What a long, intense, frustrating then ultimately rewarding day.
Long is definitely the operative word. I carried water should I choose to stop sooner than a water source, then just ended up pushing to it.
Three water sources today – a trough holding well water pumped by a solar panel and two murky tanks.
I am used to collecting water from muddy ponds, there were many of the Arizona Trail. They usually filter beautifully clear and taste like water. But the filter takes a beating, so I ensure I keep a bit of clear filtered water on reserve to backflush, pushing it through until all the mud comes out.
I guess I should start at the beginning, a very cold night left the inside of my tent frozen ice crystals. I waited for the sun to hit me as a Mexican Gray Wolf howled a beautiful, high pitched serenade.
He was awfully close, but I imagine had no interest in me. A Spotted Towhee greets the dawn with a “hey, hey youuuu!” and a woodpecker works at a very resonant hollow log.
I, on the other hand, am slow to rise. First boiling water for tea and cereal and letting it warm me up. Eventually I peak out and begin putting things away and dressing myself for the day’s hike. How have I gotten so grubby so fast?
My tent is about on its last legs. The vestibule zipper is busted, and I’m so glad no more snow is in the forecast. I had hoped to sleep out much more on this hike, but it has been so cold, the tent adds one more layer of warmth.
It’s beautiful working my way down to the solar well, grass and juniper with pine-covered mountains ahead. I took the hiker’s advice and camped further back, but there are plenty of places to camp here and I might have made today less colossally long had I done so.
The air warms up fast, and I wear just my hiking hoodie for the first time in days. Not one cloud in the sky.
It’s not far to the tank, slightly off the road and on a rise. Two dozen or more black cows hang around not sure what to make of me crowding into their space.
I stretch as the water filters and one brave blackie comes a bit closer. When I say hello, she startles. I try to talk nice, but that only seems to make things worse.
The cows bellow and stare at me. Then something sets them off and they all run off in a cloud of dust, only to stop and stare again.
When I finish and pack up to leave, a few move in on the trough while others follow me curiously back to the road. Sill creatures.
You hear me talk about road. The CDT in New Mexico is infamous for long road walks. I’m on more of a dirt forest road or jeep track, more like a wide trail. I hope someone comes driving by and might relieve me of a few rather monotonous miles.
But there’s not a soul out here. Even when I cross Highway 12, I see no signs of cars. On the other side I meet up with an alternate route to the next town, Pie Town, aptly named the Pie Town Alternate.
I stay on a forest road all day long and plan my walk around the water sources. I know some hikers prefer to carry all they need long distances and avoid the more questionable tanks, but the weight is tough for me, so I’ll hit the two that have not totally dried up.
I have no idea where I got the idea this would be a flat and direct route. From the minute I meet this lightly forested environment, I begin climbing.
It’s an all day affair of climbing. Just when it appears I’ve crested some land formation and am seeing only the deep azure of a New Mexican sky, the trail turns and finds a new way to climb.
I have no views in here, so other than the topo lines on my map, I have no clue what’s ahead. It utterly exhausts me and there’s not much to see besides the soft, straw-colored grass and juniper and pine.
I memorize another part of mu talk but it’s hard to talk on the ascents, so I go into my own thoughts and just turn on walking auto pilot.
The second water source is off the road by a few hundred feet. The tank is not visible until I’m right on it. Yes, it’s muddy and a little green. I take off my pack and head down with my pot as a scoop and the dirty water bag.
The mud is thick as I join my footsteps with those of cattle and many other creatures. I feel like I have decent footing so carefully scoop water and fill the bag, the one that I will screw the filter onto and allow it to gravity feed into a clean water bottle.
All good so far, but as I try to release my feet from their muddy encasement, they stick and cause me to lose my balance, falling over and sitting right in the muck. At least it’s soft.
I clean up as best I can mainly by flicking off the mud with pine needles, then filter and eat lunch. The next water is 10 1/2 miles away. Two liters should do especially if that’s too far before dark.
It is only 2, so I decide to see if I can pull it off in the remaining daylight. The road is flat at first and off course I’m lulled into believing I’ll be on surface like this the rest of the way.
But soon I take a sharp right turn where a sign points to Mangus Lookout. Oh, this can’t be good. The big mountain I saw when I got to the highway? I’m walking up and over it.
I’m not sure it’s really necessary to prove to myself that I am still capable of hard things. Nonetheless, I put it in granny gear and up I go.
I can see the lookouts far above, tiny and seemingly impossible to reach. But you know how these things go, you get a rhythm and you just don’t stop.
Good lord, it’s far. Four miles of non-stop climbing. Views do open up to distant mountains as I rise, and snow appears along the side of the road.
I can hardly believe how high I’ve climbed. 9,586 feet. no wonder there’s snow and Aspen trees up here too. I decide not to visit the lookout this time. It’s a road and I can always come back. Water awaits ahead and I’ve got my groove.
I finally cross over and begin to descend. Nowhere to camp here on this steep slope. Elk run past as I crunch down the very rocky road. I am careful not to roll on one of these mini boulders.
I pass two dried up ponds and hope the third, my intended goal, is full. I’m exhausted, thirsty, ready to stop, but so proud I just busted over 10 miles up a very high peak.
Plenty of water sits in a muddy depression and I cheer as I arrive, gathering enough to drink with a bit left over to clean the filter so it doesn’t clog.
There’s a bit of sun shining in the forest and I choose the flattest spot in the sun. I don’t notice until after I’ve set that bones are strewn everywhere and a bit of skin remains on a corpse. Oh dear, I hope I’m not visited by ghosts.
The moon casts beautiful pine bough shadows on my tent.A Northern Saw-whet owl works on his one note song as a pack of coyotes yip and bark. Then it’s totally silent and this absolutely bushed hiker is closing her eyes.
