Overnight on McFadden Horse Mountain

Recent signs of monsoon activity surrounded my drive up to the Sierra Ancha Wilderness. The hills were bright green with new growth, roads had fresh repairs from washout damage, and deep, hastily-made trenches for flood control along the upper stretches all showed an active attempt to keep AZ-288 open. It had been years since my last visit up here, years since I was “almost done” hiking all the trails in the wilderness, and those years had been rough on the land. The Billy Fire raged out here in 2025, re-burning many of the scars left from Juniper (2016) and Coon Creek (2000), leveling stands of Ponderosas and wreaking havoc on the trails and roads. My return had been first delayed by life distractions, then by a reluctance to see the freshly-burned land. It had taken an astronomical event to lure me back out here.

The road repairs were solid and I reached the unmapped two-track along Reynolds Creek without mishap, which only had minor ruts that the 4Runner had no problem handling. It wasn’t until I turned onto FR 235, the smaller spur that branches off of FR 410 and leads to Billy Thompson Trailhead (yeah, where Billy Fire started) that I found a somewhat serious obstacle, a rockslide of burn debris, partially blocking the road. Still, it wasn’t much of an obstacle for my car. Maybe my old Jeep Renegade would have struggled here, adding a few hundred yards to my hike. Today I just crawled over it with a steady resolve, and then I parked at a sodden Cienaga Spring, getting out and taking deep breaths of the humid afternoon air.

Today was a relatively short hike by most metrics, barely four miles and a climb less than two thousand feet to my planned campsite on top of McFadden Horse Mountain. Half of my hike would even be along an old mining road, with relatively gentle grade and wide cut. However, I would still have monsoon humidity, rusty legs, and a heavy pack (this was a dry camp, so I had several gallons of water) to deal with. I shouldered my pack, adjusting the weight on the hip, and then started up a short climb on Cienaga Spring Trail, sweating easily in the wet air, until I gained an early, open view of the hills around me.

Cienaga Springs Trail is an interesting one. Like I mentioned before, it’s an old mining road, and there are multiple adits and shafts along the way, none of which are barred. I didn’t have a ton of interest in wandering in these today, not with a heavy pack and a camp to set up. Plus, the mines out here were searching for asbestos and uranium. I don’t really like asbestos or uranium. Besides the mines, the trail was mostly level, swinging in and out of a few drainages and not gaining too much elevation along the way. The drainages were thick with Ponderosa pines and provided cool, welcome shade, while the hillsides were mostly exposed. I honestly couldn’t tell if the exposed hills were old burn scars or too steep / rocky for young trees to get purchase. Either way, they provided ample views of the rolling mountains to the west and north, plenty of eye candy to distract from the thick air.

The two miles along this trail passed quickly, and soon I stood at the junction with McFadden Horse Trail. This would be the crux of today, a steep haul up to the peak. My shirt was already soaked through and my hat dripped with sweat, and there was a small swarm of gnats and other insects that buzzed around my head. Shoot, add in some mosquitoes and black flies and this would be right back to the Midwest! Annoyed at my flying retinue I leaned forward and started up the narrow trail.

The climb started immediately, sharp switchbacks on rolling rocks, with only low brush around me. I was thankful for the cloud cover of the afternoon… doing this climb with a heavy pack in full sun would have been much tougher. Even with unsteady rocks, and occasional deadfall across the trail, and my heavy pack, I was able to slog up the trail at a steady, plodding pace. After the quick burn the trail leveled out slightly, a welcome reprieve, and awkward, straggly pines began to show up around the trail.

Beyond the official wilderness boundary the trail steepened once more, a final climb towards the thickly forested summit. Again, the trail writhed through tight switchbacks, with the now-familiar rocky ground loose underfoot. As I gained elevation the views to the west opened up, and even Four Peaks, far in the distance, poked above the nearer mountains. With any luck I’d be able to get some good views out that way from my planned campsite. There’s always a small bit of joy that I get, looking from my campsite to some distant feature, knowing that Katie and the kids can see the same one.

With one final sharp turn I entered the forest on top, and the ground suddenly flattened, my legs feeling as awkward as a newborn foal’s. Stumbling a bit, I was surprised at how quickly the trail changed. It had been a narrow, well-defined tread, almost a ditch up the rocky slope. Now the tread was almost completely gone, fading into the forest floor, and I had to peer ahead to find rock cairns to get a sense of direction. While the trail was mostly straight, heading south to the peak, there were a few gentle curves, and a few degrees of error added up between the cairns.

Cruising along under the shade of the tall trees reminded me of the Cabin Loop. I had spent so much time up there, on the Mogollon Rim, when we first moved to Arizona, first with a solo backpack, then with friends, and most recently with my kids. It’s a relatively crowded trail, compared to most of the wilderness hikes I’ve been on, and you often bump into other groups, sometimes within the same hour. Still, that loop is a nice one, and I wonder how my kids would like a return backpack trip out there.

