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I had a nice long river walk today. About an hour and 10 minutes worth and my legs feel fine, at least now. I went north this time and ended up beside the river for most of the northerly jaunt. But then veered west along a maintenance road that apparently services those angle metal beam fences placed perpendicular to the river to control flooding, I guess. These fences were in the flood plain but high and dry.
When I realized how long I'd walked, I turned around to head back to the car, but thought I'd like to walk south along the river if I could, not in the bosque where I was. I found an easterly river-bound path and followed it to a wide sandy area where the river once flowed but now is considerably west of the present river bed.
I tried to fight my way through willows to the river but it soon looked like more trouble than it was worth so I stumbled my way back to the sandy area and went south again. Soon I came to game trail heading east again through the thicket to the river. I went along it and, sure enough, reached the wide flowing river.
Waterfowl galore --- a whole flock of Canadian geese floating on the river. Actually they were paddling upstream but staying stationary with respect to me as the current carried them downstream at about the same speed as their upstream paddling. Two geese were standing on a mudflat and looked so huge I first thought they were swans, silhouetted against the sun.
Many different types of ducks. Mallard ducks, which I recognized, and others. Bird cries, squawks, honks. I could have walked right up to an island where ducks waddled but didn't want to scare them. I headed back inland, walked a bit more south and followed another path back to the river, which I followed to the bridge and then to the car.
It was beautiful. A river full of birds, cottonwood-tree bare branches against the blue sky, white clouds, and the white Sandias.
Photo courtesy of Jerome Mathey and Wikipedia.
11 December. By the time I went escarpment hiking, today, it was in the low 40's. Got colder as I climbed. To the east, rain (or snow?) squalls swirled across parts of the city and mountains. To the west, a misty veil crept over the volcanoes. Fearing rain heading my way — I started to jog home. The squall, however, did not come directly east to me. Instead, it swept from the volcanoes in a great arc to the north. Snow (not rain) started to fall, as I headed out. The first snow of the season.
The well-named trail — Spanish for 'a place containing water' — appeals to us New Mexicans any time of the year. Even New Mexico mountains are deserts! But not La Cienega.
First Bridge at the beginning of La Cienega's Trail. Photo courtesy of Mike Coltrin and sandiahiking.com, copyright, used with permission.
Rain falls on and snow melts along the peaks of the Sandia Mountains. Water trickles down her slopes, percolates into rock layers and wells up in various springs near the mountain's base. Cienega's spring gets more water than most, and the water forms a creek, which sings its way downhill, falling over great tree roots here and cascading over granite ledges there. A delight, all the way down its short course.
I pull the red 4Runner into my customary parking place this afternoon, get out and shiver slightly in the cool breeze. Yep, time for an extra shirt, a blue bandana about the throat and even light gloves, all of which I had in the car. Suitably clothed, I cross First Bridge. Sunlight slants through yellow leaves above, and a wind sighs through treetops.
Second Bridge soon appears. There's something fun about clumping across bridges. Fallen logs form more bridges all around. A dark-blue Stellar jay flits from tree to tree, scolding my intrusion. Past Third Bridge now. The water is low, now in the fall, past the rainy season. Stepping Stone Place looms ahead, but the stones stand dry in the dirt path. No water courses around them as was the case every other time this year I'd hiked this way.
Just ahead I see Big Rock — a huge pentagon-shaped granite boulder, about 11 feet (3 m) high and 11 feet wide. Bones of the Earth. Most of the rock forming the Sandia Mountains is Precambrian granite, which is about 1.5 billion years old.
Big Rock marks the spot of the most upstream spring of the Cienega springs. It's dry this time of year. The water wells from a lower spring now, though not much lower.
I round a bend and spot a patch of late-blooming purple fleabane daisies. Next comes the intersection of Faulty Trail with Cienega. I continue due west up Cienega and break into a jog for a short ways. I'm breathing hard now. The path ahead curves up, framed in tawny oak leaves. The sunlight slants in amongst the tall firs, their green tops swaying in the wind against blue sky, their lower branches dark and scraggly. Steep canyon walls close in.
A common squirrel. Photo courtesy of Nicko Margolies and Wikipedia.
Up I go until I reach Laid Over Tree. Here the trail takes a serious upward bent, almost like a ladder, climbing through heavily eroded tree roots, and I turn around for the hike down.
At the bottom picnic area, I'm stretching my legs before getting in the 4Runner, when a bushy tailed Albert's squirrel scampers my way. He pauses about three feet away — almost close enough to touch — spurts onward another few feet, stops at the creek just behind me and drinks. Then off again, this time up a nearby tree, stops again, looks at me and waxes poetic squirrel talk.
Further reading
Sandia Hiking Guide by Mike Coltrin
Field guide to the Sandia Mountains
Had a wonderful jog. Sure is nice up here this time of year. A nice cool breeze. Much sun. A couple of hawks soaring. The usual scatter of millipedes, grasshoppers, bees, and occasional sparrow.
Had a nice jog, smelling purple sage as I went. The scent was heavy to attract bees, and it did. Dozens of bees on each bush: drinking, dipping in and zooming out.
The trail across the escarpment. Photo by author.
As I got close to the actual climb up the escarpment, I noticed a nearby roadrunner, working his way up slope, too. I kept an eye on him as I climbed and spotted him almost at the top. Hunkered down between a couple of big lava rocks, he had stopped short to keep an eye on me.
On the trail, a rabbit blasted across. A kestrel nearby took off and flew south low hunting. Another joined him and was not welcome. The first flashed cream breast as he veered away west. Millipedes, not many, moved like slow freight trains. Grasshoppers soared across the path. And fly-eating dragonflies flitted. A rock wren landed on a big lava boulder and did not sing.
4 May 2007. I just got back from a walk up the escarpment (a broad mesa west of Albuquerque).
Starting up, I could hear a noise, and finally identified it: high above, sitting on a rock at the edge of the escarpment was a road runner, calling its fool head off.
Once up, I took the left fork and headed south. I started jogging about then, and jogged for a half hour. I figure at 5 mph that's two miles. It just seems incredible compared with the short distance I could do when I started. And it feels like I could jog forever.
As I jogged along, I spooked a couple of quail every now and then. They'd take off down the road, and pretty soon I'd catch up with them, and off they'd go again.
Flowers everywhere. White, purple, yellow flowers of various kinds and an occasional pink daisy. The mesa was green with the fresh rain. It seems to turn green overnight. The road looped around and headed north. Heard a meadow lark making an unusual 2-note call.
On I went, now walking, right past my cutoff. Went a power pole too far, and doubled back. Now heading east towards the mountains. A great ocean of waving yellow grass with the mountains blue in the distance.
Past my favorite pinion tree by a canyon and to the escarpment. A canyon wren sat on a rock on the edge of the trail down, singing away, until I got too close. Then he flew away to settle elsewhere and start singing again. Down in the flatlands I saw two humming birds.
