May 1st--- Lordsburg to a Wash Near Engineer Canyon

Lordsburg Start

     When I stepped off the bus in Lordsburg, I stepped into a nightmare.  Greyhound had lost my backpack, which contained all of my gear, my camera and most importantly at that time my wallet.  Now, I was basically left destitute on the streets of a small New Mexico town with the phone reps of the bus company completely indifferent to my fate.  The dream of the CDT and the hiking Triple Crown was vanishing right before my eyes like a thin fog before the power of the sun.  I'd hardly ever been more despondent.  It was then that the kindness of strangers intervened to turn the tide and give me hope.  Their help in assisting me will never be forgotten.  Neither will the unceasing efforts of my family in tracking down my pack.  Total disaster had been averted.

My original plan had been to start at Crazy Cook.  Unfortunately, Sam had not been there to greet me as he said he would when the bus pulled into the station.  While I was using the Internet in the hotel lobby and visited the CDT 2012 Facebook page, I think I discovered why.  His truck had broken down while he was delivering Shroomer and Why Not to the monument a few weeks back.  Perhaps it was still out of commission.  I still felt like calling to see if I could get a ride, but Shroomer's stating that Sam's daughter would rather see her father give up the transporting of hikers to the border because of age and recent health concerns persuaded me not to.  I decided to honor his daughter's wishes.  Besides, after all the trouble with a lost pack, I just wanted to start hiking.  So, after buying the necessary vittles for the short stretch to Silver City, I headed out of town.

The day was warming up quickly by the early afternoon, heat radiating up from the black pavement as I walked along the road.  The moment I cleared the edge of town, I heard someone yell out, "Hey, Hiker Trash!".  My first reaction was to keep my head down and continue walking, feeling that it was probably some local who was none too fond of hikers, but I quickly realized that in actuality it was the clarion call from other thrus.  As I turned, up drove a small pickup with four aspiring CDTers who introduced themselves as Shroomer, Why Not, Coyote and Ratatouille.  Shroomer and Why Not had taken time off trail to attent ADZPCTKO and were returning to trail up in the Gila after dropping the other two off in Hachita.  I was especially pleased  to meet Why Not because I had read her 2009 PCT journal before I'd even taken a step on a long trail.  It was one of the things that convinced me that my own attempt at the Pacific Crest Trail was possible.  Nancy(Why Not) joked, "You figured that if an older woman could do it you could too, right?"  Well, if truth be told, yes.  It was only later on the CDT that I would find out that Nancy is not your typical older woman.  As for Shroomer, who did the majority of the talking, he felt that we might have met down in the southern section of the PCT in 2010 since I was a Southbounder and he was finishing a section he had skipped due to off-trail commitments.  Exchanging more information, it turns out we had indeed met a few miles north of  Silverwood Lake.  Small world.  Anyway, we chatted a good long while before we parted company.  I knew I'd catch those ahead of me, but for those behind I was fairly certain I wouldn't see them again.

Shortly after turning down Highway 90 at the Y junction, I looked to my right and saw my first CDT trail marker, the blue and white emblem prominent on the brown carsonite post.  The only trouble was that it stood on the opposite side of a barbed wire fence.  I took great care when climbing over so as not to castrate myself and was relieved when I found myself standing next to the post with the family jewels intact.  Preparing for this hike, I had heard that the CDT was a trail of a few thousand miles with a few dozen markers.  This is an exaggeration.  Here the trail was cross country, but markers led you across it.  I looked into the distance for the next carsonite post and once I'd spotted it, it was up to me to set the route through the dry, yellow grasses.  These appeared to be large fenced off tracks where cattle grazed because a few more fences as well as a number of cow pies needed negotiating.

Once out of the fields and into true open desert, the signs changed from carsonite posts to huge metal CDT emblems set atop metal poles stretching almost due east.  Scanning the horizon carefully, I could usually identify the next two from my position.  Again, it was up to me to chose the best path.  At first the ground was relatively flat, but soon enough I was making my way into and then back out of small washes, the regular ups and downs similar to a child's rollercoaster at the fairgrounds.  The biggest challenge was avoiding anything spiny or any vegetation that would hook your flesh or clothing, which seemed simple enough to do.  Along the way, I caught sight of a couple of javelinas lumbering south ahead of me and at an even greater distance I spied my first pronghorn.

