Sunday, April 27, 2014

Staring down at Texas

At daylight, a light mist and fog wrapped up White’s City. Packing our gear and packs, we headed off on the empty National Parks Highway. As we reached the park, a small herd of mule deer grazed in the road. Even on the pavement, the deer blend in so well that we nearly hit them. After stopping, I drove on the rumble strip to startle them into the tall grasses.

Hikes this steep through exposed mountainsides demanded early starts. We would attempt Guadalupe Peak, Texas’ highest point. Four of the state’s highest peaks, all 8,700 feet above sea level, sit within the park. Starting out, the trail wound past the mostly dry Pine Springs. A mule deer grazed a few hundred feet away.

Desert terrain seen from an unexpected forest
Good feelings about the hike prevailed until the switchbacks began. I had numerous trail encounters with steep switchbacks, but those on Guadalupe Peak were in their own league. Steep windy, they trailed away from the parking area, which soon became an asphalt patch next to Pine Springs. The morning sunshine turned every shady spot into an oasis.

Just as the desert switchbacks seemed to push against our limits, we hit a false summit – Guadalupe Peak has many – and stood in a pine forest. The air felt 20 degrees cooler here, reviving us instantly after the tough initial ascent.

A relic from a time when the Chihuahuan Desert was cooler, the forest felt out of place but was still welcome relief. Because it does not receive the same levels of sunshine as other faces of the mountain, the forest remains despite brutally dry surrounding conditions.

Unseen beneath its branches sat an ecosystem out of place, where elk, turkeys, deer, mountain lions and other mountain fauna wander. The forest stretches out into the deep canyons, striking deep contrasts with the desert plants one thousand vertical feet on either side.

Frequently along the path we encountered a heavy stench of ammonia not unlike a used litter box. It would not be hard to imagine the region’s mountain lions wandering the forested mountainsides at night, doing their best to mark territory and remove traces of human visitors.

Nancy on the bridge
When we hiked in silence, my memory played Willie Nelson’s Red-Headed Stranger and some musical cues from the Dances With Wolves soundtrack. I always find John Barry’s score has some pieces that get the legs moving, especially when they want nothing more than rest.

As for Willie, try looking down from those West Texas heights and not imagining his desert-ready guitar work. We passed the campground site and crossed a small wooden bridge on a tough section of the mountain. From there, the path looped back into the later morning sunshine, and there was little shade as the vegetation returned to yucca and cacti. 

As we neared the peak, the switchbacks jogged between the desert crags and the northern forest. Not that any step became easier.I felt a little gassed after all the high steps. Our stops grew more frequent. Some corners required a brief scramble across the rocks. One of stops brought us out above El Capitan, the rocky peak we admired from the desert floor a day earlier.

El Capitan is not so imposing here
A wooden structure I spotted from several hundred feet below the summit turned out to be a place for riders to tie their horses 100 yards shy of the summit. Horses were not allowed on the summit, but lack of water along the trail led few riders to bring them to this altitude. As our feet burned on the last stretch, the peak-capping pyramid glinted in the late morning sun. We had arrived.

Before I did anything, I signed the log book secured in a metal box at the pyramid base; if a heart attack were about to strike, I was not getting robbed of recording our summit visit. I’m pretty sure the metal latch got damaged from my attempt at opening the box, but no matter – the log book was almost full and for all we know, NPS just tosses them in the garbage went they replace them.


The summit was rather spacious. During our time there, three other parties milled around, picnicked and took their own pictures with the American Airlines-funded pyramid. We spent about 30 minutes on the summit.

Caves in the rock wall
The summit had an interesting ecosystem. Beetles dug through the soft, black soils between the rough rocks, birds casually swooped around, wildflowers eked out life among the crags and bees crowded around a low, bushy pine.

Soaring birds ruled the skies of Guadalupe Peak, where many crows looped among other species. The most regal was a golden eagle drifting in the crosswinds until abrupt entering a sharp, focused dive for prey.

Looking down on Pine Springs, many switchbacks later
The descent from Guadalupe Peak might be faster, but no one would call it easier. Broken rocks on the trail pummeled our feet. In many places the rocks required steps down. In others, my natural tendency to trip did not serve me well. In the final mile I spotted one snake, striped and fast-moving. I only saw its rear half disappear into the scrub, and failed to mention its appearance to Nancy until later in the evening.

Just before 2 p.m., I tripped my way into the parking lot. Seriously, after eight 8.2 rough miles, with all sorts of broken rock on the path, my foot snagged a curb and nearly sent me sprawling. Nancy arrived minutes after me, and we roared away from the mountain. We just got in the car and left. All I could do was follow El Capitan in the rearview and know that I looked down upon that imposing peak.

After a brief rest, we adjourned to Carsbad’s Trinity Hotel, a restore bank building that housed a nice restaurant and bar. Trinity primarily poured wine from two New Mexico wineries, Balzano and Luna Rossa (owners of the former also owned the hotel). The food was tasty, the dessert was better. They also had Marble Brewery IPA, a luxury for those of us who lack regular access to New Mexico’s premier craft brewer. Before leaving Carlsbad, we stopped at Albertsons for a six-pack. A dam swells the Pecos River and the city wisely built a series of paths along the banks.

Soon we left Carlsbad, the aching in our muscles and bones too strong to ignore. Again the sun set below the Capitan Reef as we burned down the desert highway. Tonight there would be no encore at the bat cave. Well, the bats would be there, but we would rest soundly before the last daylight faded.

Jotting out a few postcards, we readied for well-earned sleep. As I walked to the White’s City post office to mail my mad scribbles, a number of free-tailed bats nabbed insects draw to the general store’s flood lights. I could no longer see the shadow of El Capitan, but after so many hours in its presence, I didn't need to.

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