2004 May

We look forward to meeting up with Peter Gould from the moment we start today. Ann had made only quick arrangements to camp with him and his son Jesse on the Rio Chama. We have no phone signal, so we just hope to see them.

We spend the morning descending a pleasant trail along Ojitos Creek.
Ann seems puzzled when I keep taking pictures of the tri-colored sandstone cliffs on the canyon walls. They all start orange on the bottom, then fade to white, then yellow. Finally she asks if I’ve been here before, and is surprised when I say no. I don’t know why - we’ve both spent years in New Mexico and nearly everything we see is new to us. It’s easy to get to know the places you visit better than the places you live. It’s a joy to rediscover the state together.

There are many cars about when we reach the Rio Chama, probably due to Memorial Day. Ann had visions of relaxing by the river and waiting for Peter, but agrees to walk the road instead while we look for him.

Several friendly people stop to talk to us - a man on his way to a retreat at the Trappist monastery up the river, a guy finishing a weekend of taking high school kids boating, and a few Forest Service rangers.

We reach NM84 at 5 pm without seeing Peter and Jesse. On the road we get just enough cellphone signal to reach them and find out they’re almost here. Twenty minutes later we’re piling into Peter’s already stuffed Jeep and heading for the campground.

Peter serves us a hiker’s feast: roasted chicked, spicy beans, tortillas, microbrew from 2nd Street Brewery in Sante Fe, fruit salad made on the spot with whipped cream, and hot cocoa with real milk. He won’t even let us wash a dish. We go to bed stuffed, a nearly full moon rising over the river.

We hike a few miles to NM96, then hike four miles east on the highway. It’s memorial day, Ann realizes, and there seems to be some holiday traffic. The dirt shoulder is good though, and the Ponderosa forest is pretty. The sky is clear today, but that icy wind keeps us in our sweaters.

As we start the climb up the next mesa a small calf stares at us and moos. It’s funny and noisy, so we try to talk to it in bovinese. This may not have been a good idea, because it starts following us. It circles when we stop for a rest, and follows me into the bushes when I head out for a pit stop. We’re just starting to discuss what our duties as proxy cow parents might be when a little brother calf appears from somewhere, and they wander off together.

The forest roads make for good walking, but Ann’s feet are getting blisters again. This is doubly depressing for her now that she knows what good shoes can feel like. She says that her shoes feel like they lost some springyness after getting wet yesterday. She mentions that the prospect of more foot problems makes her want to give up. I can’t blame her, and it worries me. I feel drowsy and unmotivated today, and it’s hard to keep going.

It doesn’t help when I miss a turn out of laziness and have to backtrack a ways. We make the descent into Ojitos Canyon with no more problems and camp by the creek at the bottom. Ann seems to take comfort in the babbling little stream, and I take comfort in her.

We’re up early to take advantage of the hostel kitchen for breakfast with hot coffee, toast, cereal, and brownies made by some other guests. Then we take off on small roads and trails through the ranch to our forest road. The road soon becomes a trail along a creek. The presence of flowing water is almost magical after so many days of hiking from one meager water source to the next.

At the top of our climb is the San Pedro Park Wilderness Area, a plateau of forests and meadows at an elevation over 10,000 feet. There is an icy wind, and we have to dress warmly even in the sun.

I feel energized and keep getting ahead of Ann. At one point I wander onto a side trail after skirting a blowdown. It doesn’t take too long for me to figure out what happened, but Ann is way ahead of me when I get back to the trail. I blow my whistle and walk fast to catch up with her.

Ann is bewildered when I catch up. She thought she heard my whistle, but didn’t know what to do. We discuss it, and come up with a simple system. One long blow, repeated if necessary, means ‘Here I am’. Three short blows means ‘Stay there, I’m coming’. Long-short-long is reserved as a distress call. We have no idea if the system will work, but it’s comforting to reach an understanding.

The high meadows are marshy and our feet get wet. The icy winds persist. When we stop for a meal there’s a light snow flurry. All this is such a contrast to where we’ve been, the novelty is almost worth the discomfort.

We descend the high mesa in thick, musty woods, recently snowpacked. At one point Ann sees a pair of dogs on the trail, but no owners come. She points them out to me as they disappear into the trees. I see grey figures with bushy tails, perhaps a bit of black on the end. We wonder if there’s any chance we’ve just seen wolves.

