Month: September 2018

Sometimes you find the spot, sometimes you don’t.

I wasn’t sure it was a clearing. It looked like one, but so often something does, through the trees, and isn’t.

Before I realized it, my husband had scrambled off-trail to check it out.

“I think you’ll like it up here,” he said from above.

He was right.

The first thing I saw when I emerged from the trees was a single aspen sapling, brilliant green and yellow, leaves tossing in the breeze.

Next, a waist-high chamisa bush glowing yellow, butterflies and bees gamboling around it.

Then I turned around. The east side of the Sandias loomed blocklike in front of me, the ridges we’d just traversed rolling away before them.

If you can find a high enough ridge in the Manzanita Mountains, you’ll see that view. But it’s rare to see as much of it as we did in that clearing, one of the most open and angled spots we’ve found in the range.

 

Before we reached that spot, we solved a mystery.

We’d started in the rock garden and mountain-bike haunt of Otero Canyon.

As before, we hit Department of Defense signs less than two miles in, warning us not to go any further.

This befuddled us, since the Forest Service labels that trail as nearly four miles in length. Then I realized the Forest Service mileage must reflect taking the trail out and back, though it isn’t marked that way.

There was only one thing to do: proceed up the trail called “Gnasty with a G.” It was the first time we’ve experienced this trail’s full steep and rugged length, and it lived up to its name.

A left turn on a sunbaked ridgetop put us on a loop back to our car via the Blue Ribbon Trail. The Blue Ribbon Trail is clearly one of the less-traveled in the Manzanitas; the frequent cyclist traffic stopped.

That’s where we found the clearing that gave us a new view on the Manzanitas.

Hike length: 6 miles

Difficulty: moderate

Trail traffic: moderate, none on Blue Ribbon Trail

Wildlife spotted: hawk, crows, butterflies, dragonflies, jays, lizards

“SHE doesn’t have any kids!” the child across the parking lot exclaims.

Et tu, kiddo?

I’m judged daily by adults for my choice not to have kids, but this is the first time I’ve heard it from a 4-year-old.

“Maybe she has kids,” the child’s dad says. “Maybe they’re just not here.”

Um, I CAN HEAR YOU.

How would you feel, single dad, if I hollered “Maybe HE has a (husband/wife), THEY’RE just not HERE.”

We step onto Embudito Trail behind the family. The 4-year-old immediately begins yanking datura flowers off their vines.

I see teaching your children Leave No Trace ethics isn’t part of your repertoire, Pops.

We quickly pass the family as an illegal drone buzzes overhead. I can’t wait to leave the voices behind.

Of course I know the kid and the dad were just blurting out the first observations that came to mind, nothing more than that.

But the last place I want to hear a comment about my reproductive choices is on the trail.

That’s why I’m here. If I can go far enough up, or out, all the voices offering unsolicited comments about my being fall away.

 

Embudito Canyon begins wide and sunbaked, green ridges rising steeply away on either side, blue sky pulsing above.

Wildflowers riot: sunflowers, aster, Apache plume. All fed by Oso Spring, a trickle we cross over and over as we ascend the canyon’s throat.

Layers of limestone mount under our feet, pushing us up to the next ledge, the next sand landing. Lots of spots require some upper-body work or a lift from above. It’s a difficult hike.

As the canyon narrows, cool stone and vines surround us. Evergreens begin to appear. Boulders become more frequent.

We ascend a very long arroyo through thick pines. After what seems like forever, we spot endless blue sky through the branches ahead. A ridge.

As we eat lunch, two giant hawks cross overhead, keeping close to each other. The trail leads us higher on the ridge, opening up views of the Sandia Crest, where the aspens are beginning to turn yellow. We glimpse a perfect view of White Mesa across the Rio Grande Valley.

Enormous boulders abound. We detour off-trail for some bouldering. My husband’s more comfortable with that than I am, but I make it two-thirds of the way to the top of one boulder cluster.

When we rejoin the trail, we realize it’s heading down. We surmise that we accidentally left the trail when we climbed that arroyo, and rejoined it heading back the way we came, but on a side path, one of the many that crisscross the canyon walls.

Though we’re below 8,000 feet, it looks almost subalpine up here; high meadows of wildflowers surrounded by mountains, more boulder thickets.

 

I’m enjoying the views when I notice that the tree cover has ended, the cacti have multiplied and the grade of the trail has tilted.

Rather than rejoining the canyon, we’ve ended up on a path that will take us down those steep, sunbaked ridges we saw from the canyon’s mouth.

It’s a long trip. The sun’s relentless. I stumble constantly. I fall several times. Once, when I get back up, I realize every careful step is causing me pain.

I have a cactus needle embedded in the back of my thigh.

I try to pull it out through the fabric of my pants. Not happening.

Looking around to make sure the coast is clear, I lower my pants just enough to reach for the needle. Still not happening.

