Mica to Somewhere – The Trek

The Arizona Trail:

Manning Camp and down Mica

“All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. But a path with heart makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it.” Carlos Castaneda, The Teachings of Don Juan

The creek before Manning Camp was no different—Ice Cream, the Orion’s Belt Men, Flex, and myself swapping the usual trail talk: gear, life, food, and how to survive to the next water source.

Diver, one of the Orion’s Belt Men, was itching to talk, but Nuke, their de facto leader, kept cutting him off, while Quiet stayed true to his name. When I tossed Diver a question about his diving passion, he lit up. Soon he was on his feet, Ted-talking like a pro. No diving master, but with hundreds of hours underwater, he spun a tale of a shark-feeding tour, where frozen meat dangled high in the water. Stoned, I pictured those sharks swarming above, darting through the pines like ghosts.

“You were just chilling on the sea floor while you watched this?” I asked.

“Yeah! It was amazing!”

Nuke tried, “The one time I went diving…”

For once, Nuke couldn’t divert attention to himself as Diver kept shining, soaking up our questions. Eventually, Diver plopped down in the pine needles with his head on his pack, looking like he needed a cigarette.

Next was Flex’s turn. Young, early twenties, and enterprising, she’d been working on a new matcha soft drink, fizzed up with nitrogen instead of CO₂. “It’s newer technology,” she said, “smoother, with a better mouth-feel, and not as sugary as soda.” She explained the science—pH, nitrogen cartridges, the works.

Sadly, her manufacturer tanked before the pilot phase, so she took it as a sign from the Universe to hike the AZT, maybe even the PCT if things worked out.

Flex was also a recent convert to Buddhism, which would come up later.

Eventually, the Orion’s Belt Men headed to Manning Camp, and Flex pushed on, aiming to exit the park before dark. Ice Cream and I hung back, and who else but Wrong Assent popped out from behind a tree.

“You guys are doing some big miles!” he declared, as tradition demanded.

“You too, brother,” I said.

“No more Wookie Trail Magic?” I asked.

“I’m slack packing now! Wookie’s picking me up seven miles outside the park.”

“Real big miles,” Ice Cream said. We shared a look. No way we were going that far today. “We’re not going that far,” she told him.

Wrong Assent grinned, probably buzzing with Happy Chemicals knowing he’d outpace us. We chatted a bit, said our goodbyes, and headed out.

We passed the Orion’s Belt Men setting up camp at Manning.

“Stay here!” Diver called.

“Don’t tempt me,” I shot back. “For man does not live on bread alone.” He got the reference, laughed, and waved us on.

I tend to hike faster than Ice Cream, especially uphill, and soon I’d pulled ahead and caught up to Flex. She let me pass, but we started talking Buddhism.

“I’m having trouble with the idea that human beings aren’t more valuable than animals,” she admitted. It was a deep topic, not one I wrestle with, but I asked her questions in the hopes that answering them might help her sort it out somehow.

A trail junction came. “Left or right?” I asked.

“Left, I think.”

So we went left, diving deeper into Buddhism—the ego, enlightenment, stuff neither of us could pin down. But soon, the trail started looking… wrong.

“I think we’re off trail,” I said.

She checked her phone and said, “Yeah, it’s over there,” pointing right. Instead of backtracking, we beelined for the trail. Now, I’ll admit, had I not smoked the CO Bros preroll, I might’ve avoided the mistake I was about to make. And, had I loaded the topographic FarOut map like usual, I’d have seen that cutting straight to the trail would’ve meant tackling a brutal hilltop. At least I was clear-headed enough to wind around the peak instead. We hit a deer trail, a thin ribbon of dirt with steep slopes on either side. A few mule deer stared incredulously, like they’d never seen humans here, then bolted as we got close.

I kept checking my phone as we wound around the mountain, hoping to hit the trail. We’d likely backtracked a mile, and spotting the trail was turning out to be difficult. I thought of Outcast, who I met in 2023 on the Long Trail. She got lost for nine days in the Hundred Mile Wilderness, surviving with just a water bottle and camp shoes until a truck rescued her on a forest road.

The deer trail ended at the base of another steep hill. “Before we attack this hill, I want you to verify the trail’s up there,” I told Flex.

She checked her phone and nodded but said she needed to answer the call of nature. I worried about splitting up—if I found the trail and she didn’t, what then? But insisting on waiting might land me in the creep-zone, so I climbed the hill alone. Near the top, I should’ve hit the trail, but nada. I zoomed in on my phone’s red line. My dot was on it, but I wasn’t. A few steps right, and voilà—there it was, like magic. No sign of Flex. I whistled loud. Nothing. I crept up trail, scanning the forest below, and finally spotted her. “Here!” I shouted.

Back on trail and sure we were NOBO, I asked Flex to watch for Ice Cream and tell her to meet me at a junction ahead. Then I started trail running. Ice Cream might’ve passed us while we were off trail, and she tends to speed up when she thinks I’m just ahead. Most of the backcountry has no service, but I sent a text and kept my phone off airplane mode, hoping it’d go through.

An hour later, I found Ice Cream waiting. She held up her phone. “I got your text. It seemed like you’d be waiting for me by now, so I checked my phone.”

Relief, pure and sweet. “Holy shit! Flex and I had a hell of an adventure.” I spilled the details, and we waited for Flex to catch up. When she did, we headed down Mica. The views were unreal, even for a view-Scrooge like me. Thousands of feet up, we gazed through gaps in the pines at rocky layers unfolding below. I felt like a god on Mount Olympus. Maybe I was still high; maybe I was just stoked to be back on trail.

Dusk came and we pitched somewhere down the backside of the mountain; Flex camped nearby, too, out of sight but not earshot. In the morning, we three left camp and met at a nearby water source, a few big pools left over from the last rain. Flex’s filter was slow, so we said our goodbyes and left Mica behind until it grew small and then vanished behind its foothills. Mt. Lemmon would be next.