winter rambles - the Sierra Tarahumara, Chihuahua

well, its had been a nice fall for us, hiding out in the Pecos and elsewhere. Eventually we needed to go do something, having put together a couple kilobucks with contract ecology in the fall, but having no further gainful employment in sight for the winter for reasons beyond our control. Hence a journey south to the Barrancas del Cobre of the Sierra Madre Occidental was decided upon. We drove to El Paso, parked the car in long-term storage, navigated a number of buses to the border and from there to the big bus station in Juarez, took another bus from Juarez to Chihuahua, then rode the "famous" but incredibly slow train to the barrancas. "clase economica" of course. We did a couple of hikes down there in the canyon country, one with some other gringos we met - Craig, Ally, Bart, and Marina from Maryland, who turned out to be a lot of fun to hang out with, and spend a few days on the Gulf of California near Topolobambo, Sinaloa.

The barrancas are fascinating region, ecologically, culturally. The canyon system is oft compared to the Grand Canyon of AZ, but it is quite different in many ways - much larger, but consisting of a number of different, interconnected canyons, so there is nowhere you can go where it really looks bigger. Not to say the views are anything but amazingly deep and vast.


view from somewhere down there

The rock is all volcanic: rhyolites, andesites, and tuffs, somewhat reminiscent of the canyons of the Jemez, or the Gila, but on a much larger scale, and forming all manner of thousand-foot cliffs, but also unusual tent-rocks and hoodoos, and knife-edge ridges and sheer peaks looming dramatically above the rivers. The rivers themselves are beautiful, clear and cold, full of inviting aquamarine swimming holes, low in their rocky beds this time of year but probably pretty dramatic in the rainy season.

Probably most interesting to us was the flora and fauna, and the people. On the mesatops the forests are composed of Apache, Chihuahua, and ponderosa pine, mixed in with a diverse array of evergreen oak species, arborescent yuccas, agaves, and cactus.


Epiphytic Tillandsias sometimes decorate the branches of the oaks.

Dropping down into the gorges, we found numerous species of acacias and all sorts of other spiny thornscrub. Near the bottoms are tall Pachycereus cacti, and subtropical deciduous tree species. Probably most notable this time of year were the Tree Morningglory, with smooth white trunk, no leaves, and big white flowers, with a fragrance that filled the canyon bottoms at night, and some species of Ceiba, also leafless, spiny-trunked and with huge dangling dehiscent fruits which opened to drop cotton-covered seeds into the breeze.


Ipomoea arborea

Many cool birds observed, an interesting mix of "typical" southwestern stuff (Northern Mockingbirds, Say's Phoebes, Vermillion Flycatchers,etc.) the Mexican species of otherwise typical stuff (Mexican Chickadees, Yellow-eyed Juncos, the Brown-backed Solitaire - whose eerie song invoked interplanetary experiences, and full on, charismatic tropical and subtropical species (Eared Quetzals, Black-Throated Magpie-Jays, Dusky Silky, Squirrel Cuckoo).

Another big difference between backpacking in Copper Canyon and backpacking in the Grand Canyon was that there are people living all over the place in Copper canyon, small Tarahumara communities scattered here and there, and Mexican villages and ranchos in the bottom of the Batopilas and Urique canyons. And a nebulous network of goat trails, burro trails, and person trails, but not much in the way of maintenance, nor anything in the way of signage. Which made for extremely difficult route finding throughout our journeys.

Our first hike was more or less a success, from Batopilas, a beautiful little town in the heart of Batopilas canyon, up and over the ridges that separated this canyon from the Urique canyon, and down to the town of Urique. We spent a couple days hiking around Batopilas, andNew Years eve there, where a band played norteno music on the plaza to a sea of white cowboy hats until 4 am, then the following day we walked dirt roads and trails to the collection of houses known as Cerro Colorado, beneath a big red mountain. From there we followed a burro trail, which took us a while to locate, but once located, led us up out of the canyons and into the sierra. The only really sketchy thing that happened to us on our whole trip happened about an hour out of Cerro Colorado, when out of nowwhere a we heard a boulder crashing down the steep, brushy hillside above us. Beth and I stopped in our tracks, and watched it bounce across the trail between us, and dissappear down into the arroyo. Random? No, soon an even bigger one came tumbling down, and we figured it was time to beat it out of there. The trail took us across the arroyo, and soon we could see the source of the boulders: a couple kids, skylined on the ridgeline high above us, triumphantly yelling, hooting, and howling at us...

