The sunrise is a deep red just to the left of Burro Peak. I take my breakfast of bars, cereal and freeze dried berries down the trail for a better look.
I haven’t mentioned the birds greeting me from the cedars and pinyon. The stuttery twitter of a Bewick’s Wren, a duet of the Painted Redstart’s pushy “Let’s go!” with a laconic White Breasted Nuthatch one note flutter, the throat clearing of an Acorn Woodpecker and the sweet chatter of a Bridled Titmouse.
They’re not everywhere like spring in the northland, but that just makes their songs all the more special when I do come across them. How do they live in this arid place? How does anything?
I take in piles of sand and pebbles in my shoes and I’m already very grubby. I don’t dare waste precious water on a bath so just live with my hiker trashiness.
I’ve already decided that I won’t waste time walking roads. I’m talking about tarmac highways that so much of this trail calls “trail” as it wends its way north on the divide. Call me a cheater, a slacker, a non-purist and I’ll point out after you get cancer, you tend to be more choosy what you do with the time you have left.
That means it’s just 18 miles to Highway 180 where I’ll try to get a hitch the 14 miles into Silver City. A bit shorter day with unknown water sources ahead.
But I still have three liters and it’s all downhill from here.
And down and down, a squiggly line tracing every bump and wash as I head towards the canyon. Saddle Rock Riparian Area is ahead and reports from year’s past make this out to be an Eden. I fear it’s dry as a bone.
But for now I move forward, committing more of speech to memory, always shocked when a jumble of words I don’t recall writing suddenly enter my brain and sound like me when I say them.
The sky is overcast and wind picks up, cool and refreshing. It is a treat to be out here alone. I don’t feel scared, but know that every decision is my own.
The first day I was overwhelmed with what was ahead, the fact that I would be carrying water so far. I had an out – in the worst case scenario, I could hit the SOS and get out of there. But with enough water, I could get to Highway 90 and should the cache be depleted, hitch back to Lordsburg for a refill.
There was also guaranteed water four miles beyond, and seven miles so I would survive.
But gawd, I’m thirsty! It’s not even very hard hiking, but I get parched fast. I need to stop often, drink and eat and just reset. But this is the best part about being alone, you do things whichever way you choose.
It’s not all about water and survival though. The spirit of adventure welcomes me back to this new bit of trail. I came just to see what it was like, curious as to why people hike it.
This is a place of views to distant mountain ranges across miles of flat expanse, bright azure skies and fluffy clouds spun into alien starship shapes by a constant breeze. I find it stark but lovely, though my reverie comes to a loud fluttery stop as I stir up a covey of grouse.
On and on I plod meeting a dirt road, a dry water source, a gate, one of which is a homemade affair of twigs and barbed wire I simply cannot open so I have to hoist myself over, careful not to step directly on a barb.
I have grazed cholla a few times, their spindly arms reaching out to grab me. Nothing stayed stuck, but it felt like tiny razor blades and left a constellation of pin pricks.
Finally I enter the canyon, thick pebbly sand that’s difficult to walk through. Butterflies flutter up from secret water caches, a clump of very green clover appears to have tapped a source.
I do spy digging, my guess by animals making mini wells. The bottoms are damp with a small amount of water glistening in the sun.
The rock is purple, smoothed by rushing water of another time. I take a short spur deeper into the canyon, curious if any water puddles remain. But I give up after only a few minutes. It’s exhausting pushing through this sand and I’m hot and tired, my body sore.
I meet a couple on an ATV at the gate who wonder if there’s anything worth seeing. I guess it depends on what you consider worth it. They’re lovely though and invite me to their camp for a cold soda – even offer to drive me there.
I find surprisingly cool shade under a spreading pine and drink up the last of my water and eat another snack of cheese and tortillas. I am refreshed!
It’s another five miles on a sandy road to the highway through a canyon of wildly sculpted rock. I’m afraid I don’t make it to the campsite but rather beeline it to the road. Funny how even ending the section, I feel panic I might just fall over from thirst and exhaustion.
The road is not well traveled but I make a bet with myself I’ll catch a ride within five cars. Tamir taught me that perspective on the Pyrenean Haute Route. He suggested I visualize how good it will be once all things pull together and savor that future feeling.
Car one whizzes past, lifting up their hands as if to say, “Whaddya expect?”
Two changes lanes to accentuate their lack of stopping while three speeds up.
Bug four, ah number four! A young woman with long brown hair driving a Mercedes. She passes, then pulls a U-turn and parks at the gate. Hooray!
Two small children are strapped in the back and she explains she missed her turn to go home, so just kept driving not really wanting to go home.
Oh dear, am I part of a kidnapping? The kids seem happy enough and she appears unfazed even with the gas tank on E.
We zoom along towards Silver City, the red mountains of the Gila rising up to the north. Thankfully we find a Chevron and everyone piles out for snacks and diaper changes and helping pump gas. The two-year old boy sits on my lap and we goof around with his just-purchased life-sized gummy candy snake.
Her phone rings over and over, incoming call from “husband.” I’m relieved when she finally pucks up, the likelihood that this is not a kidnapping increasing.
But he chews her out for picking me up and I ask if she mentioned to him I’m a middle aged woman. She assures me she can protect herself, showing me where her gun is stored.
Well ok then!
Truly, our half hour together was lovely, but now I meet up with Miriam the artist, an upside down American flag on her gate and two friendly dogs.
She hands me a beer and asks if I’d prefer to sleep in a bed. You know what? I most definitely would!
