An Alpine Return

May 15

In the desert, waking with the sun helps. I was up and out while th day was still cool, pumping past burned-over Mesa del Rito and along the spine of knife-narrow Obsidian Ridge. The ground was littered with shards and chunks of the glassy, jet-black mineral that had given the ridge its name; very spectacular. But very bereft of humans -- the path here another long-abandoned roadbed. You can head out to the Sierras in the summertime and find a tent in every hidden mountain valley, but out here there's an accessible, spectacular ridge with a name straight out of the Lord of the Rings, and nary a soul. 

The trail continued it's climb onto Sawyer Mesa along good jeep trail and then ducked down to delicious Alamo Spring. I ran into a couple rangers who were hauling a roadkill elk out for a "sky burial." They were appropriately impressed with the whole pack-raft crossing, and generally thought it was cool to see someone so far out. 

"Where'd you come from?"

"Sante Fe."

"We didn't see your car..."

"I walked," I said.

"Cool!" they responded. Sometimes rangers are cool.

 

I cut down past Rabbit Mountain, now above 9000 feet and clearly in an alpine ecosystem. It was good to be "home," that is, in an environment I knew so well. The meadow grasses were impossibly green, offset by wildflowers and the bright tan of bare wood. The forest fire was still evident, but green aspen had grown up in the burns. I finally came down to Highway 4 along the Valle Caldera Preaerve, a huge green meadow valley. A few pretty miles of road walking later, I picked up trail 137, which lead through the paradisical canyon of the East Fork Jemez. Trout in the creek bottoms and anglers along the banks gave me some serious Fish Envy, but town lay ahead, so I hurried along. I finally popped out at the Battleship Rock trailhead.

I hitched in the back of a work truck into Jemez Springs for my first resupply, got a room and a meal. I listened as the bartender at the Los Ojos Saloon told me about what it is like to be a newcomer in the valley. ("It's hard.") She told me what it was like to be a a recent divorcee. ("It's hard.") She then told me what it is to be the victim of a hair-removal-product mishap. ("The doctor took one look at my lips and said 'Nair, right?' And I was like hell yes, Nair!")

I spent the balance of the evening listening to a free blues band at the Cafe across the street, letting big old dogs lean up against me and watching the locals two-step with each other.