Pilgrimage to Cabezón

On Thursday morning in May two guys got up early, piled into a pickup and headed south out of Aztec.

That same Thursday morning I met my friend the minister and we headed west from Bernalillo for a day spent in spiritual communion with one of our geologic neighbors known as Cabezón; Big Head.

Cabezon Peak

Cabezón is about one and a half hours northwest of Albuquerque, a pleasant drive through Bernalillo, San Ysidro, past White Mesa and out into the high desert.  We left Bernalillo behind around 8:30 a.m. and by 10:00 a.m. we were slathering on sunscreen, adjusting hydration packs, our caps and contemplating Cabezón up close and personal. Sort of.

Perfect spring weather!

Although the peak that was now looming overhead was much bigger than the distant bald head we’d contemplated from the top of the Sandia Mountains – and even from the foothills near Tramway Boulevard – we still didn't really understand the way Cabezón would get personal with us before the day was through.

Heading up the trail with the minister.

You get a sense this is not your everyday trip to the mall when, at the base of the trail, you see the log book where you are expected to (and, really, you should) sign in with your names and the number in your party.  There were also maps of which we availed ourselves.  There were only two names on the log ahead of us so we weren't planning on dealing with a crowd.

Lichen the shade!

After approaching the peak from the west side we started down the trail that swung south and east, starting right away with a brisk uphill warm-up to reach the base of the loose scree.  Then we followed the trail which, in turn, followed the edge of the scree and took us uphill and down, around

Pink Desert flower.

outcroppings of loose shale and ground lava, always surrounded by mesquite, cactus, verbena, cholla and huge vistas.  

See the signal fire on that peak to the south?

On all sides but one we could see for hundreds of miles.  Cabezón is the tallest formation of its kind, but by no means the only one and it was impossible not to imagine these highly defensible positions being used to communicate along the length of the Rio Puerco in some pre-Columbian period.  

Wikipedia’s brief entry starts with “Cabezón Peak is a large volcanic plug….” This entire region is part of the same Mt. Taylor volcanic field that produced the Malpaís near Grants, NM and Inscription Rock and the Bandera Ice Caves.  There are lots of volcanic plugs stretching seemingly all the length of the Rio Puerco so using these peaks as defenses or to signal from one community to another seems like an unoriginal idea.  

While I was standing on the side of the peak gazing at the other plugs and calderas so far away I also became aware of how small I was in the vastness of the desert.  I began to regard the thin, winding trail of the Rio Puerco, identifiable because of the trees and dense brush that ran it’s – how to say this – non-desiccated length, as the preferred highway for travel through the region.  Where there was water and shade there would surely be the best options for sustenance available.

If you squint closely you can see a fence line from above HERE in this caption all the way to the small peak just right of "up center."

As we continued our hike, slowly exhaling the last of the city air and becoming accustomed to the dry air, thankful for the steady breeze out of the west and glad we had plenty of water we were winding our way to the southeast corner where we came to a fork in the road.

One fork led directly northwest and up the side of the peak, zigzagging in tight slalom turns up the scree.  This was the path that clearly was used with great frequency.  

The other path continued along the base of the scree now beginning to head toward the northeast, clearly not as popular a path.

The direct path up the scree looked decidedly less inviting than the path that continued forward and my friend the minister and I, being essentially brave in some respects and unwilling to climb straight up the scree in other respects, took the path less traveled   Plus, we both believe in exploring the bounds of our communion when at church service.

We continued on for approximately another three quarters of a mile before the trail forked again.  Well, it didn't precisely fork so much as take a turn down and away from the mountain.  We forked.  We headed up into the scree now, without much of a trail at all.

Trail?  We don' need no stinkin' trail!

By now, of course, we’d decided to consult the map left by the BLM.  Being the trailblazers we were scorned the map, using the distant details on the horizon to orient ourselves on the side of the peak and to determine the river winding below must be the Rio Puerco.  We just wanted to confirm now, that we were long past the correct ascent, our suspicions about being able to intercept the correct ascent on our own

Stop and smell the verbena.

upward trajectory.

