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A birthday hike
through wild country seems a proper celebration, the reassertion of
our beginning as beings of nature.
For me that means
being on a mountain, in a forest, by a stream. A desert will do in
a pinch, although deserts are not really my landscape. Still, I
treasure the birthday I spent wandering through the Chihuahuan
desert of Big Bend National Park. And, last year David and I hiked
in New Mexico’s Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument, an exotic
landscape of giant, volcanic-formed, tapering hoodoos with boulder
caps perched on their tops. The trail squeezes through a tight rock
corridor before opening up into a world that seems like ancient
villages frozen into stone. Climbing 630 feet in 1.5 miles to the
top of the mesa, the short route offers a fantastical playground the
whole way.
The previous year, I
hiked the La Luz Trail to the 10,250 foot Sandia Crest alone while
David was in Hawaii leading a photo workshop. The Sandias,
Albuquerque’s mountains, close the Rio Grande Valley in from the
east. It seems odd to look east to the mountains, but at
least, in this part of New Mexico, I know which direction I’m
facing. Beginning in desert at 7,040 feet, the La Luz trail climbs
7.5 miles to the top. At a little over 4 miles, the terrain changes
from a desert trail lined with brilliantly blooming cactus in late
April to a rock and snow challenge. In my pack, I carried the
instep crampons I’d used at the steep, icy top of the trail down
into the Grand Canyon a couple of Februaries ago.
By the time I reached
the rocky ravine that marks the divide between easy and difficult,
the early warm day had clouded over, and grown chilly. Almost
immediately past the ravine, the ground was snow-covered. I attached
the crampons to my boots, put on a warm hat, gloves, jacket, and
proceeded. While there had been many hikers on the lower part of
the trail, I saw only three other people on this upper section.
My body warmed
quickly as I negotiated the 15 switchbacks while an occasional stop
presented the memory of cold. Hiking up the snow, with the crampons
holding well on the slick places, was actually easier than hiking up
the rough, loose rock that forms the trail surface in warmer
seasons.
I’ve hiked alone all
my life, but since coming to New Mexico with David, and experiencing
some difficult back problems, I had not hiked without him. But
also, because we had spent every one of his New Mexico
birthdays hiking the La Luz Trail -- in June, when there is never
snow on Sandia -- my competitive nature craved this hike on
my own.
What mattered to me
was that I could use my birthday to prove to myself that I had not
lost myself, that I could still do what I loved. And I loved
that snowy, cold, now blustery afternoon. It was deeply satisfying
to be comfortable on this mountain, on this quite northern day.
At the top of the
trail, it is still a walk of about a mile contouring around to the
tram that brings tourists up from Albuquerque. (And which I
intended to ride down.) The contour trail provides views over the
Rio Grande Valley, the city so tiny below, out beyond the West Mesa
and the mountains of Arizona. Tourists milling on the view
platform, shivering, (it had been warm at the bottom of the tram),
looking out over the vastness of New Mexico experienced the awe
appropriate to high mountains. Most of them didn’t even see me.
But one woman did. “Did you hike up?” she asked, taking in my
outfit and ragged look.
I was pleased someone
had noticed. “Yes,” I said, feeling triumphant.
I knew David would be
away on this year’s birthday, too. (For photographers, April is an
ultimate time – to photograph wildflowers or autumn, depending on
which hemisphere they are in.) I thought he would leave the day
before, which was fine with me. I looked forward to my own hike.
Then he told me his
flight to Patagonia left on my birthday. We would return from
Big Bend on the 25th, in time for me to take him to the
airport on the 26th.
I am seriously pissed
at spending my birthday taking my husband to an airport. Because he
leaves mid-day, I can’t just see him off, have a lovely breakfast,
and go for a hike. NO!!! I can spend the morning watching
his anxiety as he prepares to leave, then deliver him in time to
have some part of an afternoon, which is not enough of a day to do
anything that could possibly interest me, especially since it is a
Monday, when museums—which I also love-- are closed. I have
always hiked on my birthday. It is what my birthday is
for!!! It is meaningless to hike the next day. That is
not my birthday and no longer has any relevance.
The Big Bend trip is
some consolation, though. I’ll hike while he is off leading a
photography workshop. It will be just me and the mountain lions.
If I’m eaten before my birthday, I won’t have to worry about it.
And he’ll have to find someone else to take him to the airport. So
there!
I emailed all that to
my friend, Eileen, who lives a few hours away.
This morning Eileen
called to tell me she had read my email to a friend she was visiting
in Albuquerque. I’ve never met her friend. “There’s only one
thing to do about that,” her friend said. “We’ll take her for a
hike and out to dinner!”
“Can we do that?”
Eileen asked me.
I didn’t even stop to think that meant a short,
late hike. I just wept at the caring of a stranger. And at how the
Universe comes through . . .
Copyright © 2010 Ruth
Rudner |
