Pat Bertram's Blog, page 160

Still Trying to Learn

After spending two freezing nights in Guadalupe Mountains National Park, I decided to spend a night in a motel. Although I didn’t sleep any better inside than outside, I feel rested and replete. A movie last evening amused me, though why I enjoyed all that destruction in San Andreas Fault, I haven’t a clue except perhaps that for the first time in five years I am not living a mere ten miles from the fault. And a complimentary breakfast this morning restored me. (Gotta love a waffle shaped like Texas.)

Now I’m about to head south into what I hope will be warmer nights. (It helps that the region is going through a warming trend.)

And if the nights are still too cold, I can always double tent again.

When people would ask me what I will do if it gets cold at night and I’d respond that I’ll put my packpacking tent inside my big tent, they either laughed or stared at me in confusion. Whoever heard of such a thing? But other people subsequently recommended it, and it worked. It was only in the early morning chill that I got too cold for comfort. I also discovered something vital. Those temperature ratings on sleeping bags and camping quilts are the temperature the bags will keep you alive, not comfortable. I still have to work on the comfort factor. Maybe a sheet? I really do not like the feel of nylon. If I put the sheet over top the camping quilt, it might help to hold the warmth in and would feel more comfortable tucked beneath my chin.

I’m still working on quicker and easier ways to set up and tear down camp, still trying to learn the best way to live as normally as I can in my abnormal (but rapidly becoming normal) lifestyle.

I’m also using more of my equipment. I actually got out my little Solo stove the other night to brew a couple of much needed cups of tea, and the stove worked great. I used Heet for the fuel, a secret I’d learned online. Not only did the water boil rapidly, but the fuel didn’t blacken the pot as twigs would have done. Heet is also cheap and easy to pour, and can be used when the burning of twigs and other botanicals is forbidden. (So far I have not camped any place where you can gather wood to burn.)

I have learned a few other things: never pass up a chance to do laundry, and in the sparsely traveled areas, never pass up a chance to get fuel or use the restrooms. (Believe me, if you stop on the side of a seemingly no-traffic road because of a urinary emergency, as soon as it’s too late to do anything about your exposure, there will be a near traffic jam.)

Well, time to get packed and move on down the road. See you in Big Bend National Park.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: Big Bend National Park, fuel for camp stoves, keeping warm when camping, learning to camp, sleeping bag temperature ratings, small tent inside big tent

The Low Point of My Journey

I’d hoped that this journey I am on would illuminate my strengths and perhaps even increase them. Instead, it is making me aware of my limitations.

When did I get so unsteady? When did it become so hard to walk up and down stairs? When did it become a physics problem to figure out how to climb out of a bath?

And when did the human voice become so unappealing?

Don’t get me wrong — I still enjoy talking to people and listening to them one on one or in small groups, but as a whole, voices get on my nerves. Has it always been so? I doubt it — apparently, liking the sound of other humans is borne in our DNA, but somewhere along the line, that sound has become anathema to me.

I camped at a lovely site in the Guadalupe Mountains National Park, and all was quiet until the sites around me filled up with talkers, and then things turned bad when a group of bikers set up in the campsite next to me. Not that they were a threat, but oh, man — those folks never shut up.

Since I didn’t want to hike the trail leading off the campground (an 8-mile round trip hike with a 2000-foot elevation rise), I headed north to the Carlsbad Caverns National Park. I figured it would be a unique hike into the bowels of the earth, but it so happened the elevator was out of order, which meant everyone had to walk down a very steep incline with dozens of switchbacks.

Before we were allowed to enter, the rangers gave us several warnings, such as no drinks other than water allowed, no walking sticks, no bathrooms until the lunchroom at the bottom. And finally, we were told not to talk, and if we did need to talk, not to speak above a whisper.

And, of course, no one heeded that final warning.

