I took the day off work to get up early, which is something I rarely do. Doug pulled up around 7:45 am and we headed East again to the Superstition Mountains, the same place we hiked the Massacre Falls Trail a few weeks back, for the Flatiron Trail–a 5.5 mile scramble with more than a 2.6K foot elevation gain.
We took some time in the parking lot of Lost Dutchman State Park, saddling up our water and snacks and sunblock, buckling backpack straps. Around 8:45 we started the hike on the Siphon Draw trail, a rocky and silty path flanked by some purple seasonal wildflowers and dry shrubs. I was already feeling a slight elevation burn only 20 minutes in and started to doubt my level of preparedness, but when we spotted the namesake jutting out in the distance against grey clouds, I felt that familiar excitement to conquer. Everything felt out of place in a perfect kind of way: grey clouds instead of spotless blue; 70-something degrees instead of 80s; a three-dimensional mountain instead of a backdrop on a computer screen.
As we began the ascent, I thought back to meeting Doug just a few weeks prior, how he'd recommended this hike as one of our first excursions, although it came with a disclaimer in his typical delivery style: water is going to be necessary. I'd declined to do it then, but now I'd survived weeks of smaller hikes and hitting the gym.
As we moved vertically through space, we took frequent water breaks and passed groups of people who said they gave up and would try again later, or were trying again this time around. For a while, we walked in sync with this shirtless guy from Wisconsin, who passed us only to pop up behind us later and laugh and say we went the better way. I didn't envy that about solo hiking, the second-guessing and backtracking.
At around 9:45, we arrived at an epic part of the trail, an angled rock face tucked between taller sheer cliffs. When the sunlight snuck through the clouds, the grayish brown glistened like wet stone. It felt like the kind of slippery dusty you could tumble right down, and going up was easier than going down. We were gaining elevation fast and could see tiny houses and roads in the valley below, soaked in the shifting shadows and sun.
Just after 11 am, and one of the hardest vertical scrambles, we summited just as shirtless guy descended. The top was totally gorgeous and spread in all directions, that kind of panoramic relief that's impossible to process with just one climb, that you want to trace your fingers along, over and over. We'd absolutely earned the view, but the wind was FREEZING cold, and I couldn't relax: my liters of Camelbak water were catching up to me, and there were people all around, groups of them talking loudly and taking photos and eating lunch. We tucked ourselves away from the wind best we could for our lunch, which made everything better, sharing pepperoni meat sticks and dehydrated kiwi and apples and an almond protein bar while striped chipmunks scurried around our feet.
But I was ready for our descent. The way down was both a study in balance and personality--some hikers ran down that smooth back of the mountain; others crawled. I slipped and almost fell time and time again on the looser rock, but finished unscathed, just sweaty, dirty, thirsty, tired.
On the way home we made an impromptu stop at the Hitching Post Saloon, a quirky restaurant stuffed with taxidermy and autographed dollar bills. We devoured burgers and fries; I drank more water to try and stave off any hiking-induced headache and thought about Flat Iron Jim, a local legend who'd descended during one of our water breaks. He was wearing a bright red shirt with "FLAT IRON JIM" across the chest and “90 and still kicking”. Doug asked how many times he'd hiked the trail and he answered, in a voice from the 1900s, twice a week. Apparently his wife had died about a decade earlier and he'd been hiking the mountain regularly ever since. It's easy to say anything is possible, but inside the house, head down at a desk, it's convenient and comfortable to minimize all the ways life moves in grand and beautiful ways outside.
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