The destination part is where you get to do what you came to do, but before that, there is the test. Sometimes the test is just the travel, hot maybe, like this VW was. Or tiring perhaps, or just boring. Sometimes it’s a bigger challenge than the hoped for adventure. This trip was one of those.
Son Scott and I, who was about 16+ when we made this 600 mile trip, made the turn a the end of our street on a late May afternoon. We headed the VW North to Denton , then west on Hwy 380 all the way to Ruidoso, NM. The VW didn’t have AC, so night driving was much more comfortable in these Summer months. Our destination would be cool.
We changed drivers a couple of hundred miles out, Scott driving flat-out on that two lane while I napped. Somewhere about 3 in the morning he tapped me on the shoulder and shouted over the whine of the motor and the roar of the open windows. “Hey Dad”! I stumbled awake, wondering what was so important. “Hey, Dad, what does this red light on the dash mean?” I didn’t have to look, “It means STOP, right now, STOP!!” He complied and as we rolled to a stop on the shoulder of Hwy 380, about 10 miles short of Post, TX, I could smell burned oil. Check the dip stick, EMPTY. “How fast were you driving?” “I dunno, had it floored”, he said. We didn’t have any spare oil.
This might not be a big deal depending where you are, but in West Texas, 10 miles East of Post, it is a big deal. That’s a 20+ mile round trip walk to get to a store to buy oil. I thought about it, cringed and said, “At this hour we aren’t going anywhere, so lets take a nap and wait for sunup." Did I say there is hardly ever any traffic on this road out there? We closed our eyes.But you could read by the starlight.
Something was coming…Jumped out and watched the lights grow larger, now with sound. An old flat bed truck and a kind West Texan on his way to work at 4AM. He stopped, I got in, and 10 minutes later I was walking into a convenience store in Post. I walked out with 5 cans (a spare) and a cup of coffee, wondering now how was I going to get back to the car without hoofing it for the next three hours.
There was a car in the still dark parking lot and I asked the driver if he was heading East. He was and said, “Get in.” I did, and 10 minutes later I was back at the car watching a tired boy wondering how I got back so fast. I love those folks out there in West Texas, that wasn’t the only time I was rescued by them.
Oil in, I took the wheel and off we went at a lot less RPMs.
Ok, now the real purpose of our trip was in sight. We were going to climb 12,003’ Sierra Blanca!
First was a stop at the Mescalero Apache Reservation for a photo.
Fed, watered and somewhat rested we drove the road to the Ski Apache Ski Area to catch the connector to the Crest Trail. The trail is 3.5 miles to the summit of Lookout Mountain, just behind the lift station at the top of the ski area.
It looks easy from here on Lookout Mountain, only another mile and a half to the summit, but you have to go down before you go up, gaining a thousand vertical feet between 11 and 12,000’ of altitude. I can report that the thin air at altitude will slow you down.
Looking back North from Lookout Mountain, with the ski area summit station right center. Look to the West here and see the white slash of White Sands National Monument. Look to the East from here and you are looking down at Ski Apache’s “Apache Bowl”, a wide open, sweeping, tree dotted Blue run for cruising.
Yes, at this altitude us low land folks must stop from time to time to recharge for the next few hundred yards. Of course every stop allows one to enjoy the scenic vistas, instead of the ground a few feet ahead, so there are pluses for every action,
Even the old guy, who wasn’t so old then (not quite 40) was hoofing it up the hill and shedding the pack from time to time. I don’t remember why the arm was wrapped with a bandanna, sunburn I suppose.
There is a story about the walking stick in this picture. It can been seen in other pictures I've taken, all over the SW. I made it around 1976 when I was working for the lake map company and getting a map ready for Galveston. I know, Galveston is not a lake. It was the only map we made of the coast and we did so because the city had requested it. I would stay there over the weekend and go off exploring the coast. One day I found the bamboo stick washed up on the beach in a particularly wild area. The beach was called Sargent Beach because Sargent was where the access to the beach was. From there one could 4-wheel drive all the way up to the St. Bernard River, about 12 miles. The beach was awash with logs and stumps that had washed down the river and ended up on the beach, making it difficult to negotiate. It was like a maze, but that’s another story. I took the stick and the next day went to a commercial fishing net repair shop in Galveston. There I bought a roll of tarred twine of good diameter. For the next few days I worked on that stick, tightly wrapping the line around it in a decorative manner, while sitting at the beach. Since then it has been to the summit of Sierra Blanca three times, up and down the coast on every mile of sand accessible by a vehicle from the Rio Grande to the Neches River, high in the mountains of Big Bend National Park and to the summit of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas at 8,751. It’s been on other adventures too.
It sits in the garage, waiting…
Killer Hill, on the left, is the most tiring pitch of the hike, for me. It blocks the view of the summit until you are near its top and all you know is once you are over it, the climb continues to the toughest and most interesting part.
Back to the challenge at hand. Once over “Killer Hill” one faces the Knife Edge. Steep cliffs on both sides fall off a thousand feet or more. It really isn’t particularly scary, on the other hand one should watch their step carefully. The summit lures us onward.
Once across the knife edge, a look back reveals Apache Bowl on the right, Lookout Mountain on the left and Nogal Peak in the center. The Carrizo Mountains in the distance.
Now we are on the cone and can smell success. The going is slow here with boulders that range from large to huge to negotiate.
Time to rest and talk about our accomplishment.
Scott enjoying the moment and perhaps wondering how it will be going back down.
After an hour or so we start the return trek, being careful to not missstep. A fall up here could be very troublesome. Hey, that kid has my stick!
Another short rest on the flank of the mountian and we will finish our decent.
At last, closer to the bottom on the Deep Freeze trail. I guess he carried my stick all the way down from the summit for me. What a boy!
Tired and hungry we returned to our camp on Monjeau.
