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803 - Day 7, Visto Grande Camp

We broke camp at Elkhorn to begin our hike to Visto Grande Camp. As we were cleaning up our campsite, I found a small, blue, insulated bag with a draw string on it. I don't know whose it was, or what it could have been used for. It belonged to no one in our crew. About the only thing that would fit in it was my small Tekna-Lite flashlight -- which is what I came to use the bag for ever since. Seeing as there was no way to determine its original ownership, I acquired it.

After leaving Elkhorn, we passed through the hot Dean Canyon. The fir and juniper trees were in full germination. We could see every few hundred feet a tree with an enormous growth of pollen cones. It looked abnormal, and I remember someone asking if this might be a disease or form of cancer in plants. As I later learned, this was simply a product of their germination. We noticed a particularly strong odor whenever we neared such a tree, as their pollen adrift in the swealtering air was very strong and smelled very bleachy. The canyon hike was probably my least favourite.

click for map

The journey was made a little easier by the fact that some of us, discluding myself, had put on our tennis shoes. But, in a decision to minimize weight, I had decided to take only my boots. It is not as easy to establish your footing on rough terrain while wearing such boots, and on the way down the canyon, ducking down to clear a juniper branch, I slipped on loose rock and fell down. I had not fastened my pack's chest cross-strap, and so, before I knew it, the Swiss army knife, clipped to my shoulder pad, was floating in front of my face as I managed to slip half-way out of the pack. Embarassing.

Some of my crewmates continued to wear their boots. As a result, Brien developed a blister along the way and we had to stop for it. Here, Greg tends to Brien's foot.

We reached the bottom of the canyon, hot and dry. At this point, we got a little relief as we crossed the Cimarron River and Highway 64. Rather than walking across the road, we went through a water tunnel that let out at the edge of the river. Several of us stomped through the water without hesitation. The hike had been quite hot so far. But, there was a wobbly bridge across the water just to the right of the tunnel exit, and just enough dry land to allow me to get to it.

I took the bridge, affording me a wonderful view of the river. It's not quite as beautiful as the scenery just a few miles up the road at the Palisades cliffs (outside Philmont property), but the water was welcome.

Across the river, the trail turned upward, and we began the steep climb up the ridge. Before too long, we arrived at Visto Grande camp where we stayed for the night. I was making good use of the tennis shoes that I had been advised to bring. Regulations require hiking boots, but in some areas where footing is essential, the more nimble tennis shoes do well.

For the completion of our conservation work, we went around relocating forest derbris in the area near what seems to be a rustic ampitheatre, wooden benches surrounding a red-roofed A-frame structure -- probably a chapel. This comes as no surprise since there is an impressive view from this point -- hence the name Visto Grande. Exhausted from the heat, the hike, and the work, we returned to the camp and simply crashed for about an hour before setting up camp.

Conservation Work: The Crew conserving energy.

Nappo Grandé: John crashes after the conservation project with a bottle of lemon sugar water

VISTO GRANDE CAMP

There at Visto Grande, I wrote my first postcard from Philmont. I had carried it with me, and would have to carry it further before being able to mail it. Perhaps this explains the water stains and wear.

Not far from the rock on which I sat to write the card, someone had cut and discarded several loose strings from denim shorts. I seem to recall hearing Greg noticing them and scolding us for such littering. But we never found out who did it (assuming it had been one of us).

We could not affort to wait too long before setting up camp. In the late afternoon, a storm blew in. We saw it sweep over Baldy Mountain, obscuring it in less than 15 minutes. It was a wet night.

I awoke in the middle of the night to thunder. The rain had returned. Most rain storms at Philmont come in the afternoon, end before nightfall, and are gone until the next day. This one was an exception. Of particular importance to me was my pack which sat outside. I rushed out to deploy a black garbage bag over it to keep it dry. I did the same for a few others. Ideally, we might keep packs inside with us, but there was no room in the tiny Philmont-issued tents.

By morning, the storm had passed and the skies were fairly clear, The valley was wrapped in a haze. The difference was, well, like night and day.

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