The descent is long, with some rain showers. I see my first deer of the trip at the trailhead, and there are many elk about. By the time we reach the bottom there are only cows, but a welcome stream. We’ve been holding off dinner for water, so now we make camp and eat in the dark.

The morning is a race to checkout time at 11 am. We hit the Cuban Cafe for breakfast, then I go to the Post Office while Ann starts the laundry. We sort our boxes in the laundromat. We got an extra solar panel from Aurora Solar, which should help us stay charged up. A surprise comes from our friends Clare and Dennis in Ridgecrest - double chocolate cookies! We’ll be thanking them for a day or two if they last that long.

I head to the library for some internet time while Ann finishes the laundry and gets groceries. The setup at the library is nice but very slow, and I spend a lot of time downloading and printing a blurry map.

It’s after 10:30 when I leave, rushing back to our room. I see Anita staring into space on the way, then Daryl runs up to me. He looks bad, can’t speak, and points to his ears like he’s deaf. He wants something, but I’m afraid he’s beyond my help. He waves sadly as I go.

Ann has been nervous waiting for me at the room, and is glad to see me. She was about to start stuffing my things into garbage bags to get them out of the room. I rush in, change clothes, pack up, and get out at 10:58.

We start walking north through town. There are more people on the street today. A few ask where we’re headed, and shake their heads in disbelief when we say Canada. Ann wants pizza but decides against it. We fill our fuel bottle at the gas station, then sit at the Frosty Freeze eating strange creamless ice cream. The lady working there, Roqueria, gives french fries for free and asks us to send her a postcard from wherever we stop.

Finally we leave town and start up Los Pinyos road. It’s different from what we’re used to. There is a lot of green grass and trees, and water flowing in an irrigation ditch by the road. The further we go, the more lush and green it is. There are signs for the Circle A Ranch Hostel all along the road.

A guy in an old truck pulls over to talk to us. He works for the Forest Service in the area. He says we’ll encounter a lot of blow-downs and snow five feet deep in the trees ahead.

By the time we reach the turnoff to the hostel it’s so pretty I’m tempted to go check it out, but it looks like a two-mile round trip, so we start climbing the hill on a forest road. We soon stop feeling tired and unequal to the 2,000-ft climb in front of us. Still curious about the hostel, we decide to turn around and maybe stay a night there.

It’s a heavenly place. A big adobe ranch house is surrounded by green fields and forests of oak, aspen, ponderosa, and pinyon. The largest documented pinyon pine in the region, and possibly anywhere, is on the property. The is food left over from a group that just left and plenty of quiet, comfortable places to sit. We spend a very restful afternoon and evening here. Both of us love the place.

It turns out the windmill is only a few minutes’ walk from our camp. It also turns out the old adobe ruin next to the windmill is now rebuilt and occupied. It’s behind a locked gate with a NO TRESPASSING sign now. We are sorely disappointed, but decide we have to head for NM44 along the Rio Puerco. We investigate some other pumps and tanks on the way, but everything is locked up or dry. We swing east away from the mesa toward the road.

Just before the descent to the Rio Puerco canyon we cross a road with familiar white-topped post trail markers along it. We stop. It could be a much nicer way north than ten miles of pavement pounding, but we don’t have much spare water if it wanders too much. I can’t conceal my desire to try it. Ann concedes to do it as long as it doesn’t go back west and up the mesa. This is a significant gesture from her, because unknown trails and scarce water make her very anxious. I accept, and we follow the markers.

Before long we see clear water trickling down the road, then we come to a nice clean cattle tank. We can now filter more drinking water. This is good, but also challenges Ann who has steeled herself for a long day without much water. We’ve already skipped breakfast to conserve.

We make a mistake at this point. We should relax, eat breakfast, load up on water, and follow the trail markers with plenty to spend the night on. Instead we decide to just have a good drink, stay light, and try to make it to Cuba for the night along the unknown trail. We’re making decisions too fast because of all the sudden changes of circumstance.

The trail doesn’t go far before it swings back west toward the mesa. We consider turning back, but then it cuts north again through a gate. A sign says we’re entering private property, but the markers are clear so we continue. After a while the markers disappear. Then we see some heading toward the mesa again. The trail is obviously going to climb it.

We’re in a quandry, and we’re both upset. Our options are a) turn back toward the highway again, b) try to find our way north on private roads below the mesa, or c) follow the trail up. We waffle and argue, and finally I just head up the mesa to make a decision. Ann follows, angry. We irritate each other further, quibbling on the hot, steep, 400-ft climb. At the top the cairns disappear. It’s reckoning time.

