Quite the remarkable day…
This morning, with very little planning or forethought, we decided to drive up to the BLM’s Wild Rivers Recreation Area today and hike to La Junta Point, where the Red River and the Rio Grande come together in the gorge. Wild Rivers is a place unto itself: in the northern part of a county that already has a low population density of 14 people per square mile, there’s a long, spectacular stretch of the Rio Grande Gorge with cliffs 800 feet above the river where by design, there aren’t any people at all except for a few campers and day hikers. (Most times I’ve visited, I’ve hardly seen anyone else.)
It was raining when we got there, so we stayed in the car for 20 minutes until it looked halfway safe. But as it turned out, the trail from La Junta Overlook down into the gorge was just wet enough to be dangerous, with at least a dozen compound fracture opportunities on every switchback. Slow and steady was the word. When we reached the bottom and could finally stretch our legs, the way ahead became a giant, boot-swallowing bog. I hadn’t anticipated this and didn’t like the looks of it. The sky and a nearly constant rumble of thunder weren’t making me any happier, either. A downpour would turn the already-wet trail into an impossibly slick obstacle course, and we might be there all day. When I realized I’d only brought one poncho, that was it! We turned around to climb back up without going all the way to the river, only mildly disappointed because we’d gone the distance before and knew what was there.
After a fairly grueling puff-puff-pant session for me, with my tiny wife complaining about the trail but hopping ahead like a mountain goat, we made it back to the picnic area at the top sooner than I expected and sat down to eat our lunches. The rain had passed us by, and we were surrounded by splendor.
Even though we didn’t meet our “goal,” just being in this place was enough to awaken the spirit. (The danger helped, you know.) I gulped great lungfuls of the immaculately clean sage-scented air that’s like food and felt my poor untoned body come to life. As is usually the case when I’m in the wilderness, I didn’t want to leave and go back to where the people were (all 14 of them per square mile), and crossing that last cattle guard made me sad. The scenery was still amazing, of course. Driving back to Taos over Garrapata Ridge, I turned to my wife and said, “I feel tired, but tough!”
The sun finally came out when we got home. It had obviously rained hard during our absence, and the air temperature was 56 degrees at 3:00 p.m. in full sun. At this altitude, if you’re sitting in a sheltered spot under those conditions, you feel plenty hot, so I plunked a battered patio chair down in the dirt by an old straw bale I use for a table and luxuriated in the warmth for as long as it took me to drink two shots of tequila and start dozing off. The quality of the air and sunlight was indescribable, every bit as intoxicating as up at Wild Rivers. For the rest of the day, neither of us wanted to be inside. Every breath I took was like heavenly speed.
When I finally sat down at my computer again, it was mostly out of habit. I looked at couple of blogs and news sites but didn’t read anything: it was like looking at an old movie of circus animals on another planet. Who the hell were these people, and why did anyone care? When you’re getting your nourishment from the Source, that other crap doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t.
(As far as I’m concerned, tomorrow is unnecessary.)
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{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
No, it just doesn’t.
You understand this, part of my tribe.
Amen to that, brother.
Occurs to me that people who trust Nature are people one can trust.
Trust nature, trust yourself. We ARE nature. We forget that. The rest is superfluous.