It's a beautiful day.
Sunny and 65-degrees, but the weather is deceiving.
The wind chases after me as I leave Bosque del Apache and head towards White Sands National Park. My truck rocks from side to side with each gust, but I don't realize its strength until I stop for gas in Alamogordo. As soon as I open the door, the wind rips it from my hand, but as a side note, gas is only $1.96/gallon.
I'm rethinking my decision to visit a place with 'sand' in its name on such a windy day, but this is a new National Park to be checked off on my list. Regardless of the weather, I don't want to miss the opportunity to visit. Besides, I am only 20 minutes away so I drive on.
Traveling has taught me many things.
It has taught me to be spontaneous and flexible. It has taught me to be open to new experiences and trust myself. It has taught me to be confident. I've struggled, but at various times during this trip, I've been all of those things. I am proud of myself, but traveling has also shown me how alone I am.
It's not so much being alone that bothers me. I've always been good with my own company, but it's the loneliness that sometimes accompanies it. It is on this trip that I experience it the most, especially after photographing birds in Bosque del Apache.
My excitement was palpable, but there was no one to share it with, no one to laugh with (especially when I thought I was going to die at the jaws of a javelina), and no one to talk with. And of course, people tend to look at me a bit funny when I'm laughing and talking to myself, although I do it anyway.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't so alone.
White Sands National Park covers almost 146,000 acres, including 275-square miles of white sand dunes composed of gypsum crystals. It is the largest gypsum dune field of its kind on Earth. Although White Sands has been a National Monument since 1933, it is a fairly new national park, having gained national park status in 2019.
The Dune Life Nature Trail is a one-mile loop hike and my first stop inside the park. People are scattered across the dunes as there really isn't a trail to follow, just signs marking a self-guided route. I try to follow them as best I can, but get confused as to which sign is next. I stray from the route and become just like everyone else, aimlessly wandering about.
I stop next at the backcountry camping loop, but don't follow the trail as I have no idea where it begins. Instead, I trudge through the sand making my own way. I drop down into the dunes and my reference points disappear. I am in complete isolation and it's disconcerting. Hurrying to the top of the dunes, I reorient myself. I keep the porta-potty in view so I don't get lost again.
I am fascinated by the textures, patterns and shadows cast by the late afternoon sun and I stay in the park much longer than intended. There is something comforting about the dunes and I don't want to leave them just yet.
Yes, I may be lonely at times, but other times, like now, I enjoy the solitude. The only energy mingling with mine is that of Mother Nature. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, feeling the heat of the sun on my face and the tickling of wind on my skin.
The mountains turn a radiant purple as the sun dips low and its only then when I finally say farewell to White Sands National Park.
...
All pre-planned stops have now been checked off on my itinerary.
It is exhilarating to have no clear destination in mind. I can go in whichever direction the wind blows, but it is also stressful. Prior to my road trips, I check mileage and estimate travel times. I check weather patterns, notate potential attractions, and identify accommodations along every possible route. Spontaneity doesn't come easily.
The next morning, I leave the Motel 6 in Las Cruces a carefree spirit and ready to embrace the open road, but the planner in me can't help it and sets the GPS for Tucson. However, I don't get very far. On impulse, I detour north on Hwy 180 towards Silver City. Along the way, I see a sign for Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument and just like that, my next stop has been decided.
It's only 45 miles from Silver City to the cliff dwellings, but NM-15, although beautiful, is narrow with lots of twists and turns. It's slow going. I'm uncertain if spontaneity was a good idea and am doubting myself. However, as I pass several campgrounds, I know I have a place to stay if necessary. I have packed some camping supplies and having the ability to be self-sufficient, at least for a few days, is reassuring. Once again, I drive on.
After about an hour and a half, I arrive at the cliff dwellings. I see a couple of small buildings, a few cars, and a park ranger sitting at a table at the trailhead, but I don't see any dwellings.
