Humphreys Peak Side Quest
My attempt at summiting the highest point in Arizona
Before heading to the Grand Canyon, my friend and I ended up staying an extra day in Flagstaff because I was salivating for a pretty ambitious adventure. After leaving Petrified Forest National Park, the entire way toward our next hotel pit stop was this incredibly beautiful mountain looming in the distance. It took some googling, but eventually I found out that it was called Humphreys Peak and it happened to be the tallest point in the state of Arizona. That immediately “peaked” my interest, and in about two seconds, I was word vomiting my plans to attempt hiking to the top with my friend.
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He wasn’t at all interested in tagging along, and honestly, he thought that I was a little insane for thinking about doing this. Just earlier that day, we drove through a gnarly blizzard while leaving Albuquerque, and from the looks of it, Humphreys Peak was completely snow-capped. We argued back and forth over logistics and how I don’t really have much high-altitude hiking experience, especially with snow involved.
“I mean, Callie. Come on,” my friend said, lecturing while driving, “You have to admit it’s a bit impulsive. You have a habit of getting in over your head with things like this.”
That got me fired up. As soon as he said that, my stubborn side took over and I wanted to prove him wrong. So, I dug my heels in and held firm to my plans of trying to hike Humphreys Peak the next day. After consulting AllTrails, I discovered that the trail was next to a ski and snowboarding area. The hike was about 10 miles round trip with 3,300ft in elevation gain. Overall, the peak stood at 12,633ft. That’s the equivalent of 2,166 Taylor Swifts and 242,554 Pop-Tarts. It’s not as tall as a 14ner, but it’s still a big mountain.
The next morning, I inhaled a pretty sad bowl of oatmeal with peanut butter to fuel for the hike. Since there usually aren’t many vegan options at the average hotel’s complimentary breakfast, I do what I can. I remember sitting there spooning the watery oats down my throat while overthinking the mountain I was about to climb. I was nervous and a little scared for the descent especially. If you know me, peak bagging hasn’t really been kind to me. Mt. Elbert in Colorado was a hot mess as I was battling some pervasive body image and disordered eating thoughts. Peñalara Peak in Spain was a disaster as I lost my phone coming down and struggled to find my way back to Madrid.
The other state high points I’ve completed, like Missouri, South Carolina, and Virginia, were all relatively uneventful. But those mountains also were not as tall or nearly as intimidating as Humphreys Peak. As we drove out of Flagstaff and toward the trailhead, I was mentally trying to reassure myself that I could do hard things and that even though it might be a tough hike, I was going to be okay. Sometimes hard hikes get to me and I lose the point of why I’m even out there in the first place.
I wanted adventure. I wanted to be surrounded by stunning views. I wanted to get uncomfortable and work my way to the top with determination. But most of all, I wanted to find the fun and joy that has been lacking lately.
With the traumatic experience I had while in Kentucky still lingering in the background, emotionally I’ve been trying really hard to block a lot of it out. During my last session before heading out west, my therapist advised me to pick a time in my life when I really felt grounded and connected to both my body and the earth. She knows nature and the outdoors have always been a place of healing for me. After thinking for a second, I thought about being 10 years old. It was during the summer at the public pool and I was learning the backstroke. I immediately fell in love with this specific style of swimming because I could float on my back and slowly pedal my arms while looking straight up at the clouds.
This image is something I carry with me now whenever I’m experiencing intrusive thoughts about the event or whenever I’m ruminating on things that are distressing to me. Now, standing at the trailhead and looking up at Humphreys Peak, I took a deep breath and thought about the clouds while doing the backstroke. I was calm, I was at ease, and I was ready.
Since the trail starts off next to a ski/snowboard area, I spent the first several moments of the hike trudging through thick snow to get toward the forest in the distance. While doing so, I passed under ski lifts with the nearby faint happy squeals of kids in puffy suits playing in the hard-packed snow. With each step, I steadied myself with my trekking poles and carefully planted my feet in the previous foot tracks of other hikers. Eventually, I made it to the trees and started pounding my way up the mountain from there.
For the first mile, I kept a slow pace and stopped frequently on the switchbacks to catch my breath. Despite the steep elevation gain, my legs felt strong. But I knew that if I didn’t want to wear myself out too soon, I needed to go easy and try not to speed up the mountain as fast as I could. So far, the snow was firm and a little slick in some spots. However, it was still simple to hike through with trekking poles and boots. Overall, I was having a really fun time feeling the cold air on my face and hearing the subtle patches of snow fall off the fur trees when the wind blew.
It wasn’t until miles two and three that I really started to get up high enough to see out across the frozen Arizona land. At around 11,00ft, I could see the top of one of the first false summits and could also look at the snowboarders flowing down the sides of the adjacent mountain. Everything was so incredibly beautiful and stunning until the snow suddenly started getting deeper. Rather quickly, as I pulled myself up higher and higher, I got to a point where the snow came up to my thighs.
It was then that I knew I probably wasn’t making it to the summit today. On the way up, I passed one person with a dog who said they didn’t go all the way because the snow was too much for their pup to get through. It was still “doable” for humans, he said with air quotes. Now, standing there in waist-deep snow, I knew what he meant and figured I ought to turn around too.
At the rate I was going, it would take all day to wade my way through to the top. It was a little disappointing, not getting to see even more incredible views from Humphreys Peak. But deep down inside, I told myself that I would be back. The way to the bottom was a lot quicker as I floated toward the trailhead. With the sun getting higher in the sky, the snow was starting to melt and turn into a slippery slush. It was a challenge in some parts, but overall, I had fun shuffling through the wet snow in my boots.
I reached the car breathless and smiling. And I realized something. Even though I didn’t make it to the very top, I still found so much joy in the adventure and got a whiff of the tantalizing exhilaration of climbing a big mountain. It wasn’t all suck and tired legs like it normally has been for me. If I hiked it the way that felt the best for my body (taking my time, feeding myself well, and prioritizing fun), then the hike is worth it to me. I may have reached the summits of both Mt. Elbert and Peñalara, but those hikes also took pieces of me that I’ve been trying to get back ever since. I have nothing to prove. And I have everything to gain moving forward.
Driving back into Flagstaff, we spent the rest of the day exploring some of the downtown area and wandering into a few of the gear shops. I got a hearty rice and bean dinner at a vegan Thai place with an iced oat milk latte as a treat. And I slept well knowing that more adventures were coming. This was only the beginning.
Thank you so much for following along on my journeys this year! It means so much.
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See you out on the trail!
Good for you. Cutting a hike short is hard, as I was reminded on the Pine Mtn. Trail.