Climbing Mt. Humphrey

Humphreys Peak is the highest mountain in Arizona at 12,637 feet (3,852 meters), high enough for serious winter conditions that are not seen elsewhere in the desert landscapes usually associated with the state. The photograph above was actually taken almost exactly ten years before I climbed it. I had visited the area in early fall and photographed the San Francisco Peaks without realizing that a decade later I would return specifically to climb to their highest point.

When I finally came back to climb Humphreys, I couldn’t have asked for a much worse weather forecast. The only day I had available called for increasingly strong winds through the afternoon, eventually reaching around 70 mph (110 km/h), and visibility was already poor enough that morning that I couldn’t even get a proper look at the mountain. I seriously considered not driving there at all and spending the day somewhere else in Arizona, perhaps visiting Navajo Nation or returning to the Grand Canyon, rather than deliberately hiking into terrible weather that might turn the entire climb into a waste of time.

But climbing Humphreys was one of the main reasons I’d returned to Arizona on this trip, so I decided to give it a chance. My plan was simple: start early, try to reach the summit around noon, and get back below the exposed upper mountain before the worst of the wind arrived.

Finding the Trail

Of all the mountains I’ve climbed, Humphreys Peak might have had the most confusing start. Even after the climb was over, I wasn’t sure where the intended official start was supposed to be. My map showed the trail starting somewhere around the ski area, but I couldn’t find anything that looked like an obvious hiking trail. Eventually I just started walking uphill along a broad ski run and hoped for the best.

A few minutes later I came across a sign mentioning the wreckage of a B-24 bomber that had crashed on the mountain in 1944. I remembered hearing about the wreck and hoped I might somehow find it higher up, although everything I had read suggested the site could be difficult to locate even in good summer weather. At least the sign gave me some confidence that I hadn’t started in completely the wrong place.

After the memorial I crossed another ski run and eventually noticed a marker tied to a tree. I still have no idea how anyone without a map would have known to cross the slope at exactly that spot, but I was happy to finally be in the woods and apparently on the trail.

Then I came across something I wasn’t expecting at all: a sign saying a winter permit was required. I had specifically remembered reading that Humphreys Peak required no permits or other red tape. I knew nearby Agassiz Peak had strict climbing restrictions because of sensitive alpine plants near the summit, but I hadn’t expected anything similar here. I would have had no problem getting a permit if I’d known beforehand, but by then I was already on the mountain and running slightly behind schedule. Going all the way back to the car and spending another hour or two figuring out where to get one wasn’t going to happen.

Alone on the Mountain

So far the conditions were easy, as they usually are lower on a mountain. It hadn’t snowed for several days, and I had expected hikers from the previous week to have packed down the trail. Before arriving, I had actually been more worried about snow on the road than snow on the mountain.

Only three weeks earlier I had failed to climb Nevada’s highest point because the road conditions were so bad that I couldn’t even get within 1,000 meters of the trailhead. Humphreys Peak was different. In the middle of winter, thousands of people come to the ski area, so keeping the access road open is considerably more important than maintaining some remote mountain road for a handful of hikers.

I had driven in behind a long line of cars and briefly wondered if the trail might be crowded, but nearly everyone was there to ski. Once I entered the forest, I found myself alone. About an hour later I was surprised to hear voices ahead. For a moment I wondered whether they were rangers coming down the mountain and whether I should prepare myself for an expensive conversation about that permit, but instead I found three other climbers heading uphill.

We spoke briefly, and I learned that none of them had permits either, which at least made me feel morally better about the situation. They cheerfully told me they would see me at the summit. “Hopefully,” I replied. With the wind forecast, I still thought there was about a fifty-fifty chance I would turn around.

The Snow Wins

I had been so focused on the wind that I made the mistake of underestimating the snow. Until around 10,500 feet (3,200 meters), the trail had been nicely packed and I had been moving at an excellent pace. If those conditions continued, I probably could have reached the summit in less than three hours.

Then I reached a slope created by a rockslide. It looked harmless enough, but as soon as I started crossing I began dropping into pockets of snow that sometimes swallowed me to the waist. I would pull myself out, take another few steps, and disappear again. A crossing that should have taken a minute probably took ten, and the entire time I imagined the three climbers behind me catching up and watching me flounder around in the snow. When I finally reached the other side, I looked back and was relieved that they weren’t there to witness it.

Once I was back on the trail I enjoyed a short stretch of easy hiking, but soon the deep snow returned. The frustrating part was that there was almost no way to tell which areas would support my weight. I would carefully place a foot on what looked like solid snow, shift my weight forward, and suddenly plunge to my waist again.

After another fifteen minutes of essentially swimming in place, I accepted that this climb wasn’t going to work. Without snowshoes, I was moving so slowly that continuing would almost guarantee I was still high on the mountain when the dangerous winds arrived. I turned around, bitterly disappointed and mostly angry at myself for not bringing the equipment I needed.

