero Day
That night, my stomach felt off. By morning, it was clear: I couldn’t risk heading into the desert with an angry gut and the potential for dehydration. I took an extra two days off to rest.
Not wasted time, though—I caught up on much-needed sleep and even did some hand drumming in the park with Mary, the hostel operator.
Overall, Patagonia, AZ, gets high marks from me. If you have the chance to visit—take it!
I hope you enjoy these photos from Days 1–5. I’ve captured a lot of video and plan to post YouTube content when I return home.
More to come. Stay tuned!
Be well, y’all!
