The Mazatzal range in central Arizona has always succeeded in luring me into it's wild terrain. With a few options to canyoneer, I became fixated on the rarely traveled Shake Tree canyon. There isn't much beta on this canyon available on the internet. HikeAZ has a few (5) trip reports detailing its offerings and for being a short canyon, there's plenty to satisfy the technical canyoneer's soul. The sparse consensus has eight rappels listed within its throws, but we experienced 10-11 rappels (we lost count, in all honesty). At this time of year, I would rate it 3B III, since there is some water, but definitely not any lengthy or tricky swims.
Initially I had planned to descend the canyon solo, seeking to get some solitude away from the intricacies of life. It's something I don't ever recommend to anyone -- there's always safety in numbers -- but I don't always follow what I preach. Hypocrisy, I know. Those who do venture on solo pursuits understand where I'm coming from. I enjoy the heightened awareness of always needing to be in tune with oneself as well as the multitude of endless variables associated with the environment and each situational risk. When my hermano expressed interest in attending one of these adventures with me, I couldn't help but want him along. In the end, it was far more enjoyable having him with me to work through each problem in the canyon as well as using the time to catch up with one another on our busy lives.
Ready to go, Mazatzal peak looms in the background. We assumed a quick pace on the Y-Bar trail, skirting the mountain south along the eastern side. We ran into some fun wildlife along the way, a garter snake, a toad, and several remnants of black bear left centered in the trail for our shoes to stumble into...
Shake Tree canyon lies at the southeastern side of Mazi peak. It is so sudden it's easy to miss. Left: view south towards ST canyon. Right: southeastern view down one of the many ravines comprising the east side.
After a good 2-3 miles of bouldery trail, we mutually we decided we hated ravines, particularly how they seem to negate any elevation you just worked hard at attaining. When the canyon came in to view, we were more than ready to lose this lame trail and begin our off trail excursion down to the drainage.
The canyon quickly transitions from a wide ravine, funneling into narrow terrain. Within 5 minutes we came upon the first drop, a quick 30' rappel into a murky pool and over another quick section.
The gorge was one of the most stunning canyons I've seen up close, with each wall jagged and fresh as though it was torn away from it's adjacent neighbor with an immense impulse of force.
The second rappel was another quick wall. We threw a biner block and rapped of a single strand over the edge of a trickling waterfall. For his first experience in a canyon, the bro did well. We made due with my equipment, using a hockey helmet and splitting up my only pair of belay gloves. He took the right hand, and I seized the opportunity to learn how to rappel left-handed.
There were a few down climbs and clever moves to avoid the standing pools left over from recent rains. I was surprised to see how much water was still moving in the canyon this late in the season.
Finally, we arrived at the crux rappel of the canyon, a 160-foot drop. Initially, I walked up to it from another drop and instinctively tossed the rope bag down to the anchor, not realizing that there lay a 10-foot wall between us and the big drop. Matt pointed out the optional anchor beside me and we laughed vowing never to toss the rope prematurely again. I dug into my pack and pulled out the other 60m rope that would only be used on the big drop and we rigged a quick 10-foot rap to get down to it.
Once down, we inspected the anchor for the big 160-footer: a large rock, slung recently with a bundle of webbing and weighted down with a pile of rocks above it to keep it in placed -- ah yes, the infamous "deadman" anchor. We pushed and pulled the webbing in several directions to convince ourselves of its strength, we inspected the fibers for wear. Everything checked out. Looking at the ground ahead, we decided we would likely be safe from any knot-hungry flakes ready to eat a knotted rope, and we tied a double-fisherman's knot to join the two ropes. Normally a "Euro Death Knot" would be okay in this situation, but I decided not to chance it with the slightly differing rope diameters (9.6 and 9.8mm). We were going for bomber security.
We each took turns tossing the quick-deploy rope bags over the edge into the abyss and listening for the crash of hitting the ground. Success both times. Actually, my toss went over some sharp overhung section and got stuck and sent several boulders crashing down -- not the sound you want to hear when you haven't seen what lies below.
Matt went first, opting to not be the last one up so I could make sure to double check everything on his setup. He slowly crested over the edge and descended out of sight. After some silence he chimed in that he had traversed over to free the green rope from its stuck position and was continuing down. Finally I received the relieving "off belay!". It was now my turn to head over the big one.
Left: the view back up-canyon. Right: the view down canyon on top of the 160-foot drop.
I slowly made my way down over the smaller ledge until Matt finally came into sight. Dang this is high! I made sure to enjoy every moment of that sweet, lengthy descent. I also made sure to remember to focus my attention to my left hand on the brake strand, which still felt awkward.
After dropping down to the tera firma, I splashed through the shallow water, and disengaged my harness from the line. We wasted no time in pulling the ropes so we could dry them out and enjoy a nice lunch. Remember, pull the green, we echoed to each other. While pulling the 2x 60m of wet dynamic rope was tiresome, it wasn't too bad. The knot pulled cleanly down the face without obstruction and came crashing down into the water below. We piled the rope on a rock exposed to the sun and traversed over to a neighboring slab to enjoy some snacks.
We enjoyed a quick lunch of chex mex, granola bars and jerky, soaking in the views of this lil' oasis within the canyon. Re-hydrated and stoked for the next offerings, we quickly stuffed each rope into its bag and scoped out the next obstacle: a narrow, 10-foot high section that would involve a stemming traverse to get to the safety of a chocked boulder in the center of the narrows. We debated a few ways through it, but eventually sucked it up and carefully stemmed both walls amidst swarming bees and slippery moss. The penalty for any screwup was a decent fall into a pinched narrow channel full of bees -- no room for error.
