Friday found me frantically finalizing plans and packing just enough food and camping supplies to get me through the weekend. Leaving Albuquerque a little late, I decided to check things out in Santa Fe and pick up the rest of my food. This was a horrible idea. The traffic in Santa Fe on the 4th of July weekend is just as bad as the traffic outside of the mall in Peducah, KY the weekend before Christmas (an analogy to which few can relate). Finally out of Santa Fe, I blew past my campsite to sneak in a short hike in Taos. The small town was up to its gills in tourists. I wanted nothing to do that. Having MO plates, I didn’t want to take the risk of being associated with the weekenders. I turned back south and made for Pilar. In Pilar, I dropped into the Rio Grande Gorge and drove six miles into camp. Seeing the sunset starting to get good, I grabbed my water and camera and headed up the east wall of the gorge. I snapped a few pictures of the tail end of the sunset and hiked back down in the twilight. Back in camp, I enjoyed a Flashback, India-style Brown Ale from Boulder Brewing Co., took in the sounds of the Rio Grande as it perpetually passed by and awaited the arrival of my rafting guide, Cliff.
Saturday started at 6:20 a.m. under partly cloudy skies. Cliff and I leisurely prepared for the day to come and scouted the last rapid of the day before shuttling to our put-in location 15 miles upstream. Cliff brought a 10 foot-long ore raft. This means he would do all the work, leaving me to throw my weight around, enjoy the ride, and make conversation. Our five and a half hour trip down “the Box” included six named rapids (class 3 & 4) with a little patch of rain (much better than what was forecasted). This was definitely a fun trip and a good way to get a first exposure to rafting without being a tourist. As an added bonus, Cliff was a great guy. He is also a cyclist (with 30 years of racing experience) and an engineer. Conversation was not in short supply.
Cliff and I took out and broke down all the equipment. I passed on Cliff’s offer for a free 1554 (no easy pass) and made for the Pecos Wilderness on the north end of the Santa Fe National Forest. As I drove, the scenery became lusher and more alpine. I was stoked. I turned down FR 207 for the last eight miles to the trailhead. Heading up the valley, I was totally immersed in the misty alpine air, smell of campfires, breeze through the pines, and the beautiful dirt road in front of me. I arrived at 5:40 p.m. bound and determined to summit UN 12,900 just beyond the Tramas Lakes. Having looked at a poor quality topo the day before, I thought it would be an easy, 6.5 mile hike to the top. Too busy drooling over being in the mountains, I didn’t stop to realize how stupid I was being and started hiking. Stopping my brisk assault on the slopes only to photograph some flowers, I grew more and more excited. It wasn’t too long before I got a glimpse of the rocky peak that shadows the lakes. I thought, “I must be getting close.” After weaving through some switchbacks, I got another glimpse above timber line. At this point, I remembered how pointless it is to judge distances in the mountains. I remembered that when I hike up mountains I feel like nothing gets closer; it just gets bigger. I hiked on, and after a little while, I saw the switchbacks end and the valley level off. I knew I was close. The trail disappeared; so I followed the creek to the lake. It was beautiful. Pristine water reflected every detail of the mountain ridge and the blue of a cloudless sky. Changing the angle of my gaze, I could see clearly every rock on the bottom of the lake. I hiked around the lake, snapped some pictures, and walked through the snow. I could see the cascading outfall of the upper Tramas Lake, but with only 1 hour of daylight left, I decided to turn back. I was a little bummed; I had hoped to see more. All well; I live just over two hours from there. There will always be another chance.
After getting past some of slick, steep upper sections of the trail, I began to run. I ran until I was almost out of daylight. I made the final descent to my car in the dark—about 30 minutes. For those 30 minutes, I talked to myself to keep away animals that would be capable of mauling or eating scrawny, young cyclists. Upon arriving at my car, I felt wiped but relaxed. I drove home with the smell of horse feces in my nostrils. As it turns out, the worst part of hiking in the dark is being unable to see where you are stepping. I arrived home just before 1 a.m., showered, and passed out. It was an epic day for sure. This lived up to my three-fourteeners-in-one-weekend trip from ’08.
Sunset Behind the Rio Grande Gorge
Lower Tramas Lake
Lower Tramas Lake
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