The last day of summer started out frosty. There was a rime of frost on the rocks and most of the plants, and our morning trail started way down in the valley, Taos Ski Valley to be exact. It wasn't outright cold, since I stayed with short sleeves, but then again my cold tolerance is way above most, because of my patented internal layer system (others, less kind, may call it blubber). The trail to the top of New Mexico begins with a modest climb of a thousand feet over the first two miles. Turner and I notice that a lot of people complain about this gradient, and then marvel that we've hiked miles more, and thousands of feet more when they feel totally beat. I think our ability to take pain, rather than our amazing physical conditioning, must be the difference. We arrived at Williams Lake, not much more than a tarn of a couple hundred yards across, about an hour after our 7:45 AM departure. No big deal so far, but we know what's next: 2000 feet of climbing in one mile.
The morning light here must be one of the reasons they call this state the land of enchantment. The peaks to our East are bathed in gold, a Cibola light show of great magnitude. I am musing between the adjectives "beautiful" and "awesome." The geological formations are awesome, the stark results of dramatic mountain-lifting power. But they are not beautiful. The light, however, that caresses the landscape, and plays against the crystal blue sky... that's beautiful.
Right from the lake the trail abruptly rose toward the saddle to the North of the peak. First it was through the woods, then up through a gully, breaking out onto the slopes about halfway between lake and saddle. I realize very early on that this is one of those climbs where you put your head down, keep your eyes on the mountain in front of you, and try not to think about how much further it is. Overall the grade is just under 40% for this mile, but there are sections that easily go over 50%. We can touch the mountain in front us while standing straight up. Ouch. But... it gets over with mercifully soon, and after a brief rock scramble right near the top of the saddle, we get over to the summit. Four hours up.
I like the summit feeling. The four others at the top are all giddy as we are, chatting about nothing in particular, but happy and laughing. It ends too soon, and the pain of descent must be faced. We take our time going down, and reach the car in just over two hours. All in all it was a great hike.
I have a wonderful tradition for the road trip home from hiking trips. I like to listen to George Winston's Summer - piano solos - as I watch the landscape roll by. The five hour trip is shortened by the music, and later by listening to another favorite, baseball on the radio. The sounds of summer soon to pass. We are ravenously hungry, but have to wait almost two hours until the Carl's Jr. in Walsenburg, Colorado. The burgers and fries and cokes are beyond gourmet. Turner and I agree that we hope the gracious Lord gives many more such summers as this one. Seven high points, a week in the back country of the Weminuche Wilderness, and many other smaller blessings.
The morning light here must be one of the reasons they call this state the land of enchantment. The peaks to our East are bathed in gold, a Cibola light show of great magnitude. I am musing between the adjectives "beautiful" and "awesome." The geological formations are awesome, the stark results of dramatic mountain-lifting power. But they are not beautiful. The light, however, that caresses the landscape, and plays against the crystal blue sky... that's beautiful.
Right from the lake the trail abruptly rose toward the saddle to the North of the peak. First it was through the woods, then up through a gully, breaking out onto the slopes about halfway between lake and saddle. I realize very early on that this is one of those climbs where you put your head down, keep your eyes on the mountain in front of you, and try not to think about how much further it is. Overall the grade is just under 40% for this mile, but there are sections that easily go over 50%. We can touch the mountain in front us while standing straight up. Ouch. But... it gets over with mercifully soon, and after a brief rock scramble right near the top of the saddle, we get over to the summit. Four hours up.
I like the summit feeling. The four others at the top are all giddy as we are, chatting about nothing in particular, but happy and laughing. It ends too soon, and the pain of descent must be faced. We take our time going down, and reach the car in just over two hours. All in all it was a great hike.
I have a wonderful tradition for the road trip home from hiking trips. I like to listen to George Winston's Summer - piano solos - as I watch the landscape roll by. The five hour trip is shortened by the music, and later by listening to another favorite, baseball on the radio. The sounds of summer soon to pass. We are ravenously hungry, but have to wait almost two hours until the Carl's Jr. in Walsenburg, Colorado. The burgers and fries and cokes are beyond gourmet. Turner and I agree that we hope the gracious Lord gives many more such summers as this one. Seven high points, a week in the back country of the Weminuche Wilderness, and many other smaller blessings.
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