We started scrambling over the scree, often practically on all fours due to how steep the pitch was, how slippery the loose shale was and how often we were on the verge of falling anyway.  Now we were not talking much, each of us concentrating on trailblazing.  

Yeah, it was that steep.

Of course, Cabezón Peak has been around since, well, since the volcanoes were erupting. We weren’t the first intrepid trailblazers to go looking for “a better way.”  Within minutes we started coming on the cairns left by our predecessors and, soon enough, we were back on the principle path above the scree and just at the base of what is referred to by many as a chimney.

Up near the top of the chimney we were reaching, after a couple of hours on the trail, were two fellows coming down.  

Mike points out our Aztec friends making their way down.

These were the two names I’d seen in the entry log below and they were from Aztec.  Cabezón is about two and a half hours south of Aztec and here were these two guys coming down!  Calculating they’d hiked two and a half hours and spent at least an hour on the top (about what we were to spend) that means they were on the trail by about seven in the morning.

Cabezón is about two and a half hours south of Aztec and it left me wondering whether these guys were up at 4:30 a.m. or if they’d stayed the night.  Their packs were about twice as big as ours and ours had one day’s water and some snacks so it was possible they’d added a lightweight bivy-bag each and had heard the coyotes sing under the uncountable stars.

The chimney was, according to our Aztec friends, “class four bouldering,” big enough you might fall and far enough off the ground you’d probably get hurt if you did.

Bouldering; very zen.

Zen Boulder Master.

All we needed!  With a couple of manly adjustments and a few huffs of breathe the minister and I, each in our turn, ascended the chimney. 

Up close and personal was happening NOW!  With my whole body hugging the side and my hands reaching out and caressing, touching and exploring tenderly to find a hand-hold I was smelling the earth, dabbing with my toes and intently focusing on my path upward.

Of course, I’m an old hand at this sort of thing and was up in a couple of minutes, as was the minister, whereupon we gave thanks.  We watched as our Aztec friends lowered their packs on a line before they headed down.  Briefly it crossed my mind that we’d be following them soon enough.

Once through the chimney it’s a matter of moments to reach the crest where a small spiral formed of lava stones contains the Cabezón entry log within an army ammo box, along with emergency rations of water and Gatorade for those in need.

On top.

 

We each penned a few brief thoughts in the book and got our grub on while exploring the panoramic views, the other two little shelters (they HAD to be lookout posts for the signalmen – you go up there and tell me you don’t agree!) and looking for sign.  There is clear evidence some big coyotes have made there way to the top.

Of course, most of the trip back was simply the reverse of the trip up with two notable exceptions; we went straight down the scree trail when we reached it and we only reached it after doing some downward class four bouldering!  

Lichen were everywhere.

If the climb was personal on the way up then the level of trust I brought into my relationship on the way down – when I couldn't  see where my footholds were going to be – was surreal.

Baxter Black’s “Cowboy’s Prayer” refers to the beauty of god’s creation in a way that has always expressed for me my own feelings of appreciation when I’m in the wild;

Oh Lord, I've never lived where churches grow. 

I loved creation better as it stood 

That day You finished it so long ago 

And looked upon Your work and called it good.

I know that others find You in the light

That's sifted down through tinted window panes,

And yet I seem to feel You near tonight

In this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

Sometimes the minister and I will paddle up the Rio Grande to visit Painted Cave in the Bandelier Forest, sometimes we’ll ski between the trees on a stormy day, and sometimes we’ll just go for a bike ride.

And most always it’s a spiritual experience in the Church of the Blue Sky.

Skiing out my backdoor

Yesterday was a beautiful day!

I spent Sunday Morning walking around the house in my ski boots, accommodating my new boots to my old feet, and getting my "ski legs" back under me.