Due to the late start from town and the long conversation by the roadside,  I hiked until dusk, when I could no longer identify the CDT signs out in the desert ahead of me.  I found a nice soft spot in a wash protected on three sides by vegetation and small trees.  No need to use my sleeping pad here since the sand beneath the groundcloth molded nicely to fit the contours of my body.  By the light of my headlamp and the stars shining above, I enjoyed my first dinner on trail washed down with a mountain berry Powerade.  Didn't take long to fall asleep, but before I did, I heard some quail moving in to take up their night-time roost.

12 Miles

 

First Trail Sign

Cowboy Camp in Wash

May 2nd--- A Wash Near Engineer Canyon to the Mouth of Deadmans Canyon

With the heat building in the desert as the day lengthens, it pays to be up and at it fairly early.  As soon as there was enough light for me to see the next trail marker on the eastern horizon, I donned my pack and set off in the cool morning air.  It wasn't long before the cross country had ended and I was on the dirt road that led into Engineer Canyon and cattle country.  I passed several of the skittish creatures as my long strides propelled me quickly along the track.  Checking the water sources, I found that the first water tank was bone dry, which reminded me of the bleached bones I'd seen lying trailside yesterday.  No reason to panic though, because I still had plenty of liquid refreshment.  The second tank had water in it, but I passed it up feeling confident that I'd find better quality at Engineers Windmill.
Approaching the water spot, I was taken by surprise to see another hiker who had just tanked up.  That's how I first met Blister, a hiker from Nebraska, who was after his Triple Crown just like me.  He headed up the road as I took my turn at the trough.  Sure enough, the spring fed tank was crystal clear except for the few unlucky insects that had made the water's surface their final resting place.  I plunged my liter containers well below the surface and without filtering topped off.  The area had a little grove of stunted trees under which I ate breakfast.  Blister and I would leapfrog for a good portion of that morning, but as he said, he wasn't doing the really big miles until he had broken in his feet.  Starting a new trail in the desert with its heat, sand, gravelly pebbles and hard rock is definitely tough on the tootsies.  The bottoms of my feet were already like tough shoe leather from the Arizona Trail I'd completed one week before coming out here.
The dirt road eventually came to an end on a ridge, where for the first time on the Continental Divide Trail it was actually a trail I was walking on.  It contoured around the hills before descending along a power line, running to the right of and sometimes weaving in between the wooden poles.  When the path emerged into a grassy clearing with a corral, the tread disappeared and I took a wrong turn.  I headed right down a forest road while I believe the true path passed by the corral and the track picked up again on the far side of the yellow patch.  In other words, I should have gone straight.  My error wasn't apparent until I checked my map a mile or so later.  Not wanting to backtrack, I realized that if I simply continued down the road it would hook up with the trail shortly before the Highway 90 crossing with little added distance.  I was good to go on my unplanned alternate route.
When the sun reached its peak in the early afternoon, I started to feel the heat.  Except for the juniper and assorted desert scrub, there really wasn't that much shade to be had.  Thankfully, after reaching the trailhead where an alternate purple route branches off, I followed the red route up into the Big Burro Mountains.  Out of the desert hills and into the shady pines, their heady scent drifting in the breeze.  At one point, a snake with a small mouse in its jaw slithered quickly across my path and into the cover of a bush.  Not the best animal sighting I've ever had, but unquestionably something you don't see every day.  At the top near Jacks Peak, I saw the communication towers and I also passed some campsites that looked like nice places to settle down for the night.  However, there was still too much daylight left for me to even consider them as a stopping point.
Dropping quickly off the back side of Burro Peak, I came to the Y junction that signaled the split between the official CDT to the left and the route that takes you toward Silver City on the right.  Shroomer had given me a heads up about this junction.  Don't take the official route marked with the CDT emblems because it isn't finished.  You'll hike for miles on a good trail until it abruptly comes to an end in the middle of the woods.  So, what did I do?  I took the official route, but only as far as Mud Spring, a convenient water source about a half mile from the Y.  I actually overshot it a bit because it lies fifty feet below the level of the trail and was hard to see.  Coming back towards the junction it was much easier to spot.  Good quality water despite the minimal flow.
Followed the trail into Deadmans Canyon until it reached a confusing intersection with ATV tracks.  Again I chose the wrong path and wound up bushwhacking down a drainage until I reached the true track running alongside a small creeklet.  Mmmmm.....even better water than that at Mud Spring. 
Eventually the trail kicked me out at a vehicle turn around at the end of a forest road.  I lay my groundcloth out next to a small fire ring and set up camp.  At the end of a long day, I didn't have much of an appetite.  All I really wanted to do was sleep.  Later that night, emerging briefly from my slumber, I saw my camp bathed in soft moonlight and a myriad of stars overhead.  Celestial glory!

