Month: July 2018

I know the vista from the top of the Sandias pretty well by now, the jagged ridges sloping away on either side.

Today, that view opened to reveal something I’d never seen, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

We were skirting the edge of the mountain a couple miles north of the Sandia Crest House.

We saw the ridges. We saw rugged Juan Tabo Canyon far below. But in front of Juan Tabo Canyon, just coming into view, was a giant stone dome.

The structure rose thumblike, enormous, in front of us. It looked like it topped out nearly as high as our trail – 10,000 feet. Evergreens dotted the dome. We spotted a cave in it, then another partly obscured behind trees.

We took one of many narrow paths pulling us off the Crest Trail, closer to the mountain’s edge. A broad limestone shelf, the Del Agua Overlook, opened up. From it, an unobstructed view of the dome.

We must have sat there for half an hour, watching light and shadow play across the dome as clouds scuttled across the sun.

I thought I saw a person standing very precariously on the dome’s pitched face, a person with a white hat and black clothing. My husband busted out the binoculars and observed that the white item was a giant bird shit.

“What shat that?! A pterodactyl?”

“Maybe an eagle,” he said. “Or a vulture.”

There was plenty more to look at – swifts hurtling by us, butterflies alighting on limestone, shadows on the mountain’s green peaks. We could see other things we’d never seen from the top of the Sandias, too: the water in the Rio Grande caught my naked eye. Through the binoculars, my husband saw the Los Poblanos Fields open space.

But no matter where I looked, the dome always lured my gaze back.

I couldn’t believe after nine years of living in Albuquerque and three years of hiking here, I had never seen this incredible sight.

Just 90 minutes earlier, I’d thought the day was a wash. The Ellis Trail, where we’d started out, was in full sun. Even at 10,000 feet, it was unbearable, and I quickly turned back. I’d had no idea what direct midsummer sunlight felt like at that altitude; most of my trips to 10,000 feet, even in summer, had been cold enough to need a hoodie.

I was irked that I’d burned time and energy there before switching to the shade of the Crest Trail. I thought I’d be lucky to see anything new today.

Little did I know a magical mystery dome awaited.

After looking it up, I think the dome has to be the top of the Sandias’ famous Needle rock formation – if so, seeing its giant base from below is a completely different experience from seeing the top of it from above.

Hike length: 5 miles

Difficulty: moderate

Trail traffic: moderate

Wildlife spotted: swifts, vulture, many kinds of butterflies, brown creepers, a mule deer on the Crest Highway

If it weren’t for the illusion that you were almost at the top, many of us would probably never make it to the top.

I’d been under that illusion for the past hour. Every time I swung my left foot into the 45-degree angle needed for the next step, my ankle, aching from that action, protested. I’d sent my husband ahead twice to get a sense of how much further it was to the top. At least a quarter mile, he said.

I thought hard about turning back.

But dude, the forest had just reopened after more than a month, and I knew a spectacular view awaited, and it would suck so hard to turn back so close to the top.

At last the jungle of the Cienega Trail disgorged us onto an overlook at the junction with the Crest Trail, the mark that we’d gained 2,000 feet in elevation. It was the hike we intended to take weeks ago, but took a wrong turn.

A brilliant green peak towered over us. The blue-gray San Pedro Mountains loomed on the horizon. Puffy clouds floated above.

Loud conversations and crunching greeted us. Two groups of lunchers who’d come up the Pino Trail had commandeered the spot. The Pino Trail is even harder, so they’d earned it. One of them talked about the wreckage of a plane crash nearby (not the famous one.) Two hikers on the way up had offered to show us the crash site, too. It was the first I’d ever heard of it. It sounded incredible, but I knew if I took any detour I would not reach the top, so we’d kept going.

I ate my peanut butter and honey sandwich under a shady ledge, waiting there till the friendly lunch groups moved on. Stepping into their spot, I could see the jagged ridge of the Sandias stretching away and clouds above Mount Taylor 80 miles west.

I’d seen very little of the scenery coming up, focused on keeping my footing on the steep trail beneath me and navigating the wild rose and other vegetation that pressed in on both sides of the trail. On the way down I noticed the towering aspens and spruces, the spots where glimpses of the mountain peeked through, the wildflowers.

Down took less exertion than up, but was almost as slow going, because it was so steep. The arrival of the monsoon season had increased the humidity, so the afternoon was very warm.

At last we reached the Cienega trailhead and walked back to our car along the campground road. I was glad we’d explored the nature trail and marshy meadow on the way in, because I was spent.

As we approached the nature trailhead, I noticed a black dog galloping along the trail.

“That dog is really bounding,” I said.

“That’s a bear,” my husband said.

My brain had registered it just as he said it: the stocky but fast creature leaping over the nature trail fence and running across the road in front of us was a black bear. Drought summer notwithstanding, it looked spectacularly robust and healthy. Its coat shone.

Though the animal had to be 200 pounds, my startled brain misidentified it as a cub. I looked around frantically for a mother, knowing it was imperative not to be between the two. I asked my husband to take the bear spray, which he’d recently stowed, out of his backpack.

He did as he looked to see where the bear had gone. In seemingly no time, it had bounded up to a ridgetop high above us. It paused near the top and looked back, making eye contact with us. My husband waved, which is actually one of the things you’re supposed to do if you encounter a bear.

The Cienega picnic area has had its share of bear sightings; it was closed all of last fall for bear activity. But we had no expectation of seeing a bear in the middle of a summer afternoon with hikers and campers all about.

But all of us were in his house, not the other way around.

I’m grateful that I got to see him, and even more grateful that he didn’t take offense.

I have no photos of the encounter; I was focused on staying alert to his actions, rather than taking his picture.

Hike length: 7 miles

Difficulty: on the high side of moderate

Trail traffic: moderate

Wildlife spotted/heard: Western kingbird, green-tailed towhee, northern mockingbird, lizards, nuthatches, grasshoppers, Abert’s squirrel, chipmunk, many kinds of butterflies, many broad-tailed hummingbirds, BEAR!!!