Generally when I hike, I stop to let the yappers pass me by, which leaves me alone to enjoy the ambient sounds, but on a trail that winds ever downward, there is no way to get away from those who prefer the sound of their own voice above all other sounds. If not above, they are below.

After about 30 minutes, I realized I wasn’t having the trans-descend-ental experience I’d hoped for. Instead, I found myself dreading the thought of being in a deep dark hole with those ever-increasing, echoing voices, so I went back to the surface. (Actually, the lowest point of my walk into the caverns wasn’t that low since the caverns are set beneath a mountain, so they are probably even with the road that leads up into the park.)

After returning “home,” I strolled along the wheelchair accessible trail, stopping every few minutes to sit on the benches provided, and enjoy the view and what was left of the day. Since all those he-men campers were struggling up the “real” trail, I was left alone on that easy trail.

Ah, blessed silence.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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I took the photo of the desert from Carlsbad Caverns National Park. You can’t see my campsite, but it is below the butte to the left of the image.

Tagged: blessed silence, Carlsbad Caverns National Park, Guadalupe Mountains National Park, people don't shut up, sound of human voices

I’m Having a Real Adventure Now

One of my mother’s sisters used to say that if you got tp where you were going without any trouble, it was an excursion. If you had problems, it was an adventure.

Well, I am on an adventure now! Sort of. Is it a problem if it isn’t really a problem?

Shortly after I passed through El Paso, I stopped at a fast food place to use the restroom, and my car didn’t start. Dead battery. (It still had a year left on the warranty, which is why I hadn’t already replaced it.) I have emergency road service through my insurance company, so that wasn’t a problem. What gave me pause is the location of the battery — under the back seat. A seat, I might add, that is completely full of supplies and equipment for my journey. So I unloaded the car for the guy to jump start the engine, loaded it all up again, and drove to the closest AutoZone. A straight five mile jog back down the road I had been traveling. And then I had to unpack the car again and repack it.

By then, it was too late to make the two-hour journey to the Guadalupe Mountains, so once again, I spent the night in a motel. This one was way overpriced with zero amenities or charm, but it was in the right place.

And best of all, a Whataburger was within walking distance. (I hadn’t been near the restaurant for almost three decades, so it was a real treat. As good as I remembered.)

My auto body guy who discovered the brakes that had been hacked instead of being fixed, the fuel lines that I paid to have fixed but weren’t, and various other minor details like that, used to tell me that God loved me. And so it is.

If the battery was going to die, it couldn’t have happened at a better time or place. What if it had died when I was at some remote campground without a cell signal?

But it didn’t.

I have felt from the beginning that this is a magic journey; I believe it still.

And oh, what an adventure I am having!

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: AutoZone, dead battery, road trip, Whataburger

Going Where the Wind Blows

As I was loading my car in preparation for leaving Chiricahua National Monument, an older couple approached me, said they too were road hippies (whatever that is), said that my car and I were very cute, then asked where I was headed next. I said I thought I’d go to Rockhound State Park in New Mexico. They said to go to Rock City State Park instead, that it was a much better park. Since I am going where the wind blows, I decided to take their advice. “Going where the wind blows” was supposed to be a figure of speech, but it turned out to be the truth since I had to drive through fierce winds all across southern New Mexico. Cold fierce winds. I didn’t get to the park until about four, and except for a large stand of rocks that from a distance looked like a city skyline, I didn’t see anything except miles of flat land. And all I felt were those bitter winds that could only get colder when the sun set.

So those winds blew me on down the highway.

I had to laugh at myself for all my plans of just driving a couple of hours a day, of stopping early enough so there wouldn’t be a problem about finding a place to stay, and there I was, driving after the sun set. But of course, the early stops were to ensure that I would have time to find an alternative solution if my plans didn’t work out, and that’s what happened.

I drove to Las Cruces and rented a motel room for the night. And oh, did that cheap place feel as luxurious as an upscale spa! Warmth. No wind. No setting up a tent and a makeshift bed. No securing food and scented items from bears. My own bathroom. And a tub to soak my aching bones. Add to that a lovely breakfast buffet with make-your-own waffles, and I felt pampered.