The rest of the hike was relatively safe, interesting, and inspiring. We spent a night up in a grove of pines, and crossed the watershed divide the next morning, to find the Urique canyon waiting for us, and a drop of a vertical mile back down to the bottom. On our way we passed the settlement of Los Alisos, where we met the kindest folks, all we could pick and eat for grapefruit, homegrown and roasted coffee, and hot corn tortillas. It didn't take much to convince us to spend the last night of our hike there.

the best kind of people, at Los Alisos - Prospero Torres, Javian, Chavela, and Matilde

Urique was a pretty lame town by comparison, and we figured we'd get out of there and take a few days off of hiking, and relax on the coast. Which meant a bunch of travel time on buses and the train, but it was worth it to run on the beach, swim in the ocean, drink Tecate (which is better down there, 4.5%) by the caguama, and eat all sorts of fish and shrimp. Topolobambo was pretty cool, in that it was a little touristy, but all the tourists were Mexicans, so things were still relatively cheap and interesting. We took a boat ride out to visit Pechocho the dolphin who lives in a little mangrove lined-lagoon - apparently Pechocho is pretty friendly and lets people swim with him sometimes, but if you see him balancing a stick on his nose that means he doesn't want to play. He kept putting the stick on his nose when we showed up. Pretty strange.

Beth and I decided to do one more hike in the Barrancas, this time taking the train back up to Divisadero, camping on the rim, and finding a trail down to the Urique. For a lot of reasons, this hike was less successful. Though we camped in what may have been the most amazing campsites we've ever camped at, we had a hard time with routefinding, and the closest we made it to the Rio Urique was about 1000 vertical feet, and we experienced ample disorientation, frustration, dehydration, miscommunication, shoe-decomposition,etc. to pretty much wear us out. We had also picked up the flu somewhere along the way, and it wasn't getting any better out there.

So, when we returned to civilization, we decided to take the next bus back to good old NM. Where we hiked into some hot springs which we will not name on an easily followed trail in a designated wilderness and spend the next few days sitting in hot water...

the end of the trail - for now...

well we're back in NM now, staying at my folks place in White Rock. Listening to a thunderstorm roll over, smelling the sweet smell of rain late at night. After a dinner of ribs and salad and scalloped potatoes and a few glasses of wine - now trying to find the words to bring this story to and end. Maybe Beth can add her thoughts tomorrow if I don't make any sense.

From Pagosa, B, Eric, and I headed up the E. Fork of the San Juan, and back up to the divide in the South San Juan Wilderness - one of the wildest places left in the Southern Rockies, where the last Colorado grizzly bear was killed in 1979. I'd like to hope that there are still a few great bears out there, too, in some remote, untrailed and untravelled drainage - but it seems unlikely. There just aren't that many places left for a big bear to hide, much less maintain viable populations for 25 some years without leaving a single track on a trail. I wish I could say that our hike had convinced us that there are still plenty of wild spaces left, still all sorts of room for the original inhabitants of the Rockies to coexist peacefully with humans... but more on that later, perhaps.

The mountains were still beautiful, lush, full of springs and waterfalls and strangely sculpted volcanic pinnacles and peaks. Cold, too, hard frosts and frozen trails every morning. Hit hard with snowstorms on our second day, freezing winds carrying the snow horizontally across the alpine tundra. All in all we were glad to descend down to Cumbres Pass, and looked forward to the lower elevations of the mountains once we crossed into NM. The next morning we hitched down to Chama to resupply, and caught our first and only and thus last ride in an RV. 15 miles of pure comfort... In sunny Chama we ate a decent breakfast and picked up our food package at the P.O, where we ran into Paul, another thru-hiker we hadn't seen since the Pintlars in Montana. There is an old narrow gauge steam-locomotive that runs from Chama over Cumbres Pass to Antonito, CO, now running for the benefit of tourists, and we found out that it left Chama at 1030 am. And it stops at Cumbres pass - we discussed it over breakfast, and decided that (this is how far gone from reality we were) if it cost under $10, it would be a fun way to get back up to the pass. So I asked at the ticket office. $69.75 was the price I was quoted. "Even if I'm only going halfway, just to Cumbres Pass?" Still $69.75. And the girl at the ticket window sternly warned me that "if you get off at the pass, you'll have to have someone pick you up."