27 Miles

 

May 3rd--- The Mouth of Deadmans Canyon to Bear Creek

Bandana Noseguard

Not much to look forward to this morning since I knew that all I had before me was 15 miles of road walking to get to Silver City and more of the same to get out of town.  Early on it was pleasant enough with the sun still low and the lingering morning chill making things cool.  To the right were the Burro Mountains I'd crossed the day before and to my left was the denuded wall of the Tyrone mine, a huge scar on the landscape.  Setting my pace, I was trying to go as fast as I possibly could.  There weren't any spots that called for you to stop and linger.  As I got closer to the Highway, I saw more heavy equipment, mainly the graders and the mechanical behemoths that pass for mine trucks.  A few passed me on the road, kicking up dust and spewing their deisel fumes.  If you're interested, there is a little informational overlook just before you hit the pavement that has assorted facts about the mine on a series of plaques.  I went there mainly 'cause it offered a little shade from the sun as well as a place for second breakfast. 
There are only two good things about the walk along Highway 90.  First, it has a very wide shoulder so there shouldn't be any undue worries about the speeding hunks of metal flying past you.  Second, there are green mile markers that let you know how much distance you've travelled--- sort of a countdown into town.  Using my watch, I discovered that I was doing a mile every 16 to 17 minutes, so, if I could only keep the pace, I had a pretty good idea of when I'd be entering suburbia.  To avoid a baked nose from rays bouncing off the road surface I readjusted the bandana to make an improvised shield for my schnoz.  On all the trails I've been on, I've never carried sunscreen.  Long-sleeved T-shirts and a wide-brimmed hat usually do the job of keeping the sun at bay.
Silver City has everything a hiker needs and more.  I availed myself of the library and its Internet service first before hitting the lunch buffet at Pizza Hut.  Resupply at a local supermarket just around the corner and voila!  Town stop complete.  Fast and efficient.
Little Walnut Road led out of town between scattered shops and houses.  For a short while I enjoyed the sidewalk, then it was onto the shoulder, which over time narrowed and became hardly any shoulder at all.  Occasionally, a dog would bark at my passing or a car would cruise by, but other than that, the only noise I recall was the steady tromp of my feet as they propelled me onward. 
I didn't carry much water out of Silver City because there are picnic grounds and campsites further on which have faucets.  Using the Little Walnut Campground, I took advantage of a shady picnic pavilion for a brief respite from the afternoon sun.  Must have been the wrong time of day or the wrong season as I had the place pretty much to myself.
Setting out again, the asphalt gave way to dirt and I found myself contouring in the forested hills.  At times the track would dip and I'd be heading lower while at other times I needed to do a bit of climbing.  All in all, nothing too difficult.  The last bit of hiking I did was scurrying down to the waters of Bear Creek.  I could hear a jeep laboring on the road somewhere behind me and realized by the sound that it was drawing closer.  As I was setting up camp on the far bank, the four-wheel drive emerged from the trees and with engine groaning, and tires spinning, manuevered its way over the rounded stones in the creek bed, splashing water it its wake.  I waved to the driver, who gave me a bit of a strange look as he waved back.  With my bandana covering my nose still, he may have thought he had driven into an ambush by a craven desperado.  HA!  After the groundcloth was down and everything was laid out to my satisfaction, it was time for grub.  A nice little hiker meal to close out the day.


