That favorite place

What is your favorite place?

Is yours far-away and exotic? Perhaps where you once went on a fabulous vacation?

Or is your favorite place just up the road? Somewhere you go to all the time, anytime you need to?

My favorite place is a quick drive away (but it feels remote enough).

 It's beautiful (but not so stunning that it makes it into all the guidebooks).

It's got the usual favorite elements-- water, trees, silence. Butterflies, bats, beavers too.

I like it because you can go there to see forever (well... at least all the way to the La Sals), letting the expansiveness wash over you, feeling connected to the bigger picture with distant landmarks on the horizon.

You can also go there and be surrounded by trees and living things and enveloped by comforting, glowing warm redrock.

This is what it looked like last spring

Green bursting forth

Then in early summer, when the green seemed to take over

And the mourning cloak caterpillars loved it too

In this spot, you can pop between the two worlds, from the expansive to the lush, up and down. The two best feelings in the world.

***

A favorite place must be versitile. Last winter, I liked to go here to run around on the rocks.

Continuous rocks like a racecourse

When I started working here, I decided I needed to build my confidence for scrambling on rocks (so that I wouldn’t show any hesitation or fear in front of my students.) So I started coming out each day. “I’m going to go run around on the rocks,” I’d tell my roommate as I headed out the door after work. I’d test myself bounding up steeper and steeper terrain. Seeing the effect of momentum and sheer willpower. Practicing my skills until I could bound like a gazelle.

Other times I've gone here to be still.

I learned that rocks can feel soft and inviting. So another time I even got a permit so I could stay the night.

Sometimes I’d bring my computer out when I needed to write. One time I was sitting and writing at the canyon bottom and wild turkeys walked by and didn’t even see me.

Another time I was perched on top of the rim and a great blue heron flying above traced the arc of the canyon. Not one twinge to reach for the camera. It was just for my eyes only. 

Great blue heron time

There was a week we brought our students out here for field trips.  "Over there a bat was circling just last night," I would point as we played our bat and moth game. "Look at these tracks, I think a beaver was just here, maybe if we are quiet we will see him." And they would gaze expectantly.

Beaver dam, but the water always stayed still

After lunch we would dig in the sand and feel how cool it is beneath the surface.

I hardly ever tell anyone about this place. But for the students, we tell them all to come back here and bring their parents to show them the beaver dam and the places the bats live. "This is a special secret place," we tell them, hoping they will treasure it forever.

***
On a dark, mid-January day, I come back here and run around on the rocks for a while. Then I curl up in my favorite spot in the embrace of the slickrock and cry.

The sun feels so far away

It is two days before I have to get surgery to repair a hernia that I got in my groin. The surgeon says that if I don't get it patched up, then it might strangulate which could be life-threatening if it happened when I am backpacking on a long trip. Plus it's starting to hurt.

The idea of getting surgery makes me scared. I'm scared about how painful it will be. I'm scared of the what-if's. What if I don't wake up. What if something happens and I'm not able to backpack again.

So I lay on the rocks and feel the coolness of the earth supporting me. The La Sals are covered in clouds off in the distance and wonder if I will ever again climb their peaks. I run my fingers along the sleeping branches of a cottonwood, knowing that no matter what happens to me, that this canyon will wake up in a few months, that the leaves will expand, that the caterpillars will hatch from eggs and munch away. And it is comforting to know this place will be here no matter what.

Snow on redrock

Almost exactly a year ago, I started working here at this park. During my first week, my supervisor sent me on a scavenger hunt to learn the major landmarks and basic natural history. I hiked all the trails and took pictures of common plants and tried to learn the names of each rock layer.

Now, a year later, I'm still finding new spots to explore. Maybe that's why I love this place so much. There is always something new and surprising. A treasure trove for the inexhaustibly curious.

Last night there was a dusting of snow, maybe an inch. It transformed familiar landscapes and made the redrock even more mesmerizing.

Foggy morning

I used to think that the desert was stark and devoid of life. But now I know you just need to know where and how to look.

Cottonwoods

What a story all these tracks in the snow tell! Not just cottontails, but foxes or coyotes, and perhaps a bobcat. I wish I could see all these animals.

Desert cottontail

I make a few turns and end up somewhere I've been before. It was my first week of work and my new coworker came along to explore too. It was then that I learned what wonderful people I got to work with. Which is what makes all the difference in the world.

