Snow hisses on the tent.
It’s feather-light seemingly with no water content whatsoever. I cuddle in as deeply as I can in my many layers – Jay’s lining, his wife’s wool top, my Walmart fashion tights, everything else I brought including my raincoat. Will I need the coat today with an 80% chance of snow? Or does this dusting fulfill the forecast?
I’m so glad I collected water last night, even as darkness closed in on me fast. That means very few chores this morning but to eat, do my business and pack up. And since I’m already dressed, there’s nothing more to do.
Shorebirds I heard last night find a place to huddle in this cold and I wait until the sun crests the hills and shines right on me. Slightly warnerm by a degree or two. Mist skims the top layer of the tank. It’s pure magic here, like the most remote sections of prairie before it was tamed. Wolves howl briefly and a bird flies so close, I hear its wings flap.
It’s a short climb up out of this bowl onto a completely flat, treeless plain. Water droplets like diamonds rest on each blade of grass. Ominous black clouds surround me, but don’t block the light. Heaven!
I meet a road, more of a track on the empty expanse leading towards a mountain range with clouds clustering in as if trying to stay warm themselves. There’s no wind whatsoever as I press along, only the sound of my breath keeping me company.
People often ask if I hike alone and when I say yes, they ask if I’m scared. The risk is always higher alone. Every choice is yours and you need to ensure you’re not letting your ego or emotions confuse your judgement. It’s also important to listen carefully to your body and know what you’re capable of doing.
I was certain I’d reach the tank last night even though it was getting late and darkness was beginning to fall. Still, I made note of every water source along the way and any flat places desirable enough to pitch my tent. Backup plans are key especially when alone.
A friend of mine is a polar explorer and holds records for circumnavigating places like Greenland and the poles. He told me that he had the cold bit dialed in. No problem knowing what to wear, how to manage extremes and what to do in an emergency. What he wasn’t good at, was being alone. Like learning how to survive in those temperatures, he needed to train how to be by himself.
I enjoy my own company, and I carry on conversations all day with the goddess, and these days working on talks I’ll give. I admit, I laugh at my own jokes. But I also talk to myself about planning and today will require decision-making, number one being trying to get out of here for the night if possible in case the forthcoming snow is deep.
I will soon meet actual roads and it is the weekend. Perhaps I’ll meet someone along the way and hitch. A little over 20 miles ahead, I’ll come off the Gila Alternate and meet the CDT again. Right there is a forest road that goes into Reserve. Perhaps I could sleep down there and warm up.
For now, there’s nothing but a long view towards mountains. I pass through a gate made with sticks and wire that snaps when I pull it open, and is a struggle to put back in place. A Chihuahuan Meadowlark sings a flute-like melody as if challenging me to a duet. No, my flute isn’t in my pack, friend, but I have a mean whistle.
Soon I reach forest again and an intersection of a road with an actual street sign, Bursum Road. A cluster of tents and pickups take over an area under tall trees. It’s so early, no one’s awake yet. No trail magic breakfast for me though I know if I was car camping, I’d sleep in too.
I follow the road as it climbs into deep woods layered with a dusting of snow. Maybe I go a mile, reciting lines to keep warm and keep moving. And then, I hear a truck! Of course he stops and I ask if maybe he’d take me to the end of this road. I’ll take you to where we’re camping. Good enough for me.
There’s no room in the cab, so I climb into the back and he speeds off. I’m so grateful for the hitch as the road climbs more steeply now, but he is cruising and it’s cold. There’s no snow coming down, but the air feels heavy and expectant.
Just as find a comfortable spot to wedge myself in out of the worst of the wind and where I won’t pop out if we hit a bump, he turns into a side road and lets me out. But not before handing me a couple of bars and a Gatorade. What a nice guy!
It’s really not bad here and all down hill towards another wide open plain – and more roads. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised there are so few people camping. I plod on, this time heading towards tarmac. The view really is lovely now of more mountain ranges seemingly growing straight out of the steppe. Where I’m headed looks clear enough and I’m hopeful I’ll stay dry.
Hiking on the CDT in New Mexico is timed around water sources. There’s one coming up, a solar windmill again and apparently some sort of faucet. I reach it in no time as the clouds build into a black fuzz above the mountains I just came through, no longer visible even though sun still reaches me.
I have two liters still and that Gatorade did me good, so after a bit of searching and coming up empty-handed on the faucet, I push forward knowing on more source awaits. You must have guessed by now that it’s easy walking on road. But it’s hard on the legs and monotonous. Funny how we wish for flat and easy when climbing over tallus and through rivers, but once we get what we want, we long to be right back on real trail.
Yes, New Mexico has a reputation for these long road walks. One car passes me going the wrong way, pulling a trailer with a mud-spattered ATV and kicking up dust as he passes. Thanks, mister! We get all kinds, the ones who hand you a drink and the ones who have to show you who owns the road.
I stop under a pine tree and eat lunch watching the black clouds begin to expand and come towards me. Back on trail, I’m hit with only light pellets. I bring my phone up to take a video of the squall just as a herd of elk decide this is the perfect timing to cross the road. What beauties, their white rumps bouncing as they run.
I duck into forest again but this time, the sun comes out in full and is downright hot. A javelina pokes around a dry stream-bed and I stop to disrobe. Only a few miles now to a good water source and the intersection.
Just then, another truck pulls up. A father and son out for the day to collect elk antlers. They strap my pack to their ATV on a trailer, then load me in offering up a burrito and chips and drinks. Saved!
I cut all of five miles from both hitches, but it gets me out of the cold and down to town, where instead of snow, it’s drenching rain. Both men say we need the rain, though would prefer sunshine. They take me into town and wait while I pick up a small resupply at the store and find the best place to rest, The Mountaineer Inn.
Even here, the manager offers a ride to the bar where I eat an entire pizza and drink a few delicious no-alcoholic hoppy waters. Yes, my sleep is deep, I’m clean and dry and warm – and I even arrange a shuttle back to trail first thing in the morning.
