Total Weekly Mileage: 227.9
“Filtering Through”
Rested and refreshed, I picked up a water filter and hitched back to the trail the next day. Funny—the woman who picked me up was all excited because she’d been following my hike on social media. I managed to sneak through this entire hike filtering water no more than six times, but New Mexico is a different animal. A lot of desert, a lot of cows. Water sources, when they’re available, are not beautiful flowing rivers of clean god nectar. Instead: cattle troughs, filled with god knows what from god knows where. I’ve gone too far to get sick now—better to be safe than sorry, even if it cost me 50 bucks. The plastic sucker just screws onto the top of my Smartwater bottle and—voilà—clean, filtered H₂O.
With the water situation taken care of, I was confident in my pace: consistent high 30-mile days, even pushing into the 40s. Especially now that I’d be dropping to lower elevation. The Rio Grande National Forest is a nice change—cruiser terrain, slowly descending into lowland desert. Because I’m wicked smart, I decided back in Chama that I would no longer need my poncho. I had my rain jacket, and this is New Mexico after all. I remember three years ago dealing with no more than two days of rain, so removing any pack weight was a plus.
Well, getting close to Ghost Ranch Resort, the rain came back—and stuck around. I wanted to wait it out at the ranch, but it just lingered. I could only buy a hot meal in the cafeteria if I got a room. By 5 p.m. it came down harder. I got a room. Basically as basic gets—I felt like I was in a halfway house. No TV, plug-in heater, and communal bathroom. Dry and warm, I was happy. Included was dinner and breakfast. I was a little annoyed when, after leaving the dining hall, the sky had cleared. Oh well.
I met and passed “Flowers,” the most southern CDT hiker I’ve seen so far. Also met a couple other hikers, including an ex-pat living in Costa Rica. Even though I left the next morning late at 9 a.m., I still posted a 36.5—which just goes to show how flat and easy this section is. I passed the ex-pat around noon; he was having knee issues. The trail after this was completely washed out for the next three miles from a flash flood back in August. Negotiating this was interesting—from our side of the river back to the other, and so on, for two hours until a big climb out of the canyon.
“Flowers” caught me having dinner, and we hiked and talked until he pitched his camp at sundown. I pushed on, getting another seven miles in and putting myself just shy of 25 miles from Cuba, NM the next day.
The next day was another desert cruise. Hot, though—I’m not used to the exposure. It’s been a while. With a long road walk into town and a stop at the golden arches: four McChickens, two McDoubles, a strawberry shake, small fry, and a Dr. Pepper. Charged up, resupplied, and back on trail by 3:30, road-walking ten miles out of town. I had enough water to get me through the next day, and this section is amazing. Up on top of flat rock plateaus, the trail uses cairns to meander through, then twists down into the canyons. I didn’t bother setting up my tent—just slept under the stars.
I thought I had enough water, but the next morning realized the last source for 14 miles was over half a mile behind me. I’d passed it at night and didn’t feel like going back. I only had half a liter, but the morning was chilly, so I hoped to reach the next source by 11 a.m. The trail dropped lower, and as I was listening to something, I felt like I’d kicked a bunch of sand on my legs. I looked down to see what must have been 30 to 40 mosquitoes on each leg! Where in the F#%k did these come from? Middle of September? Really?
This battle against the winged devils lasted for the next ten miles. I didn’t want to, but I was forced to put on my rain pants. Noon in the desert is not ideal rain-pant-wearing conditions—sweating like a whore in church. It was rough, and I couldn’t enjoy lunch at the only water source for miles. They must have hatched after the rain from the other day, and my walking woke up the little bastards.
For what it’s worth, I really like this section. Intricate rock formations, the trail snaking through—makes good pictures easy to take. This area should be so much more popular than it is. Might have something to do with the lack of water and the condition of the precious nectar.
I arrived late in the afternoon to the source, which in this case was a cement pool of sorts. Surrounded by cows, the water was as brown as the cow shit floating in it. I do have a filter now, but even if that liquid went through every filtration system ever invented by man, I’d still be hesitant. Luckily, 20 feet away was a covered well, and aside from some live bugs on the surface, the water was okay.
A big 2,000-foot climb from the desert floor brought me up on top of another plateau. It was cruiser, and I crushed—cowboy camping off the trail at 10 p.m. Right as I had dozed off, I heard a scream of bloody murder. Over the years out here I’ve heard all kinds of animal stress calls—fawns, cows, coyotes—but this, this was different. And only 50 feet away. I was confused but also pissed. I lifted my head and yelled, “Bring it on, M#^@ther F@%#%r, or shut the hell up!” Whatever it was walked away. I went back to sleep.
