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709 Day 9 - New Abreu Camp

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It was time to leave Fish Camp and head for New Abreu. However, as John reminds me, the crew members who had gone to Phillips Junction the day before for food pickup had failed to obtain a new supply of white gas stove fuel. They had been unable to get the tops off the aluminum bottles at the time. They managed to open them only when they had returned to Fish Camp. John writes,

"I don't know if an altitude change made the difference or if we just had someone stronger back in camp."

Looking back on this, I suppose the altitude theory is a fair explanation. The last point at which we had opened the bottles would have been Lost Cabin camp, at an elevation of 9,200 feet. Phillips Junction Commissary sits at 8,880. Whatever the reason, we would not have an opportunity to get fuel again, and so we had to dispatch a group to return to the Commissary and get fuel before proceeding on our trek. John, Kevin, and Steve made the 6-mile hike and returned with fuel before too much of the morning had slipped by.

Leaving Fish Camp, we went through the Rayado Canyon Natural Area along the southern border of Philmont. About half-way through the canyon we encountered the volcanic formation known as The Crags. These are steep, jaggy cliffs poking out of Crater Peak on the northern side of the canyon. This was a long and fairly hot hike for a while. But, that soon changed.

Nearing the end of the canyon, we passed a group of Scouts from New York. Someone noted that they were a Jewish crew, probably because of the yarmulke hats they wore. Thinking about it now, I suppose this makes sense, since I've heard that primarily only the conservative abnd orthodox synagogues sponsor Scout troops, and they wear the hats.

Travelling through the basin, along a streambed surrounded by dry, brown grasses, we passed through the Old Abreu and Rimrock Park camps. As we reached Old Abreu, it began to rain. Old Abreu camp was abandoned, even in 1983. Nothing but a bunch of concrete slabs with pipes jutting out from them remained. I learned that both Old Abreu and Rimrock Park camps were victims of a massive flood back in 1965, just when they were first built. The sites were abandoned and new locations chosen. Despite Old Abreu having such a short life, there were enough cleared areas to tell that it had seen a lot of foot traffic. It made sense. Everyone bound for New Abreu comes through here. Old Abreu, although abandoned, still sees some use. Being that there are no activities there, it is used for a crew's Ranger training session, and is therefore the second day's camp for several itineraries.

The rain was coming down hard as we approached our destination, New Abreu Camp. This camp sits at the bottom of a hill that leads up to Fowler Mesa. From our vantage point along the trail, we could peer across the intervening valley and see the camp. At that point, I had what was quite probably a quart of water welled up in my pack's rain shell liner at the bottom. Nice use I got out of that! This was of concern to me because my sleeping bag was stowed there, and I knew that this would mean a wet night's sleep.

But, of more concern was the dangerous lightning that started just as we managed to descend into the valley. We hurried to the New Abreu lodges and huddled in the Cantina until the storm had passed. The thunder was quite loud -- I think due to the echo effect brought about by the topology of the hillside on which New Abreu sits. The Cantina itself would have been a nice break, providing snacks and pitchers root beer. However, we and several other treks were holed up inside due to the lightning, and it was really too crowded to do much more than stand. I suppose it did not matter. Cold root beer was not what I wanted after being soaked in cold rainwater.

The rain subsided.

Once we had dried out, we got a chance to do burro racing. I think that the guys had more fun with the burros than the horses of Beaubien. I'm not sure about the poor burros, though.

John writes,

I could be wrong, but I could have sworn that we won the burro races. I remember drinking warm rootbeer at that camp in the cantina.

I had set my sleeping bag out over a line to dry while we did the burro activities. Mr Max remained at the camp to guard the belongings. The rains returned, and we rushed back in hopes of saving all the things we had left out to dry. Mr Max had done a fairly good job at getting most things under the dining fly, but we were left to set up the tents in the rain. Tent camping in the rain has to be the one thing that everybody hates. The biggest problem was, of course, that tents were not really waterproof or even water resistant -- no matter how many coatings of Scotch-guard or other chemicals were applied. To help keep direct rainfall off the tents, they were equipped with an extra, outer panel, a rain shed intended to hold the water long enough for it to just run down to the ground. The outer panel would get soaked, but not the tent's inner sides. Of course, under the weight of the water, the outer cover and the inner sides got pressed together, and the water saturated both. We would sit in the tents, pulling our belongings as close as we could to the centre, away from the sides of the tent. For, if we touched the sides, the water would come dripping through. And, these were only the perils of light rain. When it really poured, water would come across the ground and threaten to get under the tent. If it did, and it did, there would be no escaping getting soaked. We had clear plastic tarps, ground covers, deployed under each tent. These were intended to spare us the ground water. If course, the tarps were slightly larger than the bottoms of the tents, and I soon took to the practise of tucking the excess edges under the tent. Otherwise, the rain running off the outer covers just pooled up on these edges, and then ran under the tent, seeped through the bottom, and... well... you get the picture.

That night was such a battle. I think the rain gave out at the same time as my resolve to resist it. I finally managed to drift to sleep. My sleeping bag was still wet from the initial rains on the trail. But, true to its advertisement, its synthetic "Hollo-Fill" lining kept in some heat even when damp. However, I slept directly on top of my Therma-Rest pad, since it was dry, and did my best to drape the opened mummy bag over me. A surprising thing happened. Overnight, my body heat and the natural low humidity of the air dried out the bag. I was astonished to wake up dry. This would never have happened with a duck-down bag, but, the synthetic fibers effectively carried the water to the surface, like a wick, and allowed it to evaporate. To its makers, North Face, I must say Thank You!

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