Munds Mountain Adventure

BACKPACKING SEDONA'S Adventure in Munds Mountain Wilderness BACKBONE Decision time.

On this early fall day my husband, Larry, and I stand on the southernmost tip of Munds Mountain, two-thirds of the way across the band of cliffs marking Sedona's eastern boundary. We had planned to traverse the length of this backbone, from its beginnings near Schnebly Hill, south across Munds Mountain, to Lee Mountain in Pine Valley, about 10 miles sans scenic detours. But directly in our path stands a formidable obstacle known as The Gap, a sharp break that separates 6,800-foot Munds Mountain from 6,590-foot Lee Mountain. With afternoon temperatures 15 degrees higher than predicted, we have quenched our thirst more often than expected. We are critically low on water.

Do we cross? The Gap looks jagged and fierce, huge blocks of pale Toroweap sandstone with impassable vertical faces. All we know of Lee Mountain, waiting on the other side, comes from the worn map folded in the outside pocket of my pack. It shows a cross-country route, not a trail, winding down to the mouth of Jacks Canyon. If we can find that unmarked route, we might have enough water to make it to Pine Valley, where we could hitch a ride back to town. We discuss the dangers of heading into unknown territory on this hot, cloudless day with our dwindling water supply. To turn back now, after crossing the high meadows of Munds Mountain, would be frustrating. We count water bottles and measure the metaphoric gap between curiousity and wisdom.

Our journey began the previous morning from Schnebly Hill Vista, a pullout about 6 miles up Schnebly Hill Road. A map of Coconino National Forest showed other starting points, but we already were familiar with the hike along Old Schnebly Hill Road to Committee Tank, where the Munds Mountain Wilderness starts.

Munds Mountain Trail climbs through Sedona's uppermost geologic layers, the Toroweap and Kaibab formations, with Jacks Canyon on the left side and Bear Wallow on theContinued from page 26 right. A mixed conifer forest of mountain mahogany, bear grass and scrub oak trees offered peeks at the sculpted orange Supai sandstones of Mitten Ridge below. We sat in the shade and enjoyed the views before heading up the backside of Munds Mountain. The weight of our packs drilled our feet into the trail as we switched back and forth over the exposed, crumbly mountainside, splashed here and there with late-blooming red paintbrush.

Breathing hard, we stopped often to admire the vista (a way we could catch our breath without losing face), looking northeast at the rumpled blue-green blanket of the Colorado Plateau. When we climbed out on top of the mountain, one glance showed us why John Munds built this trail for his horse herd more than a century ago: Fields of undulating grasses and yellow sunflowers punctuated by stands of slender-trunked Gambel oak stretched to the edges of the mountaintop. An occasional alligator juniper tree spread its branches as though in invitation to mountain lions in need of a catnap. Indeed, a short way along the trail, several large cat prints cut through deer prints and elk signs. We concluded, albeit nervously, that the Munds Mountain lion was well-fed and not overly interested in a pair of backpackers. Game, shade, room to roam what more could a lion need? Water, of course.

We planned our trip around water. We considered the season carefully, discussed caching water ahead of time, wondered if an earthen tank we noticed on a previous visit might be full after a rainstorm. In the end, we decided to wait for the cooler weather of early autumn and pack in as much water as possible. We would travel slowly, and let our water supply dictate the length of our stay. Little did we know then how crucial that decision would become. We took detours to explore the long fins stretching westward from the mountain's central corridor. From below, these fins look like stone buttresses, catching the glow of sunset every evening. We picked one and headed toward it, winding through oak groves and brush on a network of Game trails until at last we stood on the edge of the world. Sheer cliffs of Kaibab limestone and Toroweap sandstone dropped away to secret canyons, narrow and deep, guarded here and there by pinnacles of red or white. On each side of us, row after row of chessmenlike silhouettes concealed other canyons and hoodoos. Accustomed to looking at Sedona's red rocks from the bottom up, we felt strangely disoriented to see familiar landmarks from a pilot's viewpoint. The Nuns, Chicken Point, Submarine Rock, Gibraltor and Cathedral Rock were easy to identify. Across the Verde Valley, the town of Jerome lay hidden in the shadowed slopes of Mingus Mountain. Stretching along the northern horizon were Bill Williams and Sitgreaves mountains, Kendrick Peak and the San Francisco Mountains. Like voyeurs, we looked down at a town bustling with the activity of a festival weekend. Our world, 2,000 feet above, was slow and quiet, marked by the leisurely pace we'd set for ourselves, and the gentle sweep of shadows moving toward us across the valley as the western sky turned from rose to indigo.

As we settled into our sleeping bags to the music of tree frogs, I imagined Munds keeping a watchful eye over his herd while leaning back against his bedroll, enjoying starry skies and solitude. His father, William, moved the family to Arizona from Oregon in 1875, eventually settling between Sedona and Cottonwood. William's sons, James, Neal and John, followed him into ranching. During summers they drove their cattle from the Verde Valley up to the Mogollon Rim, leaving their name on a number of local landmarks: Munds Park, headquarters for the William Munds Ranch; Munds Trail, built by John to the top of Munds Mountain; Munds Canyon; and Munds Road, the precursor to the old Schnebly Hill Road.

Times were hard for them. Both of John's brothers died young Neal from a bronc-riding accident, and Jim when his rifle misfired, the bullet striking him in the head. To please his father, John went on to business school in Stockton, California, before returning to Arizona to marry his fiancée,