Finally, I climbed to a pair of perches just large enough for each of us to rest in the slight shade of rock overhangs. I sent the welcomed notification, with a breath of relief, down the slope. At this point, we could use a boost. Long exposed days on rock can wear on the body and, more importantly, the mind. The only plant life here is that which has been able to cling onto -- and drive its roots into -- small cracks and fissures of the rock slab. Lucky for us, near our perch, a healthy prickly pear proudly presented plump red fruits, beckoning for seed dispersal. I carefully traversed from my perch across the slab, armed with makeshift chopsticks and low blood sugar, to pluck a fruit for each of us. A delicate process; trying to not only pluck free one of the few ripe fruits without sending it tumbling hundreds of feet below but also keeping myself securely clung to the slab of rock. We each rested with content upon our prospective perches with our fruits. The sugary red seeds (like that of a pomegranate) gave us a quick and delectable energy boost. Perhaps more importantly though, providing some moment of mental rejuvenation before a final push to summit three (with more to come). Mid-snack, we focused on a raptor circling in the air currents in the Roosevelt Valley far below. As it climbed a cyclic thermal air current, it grew in size. Not once did it flap its wings as it ascended from hundreds of feet below to hundreds of feet above. In a matter of minutes, an immature bald eagle circled just a stone's throw from us. It felt as though we too were high in the sky with the birds.

Aside from its unique mining operation, “Four Peaks” is also home to another pursuit --“The Motherlode.” A name playing on the mountain’s mining history, “The Motherlode” is the affectionately named task of reaching all four summits of “Four Peaks” in one single (and tiring) push. While Brown’s Peak remains a relatively hiker-frequented peak in the central Arizona region (albeit strenuous and not for the faint of heart), the other three peaks see far fewer bodies on their summits. Moving due south from Brown’s, (the northernmost and leftmost peak from the Phoenix Valley view), lie Brother Peak, Sister Peak and Amethyst Peak, rising in a jagged series of rock spines and pinnacles. When up there at the top, it feels much more like a maze of unidentifiable gullies, mini-summits and cliff bands; as opposed to a consistent ridgeline of rock running peak to peak. 

“The Motherlode” attempt demands a high level of physical fitness and mental resilience. It requires exposed Class 4 scrambling across all four peaks. Several sections involve vertigo inducing exposure and short durations of Class 5 climbing (the type of climbing generally reserved for roped protection). No defined trail exists across three of the peaks, demanding route selecting and often committing gully descents/ascents leading to unknown portions ahead. Steep and loose soil sometimes holds onto bushwhacking mazes of manzanita and chaparral brush. Dislodging of rocks onto partners below presents a particular hazard and demands mindful awareness. If that isn’t enough, cactus and agave cling amongst the cracks, ledges and patches of soil throughout. Extreme care must be taken upon every step and handhold so as not to grab a handful of cactus spines or stumble onto a crown of dagger-like agave leaves. The journey ends up leading you over eight miles and requires 5,000-6,000 feet of elevation gain (depending on your choices of routes). The unforgiving nature of such a task makes “The Motherlode” a coveted mountaineering-esque goal for adventurous Arizonans. 

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Recently, a good friend of mine was preparing to move out of state and one of his final Arizona “to-do’s” was an attempt at “The Motherlode.” With the good conditions that the fall season generally provides, we quickly scratched it onto each of our calendars. It had been two years since my last attempt at all four of the peaks, being forced off by snowy conditions and unpreparedness. I was anxious to give it another whirl.

Being later joined by another close friend of mine (who had accomplished all four peaks once before), our rendezvous point left us waking amongst good company to the lightening eastern sky, high in the Mazatzals on a cold morning. Our attempt began with us taking a lower trail around the mountain, to access the southernmost Amethyst Peak which we would summit and then work our way across to Brown’s Peak. By early in the morning, we found ourselves taking in the first grand view of the day. The southernmost peak offered exceptional views of the Salt River lakes to the south and drastic drop-offs all around. The top was slightly rounded with comfortable grass and a summit register. Appropriately, one of the contents of said register was a purple amethyst crystal specimen.

