PT 42 The Wild Water Wheel Falls Trail
What a rush! A sun-soaked hike, a waist-deep river crossing, and a waterfall that’s worth every step and a couple of times of thinking of wimping out.
Hanging out in Payson, Arizona, had been a blast—but the pine-scented breeze and granite whispers were calling us deeper. It was time to trade town for trail. We were up early, checked the forecast (flash floods are no joke), and pointed our wheels toward Water Wheel Falls Trail. What we thought would be a casual forest hike turned into a full-on nature immersion—complete with river crossings, hidden waterfalls, ancient relics, and an unexpected dose of courage. What followed was one of those days that leaves your shoes wet, your heart full, and your camera roll overflowing.
Need to catch up?
PT 40 Where the Pine Bark Smells Like Butterscotch: Only in Payson, Arizona
PT 39 Bulls’ Testicles and My Love-Hate Affair with Payson’s Wild West
Or, Start from the beginning
Hanging out in Payson Arizona has been a blast. But now it’s time to get one with Nature. We were up early and checked the weather—no rain in sight. Not that there’s much in August, but when you’re hiking near a wash, a river, or a waterfall in Arizona, checking the forecast isn’t optional—it’s essential. Flash floods are no joke. They don’t arrive politely, and they don’t wait for you to finish your granola bar. When they hit, it’s fast, furious, and usually devastating. We were good to go.
Packed and ready, we hit the road toward our hiking destination: Water Wheel Falls Trail, nestled in the Tonto National Forest. From Payson, it’s about 20 minutes north, give or take, especially if, like us, you tend to slow down to admire the trees or catch a glimpse of something interesting out the window.
On the way we stop at the Tonto Day Park Pay Station (Google maps: 7PQ8+22, Mesa Del Caballo, AZ 85541, United States). Unless you are real keener and got yours online. If you hit the Shoofly Indian Ruins, you’ve gone too far. And don’t feel bad if you miss the pay station the first time around; it’s just a modest dirt pull-off, maybe with a car or two, maybe not. But it’s important enough to hit the highway in the opposite direction and circle back. This is where you stop to grab your Tonto Day Pass. Credit or debit card will do the trick unless you’ve got one of the Forest Service’s golden tickets: Annual Pass, Senior Pass, Military, Volunteer, Access, or that magical 4th Grade Pass.
Seriously get your day pass here. Parking at the trailhead is usually a zoo, and the last thing you want is to be hiking back to your car to stick a pass on the dash while everyone else is already splashing in waterfalls. Save yourself the chaos (and the hike back) and get it done here.
The whole idea behind these passes is to fund the Forest Service staff. You know, those underpaid heroes tasked with cleaning up after people who clearly missed the childhood lesson about not throwing garbage into nature. These funds help keep the trails safe, repair vandalized signage and bathrooms (why is this still a thing?), and preserve the kind of wild beauty that keeps us all coming back.
Apparently, some folks had a rough upbringing and are now taking it out on trees and vault toilets. But the rest of us? We remember Smokey the Bear for more than just preventing forest fires. So for those of us who do respect the outdoors, we’re the ones footing the bill to keep the wild wild, and beautiful.
Back in the car, pass secured and stuck to the dash like a badge of honor, we merged back onto Houston Mesa Road and headed north. It didn’t take long for the edge of town to dissolve behind us and the pines to lean in like nature was pulling a green curtain shut behind the last bit of pavement.
The sun was already sporting an August heat in Rim Country and it doesn’t play around but still better than a phoenix heat any day. But the day was beginning to hold its own. That early morning cool? Gone. Left behind somewhere in Payson replaced by a dry slightly metallic heat that soaks into your windshield and makes your sunglasses less of an accessory and more of a survival tool.
From the pay station to the trailhead, it’s not far but the shift is noticeable. The road starts to roll and twist just enough to keep your attention. The pines thicken, the air changes, and you feel like you're moving into another layer of forest entirely. There’s a rhythm to the drive: dense stretches of ponderosa forest broken by sun-baked clearings, the trees flanking you like sentries. Now and then, the East Verde River plays peekaboo from the side of the road.
We rolled the windows down for a stretch, because even in the heat, there’s something about that forest air in August. It smells like pine sap, (not butterscotch), dust, and sunshine. Not a cloud in the sky, just that blue-on-blue horizon that seems to go on forever, framed by towering ponderosas and the occasional scorched scrub that’s seen one too many dry summers.