There’s a road heading north on top of the mesa. It’s a gorgeous place. We walk along, calm down, and make peace. We talk it out. This is part of the journey, and part of our marriage. We react differently to pressure and strife, and are learning how to deal with these things together. It’s a healing discussion. Our mood improves, if not our situation. We stop and plan a route north on small roads. It looks possible. We might still make Cuba without undue thirst.

Our route works well. Near the end we see some more trail markers joining us. We scowl at them.

The last four miles are on paved NM167. We’re tired, but not wrecked. A Navajo couple, Elda and Larry, join us for a ways and talk. They recommend a motel and a couple of places to eat and drink. Larry is finishing a tall boy as we walk. They try to teach us the Navajo word for dry, sunburned skin, but we can’t pronounce it. They joke as we part that now we’ve seen a couple of ’skins’.

We pass more people hanging out or hitchhiking on the road. Another couple, Daryl and Anita, ask us for food. We give them our extra food. Daryl is drunk but polite, Anita is distant. They say they’re trying to get back home to Gallup. There are more folks, mostly Native Americans, hanging out on the street in town.

Cuba has a decent layout for hikers. We spot restaurants, post office, laundromat, and library on our way to the Del Prado Motel that Elda recommended. It’s not bad. The guys drinking Bud outside the room next to ours are friendly. Ann has been fantasizing about margueritas, and we’re soon showering and sipping cold drinks. After a long day with only trail mix to eat, we enjoy a sizable dinner at the Del Prado Restaurant and go to bed content.

We start following cairns into the mesa lands today. They are visually appealing formations with sculpted clay and sandstone, and lots of blooming wildflowers. There are often fabulous views of the jumbled surrounding country.

We stop by a juniper for a cold breakfast. This saves stove fuel, which we’re low on, and water. Our next water source is a spigot which should be reliable.

The spigot is hard to find when we reach the spot, but it’s there and working. We fill our water bags and carry them to a shady spot for dinner. We also take a sponge bath. Every time one of us starts getting wet the sun goes behind a cloud and the wind comes up and freezes us. In the end it feels great though.

We decide to take a calculated chance with water, as we often do. The next water source is a windmill our book calls reliable. We think we can reach it tonight carrying two liters apiece. If there isn’t water there, we’ll have to cut to NM44 and possibly get water from cars or the Rio Puerco.

We walk and walk, leaving the cairned route for roads, but find no windmill. After exceeding 20 miles for the day we stop and camp, disappointed and anxious.

The sun rises behind some high clouds, making for a cold morning. We walk around to stay warm while we eat breakfast early to avoid carrying the water.

The high clouds persist, making for nice walking. We’re having lunch at Ned’s Tank, the biggest cattle pond yet, when two guys pull up in a BLM truck. Ted, the talkative one, explains that they volunteer to come and clean the place up. We remark that we’ve noticed all the fenced parking areas, elaborate signs, and cleaner roadsides - in contrast to the Forest Service roads and trails we’ve spent so much time hiking. He says that neither agency has any money, but that BLM makes better use of volunteers. He doesn’t explain where the brand new truck, gas, and dozens of signs come from, but that’s okay. He tells us some good horror stories about other hikers, and a cattle pond that was polluted when 8 cattle got stuck in it. They were so thirsty they ate mud from the bottom, got sick and mired, died, and were covered with water in the next rain. This makes us feel better about hiking extra miles to avoid having to get water from these ‘tanks’. He also makes fun of New Mexico ranchers, “They live in town and come out here every few months to see if there are any cattle left.” On a more positive note, he tells us we’ll find good water in five miles at Ojo Frio. We say goodbye and head down the road, descending Mesa Chivata at last.

Ted finds us later taking another break by the road. He looks at us strangely, “You’re almost at the spring, you know. It’s not 200 yards over there.” He thinks we’re rubes. We have misinterpreted a landmark though, and we don’t get it all straight until we’re at the spring. We’re thankful that Ted didn’t let us go past it.

Next we leave the roads to follow cairns through low mesas and arroyos. Ann is taking a turn at navigating and I almost get her all mixed up, but she figures it out. We cross Arroyo Chico, a strange sandy, salty place with lots of clay banks eroded in wild shapes, bushes with deep red bark, and flowers. We see prickly pear blooms in colors from green to yellow to pink. There are also lots of flies, so we walk a ways more before camping.

