Rise to the Challenge

With a rare three day weekend ahead, I considered staying in Taos, NM to go exploring. Thursday afternoon, however, someone told me of a delightful little trail called San Antonio Springs. It is 11.4 miles (more than Tucker and I have ever done in a day), but the elevation gain isn’t bad, and the whole point is to walk 5 miles, hang out for an hour or two in the hot springs, and then return. It would be challenging, but if the weather was cool, there was some shade and very little elevation changes, it was doable.

Both of these adventure options involved getting up early Friday morning. 

So neither of them happened.

​I had some business to attend to that I wanted to get done before the droves of tourists arrived in town, so I did some practical shopping and opted to give Hyde Memorial Park a try for a hike. I had driven through on our way to another hike a couple weeks ago, and it was just a twenty minute drive away. Both Taos and San Antonio Springs would involve almost two hours in the car each way.

The only issue with the Hyde Park trail was the elevation. AllTrails described it as a 2.8 “moderate” hike. The Hyde Park visitor center rated it as “hard” because although it was super short, the elevation gain was 1125 feet… in about 1.3 miles. Tucker and I had done Chimney Rock in North Carolina, which is 499 stairs, but is only about a 500 foot elevation gain. This would definitely be a challenge. 

People in my office had ben suggesting hikes for me, all of which were either over 10 miles or over 1100 feet in elevation change. I told them I’m not all that physically fit and although I probably could walk 12 miles on flat ground without stopping with no problem, the elevation gain kills me. I’m just not in shape for that—and the hikes are already located about 8000 feet above what I’m used to living in Southern California.

But I decided to try anyway.

And once I try, I can’t fail. I won’t let myself. That’s not to say it is without its difficulties. But I refuse to give up once I start something.

Within five minutes we were already well above the road that had brought us there.

I remembered what a friend of mine told me almost a decade ago the first time I went on the walk in Griffith Park from the merry-go-round to the helipad: “Don’t look up. Just keep your eyes on your feet and you won’t notice how steep it is.”

I tried to keep her advice in mind, even though the Griffith Park walk is only about 300 foot elevation change over a mile. This was four times that.

​I was also reminded of my first hike in Purisma Creek Open Space off Skyline Blvd. I went down just fine, but on the way back up, I thought I might not make it. It was pre-Tucker days, so it was just me and the woods. I took stock: one granola bar, 16 ounces of water, and a flashlight. I might have to stay the night. I was in much better shape back then, and I just read that the elevation gain is 2900 feet. However, that’s from sea level. When you already are in the upper atmosphere, it’s a little more difficult. Oxygen molecules are scarce. And strangely, despite the abundance of trees all around, there was very little shade.

​The strategy became just to get from one shady spot to another. I don’t know how exhausted Tucker was, but I feel like being closer to the ground on all fours would be less of a steep climb. Being a biped is extremely inefficient.

One of the cardinal rules, including when I was making my way up Purisma Creek, is to Never. Sit. Down. It’s just a bad idea. Keep your legs moving, and keep your blood pumping. Don’t sit down. 

But in this case, I abandoned my rule.

I abandoned my rule five times as a matter of fact.
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Feeling light-headed, and getting the sense that my legs might start to refuse my requests,  the only thing I could do was sit down on the trail. The upside was that it gave me a chance to check out the view.

I was severely disappointed in myself and angry that my body wasn’t up for the task.
And slightly annoyed that two of the times I sat down, when I got up, I discovered that we were around the bend from an actual bench placed there for unfit hikers such as myself.

I’ve only recently started using AllTrails, and in some ways, it’s not useful. Now I get to check in on how far along I am and how much farther I have to go. Before, I just set my feet on the trail and went until I could go no longer. There was no status updates. Knowing how far you have to go adds a different level to the hiking experience: like major disappointment when you’re not as far up the red line a you thought you were.
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We did eventually get there:

However, the only grand sight to see was this sign proclaiming our success. We walked on a little further to the picnic tables, which was a few feet below 9440 feet, and there we found the view.

We enjoyed the moment and the view (and a manmade product for sitting), and then down we went on just as steep a descent as it was an ascent on the west side of the loop.

Although the trail was a bit softer in most places being under the conifers, there were still large sections where the chosen texture was broken up pieces of shale. Not my first choice. Or even in the top ten options. It has a great tendency to slide along with your boots.  At one point I considered doing what I had done on the Canadian ice trail: just sit down and slide my way downhill. However, ice is a far more forgiving way of travel than rocks and pinecones to cushion your ride.
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I got off trail a little as the AllTrails didn’t follow the East Circle trail, but took the easy Piggyback trail for a spell. I agreed as my legs were feeling a little rubbery and I was feeling a little cranky. Nature shouldn’t make me cranky. Nature is the de-cranker of my life. 

​So we walked an easy trail along the creek for a short spell, then, because I didn’t want to leave being in a fouler mood than when I had arrived, I opted to take the Waterfall Trail. Slightly annoyed with the trail maps, I finally found it, changed my perspective, and up we went.

​The water here must not be too slimy, because unlike many rocky waterbeds I’ve been to, these rocks were not slippery. Which was a very good thing, since the entire waterfall area was rocks.

​Tucker and I enjoyed the cool breeze and the freezing cold water.

​Tucker even wanted to try to get to the top of the waterfall, but I didn’t see how we’d get up and back down safely. In fact, while standing at the bottom of the waterfall, I contemplated how we would get back down without cracking our heads open or breaking a toe.

​Water is life, and the waterfall brought back the joy of living for me. My earlier issues with oxygen and my body not being everything I want it to be, was washed away. Tucker and I were just enjoying being again in a little pocket of paradise.

​The rest of the way back, I kept that little bit of paradise in my own pocket. It is the reason I hike: to get away from all the society’s needs and wants, and just go back to the basics. It makes me.. well, me again.

Although I don't advise myself to take on another such steep climb in the near future, I do advise myself to get healthier so I can one day. Little pockets of paradise are usually off the beaten path, up in the mountains, where only those pure in spirit and strong of body can reach. Tucker is already both. And I don't want him to miss out experiencing a single one of them.