It’s been hard to complain. Santa Fe has been a peaceful rest stop for the past week. My mom and uncle decided to drive 14 hours from San Diego to visit and provide company in my downtime.
My mom brought out the snow gear I had planned for pick up in Chama — ice axe, spikes, warmer quilt liner, high R-value inflatable sleeping pad, new shoes, snow baskets for my poles. I figure I’ll start carrying the gear now, since I’ll be above 10,000 feet for much of the mileage that remains in New Mexico.
The week in Santa Fe included: quality rest, big meals, visits to many pueblo ruins, a visit to Los Alamos, a few short hikes, and gear swapping.
Adding to my snow gear, I decided to pick up a pair of snowshoes, MSR Evo Ascents, for the stretch ahead. Snowshoes were a topic of debate for me. “Slow-shoes” disperse a user’s weight and applied force of walking over a greater area, hence providing improved flotation over soft snow and fresh powder where a typical hiker’s feet would puncture or sink through. The MSR alpine snowshoes feature traction spikes and heel lifts to improve performance on the steeps.
Do I need snowshoes? I can’t say for sure how much use they will see. The four pounds of added pack weight isn’t appealing, but I’m doubtful the snow-covered trail of a pre-June entry into the Colorado backcountry will be broken out. Have I ever walked in snowshoes? Never — the Sierra cement I’m conditioned to typically needs no such prescription. However, from what I’ve heard, ten walking steps is all that’s required to become proficient.
REI had dismal availability and selection of snowshoes, and my shipping options were limited. But, my good friend Amazon Prime came to the rescue with a fair price, quick shipping, and convenient pick up.
I desperately want to be walking trail again (even if a trail doesn’t exist for the next few hundred miles). Even during a week off, I found time on my hands that I didn’t know how to spend. I tasked my waking hours towards imagining the backcountry ahead, researching other’s experiences, reading, and planning my method around Rio Vallecitos. Despite my tendency to live in my head, I regularly return myself to the moment — to enjoy even the dull, waiting hours. There isn’t a race to Canada, and if there exists such a competition, then I certainly have lost or will lose.
I found a dirt road route that should be manageable for my mom’s Subaru Outback and deliver me within a mile of my last point on trail. From there, I tie the bow on the Land of Enchantment and start the 700 miles of the Centennial State.
Signing off,
Zeppelin
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