Ben will argue differently, but I nearly slid and fell to—if not my death, at least some very serious injury—this past Saturday.

We had both been itching to get out of Phoenix, and we decided to take a little road trip north.  Our goal was Tonto Natural Bridge State Park.  It’s one of those little-known Arizona destinations that I’d read about years ago but had never gotten around to visiting.

The trip north was beautiful.  Once you get outside Phoenix the land is pretty much undeveloped until you get near Payson, and by that time you’re up in the pines, it’s 20 degrees cooler, and you really don’t care about roadside development.  You’re out of the desert; that’s all that matters.

Let me say two things up front: I am no longer 25 years old and I am most definitely not in good shape physically.  Still, as the saying goes, “there’s no fool like an old fool,” so I didn’t think twice about hiking down to the stream bed once we’d reached the Bridge.  Once the trail reaches that level, it pretty much disappears in a mass of strewn boulders, requiring a lot of climbing and clamoring to get from Point A to Point B.  It reminded me very much of the kind of hiking that was once second-nature to me as I exposed as much skin as possible to nature at Reddington Pass outside Tucson back in the late 80s.

Now I can’t even imagine exposing that much skin to Mother Nature, much less performing the feats of boulder jumping that would be required to reach that one particular sun bathing spot.

Anyhow, reaching the northern opening of the bridge wasn’t all that difficult.  Ben was very accommodating and rested whenever I needed to catch a breath.  I didn’t realize that you could hike along the 400′ trail under the bridge, and while it seemed dozens of people were doing just that, the trail didn’t look at all safe to me.

North entrance of the area under the bridge. For scale, note the blue spec at the lower center of the picture perched on the rock. That's a hiker!

Still, I managed to find my way until about halfway through, crossing an especially slippery patch of worn limestone when I lost my nerve.  I couldn’t see anywhere to hold onto or go forward, much less attempt to go back.  I looked over my shoulder and saw a slick, ten-foot long slope that ended in what was anywhere from a twenty to thirty foot drop into a pool of water of unknown depth.

Ben was on a “path” above me, and was asking me to grab hold of his hand.  I couldn’t do that, because that would send him sprawling downward.  Finally, another hiker who was coming up, found a foothold and told me to stand on his foot  at that exact spot.  He pointed out a couple hand-holds, and I somehow managed to make it off that outcrop.

I was shaking uncontrollably by then.

Ben and I stopped, and I tried very hard not to have an all out panic attack.

The view from under the bridge after I'd stopped shaking long enough to pull the camera out of my backpack.

Looking up at the underside of the bridge. Note the people standing at the lower right corner of the photo.

I’d only faced that amount of fear one other time in my life, ironically while hiking.  It was back in the late 80s at Reddington Pass.  Having recently discovered the joys of nude sunbathing, I’d gone out one afternoon to “get some sun.”  The summer monsoons had been in full force the week before and the water in the creek bed was high and running fast, cutting off the usual route to the upper part of the canyon where you’d find the best “sunbathing.”  There was a little-used alternate trail that I knew would lead to the upper canyon, but I’d never been on it before.  Without thinking too much about it, I took to that trail, and soon found myself completely cut off.  I then made the foolhardy decision to go up instead of back, and found myself clinging to the cliff wall like a gecko, finally rejoining the trail a very harrowing five minutes later.  I don’t remember now how I managed to get out of the canyon, but it did not involve taking that trail, that much I do remember.

Anyway, back to last Saturday, after resting long enough for me to get my footing back (somewhat), Ben and I pressed on, at one point being pelted with “raindrops” from water seeping from above.  It was very refreshing after what I’d just been through.

By the time we reached the observation deck on the other side of the tunnel, I was exhausted.  Unfortunately I knew there was only one way out (since there was no way in hell I was crossing that outcrop again): the 2200′ long, 240′ high, Gowan Loop Trail.

This is where “not in good shape” turns in to horrifically out of shape, and having that little plastic tube in my throat really paid off.  We ended up walking that last couple hundred feet of the trail (when it finally reached something approaching flat) with a really nice couple from Sedona.  The wife volunteered that she was going through radiation treatments for cancer, so I told her my story and we bonded immediately.  Anne seemed like a real fighter; she was probably ten years older than I, and if she could make it up that trail I have no doubt whatsoever she will beat her cancer into submission as well.

View from the south opening leading under the bridge.

View from the top of Gowan Trail, looking down into the canyon.

Once topside again, Ben and I ate some of the picnic lunch we’d brought (I was not hungry), and then headed back to Phoenix.

Of all the photos I took on Saturday, this is my favorite, snapped while we were eating our picnic lunch.