by Robert Spuhler
My legs are crossed up.
I am 10 feet or so off the desert floor, on the Castle Hot Springs practice via ferrata course. At my best, I’m not Fred Astaire, but moving laterally across the rings and foot holds cemented and carved into the canyon wall has my legs trying – and failing – to do something resembling the grapevine.
“Make room for your other foot on the bar,” says the guide. I do as he suggests, and almost immediately find my balance. “One off, one on,” I mutter under my breath as I switch over my safety cables. And just like that, I’m ready to climb a mountain.
Luxury comes in many forms at Castle Hot Springs resort: the high thread count of the linen, five-course meals at Harvest Restaurant, stress-melting massages at the spa. It also appears in Arizona’s only via ferrata course, located just a short hike from Castle Hot Springs’ front gate. With a small climber-to-guide ratio and postcard-worthy views from the summit, it’s a unique experience for visitors of almost every fitness level.
There’s a stereotypical image of a mountain climber — long limbed, lean, sinewy, as he or she shimmies up a rock face — that can be intimidating for those of us who might have none of those attributes. But a via ferrata course combines increased accessibility with the thrill of scaling a ridge, making the dream of mountain climbing possible for more people.
Via ferrata is an Italian phrase coined during World War I that means “iron path.” Soldiers weren’t able to carry equipment up to elevated mountain lookouts and hideaways on their own, so advance teams would go first, hammering grips, rings and bars into the side of the mountain. The ensuing paths made ascension more like climbing a ladder than scaling a rock wall.
At Castle Hot Springs, those rings and grips were installed in 2020 with both a hammer and concrete, making them much sturdier and more trustworthy than their wartime counterparts. To test their strength, the rings on the practice course were hooked up to the back of a truck; the pickup could not pull them out of the stone.
The guides keep the groups small, meaning that the experience is as personalized as possible. It starts with a briefing, including an explanation of the two-cable safety protocol; each climber is always attached to the mountain with those cables, which greatly reduces the chance of injury. Harnesses and backpacks are also provided at the briefing, along with a last chance to fill water bottles.
From there, it is off to the practice course. It is a short exercise, but it provides a technical challenge more difficult than anything climbers will experience on the actual trail.
“When I let people know that, ‘hey, what you just did, the physical aspect [of the full course] is no more difficult than what you’ve done already,’ the anxiety level goes way down,” says Glenn Slattery, the lead via ferrata guide at Castle Hot Springs.
The course itself, while longer than the practice version and involving heights, is a little easier to navigate. As I started up the first ascent, it felt similar to traversing a steep hiking trail, only with wires attached to me. From there, much of the “work” is ladder-like, stepping on metal rungs up the side of the mountain. Even the lateral moves, like the one I struggled with closer to the ground, felt easier — the footholds seemed simple to spot, and the encouragement from my guide to take my time helped me remain calm.
At the peak, the view over Castle Hot Springs is a sweeping vista of the resort below and saguaro-filled foothills beyond. Once everyone in the group made it to the top, The fellow adventurers and I passed around a leather-bound journal to sign, which made reaching the top feel like an accomplishment — one that linked me to other climbers, even if I’m not that stereotypical mountaineer.
“The summit register is sort of a rite of [passage], to be able to sign your name on some of these mountains when you climb them,” Slattery says. “It’s part of the ceremony.”
Then it’s time to make our way back to the resort. We follow the switchback-style trail down the far side of the mountain, whose gradual slope leads us past more saguaros and toward Castle Hot Springs. I walk downhill savoring the feeling of accomplishment, my legs happy to be back to familiar movement, and my mind already wandering across what I’ll order as my reward at Harvest Restaurant.
Robert Spuhler is a Los Angeles-based writer who covers nightlife and lifestyle, music, movies, pop culture, technology, and government for LA Magazine, MSN, Complex, amNew York and San Francisco Chronicle.