Maggie and I explored a good portion of New Mexico in the three years we lived there. Even so, it is thrilling to look at a map and find there is yet more to do. Fired up by the recent backpacking trip in Montana, I felt compelled to get out and explore new places in my old stompin’ grounds.
20 August 2023
I set off Sunday afternoon for Trampas Lakes. I saw a number of backpackers at the trailhead coming back from a night out by the lakes. I struck up a conversation with one such hiker to get some info, since I had never been to the area before. She told me it was very beautiful and that there was plenty of space to camp – and that was all I needed to hear. The forecast was clear for the next couple days, so I knew the risk of monsoon thunderstorms was quite low, ideal for exploring further up on the high peaks.
It was a casual six miles through the woods up to the lakes. With everyone clearing out for the weekend, I had my choice of campsites. I took my time walking around the lakes, finding the perfect spot, and taking in the views. I set up camp on the narrow hump of land that splits the two lakes, then walked around some more to do some reconnaissance for my adventure the next day.
I planned to hike up on to the ridge encircling the Trampas Lakes and tag some peaks from there. I found the social trail leading up past the lakes which led me to some grassy gullies I could ascend. I was feeling good about my plan having seen the terrain with my own eyes.
I wandered a bit more, spotting an orchid in a marsh near the lake. I also found a gushing mountain spring with clear, chilly water, a superior water source to the tepid and stagnant lake water. I noticed another party or two camping out for the night. As much as I wanted to get some social interaction, I decided to let them enjoy the solitude of the wilderness. The evening sun was illuminating the rugged ridge east of the lakes. Composed of pale quartzite, the rock was shining bright and reflecting nicely off the water.
I settled into camp, made dinner, and got into my sleeping bag. I opted to keep my food in my tent, which didn’t put my mind at ease. Camping alone, I was on high alert – dozing off, then jolting awake at the slightest sound. Was that a bear??, I thought as my heart pounded. Thankfully, I didn’t have any visitors in the night, but I slept poorly…
21 August 2023
I got moving around 9 am, later than I wanted, but I wasn’t worried since I didn’t have much distance to cover. It was a short, steep 800 foot climb up to the ridge. A group of big horn sheep trotted past while I was ascending the grassy scree. The grassy gully up higher was immaculate, and made for excellent off trail hiking.
When I crested the ridge, I was treated to one of the best views in New Mexico – the Truchas Peaks. Not quite the tallest in the state, but definitely the most remote, the Truchas Peaks are stunning. I took way too many pictures as I continued hiking along the ridge.
I went east, climbing up an un-named 12er. It was a veritable choss pile near the summit, with one sketchy slope to cross covered in loose rocks. I was on top around 10:30, and while North Truchas looked quite tempting to try, a significant cliff band looked rather hazardous to try alone. I texted Maggie to keep her updated, then turned back the way I came, traversing the ridge towards Sheepshead Peak.
It was wonderful hiking in the alpine. Fresh breeze and not a soul in sight. As I approached Sheepshead, I looked up and saw… a sheep’s head! A big horn was peering at me just over the ridge, an apparition of the namesake peak.
Nearing noon, I sat and ate lunch on Sheepshead. I opened up the summit register, a simple mason jar with a notepad inside. Considering the fact that there is no proper trail to the top of Sheepshead, surely anyone who got up here must be at least as crazy as I am. One entry read something along the lines of: “Dan & John, Los Alamos, NM, San Leonardo Lakes to Sheepshead to Trampas Lakes”. In that moment, it occurred to me that I could descend a different route to the San Leonardo Lakes and make my hike a big loop. It looked tempting, but I would be taking a gamble on unknown terrain…
A decision for later, I still felt like walking, so I cruised over to Jicarilla Peak, hopping on talus and rolling my ankles on tussocks of tundra grass. I studied the terrain on both sides of the ridge, seeking the friendliest way down. To the east, Trampas Lakes, which had steep, but open slopes on which I could roughly make out a path down. To the west, San Leonardo Lakes, with a slightly gentler slope which was covered in trees, obscuring any obvious route. I looked closely at a topographic map on my phone, and while there was indication of small cliff bands down towards San Leonardo Lakes, there appeared to be notches and gullies I could sneak through. I decided to make things interesting and go for San Leonardo Lakes.