Now I am sitting in the sun in historic Mesilla City, listening to the church chimes.

I feel good. Rested. (Though I don’t look rested. I look like I’ve aged a decade in the last two weeks, but luckily, I don’t see many mirrors.)

My next sort-of-planned stop is a campsite in the Guadalupe Mountains, though I don’t think I’ll make it there today. Do I care?

Absolutely not.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: City of Rocks, Las Cruces, Mesilla, road trip, spa weekend, where the wind blows

Beyond Awesome

Sometimes I think someone like me — out of shape, inexperienced, un-surefooted — has no business on the obstacle courses we call hiking trails, but then I think, “Why the heck not? So what if it takes me seven hours to hike a trail the goat children can do in four?” (Many young people, and even some old, skip up and down even the most treacherous trail as if they were half mountain goat, which is why I think of them as goat children.) It’s a wonderful privilege to have such an opportunity, and getting back safe is what matters, not how long it takes or how gracefully it’s done. Anyway, I do try to be extra careful to make up for my shortcomings.

And, oh, I am so glad that I take the chance! At Chiricahua National Monument, I went on a seven mile round trip hike in Rhyolite Canyon that’s considered a strenuous hike because at one point, there is an 800-foot elevation gain in less than a mile. To me, the strenuousness came from the at times ridiculously difficult trail itself. In the photos below, the rivers of white stones are the trail. Still, it’s an astonishingly scenic hike among rock pinnacles of rhyolite (a gray rock formed from volcanic ash), and culminating in what felt like a sacred place — the beyond awesome area near the balanced rock.

I took a much-needed break at the rock, and in the silence, I could get a sense the pilgrimage I am on. In a way, though so much less impossible than the epic thru-hike I dreamed of, this journey is giving me at least part of what I wanted from a long backpacking trip — a better sense of this great world we live in and perhaps eventually a deeper sense of my connection to it.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: balanced rock, Chiricahua National Monument, connection to the world, pinnacle rocks, rhyolite, Rhyolite Canyon

The Thing Is, I’m Feeling Blessed

Before I left Tucson, I felt a bit of trepidation about continuing my quest, but as soon as I got on the road, the worry left me. Still, I didn’t feel quite easy, but the uneasiness had nothing to do with my journey. (My books were republished, and certain issues showed up in Grief: The Great Yearning which upset me because as I’m sure you know, that book is very personal to me.)

Since there is nothing I can do about the book now, I tried to get it out of my mind by playing tourist. All along the highway to Benson were billboards screaming, “What’s the Thing?” One billboard claimed that the thing was a mystery of the desert, so I stopped at the tourist trap (a real trap — although the stuff in the store looked like it could be native artifacts and crafts, almost everything was made in China) and paid my dollar to see the thing.

The exhibit certainly didn’t improve my mood. There were several buildings of dusty antiques, a car purported to be one Hitler rode in, bizarre driftwood and tree root sculptures, and a hand carved life-sized tableau of people being tortured.

And then there was the thing. I don’t know if it was real, don’t know why it is a mystery, don’t even know what the poor thing is doing on display, but it looked like a mummified woman with long limbs and a small head clutching a baby.

I started crying for the poor thing (though if it’s some sort of hoax, my tears were absurd) and walked away without photographing the exhibit, but eventually I went back and took a picture because what is one more indignity added to so many?

A little after heading back down the highway, the rhythm of my journey lulled me into a more pleasing state, and by the time my tent was set up at Chiricahua National Monument (the camp host came and introduced himself, and I inveigled him into helping me with the rainfly), I was feeling peaceful and blessed.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: feeling blessed, mystery of the desert, what's the thing

Defining My Life

My fortune cookie yesterday told me, “Accept no other definition of your life, accept only your own.”