28.2 Miles

May 4th--- Bear Creek to Gila River Camp

     Slept in just a bit to avoid the cold in this little canyon, but that didn't take the nip off my fingers as I started walking along the jeep road that paralleled Bear Creek.  Wasn't too long before I came across a couple cooking breakfast over an open fire.  On seeing me they asked if I was hiking the CDT.  Answering affirmatively, they mentioned that a couple of hikers had come through the day before, but had had trouble finding the true path so they had followed the jeep road out to the main.  One had been Wyoming.  I was glad to hear that name because I had met her briefly at Mazama Village while hiking the Pacific Crest Trail in 2010.  With me being a southbounder and her a northbounder on that particular trek the encounter was a fleeting one.  I believe she stood out in my memory because of her close-cropped red hair.  Thanking the couple for the timely info, I was focused on finding the elusive path which branched north from the jeep road.

     The junction was only a mile and a half from where I had camped so I knew approximately how much time it would require to get there.   When that time passed and I found myself still on the jeep road I knew I had overshot it.  However, I had no clue how I'd missed it.  I'd had my eyes peeled and spider sense on alert.  Digging out the maps, I noticed a prominent feature, Preachers Point that was almost directly south of where I was supposed to turn.  I retraced my steps and with compass in hand stopped at the point on the road where the craggy rock was due south.  Believing I was near the junction, there were no cairns or signage to confirm my beliefs.  A little green grass and white gravel like a creek bed slanted into a stand of small deciduous trees.  With no better idea, I decided to follow it and do a little exploring.  After a few moments I saw what at first appeared to be a narrow game trail that led up into a gully headed north.  At least the direction was right I told myself.  The further I followed it into the pine the more confident I was that this indeed was TR234.  A little pile of stones forming a mini-cairn eased my apprehension and the trickle of water from Bear Creek Spring that appeared in the gully bottom below put any remaining doubts to rest.

     Climbing higher, the trail comes back to what looked to me like a jeep road that had some deeply weathered ruts caused by heavy ATV use.  Maybe its a popular road with the recreational motorists because it leads toward the Devils Garden, an area of interestingly shaped rock outcroppings similar to hoodoos.  The trail passes onto hard reddish rock and is generally well-marked with cairns.  Dipping down into Moore Canyon, I was about to make a sharp right until I saw a cairn that led up the other side.  Before long I was under the cover of evergreens following cairns and blazes up the Sycamore Creek drainage jumping the little water way from time to time as necessary.  Enjoyed a short break there in the shade and drank the cool water.

     A nice trail traversed the south slope of the Altos Range taking me up and and over Tadpole Ridge then descending through Sheep Corral Canyon.  At one point I was a little confused because the trail seemed to come to an abrupt end at another jeep road.  Below me, on the other side of the road, was a grassy area beneath scattered pine that had an old caravan in it.  There was some wooden fencing up, which led me to assume that this was the sheep corral for which the canyon was named and that the caravan was the shepherd's home.  The strange thing was that there were no sheep.  Wrong time of year for the woolly heads?  I could only guess.  Continuing downhill through the grassy area, the trail picked up again complete with a sign posted on the trunk of a large ponderosa pine.

     Out of the canyon, the trail joined a forest road that ran evenly over fairly flat ground before ending at the switchbacks that led to Sapillo Creek, the gateway to the Gila River.  With each descending step my excitement grew.  I'd read about the uniqueness of this accepted and universally approved alternate to the official CDT and couldn't wait to dive in both literally and figuratively.  At mid-afternoon, Sapillo Creek was a gorgeous palette---the azure sky, the silver-white trunks and spring-green leaves of the sycamore trees,  the ochre of the canyon wall, the mottled grays of the rounded creek bed stones as the clear water rolled over them,  birds and butterflies adding their own flashing dash of color.  Perfect time for a break to breathe it all in.

     Rest over, it was time to get my feet wet.  The trail follows the meandering path of the river and often at a bend the flat ground you're walking on runs out, so you must cross to the other side.  The crossings are frequent and in the relative heat of the late afternoon most refreshing.  At this time of year the water reached knee-level at most of the fords.  Reeds grow along some parts of the river as the rate of flow is not powerful at all.  No need to fear about falling and being swept away by the current.  I saw schools of little fish and hordes of squirming tadpoles with older counterpoints, the frogs, leaping into shallow water as I passed.  At one crossing I was startled by a honking big fish that darted past.  I'm sure if I were a fisherman, I'd have loved to have had that one in the frying pan for a tasty and filling dinner.