It’s quiet out here, even with the tires humming on the pavement. The occasional hawk squawks in the trees or some kind of small animal makes a run for it across the road, but otherwise it’s just us, the trees, and the sound of the car’s engine as we snake through what looks more like a desert forest. We passed a few little dirt pull-outs, nothing much, but I always wonder what stories those places hold. A quick roadside picnic? A hidden trail only the locals know about? A quick pee in the bush? We didn’t stop.
Then we passed what we later learned was the First Crossing Lot, a different trailhead and not the one we were after. This was where not to stop. We kept going, eyes peeled for the sign. And sure enough, not long after, we saw it: Water Wheel Falls Trailhead.
According to AllTrails. the trail is a 1.6 miles out-and-back trail with an elevation gain of one hundred and fifty feet. The consensus is this is generally considered a moderately challenging route. Be sure to use the vault toilets before the hike because there is nothing along away.
The parking lot was exactly as expected: full of the chaos of overflowing vehicles spilling out perched on whatever flat patch of dirt could hold them. People were already unloading backpacks, coolers, and floaties. But somehow, we snagged a spot on the side of the road like it was just waiting for us to begin our adventure.
Even before we got out, we could hear it, Mother Nature calling, like Homer to the sirens. Only instead of crashing ships, this siren song came with the promise of shaded trails, cold river water, and the possibility of a waterfall selfie that didn’t require a filter.
With our Tonto Day Pass proudly displayed on the dash, like we were some kind of elite hikers who actually thought ahead, we breezed past the scramble of people fumbling with envelopes, money and promises to pay codes, and sweaty patience. While others were still sorting themselves out in the parking chaos, we were already heading for the trail.
The trail begins at the north end of the parking lot, where a well-worn sandy path leads us into the forest. The initial stretch is relatively flat and shaded, full of grasses and trees. Even as the August sun begins to assert its presence. I think to myself, wow, this is not so bad I can do this.
We come upon the water wheel lodged in the sandy bank next to a tree, out of its element but a testament to different times and more than likely the water was once covered this sandy area, I am not entirely sure. It's a piece of Payson's history that gives Water Wheel Falls its name. a relic from the 1930s. This water wheel was originally part of a gold prospecting operation. Back in the day, miners were drawn to the East Verde River in hopes of striking it rich. The water wheel helped power equipment used to process sediment and extract gold from the surrounding rock and river gravel.
While the dreams of gold faded, the name stuck and the wheel remains as a rusted tribute to those who once tried to wrestle treasure from the Mogollon Rim’s rugged terrain. Now it’s more of a curiosity than a machine, slowly blending into the forest backdrop, becoming part of the scenery hikers pass on their way to the falls.
It’s a fitting start to the hike: a man-made monument to grit and ambition, now quietly surrendering to the power and beauty of nature. We continue on along the sandy trail and pick up the Ellison Creek accompanying us on our right. The sound of gentle flowing water and the scent of pine create a serene atmosphere
Just passed the wheel we come upon a cross in some rocks. At the time they were blue rocks. It is a small memorial to the family who lost their lives here in 2017 during a flash flood. I know I have covered this earlier about flash floods in Arizona, however, I will mention it here again, they are no joke. Always check the weather and do not attempt going here if there is a threat of rain in the area or region. The soil is too dry to absorb the rain and it rushes down not only dry washes but anywhere it can. I have seen homes swept away in a flash food. Heed the warning and check the weather the day before and the day of.
As we continued on, the trail gradually shifted from soft, sandy soil to more rugged terrain. Soon, we found ourselves navigating across broad, pink slabs of weathered granite. Doable, but uneven with natural ridges, dips, and the occasional jagged peak that made each step a little more thoughtful. The elevation gained just enough to offer a new perspective, letting us peer down at the creek below which snaked its way through the forest like a thread of moving glass.
Depending on recent rainfall, this section of the trail can reveal all kinds of surprises from rushing water, side cascades, even spontaneous little waterfalls tumbling down from the higher ground. We lucked out. Several summer storms had passed through the week before, and the result was nothing short of magical. Water spilled from every crevice, weaving in and out of the granite like it had someplace important to be.
Not many people stray from the main path, but if you do, you’re in for a secret show. Quiet, hidden falls. Pools that glint like mirrors. And just enough solitude to make you feel like you’ve stumbled upon something no one else even knows is there.
