Week 2 of the Arizona Trail: Heat, water and humility

Daily breakdown

Day 8: 19.44 miles (31.3 km) 5,488 feet (1,673 m) gain
Day 9: 23.13 miles (37.2 km) 4,668 feet (1,423 m) gain
Day 10: 18.37 miles (29.6 km) 2,805 feet (855 m) gain
Day 11: 24.02 miles (38.7 km) 3,471 feet (1,058 m) gain
Day 12: 17.67 miles (28.4 km) 1,850 feet (564 m) gain
Day 13: Out for college stuff
Day 14: Out for college stuff

Weekly Distance: 102.63 miles (165.2 kilometers)
Total Lift Gain: 18,282 feet (5,572 m)

A proper welcome in Arizona

Primetime joined me for Week 2 and we didn’t relax.

We started a great day directly by climbing Mount Lemmon. The south side is rugged. Big rocks, uneven and barely level terrain. It’s not the type of trail that you can easily cover for miles. You earn every step.

The pace was good though. It was hot, but manageable.

Before the big climb, we stopped at Hutch’s Pool for lunch. Sabino Creek deepens there and forms a clear, cold pond. It was like finding an oasis in the middle of an oven. We dropped off our packs, jumped, swam, and even did a few cliff jumps.

That kind of water hits differently in the desert.

Climbing and the mouse

The climb took several hours and we finally camped near the top at Lemon Creek. We found a nice makeshift camp and settled in for the night.

Except I made a classic mistake.

I forgot to store my food outside my tent.

I woke up with a mouse crawling on my chest.

That will wake you up instantly.

I went from deathly sleep to complete panic, trying to get this little intruder out of my tent while screaming like a lunatic. Meanwhile, Primetime was completely eliminated. The first day back we launched it at almost 20 miles with 5500 feet of gain. He didn’t hear anything.

The mouse made a small hole in my net. Nothing major, but still annoying. After that, sleep was light. Every little sound felt like another invasion.

Summerhaven: a different world

The next morning we finished the climb and entered Summerhaven.

The name says it all.

A small town hidden high in the mountains where the temperature finally gives you a break. It feels like leaving the desert and entering a different world.

We had breakfast at the hostel. Amazing food, a little fancy, the kind of place where you feel completely out of place, covered in dust and sweat. But they are used to hikers. The staff was welcoming, no judgment, just good energy.

We charged the electronic devices, ate like kings and returned.

The cost of a «good day»

At one point, there was an alternate ridge trail that would have avoided dropping into a canyon and coming back out. We missed it.

I saw it too late, just when we were committing to descend.

Classic nonsense up and down.

I could see the best line on the horizon and knew we were about to pay for it.

Arizona does not forgive those mistakes.

That rise was brutal. About 90 degrees Fahrenheit, exposed, dry, unforgiving. The kind of heat that slowly drains you.

Still we pressed on and ended the day with over 23 miles and almost 4700 feet of gain.

A good day on paper.

But it came at a cost.

The sections of the trail are earned, not assumed

Primetime began to feel it.

And honestly, that’s up to me.

I underestimated the difficulty of the trail and overestimated how quickly sections of the trail return. Doing 20 miles on consistent days is not normal. Sometimes I forget.

My default rhythm is simple. Keep moving. Minimum breaks. Constant push.

That works for me.

But it’s not fair to expect that from everyone else.

Sorry friend. Next time we do it calmly.

Primetime definitely didn’t have “primetime” after that second day. His shin began to malfunction, a classic early overuse.

I fell back into that Pacific Crest Trail mentality where we casually averaged 28 miles a day in Washington like it was nothing.

That version of us doesn’t appear overnight.

Adjusting the rhythm

From day 10 to day 12, we adapt.

It slowed things down. He listened to the body. I found a better rhythm.

The 11th still reached 24 miles, but was flatter and cloudier. No sun crushes you. No endless climbs. Just walk gently.

Sometimes the trail gives you a break.

Most of the time it is not like that.

Encounters in the desert

Wildlife stepped up this week.

In one day we saw four rattlesnakes. That definitely sharpens your awareness. They blend seamlessly into the desert, nestled along the trail or hidden in the shade. You hear them before you see them most of the time. That distinctive rattle that makes you stop instantly. They are not aggressive, but they don’t like surprises, and neither do you. It forces you to slow down, scan your steps, and respect the space you walk through.

We also came across a group of javelinas. At first glance they look like wild pigs, but in reality they are peccaries. Chubby bodies, coarse hair, and they move as a tight group. They are sociable, curious and can become defensive if they feel threatened, especially in a pack. We gave them space and watched them from a distance as they moved together through the brush, completely at ease on that harsh terrain.

And then, the highlights.

A Gila monster.

Seeing one in the wild is rare and stopped us in our tracks. Slow moving, thick bodied, with that unmistakable black and orange pattern. It seems almost prehistoric. Despite being poisonous, it is not aggressive. It relies more on its grip than speed, holding off if it bites rather than attacking quickly like a snake. It was like seeing a living relic of the desert.

Gila Monster, a very rare encounter!

Moments like these remind you that you’re not just walking through the landscape.

You are passing through someone else’s house.

Trail Magic in the most unexpected way

Coming off the trail, we had one of those moments that reminds you how special the trail community really is.

We stopped at a restaurant in Superior, Arizona, just to eat and decide our next move. While we were paying, a couple noticed our gear and asked if we were hiking the Arizona Trail. That question always opens the door to something.

We got talking and before we knew it, they offered us a ride back to Phoenix.

Dominic and Gina run a small family business that rents, sells and repairs ATVs. At some point during the conversation they gave us the keys and told us to bring them over to park them. I had never driven an ATV before. Even though it was just on pavement, not dirt, it still felt surprisingly exciting. A little break from hiking, a little reminder that new experiences can appear anywhere.

What started as a simple stop at a restaurant turned into a trip, good conversation, and genuine kindness.

Dominic and Gina, thank you. You were true angels of the track.

If you’re ever in the area, visit them at instagram

Pressing Pause

On the 13th and 14th they were off the track.

Not for rest, not for recovery, but for university responsibilities. I had to complete clinical simulations. Surprisingly, everything went very well. Proof that sometimes plans go as planned.

It’s a strange transition.

One day you’re deep in the desert, thinking about water hauling, sun exposure, and the next stretch of trail. The next, you’re back in a metropolis. Cars everywhere. Noise. Concrete. Movement in all directions.

And somehow… the lack of wilderness feels wild in itself.

It almost seems unnatural.

Life is simple out there. Walk, eat, drink, sleep. Everything has a purpose. Everything makes sense.

In the city everything speeds up, but nothing seems fixed.

That contrast hits harder than expected.

But that’s also part of this walk.

Balancing both worlds.

Heat, Water and Humility

Week 2 was a reminder.

The Arizona Trail isn’t just about distance. It’s about terrain, heat and water.

Water dictates everything here. Transports can span 16 miles or more and every liter matters. You think about it constantly. How much do you have left? How far to the next source? Whether that next source will even be reliable. Adds silent pressure to every step.

The heat exhausts you, the climbs slow you down, and the lack of water forces you to plan for the future in a way you can’t ignore.

You don’t just show up and crush miles because you’ve done it before.

You adapt.

Or you pay for it.

And sometimes… you wake up with a mouse on your chest.