Part Ninety One

​    January 17th                           US/Mexico Border                              (Go to Pt 1)

​Actually, very little about these last few days of the trip was turning out the way I had imagined.  Stormy weather wasn’t a part of my fantasy finish and neither was 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.​

I awoke at dawn and peered out of the tent to see the same, thick blanket of ill-tempered clouds hanging low in the sky, but I didn’t sense rain in the air, and it was calm.  My morning proceeded as usual with a granola and powdered milk breakfast before dropping the tent and packing away the last of my gear.

Click on the map for a larger image

With everything ready to go, I stood there trying to decide if I was going to carry my pack to the border or leave it behind to pick-up on my way back.  I was only 2 miles out, so if I left my pack it wouldn’t be for very long but, then again, what if I got back and it was gone? “Just take the damn thing!”  I finally said out loud.  No big deal, the pack could go.

​I started off for the border following along the same jeep trail as the day before and noticed straight away that the mud had firmed-up considerably and wasn’t near as bad, in fact, the three days of mud stuck to my boots finally dried and flaked-off: the blisters were all but forgotten.  Clearly in my sights was the white, obelisk, boundary monument, which grew larger as I drew nearer, and the last mile was pretty blank; only me and that boundary marker, little else.

​About an hour after leaving camp, shortly before 10:00am, I reached the International Boundary Monument at the Mexican border.  The date was Tuesday, January 17th, 1978.  I dropped my pack and looked around, thinking, ‘This is it!  I made it!’ I reached out through the fence and touched the monument.  

Looking south, all I could see were the plains of Mexico.  The wheaten grasses lay dormant across the valley, fading into a horizon of heavy, somber clouds, and a mild breeze swept over the prairie.  Strung along the borderline, the barbed wire fence stretched east and west across the plains to as far as I could see, and the monument stood on the other side of the fence in Mexico.

Somehow, it seemed fitting that my last act of walking the Continental Divide would be to climb over a fence. The barbed wire was in decent shape and strung-up fairly taut, so it was easy to climb - and then that was it.  I was standing in the northern plains of Mexico and my Canada to Mexico pilgrimage was over.  Maybe the Divide’s ridgeline remained a bashed-up fantasy, but I was here, damnit, I had made it to Mexico.

With my camera propped on my pack, I stood out in the grasses of Mexico with my fists thrust up into the air, ala Rocky, and let the camera take the final picture of my trip.  Having imprinted the moment, I climbed back over the fence, then milled around the monument, waiting for the light of God to shine down and illuminate my soul, because after 3,000 miles I was certain that must be part of the deal, right?  Nothing.  No parting of the heavens, no light of God, and I didn’t feel any different at all.  All I felt was a sudden sense of urgency to get the hell out of this valley before it started raining again.  I gathered up my pack and started back out towards the Fitzpatrick Ranch.

And that would have been the end of my story except for one last thing.  Probably an hour and a half after leaving the border, as I was heading for the ranch, I spotted a vehicle off in the distance coming towards me.  As the vehicle got closer my hopes began to rise, thinking maybe one of the ranchers was coming out to give me a lift.  I finally stopped and waited for the vehicle to reach me and that’s when I noticed it was a white Ford Bronco with ‘Border Patrol’ emblazoned across the side.

Mmm… didn’t see that coming; maybe a plane or something had spied me messing around out by the fence.  The Bronco pulled to a stop in front of me and the agent called out from inside the vehicle for me not to move as he got out of the car.  Standing by his SUV, he looked me up and down, then said, “Good afternoon, can you tell me what you’re doing out here?”

Gawking back at this armed and rather formidable looking guy, I wasn’t sure if he was going to buy-off on my Continental Divide story, or not, “Well,” I replied, “I’ve been walking the Continental Divide, from Canada to Mexico… I started in Canada in May… and… well, I just got to the border, about an hour ago, or so… and now I’m walking back up to Animas.”

The agent digested this for a moment then asked me to remove my pack and open the top flap and unzip the side pockets.  He continued standing by his vehicle and asked, “Are you carrying any weapons… guns, explosives, anything like that?”  “No” I said.  Then the agent wanted to know if it was okay for him to look inside my pack.  I shrugged and said “Sure.”   

He stayed by the SUV and had me unload everything out of my pack onto the ground and when the pack was empty he took it from me and inspected it thoroughly, inside and out, including the aluminum frame, padded shoulder straps, and hip belt.  When the agent was done with my pack he turned to the items on the ground and meticulously scrutinized the rest of my stuff.

When there was nothing more to inspect, he turned his attention back to me and finally said, “Okay, this all looks legit to me.  Maybe you did walk down here from Canada.  So, I’ll tell you what, if you want, I can leave you here to go on your way, you’re in no trouble, or I can give you a ride up to Animas since I have to drive back that way, anyhow.”  Halleluiah, Halleluiah! “A ride sounds great!  Thanks!”

My lucky stars were shining bright that afternoon because it turned out the agent was actually driving back to their office in Lordsburg and he ended-up taking me all the way to the bus station, where forty-five minutes later I was on a bus to Albuquerque.  By supper time I was checking-in at an airport hotel.

That evening, showered and fed, I sat in my hotel room and could hardly believe I had started the day deep in the Animas Valley, two miles from Mexico, with mud on my boots.  I sat in the dark by the large window in my room, mesmerized by car lights on the roadway below, thinking not much more than ‘Now it’s over.’

---

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.

---