The river remained our constant guide, threading its way beside us as we made sure to stay close to its course, though truth be told, it’s nearly impossible to get lost on a summer weekend when a steady stream of people are all headed in the same direction.
By now, the shade had vanished. The sun beat down on our hat-covered heads with a kind of relentless August authority. I found myself wondering, just for a second, if maybe sitting on my porch and experiencing this hike vicariously through someone else’s blog might’ve been the smarter option.
But then a group passed us in flip flops, lugging coolers and I shook off the idea of wimping out. I love the outdoors. I love hiking and my beloved walkabouts. I’m just not particularly coordinated. Nor do I possess thighs of steel to confidently leap from boulder to boulder like some woodland nymph. My legs have opinions, and my knees often file complaints. But for integrity’s sake I carried on. There is only one hike I wimped out on and I regret it to this day.
Truthfully, it’s not a hard hike. The boulders are big but friendly, the trail clear, and we stopped constantly to admire side falls and little cascades trickling through sandy or mossy cracks. For the more adventurous types, there are all kinds of little canyon spurs and alternate unmarked trails, some leading straight under waterfalls or into natural pools you can dunk into like a forest baptism. We stuck to the main path.
Approximately halfway through the hike, we reached a point where the trail crosses the river. We paused, choosing our footing carefully, stepping from rock to rock as they peeked above the current, anything to avoid soaking our shoes this early in the day. The water was refreshingly cool, a welcome contrast to the hot, dry air pressing down on us from above. After crossing, we continued along the trail, which now offered little glimpses of what was to come, small waterfalls, calm swimming holes, and ahead, a whole lot of people. One more crossing, and we’d be there. But this next one? It had me freaked out.
You see, it all depends on the recent rain. Sometimes it’s just a trickle, ankle deep, easy enough to hop over without much fuss. Other times, like now, it’s waist deep and flowing with purpose. Cold, fast, and higher than expected, the river surged against our legs, biting at our sun-soaked skin like a sudden slap from winter. That is a fancy way of saying it was bloody cold!
And oddly enough, this was a completely new experience for me. I’ve never had to cross water like this before. Not like this where the current is strong enough to make you second-guess each step, and you’re suddenly very aware of your balance, your footing, and how committed you are to this whole waterfall dream. The river was beautiful, wild, and just challenging enough to remind me, this isn’t just a stroll it’s a wild adventure.
Not wanting to wimp out (for the second time), I took a deep breath and peeled off my shoes and socks having no clue what lay beneath the surface. But when in Rome (again)… or, in this case, when standing at the edge of a fast-flowing creek with an audience of annoyed strangers... in I went.
Freaked out? Absolutely. My brain was rapidly reviewing my life choices as I stepped into the current, water pushing against my legs with far more strength than I expected. I started wading, unsure of my footing, debating whether this whole “adventure” thing was slightly overrated, when, out of nowhere, a hand reached out.
A man, maybe in his fifties, must have sensed my inner panic. Or maybe he just saw my eyes as wide as dinner plates and figured I was a good candidate for a river rescue. He offered a steady hand, and I took it with absolute gratitude.
Meanwhile, kids and younger hikers whisked past me like it was nothing splashing, laughing, moving with the kind of fearlessness I vaguely remember having once, in another life. I, on the other hand, made a silent mental note: I should probably work on my courage and my glutes. But before I knew it, I was on the other side. After letting my universal angel know how grateful I was, I let his hand go and he merely bowed in acceptance and disappeared.
I stood still for a moment, soaking wet, feet tingling, and completely transfixed (proud I didn’t wimp out) and feeling alive. The sound of water rushing, the shimmer of sunlight on stone, and the sheer beauty of it all washed over me. For a split second, I saw it. This sacred place without the crowd, without the noise, without anything but its raw, untouched wonder. And I quietly promised myself: next time, I’m coming back when no one’s here. Just me, the river, and the whisper of falling water (when it has not rained in a long time).
It’s hard to describe exactly what we stepped onto when we arrived, one massive, smooth expanse of granite rock. Is it a boulder? A slab? A prehistoric shield forged by time and elements? I have no idea. But I do know one thing: it should be called magnificent. This colossal rock stretches on like nature’s amphitheater, its surface worn into perfect bowls by wind, water, and time, some holding life within. Tiny ecosystems thrive here: puddles deep enough to reflect the sky, algae-lined pockets where dragonflies skim, and still pools that shimmer like mirrors warmed by the sun.