And so it was that we were soon by the side of the road, with hopeful thumbs up one last time - our last hitch hike of the trip - turned out to be with a lady elk hunter in full camo, from Oklahoma....



A few miles brought us to the border of NM, a dilapidated old barbed wire fence. An easy border crossing- and we soon knew for sure we were back in NM, the roadsides were littered with cowshit and Bud Light cans. And the people were friendlier - B and I enjoyed a nice meal of elk burritos and cheap beer with some bow hunters from Portales that night, way up on Brazos ridge, the full moon rising over the distant Sangres. And for the rest of the trip the weather was perfect, those golden September days, warm, sunny, bluebird skies, cool and starry nights. The hike was a gradual, rolling descent throught the tail end of the San Juans, along the way re-encountering Doug and Paul both, so our last night before Ghost Ranch there were 5 of us enjoying a campfire, up in the overgrazed grasslands and groves of aspen and oak and ponderosa. The views the following day were of familiar mountains in the Jemez - Pedernal, Tschicoma, and Polvadera - and the last range we would cross, the long high plateau of the Nacimiento Mountains. We dropped down through red cliffs and canyons to Ghost Ranch, where we left Doug and Eric, who ended their trip there, finishing off where they left off in the spring. Sad to leave those guys who we hiked so much of Colorado with - but we got to enjoy all you can eat dinner and breakfast, and free camping and hot showers - so leave them we did, under the shade of giant exotic Siberian elm.

B, Paul, and I hiked the next day through the redrock canyons of the Rio Chama wilderness, and up into the plateau country north of the Jemez. Our last couple days found us climbing up and back down from the Nacimientos, wandering the high meadows and forests of San Pedro Parks, enjoying the wild songs of elk bugling at night, reading old carvings on aspen (including both artistic and pornographic drawings)left by who knows who during the last hundred some years. Actually, most folks left their signatures - anybody know Alfonso Suazo? - apparently the resident artist of the northern San Pedro Parks during the 60's and 70's. We're guessing it was his son Antonio who took over in the 80's and 90's. "Los Pot Heads" were up there too, in 76. Some really neat old carvings of horses, cows, birds, people, naked ladies dating back to the 1920's.

And eventually we wound our way down to Cuba for a celebratory last supper(?)at El Brunos with my parents and Paul.

So that's that, more or less. The end of the trail. I don't really have any profound thoughts to share on the journey, maybe they will come with time and retrospection. For now - it was a great walk across the country. A lot of mountains, space, ideas. Not enough wilderness protection, too many cows and ATVs. But amazing places all, mountains and rivers, deserts and sky. And just as inspiring as the landscape, and the flora and fauna, were the people we met - from other CDT hikers to the old couple out rambling Colorado in a rusty Bronco painted red white and blue. We met some amazing folks - living simply, cheaply, following their dreams to see and experience America and planet Earth. We met folks who had dedicated their lives to the conservation of the places they loved, whether they be wildflower afficionados or elk hunters. We also met some folks with absolutely crazy, extreme right-wing ideologies, as well as folks who really didn't know or seem to care what was going on in the world around them... But wiht all these folks (with only the minor exception of the hostile old wackos in Macks Inn, ID) we were treated with such amazing hospitality and generosity - enough to transcend any differences in viewpoint we might have, and enjoy a moment or two of talk and laughter and human fellowship as our paths crossed on these journeys through life. And enough kindness and genuine concern for our wellbeing to remind us of the fundamental oneness of the human species. And give us hope that we will eventually figure out how to live together on this planet - with each other, grizzlies, Indian paintbrush, and endless ranges of wild mountains to wander....

I'm guess I'm getting sappy now so I'd better bring things to an end. Thanks for tuning in. Thanks also for posting enough comments and sending enough emails to keep us going, sorry we've been pretty lame about responding - but (dumb excuse) its been enough of a pain just to get this darn thing updated sporadically. And we are especially grateful to those of you, old friends and new, who gave us rides and lent us bicycles for town days, put us up in your houses, and fed us and drank that beer with us, so well along the way - if we can ever repay your generosity, please let us know. Not to mention that its been fun catching up and hanging out with y'all!

