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“Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.”
The day started off like magic. The sky was painted such a deep red that the shadow cast down from Mount Mica made it feel like we were marching the One Ring to Mordor. Everything was calm as we began hiking the folds of earth between Patagonia and Tucson. The forecast wasn’t promising—but at 6 a.m., you’d never have guessed it. That would soon change.
The red sky that warned me of the incoming weather.
The wind picked up abruptly, and five minutes later, moisture rolled in with heavy clouds creeping over the mountains to our southwest. We rushed to pull on our rain gear, doing our best to stay dry.
It rained for the next couple of hours—not too hard, just enough to keep us soaked. I looked around and realized something: the desert looked different. Greener.
“It’s got to be a trick of the mind, but I swear the desert already looks greener,” I said to Lambchop.
She said she’d noticed it too. Turns out it wasn’t our imagination—rain washes the dust from the dry desert soil, revealing the true colors beneath. What looked like a dry, brown landscape a day before was suddenly rich with greens and subtle vibrancy.
Not long after, the landscape changed again. As we gained elevation, the rain thickened, mixing with ice. The wind returned, stronger than before. Another 300 feet up and—bam—we were in a full-blown blizzard. Snow whipped up the ridges, blasted into our faces, up our nostrils, into our eyes. It lasted for hours, and just as quickly as it rolled in, it disappeared. The clouds parted. The sun came out.
Cactus in a blizzard
We rounded a bend and found a cattle gate with a large sign:
“Do you have your permit for Saguaro National Park yet?”
It included a QR code—and, honestly, this was the first spot we had cell service in days. Perfect timing, Saguaro. We sat in the sun, thawing out and warming up as we got our permits to enter the park and camp at Manning Camp on Mount Mica.
“It is not advised to hike through the park in one day,” was the last line I read before tapping “Submit” on my iPhone.
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Vail Trail Angel
After surviving my first desert blizzard, we decided to get off trail in Vail. We’d heard about a trail angel named Joann through comments on FarOut. She came highly recommended—and sure enough, she was right on time to pick us up.
From the moment we met her, Joann made us feel like family visiting from out of town. She gave us a tour of the area on the way to her beautiful home. Everything hikers could dream of was there: a hot tub, cozy places to lounge, and even a Japanese foot massager that could crush your metatarsals if you went past the first setting. We ordered takeout Mexican food and called it a night.
The next morning, we sat down for breakfast. I checked the weather.
“Yikes, it’s gonna be down to 25° tonight at Manning Camp,” I said, taking a sip of coffee at Joann’s large kitchen table.
That caught Lambchop’s attention. Soon we were deep in discussion—after finishing our coffee, of course.
We decided, against multiple suggestions, to hike through the park in one push. The plan: camp just outside the park the night before, wake up early, and hoof it up and over Mount Mica to a lower elevation campsite. With luck, we’d drop low enough to dodge the freezing temps.
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The Stars of the Show
“Saguaro cacti are supported by one long taproot that goes up to five feet deep, with a network of shallow roots stretching 10 to 15 feet out from the base,” Lambchop said from the backseat of Joann’s SUV. She was reading cactus facts aloud while Joann added a few of her own. Turns out I knew way less about cacti than I thought.
They are so huge!!
The first thing you think when you see a saguaro in person is: Oh my gosh, they’re massive!
Like really huge!
I’d only ever seen them in Looney Tunes cartoons or on postcards from the Southwest. But in person? Wow. Just, wow. Some grow as tall as 50 feet and can weigh up to 80 pounds per foot. Many don’t grow their first arm until they’re 75 to 100 years old, and some can live over 200 years.
We wondered how something so top-heavy stands up. Turns out, they support that massive weight with a wooden internal structure, like a bundle of saplings laced together, which helps distribute water through the cactus’s pith. Their green skin is pleated so that during the rainy season, they can swell and expand without damage.
You can see the scars left behind from the many animals that make homes in these gigantic desert high rises. Some of the holes are quite large, and the scars become tough and woody, like hardened scabs. The biggest ones are called “boots” and were used by Native peoples to store water.
Anyone home?
All day long, we hiked through what I can only describe as a forest of saguaros. My jaw was basically dragging on the ground. They got bigger and more impressive with every mile.
“They all have their own personalities,” Lambchop said with a grin.
And they really did. I started giving some of them names. I started wondering—if plants had feelings—maybe the way they stretch their arms reflects how they feel. Some looked like they were cheering us on. Others were locked in slow-motion races with their neighbors, reaching for the sky.
The saguaro cactus is truly a wonder.
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Mount Mica
“Did you check the weather this morning?” I asked Lambchop as we took our last break before tackling the 12-mile climb up Mount Mica—which meant gaining 5,600 feet of elevation.
“Yeah—still calling for rain turning into snow, and down to 28° at Manning Camp tonight,” she said as she filtered the water she’d need for the ascent.
We agreed to push over the top and descend to a lower campsite, aiming to escape the freeze.
We checked the maps.
“18.2 more miles,” Lambchop said slowly. “We better get going!”
The climb was tough but steady. We kept a medium pace with a few breaks, and just as dusk closed in, we arrived at Manning Camp. A couple of cheery Canadian hikers pointed us to the water source, and we filtered as fast as our Sawyer Squeezes would allow. My hands went numb as I capped the last bottle.
On we pushed, crunching through long patches of snow as twilight faded and the lights of Tucson began to glow far below. Tall trees cast shadows against the moonlit sky.
Hiking on into the night.
We crossed the park boundary long after dark, our headlamps already on. We paused briefly for a photo—both of us too tired to care much at that point.
“Two more miles of the darnedest,” I said, slipping my phone away. “Lead the way.”
Down we went. You could feel the chill of the mountaintop letting us go. About an hour later, we were setting up camp and digging into a warm meal.
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One Wonder down, seven to go—on our way from Mexico to Canada.
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