The Trail Will Provide

The final day of my hike started with a long, dusty 13-mile walk mostly on forest road. It took me to the first water source, a solar well pumping life-giving liquid from deep underground into a massive algae-covered cistern.

To be fair, the water filtered beautifully and I was able to relax in a small square of shade beneath the rusting windmill, crankily swaying in the wind.

I needed that rest because I’d been feeling anxious all day. From here, the water sources were of unknown quantity and the four liters I gathered – a heavy ten pounds – would need to suffice to the end of my hike.

This particular hike is what’s called a “LASH” or Long Ass Section Hike, 240 miles give-or-take of the Continental Divide Trail. I started my quest in the southwestern town of Lordsburg, New Mexico and things were coming to the end in Grants where I’d join a section already checked off my list.

But loaded down now with only road in my future was not making for a soulful end to my journey.

Long distance hikers mostly use a phone app these days to serve as both map and information sharing. I may be too early to get beta on water, but not on what’s ahead. Many hikers suggest skipping the road to enjoy the Narrows Rim Trail on top of a mesa. It will take longer to walk, but it’s one of the coolest things you’ll do.

Beyond the mesa, a hiker has a choice to continue walking on busy tarmac, or to take the Zuni-Acoma Trail, a seven-mile walk across 100,000-year-old lava flow.

Calculating water, daylight, my energy level and when exactly I needed to get a bus from Grants to Albuquerque and fly home, I concluded that the mesa was doable, but the lava rocks hike was out.

It’s not called El Malpais or “The Badlands” for nothing. Spanish explorers avoided it completely out of fear of getting lost or falling into one of the many hidden cracks and caves. Barring a miracle, I simply didn’t have enough water to get through safely.

We have a saying in the hiker community, “The Trail Will Provide.” It signifies the aid and assistance hikers encounter on trail, encouraging trust and faith that things will work out.

In all my 13,000 miles of walking, I’ve been awed by the mysterious ways I’ve been supported, whether tangibly by a ride or offer of food, or more spiritually, like a change of scenery that brings me back to the reason I hike in the first place.

As I climbed up to the top of the mesa, I could feel things changing. The dusty road was out of sight, the noise of traffic drowned out by wind whispering in junipers and pinyon. And the view was astounding, only became more so as the sun began to dip over a black sea of lava rocks reaching toward the horizon. OK, I thought, this is enough, my hike feels complete seeing this beauty.

Ready for short rest to drink and enjoy the view, I spied fallen log near the edge that appeared to be somewhat shaded. I’ll sit there and have a few sips of water, then move on to look for a place to camp.

It only took a minute to reach the log, but I was stunned but what I discovered. There was an “L” shape at the top, curling around in a protective stance over a bed of pine needles softly next to it. That space was just the size of my body, as if my cowgirl camp (sleeping out without a tent) had already been made.

A bit startled by this invitation, I warily sat on the log and drank water as planned. But soon it became obvious that I needed to stay right here. It’s 6:30 and will be dark soon, I don’t need to hike more. This spot is ideal to sleep.

I usually wait until it’s dark before setting camp so as not to draw attention, so I explored my rock verandah and took pictures of the sandstone cliffs turning orange with the vast badlands beyond.

And suddenly, there was the miracle. A worn depression in the rock, maybe a foot deep, was filled with water. Of course it had to be filtered, but the message was clear: you wanted enough water so you could feel safe hiking the lava rocks tomorrow, and here it is!

Like moving through the journeys of our lives, every step on a hike requires decisions and choices. I had made my peace with not hiking the lava rocks because it would be unsafe without enough water. But now I could do it.

Beyond the material support, was the fact that this fallen log called me to this beautiful place of solitude, one that was unimaginably beautiful, yet brief and transitory, requiring me to pay attention and be totally present.

I have never felt so calm and trusting on trail. Letting go and simply allowing the trail magic to reveal itself is an empowering place to reside. With deep gratitude, I crawled into my sleeping bag on a mattress of pine needles under a star-filled night then watched a magenta waxing moon chase the sun over the western horizon.