As for the rest of you, we'll likely see you soon, if we didn't catch you on the trail - some of you this weekend at Esther and Dan's wedding in the northwoods of Wisconsin. Or perhaps some of you later this fall in northern NM. We'll most likely hiding out at our friend Steve's empty cabin (hope thats OK with you, Steve:) up in the white firs and scrub oaks of the southern Sangres. After that it looks as though I have a job teaching a field study course in Patagonia this winter, so perhaps we'll post a photo or two from the Andes in December or thereabouts. O yes we've got some ideas for next summer's rambles too, but too early to talk about just yet. Stay tuned for more?

peace. thanks again.

Jonathan and Beth

the San Juans

Wow. The San Juans have been amazing. Just amazing. The last 100 or so miles have all been above 10,000', only dipped down below treeline a couple times, and only briefly. And it has really felt like we were up in the sky, with the clouds rising, tumbling, and falling around us, offering surreal and glimpses of unexpected peaks, sheer and ragged - surprising red, blue-purple, grey and black stone, shimmering snowfields, and verdant alpine basins below, where we walk along muddy paths, or across spongy green meadows of moss, sedges, and grass. Much of the walk was really unearthly, supernatural, maybe we were in the Rockies, maybe the Andes, maybe one of those old Chinese paintings, maybe Middle Earth. Strange and beautiful, the silence of the clouds, the trail fading off into the swirling mists...

Not all peaceful and dreamlike, however - we also got hit with ample hail and rainshowers, blasting winds, and pummelled by a dramatic night-long thunderstorm. We had ended up setting up camp kind of early - 6 or so - with Eric and Doug, on the edge of a little basin - a small lake below the ridge on one side of camp, sheer 200' cliffs on the other - a beautiful little spot that for some reason we mutually agreed was too nice to pass up. Usually we would have walked on for another hour and a half, and it turned out to be a fortuitous decision to camp where we did, as I don't think we would have found anything but the rocky edge of the divide for miles to come. Soon we were hearing thunder rumbling to the south and west - impossible to see what was coming, because the ridges were hidden in mists and cloud - but it sounded ominous enough to get the tents up and dinner eaten quickly - and when it finally hit us, it was pretty much time to hunker down in our tents and hope for the best. And we basically got hit by round after round of hail and rain, with the winds only getting stronger and stronger all night. I don't think anyone slept much - lights coming on and off in our's, Doug's, and Eric's tents, tent stakes being re-pounded, a few times a whoop or yell or curse of solidarity over the thunder and wind. Pretty wild - finally our tent pole blew over in the darkness, and as we got it set up again my 530 watch alarm went off - no need to try and sleep in this wet bag any more, might as well make breakfast and get out of here - and as the sky grew lighter, occasional gaps between the clouds would rush past, and we could glimpse out over the valley below, the wildest stormiest and mountainous views imaginable.

Eventually we got going, pushing through gale force winds along the ridges of the continental divide that trail followed - and eventually moments of sun, and clouds diminshing - and by afternoon, we were basking in glorious sunshine at Piedra Pass, only the cold wind was left to remind us of the storm's passing. B, Eric, and I decided that we'd had enough high ridge walking for a while, and left the divide for a while to head down the valley of the West Fork of the San Juan, and Rainbow Hot Springs. Which it turns out had been mostly obliterated by a recent rockslide, but there were still two nice pools to soak in, and it was immensely enjoyable just to lay in those pools, deep in a sprucey valley, and watch the evening sunlight play off the rock formations 3000' feet above.

We met up with my folks, bearing a tremendous two-cooler picnic supply, yesterday lunchtime, and are now enjoying civilization in Pagosa Springs CO for a brief respite from the walking. Only a couple hundred miles to go, our next town stop Chama NM, then Ghost Ranch, then the trail's completion - where our southbound route from Canada meets our northbound route from Mexico - the golden spike - or chile relleno - at El Bruno's in Cuba NM, probably the evening of Sept. 21.

more mountains, great weather at last...

