Of the six AZ Winter summits, for me, Quartz Peak was the most challenging. But also the most fulfilling. Let me tell you why.

The trail was utterly non-existent at various points on the hike, with no guidance at all during the last half mile. There were a few noticeable cairns (thank you, cairn-builders!) indicating I was on the right “path.” I say “path” loosely because I'm fairly certain I did not take the recommended route every time. I'd be merrily hiking along at a brisk pace, then abruptly met with a huge roadblock of boulders. Many times I would reach one of these beloved cairns after backtracking or climbing over these boulders (most definitely the route less traveled), looking for solid ground to get from point A to point B.

Keep in mind that attempting this summit solo was an underlying factor here. Although having my AllTrails app gave me some relief that I was at least headed in the right direction, it was clear I hadn't taken the “appropriate” path. Sidenote: I'm a bit directionally challenged, so I rely heavily on GPS. Thank God for those app developers! But, that said, I truly believe anyone would find the last half mile difficult to navigate. Ultimately, the lack of clearly marked trails (or the sheer lack of a trail) ended up tacking on another mile to my journey, in total. So I actually hiked 7 miles, rather than the noted 6. Go, me (lol)!

When trails were visible, they could be fairly narrow when curving around the outside wall of the ridge. There were steep drop-offs and plenty of cacti, sharp brush, and agave reaching into the path. At times when looking for three-point leverage, one of these sharp objects was conveniently right where my hand naturally would go for support. Needless to say, you had to pay attention.

The hardest point of pathfinding was near the very peak. I ended up on the backside of the quartz, but not at all a disappointing error. It was beautiful back there and, although a bit precarious, the deep crevices and blocks of rock were a sight that deserved to be seen. I finally found the top, but in hindsight, I think I was still on the wrong side of the quartz because I literally had nowhere to stand once climbing up. So, I straddled a large rock, leaned up against the massive quartz block, and held on for dear life while I enjoyed the view of Rainbow Valley. And let me tell ya, it was breathtaking: the sweeping views below; the sun rising and casting shadows, making the ridges appear blue in hue; the hawks soaring above. Pure and utter peacefulness.

Then a bit of panic started to set in. I hadn't really given that last scramble up much thought, but now I began to realize it was going to be quite an ordeal getting down. My heart was racing. Again, I was alone, on the wrong side of the quartz, and on an edge of the peak (not an exaggeration), and I was desperate to get down. Armed with a whim and a prayer, I took deep breaths, carefully hung on to the side, and managed to get down safely. I nearly cried with relief.

Let's back up a minute and talk about the drive to the trailhead, shall we? Whatever you do, do not trust your Maps app. There are a few ways to get there, and there is one very wrong way. Now, Maps did steer me in the right direction going in – this wasn't all too terrible. A lot of bumps, cow pies, and dips to maneuver, but nothing a high ground clearance vehicle couldn't withstand at a reduced speed. About an hour later, I reached the trailhead safely. On the way out, however, Maps refused to guide me back the same way I came in. Now you may be asking, “Didn't you remember the path you came in on?” and my answer would be, “Yes, but there is a three-tined fork in the road (or should I say sand?) and you have to make a choice.” So rather than get lost out in the middle of nowhere after a long hike, I decided to trust my app. I mean, that's what they're designed to do, right? Provide trustworthy navigation? I didn't realize I was on an alternate path until I reached a barbed-wire cattle gate. No worries, I just got out of the car, moved the gate, then re-secured it. No sweat. And, by the way, the cows are so cute! Out there minding their own business, not a care in the world.

Not far after that makeshift cattle gate was where the trouble began. The dips in the path were so deep and narrow, that they were nearly un-driveable. I was driving a CRV, by the way, so I managed. But then the path turned into large rocks (much like what I just hiked on); not something you want to drive on. There was one spot, in particular, that was a rocky steep climb, and had a deep, narrow dip. Here is where I thought I was either going to get stuck or tip over (again, no exaggeration). It was terrifying. This route ultimately took me to HWY 347. Literally. It stopped abruptly perpendicular to the highway with a heavy lip of asphalt separating you from the road. You wouldn't have been able to see this dirt path from the highway unless you squinted. No indicators, signs, what-have-you. It just simply isn't a road.

Now, back to the hike. The trail was a steady climb at the jump, giving my calves a run for their money. This made the descent slightly more challenging than a typical summit descent, so it wasn't quite as swift going down as you might expect. I signed in at the trailhead at 6:45 a.m. and signed out at 11 a.m. Not too shabby for tacking on an extra mile for lack of navigation and taking a breather at the top. Full disclosure: I was so happy to see the trailhead again that I ran the last quarter mile (lol).