Monday morning I got up at a reasonable hour. Not an ungodly hour, as I would have done to ski Taos, nor even an uncomfortable hour as I would have done to ski Santa Fe. No, I got up about the same time I would if I were going to work.

Only I wasn't!

I was going skiing on the 100% open Sandia Peak Ski Area!

Only a week before we'd all heard Sandia was going to have to delay their opening due to a lack of snow and temperatures that hindered snow-making operations. Well, next year I suggest making that little announcement the week before Thanksgiving instead of waiting until Christmas!

No sooner did the announcement sink in to skiers than we had a freakishly wonderfully long rainstorm (sorry to my Mother and Step-father and anyone else whose house suffered miserably due to the cold snap and excessive moisture, but, hey, on balance.... well I'd better leave it alone).

So, With barely time to drink a full "To Go" cup of great coffee from my own coffee maker I was ensconced on the mountain.

First thing I did, of course, was get my newly issued "Peak Rewards" Card. With the "Peak Rewards" Card I am back in the game I was last in when just 21 years old; the "dollar-per-run" game! With my "Peak Rewards" card my ticket for a day was only $25!

Since there are, apparently, so few of us in the know, there were no lines to speak of, so my buddy Mike and I were left to find the best snow we could (Robb's Run that day) and crank out laps! Okay, maybe we didn't get 25 runs in (we were having such a good time we didn't count!) but we got awful close. Factoring in normal inflation I think we got a better deal on a cost-per-run basis that we've gotten in many years!

There wasn't a single run that wasn't fun as Mike and I schooled everyone else on the mountain. Oh yeah, that was us you may have seen blasting fearlessly down the icy front of "Suicide," catching air off the popper at the top of "Inhibition" and effortlessly whizzing past all comers with a combination of grace and nonchalance that was clearly at odds with the speed we carried - all the way from the top to the bottom.

We are blessed, in Albuquerque, with a once-every-three-(or so)-years phenomenon; Sandia is the best skiing in the state right now!

Ski ya there!

Del rio hacia las montanas

Took a great "road trip" last night. All the way from Guadalupe Trail and Pueblo Solano, east on Candelaria to the last street, Camino de la Sierra.

But it started a long time ago. Many folks aren't aware that a lot of the land left by early Spanish residents of Albuquerque was plotted in slender east-west tracts allowing the owner to have a piece of the river bank, and a piece of the grazing in the foothills.

My "road trip" started in the communal garden I'm allowed to share with a bunch of folks who've been doing it so long they've got a (very rough) system.

I got to the garden in the evening sun and started hoeing weeds out of a row of bean plants. Some of the weeds looked like verdilargas to me, and they reminded me of my Grandmother Gonzales' cooking when we had a garden in my youth. Verdilargas might be called "stringweed" by some, but my abuelita made a great dish out of this unwanted plant. Back then, our immigrant Italian neighbor even showed us how to pluck the flowers off our squash plants; this would cause the fruit to proliferate and was delicious when fried in a light breading.

These thoughts were mixing in with the sensuousness of the dirt in my fingers as I caressed the beans and yanked the weeds. One guy showed up, a local restaurateur, and was curious to know if one of the other weeds were "Quelites." Quelites is another plant my grandmother made wonderful dishes with. Those old folks used Everything!

After weeding a bit I took the Rototiller and moved a row over, and then set about for the final chore as the sun dipped below the roof lines to the west. We had the water, drawn from the river, in a big pond with a nice island in the middle, two of our number tranquilly watching the rows. We siphoned water from the pond into the rows using short tubes. Then we watched the reflection of the sinking sun grow from the north end to the south end as water slowly filled the rows.

After awhile, the sun was down, the water was in the rows and I headed home. All the way up Candelaria, one of the last places in Albuquerque you can occasionally find the"Green Wave," I was imagining the residents of an Albuquerque circa 1650, or even 1850, who might have had to make their way down to the river to tend to the crops, and then had to make the long trip up into the foothills to gather their sheep. My road trip took about half an hour, but I was traveling hundreds of years back to when the same trip would have taken all day.

