The Continental Divide Trail 2012: May 21st--- Cuba to Cecilia Spring

Entering San Pedro Parks Wilderness

      A brief jaunt to the outskirts of town took us to Los Pinos Road, labelled CR16 on our maps. Hanging a right we walked near green fields with irrigation ditches and a bit later on the dirt track paralleled the path of a babbling brook. It was quite pleasant to hear the free-flowing water after relying on the springs, cattle tanks, spigots and windmills that we've become so used to for our water supply. Combine this with the variety of trees that soon surrounded us on both sides of this country lane and the sights and sounds of mesa country seemed like a world away. It was as if someone had drawn a dividing line through Cuba and decreed that everything southwest of the line would be hot and arid while all that was northwest would be cool, wet and lush. We revelled in the leafy greenness that shaded our steps and accompanied us to the trailhead for San Pedro Parks Wilderness, where we stopped for our mid-morning break.
     As we were digging out some treats to snack on, up walked Blister with one of the most eccentric characters I've ever met on any trail, Louisiana Lee, straight from the bayou.  His walking stick topped with a three inch steel blade looked like some kind of medieval pike. He claimed it was good for protection and killing rattlers that he sometimes put in his cook pot. I didn't know whether or not I should take him seriously at first as some of what he said seemed far-fetched, but one thing I did know for certain was that I didn't want to be walking in front of the guy if he tripped and fell forward. Gigging frogs is fine, but spiking a hiker is out of the question. Judging from Blister's discomfort, it appeared that the improvised weapon was good for one thing---taking a hostage. HA! I guess they'd met up last night at Circle A Ranch, where good ol' Louisiana had been doing a stretch of work for stay. This morning, when Blister was getting ready to leave, Lee got it in his head that he'd just go with. He certainly was a trip! Anyway, he followed Blister up trail as we finished off the remnants of our protein/granola bars.
     From the trailhead, it's a steady climb of nearly 3,000 feet up the drainage of the Rito de los Pinos to the San Pedro Parks.  It wasn't too far into the ascent that I came across Louisiana Lee sitting slumped over on a log next to the trail looking a bit peaked. Asking if he was alright, I got the reply that for the most part, yes, although the copious amount of wine he had downed last night during a celebratory send-off wasn't sitting too well in his stomach at the moment. In addition, he wasn't in the best hiking shape to begin with, so he was already more than a little gassed. I wished him well and continued my own journey higher into the trees.  Light filtering through the spring leaves of quaking aspen is oh so lovely.
     One would think that I'd made a mistake writing San Pedro Parks. Shouldn't it rather be San Pedro Peaks? In reality, there are some high points up here between 10,300 and 10,600 feet, but nothing like a jutting summit reaching toward the heavens. No, once on top it's relatively flat with some gently rolling swales and it's these huge alpine meadows, the parks, that dominate the landscape. In fact, I've rarely seen meadows so large. They are magnificent! They reminded me of grassy fields in a huge recreational complex, but instead of being circled by a chain-link fence, they were encompassed by a wall of evergreens. Many meadows were damp and a few even flooded in places by recent meltwater coming from deep patches of snow still clinging to the shady parts of the treeline. A couple of times, as the trail skirted the woods, we actually trudged through drifts that were knee deep. However, it was a couple of steps only, and then we were clear. Most times the trail was very discernible, though there were enough overgrown grassy spots that we had to look for tall, wooden posts to guide us. The astonishing thing to me is that I didn't see any deer or elk. Certainly, these vast swathes of meadow could provide enough forage for hundreds if not thousands of animals.  Without reservation, I say that if I were an elk, this is where I'd be. Perhaps if I hid in the treeline until dusk, I'd see a herd emerge from the firs and dine on the tender shoots. If I were lucky, I'm sure I'd see some newborn calves among the group.  Alas, stopping in the middle of a mountain meadow for a half-day of wildlife watching is not generally what a thru-hiker does. So instead of being disappointed by what I haven't seen, I'll be utterly content with the awe-inspiring nature which is around me.
     We caught up to Blister and had a break in one of the meadows under an azure sky filled with drifting cotton-candy clouds. Blister is after his Triple Crown just like me, but originally being an east-coaster, the Appalachian was his first trail. As a west-coaster, the Pacific Crest was mine. Now living in Nebraska, I couldn't imagine a more different place from where we were currently eating a meal. Our little assemblage is at present back to the count of four
     In the late afternoon we hiked down a ridge that ran above the Rio Capulin drainage. The trees were nice like before, but a few times we experienced the blight of beetle kill on this north facing slope where some stands of trees were either dead or dying.  Bark beetles are a menace, causing severe damage to pine in some regions of the Rockies. What's worse is that when it's the height of the fire season these areas could go up like a tinder box with one stray spark or a single lightning strike. They're bad news waiting to happen.
     With the day coming to a close, the path popped out onto a forest road near another trailhead. Just below the road was a perfect place to camp---a small meadow near Cecilia Spring, whose water, gushing forth amply from its source on the far side of the grass, gurgled delightfully in its small channel. A stately Douglas Fir and a few tall pines stood protectively looking down upon the spot. While setting up camp and chowing on evening grub, we had plenty of time for trail talk. Exchanging stories, quips, and a couple of good-natured barbs we enjoyed the quick companionship of a trail family. At one point, when Nancy was having a go, I threatened that in retaliation for what she was saying, I'd have to wake her up tomorrow morning especially early, which, as somewhat of a late sleeper trail-wise, is something she hates. We all had a good laugh over that one. As a solo hiker, this is one experience that you definitely miss out on.

23 Miles