Hike of the Month

ike of the Month A Challenging Trail in the Pinal Mountains Forks Out Much More than a Walk in the Woods

When you live on the top of a mountain, as I do each summer, there is only one direction to hike. Downhill. Which is exactly what I do this fine morning. The rocky slope leads me from Signal Peak to Ferndell Spring, the jump-off point for the best hike in the Pinal Mountains.

Ferndell Spring always surprises me with its shaded cove of fir and bracken. It is a natural refrigerator, sometimes holding its snowbanks into May. Near the Ferndell pumphouse, I pick up Sixshooter Canyon Trail and begin a pell-mell descent through a dark maple-aspen corridor. The trail is a steep piece of work here and usually quick hiking, but not today. This is the birding season. I've come to look for nests.

After a mile of descending over blue speckled rocks and polished tree roots, I come to a stream crossing that marks a fork in the trail. Here are the remains of an old sawmill, a relic of Globe's mining heyday. Above me is a waterlogged mine shaft whose mouth irrigates a perennial crop of watercress and wild strawberries. I stalk up to the old mine. A dark shape swooshes off. I plot the vector of its flight backward and find a nest tucked into a rocky cleft. Inside are five speckled western flycatcher eggs. I know because the parents whistle nervously for me to leave.

WHEN YOU GO

The Pinal Mountains rise to 7,800 feet just south of Globe in the Tonto National Forest. To take this loop trek, at the junction of U.S. 60 and State Route 88, turn right onto Forest Road 55. After about seven miles, take a hard right onto FR 651 and follow it for 10 more miles. Drive time on the rugged 17 miles to the Upper Pinal Campground is an hour. Look for the Ferndell Spring sign for access to the loop trail. Trails are open except when the road is closed because of snow. For information, call the Globe Ranger District at (520) 425-7189.

stream crossing that marks a fork in the trail. Here are the remains of an old sawmill, a relic of Globe's mining heyday. Above me is a waterlogged mine shaft whose mouth irrigates a perennial crop of watercress and wild strawberries. I stalk up to the old mine. A dark shape swooshes off. I plot the vector of its flight backward and find a nest tucked into a rocky cleft. Inside are five speckled western flycatcher eggs. I know because the parents whistle nervously for me to leave.

Back at the crossing, I take the left fork, Telephone Trail, which sets off along the west side of Sixshooter Canyon. After half a mile, the trail contours around the ridge and snakes through a forest of tree-size manzanitas. Then the mountain falls away to expose the very spine of Arizona: the Sierra Anchas, the Mazatzals, the Mogollon Rim. The sun is dazzling here as I plod onward, my trail switching back then plunging sharply toward the darkness of Icehouse Canyon.

Pines, firs, and maples quickly reappear as I descend, and a cool breath of air announces the presence of Doghouse Spring. A new trail sign, however, announces something else. It has been chewed to shreds, its post riddled with distinctive tooth marks made by powerful ursine jaws. Bear sign.

Near Doghouse I take time for a short break, then turn uphill toward home. Ten minutes later, a red-feathered dart zips across my boot laces. The bird creates an opportunity for me to backtrail on hands and knees which, in turn, reveals a tiny woven-grass cup planted in the ground at the base of a two-foot fir tree. Inside are three eggs. Across the way, redfaced warblers call.

My trail climbs steadily, and I begin to perspire. Time to pause for rest. Just as I lean back against an outcrop of tree roots, however, a feathered gray bullet shoots out. I look inside and - bonanza! - another grassy cup, this one stuffed not with eggs, but scraggly pink nestlings with baggy skin and a few hairs too thin to be called feathers. I hiss softly, and the nestlings lift silent gaping beaks. On a nearby tree trunk, two painted redstarts twitch uneasily. I move on. It is late in the day when I finally see sky light through the tree trunks. When I gain the peak and look back over the route I have traveled, my eyes see nothing but treetops. Funny, though, because my mind sees more. It sees the roots of those trees. And within those tree roots are tiny cups full of life.