The sides of the canyon in this part of the Lower Gila are not very steep.  It seemed to me that I was surrounded more by rolling semi-arid hills covered with sage, cacti, and juniper.  The trees providing shade at times along the watercourse itself are sycamores, cottonwoods, pine and the occasional stand of aspen.  I suppose I could have gone a couple of more hours along the trail, but decided to pull up early at a nice camp to enjoy the beauty surrounding me.  Besides, I'm making much faster progress than I'd thought I would.  Except for a few blips, navigation has been much less of a problem than I had anticipated.  Time for a swim!!!!!  

 

21 Miles

           

Looking Out Towards Devils Garden

Tadpole Ridge Trail

Signpost in Sheep Corral Canyon

Sapillo Creek

In the Middle of a Ford

Aspen Stand

Slow Moving Waters

Time to Cross

Trees Along the Gila River

An Early Camp

May 5th--- Gila River Camp to the Middle Fork of the Gila River Past Jordan Hot Springs

Magical Morning in the Lower Gila

A luminous night with a near full moon casting shadows all around, the soothing sound of flowing water ever present sending me back into a slumber after short periods of wakefulness.  When the time eventually came to rouse myself, I was refreshed and ready for another fantastic day.  The Lower Gila in early morning light didn't disappoint.  It was magical!  Bear prints on the trail were evidence that these furry creatures had found a home here, wild turkeys were seen cautiously walking near the cover of the underbrush, and a group of low flying ducks following the river's open path zoomed directly overhead as I was in the middle of a crossing.  I tried to keep track of the exact number of times I forded the Gila, but when it was around twenty, I got distracted by the magnificent scenery and lost count.  At one point, human voices around a sharp bend let me know I was no longer the only person plying these waters.  Sure enough, a few moments later I stumbled upon a couple of outdoor enthusiasts who were using a canoe to transport them to their favorite fishing spots.  I think they were more surprised to see me than I was to see them, after all, their conversation had been my forewarning.  Not too much further up river as I came around another bend, I spied the bridge that marked the end of this portion of the river.  Removing the pack from my back and setting it on the bank,  I just lay down face first and submerged myself in the shallow, flowing water.  A celebratory dip that would keep me cool on the road walk to Doc Campbell's where hopefully my first resupply package would be waiting.
     A bit of a scare when the shop assistant couldn't find the package initially.  However, after a second look it was successfully retrieved.  I could well understand how he had overlooked it the first time because there were quite a few boxes stacked away in a small space under the stairs.  I sort of chuckled inside when he seemed so apologetic for charging a couple of bucks for processing the garbage that results from a hiker box.  It's they who are doing a huge favor for the hikers who pass through here.  If not for this trading post, we might have to be hitching back to Silver City for resupply.  The fee they ask in return is truly minimal.  To support the store further, I bought a couple of cups of their renowned homemade ice-cream, one butterscotch and one chocolate.  After polishing them both off, I'd say that the chocolate wasn't bad, but the butterscotch was better.
     I took my resupply package out to the picnic table and laid all the food out, organizing it before placing it in my pack.  While doing this, Wendy, a search and rescue worker out of Silver City, and a friend of Why Not's stopped by to introduce herself and asked me if I knew Nancy.  It was such a coincidence to see her, because Nancy had given me Wendy's phone number when I'd met her down in Lordsburg.  I suppose things had definitely come full circle.  We had a nice chat before she hopped back in her pickup truck and drove off. 
     Before leaving, I stopped by the pay phone to place a call to my oldest sister to wish her a happy birthday and thank her for essentially being my resupply coordinator.  Shortly after that, a young female hiker with a funky cap and a winning smile walked up, introduced herself and asked if I could help her.  Lina, like Wyoming and others before her, had had a hard time finding the TR234 junction.  Unable to find the track, she had got a ride to Doc Cambell's from the same couple I'd seen cooking breakfast a couple of days before.  She took out her maps and I explained the orientation process I'd used with regards to Preachers Point and did my best to describe the correct place to find the trail.  