We follow more old roads and tromp through a field to FS239, the road we’ll follow for the rest of the day. It rolls across the top of the large Mesa Chivata, through woods and meadows.

We come to our first chance for water after about 9 miles. It is reddish brown and features a cow standing in it up to it’s knees, pooping. We decide to continue 4 miles to Ojo del Dado. This water is at the top of a rocky basalt canyon. It has no cow, but is an unappealing green. We still have more than two liters of water between us, and the day isn’t too hot. After some consideration we decide to go 7 more miles to Ojo los Indios for water.

We start to slow down, but we make our first 20-mile day with plenty of light left. This is good, because we discover that it is a 3-mile round trip to the spring at the bottom of the canyon. I take off with the water bags.

The descent into Canyon los Indios is really pretty, with good views to north and green grass rustling in the setting sun. The water is good and clear, and I leave with two gallons.

I get back to our camp before dark, but it’s dark and getting cold when we eat dinner.

It doesn’t take long to reach Gooseberry Trailhead, packed with big vans. We grateful to find a good piped spring just off the trail, and have a good breakfast to celebrate.

Since Grants we’ve noticed that Mt. Taylor is divided into two colors along a straight line. We keep looking at this curiosity as we climb. We find out that a long string of people passing us on their way down are geology students from Tennessee. I nearly ask someone about the two colors, but refrain. Maybe there are different rock and soil types from different eruptions in the dead volcanoe’s history, I hypothesize. When we reach the line I’m glad I didn’t ask. It’s a fence. The grass has been grazed on one side and not the other.

Views from the top are grand, even though it’s a little hazy today. We’ve climbed another 2500 feet to 11,300′, our highest point so far. It’s actually the highest mountain we’ve climbed together. We can see much of our route back to Allegres Peak, south of Pie Town. East is the Sandia range by Albuquerque, west and north a sea of mesas.

The descent through the trees on the north side is still fairly snow covered. The trail then joins a road that climbs to another peak with a lookout tower. Ann says I’ve tricked her into climbing two mountains!

It’s a nice descent on Forest Service roads through meadows and stands of pine trees until we break away to American Canyon spring, another good water source. We have dinner there and load up for fifteen miles to the next water.

We decide to take a cutoff on old roads for some variety. It no longer seems like a big deal when our road dead-ends, we just find our position on the map and bushwhack to where we meant to go. It’s a quiet little canyon with a retired road at the bottom. We wind down it, find a couple of tricky turns, and stop on a forested hilltop with enough light left to stretch and look at maps before bed.

We return to the Uranium Cafe with Elaine. I have determined to attempt to eat a Uranium Yellow Cake with eggs. Ann and Elaine opt for the smaller Silver Cake, a pancake the size of a dinner plate and half an inch thick. My Yellow Cake is an inch thick and overhangs the plate substantially on all sides. It’s good, but I decline the Challenge: eat two and they’re free. We need to walk today.

Again we’d be in bad shape without Elaine, who drives us back and forth across Grants for breakfast, then post office, and finally to drop us off on NM547 and say farewell. Thanks Elaine!

On the way out of town we stop at the ranger station and see Marsha again. She makes some calls and gives us tips about water.

There are signs discouraging picking up hitchhikers, so it’s not surprising when we pass a prison. The double fences with razor wire top and bottom are intimidating. We wonder how many eyes are peering out at us through the dark windows.

At one point Jeff and Barb pull over to ask about our hike. Jeff is enthusiastic and eager to help us if he can. We get directions to his house near the trail where we might get water later.

The climb up Horace Mesa is good, with lots of blooming cactus. At the top we can see over Grants and a little bit of Zuni Canyon. Walking on top of the mesa is pleasant, very gradual climbing.

We spot Jeff’s house from the Mesa, a couple of hundred feet down. After some debate we decide it’s too much trouble when we have some tips about water along the route. If we keep going we might reach a different water source by bedtime.

The road is rutted and rocky, so we’re surprised to see a sheriff’s sedan-style patrol car creeping down. The officer says they patrol forest roads sometimes - this is his first. Later he comes back because the road got too rocky. We figure out by talking to him that the water source we were hoping to find tonight is nowhere near. Water tips are great, we decide, but not very useful unless you can pinpoint the location on a map. Now we’re counting on finding water at Gooseberry Spring in the morning. The Sheriff gives us some extra water for the night and wishes us luck.

I get excited when I spot a stock tank through the trees, but it’s dry. It’s a nice spot to camp though, so we settle in amidst the pines 2800 feet above Grants.