so I'm sitting here in the library in Salida CO with about 5 minutes to update the blog - what to say, what to say? The trails been great lately - beautiful sunny fall days in the high country, peaks turning rusty with the first hints of changing leaves - crimson patches of alpine cinquefoil, dry golden grasses and sedges. Frosts every night, cold mornings in the shadows of the towering mountains. Probably the most beautiful, high, and challenging hiking yet during the last segment from the "Hotel Tylerado" in Silverthorne 150 miles to Monarch Pass. B and I managed to take a few hours off the trail to hike up Mt. Elbert, an easy walk, but at 14,443 the highest peak in the entire Rocky Mountain chain, amazing views, nothing but horizons of mountains all around, greys and reds of rocky slabby peaks, snowfields, grassy slopes, the blues of spruce and fir forests. Marmots whistling, the hint of the cold cold breeze telling us that we'd better keep on keepin on if we want to get through the southern Rockies before the snow flies...

The rest of the segments been grand, a brief pit stop in Twin Lakes, then more high country just about the entire route to Monarch Pass. Been hiking some more with Eric, cruising 25+ miles a day, pretty much worn out each evening but loving it all the way. No more rain, no mosquitos, just mile after mile of alpine peaks and ridges. Pretty nice, pretty nice.

Rocky Mountain high continued...

Range after range of mountains as far as the eye can see - for the last 60 or so miles the trail has been bouncing between 9500' and 13500' - so its been gorgeous hiking, but also a lot of hard work. Grassy alpine ridges, cliffy summits, marmots whistling, deep valleys with trickling silver creeks far below - roaring wind - surprisingly cold already, frosts at night - and huge blue-bellied thunderstorms to dodge during the day. The trail has reached its highest and most difficult stretch, with the most up and down per mile from Grand Lake to Silverthorne. I don't know how many thousand feet we've gained and lost in the last few days - too much to keep track of I guess.

From Grand Lake we've been hiking with Eric, a lanky 25-year old Tennessee hillbilly whose plan is to sell all his stuff, hop on a bicycle, and ride to Patagonia just as soon as he gets done with the CDT. So its been novel having someone else to talk to, as B and I have covered just about everything we need to discuss for the next 10 years. I'm guessing that its been nice for Eric too, as you can hear his southern drawl most all day long, except on the steep climbs. At Berthoud pass we also met up with his CDT hiking partner Doug, who had to hurry ahead to make a lunchtime interview at the pass with a guy from the Denver Post. Doug is doing the whole trail on a raw, vegan diet - we sampled some of his fare at the pass - actually delicious stuff. And judging by the way Doug zips up the peaks, it must be pretty potent as well. You can learn more at his webpage: www.rawhike.com

We are staying now in Silverthorne with friends Tyler and Cindy, living the good old frontcountry life, feasting and laying around inside, and watching the wind-driven rain pound the mountains out the windows. I think we are going to try and to the 21 miles to Copper mountain today without packs, and have Cindy pick us up there this evening, and enjoy another night with friends food hot showers etc. Which means I should get done with this post and get ready to get hiking....

the Winds and the Great Divide Basin

Its almost midnight here at the Days Inn in Rawlins WY - I would have thought I'd be dead tired after all the miles of the last couple weeks, but it seems I can't sleep very well in a comfortable bed anymore. I don't understand. So I thought I'd take advantage of the "free" internet access before we hit the trail again. It's actually pretty interesting sitting here in the hotel lobby at this hour in this I-80 pit stop town in the desert. Turns out Rawlins is jam packed with people for the Carbon County Fair; all the hotel rooms are full - if we had arrived any later we'd have been camping somewhere in a vacant lot, and I'd probably be sleeping soundly...

We've been picking up the pace of our hike lately, usually doing 25-30 miles - walking pretty much all day, from first light until its too dark to see. And definitely noticing the days getting shorter as summer wanes. We've had thunderstorms just about every afternoon or evening since Lander, but nothing to make us too soggy. Building all day, but mostly just a lot of bluster and rumble, a little hail or a sprinkle of rain, and then they move on, leaving us with beautiful, dynamic cloudscape skies to watch as we walk. And amazing sunsets tinging the remnant thunderheads golden, crimson, and purple, and far off lightning flashes until late in the night.

