Something about today feels cooler. I know I’ve been loving my early mornings, so things could change the minute the sun comes over the horizon, but there are a few clouds in the sky and the breeze is just right. I pack up and return to the dirt road as it wanders up and down through this high valley.
Ricardo was right, this trail is much easier and more obvious. Maybe because it’s a road. It’s about 7 miles to a water tank. I see the tower of its windmill, now used to hold solar panels, long before I get any hint of the actual tank. Only a small detour takes me to a mini-oasis where the generous rancher offers us a spigot to help ourselves to water.
There’s a overflow pond fringed with trees. Ducks paddle about and quack when I sit down in the shade. I stay long enough to filter water and eat a snack then head on fully intending to hitch a ride to Hachita at the highway in five miles. I’m so sure, I don’t bother much with filling up my water at Cache #3 and make a beeline for the road.
Good thing I’m paying attention to where I step. At my feet, right on trail is a fat, well-fed Diamondback Rattler. His tongue sticks out sensing where I am and I keep a good distance so as not to startle him. There’s a bit of a lump a few inches away from his jaws and I wonder who might be digesting in there just now. Such a beautiful snake and we both agree to let the other be so he has no need to coil or rattle and put all his focus on his meal.
I make it unscathed to the road and it is scorching out there. The store left their phone number in the cache locker suggesting we call for a ride should we want A/C and cold drinks. I do want so I attempt a phone call. it requires a walk down the road a bit but I have one bar and someone answers.
Hi! I’m alison and hiking the CDT. You left your number in the locker for a ride and I would like a ride, please!
Silence. Who? What?
I repeat my request and he cuts me off. Oh, yeah, hi! That was the previous owners. Sorry! No way to get you.
I check to ensure the store is still open and tell him I’ll hitch a ride. And that’s when I remember I hadn’t seen a single car pass from as far back as I could see the road. This might very well be a bad idea. I sit in on the sun-baked tarmac for fifteen minutes then wonder if maybe I should just keep moving.
My plan to finish in five days is likely not going to happen anyway since I didn’t move very far yesterday, so I move now walking back towards the trail. Just then a car comes my way. It’s a sign! I stick out my thumb and smile eagerly. They respond in kind by moving to the other lane and speeding up.
It’s a sign all right, to get back on trail. The comments warn me there’s no shade until the next water source in three miles and I’m determined, attaching my umbrella to my pack and marching forth. It’s a gorgeous day with high cirrus clouds and a good breeze. I move well and suddenly feel glad those people didn’t pick me up. This is where I want to me, right here on trail.
The first water source is a tire out in the open, so I wonder if the commenter meant the second water source. It’s just ahead, and another tire converted into a spring-fed trough. Glory Halleluia! There’s one scrawny tree right next to the water. It makes enough shade for a break and the water is lovely. Well, lovely underneath the algae growing on top. I’ve hiked enough of the desert to know this algae is mostly harmless and all that’s required is to scoop deep, very deep.
It’s at this point that I begin to feel like I can make up for lost time. Perhaps I can keep hiking and get as far as the next water and set up camp there. Ahead is one more water source. None of these are guaranteed, but people make notes in the map app and I trust that if there was water there a few days ago, it’s likely still there.
I should point out that aside from that one car switching lanes and speeding up the minute they saw me, I have not seen anyone all day. I love the solitude and quiet, but it does mean every decision is mine and I need to make good ones. I carry a beacon for safety and I’m pretty sure three liters of water is plenty for these final eight miles. There’s going to be some climbing to a viewpoint, but nothing like the Rockies.
I arrive at the tank and it is pretty amazing. There’s a spigot and shade so I take a seat and prepare to filter. And that’s when I discover the top is missing from one of my bottles. I have two one-liter bottles, but bought a big orange juice at the store with an oversized top. Somehow it worked its way off and is lying on trail somewhere behind me.
This is not ideal at all.
So I camel up, top up my bottles, then become even more determined to get myself to the next water. Two liters feels way more comfortable on my back than three anyway. The trail heads down before it heads up, not steeply but steadily past fields blanketed in California Poppies. I’m tired walking so far, but drunk on the beauty.
Everywhere I step are flowers, hopeful and, like me, determined — Palmer’s Bluestar, Spreading Fleabane, Desert Dandelion, White Tack-stem, Lewis Flax, Desert Pincushion, Redstem Stork’s-bill, Indian Rushpea, Bicolor Fanmustard, Fendler’s Bladderpod and many, many more. I make a note to come here when I don’t need to get somewhere and just bask in this loveliness.
Heck, I’m basking as I walk.
The climb is easy opening up to a windy saddle looking out across the deserts and to the higher mountains beyond. Now I just need to walk down again toward the road. But again, I’m overtaken by the subtle beauty, the elation I feel being out here all by myself and the sheer vastness of this place.
It’s still another four miles and while I’m sure I can do it, I’m not sure I need to. I still have plenty of water and there might be something more suitable along the way. Which is exactly what I find. I reach a low point, barren and dry now but likely covered in water during the monsoon. A few scrubby plants and cactus try to find purchase but overall this is the ideal spot to stay.
I sent the alicoop her stakes going in easily in this soft ground. I do this because flies love these wash areas, then go about making dinner. I laugh at how long I’ve carried this pesto pasta, for two weeks in a previous hike and now here. It’s perfect though, tasty and filling. I chuckle thinking how badly I wanted a store-bought burrito earlier today but was thwarted. This is way better.
The sun sets behind sawtooth mountains and the air decorated by a few wispy clouds now goes orange, pink, and finally, a deep purple.