Last year, I ran out of time.
I couldn’t fit in all of the large section I had hoped to walk from the Mexican Border to Grants, New Mexico. There just wasn’t the time and something had to give. To get to Lordsburg usually requires a Greyhound Bus from either Tucson or El Paso, each about equidistant from the wee but sprawling town smack dab on I-10. From there, it’s a shuttle to the border and then a bout a five day walk back.
It made the most sense, then, to slash that bit of my hike and head north from Lordsburg. Of course, leaving out those 85 miles of desolate and arid desert bugged me all winter, so I decided what the heck, come back and walk just that piece.
It didn’t hurt to have a friend in Tucson happy to have me visit whenever it worked out. So I get back on that eastbound bus for 2 1/2 hours across the state line and check in at the Econolodge (which offers a sweet discount to hikers) then boarded the shuttle early the next morning for the border.
A lot has changed in one year. For one, all hikers are required to carry a permit since the the “Crazy Cook” monument is technically in the National Defense Area. Applying for the permit is easy though requires a passport photo and your willingness to undergo a background check.
Our driver Clint jokedsthat Defense personnel finds us hikers to be a bit annoying calling over and over for information. When I arrive, there is nothing going on at all — and no one checking permits. Originally it was thought we’d have to be dropped off two miles from the border, but no one seems particularly concerned about our presence.
The CDTA shuttle service is pretty sweet. For $175 you get door-to-trail delivery plus guaranteed water supply in the five cache boxes along the route. Clint is a fount of knowledge and filled with stories from the hundreds of hikers he’s dropped off over the years. He takes us briefly to Hachita for our last cold drink before dropping first Phil, a Canadian hiker concerned about breaking any rules, then “Mad Dog” Mike and me at the monument. Arriving a month before construction is to begin on the wall, the place is deserted.
Somehow I had assumed the weather would be lovely and cool in March. Number one rule: never assume. The Southwest is under extreme heat warnings. Today will be hot, like 94. But tomorrow will be hotter, around 97. This area is totally exposed and lacking any natural water sources. Also, shade is at a premium with some of the best trees and overhangs commented about with mile markers and size of coverage in the notes.
I feel good at first, at only 9:30 in the morning. Clint suggests I seek shade by 1 and to ensure I drink more than I think I need. The trail is on dirt road first, bright flowers like Rock Hibiscus, Pink Fairyduster, Blue Dicks and Largeflower Onion pushing straight out of the hard ground as if to check on me and say hi. The air is full of a pungency from the blooming creosote and I decide to take advantage of the small bit of shade it offers and sip a liter of water.
Mad Dog finds me there and checks to ensure I’m feeling ok. We’re both hot and a bit overwhelmed with the furnace that is the Chihuahuan desrt, but we’re fine. And maybe I am especially so, clipping an ultralight sun umbrella to my pack to create instant — and portable — shade.
The trail follows the enormous Big Hatchett Mountains, though mostly things are flat except when I need to dip into a wash. It’s deep sand here reminding me of slogging through the beach sand on the Florida Trail. And even places that only had water at one time attract flies. They don’t bite, but I need to swat them away as I move. Or get used to them.
That seems a better plan, when I find a cottonwood with big, gnarly arms casting a juicy shadow. I set up in that shadow and immediately fall asleep. A black throated sparrow is to blame for waking me, his tweety-bird song is only outdone by the wusha-wusha and sizzle of a rock wren. Ah! To be awakened by such loveliness. These birds never visit my home, so I need to come to theirs and bask in their melodies.
It’s not far now through yet another wash ending at the first of the water caches. I meet Mad Dog on the way who found an even better tree to sit under. He is taking this first section slow and plans to camp at each cache. I hope to finish in five days and feel I still have some hike in me. I cook dinner here, fill up my bottles and head to the next water source at a windmill.
We’re asked not to camp near these water sources as they are meant for cattle. It likely would be full of poop anyway, but just beyond the water is a flat spot and I direct myself there. The one problem is the sun drops behind the mountains and it gets dark quick. The notes suggest I take the road rather than walk back up in to the wash. It’s a bit longer, but moves faster.
I soon realize if I can’t make, I can camp here. But that means lots of dust from passing cares and trucks, a far busier place as construction crews prepare to build the wall. So I pick up the pace just as a hunter stops to offer me water and one electrolyte packet. You’ll need this more than I will! He says, proud to be helping out a hiker. I am so grateful as I push on and finally meet the rough side road up to the water trough.
That lovely hunter did save me time by filling my water bottles. As the light dims and the Mexican mountains turn a deep purple, I carefully move past cows to the wee flat spot just as coyotes begin yipping. Not only is it flat, but there are no pokey plants and I can set my cowgirl camp out in the open, worry-free.
Above me is a sliver moon and millions of stars.