This morning dawned New Mexico blue, offering an invitation to take Dog and go up to a favorite section of the CD Trail, a short 15 minute drive from home. My hike on this portion of trail is usually about 3 miles round trip and takes Dog and I roughly two hours. We frequently have this section of trail to ourselves.
As I pulled into the parking at the trailhead, a good friend pulled in behind me. Meeting was totally random but welcome. Up until this morning, we have seen each other through computer cameras and zoom. Dog was thrilled; this is one of her most favorite persons who usually has a bit of doggy bacon in his pocket. We visited for a few minutes at the distance of Dog’s 18 foot leash, then he went down-trail and I went up.
We didn’t get too far before meeting up with another hiker and her dog, Jack. Jack and Dog know each other from the town’s dog park, so they shared a brief greeting and a sit-down while she and I caught up a bit. Good to see folks I know, doing the same things I love in the places that make us smile and feel grounded.
Signs that this section of trail is loved and valued: someone left a painted rock on a tree trunk next to the trail. Another someone carefully positioned a pine cone and a pebble on a lichen-covered rock. A little cactus, unusual to be found at this elevation and in this habitat, has been rocked off to protect it from mountain bikes. These touches mean a lot in a time when human connection is more difficult to sustain.
Flowers are beginning to pop up. And the oaks are turning golden, ready to drop their leaves in favor of new buds. As an aside, when I first moved here and saw all the oaks turning yellow in April, I thought they were dying of some dread disease. Coming from the East Coast where all the trees turn and drop leaves in the fall, I had no idea that here, this is the natural order of things. Oaks drop their leaves in the spring so that the monsoons, when they come, can water the trees into full new leaf.
Another welcome sign on the trail: the rancher who had a lease to graze this section of forest must have moved the cows somewhere else. For a full year, I found no tracks, no scat, no sign of the wild animals that inhabit the forest. Only cow tracks breaking up the trail, crossing and tearing down the hillside, denuding the earth of its grasses. And piles of cow dung. Now that the cows have been removed, sign is coming back. The gray fox has been marking the rocks in the trail. Hawks or owls are sitting on overhanging branches, munching their lunch and leaving white stains of uric acid on the ground underneath them. And this morning, I heard a warbler calling in the trees nearby. I could see it flitting through the branches, but not well enough without my binoculars to identify the little guy. I pished at him for a couple of minutes but only succeeded in getting curious stares from Dog, while the warbler darted on off among the treetops.
By the time I got back to my truck, the day was growing hotter. The Ponderosa pines were scenting vanilla and cinnamon on the breeze and the earth, in the sunny spots, was smelling flannel-warm.
During this time of social distancing, our Gila National Forest, like other parks, forests and wildlands, is getting heavily used. Sadly, not everyone escaping to the forests or parks is treating their wildland of choice with respect, care and protection. Trash and worse are left along the trails and piled around the locked bathrooms and trashcans, creating health and safety risks for humans who have to clean it up as well as danger to animals. Graffiti mars petroglyphs. ATVs cut tracks where only deer should be leaving theirs. So a plea from one who finds sanity and peace on our public lands: be careful-be responsible-be safe and keep it clean. Remember — Do No Harm.