Attempting Loy Canyon

Backpacking 16 miles through Loy Canyon near Sedona reveals many mysteries

THE FIRST AND ONLY BACKPACK 1 ever owned became a fishing tackle box for my father after I outgrew it and the notion of roughing it. Never again did I consider slinging a pack onto my shoulders to find adventure in the wild green yonder until I found myself committed to a 16-mile round-trip trek through Loy Canyon in the deep forest of the Red RockSecret Mountain Wilderness near Sedona. With some trepidation, I charted the route carefully on my trail map; 5 miles on the Loy Canyon Trail and the next 3 miles on the Secret Mountain Trail. I didn't fancy spending the night alone with roaming nocturnal predators, real or imagined, so I invited my friend Theresa Mason to join my adventure and to help carry all the accoutrements of a first-class camp. We packed everything we could possibly need on an overnight trip, somehow forgetting that we'd have to lug these mainstays up moderately strenuous trails that climb 1,700 feet. I had looked at the numbers, not comprehending the magnitude of the ordeal ahead. At 4 A.M. on the designated morning in early September, Theresa and I assembled our packs and then made one last raid on the grocery store, reasoning that we might as well fill up the space still available. I had lashed the deluxe four-man tent, which I insisted we needed, to my burgeoning pack of nylon and aluminum. At least I would have some protection against creepy crawlies and things that wiggle and bite in the night. After stopping at the Sedona Ranger Station for last-minute directions, we headed down Forest Service Road 525 in search of the Loy Canyon trailhead. We parked and dragged our overloaded packs from the back of the van, only to discover that neither of us could lift one back up from the ground to our shoulders without help. Determined to conquer the trail, Theresa lifted her pack to the van's bumper and slid into the black harness. Standing up, she staggered slightly under

the weight before catching her balance. I copied her technique but needed help in deciphering the mass of nylon belts and buckles. Undaunted, we committed ourselves by signing in at the trailhead's register. At first the trail appeared less than attractive as we slogged by the fenced acreage of Hancock Ranch. The dense gray sand sucked at our feet as we traversed a dry wash lined with Arizona cypress trees, narrowleaf and banana yuccas, bear grass and prickly pear cacti. The late-blooming cream-colored flowers of a catclaw acacia attracted my curiosity, but the bush quickly demonstrated its true nature by snagging my T-shirt with clawlike thorns. I detached its numerous hooks and pulled away - in my haste nearly toppling into a clump of poison ivy. During the first mile, we eyed the red-rock canyon walls to the west to spot several small cliff dwellings mentioned in the Sedona Ranger District's directions. The Sinagua people inhabited this area during the 12th and 13th centuries before moving along. After 2.5 miles, the gold and sienna desert vegetation gave way to the rich green of conifers and huge, rough-barked alligator juniper trees. Mock orange, Virginia creeper, Arizona grape and manzanita provided a dense screen along the trail, broken only by scattered patches of sycamore and maple trees. The shade from the canopy provided relief from the warm sun but obscured the glorious views of the red canyon walls. Unidentified wildlife rustled in the dense underbrush.

[PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 36 AND 37] A Loy Canyon alcove shelters the ruins of a Sinagua Indian dwelling in the Red Rock-Secret Mountain Wilderness. [ABOVE] Springtime color softens a mountain thistle's spiky presentation. [RIGHT] Bear grass, manzanita bushes and prickly pear cacti hug a trailside slope below long-abandoned ruins. [OPPOSITE PAGE] Junipers and manzanitas frame a view of pine-covered canyon walls along Loy Canyon Trail.

Sitting cross-legged on the edge of the mountaintop, I soaked in the exhilarating views of the terrain we had just conquered.

Along the way, Coulter's lupine, Mojave desert star, narrowleaf penstemon, sticky aster, five-needle fetid marigold, jackass clover, skyrocket and spreading fleabane competed to be the best blooms.

After another mile, the trail began to steepen, giving us more reason to groan. However, because we had overindulged on our water supply, the packs had lightened slightly. Still, each time we took off our packs and re-hoisted them onto aching shoulders, they seemed to have mysteriously gained weight. The path started to switchback up through chaparral, and we wondered if this marked the 5-mile point where the trail climbs 1,000 feet in a mile. Bent forward at the waist in a vain effort to shift the weight to some place other than the fiery brands across our hunched shoulders, Theresa and I failed to see a group of four senior citizens coming down the path until they were nearly upon us. In good humor and looking as fresh as if they'd just

stepped from their vehicles, the white-haired group smiled and stopped to inquire about our belabored, bedraggled progress. "Are you going to the top?" asked a kindly blue-eyed gentleman. I nodded. "Did you?" I couldn't quite control my heavy breathing and aimed for a nonchalant pose that would ease the cramp in my side. The group chatted about their morning jaunt as though they had only walked through a rose garden, and not tackled the 5-mile near-vertical Loy Canyon Trail. I looked at them incredulously, astonished that this group of grandparents had picnicked on a 6,400-foot overlook and then scampered back down toward civilization without even breaking a sweat. Continuing on the trail, Theresa and I

One tale maintains that Secret Mountain served as a prime horse-rustling hideaway.