Having summited the first peak of the day, we were met with an excited bolstering of energy. Though we reminded ourselves we still had many grueling hours ahead. Climbing to the summit of the second peak, we scrambled the spine ridge upwards, a committing route requiring somebody to scout ahead. The climbing became ever-more vertical and the left side dropped into vertical cliff-sides. The climax of this particular ascent came with a step upward and to the left that quickly leaves drastic and shear exposure pulsating directly behind you, a mere step away. An absolute “no-stumble-zone.” Ascending further from this point, a small gully deepened. It was reassuring, as if the rocks were hugging me tight, keeping me safe from the drop-off below. Not long after this near vertical and exposed section, we relaxed our puckered-up muscles against backrests of rock, atop Sister Peak. We share our equivalent reminiscences of our puckering climb just minutes prior. Although we now have half of our peaks done for the day, we remind ourselves that one of the biggest tasks of the day lies immediately ahead. 

The saddle between the middle peaks is a bit more treacherous. Far deeper and more jagged than the other two saddles, we all knew it was going to be a long way down. An hour or more into our descent, we found ourselves quite committed into a steep gully descent with vertical walls on each side. We soon found an exit point where we could climb out and drop into another gulley on our left. Our downwards scramble quickly became exceedingly vertical and we were soon faced with a full 60 or more feet of technical downclimbing. Having come so far down this path already, we could’t face the thought of going back up to find another route. Seeing as the climbing was down a steep gully (where we felt more secure between a corner of walls), we slowly and carefully downclimbed. Brush clung to small cracks in the rock, complicating our descent and blocking views. Loose rocks crumbled from all sides and the first person down was tasked with doing some “cleaning.” Each of us focused into our own personal mental zone and we methodically eased down to flatter ground – finally! Yet still, faced with much more bushwhacking, climbing and route-finding before we finally reach the true halfway point of the day, the middle saddle. Energy began to run thinner. 

After surpassing our mid-point in a haggard haze, we were then faced with one of the longest and steepest climbs of the day. The east side of Brother Peak (our third summit) is a long and continuous slab of steep rock. I found solace in that it is at least continuous. No ups and downs across jagged “mini-peaks” (as is often the case on this route). Just smooth (and quite fun) slab climbing up a beautiful face, high in the Mazatzals. Somewhere, not long before the top, we found ourselves resting on our shady perches -- each of us slurping away on perfectly ripe prickly pears, trying to absorb all of the energy boost possible from our naturally satisfying treat. As if borrowing some of the “get-up-and-go” from the rising bald eagle (now far above peak), we ascended and took great enjoyment in the final few hundred feet of easy and enjoyable slab climbing. Fantastic exposed views were all around us which we were actually able to enjoy -- feeling secure clinging to the solid rocks in front of us. At the top, we found that it was certainly our most exhausting summit of the day. Barely enough energy to stand up and take in some views. “Basically the same view as the other peaks anyways,” we reassured ourselves.

With meticulous and careful route selecting, we found our final “down and up” of the day to go relatively smooth and easy -- though our beaten-down bodies didn’t lend us any favors. Relieved, exhausted and excited; we shared the top of Brown’s Peak together in the setting sun. “The Motherlode” was practically an all-day endeavor! With each summit view (though similar to the last view), we were granted new highlights of the landscape as the sun transitioned its rays across the lands all around us. With one summit view, the red cliff bands of the Sierra Anchas may have been highlighted above Roosevelt Lake. Upon another summit, the Mogollon Rim may have been the prominent feature showcased by the late day sun.

“The Motherlode” was a truly memorable experience. Atop this jagged crest of rock, we went through mental motions, states of exhaustion, near misses and shared success as a whole. We all agreed that this is the type of trip that falls into the category of “Type 2 Fun.” The type of torturous “fun” that brings more enjoyment in later reminiscences than actually in the carrying out of said fun. It always feels good, later on, to drive past these types of prominent features in the skyline across the state and to view them with the memories of the experiences found on each journey.