From her accent I guessed she was from Australia, but she informed me she was actually a German from Hamburg who'd spent a deal of time in New Zealand.  I wished her the best in picking up the trail at Bear Creek and said that with any luck she'd be back at the trading post the day after tomorrow because that would be only about 20 miles each day.  When she said that she hadn't done any twenty mile days so far, I was taken aback.  After further enquiry I found out that the CDT was her first long trail.  I mean she had been hiking before, but never to this extent.  Then, when I noticed the size of her pack, inwardly I questioned her readiness and ability to make it all the way to Canada.  To be perfectly honest, I thought "No Way", but one thing I did admire was her courage.
     Doing my good deed for the day, it was now time to return to my own journey.  There are several ways to return to the Gila, this time to the Middle Fork.  The path I chose was a purple alternate that went overland and down through Little Bear Canyon, a slot canyon that reportedly had a small cliff dwelling.  The first few hours were spent on the tarmac heading toward Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument before reaching the trailhead at TJ Corral.  The trail up top here is much hotter than what I had experienced in the river bottoms of the Lower Gila.  A scattering of juniper and pine, some of them fire-scarred, is not enough to offer any respite from the sun beating down from above especially at midday.  It's a different story once you enter the protective walls of Little Bear.  The suns rays are not in full effect here.  Steep canyon walls that narrow the further down you go and greater tree cover instantly bring the temperature down to the pleasant range.  A little flow of water created by seepage from the rock forms a creeklet that follows the canyon's center.  Step in it and it probably wouldn't even get your shoes wet.  The soles yes, but not your shoes.  And, indeed there is a space for a small cliff dwelling, although over the centuries most of the masonry work has long since toppled over and disappeared.
     As much as I liked the Lower Gila, the Middle Fork is even more scenic.  You're enclosed by towering cliffs and craggy spires of exposed rock, the stands of trees are thicker with more vegetation and there seems to be more animal life.  A few steps into the canyon and I'd had my first encounter with a King Snake.  Moving in the leaf litter, I was startled at first by the bright colors trying to remember the old saying at the edge of my memory.  What was that.... um....oh yeah....red and yellow, kill a fellow.  Red and black, venom lack.  Examining the pattern more closely, I saw the red and black.  Whew... not a Coral Snake.  It's safe to snap a photo.
     Because of the narrowness of the canyon, river crossings increased in number and with each new ford I observed trout scattering beneath my feet.  I met two fisherman both carrying strings of trout, a testament to a successful day.  Not sure what the limit is, but by the amount of fish they had, I'd say they'd reached it or at least come close. 
     I met Wyoming a short distance from Jordan Hot Springs and told her I remembered her from the PCT.  She said she didn't recall meeting me, but I certainly didn't mind.  I wouldn't expect her to.  Nice to see her out here though.  She left after a short conversation and we both expect to cross paths tomorrow.
Just below Jordan Hot Springs is a nice camping area under the shade of sycamore trees, which I heard is a most inviting place for bears.  A popular place for weekenders and summer vacationers, I could see how it might be attractive to an ursa looking for a quick unattended meal.  The hot springs, themselves, are up a short and moderately steep side trail, and should more appropriately be termed luke-warm springs.  This is not complaining as I found sitting in the water extremely relaxing, but if you have visions of steam rising as you slowly sink into the healing waters, you'll surely be disappointed.  Fact is that you needn't sit, because if you want to you can lie in the hammock that has been strung up in the water in one corner of the springs.  A reclining float!  I shared my time with a group of guys out from Vermont who make this a yearly getaway to commune with nature, get in a little fishing, and visit an old friend.
     Spent over an hour soaking, but as the day waned, we finally all decided it was time to bid each other adieu.  I continued another two hours up river until twilight, making a cowboy camp on a small grassy area just off trail past the day's final river crossing.  As I snuggled into my sleeping bag, my exposed face could tell that the temperature, now that the sun had set, had rapidly gone from warm to chilly.

