From sna-foo to yabba dabba doooo.

But before you eat your lunch, it's a good idea to find the trail head first.

The best laid plans…found our adventurers auto bound for a trail in the Four Peaks Wilderness. Armed with scribbled internet provided directions, a belly full of caffeine and biscuits & gravy—it was a grand drive on a blue Highway 87 leaving civilization in the rear view mirror.

At the appointed turnout, the rental car and it's inhabitants were shocked to see a washboard dirt road in much worse condition than what they encountered yesterday. Calculating 8 miles from the trail head; their Chevy already whimpering like a freshly sheared poodle, they decided to turn back and head for Plan B: Saguaro Lakes.

Back up the road they drove re-vectoring to the east. Sadly the lake, while rare indeed in these climes, was a pretty disappointing reservoir. So going on dead reckoning, our trusty pilot (who is known for his most excellent sense of direction) took a leap of faith and assumed the road they were on would lead them back to the Superstitions.

Forty miles later...

They passed the Goldfield ghost town again, headed confidently for Plan C: First Waters Trail Head. Only to find themselves on another rutted dirt road…

Papa Foo gunned what was left of the Chevy's engine and off they bounced into the desert. Until they came upon a parking lot filled with buses...and screaming scouts having a veritable jamboree in the outback. 

This did not look good at all. 

Yet they were still a mile from the official trail head so on they bounced to the end of the line. 

Nice enough spot except for the troop of Boy Scouts unloading, running every which way yelling, "Dibs on being the leader!" Quickly grabbing their rucksack, our party decided to see how much distance they could get on these bunglers while the Scoutmaster tried to corral the young scouts (who were clearly jacked up on Mountain Dew) for the trail safety briefing.

All worry was for not—for in 10 minutes, Foo and Papa found themselves on just the best trail into the desert: an easy-on-the-quads, well marked, cacti-studded climb; completely void of people. In they hiked for 3+ miles enjoying the ever-changing scenery and getting ever closer to Weaver's Needle, the same rocky spire seen from above on yesterday's jaunt. Coming at it from below was a whole new enchilada as they say here in local parlance.

Reflection finds agreement. That while not super taxing to lower limbs, today's hike might just win 'Best of Set' yet.