HUMPHREYS PEAK
12,633 ft.
September 20, 2004
By Tim Briese
Humphreys Peak, the highest mountain in Arizona, is the highest of several peaks just northwest of Flagstaff that form the rim of a giant extinct volcano. These mountains are known collectively as the San Francisco Peaks. They can be seen from long distances away across the vast expanses of the northern Arizona desert. I had driven past Humphreys numerous times over the years on trips to Arizona and California and had often pondered climbing it someday.
In mid-September I went on a trip to visit my daughter in Phoenix and planned to climb Humphreys on my return to Colorado. The weather forecast was not favorable, though, because a strong storm, which had brought torrential rain and wind to the area the day before, was predicted to cause high winds and clouds again on the day of my climb, with clouds decreasing later in the day as the storm moved away. I could deal with high winds, I thought, as I had done on previous climbs in Colorado, provided they were not accompanied by lightning or heavy precipitation.
I left Phoenix at 8:30 a.m. on Monday morning and drove north to Flagstaff, casting a wary eye at the clouds billowing into the sky as I approached the city. I followed Highway 180 about seven miles northwest of Flagstaff and turned right at a well-marked turnoff for the Arizona Snowbowl Ski Area. I drove up a fine paved road as it climbed another seven miles through a pine and aspen forest up to the ski area, where another sign clearly directed me into a parking lot for the Humphreys Peak Trail on the left side of the road. The mountain was shrouded in clouds to the northeast. The trailhead lies at 9300 feet elevation on the western slopes of the San Francisco Peaks. There was a fine, expansive view of forests and volcanic cones that stretched away to the north. A stiff southwest wind was howling through the trees and the temperature was a chilly 48 degrees. There were six other vehicles parked at the trailhead, which was more than I expected to see on this weekday in September, especially given the marginal weather today. Numerous informational signs at the trailhead indicated to me, also, that this is quite a popular trail. One sign told about rare plants that grow in the tundra above timberline, including one species found nowhere else in the world.
At 11:30 a.m. I struck off up the trail with my lab Jorie. The trail was initially almost level as it went across a quarter mile wide ski run and under a chair lift before entering the woods on the other side. The fine trail then switchbacked gently up through a dense forest of gigantic aspen and pines. I was struck by the large size of the trees, for some of the aspens were 18 to 24 inches in diameter, and a few of the pines were four feet in diameter and appeared to be over 150 feet tall. These giants reminded me of the lush forests of the Pacific Northwest. The western slopes of the San Francisco Peaks lie in a favorable position to receive copious amounts of moisture from wet storm systems that roll in off the Pacific in the winter and spring. There was even moss hanging from some of the trees. The dense lushness of the forest belied Arizona= s image as a dry and barren place.
I quickly clipped up the easy trail, and climbed into the clouds at about 10,200 feet elevation. After a while I passed two pairs of hikers heading up the trail. I also met a solo hiker and then a pair of hikers coming down, who told me that they turned back at the saddle above because of vicious winds and ice. That made me wonder what I was getting into, but my optimism about a successful climb remained undimmed. I had faced high winds and tough conditions on several Colorado peaks before, so I hoped that this would not prove any worse. The trees began to thin out around 11,400 feet as I approached timberline. I increasingly felt the brunt of the wind as I left the protection of the trees. A sign warned hikers to stay on the trail above this point to avoid damage to rare and fragile plants growing in the tundra, and threatened a $500 fine for violators.
I left the last of the scraggly trees just as I reached the 11,750 foot saddle between Humphreys and Agassiz Peak (12,356'). I reached the saddle at 1:15, after hiking three and a half miles and climbing 2500 feet of elevation gain from the trailhead, in an hour and forty-five minutes. The wind ripped viciously across the saddle with a deafening roar. Humphreys= summit lay nearly a mile away along the ridge to the north, some 900 feet higher. I could not see it, though, or much else for that matter, because I was engulfed in swirling fog that limited the visibility to less than 100 feet. The moist clouds whipping across the mountain were depositing a freezing coat of frosty white rime on the rocks, too. The easy part was over, for now I had to hike up the ridge to the summit in these ruthless conditions!
While I was taking a break behind a rock at the north end of the saddle two men came hiking down the trail from the ridge. With strong Scotch accents they told me that they had made it to the summit, but had to literally crawl on their hands and knees the last couple of hundred feet because the wind was so strong that they could not stand up! One of them said that conditions were worse than anything that they had ever encountered while climbing in the Alps. Their report was a little unsettling to me, but it was reassuring, at least, to know that someone else had made it up there.
After donning all of my wind gear I left the saddle and headed up the ridge. There was a nice trail through the rocks that stayed mostly on the left (and windward!) side of the ridge. I noticed a rich array of colors in the volcanic rocks, including red, gray, and black. The amount of ice on the rocks increased as I went higher, so I had to exercise caution. The surface of the trail generally remained free of ice, but in a couple of places where I hiked over talus I had to be cautious to avoid slipping. A thin coat of ice began to build up on my clothes and trekking poles, and on my dog=s fur as well.
When I neared the summit the wind inexplicably grew markedly stronger, as if it were not already bad enough, perhaps due to some unseen feature of the mountain= s topography. I was unable to stand up erect without being blown over, and had to crouch down into a three-point stance and even crawl on all fours to advance the final 200 feet to the summit! Jorie was obviously frightened by the roaring wind and tried to crawl into my lap. I wondered for a moment if a gust of wind could possibly sweep me away and fling me over the edge of the ridge, but I reasoned that if that began to happen I could fall to the ground to escape that fate. At least I hoped so!
I crawled the last few feet up to the summit and flopped down behind a rock shelter wall that had been built there. The wind roared ferociously around me, as the raw power of Nature was displayed in a most impressive fashion! The visibility in the dense clouds was still no more than 100 feet. As I lay behind the rock shelter I saw a tiny patch of blue sky instantaneously swirl past above and disappear. That somehow struck me as being rather eerie. My thermometer registered 30 degrees, so the wind chill must have been brutal. I did not see a register on the summit, but I did not even dare to search beyond the protective confines of the shelter.
I arrived on the summit just after 2 p.m., after a 40 minute ascent from the saddle. I could not think of a single reason to stay on the summit very long so I left after only six minutes. I found it necessary to crouch and crawl again as the wind ferociously ripped away at me. After I advanced a couple of hundred feet the wind lessened slightly so that I was able to stand up again and proceed back down the trail. The rime began to build up on my glasses so I had to stop a time or two to wipe them off. It took only 35 minutes to get back down to the saddle, and I was certainly glad to get there!
I stopped for a few minutes to call home with my cell phone from the saddle. It felt reassuring to be in touch with civilization while I was in the grip of those wild conditions. After a few minutes I began to hike rapidly back down the easy trail into the woods below the saddle. I caught an occasional glimpse down into the valley far below, since the cloud ceiling had now lifted a little. I also watched in awe as clouds ripped across the slopes above. I encountered no one else on the entire descent.
I returned to the trailhead at 4:30, after an hour and a half descent from the saddle. All the other cars were now gone, so I was the last one to return from the mountain that day. The sky was clear on the distant western horizon. Humphreys, though, was still engulfed in swirling clouds. The next day would likely have afforded better conditions for a climb, but I needed to be hundreds of miles down the road by then.
I hiked about nine miles and climbed 3400 feet of elevation gain on this five hour outing. It was nice to climb a new state highpoint, but I would like to return and climb Humphreys again someday in more enjoyable conditions.