24.8 Miles       

Single Sycamore

Tbe Bridge After a Celebratory Dip

Trail on Top

Little Bear Canyon

King Snake

Towering Cliffs

Craggy Spires

The Middle Fork



Jordan Hot Springs

May 6th--- The Middle Fork of the Gila River Past Jordan Hot Springs to FS 28/FS 141 Junction

The Deep Shade of Morning

     Brrrrr!!!  Cold air sinks into the canyon at night and makes the fingers, cheeks and nose numb while walking early.  The river water that had been so pleasant yesterday afternoon now felt a little more frigid.  Passing through The Meadows, a place where the canyon opens wider and has, as the name indicates, a large area of grass and some large pine, I found a convenient log on which to sit and have breakfast.  Two tents were standing in different parts of the greenery, the one had a woman standing sleepily in front of it, slowly rubbing her eyes trying to shake off last night's dream state.  I thought the crisp air should certainly help her with that.  No activity came from the other abode, so I reasoned that its occupant was still wrapped in the arms of Morpheus.
     Fuel time over, I continued down trail making what seemed to be dozens of crossings.  One in particular had a large, flat, smooth rock just below the clear flowing water.  I took one step on its slick, algae-covered surface and Wham!  I went down faster than you can say Splash!  Thankfully I was down but not out.  The only thing hurt was my pride, because as an experienced hiker, I should have known better.  Thinking about it, I can only shake my head and laugh at myself.  That must have looked quite graceful.
    When I caught up with Wyoming she was sitting just off trail at a high point above a small cataract in the river below.  The slanting rays of the sun had reached this bench while the canyon floor remained in deep shade.  Bundled up as she was, she must have still been feeling the morning chill and wisely chosen the site of her repose.  As I stood there, it became quite clear why some ancient peoples were sun worshippers. 
     Feeling warmer and drier, I forged ahead, but Wyoming caught up to me in another narrow part of the canyon as I was eating second breakfast.  We hiked together for a while longer sharing some trail talk before my pace outstripped hers.  It has always been puzzling to me in regards to other hikers that you pass on long trails.  What do you say in the passing and the parting?  "Goodbye, Good Luck and I'll probably never see you again" seems rather blunt, slightly rude and at times entirely accurate.  Oh well.  That's probably why I didn't spend much time chatting with hikers I passed on the AT and PCT.  Not knowing what to say made me feel uncomfortable, so I'd simply race on by.
    A hundred might be a conservative estimate of the times I crossed the Gila.  Sometimes the canyon opened up and I was walking on a dusty trail through yellowish grasses that had sprung up from the alluvial soil along the trail, at other times it narrowed again forcing more fords. The farther I walked, I experienced more of the former than the latter.  By mid-afternoon my time in the Gila was over.  As I headed up Gilita Creek to the earthen dam that held back the waters of Snow Lake, I reflected on all of the beautiful things I'd seen in this unique section of the CDT.  While doing so, I realized that even though the PCT is my first love, I preferred the CDT's southern section.
     On getting to the top of the dam, I was shocked and a tad dismayed by the water level which was well below normal.  Drought conditions must be in affect for sure.  I was also amazed at the sight of a vast open valley which was in stark contrast to the confines of the canyon.  Skirting the left side of the lake, I made my way to the public campground and sat down at the picnic table for an afternoon snack.  Took advantage of the running water to top off my water bottles, but didn't get too much as Ley's notes suggested water could be found in T Bar Canyon.  All in all, I spent a good forty minutes at the camp watching some fisherman on the lakeshore and keeping an eye out to see if I would see Wyoming crest the top of the dam.  Unfortunately, she never showed, so I must have put some distance between us.  Anyway, time to don the pack and get back at it.
     The first mile was following the well-graded dirt road out of camp and down the valley.  On my way, a couple of fishermen I'd been watching at the lake pulled up next to me and offered me a ride if I needed one.  When I politely declined, they asked me where I had started from.  Responding with "Lordsburg", they exclaimed, "Wow, that's way down south!".  I sort of laughed, because their astonishment was somewhat typical of people that are unfamiliar with long distance hikers.  For me, on the other hand, I really didn't think I'd travelled that far north.  After all, I'd only been on trail for six days.
     As the main road turned due west, the trail continued north on an old jeep track before giving out at the beginning of a cross country section through T Bar Canyon.  No signs or true tread here, but hard to get lost when you're hemmed in by rock walls and all you have to do is hike higher once you enter the canyon's mouth.  The problem wasn't navigating, but the fact that the canyon was bone dry.  It suddenly made me wish I'd carried a bit more H2O up from Snow Lake.  I had enough for the evening meal, but would need to find a water source tomorrow for sure. 
     The cross country out of the canyon required a brief jaunt to the right and then a relatively steep climb up the face of a slope which when I'd gained the top, left me standing on the edge of an expansive open grassland with amazing views all around.  In the distance I could see mountain tops and the dark green of the tree line.  With daylight fading fast, I wanted desperately to reach those trees to make camp.  What next transpired was one of the magical moments of my time in New Mexico.  With the angle of the setting sun lighting up the grasses like the color of spun gold,  a small group of elk crossed my path and a few pronghorn dashed about, revelling in the final moments of a dying day, the wispy clouds above softening the harshness of the glare, wrapping the sun in a cottony blanket before nightfall, myself and a lone tree standing in awe as living witnesses to the beauty of nature.
     I entered the trees without the aid of headlamp, but with my night vision working at maximum.  Throwing down my groundcloth, I set up my cowboy camp and proceeded to have an evening meal by starlight and moonlight.  I could hear a generator running somewhere close by but didn't realize I wasn't far from another camp until two cars passed along the road with headlights blazing and stopped about an eighth of a mile from where I lay in my sleeping bag.  Adjusting my position, between the trees I could see a campfire blazing, outlining two large canvas tents.  Voices drifted on the air as the new arrivals were greeted.  That's the last I remember hearing before I was out.   Zzzzz.

