The Continental Divide Trail 2012: 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