Yesterday evening I took a remarkable hike.
No, not the picture below. That’s from today. But yesterday the same mountains you see in the background, especially the ones to the left behind the water towers, were shrouded in an ugly-looking rainstorm. A cold, damp wind blew hard from that direction, the way I intended to walk, and I was sure the damn thing was heading right at me. I was wearing hiking boots, cargo pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a heavy hooded sweatshirt. I also had on a small knit ski hat, something like a skullcap. I’d left my gloves at home, but soon wished I hadn’t.
This ain’t no Plymouth piedra
Sometimes it’s good to be alone. My brave and lovely wife would have taken one look at the brooding colossus over Picuris Peak and said, “HAH! I’m going back to pour a glass of wine…” And the weather certainly was dramatic. Out over the Rio Grande Gorge, a dense dark gray cloud bank extended all the way to Taos Mountain, dragging a ragged blue-gray veil of rain that didn’t touch the ground. Far beyond that, maybe 40 miles from where I stood, I could see the snowfields on San Antonio Mountain gleaming in the setting sun. (Naturally, I didn’t have my camera. If you want to see a miracle, leave your camera at home. Works every single time for me.)
The wind was raw and blustery. I didn’t hear any thunder, but the storm was still coming, as far as I could tell. it looked plenty scary, too, and the air was turning colder. I promised myself that as soon as I felt rain in my face, I’d turn around and go straight home. After all, what could happen except for getting wet? There was a fire in the woodstove and hot water for a bath. This wouldn’t be a tragedy.
As I kept climbing, I couldn’t get over how close the mountain and the rain clouds were. It was as if another 100 yards would take me right into the thing, where I was now certain it was snowing. The air was like coming straight out of a freezer. It was also getting darker. Then as I rounded a bend, I felt water on my face. Snow, actually, but mostly melted, plopping against my sweatshirt. Decision time! I actually turned to the storm and asked whether I should proceed the last third of the way to the very top of the trail. (You get to do this when you’re alone.) To my surprise, the storm said “sure,” so on I went.
This very evening, on a different walk
The hike was shaping up to be quite an adventure. I love this kind of gamble out in nature, and this one was highly charged: the energy and danger of the weather was a powerful presence, but I felt like there was safety in the merging with it. That was exciting, too. I kept going, astonished by how much the white clouds in tatters high among the dark green pines reminded me of being in the Alps. Germany with sand, I thought to myself.
The cold and wetness were still a shock. Above all, I was in the mountains. The air was freezing, humid, and delicious. I wanted to breathe it in for hours. Before I reached my usual turn-around, however, the rain or wet snow had mostly ended, and I could tell that the storm was actually sliding slowly to the east and would soon vanish on the other side of the Sangres. It was like we’d struck a bargain, and now we could each go home. When I turned around to head back down, I saw that the dark bank of clouds had erupted into a snow shower 15 miles away in Arroyo Seco, at the base of the mountains where colder air comes rolling down the slopes.
You can’t make this stuff up. It’s what I live for now. I’d rather have a solo adventure like that than go to any movie, party, or wild time in the city. When I got back home, I was breathing freely from the top of my head down to my diaphragm. Blood was pumping in my veins. My spirit was clean and fully exercised.
Man. I didn’t come down for hours…
Related posts:
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
John you didn’t need your camera……you had your words.
That was so clear and wonderful !!!
Nature is the best high !!
Hi Carol!
Thank you for your comment. I need to get outside and hike some MORE.