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.