Part Ninety

     January 16th & 17th                 US/Mexico Border                          (Go to Pt 1)
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Maybe 10 miles away, the border was within striking distance and my mind started screaming at me to hurry-up.  So I did, adrenaline pushed me into a power stride as I took-off down the road, plowing through the mud like an angry man after vengeance.  Surprisingly, this supplemental blast of energy lasted for nearly three hours, but by four o’clock, as I approached the Fitzpatrick Ranch, all of that energy was spent, along with any reserves I had left.  I was exhausted and my feet ached; I wasn’t going to make it, not today.

My map showed the Fitzpatrick Ranch, and I could see a few buildings off in the distance, but my memory of the deserted, Johnson’s Trading Post was still vivid and I was pretty leery of any outposts touted by the 250 map.  Nearing the property, though, I discovered a real, operating ranch and decided to head for the ranch house to bum some water.  In the yard I was met by the real McCoy, Rancher Fitzpatrick.

Rancher Fitzpatrick looked like a guy who had grown straight out of the very dirt he ranched, with a leathery face and piercing eyes.  He was friendly enough, though, filling my water containers and curious as to what I was doing in his backyard.  After I told him I had walked to his ranch from Canada he was quite surprised, saying,  “You know, a couple of fellas came through here last spring telling me they were hiking to Canada."  

Click on the map for a larger image

"And now you’re here telling me you just walked down from Canada.  Well, now… ain’t that somethin’!”  And the rancher and I looked at each other like ‘No shit!’ I figured the two guys going to Canada were most likely the same guys Craig and I had run into in southern Montana. 

With my water bottles filled, the rancher offered me a premature congratulations for getting to Mexico and when I heard the words “Congratulations on making it to Mexico” I felt one, last zap of adrenaline and departed the ranch with a false, energy burst, again thinking I could make it to the border before days’ end.  That energy burst, however, did not last, flaming-out two miles short of Mexico. I couldn’t go any further, I had to stop.

From where I quit for the day, I could see the white, international boundary monument sitting on the near horizon but spending another night out on the Divide really didn’t bother me much, either.  The chaos of ‘real life’ was looming and I was in no hurry to embrace that part of crossing the border.

Sitting around my camp that evening, much of the ecstatic energy I’d felt throughout the afternoon was spent and I was starting to think about how I was going to get back out of the Animas valley.  I knew, at the very least, I would be hiking back up to the Fitzpatrick Ranch and maybe from there I’d get lucky enough to catch a ride with one of the ranch hands going into Animas or, better yet, Lordsburg.  But if I didn’t get lucky with a ride from one of the ranchers, then I would have two days of walking just to get back up to Animas, so the trip really wasn’t over at the Mexican border.

With my mind prepared for a long day of hiking after reaching the border, I then began to think about going home and what that was going to look like.  Right off, I’d be living with my parents and, obviously, that wasn’t going to last. I knew Hal and Dona would be thrilled the trip was over and happy to have me home again, but they’d also be expecting me to get a job and show some measure of adult behavior after I got back.  Thinking this over, it was pretty clear I had no plans, no money, and an affinity for dirtbagging… so, at least I had that going for me.

Then I got to thinking about seeing my outdoor friends back in St. Louis and, at first, that was an exciting thought, until an uneasy feeling started to poke at me.  Craig and I had told everyone that we were going to trek the actual ridgeline of the Continental Divide, like right on top of it, and I hadn’t done that at all.

I mean, it wasn’t like Craig and I hadn’t tried to stay true to the Divide, and for a couple of backpackers I think we did better than most, it was just that, in the end, what I’d really done was walk from Canada to Mexico with the Continental Divide mostly in sight, and parts of it not even that.  Rocky Mountain National Park was coming back to haunt me, followed by a string of other mountains along the Continental Divide which I had not traveled across.

And then there was the hitch-hiking. Berthoud Pass in Colorado had broken my trip in two, and that right there would erase everything else, but Berthoud Pass wasn’t the only ride I had accepted, or that Craig and I had taken, because we, and I, had hitch-hiked all over the place trying to get out for supplies and then back up into the mountains.  Hitch-hiking was unavoidable but who knew what other people would consider as acceptable ‘put-in’ and ‘take-out’ points, because on this trip, we didn’t always go back up into the mountains the same way we’d come out.

Then there was the question of what do with this adventure when I got home.  Probably a slideshow but already some were telling me I should write a book, my Mom in particular, and I just didn’t see that happening.  Shit, except for the Hobbit story and a few throw-away novels, I’d barely even read a book, how I was supposed to write one?  Not likely.

In the middle of fretting about all this stuff waiting for me back in St. Louis, I suddenly stopped, realizing what was missing from this final picture… Craig.  Craig had always been a part of my mental image of reaching the border, you know, the two of us shaking hands in Mexico, and now he was MIA.  Thoughts about St. Louis went to the wayside as I began to think back over the trip and reflect on some of the extraordinary experiences I’d had over the past 9 months, with Craig being an indelible cohort in much of my highlight reel.

I flashed back to our very first day on the Continental Divide while we were still inside Canada, sitting in the snow high on Forum Peak, completely mind-blown/shellshocked, eyes wide as saucers, staring dumbly at the carnage left behind by a cornice-triggered avalanche that had practically wiped us out only six hours into the trip.  And the mental image of what our faces must have looked like got me to laughing, and laughing right into a giddy mood.

For some reason, I got to thinking about the rancid block of cheese back in Montana that Craig and I had kept eating day, after day, after day, while being stupefied as to why were sick every afternoon, until one of us Einstein’s finally figured out it was the cheese that was making us sick– but only after feeding off of it for a whole, freaking week - and that got me to laughing even more.

My chuckling entertainment continued with me and Craig in the Anaconda Pintler Range, crushing a stiff pace all day long while thinking north was south and south was north – I was clutching my sides, picturing the look on our faces when we finally figured that one out.  And then there was the Leadbetter Ranch where Craig and I had fled for our lives like idiots in the face of horseback-riding horses while our host, Jill, laughed herself into hysterics… and that recollection had me in tears, laughing myself silly.

Thinking about the horses at the Leadbetter Ranch got me to thinking about the wild horses in Wyoming’s Red Desert and that led to my last image of Craig on the Continental Divide, sitting slumped over on his pack in the barren emptiness of the Red Desert, clutching his right knee, and that washed all the giddiness away.

Actually, very little about these last few days was turning out the way I had imagined.  Stormy weather had never been a part of my fantasy finish and neither had ending the trip alone, with blistered feet, and mud-gobbed boots.  The symbolic irony of my situation wasn’t lost on me but I thought it all a bit harsh.  Oh well, I fluffed-up my down-jacket pillow and pushed everything else aside, I was going to Mexico in the morning, come hell or high water.

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Go to Part 91

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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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