The distance slipped past, and soon I was at the unmarked spur for the peak. Mostly unmarked, anyways. There was a cairn. I turned off the trail, heading out to the relatively bare and rocky highpoint of the mountain. There was plenty of agave waiting to stab a shin, and low manzanita brush, and tons of deadfall, all scattered over the hard, rocky, and gently rounded highpoint. It didn’t look like a burned out clearing, just rock that wouldn’t hold deep roots. There were a few living pines, just enough to set up my hammock between, and a generous open patio facing west. Perfect. With my hammock slung and my down quilts fluffing I settled down for a dehydrated dinner, my glamp-level chair facing west, and watched the sun slowly drop and color the sky with vivid pinks and oranges over Four Peaks, smiling as I thought of my family, just on the other side of that signature peak.

There was one small thing interfering with the otherwise excellent camp vibes, though. My clothes were drenched with sweat from the humid hike up, and now that I wasn’t moving around, the cooling temps rushed upon me like a wave. I had some dry clothes for camp - a wool shirt, beanie, clean underwear & socks - but my pants and shoes were fairly damp, and it was tricky to decide when to change what, and how long to try to dry my shirt with body heat vs giving up and hanging it for the night, etc. Small problems, sure, but as I sat there huddled in my chair, shivering, they didn’t feel that small. Shortly after sunset I retreated into my hammock, draping my clothes over deadfall to air out, clad only in dry underwear and shirt, keeping my sleep system dry for the night.

With the coming darkness it was time to prepare for the astronomical show that had prompted my return to this wilderness area. I waited until full darkness, reading a few chapters of my book, and then enjoyed the appetizer: some views of the Milky Way, visible in the almost-new moon dark. The near-new moon, in late summer, made for some solid images of the galaxy to the southwest. There was another event to wait for, something that had peaked a couple of days earlier, but should still be visible this evening.

The Perseid meteor shower peaked on the early morning of August 13, only two days earlier. I had tried to view them from the southwest corner of Arizona and had been driven back by a ridiculous storm wall. Those storms had covered much of the state, causing some flood damage, including the recent signs up here, plus the thick humidity. Now I was out here, hoping that the dark skies above this wilderness would allow me to see the tail end of this show. Before snuggling down into my hammock I set up a tripod with my phone, with a fancy app that promised to “take constant long-exposure images, detect the images with meteors, and then discard the rest” automatically. With that sitting next to my hammock I curled up and fell into intermittent rest.

The evening turned out pretty darn spectacular, especially for my first time attempting such a thing. In between short sleeps I switched between reading my book (with very low light) and watching the sky, and saw at least three bright streaks shoot across the sky. While my first tripod setup turned out poorly, possibly because I had the clamp over the lens (but who could really say), I readjusted it around 3am, pointing it west, using the dim glow from Phoenix as a base, and the app captured dozens of tiny streaks. I can’t say it was my most restful night of sleep out in the wilderness, fussing over the camera and such, yet it was a good night.

Shortly after five I decided to roll out of my hammock, even though my body could have used some more hours of rest. There was more new ground to cover before I could head home and check out my images on a big screen. I hurriedly packed up, pushing water and snacking, delaying real breakfast for later. The sky above lightened, giving me enough brightness to double-check my gear and start walking back towards the cairned trail, and then the morning sun poked between the trunks.

The McFadden Horse Trail does not end at the peak. It curves near the peak, circling a gully that drains to the north, forming a horseshoe around it, and ends at a northern spur. Curiously, on one of the trail signs near the start of the trail there were distances listed for both the “peak” and a “scenic view”. That was my first goal of the day… this “scenic view”. First I had to circle that gully, though.

The trail was easy enough to follow, even with the faded tread. Cairns were stacked high out here. Guess they don’t have a shortage of rocks to use, with how rocky the darn ground was. I wandered east, towards the sun, and crossed the shallow start of that gully, and then turned north with the trail, keeping the sun to my right. There were a few tricky sections, where I had to stop and look around for the next cairn, but nothing terrible, definitely easier to follow than most of the trails in the Galiuro Wilderness. Soon the trail slid a bit to the east, towards the looming open air next to the trail, and I was greeted by expansive views of the Cherry Creek drainage.

Yeah, this is a scenic view. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the “end of the trail”, as far as the forest service was concerned. This wasn’t my turnaround, tho.

See, this northern spur ended a short distance further along, sharp cliffs dropping to the forested flats below, with a signature rock formation below the tip - Elephant Arch. This arch is normally reached by parking north of McFadden Horse Mountain and circling around the northern side, a mostly-level cross-country walk, with that deepening gully to cross and a surprise climb at the end to the arch. However, some helpful friends on the internet had discovered a rock chute ahead, allowing for a complete loop. I like loops and lassos a lot more than in-and-out hikes. Continuing past the scenic view, I eventually reached the tip, gazing over at a rocky promontory that sits right above Elephant Arch. This part of the hike had been easy, with cairns and hints of trail continuing past the scenic view.