That one place I've been before, a year ago. Snow has transformed it.

Now, some of those dear friends are scattered across the country and I miss them with all my heart.

Just one set of tracks here

Today, I follow washes and make a few turns that I've never made before.

Scrambling up to get some perspective

Canyon walls get steeper

Snow gets deeper

Rocks under snow make footing tricky

More tree friends

Approaching the end of the canyon

The canyon gets even more narrow and the boulders get bigger and then there is a bit of scrambling and then bushwhacking through the mahonia which whacks back with prickery leaves. Finally steep walls are all around. There is a drip drip drip at the pour-off high above. Below, an ice skating rink and a tower of fallen icicles.

Icicles

I turn around and retrace my steps. The light has that soft, wintery feel that compliments the redrock especially well.

La Sals peaking through

Dance of shadows

I stop by the overlook to watch the La Sals start to glow. Tourists pull in, get out of the cars, take a few pictures, then leave. I want to stay here forever. This feels more like home than anywhere I've ever been.

I am grateful that I get to spend some more time here. Each day, every day, to be savored.

Lake Lucero in White Sands National Monument

Many people visit White Sands National Monument, but to see firsthand where the white sand comes from you need to plan ahead to get on a Lake Lucero Tour.
These sparkling gypsum crystals (called selenite) are the source of sand that forms the dunes of White Sands National Monument.

My parents and I planned our trip so we would visit during one of the times the reservation-only Lake Lucero Tours are offered. You can only go here on a tour.

Those mountains provided the source of the gypsum.

Water (rain) dissolves gypsum in the surrounding mountains and carries it down to the basin where it gets concentrated. As water evaporates the crystals form. The white sands are the broken up crystals that have been blown by the wind, which form the largest gypsum dunefeld in the world.

The white sands in a wind-swept dune after the particles have been broken up.

The large crystals formed thousands of years ago when a lake the size of Rhode Island filled this basin. It’s fun to imagine that these crystals formed when this place was much wetter and lush and there were mammoths, camels, and saber-tooth tigers roaming about leaving behind footprints that can be seen today.

But crystal formation is also an ongoing process that has been going on for thousands of years. Water that flows down into the playa is still saturated with more gypsum and more crystals form beneath the ground or during monsoon season. Though the crystals that form today tend to be smaller than the ancient crystals.

It didn’t feel right to me that we could freely walk across the crystals and feel them crunching beneath our feet. But the ranger assured us that it’s OK because they just erode away very quickly anyway and they are constantly being exposed due to erosion. Still, we were told not to collect any crystals.

What surprised me the most was that the crystals are made out of the same material as crystals in Mammoth Cave National Park in Kentucky (which is where I spent last summer). Both are gypsum, which is also what makes up drywall. They differ in shape and the crystals are called different things (selenite at White Sands, gypsum flowers at Mammoth Cave) so I think there must be something else different about them (any geologists out there?).

Gypsum flowers in Mammoth Cave (photo from last summer)

Gypsum (selenite) at White Sands. It is amber in color due to organic matter, but turns white as it weathers.

Because of what I'd learned at Mammoth Cave, I was surprised to see gypsum at all on the surface. It is a mineral that dissolves easily in water. At Mammoth Cave, the Woodland people would collect gypsum from the cave. We don’t know how they used it because when they brought it out to the surface, it dissolved and got carried away by the rain and didn’t leave traces behind. 

But in New Mexico, with the now arid climate, gypsum exists on the surface because it pools in the basin and also there is limited rain so we get to see the crystals on the surface before they get eroded into sand or dissolved. How cool that the conditions are “just right” for this to happen.

So much sparkle

The environments at Mammoth Cave and White Sands are strikingly different— a dry, dark cave in Kentucky and the extreme brightness of southern New Mexico. But the shimmering amazing sparkle of the crystals in both places evokes a similar sense of awe. Like being transported to glitter-filled world.

More Information

Get tickets by phone or on recreation.gov one month in advance. Apparently the April or November tours have better chances that there will be water in the lake so tend to have more birds, butterflies, and flowers than we saw in December.

Don't forget to stop by the visitor center to do their Junior Ranger program.

