The Continental Divide Trail 2012: 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