I step onto the dirt path under a gray sky, cold wind chilling my bare fingertips.
I reach the other side of the field 20 minutes later under a warm sun, heating up quickly in my fleece.
I have a narrow window before the wind whips into 40-mile-an-hour gusts, a common occurrence in central New Mexico from January to April.
When I walk east, the wind feels like it’s out of the north-northeast. When I walk west, it bumps up against my face as if it’s out of the west.
I’m no scientist. And though I’ve lived here a decade, that’s the blink of an eye in the West. But my gut tells me the spigot that’s blessed Albuquerque with snow and rain for weeks is turning off, though hopefully new snowfalls will continue to blanket the mountains.
That the spigot even turned on is all too rare as the Southwest warms.
A brown lump across the field catches my eye. It’s sizable. A deer? I wonder, though I’ve never seen one in the middle of the city.
It unfolds itself, begins a lope across the field. Coyote. Another coyote-lump unfurls itself and follows the first one’s lead.
Coyotes have adapted fiercely, establishing themselves ever more fully in lands more and more choked with humans.
How much further will we push them?
Hike length: 1.8 miles
Difficulty: easiest
Trail traffic: moderate
Wildlife spotted: coyotes, cranes, geese, grackles
Woman Seeks Elevation 