I’m not sure what the definition of my life is, not sure I need one, but somehow that “fortune” seemed apropos. Today I head out on the road again after a week’s hiatus in Tucson to continue my cross-country quest, a quest that perhaps defines my life right now.

Oddly, I feel nervous. Or maybe it’s not odd. I’ll be leaving familiar terrain, maybe heading into colder temperatures and eventually rain and bugs, and even scarier, I’ll have many days in a row without the protection of solid walls (though there is always the possibility of a motel), but still, this trip is something I have to do. Want to do.

I’ll sit here a few moments gathering my courage, finish packing the car, then continue my eastward journey.

See you on down the road.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: cross-country journey, defining my life, gathering courage, road trip

Sabino Canyon Adventure

Note to self: do not take hiking advice from frail little old ladies at national park visitor centers.

About a half-hour drive from the foothills of the Catalina Mountains where I am staying, is the Sabino Canyon Recreation Area, a part of the Coronado National Forest. I’d seen a picture of the Sabino Canyon Trail, and since it is here (or rather, since I am here), I thought I’d sample the trail.

It seemed such a simple thing — go to the area and start hiking — but there were so many intersecting trails and so many people (I managed to snag the very last parking space in a vast lot) I figured I needed a map.

The aforementioned frail little old lady stood behind a small counter, and asked where I wanted to go. I told her I didn’t know, that I’d never been there before. She seemed to be mentally rubbing her hands together with glee when she responded, “I love when people ask for advice.” Apparently, all those hundreds of people milling about outside knew instinctively this woman couldn’t help, but not me. So I blundered forth with my questions.

It turned out that the Sabino Canyon Trail was at the top of a long shuttle ride, which did not serm inviting to me. People were crammed into those open bus-like contraptions, forced to listen to a narration of what they were seeing. And they paid for the privilege.

Not me. I opted to walk up at least part way. The frail woman showed me a six-mile loop hike on the map, said it was a wide path, no stream crossings, no rocks, and level except for perhaps a quarter of a mile uphill. Sounded good to me, so clutching my map, I thanked her and headed out.

Sure enough, the path was wide, level, well-maintained, with no rocks or other obstructions for the unwary to trip over. For about a tenth of a mile. Then things changed. Became narrow. Slabs of rock to hike across. Small boulders to navigate over. All uphill. Up and up and up.

Still, it was pleasant. Beautiful. Since I walked slowly, everyone else passed me (am I the only one who doesn’t seem to be part mountain goat?), so I only had sporadic sounds of voices to distract me. (I’m learning to accept human noises as sounds of wildlife. Makes it easier.)

Within sight of the acropolis, a huge rock outcropping, I perched on a boulder, nibbled a protein bar for lunch, and changed my socks. Rejuvenated, I headed back down the other part of the loop trail that the woman had told me followed a stream, but had no stream crossings. I went down some steep slippery slopes until I hit the stream bed. And sure enough, the trail followed the stream for more than half a mile. It was cool down there — green vegetation for shade instead of the ever-present saguaro. Since I was sore and exhausted from the long trek, I looked forward to the end of the trail. Unfortunately, the trail did not end at the visitor center, but at the stream. A wide stream. A knee-deep stream.

Realizing I hadn’t seen anyone else since I hit the river bottom, I figured I’d taken a wrong turn. So I retraced my steps. Found the trail marking, and took the other fork. Ended up at the water again. And no visible sign of the trail. So I went back to the trail marking and waited. Finally, a small group showed up, and the man seemed to know what he was doing. Soon another group of men arrived, and we all stood by the water trying to figure out what to do. (The knowledgeable man had already made his way across, just plunged into the water and kept going.)

Considering that my only other choice was to go back to the acropolis and retrace my steps down the mountain, I opted to cross the stream. All the folks who crossed with me had paid for the shuttle, so they waited at the stop for their ride, while I trudged soddenly back to the visitor center.