almost dropped our packs when we discovered why the elevation lines on our topo map had crowded together: Large rocks created a narrow staircase straight up the cliff face. Resolutely we began the climb. Muttered curses flowed, breaking the serene solitude of the early afternoon. After several rest breaks, we reached the top and shed our bulging packs to enjoy an extended lunch. The loss of shade prompted a hasty application of sunscreen. Relieved of our burdens, we explored the prominence and shouted gleefully to the world lying far below our feet. The wind whipped through our hair and lifted our spirits. Sitting crosslegged on the edge of the mountaintop, I soaked in the exhilarating views of the terrain we had just conquered. The red Supai formations, the buff cross-bedded Coconino sandstone and gray Kaibab limestone provided a brilliant backdrop for the evergreen chaparral cover of juniper, piñon and manzanita. "It looks so different up here," Theresa said as she eased toward my overlook. After lunch we struggled back into our packs and discussed what we should have left out. "The pick-ax," I said. "That's a lot of metal." Theresa named a few things from her pack, but I ended up with the longer list: Three changes of clothing, two reference tomes on flora and fauna, six packs of trail mix and my complete makeup kit topped my inventory of packing "don'ts." The trail leveled out and turned eastward, intersecting the Secret Mountain Trail on a saddle between the Mogollon Rim on our left and Secret Mountain on our right. The shady saddle quickly became yet another resting spot. This time we lay on a carpet of pine needles, backpacks doubling as pillows. We munched licorice and stared at the drifting clouds in the azure sky, picking out a griffin, a rabbit and a castle topped with rippling banners. The Secret Mountain Trail leads south approximately 1 mile to the remains of Secret Cabin, built by a homesteader more than a hundred years ago. The vegetation changes again on this final leg to plants typical of the forested rim area, including Gambel's oaks, ponderosa pines, Douglas firs, white firs, buckbrush and cliffroses. Moss clings possessively to the rough-hewn logs on the weathered cabin. The stone foundation peeks out from under the logs, and pieces of sheet metal hang haphazardly from the roof. In the 1870s the boggy, algaecovered spring attracted the original homesteaders, Samuel Loy and his son, James, but drought forced them out in the 1880s. Loy used the trail that we had trudged to move cattle between the Rim Country and lower elevations. Secret Mountain has attracted its share of stories. One tale maintains that Secret Mountain served as a prime horse-rustling hideaway where thieves would change the brands of stolen horses before taking them to Colorado, New Mexico and Utah. The number of rundown corrals scattered around the cabin and nearby seems to support the story. Another legend holds that polygamists also hid out there in the 1880s. After poking around the structures, we climbed up the slope to the edge of the mountain and searched for the perfect camping spot which happened to be the nearest place we could drop our burdensome packs. The sun dropped low in the sky, prompting us to set up the luxury tent I'd lugged up 1,700 feet over 8 miles. I quickly discovered just how thin nylon is and how bumpy and hard the ground is. Theresa lit a fire with a nifty little starter log (one more thing we should have added to our unnecessary list), and then we proceeded to eat everything we could - determined not to have to repack anything other than cellophane. We had coffee, hot dogs with relish, mustard and ketchup - beef jerky, trail mix, bagels, marshmallows, chips, apples, cashews, oranges, oatmeal, cereal bars and cheese. I knew that any food left out would attract animals, so I wrapped the remaining edibles in a double bag and stuck it in the tent (only to find later that putting bait in your tent isn't the best camping tip). Stuffed, we piled logs on the fire and, exhausted, climbed into our sleeping bags. I unrolled my borrowed gear and discovered that a mummy bag does just what it Promises: wraps you like a dead pharaoh. After an hour of wrestling with slippery nylon, wadding my jacket into a lumpy pillow and trying to sleep on my stomach in my funereal wrappings, I gave up and dragged the bag outside near the fire, where I could at least keep warm as I counted the stars. After forming a substitute mattress with the fluffy mummy bag and arranging my three changes of clothing as a makeshift blanket, I waited for morning. Finally, after counting all the stars in Sagittarius, I drifted off.

Sometime during the night, the noise of an animal nosing around the tent roused me. A raccoon, no doubt. The rustling got louder, but I refused to turn over and look, hoping the beast would just go away, or eatme quietly. I fell back to sleep, only to be awakened once more by the sense of being watched. I opened my eyes and looked across the smoldering embers of our campfire. Two eyes reflected the dim flames with a ghostly green glow. Pretty big for a raccoon, I thought. A strange lassitude settled over me as I watched my visitor's steady gaze. "Hi," I said softly before closing my eyes and again yielding to exhaustion.

The next morning, we found my latenight friend's markings: a patch of torn-up turf near the tent and a set of tracks larger than my hand, with hooked indentations. Theresa and I looked at each other, shocked. I laid my hand in the print and grinned, knowing we'd triumphed. We had made it tothe top of the mountain, carried 60 pounds of gear on our backs and spent the night with a black bear.

Now all we had to do was make it the 8 miles back to the car. AH Having survived this trip, Carrie M. Miner of Glendale thinks she'll continue hiking and camping.

Larry Lindahl hikes near his Sedona home every chance he gets. In Loy Canyon, a rattlesnake as thick as his arm made one of Larry's trips to the ruins especially exciting.

LOCATION: 135 miles north of Phoenix; 15.5 miles northwest of Sedona. GETTING THERE: From the junction of U.S. Route 179 and State Route 89A in Sedona, drive west 9.6 miles. Turn right onto Forest Service Road 525 and continue for 9.5 miles. Parking is to the left of the trailhead. TRAVEL ADVISORY: A Red Rock Pass is required to park in Red Rock Country. Passes are available at the Gateway Visitor Centers, at a variety of local vendors, automated self-pay stations and on the Internet. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: Coconino National Forest, Sedona Ranger District, P.O. Box 300, Sedona, AZ 86339; (520) 282-4119.