The Time I Hiked Flatiron After 14 Years
The Alltrails app describes the hike like this:
Flatiron via Siphon Draw Trail is a very challenging day hike in the Superstition Mountains. It is full of tough scrambles and is recommended for seasoned hikers and scramblers only. Bring plenty of water and wear sturdy shoes.
In recent years there have been several rock slides, and the upper part of the trail has been altered extensively. Please use precaution and follow signs. Reference the blue and white markers to help with navigating…
One of the reviews says:
All bouldering and rock climbing
But I didn’t read that description or the review before we went. I read one from an almost-anonymous website that Google popped up when I asked how many calories I’d burn. It said the hike took an average of 5–6 hours to complete, was very difficult, not good for children, free, and that dogs on leashes were welcome.
I wasn’t deterred because 14 years ago, I had successfully completed the trail four times. It was my favorite hike. And here we were again, my husband, Eric, and I. Celebrating our 13th anniversary. Both my husband and I had fond memories of that hike together.
My Superstition Mountains towered above the desert like a gigantic palatial abode. Rock formations jutted out of the sides like fingers or other-worldly turrets of a fortress left by giants long ago. This feeling of awe and wonder struck me as deeply on that day as it had every other time. The park ranger we spoke to as we paid for a $10-day pass told us the trail had changed considerably, so we would need to use the Alltrails map. When Eric asked if there was good reception the response was:
“Well, everyone calls for their own rescue, so it seems like there’s a lot of reception.”
I still didn’t detect the warning signs. I was enchanted by the beauty of the gigantic monuments that beckoned me to explore and experience. My eyes were on the summit as I remembered the breathtaking views I had witnessed over a decade before. After sunscreening and packing our backpacks with water and snacks, we embarked on the much anticipated journey.
The weather could not have been better. It was in the high-sixties with pleasant gusts of wind.
The first mile or so was easier than I remembered. Even with loose rocks covering the path. The biggest hazard was twisting my ankle. This is a very real threat for me, so I definitely watched the ground and veered towards the parts of the path that were free of such an ankle-twisting hazard.
As the first part got a little steep, I didn’t notice because of the breath-taking sights that were constantly shifting and changing as they dazzled and left me awestruck.
Then came Siphon Draw. A place I used to call the rock slide. The mountains coalesce into a “V” shape with smooth rock shimmering under the gorgeous weather. The smoothest parts are the slipperiest. I tried to stay where there was friction. This was the first time I remembered my hiking boots sitting all by themselves in the back of my closet. It was rude of me not to invite them. And now, I’m sure they were laughing at the thought of me getting up these rocks without them.
Siphon Draw is where the official trail ends. All the signs point to it. None mention Flatiron.
From Siphon Draw, it seemed like the rest of the hike was scrambling. The hike itself wasn’t scrambling. Here, scrambling is a verb that loosely means “climbing moderately-sized boulders.” Up. We climbed boulders UP. And when we weren’t climbing boulders we were climbing rocks.
The trail had changed a lot, from what I remember. But let’s face it, my memory’s not that great. My husband — one part science nerd, one part superman, and one part mountain goat (apparently) — bounded ahead to see the views and daydreamed about rapelling down a cliff. He used approximations to try to see how tall the face of the aforementioned cliff was. He thought about what it would be like to paraglide over the ever shrinking valley below us.
I was huffing and puffing not unlike the Big Bad Wolf. My heart warmed with his suggestions of adventure even as my legs were shrieking in pain, wondering what on earth they did to deserve such severe punishment. I smiled a lot and tried to keep up conversation through panting breaths, but I had to put all my focus on the next step. Then the next one, and so forth.
Each time I threw my head back in a mixture of frustration and fatigue, I would see another stunning view and my anguish would be pacified, until I pulled myself up on the next boulder.
Several older people were on the trail. I in my thirties watched a group of fifty-somethings pull themselves up, walk steadily, and chat and giggle. They must have trained for this right? I mean, they have a TON of time on their hands I’m sure. Then a family with a ten-year-old happily leaps down the mountain. They had reached the summit. And the little girl looked like she wasn’t using any effort at all. She didn’t look like she just hiked the same hike I was hiking!
Eventually, the view stopped changing. It was no longer in front of me, but behind. My husband looked at the view of the valley constantly. The few times I tried, I lost my footing. That doggone summit wasn’t getting any closer. It wasn’t beckoning me to join it in the divine bliss of adventure. It was laughing at me, it had tricked me into coming!
I scraped my leg on a half-dead, skeleton-zombie tree. One of the branches had been smooth and enticing and when I reached for it, a spindly jagged branch struck my leg.
But I was too tired to notice any pain. My husband commented on it several times over the course of the day. Apparently it looked like I had faced a formidable foe and conquered. But I hadn’t met quite a foe yet.
Then, the rock wall.
Straight up. Rock wall. Like, a vertical wall. Of rocks.
I only vaguely remembered this from before. I saw a familiar tree that I used the last time — only it was 14 years bigger. But so was I. So. Was. I. And I didn’t want to snap it. But I also didn’t know if I wanted to reach at that strange angle to pull myself up. Let’s be honest, I didn’t have the arm strength to do that. I told my husband I couldn’t do it. I just didn’t see a way.
He said he would go first. But this emotion — one between a two-year-old’s defiant independence and my desire to have my husband catch me if I fell, before we both tumbled down the boulders to our deaths — gripped me and so I gripped the first rock.
My backpack wasn’t a hiking backpack. It was a designer backpack I found on sale once at a premium outlet mall. And it was taking a royal beating. It got caught on a rock briefly. And in the brief moment I imagined what our kids would say at my funeral, but then I unsnagged it and all was well
Until I got past the rock wall. The summit was covering the sun and I felt like it was symbolic of how sometimes the goal itself casts shade on your life. One step at a time. One foot-hold at a time. One “don’t look down, just breathe” at a time. And somehow, we survived. Somehow we did make it to the glorious summit.
Groups of hikers that had passed us were eating picnics, taking intoxicating pictures, and frolicking. The overall energy up there — among the brownish-green bushes, cacti, and other desert-dusty plants, was contentment. All was good. And it was worth it.
After snapping more pictures than we knew what to do with, and reminiscing about which towns we might be seeing from way up high, we started back down the mountain.
If my neglected hiking boots were snickering at me trying to get up Siphon Draw, they were going to be in hysterics as I edged my way down the entire mountain. I slipped hundreds of times, but I fell only twice. But twice as a thirty-something is a lot more affecting than twice as a twenty-year-old.
I really actually enjoyed going down the same boulders we had scrambled up. It was fun to swing through the crevices and land like a mountain lion from a foot or two in the air.
But the arches of my feet were extremely sore and my ankles were stressed. My toes were squished up against the tips of my shoes. I was plagued by constant anxiety of my next slip. But the views on the way down were just as rejuvenating as they were on the way up and I couldn’t help but smile every time I saw them.
We eventually made it down the formidable mountain and I was a little wiser, but also a little prouder as I looked back at my favorite summit. Next time we meet, I will have my hiking boots. And hopefully have trained a little more. But I would do it again in a heartbeat — after my legs heal this time over. I wouldn’t do it this minute.