A Second Chance

On the way down, a desperate idea came to me. I didn’t remember whether the other three climbers had been wearing snowshoes, but if they were taking turns breaking the trail then maybe I could join them through the deep snow. They hadn’t been far behind me, so I expected to run into them within a few minutes, but they were nowhere insight.

At another rockslide I noticed footprints leaving the trail and heading directly uphill. The official trail used a series of switchbacks, but this slope wasn’t particularly steep, so apparently the others had chosen a more direct route. At that point I was happy to do the same.

Almost immediately I could move at a reasonable pace again. There were still occasional pockets of deep snow, but compared with what I had just been fighting, it felt wonderful. Suddenly the summit seemed possible again. By the time I approached 11,000 feet (3,350 meters), thick rime ice covered the surrounding trees and the mountain increasingly looked frozen solid.

The B-24 Wreckage

At first, I kept expecting to catch the other climbers, but after another thirty minutes it was clear they’d either turned around already or had chosen a completely different route. The tracks I’d initially followed seemed created by multiple people, but by now had all disappeared.

Since I was making up my own route and had no idea where the trail was, I’d long since given up any thought of finding the B-24 wreckage. I wasn’t even certain which side of the mountain it was on, yet at roughly 11,300 feet (3,440 meters), I walked directly into it. I could hardly believe my luck. After failing to find the trail, losing the three climbers, and blindly making up my own route up the mountain, I had somehow stumbled onto one of the places I’d hoped to see.

The B-24 crashed here in September 1944, killing all eight servicemen aboard. Having spent years in the Marines and having worked around aircraft myself, I felt a special connection to the men who died on the mountain. I stayed for a short while, drank some water, and put on my crampons before continuing upward.

Into the Rime Ice

I expected finding the bomber wreckage might put me back on the official trail, but everything was buried in the deep snow. I wasn’t too concerned because my direct route had been working surprisingly well. As I approached 12,000 feet (3,650 meters), but the snow became firmer and easier to cross as I climbed higher. The closer I came to the summit ridge, the stronger the wind became and the shallower the snow became. Eventually the wind had stripped some areas completely bare.

Almost as impressive as the wind was the rime ice. It coated the trees, rocks, trail markers, my camera, and eventually my face. Taking photographs became increasingly difficult.

Just below the ridge I began finding patches of hard ice mixed with completely exposed rock. The wind was too strong for deep snow to accumulate here. Although I was now entering the worst weather of the day, I actually felt more confident about reaching the summit. I had gone from thinking my chances were fifty-fifty to something closer to seventy-five percent.

Back on the Trail

Unless the winds suddenly became drastically worse, I felt like I was so close my chances were now ninety percent of hitting the summit. I still was surprised I never saw the other three hikers, so they must have certainly bailed from the deep snow or weather.

Still, its never ideal to be alone, off trail in poor weather. As I continued up, I saw something in the distance that I couldn’t tell whether it was a dead tree or a post. As I got closer, I realized it was a trail marker. I was finally back where I was supposed to be.

The Summit Ridge

Once I climbed fully onto the ridge, conditions deteriorated rapidly. Visibility was extremely poor and the wind was fierce. It was the kind of weather that sat right on the edge of what I was comfortable climbing in.

I had attempted two other mountains where the wind became strong enough to physically knock me off balance. In both cases, turning around had been an immediate and obvious decision. Humphreys wasn’t quite at that level. The wind was powerful, but I could still move forward without being blown from my feet.

The ridge also gave me an easy feature to follow despite the poor visibility. If conditions suddenly became much worse, my escape route was simple: leave the exposed ridge and descend back toward the forest. Once I dropped a few hundred feet, I expected the trees and terrain to shelter me from the worst of the wind. With that in mind, I cautiously continued toward the summit.

Standing on Top of Arizona

The final stretch was miserable. Rime ice continued building on everything around me, visibility remained terrible, and the wind never let up. Eventually the summit sign appeared through the white, confirming that I had reached the highest point in Arizona at 12,637 feet (3,852 meters).

There were obviously no spectacular summit views that day. I could barely see the sign in front of me, much less the enormous landscape that would normally stretch across northern Arizona. Still, I was thrilled to have reached another state high point after thinking I had to abandon the climb lower on the mountain.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also a little concerned standing alone on the summit with almost no visibility and fierce winds. Interestingly though, the strongest winds weren’t on the summit but a few hundred feet below. As I descended the winds got worse, then once I dropped off the ridge the wind dropped to a gentle breeze.

On the rest of the way down, I managed to lose the trail again and eventually wandered into a ski areas. A ski guide who worked there gave me permission ride the ski lift down, but I realized that would be cheating. I threw my ice ax on my pack and jogged down a bunny slope all the way to the trailhead, amazed by how much more calm the conditions were at this elevation. After everything that had happened that day, I was also surprised to realize that Humphreys Peak had become one of my favorite state high points!