The Continental Divide Trail 2012: May 15th--- Horace Mesa Trailhead to Little Saddle Below Mt. Taylor

The Group of Four

Horace Mesa

     Some time over the last few days I made the decision to join a group. In talking with Shroomer and Why Not, they were of the opinion that since this was my final leg of the Triple Crown that perhaps it was finally time for me to slow down and take things a bit more leisurely. This idea was met with resistance at first because it was contrary to what I had done on most other trails. Thirty mile days were the norm and town stops were used almost exclusively for resupply only. On the four national scenic trails I've completed (Florida, Arizona, Pacific Crest and Appalachian), I took a total of six zero days over a distance equaling about 6,800 miles. The only time I've hiked with somebody for an extended period was on the Florida Trail, where Jonathan Reames, a.k.a. Swamp Tromp, unexpectedly became my hiking partner north of Orlando. However, one thing I've looked for from my time on trail has been new experiences, so the idea of forming a cooperative partnership became more intriguing. Could I work within a group? What would the dynamics be like? Would it be restrictive or rewarding? If it didn't work out, I could always forge off on my own again, right? Besides, all I'd be doing rushing along as I was, would be to hit the snows of the south San Juans early and I wasn't sure I wanted to face them alone. I tentatively asked Nancy and Scott if they'd mind a third wheel and they said it would be fine. In the spirit of "the more the merrier", Wyoming joined in making it a foursome.
     We'd done a fair amount of bonding in the few days spent with the Mumms, who thought we made a pretty good group. When the time came to hit the high road out of town, it was with heavy hearts because we'd thoroughly enjoyed our time in Grants mainly due to the warm hospitality provided by Carole and Hugo. They truly are extraordinarily kind people. Before loading up our gear in the car we took a round of photos to commemorate our stay. As we said our goodbyes to Carole, we also said a brief hello to Blister, who'd just got in to town.  The last hiker he'd seen was me when I passed him on trail north of Lordsburg nearly two weeks ago. That goes to show how isolated a person can really be out here.
     Hugo drove us out to the trail at Horace Mesa, then, with camera in hand, sprinted up the trail ahead to get one last picture. For a man in his 70s he could have probably strapped on a pack and made us a group of five. As he was returning to his car, I shook his hand and slipped him some cash to defray the cost of my stay. Please do the same if you benefit from their kindness. Just because they live in Grants doesn't mean that these consummate trail angels should be taken for Granted.
     The trail led up to Horace Mesa, which true to the Spanish name was nearly as flat as a table, making for easy, comfortable walking. Along the way, we kept our eyes open for any indian artifacts hoping to make the Mumms proud if we were actually lucky enough to find a remnant of a past age. The best we were able to do was gather some small pieces of obsidian and collect a few rocks that looked like spear or arrowheads, but had obviously never been shaped by human hands. For novices, it was a valiant effort. For a goodly part of the large mesa top, the open area was covered with course grasses and a bit of sage. Further on, the path ran among scattered juniper before entering pine, where the mesa's eastern edge merged with the shoulder of Mt. Taylor. Walking along the edge of the rim there are some pretty nice views of the canyon below.
     Before long we were hiking on a dirt road in the middle of a mixed forest of aspen and pine. As we climbed higher, we came across some ranch hands that were shooting the bull in a pullout by the side of the road. Shroomer struck up a conversation in which we were informed that over the next few days they planned to bring up their free range cattle. A little smile crept across my lips because we were ahead of the herd and that meant no dancing over the dung, prancing over the pies, trodding over the turds. Last winter should have done a pretty good job of removing any trace of bovine. I got the impression that a few of the cowboys were a little incredulous when Scott told them how we were spending our summer. I guess it's one thing to ride the range and another to hike the range, if you catch my drift. Despite the incredulity of some, they were nevertheless friendly and offered water to the locos. We only took a little because the Mumms cache was not far off. Gracias and adios amigos.
     A few steps off trail at a junction of forest roads, we found the final cache in the middle of a ring of rocks. Thanking the Mumms yet again, we each took what we felt we needed to get us to the next water source.  Topped off, we put our focus into the notes that Hugo had given us.  There was a piece of tricky navigation that would take us off the road at a berm and cross country through the trees to connect with Trail 77. We found the berm with no problem and headed higher into the woods. As time passed and we were still bushwhacking, I felt that perhaps we'd missed something. No need to worry because a moment later we passed into a clearing and the Gooseberry Trail was found. It was here that the real climbing began. Straight up the grassy slope at first and then, after some contouring, the large zigzagging switchbacks that formed the greater portion of the final ascent. I love the climbing, so I was off like a rocket, putting a gap between myself and the others. When the trail topped out briefly near the summit, I dropped my pack and waited, admiring in the meantime the astounding views back towards Grants. Although there was some huffing and puffing, we were all smiles as we covered the final few yards that left us standing at the tip of Mt. Taylor's peak. At 11,301 feet, it's the highest point on the trail so far and the truest test of climbing since the border. It's hard to believe that the "official" CDT bypasses the summit. You've got to be kidding me! Of course, the "official" CDT doesn't run through the Gila either. That got Shroomer and I joking about how the Continental Divide is different from other national scenic trails in the fact that sometimes the "official" trail is not where you want to be.
     Anyway, with the higher elevation and daylight fading, the temps were dipping especially since a strong wind had begun to blow. Dropping back into the trees, we stopped for the night at a small saddle. There were a few remaining snow patches lying about, but this fairly level area was clear. With the wind increasing in intensity, we each cleared a space for our cowboy camp under the low branches of our chosen trees, snuggling in close to the trunks. At one point, I looked up at Wyoming and Shroomer and had to laugh. All three of us were wearing our black balaclavas, which made us look like a trio of medieval henchman straight out of casting for the film "Robin Hood: Men in Tights".
       Mt. Taylor was a pretty good test for the legs in preparation for what's to come in Colorado. Fell asleep with the wind a-howlin' and the trees a-swayin'.

16.2 Miles