The ranger gives me a rundown of COVID protocols. She instructs me to wash my hands in a makeshift sink. The water is absolutely freezing! She apologies but says it's procedure before I'm allowed to enter the dwellings. I am also reminded to wear my mask and social distance.
She then gives me a
brief history of the area. The Gila Cliff Dwellings give a glimpse into the lives of the Mogollon people who lived
here from the 1280s to the early 1300s.
Teddy Roosevelt designated the area a national monument in 1907 and it
sits in the middle of the Gila Wilderness, the nation’s first designated
wilderness area.
Before I start down the trail, the ranger asks me if I'm in good health. "Of course" I respond and then she adds, "because the cliff dwellings are there" and points halfway up the cliff face. Oh boy. But I suppose that is why they are called cliff dwellings because, well, they are on a cliff.
The trail is a switch back and not incredibly steep, but because I’m at 6867-feet elevation and fat, I struggle to catch my breath. I gulp down my water within the first 30 yards and the battle within begins as it so often has during this trip. The part of me that is always fearful wants to turn around, to go back to where it’s easy and familiar.
However, another smaller, but rebellious part, pushes back. She knows the anxiousness of the moment will subside and the effort will be worth the reward of a new experience. She wants to live in the present, not in her past. Luckily, that is the me who wins, at least for now.
When I reach the dwellings,
it’s quiet. Birds, the wind, a gurgling
stream, and my gasps for breath are the only sounds I hear. I think again how nice it is to be alone.
...
Chili bubbles in the pot on the camping stove as I set the picnic table for a party of one. A Cactus Wren gives me the side eye, while a Curve-billed Thrasher scurries to the cover of a nearby bush. Two new birds to check off in my field guide, along with the Gila Woodpecker I saw earlier.
It’s sunny and 59-degrees. A perfect Thanksgiving morning in Saguaro National Park.
The park is named after
the giant saguaro, a cactus native to the Sonoran Desert, and is about
92,000-acres in total but divided into two separate areas. The Tucson Mountain District is about 10
miles west of Tucson and the Rincon Mountain District, which is where I am
enjoying my Thanksgiving meal, is about 10 miles east of the city.
The Rincon Mountain
District was the original section of the park but called Saguaro National
Monument at the time. It was established
in 1933 by Herbert Hoover. John F.
Kennedy added the Tucson Mountain District in 1961 and renamed the original tract
the Rincon Mountain District. Both sections were combined in 1994 to form what
is now known as Saguaro National Park.
The Cactus Forest Scenic Loop Drive is about 8 miles long. Because it is paved, it is popular for bicyclists and joggers, but very few cars are here this morning. I drive slowly looking for wildlife. I only have one near miss with a bicyclist and that is because she yelled, “on your right!” startling me which caused me to swerve to my right. Fortunately I was driving like a sloth so she had plenty of time to get out of the way.
After I finish eating, I decide to hike the 2-mile Mica View Loop trail. However, just as I get to the trailhead, a group of screaming children run down the trail in front of me, shattering the tranquility of the morning. They are closely followed by several loud-talking adults. I do not begrudge them their family time on Thanksgiving and am glad the littles are having fun, but….ugh!
Instead, I go to the end of the trail to begin my hike, thinking I will go in the opposite direction of everyone else, but it doesn't take long for me to become disoriented. I follow what I think is the trail, but it ends in a tangle of brush. I back track, find what looks like a possible trail, but it's another dead end. I listen for the noisy children, but they are silent. I wander further and further away from where I should be.
My ex-husband once told me I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag and it's true. If I don't have the ocean in view, then I have no idea which way is south, east, up or down. There is no water in sight and I start to panic. I don't have much, if any, wilderness training, but I think what would Les Stroud do. Or maybe Bear Grylls, but he'd probably drink his own urine and I'm not quite ready to do that just yet.
I stop and assess the situation. The sun is there, I am here, and a tall saguaro rising above the rest is near the bathrooms. I bushwhack my way towards the cactus, eventually finding my way to where I began, which is less than a 1/4-mile away from where I got turned around.
How easy it is to become lost!
But I always find away back to myself.
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