The Arizona Trail: Patagonia to Vail

Part Three

Patagonia to Vail

Ice Cream treks northward toward Vail.

“The fairies, as their custom is, went forth to dance beneath the stars; and there they wove their spells of bliss, Or woe, for mortals unaware.”

— The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser (1590), Book I, Canto V

“Is that what I think it is?” I pointed to an SUV parked at a road crossing. The hatch was open and there were people sitting in chairs in the meager shade of a thin desert tree. 

Ice Cream shaded her eyes. “Maybe. I don’t want to get my hopes up.” 

“Yeah, it might be just some people picking up a friend or something.”

We had not seen any honest-to-God trail magic on the AZT yet, and we had left Patagonia two days ago. Not long, but long enough for a cold soda to taste like heaven. 

After Patagonia, the AZT winds its way through high country, climbing up, then winding through a series of long contours toward the mountians, passing a magical fairy spring called El Pilar. There, high in the scrub, water spills from the base of a great pillar of rock, giving life to a little oasis. That water is near holy; it’s pure, clear and delicious, but it lacks the sugary-carbonated dopamine hit that is Coca Cola.

Next the AZT passes through Kentucky Camp, a remote campground and museum. We had been given some fresh fruit there, but this too, like the pure and perfect water of El Pilar, was too healthy and natural to quench our thirst for liquid trash and empty calories.

Ice Cream and I continued across the dirt road and tried our best not to stare at the people near the parked vehicle.

A stout man with wild hair flecked with gray appeared from behind the SUV. “Cold drinks and snacks over here if you want some.”

“This is trail magic?” I asked. 

The man nodded and waved us over with a beer. 

“Oh yeah,” Ice Cream declared. “Cold drank!” 

There were three chairs, all occupied. One by the trail angel and the other two by hikers we had seen earlier at Kentucky Camp. They were memorable since one, a tall, skinny, telephone pole of a man had a Hyperlite pack stuffed well above his head. It must have reached at least seven feet tall, if not eight. His gargantuan pack was slumbering on the ground next to his chair. I eyed it but never got the chance to ask what he carried.

Ice Cream and I took our foam sleeping pads from our packs and sat down. “I didn’t think we’d get any trail magic on this trail,” I said. “This is amazing.” 

The trail angel raised his beer graciously, then used it like a pointer. “Beer in the tall cooler, soda in the short one. Snacks on the table. Have as much as you like.”

We did.

Ice Cream, Wookie and I with our friend Fireball.

Three beers and two shots later the towering man and his companion had left. No one else had come along, and now it was just the three of us.

We had long since traded names. The trail angel’s name was Wookie. He scratched his beard and said, “You don’t know a hiker out here called Wrong Assent do you?” 

Our faces lit up. “We saw him today,” Ice Cream said. 

“And the day before,” I added. “And in Patagonia.”

Ice Cream popped the tab of another soda and said, “We’ve pretty much seen him every day. Most days anyway.”

Wookie shook his head. “That’s who the trail magic is for. Wrong Assent and I hiked a lot of the CDT together.”

I said, “You didn’t see him today? We saw him this morning.”

“He probably passed here before I got here. No worries. I’ll set up again tomorrow near this road.” He showed us on FarOut. ” If you’re lucky you can get trail magic again tomorrow.”

Ice Cream and I shared a look that said, oh yeaaah. 

We drank a little more with Wookie while he regailed us with tales of the CDT, which we will be hiking after the AZT, and gave us the scoop on his favorite places and things to see. Then, with the sun growing ever lower, we bid him thank you and farewell.

“Sure you don’t want another shot!” He held up the Fireball and called after us. He was joking, mostly, as we hiked away.

The next day we saw Wrong Assent again, per usual. We were choking down oatmeal under a tree next to some dried cow turds when he rolled up over a hill. He saw us and looked confused, also as usual. “Hey! You guys are doing some big miles!” 

Wrong Assent always said this when he saw us, looking confused, as if we had teleported in front of him yet again, perhaps using the fairy magic of El Pilar.

“You too, brother.” It was like a script we repeated whenever we saw each other. “Wookie is doing trail magic up ahead. We shot some Fireball yesterday in your honor.”

Wrong Assent nodded. “I got a text this morning. Meet us there and you can get more trail magic and ride in Vail. You need resupply, yeah?”

We did. 

Wrong Assent left us to finish our lifeless, soulless, high protein oatmeal and we vowed that we would make it to where Wookie was parked. 

And, again, we did.

We had a part two of the day before, this time with Wrong Assent present. All was right in the world until the gods struck my bowels and I hobbled off into the cacti to dig a cathole. 

When I came back, Ice Cream and the boys had devised a plan. Wookie would slackpack us six miles to the road crossing ahead, take us to town for resupply, then drop us back off at the trailhead. Best trail magic ever.

Ice Cream is a purist and does not slackpack any section of trail that she has not already completed as a purist, so she declined that part, but I happily left my pack with Wookie, borrowed his daypack, loaded it with water and trail ran the six miles to the highway. 

When I got there Wookie’s tarp was slung up over the water cache. His chair was there, but he wasn’t. Instead, a random hiker was sitting in it. He eyed me as I jogged up and lay down in the dirt about three feet from his feet. It had been hot and my head was pounding by the time I got there. 

“Is this Wookie’s tarp?” I panted. I really hoped it was or this would be awkward.

The hiker said, “Yeah. He’s dropping off some hikers in town. He’ll be back.” 

“Perfect,” I said. “I’m Zen, you?”

“Jason.”

“Jason with a J or a G?” I asked.

“With a what? Its Jason with a Y.”

“Gayson?” I suggested.

“What?” He said. “What are you talking about.”

“It’s very hot,” I explained.

Jayson said, “It is,” which got rid of the tension nicely. Once I cooled down and had some water we were able to hang out and talk. He had hiked the CDT, and I was able to get some good intel from him. Nice guy.

A half hour or so passed. I recovered from the trail run, Ice Cream showed up, followed not long after by Wrong Assent. When Wookie arrived he took us to the Safeway in Vail. 

He said, “So, I didn’t know there was a Safeway here and I dropped these European guys off at the gas station. I want to swing by and tell them I can take them to the store after I drop you off.”

When we got to the gas station I recognized one of them. These were the Czechs from our shuttle ride with Athena. One, I’ll call him Juicy Jack, approached the SUV and just as Wookie was rolling down the window Jack said in his Russian-like accent, “Its not good for resupply.” 

A short exchange later and everyone was on board with the Safeway plan. Wookie was an absolute angel as he shuttled us all around in shifts (his SUV was packed with gear and coolers and could only haul two people at a time) until we had all gotten everything we could want or need from Vail and were dropped off back on trail. I had bought Wookie and Wrong Assent subway as a small thank you for everything, and offered money, but Wookie refused it, telling me to pay it forward in trail magic someday.

Stuffed into Wookie’s SUV.

The sun was getting low now, golden hour, a magical time of day renowned by photographers and white chicks across the globe. High on town food, trail magic, and possibly on the Devil’s Lettuce, Ice Cream and I soldiered on.

At dusk we passed another trailhead. There was a lot of talk and laughter coming from it, but we didn’t feel social, so we slipped past and hiked into the night. Tomorrow we’d enter Saguaro National Park and climb Mt. Micah. 

The mountains north of Patagonia before reaching Vail, AZ.