After some down-climbing and rock-hopping, we arrived at the next drop, a 50-foot, two section rappel down a slippery, vertical wall. The anchor consists of a small rock chocked in between a boulder and the rocky ground -- confidence inspiring at its finest!
Matt took lead once again and rappeled it without issue, stopping to offer this description: "eh, it's cute." When he reached the bottom of the first section he chimed in "whoa, dude, there's tons of bees all around me. You gotta just split this thing and do it quick! They're everywhere!"
Once he was down, I went for it, expecting to see the swarms of bees. Uhh, I only see a few buzzing around the cascading water trickle down beside me. Then I looked down on the ledge I was standing on and realized they were buzzing in and out of my legs. Ah crap! I leaped backward over the ledge and quickly fed the rope as fast as possible, landing firmly on the ground below. I ran over to Matt standing a fair distance away and we both chuckled at the fact that we were gonna piss 'em off even more when we pulled the rope right through them. Sure enough, they got mad and continued their frantic swarming amidst their prized grotto area. Sorry dudes.
I hate bees. We huffed it down canyon to the next rappel, a previous party had already taken the liberty to sling the anchor high off an overlooking tree to avoid the snag-potential of the dense shrubbery below. I took the lead on this one and smeared my rappel against the canyon wall, not really having any good footing on the right of the above-pictured boulder.
I convinced the bro to go about it more cleanly and he opted to go directly over the bulging boulder as I offered a fireman belay in the event of any slip. Classy stuff. He caught on quick.
We rappelled the last two drops with ease, the first being a shallow chute around a giant "Indiana Jones" boulder wedged in between the canyon walls. The final wall dropped into a green pool of algae, which we carefully avoided. A few sips of electrolyte later, we finished packing the rope and stowed the harnesses and planned our exit.
The canyon quickly overgrew with greenery and tons of trees. We stumbled into what I believe was thickets of poison ivy -- you know that ol' "clusters of three" bit. We did our best to carefully slink through the droves of ivy ground cover, trying to avoid brushing our exposed legs and arms and faces against the stuff. We crawled through several spider webs and tree limbs before finding a wash that emptied from the ridge above. We took it and exited that lush jungle of creepy!
It was a long, steep hike out of the canyon on loose dirt, shifty rocks and mazes of cacti. By the end of it, our vision was accurately captured by the photo at the right. We were so dang tired. It was a mess of a hot day when the sun was out.
After a few hundred yards along the ridge we finally stumbled back onto the trail, and still slung on the tree was our mini cooler of beers, chilled for the exit hike back. Yes!
Oh my goodness, oh my dayum, we now have the capacity to make it back to the trailhead. Our spirits are renewed! Cheers, good tree sir! Thanks for watching our brews.
The storms on the horizon were another motivator in quickly making our escape back to the car. That and our ever-shriveling feet, still sopping wet from the canyon. Gross.
On the drive out, we caught up with some locals. After several minutes of "no, you go", they finally went and crossed the road. What stubborn lil' buggers.
I made sure to rev the engine as we idled by to rile up the bull and scare Matt nearest to them in the passenger seat. Hehehe.
The drive back was uneventful minus the speeding ticket I nearly received. While I was trying to reach into the back seat of my car to grab my sunglasses, I think I floored the gas pedal for a good interval along a straightaway. When I sat back in my seat, I was greeted with the rolling lights of 5-0 in my rear-view mirror. I quickly signaled and pulled over. He walked over to my window and informed me that my slowest speed was clocked at 11-over. Sigh... With the standard line of "license and registration, please", I answered him with, "I think my wallet is in the trunk".
He ushered me out and around the back and I pulled open the hatch to two freshly drunken empty beer cans sitting atop my pack -- we had neglected to stash those when we got back to the car. I ignored the cans, hoping he would too and dug through the randomly-strewn gear to find my wallet... empty without license. "Ah crap", I said, "I don't have it..." I defaulted to my typical shrug. "Wait! No, it's in my pack!" I explained that I had placed just my license in my pack this morning in the event of somebody needing to identify us should something have gone wrong in the canyon. He watched as I pulled rope, webbing, caribiners, harness, helmet, and other nefarious bits of climbing gear out of the bag to finally reveal my license. "Ok, son, good. Now I'm gonna need registration", he chuckled. To fill the time, he asked me all about our day, getting stranger and stranger answers than he's probably used to receiving.
I walked around to the passenger side and pulled out the stack of receipts, orders, etc from my glove box. No registration. "Sir, can you check my license plate? I have the sticker. I just renewed, I should be good". Before he could answer, Matt pulled out the slip of paper with the latest renewal date on it. Sigh o' relief.... again. "Ok, now I just need proof of insurance. Is that it there?" He pointed to an expired insurance slip on top of the stack of paper. No go. I dug through my wallet, finding yet another expired slip of paper. He assured me, "son, it would be in your best interest to show me something current." Then it dawned on me, "I know it just renewed, I think the latest slip is in a stack of mail in the back!". Once again, we pulled open the hatch, I thew a shirt over the beer cans in back and pulled out a stack of mail that I had yet to open. Southwest credit card offer, Amex card offer, cancer society letter, Allstate insurance! Yes! I showed him the envelope and then quickly tore it open, and began thumbing through the packet with him until finally we both happened upon the 2013 expiration date. Vindication!
He laughed and said, "go ahead and get back in the car, I'm gonna run a few things". After a few minutes of chatting about the irony of the whole situation with my brother, the officer walked back over to my window and said, "son, I'm gonna issue you just a warning this time. Just please be mindful of the speed limit. Last thing I would want is for you and your buddy or someone else to get hurt on the road going to and from your excursions. These trips of yours sound risky enough", he chuckled. And with those awesome words, I gladly thanked him and we continued on homeward bound.
Until next time...
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