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| 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
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| First Trail Sign |
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| Cowboy Camp in Wash |
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