It was time for some fun. Circling back, I found a break in the rock ledge that looked promising. After double-checking my GPS, I started heading down, which involved some legit downclimbing and hanging onto brush and rocks for purchase. The heavy rains over the last few days made the ground soft and giving, which, if anything, helped me. Instead of hard rocks being knocked around by my large feet, the ground underneath absorbed some of my weight, and I only knocked one or two large rocks loose to tumble. This was slow going but not necessarily that tough. Even my pack felt lighter today, a few liters drunk and the trail heading downhill.

The only tricky part was deciding when to start the sideways traverse. Like any good cliff, there were layers here, and if I cut over too early on a promising contour line I could end up cliffing out. Plus, under the steep cliffs was a steep hill of talus, mostly held in place by trees, but still steep and ankle-twisting. Again trusting my GPS and the tracks of those who went before, I cut over at the 6800’ contour, and it worked out excellently. A mostly level, somewhat descending, walk led me right to the base of Elephant Arch, and after a few photos it was time for second breakfast.

I took my time with breakfast. The hardest section of the hike was done (or so I thought), that steep rock chute navigated safely. Man, if I slipped on that one… it’d be a long time before someone could have found my remains. Oh well. These views were epic and my warm oatmeal and coffee were most welcome after a few miles of walking. All I had to do was go cross-country to the road, a route that should be well marked from numerous visitors to the arch, have a quick stroll along the road, and then hike Cienaga Springs Trail back to my car. Shoot, this whole trip was going to be less than 24 hours, and I’d have plenty of time for an afternoon nap.

My prediction for the trail back to the road was immediately challenged. The route from Elephant Arch to that gully, which was flowing loud enough for me to hear from my breakfast spot, drops six hundred feet very, very quickly. And yes, there were hints of trail… too many hints. Every few yards I thought I picked out new tread, only to be thwarted by deadfall or washouts. No more cairns to guide me, no obvious ways forward. After failing to find any sort of a reliable trail forward I ended up just going for the path of least resistance, pushing through thick brush into clearings, busting a way down to the little creek.

The way didn’t get any easier on the other side of the gully. Only a mile and a half to the road, mostly along the shallow bottom talus slopes off of McFadden Horse Mountain, yet the time dragged, as I constantly fought my way through the thick brush. This was supposed to be easier than the intermittently maintained trail above! Instead, this was the most difficult kind of pine forest - sloped, plenty of deadfall, lots of undergrowth, and did I mention sloped? Man, I’m glad I have decent ankles. This route would tear through weak ankles like wet paper.

There were some cattle along the way that I spooked, a small grouping of five that crashed ahead of me, giving me a few dozen (stinky) yards of trail to follow before they disappeared. I always find it weird to find livestock in wilderness lands. The conservation side of me wonders why we would continue to overuse and abuse these “wild” lands, after overgrazing and invasive species have caused so much fire damage already. Maybe I’m being too rigid. I don’t know how often they graze, or how careful the forest service and rangers are about their leases. Either way, at least they gave my mind a distraction as I stumbled onto AZ-288, had a quick break for water, and then began the road walk.

Road walks can be more boring than this. With a single bud in my ear, a good audiobook, and a plethora of open views, this stretch went quickly. There was an option for prolonging my time out here, the nearby McFadden (not Horse) Mountain, with a fire tower on top, and a trail that wound around the south side and led to Reynolds Camp, but I wasn’t really interested in that today. Plus, this gives me an excuse to set up a shuttle hike and get my kids out here on a future adventure.

Soon the trailhead for McFadden Horse Trail showed up, the same one that I had taken up to the peak. This was just the lower mile of the trail, connecting to Cienaga Springs Trail. It’s another six hundred foot climb, near the end of my trip, and I anticipated a narrow track with switchbacks, given yesterday’s experience on this trail. I was surprised to see that it was merely a continuation of the same old mining road, only now steep and washed out. A little harder than a single track thanks to the deep washouts, a little easier than a single track because it was nice and wide and had little deadfall, I earned the elevation with fresh sweat on my still-damp shirt. Man, next time I hike in humidity I’m bringing dry clothes for the drive home.

Once I reached the trail junction I switched back into auto-hike mode, only interested in finishing the lasso. I could feel a shower, dry clothes, and an afternoon nap beckoning me forwards. The sun and clouds played with the hills around me, and I noticed more of the burn scar of Billy Fire on the other side of Reynolds Creek. This hike, my entire route, had largely stayed north of that burn. I’d love to revisit some more of this wilderness… the Rim Trail is a real gem… but I’m scared to see the fresh burn damage and fight through that potential mess. Maybe later. There’s always that McFadden Peak outside of the burn, and then there’s Grapevine & Lucky Strike Trails that are waiting for me. As usual, as I reached my car and started the drive home, my mind spun with future trip ideas, ignoring my sore hips and sweaty clothes and partial sleep, excited about another trip out to the wild. Maybe next time it won’t take an astronomical event to get me out here.