Yesterday became an example of a bad day gone good. We originally planned to hike a 12-mile loop around Weaver’s Needle, the iconic symbol of the Superstitions. At our incredibly advanced ages and decrepit physical condition, that would have been an all-day affair. Unfortunately, we got too late a start to safely pull it off.
Instead, we hiked up the Peralta Trail to the top of Fremont Saddle. There, standing before us lay Weaver’s Needle in all its monolithic glory. After snapping a few photos in the ugly, flat light of midday, we considered our options.
We could continue down into East Boulder Canyon, hope to find the unsigned Weaver’s Needle Crosscut Trail and follow it around to trails that would ultimately take us back to the car. We could follow the scenic but short Cave Trail down a ridge to the Bluff Springs Trail and back to the trailhead parking lot. Or we could simply return the way we came.
We chose a fourth option. We would wait for decent light.
In the shade of the only piñon tree in the entire zip code, we sat and waited. And waited. Five hours after we got there, my shadow finally stretched longer than I am tall. That’s when we shot sellable photos. Staying later would have been even better, but we still had a two-hour return hike back to the car. Here in buzz-worm country we did not want to hike in the dark.
And what a glorious hike down it was. The setting sun painted the hills at canyon’s end into glowing shades of Bronco orange. And while we did see an Arizona cardinal on a paloverde limb, no Arizona diamondback was heard or seen.