As we carefully balance on the steep slope, me half-pantless, my husband pulls the needle, plus five more, out of my leg.

And there wasn’t a soul around to judge us.

Hike length: 6 miles

Difficulty: difficult

Trail traffic: moderate (light above midcanyon)

Wildlife spotted: lizards, butterflies, hawks, blue jays, Bewick’s wren, canyon wren, black-chinned hummingbird

 

 

“There’s probably a witch at the end of this,” my husband said. “And she’s going to eat us.”

A maze of cairns had caught our eye and led us further into the forest, away from North Faulty Trail. We’d gone at least a quarter mile, following cairns placed every 50 feet or so. Spotting the cairns in the rocky terrain became a game. Someone had put a whole lot of effort into setting them up.

The cairns took us to an overlook with a good view of the San Pedro Mountains, where we sat on a boulder and plotted our next move.

The cairns continued. Another overlook? (I really wanted one.) A boiling cauldron? (Not so much.) We followed them a little longer, but grew worried that if we went any further, we’d end up lost, so we retraced our cairned steps back to the trail.

The little rock piles weren’t the only surprise on North Faulty. Yep, I said North Faulty, not Faulty, or Upper Faulty, or even Lower Faulty. North Faulty is an unofficial route that sine-waves along the 8,000-foot contour line north from the Sandia Crest Highway. It’s one of those ridgeline routes that constantly teases you with glimpses of mountains and valleys, then whisks you back into the forest.

Along with the cairns, we found three huge brown-and-white hawk feathers along the path, one stuck in a tree stump.

I wonder how many more surprises await those who go all the way to Palomas Peak, a good 10 miles roundtrip from the North Faulty trailhead.

Hike length: 5.5 miles

Difficulty: moderate

Trail traffic: light

Wildlife spotted/heard: horny toads, lizards, jays, butterflies, swift, gray catbird

I was excited. I had realized that by hiking south on the Faulty Trail from the Sandia Crest Highway, I had a shot at seeing two springs.

Both were much-touted springs that I’d passed on separate hikes in the area, but couldn’t access, because they were closed for rehabilitation.

That was two years ago. It’s been monsooning. I thought I had a good shot.

It had rained on the trail overnight. Mud and wet pine permeated our nostrils.

At the junction of Armijo and Faulty Trails, a dogleg of Armijo once led to Torro Spring. Now, Armijo dead-ends at Faulty. A tiny spur trail leads to a”medallion tree,” which displays a medallion allegedly noting the age of the tree, but branches block any travel beyond it.

We persevered on Faulty. I’d forgotten our Sandias topo map, and we wandered around on an unmarked trail with a fallen sign nearby, thinking it might be Canoncito Trail, home of Canoncito Spring. Though the trail had great views of the San Pedro Mountains, it was springless. We retraced our steps and pressed south.

Canoncito! The maps had shown a flowing travertine spring just east of the trail’s junction with Faulty. We hiked down to a beautiful canyon lush with wildflowers. It looked just like a canyon fed by a flowing spring would look. But…nada.

Through this stretch Faulty Trail rises and descends through canyon after canyon. Many look like spring territory. But none are – at least not today, that I could see.

There’s no shortage of scenery, from an outstanding overlook of Cienega Canyon to little  horny toads scuttling among the red rock and limestone.

At the trailhead, Cienega Spring gurgled past the parking lot.

But if you know what happened to the other two springs, for goodness’ sake, please tell me.

Hike length: 6.5 miles

Difficulty: moderate

Trail traffic: light

Wildlife spotted/heard: Abert’s squirrel, caterpillar, butterflies, crested jay, nuthatch

 

The smell: damp earth and rock, wet pinon and juniper.

Above, jagged stone, overlaid with green, swallowed in cloud.

Below, massive sand dunes, people and trees dotting them like ants.

We cross a tiny creek amid the aspens. It gurgles over rocks with the gusto of a much bigger body of water.

We’re in the trees instead of on the dunes because I thought it would be the only comfortable place in the park at noon. Noon summer temperatures on the surface of the dunes can hit 150 degrees.

But a morning frontal system that’s still hanging around has the air temperature at 55 degrees at midday.

On any other day, we’d see 13,000-foot peaks soaring above us.

But on any other day, we wouldn’t see fog, wouldn’t see the muted tan of the dunes meet blue stone and green trees as if through a filter.

The light on the huge field of flowers at the highway wouldn’t be as dramatic.

The weather is always in control, but Colorado’s swings in temperature and precipitation really bring that home.

Show up. Prepare for temperatures somewhere between freezing and boiling, and any or all levels of precipitation.

Let nature do the rest.

Hike length: 1.5 miles

Difficulty: easy

Trail traffic: light

Wildlife spotted: three hawks and a rabbit on the highway into the park