Highlights of late:

We've been eating great food on the trail, thanks to the NOLS store in Lander - these guys run all sorts of groups out in the wilderness, teaching outdoor skills to young people primarily, for those of you who don't know NOLS from - well - any other fancy acronym... We've actually learned to recognize NOLS groups from pretty far off - marching in a tight formation, each NOLSy with a huge full backpack towering over their heads, and, most distinctively, shin high gators, often the entire group with matching gators, worn at all times, apparently. Looks like a lot of fun... but despite the comical appearence these guys cut on the trail, darn if they don't eat pretty well - the NOLS store was loaded with all sort of dehydrated goodies (dehydrated brownies, anyone?) one could only dream of in your average Safeway or small town hitchin post - and best yet, a big free box for hikers such as ourselves... so its been a bit of a feast for us since Lander.

Ran into a nice size griz about 40 miles south of Togwotee Pass - as we sat eating our lunch by the trailside, Beth glanced up, and calmly said to me, "there's a big bear watching us over there". And indeed there was, about 50 feet away - he must have been coming down the trail and stopped when he saw our legs stretched over the trail and our stuff sprawled out everywhere. So we got up and tried to do what one is apparently supposed to do - speak to the bear firmly but non-threateningly - meanwhile trying to figure out which of the spindly little spruce trees we might actually be able to climb should the need present itself. Well the bear kept right on watching us for a minute - and then suddenly turned around and ran off. So it wasn't all that exciting, but that was fine with us... nice to know they're out there though.

The Wind River Range was just beautiful, as we'd heard rumored. Miles and miles of granite peaks soaring above us, I don't know how many thousand lakes. And just about as buggy as we'd heard, too, enough to keep us moving most of the time. Unfortunately, when you are on the main trails in a place like that, and covering 25 miles a day, you are bound to run into a lot of other folks, which we did - Boy Scout troops, families, horse packers, llama packers... about the most popular place we've been yet, as far as the backcountry goes. Did I mention the NOLS groups? I guess its good to be reminded how little wilderness we really have, and how much demand there is for it. Even in a place as vast as the Wyoming Rockies, it can be surprisingly hard to find solitude on a weekend in August. Ah, if only those in charge of such matters shared the same view as we do, there would sure be a lot more places set aside for their wild and lonesome qualities. But they don't, I guess - when we met the governor of Idaho he was touring around in his RV- and we see the president is down on his ranch again.... meanwhile oil and gas drilling, road building and logging continue to eat away at the few remaining wild places of the western U.S. But I digress...

But it was sure pretty up there, even with the mosquitos and crowded trails. And plenty of swimming opportunities. Definitely wished I'd had my fishing pole with a few times - but there was ground to cover, and we had plenty of food as it was...

Our next segment of the hike took us straight out of the mountains and into the desert of the Great Divide Basin. Strange to be eating dinner at an alpine lake one night, crossing snowfields at a 11,200' pass, and then the next day be dropping out into the vast, arid expanse of sagebrush and rocks. But we loved it. A brief stop at historic South Pass City (winter population: 2) to pick up our food box, and then neighboring Atlantic City (not much bigger - why do they call these things cities? Probably the same logic that leads to subdivision streets called "Elk Trail", etc.) for lunch and to fill our fuel bottle - the gas station is a 10-gallon jug at someone's house.

Then out into the desert - crossing the old Oregon Trail a couple times, where we encountered a guy whose mission is to drive the trail in his SUV "if you don't use it, you loose it" he told us. Then we actually spent most of a day wandering the canyon of the Sweetwater River, delaying the inevitability of the dusty dry roads and gas pipelines we'd be following the rest of the way to Rawlins.

The desert itself, the next 3 days of our walk, was great - abundant pronghorn, wild horses, coveys of sage grouse flying up, sagebrush, and wind. A lot of cows too. But not a lot of folks. In 3 days we met one Peruvian shepherd and saw a couple of distant pickups. That was it. A welcome change from the crowds of the Winds. And no mosquitos either. And it wasn't even that hot, with all the thunderstorms and wind, and good springs spaced at nice 30 mile intervals. And as mentioned before, beautiful sunsets, and the easy dirt road walking allows one to look up at the sky and watch the clouds as much as one wants as one walks. Last night best of all, giant thunderstorms flickering off to the east and the Perseid meteor showers like fireworks in the starry sky.