Oddly, I did fine until I sat down to change into dry socks. When I stood again, I could barely move. Utterly stiff and sore from head to foot. (The hiking poles I use take some of the weight off the leg joints and redistribute it to the shoulders.) The soreness and stiffness lasted the rest of the day, but I’m doing okay today with just a bit of stiffness to remind me of my adventure.

And oh my. Such an adventure!

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: Coronado National Forest, crossing a stream, hiking, hiking poles, Sabino Acropolis, Sabino Canyon, stiff and sore from hiking

A Foot in the Foothills

I’m staying with a friend at the foot of the Catalina Mountains. The past couple of days, I’ve been driving to work with her and walking back, which is a treat since I only have to walk one way and I can swing along without worrying about treacherous trails with unsettling footing. These walks also give me a feel for the area. I can see why my friend is contented here, but when Sunday comes, I’ll be more than ready to move along.

So far, the trip has had an easy rhythm. I drove three or four hours (five with breaks), then set up camp. I spent the next day hiking, and the following day breaking camp and driving to a friend’s house. But now reality has hit — before my next house visit, I will have several times where after I break camp and drive for a while, I will have to set up camp again. It’s hard enough to set up one day and break down another without having to do both on the same day.

I do have options, though. I might be able to find camp sites within an hour or two of each other so I don’t get exhausted driving. I could forget the big tent occasionally and use the tiny backpacking tent, which is a lot easier to set up, though a lot less convenient. Or I could stay in a motel occasionally. (My least favorite option.)

I still have several days before I have to worry about such things, and who knows — it might not be a problem. I am getting more familiar with setting up the tent and I am finding ways to pack the car more efficiently, so both those things help. And I will be heading into cooler, albeit wilder, weather, which might also help if it doesn’t hinder.

Meantime, I’m enjoying the slow pace of this week. Enjoying “camping in” (instead of camping out). Enjoying getting to know again my once-long-lost friend.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: breaking up camp, camping in, Catalina foothills, Catalina Mountains, long lost friend, setting up camp

Luck and Labyrinths

I left Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument feeling lucky, grateful, and blessed to be on such a magical journey. I bought gas at a station on a reservation near Why, and while I sipped a drink, I wandered into the casino and talked to a fellow who looked and sounded like Fisher Stevens in Short Circuit.

I asked if there was a quarter machine, and he ushered me to a bewildering device that only took dollar bills, no coins. He showed me where to put the bill, explained that I could play one quarter at a time, or all four at once. Since I only wanted to push the button once for luck, I opted for the four-in-one chance to win. I pushed the button, and the machine lit up and made some jingly noises. I asked Fisher what that meant, and he said I’d won 34 quarters. I waited for the thrill of all those quarters cascading into my hands, but after a few seconds, the machine pinged, and spit out a voucher for $8.50. Quite an anticlimax, but see? Lucky!

I proceeded to Tucson to meet up with a once-long-lost friend. We had a lovely dinner Saturday night, then yesterday she took me on a tour of some of her favorite places. First we visited the Mission San Xavier del Bac, nicknamed the “white dove of the desert,” because of its shining presence in the arid expanse. (The west tower was struck by lightning in 1939, and restoration continues when funds allow.) Then we drove through Saguaro National Park, and on the way back, we stopped at the Redemptorist Renewal Center on Picture Rocks Road.

I wandered the beautiful grounds, marvelled at the ancient petroglyphs, and made the holy walk through the labyrinth to the center, a symbol of life’s path

I sat on a rock in the center of the labyrinth, feeling blessed, feeling the rightness of this quest I am on. I don’t know what I want from my journey, don’t know if I will ever know the totality of what it will give me, but for once in my life, as with the labyrinth, I am willing to follow the path without understanding and let life make of me what it will.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Tagged: Mission San Xavier del Bac, petroglyphs, Redemptorist Renewal Center, Saguaro National Park, touring Tucson labyrinth, white dove of the desert