[Day 1] The Bootheel

Today, I began my foot travels on the Continental Divide Trail. After a three-hour shuttle service from the town of Lordsburg, New Mexico to the Crazy Cook monument, I started my walk in an area on the approximate divide of the North American continent — a region that defines the split point of watershed drainage to either the Pacific or the Atlantic Ocean. I say approximate because I am not necessarily on an idealized ridge that cuts the continent in two — though, I will often be for some parts of trail. The trail along the divide is defined by the path of least resistance in terms of land ownership, using public lands as much as possible and land easements when necessary, while also respecting danger and technicality of the terrain (for the most part).

Since completing the PCT, I was looking for the next trek. The CDT has been a perpetual vision.

Some may ask the question, why? What does this achieve? What is gained from relentless day-in and day-out hiking? Honestly, my reasons and objectives for this hike are not fully fleshed out. In coming writings, I hope to provide a little more insight into my methods and madness.

Now, back to discussing the trail. I started at the Crazy Cook monument on the north-south running border of New Mexico and Mexico. This is Gadsden Purchase territory. If you remember from history class, this territory was purchased from Mexico by the US government in the 1850’s for the Southern Pacific Railroad and to resolve border disputes. This part of New Mexico is referred to as the Bootheel — take a look at a map and the naming convention should make sense.

Back in the early 1900’s, the border was surveyed and fenced by a crew of workers. Frank Evans, a worker in this crew, made an insult over the crew cook’s food one morning. Apparently, this upset the cook so much, he put an ax in Frank’s skull and retreated to Mexico, never to be seen again. A headstone on the border is a tribute to Frank, but, unfortunately for Frank, the monument of the CDT heeds the crazy cook that murdered him.

Today’s terrain was quite a mix of relatively flat desert. The trail began with initially single track which turned to dirt road, which turned to a wash, which turned to cross-country travel, which turned to dirt road. The trail is navigating around and through the Hatchet Mountains (I wonder if this is a tribute to the hatchet used to kill Frank).

Around mile eight, I came across a newly deceased cow carcass that likely succumbed to the elements. This served as a kind reminder of the cruel, inhospitable temperament of this bare desert country. I am merely an animal with some technology out here.

However, about five miles later, I came across a couple of young moms who appeared to be watching over two younglings. After the carcass, this was motivating; where there is a will, there is a way.

After a short break refueling and drinking at a water cache (this is about the only way you can hike this country — natural sources are practically nonexistent), I started a cross-country section of trail, whereby you walk from post to post along a landscape with minimal trail to follow. After about six miles of cross-country, I entered the unannounced fury of a swarm of bees. These bees were mad. I did my best to avoid the center of the swarm. A few bees got caught in my hair, and I swatted them out. They chased me down and thanked me for saving them from the netting of my hair with two stings on my left leg, one on my right leg, and one on my hand. Their stingers penetrated both my pants and glove, which are by no means thin material.

Out of caution, I deviated from trail by cross-country travel to an adjacent dirt road alternate where the shuttle service routes. I didn’t want to be caught on an inaccessible portion with inflated thighs. Last time I was stung in middle school, my hand inflamed to what I’d imagine of the Michelin Man’s hands — any natural wrinkling was nonexistent. The doctor said I was stung too much as a kid. I couldn’t write for a week. I convinced all my classmates that I had been bitten by a mythical “land toad” on campus, and that they should be on the lookout. Recalling this, I decided it best to get to the road.

After linking with the dirt road, I hiked about another five miles without any signs of a serious reaction. I wasn’t too worried about the stings, but I figured it was a safe decision for my first day. The cut from the traditional line added about an additional mile to my total today.

As I write this, I sit cowboy-camped under a darkened New Mexico sky, drinking my rehydrated bean mixed, as bats graze on moths with passes inches over my head. I feel the heaviness of a long day and weekend. I am excited for what New Mexico has to offer.

Over the desert floor, I see two raised light systems maybe 20 miles apart, blinking in unison similar to a lighthouse. My best guess is this is some sort of border monitoring device. Border patrol presence is high in the bootheel, though they haven’t come for me yet after I jumped the barbed wire at the terminus for an illegal entrance into Mexico.

For those interested, in terms of getting to the terminus, I took the Amtrak train from Union Station direct to Lordsburg. After a five hour mechanical fault in Tucson, I arrived to Lordsburg 17 hours after boarding. To get to the remote bootheel, I took a CDT Coalition shuttle. Thanks to Doug and Cal of the CDTC for the efficient and effective ride down.

Signing off,

Zeppelin