Today a kind of crummy highway walk, 20 miles of blacktop to Rawlins, I don't know how many dead pronghorn, cottontails, rattlesnakes, and miscellaneous unidentified mummified wildlife parts we saw and smelled, I lost track. Not so pleasing. Unfortunately the land ownership is a giant checkerboard around here and to do anything but walk the highway would involve some serious trespassing, so thats just the way the trail goes. But it provided ample motivation to get here early, which allowed us to get the hotel room, and hence the blog update...

So its been a pretty good adventure of late - now "enjoying" "civilization" here in Rawlins - since I started writing I've watched a countless bikers getting turned away, a drunk get told to return to his room and leave the kids alone - and what the heck are all these little kids doing up yelling and running around a hotel lobby at midnight anyway?

Well we'll be heading off again tomorrow, a little more desert, then the return to the southern Rockies and into Colorado. So, until then, dear reader...

Centennial Mountains, Yellowstone, and the Teton Wilderness

Well we are in Lander Wyoming now, hanging at our friend Rob's place (a former student/field assistant on the VCNP, now doing a floristic survey of the Wind River Range), enjoying all the best that civilization has to offer for a day. We've left the MT-ID border behind, crossing the Centennial range, the Yellowstone plateau, and the southern tail of the Absaroka mountains. We have also crossed the halfway point of our trip, in terms of total mileage and time - a strange realization that alters the perspective, suddenly making finite what before seemed like an endless journey. The days drift by, and so do the miles. The season too seems to have reached its summit - we see more fledgling birds and hear less birdsong, watch the flowering plants fruit (mosquitos still incredibly abundant)....but we become aware that we were climbing a big round mountain called summer, and that we're levelling off, starting to think about the descent down the back side....

Well, the Centennials were interesting, very dry in the west, but thick and lush with subalpine fir and tall forb meadows in the east. Difficult walking through these meadows, basically a wade through chest-high vegetation, punctuated by frequent stumbles in pocket gopher holes and rocks hidden beneath the flowery, leafy tangles of sticky geranium and stickseed. Shared camp one night with Zacharias, a Peruvian shepherd ("borregero"), 3 dogs and a thousand sheep.

Out of the Centennials, we dropped down to resupply in Mack's Inn, ID, definitely our worst "town" stop yet. A busy highway, a lot of unfriendly tourists (the exception being a fellow New Mexican - yeah NM). A lot of ATV's, big trucks. Not the friendliest locals either, some old grumps eager find out whether or not we were "environmentalists" and then tell us what they thought of the like of us. Well the old guy asked me "what good is a wolf", but apparently wasn't interested in my thoughts on trophic interactions, increases in willows beavers and warblers, nor thoughts economic nor regarding conservation ethics. "don't belong out here""overeducated" and then "young and have a lot to learn" and then a general grump about what were we doing walking across the country anyway, why didn't we have jobs, etc.

So we were ready to get back into the backcountry, and the Yellowstone plateau soon made us feel like we belonged again. Didn't see a soul out there till Old Faithful. Which was a zoo as expected, but the geothermal feautures were truly fantastic and well worth the visit. And I thought it was actually pretty cool to see a thousand people cheering and clapping at a big blast of steam and water coming out of the depths of the earth. We saw three eruptions of geysers in the Old Faithful area, picked up our backcountry permits and food box at the P.O., and headed back onto the trail, stopping at the Lone Star geyser for dinner. Where, 3 miles from the zoo of Old Faithful, we found only a couple other people, and no guardrails - you could go right up the the geyser and put your hand on the cone as it was erupting. Phenomenal.



The next night we camped at Shoshone Lake, enjoying a short 15-mile day interspersed with much swimming and lazing around in the summer sun...


The rest of Yellowstone backcountry was wonderful, lonesome, 2 days without seeing anyone. Here's Beth crossing the headwaters of the Snake River... This was actually just outside the park in the Teton Wilderness.

nice Monkeyflower along the creeks...

The sign at Two Ocean Creek, a river that splits, with one fork flowing east and the other west. Very unusual.

We enjoyed the hike through the rest of the Absarokas as well, though our trail turned into a bit of a horse highway once we got off the Two Ocean Plateau - we also encountered a number of horsepacking groups, and another group of goat-packers. I don't know why no one just backpacks in this area, but apparently its pretty popular among those who'd prefer not to walk but still want to get out into the wilderness...

Tonight we head back up to Togwotee Pass, and then tomorrow head into the Winds, time to ramble on...