It was beautiful.

The Carlsbad Misadventure or How I Came To Know Beautiful Carizozo

With the end of summer coming I’d made my reservations for the Pecos River RV Camp in Carlsbad New Mexico. A riverboat tour on the Pecos in the spring had motored beneath the ancient aqueduct that still carries water (and leaks a little on the motorists that now pass below) and amazed the other passengers and me with the beautiful homes whose backyards were, in the Chihuahuan desert, surprisingly lush.

The Pecos bubbles up from its subterranean course just north of Carlsbad and wends its way through town where, with the help of a dam, it is turned into a beautiful water play area for boats, swimmers and for the enjoyment of folk on the bike and pedestrian paths that run the length of its shores. My daughters and I would camp in our ““pop-up”” right on the river where we could canoe on the hot days.

The Living Desert Zoo, with its wonderful interpretive trails winding through the flora and fauna of the Chuihuahuan desert, allowing visitors to meander among snakes, wolves, javelina and the like, as well as cacti from around the globe, was going to offer learning and entertainment to my daughters and me for one entire day.

We were also planning to go enjoy a cool hike through Carlsbad’s famous caverns which we’d visited six years earlier. This time the girls were old enough to spend an entire day, rather than the half-day hike we’d done when they were younger.

And we were also going to see a movie at one of New Mexico’s only three remaining drive-in movies!

But the best laid plans often go awry.

My teen-age daughter declined the adventure, preferring to stay in town with her mother, so it was just nine-year-old Leticia and me who set forth. We packed our stuff in my 35 year-old Chevy pick-up, Betty White, hitched her to our “pop-up” and headed east through Tijeras Canyon and south through the Manzanos.

The drive was as beautiful as I’d anticipated. Betty’s steady, but she’s a slow goer so there was plenty of time to take in our surroundings and imagine the lives of the early Indians, Spaniards and pioneers from Missouri who’d been down these paths in bygone days. We took a brief respite at the pueblo mission ruins of Quarai and promised ourselves to stop at Gran Quivira on the way back.

Then, just south of the two or three buildings that make up the Claunch metropolitan district, the pickup made some very strange noises!

I’d been doing my vacation-dad thing, asking Leticia to imagine what it was like for those Spanish explorers who’d come this way nearly five hundred years before, or for the nomadic tribes of Indians who’d scraped their existence from the harsh outer shell of the land. When we first heard the strange noise from the engine compartment I pulled over, opened the hood (as far as the canoe that extended the length of the vehicle would allow) and saw to my astonishment and chagrin that the lower pulley was gone. Nothing to drive the fan belt or alternator even though the engine was purring sweetly.

Without the fan belt the motor overheated quickly. Fortunately there was the fifteen gallons of water I’d packed for a week’s camping. Several gallons were used up re-filling the radiator as we limped into Carizozo, some forty miles from where we lost our harmonic balancer-slash-pulley, and the hardships of a pioneer existence became a little more real. We’d drive about ten or fifteen miles and pull to the edge of the road, refill the radiator and head on. We were blessed with an afternoon rain squall that gave us some relief and made Betty content. For the remaining thirty miles we didn’t have to stop.

We rolled South into Carrizozo with time before the sun set to locate the Carrizozo Service Center and have an early dinner at the Four Winds restaurant while the engine cooled. Then we drove four miles east to the Valley of Fires Campground.

The campground, managed very well by the Bureau of Land Management, sits on the edge of the Malpaís (Spanish for "Badlands"), the forty-four mile long lava flow that came out of a vent approximately 3,000 years ago. The vent, just visible on the northern horizon is now called Little Black Peak. We opened up the “pop-up” on a high bluff overlooking the widest section of this stunning array of lava, Yucca, Juniper trees and myriad other flora and fauna. It was a beautiful sight with guaranteed one-of-a-kind sunsets every evening. The breezes kept the temperature down to a comfortable degree (exactly what degree I don’t think we really wanted to know) and took a walk on the lovely interpretive trail set up by the BLM.