Not those White Mountains, Not that Crest Trail

To be honest I didn’t research this area much before I went. The book “Day Hikes and Nature Walks of the Las Cruses Area” called Three Rivers Trail the “prettiest canyons in New Mexico” and “alpine meadows” which was enough.

My parents drop me off at the trailhead at Three Rivers Campground. It's the second week of winter vacation. Last night Dad went to bed at 7 PM after our hike together. I sense they might welcome a break from hiking with me.

A google search (after the fact) doesn't reveal much about the White Mountain Wilderness of New Mexico anyway. The White Mountains of New Hampshire pop up. Also the White Mountains Wilderness of California. So when I started up the Three Rivers Trail, I didn't have any preconceived notions of what I would find or what it would look like.

I certainly didn't expect all this water.

Having no expectations is a good tactic for happiness. On trails and in life. It makes it feel like stumbling upon beauty and discovering everything for yourself. Wonder is heightened when you don’t know what the view will be like when you first peer over the saddle for the first time, or when your feet meet a soft carpet of pine needles and you didn’t even know there would be pine up here.

The rock formations and waterfalls are impressive, but not TOO dramatic. Not enough to draw crowds. At least not in the middle of winter.

But I’d rather have a quiet, wild-feeling place than the crowds standing in line to take instagram-worthy, trending hashtag selfies anyway.

The most amazing parts of this place cannot be captured in photos. The gurgling sound of the desert stream plunging over boulders. The frenzied chirping of songbirds and the chortling of wild turkeys before they take off in a flash.

Birds, like this hairy woodpecker, around every corner.

Massive trees line the canyon and I spend a lot of time standing around gawking, looking upward. The first aspen I come to towers gracefully overhead and I pull out my camera.

Out of the corner of my eye, a flash. I spin around and duck at the same time.

Golden eagle.

All the thoughts stream through my brain at once. Lightening fast reptilian brain impulses. It's coming for me! It’s going to carry me off with those razor sharp talons! Small mammalian ancestors have thought these very thoughts.

I imagine I can feel the rush of air as it soars over my head. It is an experience I know I will remember for the rest of my life. The definition of wild.

Only miles up the trail do I wonder, what was it doing near the stream? Was there a carcass? Why did it fly so close to me?

Snowy north-facing slopes. But thankfully this trail sticks to the sunny side as it switchbacks up to the saddle.

I was so pumped on my fight or flight response up I didn’t even realize that I fly by the last water source. Will I regret going past the perfectly good, sheltered (and warmer!) campsites to go high to camp at the crest of the mountains? It is the end of December, after all!

After cresting the saddle near White Horse Hill.

There is sunset beauty in all directions. No regrets! I dash around and gaze in wonder. The white gypsum sands of White Sands National Monument reflecting the pink glow of the sunset.

More changing colors.

Oh why didn't I find a campsite before it got so dark? But I do find a spot in in the shelter of large trees, with views all around. The wind howls for a bit, but it's not as cold as it could be. And I am snug.

The next morning, I follow the Crest Trail southward. No, not THAT Crest Trail.

I climb up and over the rise of a hill, there are large figures covering the far slope.

Elk.

They hear me and start moving in a massive wave. I'm in a nature documentary. I feel bad to have disturbed them but I'm glad they are skittish because, honestly, I'm scared of them.

Along the Crest Trail.

Long switchbacks down to Bonita Spring, which is dry. I'm glad I got water at the piped spring at the base of Elk Point.

Dropping off the crest, down the Dry Canyon Trail.

Blow-downs are plentiful and the trail is hard to follow. But I enjoy route-finding and know I just need to get down the slope and follow the canyon.

 Dry Canyon surprises me by having a spring and flowing water. More birds and big trees. Around another corner, in dense oak and pine, another sight. A carcass of an elk. Massive. How did it die? Did it get away from a hunter? Fall prey to a mountain lion? I move away as quickly just in case the later is true.

Elk.

 This place just seems so wild. Full of life and death and a richness that is hard to describe.

Back at the trailhead, my parents meet me just as I walk into the parking lot. They always seem to know when to arrive. 

"Next year, do you want to spend a week up there?" my dad asks.

"Absolutely!" I reply.


More Information

"Day Hikes and Nature Walks in the Las Cruces - El Paso Area" by Greg Magee


Three Rivers Trail

Crest Trail - information and trail status in a pdf