Above treeline was smooth sailing, but the slope got steadily steeper. In the spruce forest, the ground was hard, dry dirt with a sprinkling of needles, which was surprisingly slick! I stepped from tree to tree, using the trunks as temporary anchors. In a few spots, I had to cut steps into the dirt with my shoe, or awkwardly squat on all fours. I think I fell on butt at least once. As I inched my way down, I finally came upon the “cliff band”, which was just a series of rock outcroppings. My reading of the map was right, I was able to carefully step in between the rocks. The slope began leveling out, and I emerged at San Leonardo Lakes, elated with a successful adventure route!
I had the basin all to myself, one of my favorite aspects of New Mexico – the scarcity of people. The precipitous walls around San Leonardo Lakes were incredible. I was shocked I had never even heard of this place before this day, since its beauty easily put it in the top 10 alpine lakes of New Mexico.
While the day wasn’t particularly hot, I felt the urge to jump in the upper lake, a deep dreamy green abyss calling my name. Stripped down to my undies, I took the plunge. I was immediately shocked by how cold the water was for late August! A wedged log stuck up above the surface of the water, about 20 yards from the banks, and I decided to swim for it. Part way, I was questioning my choices as the cold water clawed at my muscles and my chest. I made it to the log, and swiftly swam back, begging for warmth from the intermittent sunshine between the clouds. The sensation after a cold plunge is wonderful – a tingling heat pulses under my skin, and the relief from mortal fear melts away.
The final miles out to the car were uneventful, just a pleasant downhill walk in the woods. I saw one other woman with her dogs hiking up, but otherwise it was just me, trees, and the breeze. The day was only 9 miles with 1,500 feet of vert, however it was one of the most action packed and beautiful 9 mile hikes I have ever been on! I only wish Maggie could have joined me, but I will gladly do this one again.
Back in Santa Fe, I was staying with my friends, Ryan and Amber. Amber was stoked on the idea of some backpacking, and I was stoking the fire. The Truchas Peaks were at the top of her list, but the coming weekend had severe monsoon thunderstorms in the forecast. It seemed prudent to stay away from the alpine, so we settled on Bandelier National Monument, a rugged landscape scored by canyons where Ancestral Puebloans lived in cliff dwellings and long houses. Ryan had other priorities for the weekend, so Amber and I set off for an overnight to Painted Cave. I had actually done this hike before in 2019, so I knew we were in for an adventure.
25 August 2023
After some indecision and last minute packing, Amber and I made it to Bandelier at 3pm. Once we had checked in with the rangers and obtained some bear bags, we were finally hiking at 3:30. We only had about 8 miles to hike, so the late start didn’t concern us too much. It was hot as we climbed out of Frijoles Canyon. Dark thunder clouds were roiling overheard, and ribbons of rain hung below them like tentacles from a jellyfish.
We hiked over the dry, grassy mesas that line Bandelier, crossing a small canyon along the way. The thunder rumbling became more frequent, and we could sense rain was coming soon. I had noticed a boulder with a small over hang, and I thought it might be just enough to keep us dry. Amber and I hiked back a short ways and perched beneath the over hang just as the rain was starting to fall on us. It absolutely poured for about 15 minutes, but our little nook spared us from getting soaked!
The sun came back out like nothing had ever happened. A brightly gleaming rainbow was a small reward for weathering the storm cell. With some cool moisture on the ground, the air dropped to a more tolerable temperature, so we hiked onward with delight.
Amber and I crossed Alamo Canyon, one of my favorite chasms in Northern New Mexico. About 500 feet deep with steep, straight walls, Alamo Canyon is a sight to behold. Tall ponderosa pines thrive in the canyon bottom, fed by an intermittent stream.