The trail meanders in a rough circle, not quite a mile long, with stations along the route to point out the native vegetation, animals and history, both geologic and anthropologic. Afterwards we settled in for the first of many games of Monopoly®.

The next morning, after a breakfast of fresh pineapple and pancakes cooked on the outside stove-top with amazing views for our kitchen walls, we headed in to see Billy at the Carizozo Service Center. He diagnosed our problem and, informed us our replacement part would arrive from Chicago in three days. While that was a lot faster than it would have taken in Territorial times it wasn’t much solace to Leticia.

Despondent, we headed back to the Four Winds for a delicious lunch topped off with cheesecake for Leticia and cherry pie for me. Steve, the owner of the Four Winds, it turns out, is the owner of the Carrizozo Service Center. Hearing our plight he asked if I could make a trip to get a part. Of course I would but my truck couldn’t. With the kind of spirit that comes from having to stick together when you’re out in the wilderness Steve surprised me with the offer to lend me a car. Then he called a salvage yard in “Alamo” (the locals called Alamogordo simply “Alamo”) to see if they had a used part for us.

In high spirits now that Steve had found a part we set off on what we would then refer to as the “Air-conditioned Tour of the Tularosa Basin.” Driving south on Highway 54 we could look across the basin to the mountains and mesas on the far western edge of the basin with the Malpaís lava flow down low and out of sight in the valley below. What magnificent country. I think it was somewhere along this route while doing my Dad-the-tourist-guide thing that I shared with Leticia how our experience was very much like that of the early settlers.

“Leticia,” I said, “think of Betty White as our ox and the “pop-up” as our Conestoga wagon. Well, sometimes when a family was crossing the country the ox stepped in a gopher hole and came up lame.” Leticia didn’t seem to appreciate the metaphor. She did get a big kick out of The Toy Train Depot in Alamogordo. The guys at the salvage yard hadn’t pulled the harmonic balancer-slash-pulley yet so Leticia and I had a traditional New Mexico lunch at Blake’s Lotaburger. Leticia chose their delicious Bar-B-Q and I had a Lotaburger with cheese and green chile. Mmm-mmm!

Next we headed across the street to the Toy Train Depot. When you’re in Alamogordo you can’t miss this place. There is a small train that runs about 3 miles on sixteen inch wide tracks. A train ride is fun and only four dollars. The museum tour is also four dollars and since the combination ticket is only six and we had time to spar we did both!

It was worth it. We got a wonderful running commentary on the train ride from the very conductor who had installed the track! Then we spent more time than we’d planned looking at all the train artifacts and hearing about New Mexico’s train history from one of the volunteers, a rheumy eyed gentleman of advanced age. He then passed us off to a couple of other volunteers who ran the toy trains in the museum.

Man they had a bunch of trains! I hadn’t seen so many trains in one place since those halcyon days of my youth (we’re talking ‘60s here, folks) at the New Mexico State Fair. Among hundreds of toy trains and set pieces, these guys had to have thirty or forty distinct trains of varying gauges, including “Z” gauge, the smallest working electronic train available. They were set up in three or four rooms, all in beautiful landscapes and cityscapes with lots of trees, mountains, cars, trucks and pedestrians. When you go make sure to ask about Roy Kong!

The Toy Train Depot was a great diversion and one I’m thankful for because the guys at the salvage yard had bad news; the harmonic balancer-slash-pulley was defective and broke when they tried to pull it. There was nothing for us to do but finish our “Air-conditioned Tour of the Tularosa Basin.”

The trip home was very quiet. We were going to spend our vacation in Carrizozo instead of Carlsbad. Thankfully the folks we met in Carrizozo took wonderful care of us. Betty White would get us to and from the campground each day and Leticia and I filled our time in a leisurely way.

