Pecos in the snow

With my vacation time down to the drive home, I awoke to loudly chirping birds in snow-covered Santa Fe. The birds nested in vines wound through the courtyard of the Old Santa Fe Inn, a nice hotel with an easy walk into the historic district.

This was spring snow at elevation – the nation’s highest state capital lies at almost 7,200 feet above sea level. The pavement was damp, not icy, but grass and most surfaces were coated under an inch or more, even the adobe rooftops of the Old Santa Fe Inn. 

I think of springtime snows in these elevations as “rain with benefits” – the snow brings no treacherous conditions, and overlays everything with a little cold beauty. The strands of chile peppers decorating lampposts in Santan Fe were dusted, but the roads were just wet. 

Higher up, the roads might not be so friendly. But New Mexico is different than Colorado. I wondered what I might face on Glorieta Pass. Twenty minutes out, the fears proved unfounded – the roads were dry, but everything else in this country was coated in a layer of snow. 

Glorieta Pass sits much lower than the passes of Colorado- at 7,500 feet, it’s just a few hundred feet higher than Santa Fe. I would not have crossed Wolf Creek Pass in any kind of snow, but the risk on Glorieta was always minimal.

The only risk came from me taking camera phone pictures while going 75 mph, entranced by this temporary wintry world. 

The green ridges and peaks around the pass had been reinvented. Clouds still dumping snow blocked views of the mountains to the north. As soon as the clouds parted, this new look would vanish. After a few days heavy on National Park Service sites, I felt no pressure to stop at Pecos National Historical Park. 

Passing the site at its opening hour, I suddenly had little choice. The park can be reached from two exits, and I skipped the first, but reconsidered at the second. 

The photographer in me would not allow me to skip Pecos. I had visited on a sunny day in late 2020, with blue skies and no clouds anywhere near the pass. 

This morning presented Pecos in a whole new look. Pecos might be less sexy than some of the ancestral Puebloan sites on my trip, but in this coating of snow, the ruins seemed primed for a contrast of colors. 

Not this day.

For a solid hour, it was just me and the birds. I headed down the trail to visit the site’s massive pueblo ruins, laughing at the rattlesnake warning sign obscured by snow. Spring had paused on the fields of junipers surrounding the pass.

It’s always a joy to wander where no one has stepped, to drop footprints into that pristine snow before anyone else can. I heard park employees talking in non-public areas around the visitor center, but no one had stepped onto the trails. 

Mountain bluebird and other avian residents sounded their alarms as I walked along the empty trails. Chipmunks hissed in their manner. But I had no one else around. I took pictures knowing I would not have to compete for angles. The square rooms and round kivas left from the ancient village sunk back into winter. The Spanish missions’ rust-colored walls were snow-covered in places, and provided the contrast I hoped for. This place, previously home to thousands, had a population of one. 

A few flakes still fell and clouds kept the cold air in place. 

Taking pictures had numbered my hands, so I put my gloves back on and just walked, the birdsong loud enough to blot out any highway noise. 

I imagined cold mornings from centuries past, how wood fires would have kept the pueblo and mission warm, even as the rest of the pass would have been snow-covered.

As the road sloped down toward Las Vegas, the wintry covering faded. In shaded spots along the mesas and mountains, snow would hold. Raton Pass on the New Mexico-Colorado would hold steady at 33 degrees and only offer blustery winds.

Time after time, my mind came back to the snow upon Pecos and Glorieta Pass, and snowy thoughts  endured for hours to come.