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From the Tejas Trail, Guadalupe Mountains National Park
by Drew Stuart |
This is the sixth installment in a series on hikes in
Guadalupe Mountains National Park. In recognition of the park's 40
th
anniversary, the author undertook earlier this year to hike all the park's
trails. He still has a long way to go. (For more in the series, visit the
Herald website, at hudspethcountyherald.com.)
I set out to hike the Tejas Trail – a 2,500-foot ascent from
Pine Springs to the Bowl, in the Guadalupes' highlands – on a cold and windy
Nov. 11. My plan was to ascend the Tejas Trail, walk the western leg of the
Bowl Trail – with, perhaps, a side jaunt to Hunter Peak, at 8,368 feet – and
descend through Bear Canyon, an 8-and-half-mile round trip. The forecast called
for “damaging winds” in the Guadalupes, but as I set foot on the trail at about
10 a.m., I was hopeful.
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View in The Bowl
by Drew Stuart |
In big wind, I walk up the slopes, in sotol and beargrass,
prickly pear, cholla, juniper and oaks – the typical grassy parklands. The
castellated columns and facades of the Guadalupes rise ahead and above me.
Turning, I see a hush or pall on the mounds to the south. A kind of noonday
alpenglow. The Guadalupes' exposed limestone – the compacted remains of ancient
sea life – seems to cast its own frosted light, to charge the air. So much
energy for skeletal, long-dead material. Strong wind drops and gusts down from
the west, and clouds sweep quickly above the high country. I step over a flat,
blood-red rock, like a Lilliputian sacrificial altar, though it's just the
tuna-stained scat of some coyote.
My nose is running, my ears almost numb, but I'm sweating
gently – it occurs to me it would be a good day for one of those breathable
synthetic shirts that conscientious, “serious” hikers wear. As opposed to hacks
like myself, who favor a cotton T-shirt, or whatever is closest to the bed in
the morning. The mountains above are bleached white, blotched gray – I find
myself thinking about the ancient Greeks, remember Homer rhapsodizing about
“the folds of Mount Ida.” Mythology or stories about ancient seas, the rocks
draw the mind back towards older worlds.
Soon I'm rounding a bend, heading toward the stone house or
box that stands above Pine Canyon. Turning at an elbow in the mountains, the
slopes rising up to the north are almost snowy white, and support their thorny
culture of prickly pear and sotol. I look back to the east, to the broken mesas
and tablelands below, and beyond, to just the silhouette of the Davis
Mountains.
I've gained good elevation: below me are the wash and the
small breaks of Pine Canyon, ahead the daunting prospect of Guadalupe Peak. I
have moments of vertigo. There is the sense that I'd better start paying
attention – I've staggered, fairly stumbled up the mountain, this far. But at
this height, and at this distance from human comfort or aid, a little fear and
trembling is appropriate.
Rounding the corner here, the wind comes with new force, of
course. I see that this arm of the mountains, which extends into and rises
above Pine Canyon, is like a wave of rock that crests here and breaks. A
ridgeback or shoulder, with a giant head – the head of a giant, looking down on
the space of the canyon and Devil's Hall. A little window in the porous and
permeable limestone is visible near the ridge's far end. Below and to the west,
I see slope after slope, one giving way to another, gentle-looking and
mauve-colored.
The clouds are gone now, except in the distance to the east,
and it's just sun and wind. It's a long way down, and very steep. I'm on a
glinting canvas of rock, limestone in slats and pointing shards.
Sunlight, blue sky, the wind rushing through the scrub oak-
and lechuguilla-covered slopes. Up and up and up. Why? What do I expect to
find? A range of desert hills or mountains is a fastness of rock. However dry,
the mountains persist in being sanctuaries, fastnesses. For marginally more
wildlife than the creosote flats, perhaps. For the dream of rain. But for
something else as well. What? Silence? Sometimes it seems they preserve memory
– not ghosts, but time itself. The past, whether of 200 years or 200 million,
seems to pool, gather at these places.
Nearing the top of the Tejas Trail, I pass here and there a
twisted juniper, parched, warped by wind. I also have my only human encounter
on the trail, with a ranger, who suggests Hunter Peak will likely be miserable
in these windy conditions.
Stay tuned for Part 2!!
PEAK FITNESS CHALLENGE!
Guadalupe Mountains National Park is one of two parks participating in this fun and free challenge! Sign up online at www.geobetty.com/peak and the miles you hike may qualify you for prizes!
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