31.6 Miles      
     

The Canyon Opens Up

Snow Lake

Flat Road Running to Tree Line

New Mexico Sunset

Silent Witnes

Wispy Clouds



May 7th--- FS 28/FS 141 Junction to Near Govina Canyon

Cross Country

A ho-hum day on trail as a lot of walking was done on forest service roads lined with pine and juniper, dry, yellow grasses covering the ground beneath their branches.  The good news was that there was plenty of surface water running next to the roads, so that took away some concern since Ley's notes said water could be pretty scarce for a while north of the Gila.  The funnest part of the day for me was when FS28 passes through a large open grassland because instead of hiking on the graded dirt I was able to head cross country choosing my own path overland.  The best place to aim across this short cut is the FS28/FS94 junction because if you keep going right of this point you'll have to negotiate several barbed-wire fences.  Moments after I'd passed this point and headed up FS94,  a guy arrived in a pickup and fired up the grader that was parked next to the corral and then three more trucks towing large horse trailers passed dustily by.  Grand Central Station for a thru-hiker, because I didn't see another vehicle the rest of the day.
     Davis Spring, which reportedly had squirrel skeletons in the bottom of its collection tank in 2011, was just a bent hunk of metal.  It appeared as if cattle had done the damage after getting past the barbed-wire fence that was supposed to protect it.  Further up the road, Dutchman Springs was no better.  It looked more like a befouled seep with muddy hoofprints pooling a little brown water.
     The biggest navigation challenge was at the FS 94/FS 3070 junction.  There's a large cairn on the right that takes you onto a path marked with CDT symbols but Nobos don't want this because it's actually the "official route" coming in from the south.  Nobos need to cross the cattle guard and then join the FS3070, which is the right arm of the Y junction.  After a quarter mile on FS3070 you should see a cairn on the left which puts you back on true tread.  A brief jaunt down the trail and you'll see signage confirming you're on the right path.  If you're lucky like me, there may be a small water cache waiting for you.  I took a liter for safe measure.
     Another tricky part of the day was going down switchbacks on a fire-scarred slope.  The trail was somewhat obscure, but the most treacherous part was maintaining my footing due to the resultant erosion.  There was plenty of loose soil rolling beneath my feet.  After winding down the mountainside the trail didn't last much longer before I was back on roads again.  The only concern now was to remain on the right one because there are several side roads that form junctions.  For the most part the 3077 just keeps winding away, contouring the mountain slopes for miles before it abruptly ends at a dilapidated trailhead with a weathered kiosk.  CDT emblems were on the trees, but as it was growing dark and the wind was picking up with some strong gusts, I didn't go too far before laying down my cowboy camp between two fallen logs.  One thing I can say when I think back on the day is that I saw plenty of deer and elk.

29.8 Miles     


On Trail after FS94/FS3070 Junction

True Tread

Winding Along the 3077