In which we go off the grid (New Mexico part II).

Saddle up, folks. This one's a doozy. 

Of all the adventures of these few weeks, this was the finest. Since moving to New Mexico, my madre has made a tradition of disappearing off into a magical canyon in the Chama Wilderness for a few weeks each year, miles and miles away from any sort of so-called civilization. There she lives in a remote adobe casita built between tricolor canyon walls, floating slightly above a sea of scrumptiously scented sage. The path leading there will destroy your vehicle with its 14 roadless river crossings, a journey only tackleable by the rough ‘n’ toughest of SUVs, or on horseback when flash floods declare them impassable.

I’d heard much about this place and the wonders within over the years, but had never been there to experience it for myself. As Mom’s summer canyon plans had to be cancelled last minute in favor of more pressing family matters, it worked out that she was able to book a few nights in the casita during our trip to the Land of Enchantment. Three nights would certainly not be the same as three weeks, but it would be enough for us to get a taste of the place, and for her to catch a breath of fresh air.  

We had one day to prepare after the late night desert drive back from Carlsbad. Stocked up on gorp and granola bars for hiking, as well as other yummables for mealtimes, etc., etc. We also packed the dog, meaning the ashes of ol’ Ber, our newfie-chow who had been Mom’s joyful canyon companion until old age caught up with him. This time he’d accompany us again and have his powdery old bones scattered amongst the ripples of sage he loved best.

Packed, showered, and camera batteries charged, we hopped in the car and headed north along that gorgeous stretch of highway between ABQ and Santa Fe, past reservation-run casinos with names like “Camel Rock” and “Buffalo Thunder”, past a Sonic drive-in for pre-canyon milkshakes, past the Pedernal and Ghost Ranch of Georgia O’Keeffe fame, and along miles of winding, red dirt road that put the Prius through its paces. This also happened to be an area that gained national attention in the summer, as welcomed rains turned the landscape an uncommon “pistachio green”. It wasn’t particularly pistachio-y when we were there, but nothing had been lost in magnificence.

We finally arrived at our meeting point where someone with a much more capable vehicle picked us up to continue the journey on more exciting roads. After a few miles of lurching over canyon terrain, we stopped at the main ranch of the canyon hosts to trade vehicles yet again for the last five or so miles to the casita, this time to an even heartier truck that, with its cracked windshield, generous layer of dust, and chains on the tires, certainly looked at home in its natural habitat.

It did the trick though, and got us safely across all the river drop-offs and jut-ups, splashidy splash, all without breaking any of the eggs we’d just been gifted by the hens at the ranch. The few miles between remote and remoter took us past a big black bear (romping away with its cute, stubby tail a-bounding), between steep canyon walls and goldening cottonwoods, and over wide open stretches where a recent flash flood had hardened the sand beneath its flowing, bending plants all in one direction and depositing piles of old grasses and other debris wherever anything could catch it. One quick detour took us part way up a cliff to ancient petroglyphs, still clearly visible in the red walls after who knows how long. 

Once we arrived at the little cabin, it was immediately clear why Mom so loved living there. A cute little place with all the amenities one could need – gas stove and gas fridge, grill, gravity-fed running water and a hangupable shower bag, lots of tea and the like, and best of all, a pink throne on a perch (behind a bush) about a hundred paces away, open on all sides for you to enjoy all forces of nature while nature works its forces on you, granting what may well be the best toilet view in all of New Mexico.
 

 

My favorite feature, however, was the twin bed on the porch – home to the most glorious afternoon snooze I can recall, right there on our first day. 
 

Some exploring happened that afternoon, but I was loth to leave that cozy chariot to heaven and thus stayed there with a book instead. Dinner was prepared and eaten on the porch in the rapidly cooling air as the last of the sun climbed up the canyon walls. Then it was time to light the candles and build a fire in the woodstove, around which to mingle before crawling into bed.

I found it easy to train my body to “canyon time”, which basically means doing what the sun does. You put your watch away, wake up with the sun, enjoy the day and get all the necessary chores done before it sets, stay awake long enough to relax by the fire and watch a mighty strip of Milky Way peek out between the blackness where the canyon walls once were, then you go to bed. If we all still lived that way in the Real World, I think we’d all be a whole lot healthier as a species.

In that spirit, I awoke the next morning just in time to pick up my head and see the sun beginning its hike down the back canyon wall. It had gotten cold in the early October night, but the woodstove heated the casita quickly once fired up. After breakfast we packed our useful and stylish fanny packs with useful and stylish things and struck out on our first adventure. The great thing about Mom having spent so many weeks here is that the pre-exploring had been done and she could show us some of the “best of” magical places she had discovered over the years. These adventures generally led us up, down, and along arroyos – dry stream beds, or canals of the desert, waterways for flash floods and other times of precipitation. There were still some areas of mud from rains not too long ago, but except for in well-shaded areas, it was all dry, cracked, and peeling in various constellations. Hairy tarantulas, tracks, and scat of all kinds in the mud and sand only hinted at all the creatures that shared the desert and, like us, appreciated the convenience of the arroyo streets. It was also in the arroyos that some of the most beautiful stones could be found and, acting on the instincts of my maternal DNA, all my pockets were filled with them at the end of each day.

