Part Eighty Four

     December 28th - 31st               Quemado, NM                             (Go to Pt 1)

​I stayed over at the boarding house a second night and the following morning I was again disappointed in the weather, but it wasn’t exactly raining, either, and I was anxious to get out of town; shitty weather or not, I was behind schedule and had to move-on. I packed-up my stuff, placing the rain gear on top, and set-out from Quemado under heavy, wet skies.

Recent rains had turned dirt to mud and the mucked-up road I was following climbed for several miles through a flat but ascending valley with sweeping mesas rising up on either side.  Eventually, the two mesas converged to narrow the valley into a gorge and for the first time since leaving Chama I was back in tall pines with New Mexico’s, North Plains finally to the rear.

Ambling up through the gorge, I marveled at the majestic ponderosas, which felt like being reunited with old friends, and drew-in their rich, vanilla scent.  I eventually climbed out of the canyon at Jewett Gap where I stopped for a quick bite to eat under a light drizzle before descending into the Apache Creek valley.

As I hiked the remaining miles down Apache Creek to the Tularosa River, the drizzle steadily increased until it was finally rain, not heavy but steady enough that when I reached the river I decided to pitched-up my tent and retreat.  The rest of the afternoon was spent staring at the tent walls, listening to Radio and rain.

Continuing throughout the night, I awoke to the same, lame rain beating on my tent-fly in the morning.  I pulled open the tent door, took one look at the cold shower going on outside and said, “Nah, I’m not going out in that,” and instead lounged away the day inside my capsule with Radio and the Hobbits.  Somewhere in the night, though, the steady beat of rain finally went silent.

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The following morning when I woke-up, I heard nothing at all, it was deathly quiet. I pulled open the tent-door and poked my head out into a white fog, which at least wasn’t rain.  Already fidgety from nearly 40 hours of lying around in the tent, I was precision in motion getting my stuff packed and back out on the road.
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After crossing the river, I climbed up out of the valley along a narrow, flat ridge, separating two canyons.  As I rose in elevation, the fog began to thin out just enough so that everything around me became visible but blurry, without definition, like walking through a watercolor.  It was actually very cool and by the time I’d reached the ridgeline, I was floating between a sea of clouds below and a blanket of clouds above.

While I’d been sitting in the rain down along the Tularosa River, snow had been falling at this elevation and I hiked through several inches while crossing the ridge over into Cox Canyon.  By the time I had dropped into Cox Canyon, the lowland fog had dissipated but overhead, the thick clouds remained grumpy. Once in the canyon, I hiked a few more miles before coming out to a delightful campsite at the edge of a small meadow where making camp seemed like the right thing to do.

I had been expecting to find water in Cox Canyon, although I don’t know why, because I didn’t.  The riverbed was dry, duh, and when I finally decided to make camp, a mud puddle was all I could find for cooking water.  With dinner preparations under way, I walked over to the puddle and dipped out half a pan for cooking noodles and couldn’t even see the bottom of the cook pot for all the silt in the water; noodles and grit, again, a trail staple it seemed.
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During the night, temperatures dropped to well below freezing and by morning, the mud puddle I’d been collecting water from was frozen solid.  Well, I wasn’t about to waste time and fuel melting a mudpie, so I set off from the canyon with only a few swallows of water left.

About an hour down the road my water worries relaxed when I spotted a holding tank not too far off, but when I got there I found the water iced over with a thick layer frozen across the top.  ‘Godamit, it’s always something.’ I looked around and rustled-up a hefty rock with a jagged point to break through, then filled my containers with cold but stale water.

Before reaching the water tank, I had broken out into an enormous meadow called Collins Park, which took several miles to cross.  At the eastern end of the Park, I found a jeep road that climbed up onto the broad, southeast ridge of Elk Mountain.  On top, I came across a trail that was heading down the southeast arm of the mountain in the same direction as I wanted to go, so I followed along.  From a small plane view, I knew I was on Elk Mountain’s southeast ridgeline but standing in the woods on the ground, I had no idea where I was on this 7 mile long, heavily forested ridge.

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The trail I was following eventually ended at another jeep road which I decided to take since the road was also heading southeast along the ridge, the same as I was.  I had been meandering along this jeep road for some time when I was suddenly jolted back into the moment by a pick-up truck bouncing its way toward me.  I was surprised because I’d been following jeep roads through the hinterlands for nearly two weeks now and this was the first truck that I’d actually seen one on one of these roads.

​Naturally, I was curious as to where this truck was coming from, and the guy behind the wheel was at least as curious as to where I was going to.  He pulled over, rolled down his window, and asked, “Hey, are you okay?  You lost?”  Mmm… “Where you headin’?” “The Gila River Canyon” I finally replied.  The guy just grinned and looked me up and down like I was nuts.

​We chatted for a bit and when I told him I was walking to Mexico from Canada, the dude just grinned back at me like, ‘Yeah, right, and I’m driving to Mars.’  He let me know there was a firefighter’s base just a few more miles down the road but added, “You won’t find anything there, though, it’s all locked up for the season.”  “Okay, thanks.” I replied.

The guy pulled away but then stopped again and called out the window “Hey, how are you fixed for water? Do you need any?” Sure enough, I do.  He only had a quart with him but was more than happy to pour it out into my water bottle, a gesture that made me realize I hadn’t met a single jerk on the entire trip; the people I’d met along the way had always been friendly and helpful.

I made it to the firefighter’s base right around camping time and was pretty sure that the locked down facilities wouldn’t stop me from enjoying the amenities.  The building looked to be an old army barracks and I went around trying windows until I found one that was unlocked. Yeah, baby!  I climbed through the window, pulling my gear in after me, and set up shop on one of the bunks.

With my gear unpacked and sleeping bag fluffing-out on the bunk, I set about trying to find some water, which I thought for sure would be stashed somewhere in the building, but instead I came up empty; aside from the cots the place was bare.  ‘Damnit!’  I’d had better luck finding water out in the desert than I was having up here in the mountains.  This meant another dry dinner with no cooking since I would again have to save the water I had for drinking.

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Snow must have blown through during the night because the next morning I woke-up to a thin blanket covering the forest, which for some reason surprised me.  I packed my gear and made sure to close the window before departing, then set out from the fire base on a jeep trail that took me out to Snow Canyon.

Finally descending from Elk Mountain’s southeast ridge, I dropped into Snow Canyon and was glad to finally find some water a little ways down in the gully.  Snow Canyon did not last very long and I was rounding Snow Lake at the mouth of the canyon in short order, headed for the Gila River Canyon.  Instead of mountaineering, I was going canyoneering.

When Craig and I planned this trip to walk the crest of the continent, the last thing I expected was to end-up on a multi-day, canyon trek.  However, I had been gambling with water sources ever since crossing over into New Mexico, so following the Gila River gave me a lifeline, free of water worries.

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Go to Part 85

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​The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

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