Month: December 2018

I longed to see blue and white today, and my wish came true.

The non-color of the winter Embudo Canyon desert lay buried under a blanket of snow. White below, blue above. Cacti the only interruption, sage green in the slant light, some bedecked with a slab of snow or sheaf of ice.

We stumbled on ice – I went down hard on a knee – and postholed where others had clearly postholed before us. The snow lay four to six inches deep in places, squeaking under our boots. Calf muscles I’d never felt powered me up slopes piled deep with snow.

The mouth of the canyon stretched wide, sun on white waves of snowdrifts. We’d reached the lower Embudo parking lot easily, but when we passed the upper parking lot and its access road, we saw a sheet of ice.

We climbed further, stacked rock of canyon walls narrowing, shadow falling across the trail. We stopped where the canyon became an obstacle course of boulders. Not in the snow.

The sun dropped just below the canyon wall as we walked back, backlighting a filigree of ice-covered juniper high above.

At a junction in the trail, a penguin sculpted of snow served the purpose of a cairn. We spotted more penguins ahead. I was charmed, until we reached a pass where the young men who’d made the penguins stood on either side of the trail.

One mentioned that the steep section of path right behind us was really slippery. I immediately turned around and started walking back to the previous junction. It felt like they were taking up all the space on the trail and I’d be damned if I let them see me slip and slide down that chute.

The alternate route brought new levels of postholing. At some points we scooted through hip-high craters in the snow.

I groused about the penguin-makers. My husband didn’t understand my irritation. He’d stopped to talk with them and thought they were nice.

I realized I was the only one who cared whether those dudes saw me slip on the ice. I was worried they would see me as someone who didn’t belong on the trail.

I realized I had my fair share of trail credibility, having been on trails 52 times already this year, including some tough ones.

But trail credibility is a fairly useless manmade (or womanmade) notion.

There is no one who doesn’t belong on a trail. There is nothing we need to prove to the natural world.

There is only blue and white, and blue and white, and blue and white.

Hike length: 4.5 miles

Difficulty: moderate

Trail traffic: moderate

Wildlife spotted: curve-billed thrasher, dove

Fifty feet makes such a difference.

At the overlook, a brisk, chill wind whips your face.

But we’re lounging on a rock higher up the hill, protected from the wind, soaking up the sun.

The sun brought me here today.

I’d realized a week ago that I’d be off work on the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. I made it my mission to do a full-sun hike that day.

I’m looking at the place where we’d planned to hike, Tetilla Peak, miles away and 2,000 feet below where we sit. Our truck wouldn’t start this morning and the rough road to Tetilla demands high clearance, so we needed a destination reachable by car.

My husband suggested Atalaya Mountain in Santa Fe, a trail that tops out above 9,000 feet. I worried it would be too snowy. But Atalaya’s notorious sunshine keeps most of the mountain basking in the rays. Snow blanketed north-facing slopes around us, but much of the Atalaya trail was totally clear, save for a steep, icy section I dubbed “the chute.”

Early on, a well-marked fork in the trail presented a stark choice: “Easier Route” and “Steeper Route.” My husband charged for the steeper route, but I insisted we do the easier route, concerned about ice and my calf capacity. Even the easier route was tough; I was glad we’d done a comparably steep hike a week earlier.

At the top, mountain ranges melted into clouds in the distance. Crows traveling in pairs and threes floated in blue overhead. My husband cawed at them and they cawed back.

We stopped at a viewpoint on the way down just after 3 p.m. With the sun already falling, it looked more like 5 p.m.

Luckily, we’d gotten ample sun worship in already.

Hike length: 7 miles

Difficulty: difficult

Trail traffic: moderate

Wildlife spotted: crows, dark-eyed juncos, bluejays, a fleeting glimpse that might have been a coyote on the way down

With this hike, I completed the #52HikeChallenge in 11 months and 1 week!

The runner passes us on his way up the mountain and again on his way down. He embodies grace as he descends. His toes seem to hover just above the earth.

My journey doesn’t look so pretty.

The black diamond section of Three Gun Spring Trail begins about two-thirds of the way up. I’m already gasping for breath, my quads taxed to the limit. The upper half of the trail boasts many 45-degree slopes and few landings.

My resolve to keep a steady pace melts like the snow from the trail’s south-facing slopes. But I keep moving, one foot above the other.

On a long, endless incline, I think I just can’t make it to the overlook at the top of this section today. But I remember this incline. I felt the exact same way the last time I was at this spot, and then realized I was almost at the overlook.

We push on. The desert on either side of the trail gives way to a light snow cover. I know I’m close, close enough to make it. The junction where several trails meet appears.

I look out gratefully over Tijeras Canyon. We started the hike under brilliant sun, which kept me warm on the climb up, even in 40-degree weather. But a blanket of cloud cover has moved in from the south. A dark cloud levitates over the Manzanos like an otherworldly craft.

A raven caws high above, then shifts to a call that sounds like water dripping in a cave.

I know the trail gets easier above this junction, and I’m not done exploring.

Hike length: 6.8 miles

Difficulty: difficult

Trail traffic: light-moderate

Wildlife spotted/heard: bluejays, ravens, dark-eyed juncos, spotted towhee

This might be the worst idea I’ve ever had.

I’m on top of a ridge in Juan Tabo Canyon. Barely. Frigid wind howls from the northwest into my face. I fight the wind for each breath, each step.

A light snow falls, dropping a curtain between us and the mountains 4,000 feet above. We pass a man and two dogs coming out of the canyon. It’s snowing more back there, he says, the sky behind him dark and angry.

I was sure Juan Tabo Canyon would offer shelter from the wind. My husband was not. As it turned out, we were both right.

We scramble into a side canyon’s narrow neck. Its walls rise around us, a barrier from the wind. I begin to find my breath. The sun peeks through the clouds, just as the forecast said. The snow stops. Moments ago, I’d worried about hypothermia; now I’m shucking layers.

A trail rises from the canyon floor into the hills. We debate turning back, but the conditions will clearly only improve. We climb, clouds scuttling across the canyon’s back ridges and the notch in its west wall. The Sandias’ iconic Shield, Prow and my beloved Needle slowly begin to emerge above us, covered in snow.

We seek higher vantage points, more clouds and mountains and canyon. My husband notes a steep hill at the canyon’s southwestern end, one we’ve never explored. We’re ready this time for the wind as we reach a high saddle. He walks beside me and we steady each other against gusts that make staying upright a battle.

Atop the hill, we see everything: the flat plain west to the mesa, the snow-dusted South Peak of the Sandias, the sun playing on the icons above. The snow-covered cell phone towers glisten on Sandia Peak like icicles.

There’s no alternate way back to the trailhead from the hill; the path ends at the fence separating public land from the Sandia Pueblo. We have to backtrack, which means walking into the wind on that steep ridge and descent. My husband has tied my hat strings to my backpack, which keeps me from losing my hat when the wind rips it off.

Our city had no winter last year. We haven’t felt snowflakes on a hike in nearly three years.

Today offers a glimpse of how brutal and spectacular a winter hike can be.

Hike length: 4.5 miles

Difficulty: moderate

Trail traffic: almost none

Wildlife spotted: jay, beetles, one startled and unidentifiable medium-sized bird being carried on a gust