[Day 21] Mt. Taylor

I awoke to a cold morning at 9,000 feet. I slept next to a piped spring. In the wee morning hours, I noticed the pipe flow repeated a few repetitions of slowing, then surging. I figured temperatures were dipping below freezing higher on Mt. Taylor where the water was piping from. This was a good sign for walking on the snow field on the north side of the mountain.

I started after 5am, hiking with my headlamp. The climb was fair over the five miles to the summit. The last three-quarters of a mile had about 1,000 feet of gain — quite a steep grade.

I summited around 7am, unfortunately missing the sunrise. Nonetheless, the view atop showed the expansive volcanic tablelands, mesas, and plateaus of New Mexico in their full form. The ridges of the canyons gripped the lands like the fingers of the gods palming the earth.

I started down the south side of the mountain, expecting to be in for a couple hours of snow fields with postholing. At least, all the hikers at the hostel made Mt. Taylor out as a chore with current snow. The south side had less than half a mile of snow field walking, I did not posthole once, and I was down from the major peak within 15 minutes. This is why I limit my topics of discussion with other hikers, especially when they do not speak from first-hand experience. “Thru-hikers” love to exacerbate and convince others something can’t or shouldn’t be done. Reasonably, everyone should know their own comfort level and operate within tolerance. Too often, the fireside chat in town turns into hypothesized tales reflecting other’s insecurities.

I’ve found myself tending away from identification as a “thru-hiker.” I find it a buzz word that many use to dress and impress. I’m walking. I’m thinking. I’m learning, understanding, and appreciating. This journey is not a certificate of accomplishment or a resume item. Many people attempt for such reasons, and it disappoints how unappreciative they are of the privileged opportunity to freely walk the country. I find many of these people jumping in the back up pickup trucks to skip large segments at the most minute levels of discomfort.

Inevitably, trail will present the full spectrum of experience — good, bad, easy, difficult, beautiful, ugly — whether it be physically, mentally, emotionally. I desire raw and instinctual presence for the whole event.

Same as the Pacific Crest, the objective is not the Canadian border. The northern terminus is merely a symbol of border-to-border travel — a simplified, convenient end to a congressionally designated trail. The story is the same of the southern terminus. I am beguiled by our American wilderness backbones and backcountry. In the enchantment of a changing, formidable, and enthralling landscape, I find personal refinement, astuteness, and appreciation.

In the hustle and bustle of civilization, distractions extract our existence from the present tense. You live in the past or the future, but never for the now. We forget our finite timeline — we are once in a lifetime. Our energy must be credited towards impactful and worthwhile engagements. These engagements are left to our personal judgements, and will always have gray areas regarding their virtue and effectiveness to our surroundings and community.

I am not arguing that we should all live to spoil ourselves whenever possible simply because our existence is finite. Human character requires daily internal and external struggles to maintain unconscious credence in who we are and where we are going, even if our feelings are opposite. I had to export myself from the surroundings of an indulgent, routine culture to be reminded that existence is much more than stagnant breathe and asinine contentment. I expect this to be an occasional need, but likely not in the form of months long division from “reality.”

The day ended with a long dirt road walk to camp. I gathered water from a gorgeous canyon cistern and setup my cowboy situation alongside trail.

Signing off,

Zeppelin