The Arizona Trail: Vail to Manning Camp

The Arizona Trail: Vail to Manning Camp

Saguaro National Park & Mica Mountain

“Give the Devil an inch and he’ll take a mile.” -English Proverb

The rest of the way from Vail was a blur of brown and green under a blue sky. The land had been as it had from the start. Rough brown grasses and ubiquitous brush. Prickly pear dotted the hillsides, sometimes dominating them. Ocotillo plants with their spear-like growths and sharp spines were blossoming in red-tipped flowers. Jumping Cholla appeared for the first time, too.

The scientific name of the Jumping Cholla is Cylindropuntia fulgida, but Ice Cream and I called it the Devil’s Cactus. Unlike the Devil’s Walking Stick, which is mostly harmless unless you’re stupid or unlucky, this cactus is a real bastard. Its spines, sharp as scalpels with microscopic barbs, lodge in your skin like evil Velcro, clinging with a vengeance. Each segment detaches easily, bristling with dozens of spikes, and even if you pry the segment off, the spines can stay, burrowing deeper with any pressure. Brush past one, and you’re in for a world of hurt—only calm and a tolerance for pain will get you through.

Climbing a hill, I brushed a Jumping Cholla, and a segment latched onto my hand, spines sinking deep. I knew to be careful but underestimated it,  trying to flick it off with my trekking pole. Big mistake—it rolled, jabbing more spines into me. They burrowed deeper, making me want to yank them out. I fought that urge, pressed my hand to the ground, and grabbed a flat-sided stone. Smashing the segment with all my weight, I pulled hard, like starting a chainsaw. My skin stretched, blood trickled, but most of the spines finally tore free. Thankfully, I had a multi-tool on this hike and used it to dig out the remaining spines. My fingers swelled purple, aching for days and healing over weeks.

A Jumping Cholla

After surviving the cholla debacle and weaving through hills ablaze with sunset golds, we rolled into Saguaro National Park as the sun dipped low. Three men we’d met earlier—sixty-somethings on a wife-sanctioned adventure, a section of the AZT from the Mexican border to Oracle—were pitching camp. One, we’ll call him Nuke, liked to make Boomer jokes about his old lady, but he was sweet, as were his friends, Diver and Quiet. A young woman was also cowboy camping nearby. She kept to herself, but Ice Cream and I recognized her from Terra Sol in Patagonia.

The entry to Saguaro acts as a natural meeting point for hikers, since camping is only allowed in the park in two locations along the trail, Grass Shack and Manning Camp. With the section through Saguaro being seventeen miles, it’s sometimes sensible (depending on how your mileage has lined up) to sleep at the entry, then hike all the way through rather than stay at these camps.

Everyone woke before the sun. By the time Ice Cream and I were ready to move out, the three men were already gone. We could see their headlamps moving through the darkness ahead; they looked like a little Orion’s Belt as they wove through the curves of the trail. Saguaro shadows loomed against the purple sky and the moon was a sliver as sharp as a cholla spine. Small birds with reflective eyes (we later found out these were the common poorwill, cousin to the whippoorwill) would occasionally land nearby, only to flitter away as we tried to get a good photo.

Checking out a saguaro up close in the pre-dawn hours.

The climb up Mica Mountain begins immediately. As with most mountain trails, it’s less steep at first, but accelerates as you near the top. Mica Mountain is 8,664 feet high, and the climb from the base along the AZT to the highest point is about thirteen miles. We passed first through cactus-studded hills, then to high scrub dotted with gray boulders and dry washes, and finally into the high pine forests. We passed the Orion’s Belt Men on the way up and found the two Czechs at Grass Shack, the first camp and water source on the way up. It was ten o’clock and they were just now packing up to hike. These boys understood the Art of Big Chillin’.

As usual, I was slightly ahead of Ice Cream, so I started preparing food while I waited. The Czechs and I shot the breeze as they packed up—aloof, like many Europeans, but good guys. When Ice Cream rolled in, it felt like a shuttle reunion. 

As we ate, two men with mules also stopped at Grass Shack. They looked like 1800s cowboys. Each rode a mule and led one other. Ranger stations dot the park and many are resupplied the old-fashioned way. I’m not sure how one applies to be a Saguaro Park mule-man, but it seems like a lovely life. Freshly watered, the cowboys and their mules sauntered away down the trail the way we had come up.

The Czechs left shortly after, leaving only Ice Cream and I until the young woman from the day before showed up. Her name was Flex. She was bright and slight, a vegetarian, but not the crazy kind. She had met some other vegetarians who had found a calf that had lost its mother within one of the many ranch lands the AZT passes through. Flex had to convince her fellow vegetarians not to try to “save” the calf by attempting to have it “rescued” by animal activists, which would have essentially been stealing from a rancher.

“This kind of ranching is relatively low impact,” Flex told us. “And, I understand that me being a vegetarian doesn’t mean other people can’t live differently.” Nuance and modern morality are often like oil and water, and finding someone capable of the emulsification of these boosted my faith in humanity more than a little.

Right before we moved on, five dudes—I’ll call them the Colorado Bros—rolled up. Not thru-hikers, they rocked trail-runner vibes with teeny packs, bright shirts, and flat-billed caps. Here for a bachelor party bash in Saguaro, they chatted us up, all lean and lively. They left camp before we did, but were going the same direction.

From Grass Shack the steepness of Mica Mountain intensifies, and there is no water until a stream just before Manning Camp. I decided the best plan of attack was to go light on water and speed to the stream. I slogged up the mountain, using trekking poles like a second pair of legs. I had learned how to do this by observing a strong hiker on the A.T., who called it “Mech Walking”. It’s a good method for short people with stumpy legs to be able to move at a three mile an hour+ pace. Mech Walking up the mountain, I passed the CO Bros, who were taking a break. They greeted me as I passed and began to follow. They were ridiculously strong. All built like giraffes—tall and long-legged, but thankfully without terrifyingly long necks. I could hear them bullshitting from behind as they glided up the mountain with elfish ease. I kept up the pace and they didn’t pass, but Jesus Christ they made me work for it.

I was getting close to the water now and, having taken little water from Grass Shack, thirst was getting intense. Two serious-looking men in uniform approached from the other direction. Rangers. They stopped me. Both were polite, but stern.

“Where are you camping tonight?” one asked.

“Somewhere outside the park,” I said, “but right now I’m daydreaming of the water source up ahead.”

They asked to see my thru-hiker park pass and I showed them.

“Anyone else hiking with you?”

I waved my hand behind me. “My partner. She’s probably five or ten minutes behind. And five dudes out here for their bachelor party should be coming up anytime.”

“The water source is good,” the ranger told me. “There is a lot in the creek.”

I thanked them, and with official permission I finished out the last half mile to the creek. The CO Bros showed up about thirty seconds after I plopped down on my foam pad. I chugged some water and chatted with the dudes.

“Would any of you happen to have some papers?” I asked. I still had the weed Free had given me, but I had nothing to smoke it with.

One of the Bros said, “I mean, if you’re just looking to get high we could just give you a preroll and some edibles.”

“Works for me. I’d be grateful.”

The one the Bros called their “Drug Lord” handed me the goods and said, “We probably wouldn’t share if you hadn’t been booking it so fast up the mountain.”

They finished filling up on water and Bro’d away like a pack of greyhounds. I sparked up the preroll and got baked, but I saved the edibles in case Ice Cream wanted to share. Some time later, Ice Cream showed up, followed by Flex and the Orion’s Belt Men. It was time for some Big Chillin’.