We’d start our days with breakfast overlooking the Valley of Fires as the sun came up followed by some reading, some Monopoly and, once, a trip to the Visitors’ Center. The Visitors’ Center provided a rich trove of information about the Valley of Fires as well as information on Billy the Kid and other aspects of the region’s history. We referred to the Center Manager as “the Third Albert” after visiting with him about a book on the region called “The Two Alberts” (one of whom was Albert B. Fall, whose ranch is near the Three Rivers Campground and site of over 21,000 petroglyphs).

At the Carrizozo Visitors’ Center, located in a beautiful old railroad caboose, we chatted with Johnson Stearns, a man richly imbued with the history of Carrizozo and the area. Mr. Stearns had lived over ninety years in the area, had been a major force at the local bank and is the author of a pictorial history of Carrizozo which can be found for sale at the Carrizozo Museum. Mr. Stearns looks remarkably well for a man in his nineties which I took as a testament to clean mountain air.

We took advantage of the cool blue water of the Carrizozo Municipal Swimming pool – literally! The first day we were enjoying a lovely, refreshing swim when a big storm blew in. When lightening forces the closure of the pool, as it did in true New Mexico style about 3pm that afternoon, swimmers are given a rain-check (wow! A real rain-check – who knew?) and invited to return again at no charge. We came back the next day and the woman running the pool provided Leticia with some shampoo! She knew Leticia was unaccustomed to showering in a public facility like those at the campground so she encouraged Leticia to wash up in the shower at the pool. Leticia was very comfortable securely washing her hair in her bathing suit without wondering what stranger might come in – they were all already there!

I was beginning to realize that Carrizozo was synonymous with “hospitality.”

Each day after swimming we finished our late lunch at the Four Winds with one of their delicious deserts and then headed back to our camp at the Valley of Fires. We’d alternate between reading and playing Monopoly and retracing our steps on the interpretive trail at different times of the evening.

The first day we walked in the late afternoon with plenty of light to read the plaques around the trail. We learned to identify various local plants and were shown what animals to look for although we only saw some of the birds that afternoon.

The second day we hiked just at sunset and saw yet another exceptional sunset over the malpaís, more birds, a black tarantula with bright yellow markings as big as my hand, and bats – lots of bats! They swooped overhead diving in acute angles and making lots of noise we, of course, couldn’t hear.

The third day we went down the trail sometime after sunset as the red was receding over the western rim of the valley. We walked slowly and kept very quiet. I was hoping to see some of the local critters. We knew they were there because the plaques had urged us to listen for the cheerful yips of the coyote and the mournful hoot of the owls. Also, we’d seen a big fat skunk the night before on the way to the bathroom. Leticia spotted him first as he was meandering around. Although we didn’t see any of the mule deer, coyotes or owls the peaceful quiet of the malpaís was reward enough.

When the harmonic balancer-slash-pulley finally arrived from Chicago Billy went to install it and found (of course) more trouble. The original had come loose because the bolt holding it in place had sheared at an angle. Billy had to do some major work removing the radiator and grill assembly to finally get the truck running again. Billy’s 7 year-old daughter informed Leticia at some stage that her brother, Billy Jr., age 8 or 9, regarded Leticia as a “foxy lady!” Leticia was struck by this and, I think, a little tickled. At least she continues to remind me, when we talk of our adventure, not to tell anyone about Billy Jr.’s admiration.

I will not tell you how favorably Steve dealt with us when he put the bill for the repair together but I will say he went out of his way looking for ways to make the bill palatable. I know if the repair had been done in a bigger city I would probably have paid twice what Steve charged.

All in all I do not regret choosing to go through Carrizozo on route to Carlsbad, and Leticia and I are thankful we broke down in one of the New Mexico’s treasures. We didn’t get to have any of the famous Carrizozo Cider, but I think the sweetness of the folks who treated us so well must be one of the principle ingredients. I look forward to planning my next trip to Carrizozo, and I recommend you put Carrizozo on your list of places to know.