In the canyon bottom, it is easy to find obsidian. I picked up a what looked like a round, weathered chunk of the glassy black stone. When I turned it over, the other side was a clean fractured face, reflecting light off its immaculate surface. Obsidian was of course an important material to Indigenous Peoples for blades and arrowheads. Evidence of trade shows that obsidian was carried hundreds of miles from the Jemez Mountains out to the plains of present day Oklahoma and Texas.
We climbed out of Alamo Canyon, over more mesa top. We passed by Yapashi Pueblo, a smaller outpost constructed of stone bricks. The outlines of some rooms remain, and tons of pottery sherds are scattered on the ground. A little further down the trail is the Stone Lions Shrine.
The sun was waning behind tired storm clouds as we made the last descent into Capulin Canyon. A reliable stream runs through this canyon, and with the quickly fading light, Amber and I were eager to find the first possible place to camp. We set up our tents in a clearing as another bout of rain rolled in, but thankfully it was just a drizzle rather than a down pour.
26 August 2023
The next morning, we set off down Capulin Canyon. When I did this a few years prior, there was no trail to follow, but to my amazement there was some freshly built trail. However, it was just a tease, as said trail faded into the brush after half a mile. At least bushwhacking in the desert isn’t too difficult. We had the choice of easy terrain on the stream banks with lots of dead fall to climb over, or following the stream with rock hopping and uneven ground. When one option didn’t suit us, we would try the other, then inevitably find a reason to switch back. Along the way we saw an Alligator juniper (Juniperus deppeana), an wonderfully fragrant tree which is at the northern end of its range here in Bandelier.
The clouds burned off, and we began burning in the sun. Why were we hiking in the desert – in August? Soon enough though, we found our objective, Painted Cave. This collection of pictographs is on par with the famous Newspaper Rock in Canyonlands, but Painted cave is far less popular, probably because you can’t drive to it. I’m not sure how long these pictographs have been here, but there are images of Christianity, which indicates that at least some were painted post colonialism. Near the base of Painted Cave, we found some worked obsidian points, flaked to a sharp edge.
We didn’t linger too long, as we still had 10 miles to hike back to the car. Almost to the end of Capulin Canyon, we crossed over a small ridge to Hondo Cayon, then up the other side and down towards the gaping mouth of Alamo Canyon. Here is one of my favorite views of the Rio Grande, where it bisects the Pajarito Plateau and the Caja del Rio Plateau. The water was a silty thread spotted with sandbars, which didn’t look particularly appealing, but it’s clear that the Rio is the life blood of the region.
The trail became quite rugged at this point. Previously I had scampered across steep slopes of volcanic dirt and scree, so I was prepared for the worst. Hiking with Amber was great, because she actually looked for the trail, whereas I will “happily” go questing in the general direction I need to go. We came to a point where it appeared the trail fizzled out. I was about to continue straight into awful terrain, but Amber pointed behind me, “What about this?” Ah yes, a switchback – what a concept!
Where Alamo Canyon’s flood waters meet the Rio Grande, a healthy forest of willow and (invasive) elm trees grow. We sat for lunch, taking advantage of the shade offered by the trees, a rare commodity in this landscape. The heat was cranking now, but that meant cumulus clouds and thunder storms would be popping up soon. Navigating through the willows wasn’t too bad, which got us to the home stretch.
Up one last canyon and climbing back on top of the mesa, it was a gentle cruise back to the car. While the hiking was easy, the storm clouds were fierce. At least we got some relief from the sun. It was probably more thunderous than the day before, which added some tension to our final miles. I thought for certain we would get rained on again, but somehow we threaded the needle. Rain chutes were on either side of us, but they decided to leave us alone, and we finished the hike dry.
Even though this Bandelier hike was a repeat for me, it was still tons of fun! In addition to the sweeping views, there are so many interesting little features of this landscape if you’re willing to get down on the ground and look closely. Sharing this adventure with a friend was nice too, since most of my solo adventures tend to feel like something is lacking. A little conversation goes a long way when it comes to walking a long way. Overall, these two overnights had me rather enchanted with Northern New Mexico again, and I was looking forward to moving back to Santa Fe with Maggie.
Distance Over Time 