February 20, 2003
Running with the herd
Monday 2/17
I’m always amazed at what herd animals we are. And I’ve always been very suspicious of this tendency, fighting it in myself as much as possible. I arrived at Bandelier early today, eager to shuffle through the Anasazi ruins and get a big dose of humility. The parking lot was almost empty. Good sign. I’d have the place mostly to myself. But as I started on my hike around the main loop trail, I encountered several families. I climbed up to the cave dwellings, the valley below unfolding into a checkerboard of Tyuonyi pueblo’s decaying stone dwellings. Tourists were marching antlike through the pueblo, heading my way. I could hear children’s shrieks echo up through Frijoles Canyon.
That’s when I cam to Frey Trail, my escape route. It switchbacked up into the hills, and the marker warned that it wasn’t a loop. It was clearly off the beaten path.
I’d found it. A way to break from the herd. I tend to do the same thing in the Smokies when I go there. Pick the trail that veers off the main path. And I’ve found that even in a park swarming with tourists, most of them won’t venture more than a 100 yards from the safety of their car or the main “interpretive loop.”
Frey Trail was just the ticket. The first half mile was a brutal series of switchbacks leading up out of the valley. Toward the top, I saw two massive mule deer on the trail ahead of me. The buck was at least four points. The doe didn’t seem terribly upset by my presence. They stepped off the trail and climbed a ridge while I snapped a few photos. Sure beats encountering some sausage fattened yo-yo from middle America tossing candy bar wrappers on the trail.
Once I reached the top, the trail flattened out, going on for another mile or so, where it ended at a campground. It was a beautiful high desert hike, spiced with pinon and sage. At the campground, I learned this was the original trail into Bandelier, the one used before they cut in a road.
I went back down the trail, looking for the mule deer to no avail, and rejoined the masses on the main loop. But then I realized something. They’re really not so bad. Everyone I passed said hi. Some stopped to talk. Come to think of it, I always meet great people when I’m out hiking. I guess those Deliverance boys stay at home when I hit the trail.
After climbing 150 feet of shaky ladders, I reached the ceremonial cave. As I sat there trying to catch my breath, I talked to several people. Great folks. We discussed our travels, laughed at a “common sense” sign begging the tourists not to toss rocks off the cliff because there are people below, and I recommended they stop at Los Ojos for lunch.
As I walked out of Frijoles Canyon, I realized the Anasazi had a great sense of the herd. In all this vastness and sprawling desert, they congregated in these urban cliff dwellings, bartering, arguing, raising their children. We do the same thing in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles. Who am I to chuck all that aside? I’ll try to show less contempt for the herd. But you’ll have to forgive me if I still gallop off alone frequently to soak in the solitude of nature.
Posted by Bob Benz at February 20, 2003 12:04 AM