I set camp on a hill just above Mormon Lake and, with no threat of rain, sleep under the net and a dome of stars. When I wake, I feel completely present: no anxiety about timeframes or goals. I’m not sure whether it’s the book, the ease of terrain, or the rhythm of solitude. I walk easily on pine needles and think only of what’s around me. Not surprisingly, I miss a trail sign and soon I’m on the wrong forest service road. I walk ahead anyway and, as I cross a fence gate just below Mayflower Spring, a sign identifies the land as Lockett Ranch.
I’m over the moon. Some goals are only reached when you stop trying to reach them. This ranch is not really in my personal history – I visited just once only 2-3 years ago – but it was carved out of the forest more than one hundred years ago by my great grandfather. My great grandparents had only two sons: one wanted to be an anthropologist (Clay Lockett) and the other a rancher (Bob Lockett). Bob inherited the lands and leases here and in Phoenix and my grandfather the land in Fort Valley above Flag. The thrill of “discovering” part of the old ranch is short but meaningful to me: a story to share and memory to add.
As I continue north I pass what seems to be the same stuff: trees, parks, dry lakes. A biologist at Museum of Northern Arizona would see impressive diversity yet I don’t. My eye is turned inward. At peace but no desire to stay solitary for much longer. Already I look forward to the house in Flag in two days and NYC in two weeks. Some want solitude as an end in itself and some (like me) use solitude to gain peace, perspective and enrich appreciation when they return.
I walk west of Mormon Lake, cross the highway, then walk along the mesas to the east and above Lake Mary. I find out what happened to all that snow: miles of brown mud sticks heavily to my boots. For hours it’s hard walking until I descend from the mesa to Lake Marshall. The Peaks glow above me and are my north star rising above Lake Marshall and a split rail fence as I pass it. I camp on the edge of a meadow, near fresh mountain lion tracks left on the muddy trail.
I wake early the next morning before sunrise in the cold morning so I can watch the sun rise on the Peaks. Other hikers have moms who call to make sure they are ok. Maybe even daily. Sadly I’m not that lucky. My mom calls me five times a day. This morning it’s at 7am telling me which route to take (not all the way thru Walnut Canyon). I don’t tell her about the lion – that can wait.
By noon I’m walking thru Flagstaff. I walk past places I know so well yet only see from cars: motels on Route 66, the huge church on Anderson Mesa we attended last Christmas, the huge expanse of Buffalo Park. It’s strange (to view all of this on foot) and wonderful. I text photos to family as I go. 
From Buffalo Park I head up to the base of Mount Elden, past the Buck Pasture where Locketts used to run sheep, up and over to Schultz Pass Road, sneak behind the collections building at the Museum of Northern Arizona, and then I’m suddenly walking up the old driveway, cinders crunching under my feet and my parents waiting for me at the door. I’m in heaven.
The Arizona Trail 