Cold Feet
Monday, September 6th, 2021: Black Range, Hikes, Hillsboro, Southwest New Mexico.
Stressed out almost to the breaking point by the struggle to get my life back, I’d been pushing myself too hard on recent hikes. I’d been having adventures, and people seemed to enjoy reading about them, but few seemed to realize that I actually hadn’t been having much fun. Au contraire, I’d been suffering and ending up miserable in one way or another after every hike.
This Sunday I wanted to break the pattern and do a hike that was easy but beautiful. Unfortunately that turned out to be much easier said than done. As I’ve mentioned in the past, southwest New Mexico is just not my favorite habitat – I’d rather be in the desert.
Finally I decided to return to the 10,000′ peak with the fire lookout an hour east of home. It was a fairly easy hike – 11 miles round-trip but only 2,000′ of elevation gain – with long views, and there were those grassy meadows just below the peak surrounded by giant old growth firs. If I could restrain myself from continuing down the other side to get more mileage and elevation, maybe I could just hang out in the grass and relax for a change. Listen to the birds and watch the butterflies.
The desire to just hang out in nature is often only wishful thinking. In this case, the grass in the meadows was heavy with dew. So I continued down the back side to the saddle. On the way, I watched a big storm developing and dumping rain a few miles away to the northwest.
By the time I reached the saddle, the storm had spread over me and a few drops were falling. I thought, great, I’ll spread out my poncho as a shelter and hang out here under the big ponderosas. But it turned out my cheap poncho was too small and had no grommets, and anyway, I wasn’t in the habit of carrying cord to anchor it to trees and branches. Without shelter, I couldn’t sit down – I had to keep moving. The only thing I could do was give up on this hike and head back home in the rain.
For the first time this season, I was actually cold. The temperature had dropped into the sixties, and the rain and humidity were sapping my body heat. Ironically, I’d left my emergency sweater at home today, because I’d been too hot on every hike so far this summer. I could see the storm was surrounding the peak now, so I changed into my rain pants and poncho. Hopefully the poncho would act as a thermal barrier and keep me warm.
It occurred to me that this was the first time a storm had noticeably reduced the ambient temperature during this year’s monsoon. In past monsoons, afternoon storms had almost instantly lowered the temperature by as much as 30 degrees. That was one of their best impacts. Our climate had definitely changed, in a way that was likely to be catastrophic. Despite all the rain we were getting, the average temperatures this summer felt much, much higher than in the past.
As I started climbing back up toward the peak, the rain was light at first, and I was feeling fine. Then about halfway up, I was suddenly hit by a barrage of hail, and for the next half hour, I climbed through a deluge of mixed rain and hail. The trail turned into a creek and I had to walk above it through dense, soaking wet grass and brush. When I was only a few hundred yards from the peak, lightning struck it, followed by one of the most violent thunderclaps I’ve ever heard. There was no place to shelter so I just kept hiking, looking forward to getting home early since I hadn’t hiked as far as usual.
By the time I crossed the peak and started my descent, the hail had stopped and the rain had lightened up, but my feet were soaked inside my boots. A mile down the mountain the rain finally stopped and I changed into dry socks. But within another mile the water in my boots had soaked through the new socks. They were “Smartwool”, but they weren’t working – my feet were freezing.
A mile farther down the mountain, a gale force wind rose out of the west, and a new storm began. The trail turned into a creek again and the normally difficult rocky stretch had been eroded and made harder to walk on. It was wonderful that we were having this wet monsoon, but every hike seemed to be turning into an ordeal. Maybe I should just stop hiking until the monsoon ends – but then I would have to work to rebuild my conditioning.
The worst part of the day turned out to be the drive home. I hadn’t brought a dry pair of shoes and socks, and driving barefoot is not an option with my foot condition, so I had to drive home in cold, wet boots. It felt like my feet were encased in sponges soaked with freezing water. I had the heater on, but it took almost the entire drive to warm them up.
Others have probably noticed that I’m strongly achievement oriented. My peace of mind depends on accomplishing stuff I’m passionate about. But for more than a year, since the house fire, I’ve been unable to work on music, art, or my book project. Managing the repairs on my house is like pulling teeth. These hikes are my only chance to achieve something really satisfying.
People who function as an integral part of their habitats – subsistence cultures who provide for their own needs instead of shopping in the capitalist consumer economy – are always aware that immersing yourself in nature is hard work – dangerous and often unpleasant. I don’t hunt, fish, or farm, but by hiking all year ’round in all kinds of weather I avoid some of the illusions of the civilized, “recreational” lifestyle. And during a wet monsoon like this, hiking for pleasure is seldom even an option.