 

The main excursion of the first day took us up one side of the river to the ruins of an old homestead, including rusted vehicle remains parked in front. The roof had long since fallen in, but the house number remained nailed into the door (but really, a house number? Here?). This homestead and the petroglyphs from long before really stretched my idea of time in this seemingly eternal, yet ever-changing place. We were there in 2014 for a little luxury glamping, whereas a hundred and more years before they were living-living here, surviving (or not) off of the land in ways and for reasons different than for those few who live here now.

From there we went up another arroyo to a truly magical place, dubbed “The Marble Palace” by my mother. It took a little creative climbing to get there, but oh, it was worth it. A curvaceous slot canyon with walls of smooth white gypsum, looking almost more like the world’s most glamorous water slide than a palace, and sparkling in the sun. A stunning secret place known by no guidebook, but there for all the world to see.

 

Our hike back to the casita took us along the other side of the river and through a sparsely shrubbed field. I commented that it looked like a bone yard, and was not entirely surprised to hear Mom answer in the affirmative and tell of all the elk antlers she’d found here over the years, and how there used to be bones of all sorts just lying around -- skulls, rib cages, you name it. That explained where the old woodstove filled with various bones and all the elk antlers on the casita porch came from. This was proven shortly thereafter when we started stumbling across bones ourselves, bright white against the desert scruff.   

The universe didn't show itself in quite all its glory while we were there, as the brightness of the moon overlighted many a galactic wonder. However, there were still far more stars than any little eye could possibly comprehend, and the moonlight had the incredible effect of turning the canyon an eerie blue. It was so bright that flashlights were unnecessary outside and you could clearly see your way up the sagebrushy path to the thrown. I tried to photograph this blue wilderness, but my camera wasn't having it. The best I got was the last of the day setting over the far cliffs. 

 

Our final day was spent adventuring in the other direction, exploring more arroyos and river-hopping through the cottonwoods. Ber came with us the whole way and we sprinkled him in all his favorite places.

A week or so later we visited the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe, where one exhibit was based on her time in Abiquiu, around here. There were a couple paintings of autumnal cottonwood trees that looked pretty outrageous of palette -- all that brazen yellow and electric green -- but having experienced them at the peak of their turning just the week before, I knew her color choices were spot on. 

Mom taught us a very logical thing about arroyos, being that if you are able to follow them far enough and climb up high enough, you can usually get to their source -- usually a kind of channel where the water comes waterfalling down when it rains. She led us to a couple of these beautiful places, womblike in purpose and appearance. My favorite was this one with its purples and reds and cloudburst-like formation on its wall. It's mindblowing to me to think that this kind of scenery just happens, just because that's how the world works.

Other parts of the canyon wall were sculpted differently still, carved into intricate formations by erosion, by wind, by the forces that be. And everywhere trees grew on cliff ledges, seemingly out of bare rock, hanging on with extreme determination and root power for years and years until one rainfall finally sends them toppling down with the cliff face.

Another slot canyon we explored was scattered with white stone stars among the dark mud, looking for all the world like some cosmic skyscape. The walls of this canyon were narrow, keeping it cool and shaded inside. At one point the sunlight shining brightly onto one wall was reflected golden onto the other wall, making it glow in a way that looked poorly photoshopped, and so, so pretty.

This canyon only got better the further we climbed in. The walls shifted between reds and purples, and were lined and carved in intricate patterns and covered in places with what looked like fine lace. An unclimbable boulder stopped us from continuing just as it started getting really fine, but ah, just look at this place.

The pool at the head of another arroyo, at another earthly womb.

The last evening included an intimate visit from our most immediate neighbors, being a herd of black cattle based at the ranch. They have free range of the whole canyon and are eventually sold for their top-o'-the-line organic meat. Usually this works well, though we did learn of one tragedy in the past where ten of their herd were lost to quicksand, that most devious and squelchiest of phenomenons based along cliff walls and river bends.  Luckily these were all alive and well, and sang their echoey moo-song from cliff to cliff pretty constantly throughout our stay. The elk herd, on the other hand, entertained themselves elsewhere. The coyotes and big cats stayed away, too, though we saw plenty of their tracks in the arroyos.

One more blue canyon night, one more woodfire breakfast and it was time to pack up and head back to the Real World, though I don't think any of us were eager to do so. Packing complete, I assisted Mom in her final tradition of hiding chocolates in silly places all over the casita for the owners and next guests to find. Picked out my favorite of the pretty stones I had gathered and arranged the rest around the fire pit, said my final goodbye to Ber and drew a circle of him all around the casita with the rest of his ashes, had a few last glorious moments on the porch bed, then loaded up the truck for a wild ride back to the car. The adventure was completed with a picnic and a wade/swim in the Chama River, followed by deep breaths all around and a long road south to ABQ.