In some places, water trickles gently, with no apparent beginning or end, carving delicate silver lines into the stone. In others, the granite disappears entirely beneath cool, clear pools, edged by marshy vegetation, reeds, and soft tufts of grass, inviting, sun-warmed places just big enough to sink into like a forest hot tub. The sandy-pink hue of the rock, against the lush greens of the vegetation and surrounding trees, created something out of a painting. It was a living dreamscape, both wild and soothing. We wandered for a while, quiet, taking it all in. Not talking much, just moving slowly through the space, toward the main attraction. You’ll know you’re there because suddenly, the serenity gives way to the vibrant clutter of human presence: coolers, towels, scattered shoes, abandoned T-shirts, sun hats flopped over rocks, and the unmistakable sound of laughter echoing off stone. And then, the main event, the waterfall.
We were lucky. The flow that day was strong, the water cool, crisp, and thunderously clear, roaring down the jagged granite with graceful power. It pooled at the bottom in staggered tiers, forming natural basins big enough for every kid and kid-at-heart to splash, swim, dunk, or dare a climb.
As I looked around, I couldn’t help but notice the empty cans, the bottles of soda and alcohol, and then I thought… there are no bathrooms here. No facilities. And suddenly, I make a mental note to stay upstream. Survival instinct, I guess.
With that thought parked, we hiked to the top of the falls, standing high above the plunge, looking out over this entire enchanted canyon. The noise of the crowd overtaken by the roar of the water crashing below. It was surprisingly serene. The kind of sound that drowns out the world and pulls you inward. Nice!
We drenched ourselves beneath the falls letting the chill wash away the heat of the day, then sprawled on the hot granite to dry off. I closed my eyes and felt myself drift, slightly hypnotized by the warmth of the rock, the smell of river water, and the feeling of being completely held by nature.
In that moment, I gave quiet thanks. Thanks for this day, for this place. For Mother Nature, sacred, not always treated sacredly, but still giving.
And I wondered about those who came before us, the original stewards of this land. Did they use this area for gathering? For ceremony? Did they live here, raise families, find shade and cool in the water when the work of the day was done? Did children leap into these pools the way they do now, laughing and free?
Eventually, after enough time of just being, we knew it was time to hike out. But the thought of crossing that waist-deep water again had me reconsidering my whole life plan. Maybe I live here now, or just wait for it to evaporate, I thought.
But somehow, the return crossing was easier. We picked a different spot and used a downed log, a cluster of boulders and got across with barely a splash. Oh yeah, I thought, we’re practically pros now.
Tired, refreshed, and energized, we made our way back to the car. We moseyed through the shaded stretch of trail, grateful to be out of the direct sun, legs a little wobbly but spirits high. The trailhead, still buzzing with the usual weekend chaos, greeted us with a symphony of revving engines, laughter, and the hum of coolers being dragged across gravel. We found our car, navigated out of the crush of people coming and going, and took a moment to let it all settle in.
All in all, anyone can do this hike. I saw a woman in flip-flops and a cane making her way along the path and if that’s not proof of determination, I don’t know what is. I am happy I did not wimp out. If there’s a will, there’s a way. But seriously, a good sturdy pair of shoes are in order.
If you want this place to yourself, I’d suggest coming very early, or in the golden light of late evening. Fall winter and spring are also excellent times to explore. Imagine catching sunrise or sunset out here? that would be pure magic watching sunlight dance across the granite, casting soft reflections in the pools below; it would be absolutely breathtaking. It’s going on my list to return at a quieter time.
It was a fun, full day and now, Water Wheel Falls has earned its place on my ever-growing list of places worth revisiting.
We rolled back into quiet hustle of Payson, sun-kissed and hungry. With leftover Thai food waiting for us like a reward, we feasted again, forks in one hand, phones in the other, reliving the day through snapshots and videos. And of course, already plotting our next hike.
Tomorrow: Mogollon Rim overlook trails. Snacks prepped. Gear packed. Another adventure awaits and we can’t wait.
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Need to catch up?
PT 40 Where the Pine Bark Smells Like Butterscotch: Only in Payson, Arizona
PT 39 Bulls’ Testicles and My Love-Hate Affair with Payson’s Wild West
Or, start from the beginning
Thank you for tuning in and reading this. I super appreciate you.
~Karen
So pretty!